Tall Tales by Fantastic Fred

Patrick Jemmer: Hanesion Hynod gan Ffred Phantastig / Tall Tales by Fantastic Fred

Cyfarchion cynhesaf, gyd-deithwyr ar y ffordd i le nad adwaenom eto! Ffredric Phantastig yw f’enw i. Wel, nid f’enw go iawn, wrth reswm, yw hwn, ond yn hytrach fy nglasenw hudol. Mae’n dangos mai un sy’n selog sugno pob diferyn o fêr o esgyrn bywyd ydwyf fi (rwy wedi gweld y ffilm o’r enw ‘Cymdeithas y Beirdd Marw’ sawl gwaith ch’wel? — “ffan o dastio” — chi’n deall?). Myfi yw Feistr Llawn yn Urdd Cyfrinachau, gwas teyrngar i’r gwir Ddewin, y Doethur o Gymro o’r enw Siôn Du, Ceidwadwr Hen Ddirgelion y Dauwynebog a ŵyr popeth sy’n digwydd ar wyneb y blaned hon, a phopeth a ddigwydd at hynny. Atgyweiriwr breuddwydion mwrdredig, a chofiadwr bywydau wedi’u colli dan ddwylo’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd ydwyf fi. Rwy wedi bod yn llafurio i ddyfeisio moddion i roi i’r Ddaear chwerw hon flas o’i ffisig ei hun; ac ymhellach rwy wedi bod yn ymlafnio i ddysgu cyfiawnder i’r rhai cyndyn, er mai dim ond ychydig sy’n gwrando.

Warmest greetings, fellow-travellers on the way to a place we know not yet! Frederick Fantastic is my name. Well, this is not my real name, of course, but rather my magical by-name. It shows that I am one who zealously sucks every drop of marrow from the bones of life (I’ve seen the film ‘Dead Poets Society’ several times, you see? — “fan of tasting” — get it?). I am Full Master in the Guild of Secrets, faithful servant to the true Magus, the Welsh Doctor named John Dee, Keeper of the Old Mysteries of Bifrons who knows everything that happens on the face of this planet, and everything that will happen to boot. I am the mender of murdered dreams, and the remembrancer of lives lost at the hands of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers. I have been labouring to devise potions to give this embittered Earth a taste of its own medicine; and further, I have been slaving to teach righteousness to the wayward, although there are only a few who listen.

Cymaint rwy wedi’i weld, a’i glywed, a’i ddeall, trwy roi sylw i’r lleisiau sy’n fy nghwmpasu, y sibrwd o’r cysgodion, a chyfieithu’r geiriau estron sy’n dod ataf fi o’r tu hwnt, y mae arnaf fi angen eu rhannu â chi. Bellach, yng Nghlinig Y Pinwydd, rwy wedi dod o hyd i ddogfennau sy’n cynnwys neges bwysig iawn. A dyma ffrwyth f’archwilio ar ffurf nodiadau ffurfiol, a recordiadau, a sgriblan athroniaethol, a darnau creadigol yn ôl pob sôn. O, myn fy ffydd, maent yn ceisio f’atal i, asiantau’r drefn arallfydol, mynachod y frawdoliaeth gycyllog dan awdurdod y pregethwr anfad, y Peintiwr Coch. Mae’r cythreuliaid wedi drysu’r llawysgrifau i gyd, ond fe ddaliaf ati er eu gwaethaf nhw. Ac yn enw Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd y Nw Yrth, fe fyddaf yn bwrw fy llid ar y rhai sydd yn dymuno rhwystro ein hachos ni’r ymladdwyr dros ryddid, naill ai yn y byd hwn neu ynteu yn y byd a ddaw! Yn gyntaf, fodd bynnag, rhaid i fi esbonio tipyn bach amdanaf fi fy hunan. Darllenwch, felly, ac wylo, o ddarganfod y gwirionedd llawen am ein lle yn y fuchedd hon.

How much I have seen, and heard, and understood, by giving heed to the voices that surround me, the whispering from the shadows, and translating the foreign words that come to me from beyond, and which I need to share with you. Now, in The Pines Clinic, I have found documents which contain a very important message. And here is the fruit of my research in the form of formal notes, and recordings, and philosophical scribblings, and what appear to be creative pieces. Oh, upon my faith, they are attempting to prevent me, the agents of the otherworldly order, the monks of the cowled brotherhood under the command of the unholy preacher, the Red Painter. The devils have mixed up all the manuscripts, but I shall stick with it despite them. And in the name of the Indolent Idolaters of the Nw Yrth, I shall have vengeance on those who wish to thwart our cause, we the freedom-fighters, either in this world, or the next! Read on, therefore, and weep, discovering the happy truth about our place in this existence.

Ond onid felly y penderfynwch, fe fyddwn i’n awgrymu gorwedd i lawr mewn ‘stafell dywyll, a chael dysgled hyfryd o de mate claear. O’m rhan i, rwy’n hoff iawn o ddarllen (ac ysgrifennu) nofelau gothig yn f’amser sbâr i ymlacio. Wedi’r cwbl, mae rhaid i hyd yn oed Buffy, Leiddiad Fampiriaid (f’arwres!), fynd ar wyliau unwaith yn y pedwar amser. A phan eilw’r awen pwy eill ei gwrthod? Gyda llaw, rwy wastad o ddifri calon, fel y gwelwch chi, ac rwy’n hoffi gwledda ar ffilmiau cyffrous megis ‘Gladiator’, ond, peidiwch â phoeni, rwy’n sylweddoli hefyd mai hiwmor diatal sydd yn iro olwynion y byd, fel y meddant hwy (wel, y rhai nad ydynt â’r sgiliau cyfathrebu sy’n perthyn i sach wlyb o ffuredau marw!). Felly nid tranc a thristwch fydd popeth! Fe fyddaf yn eich gadael gyda phob dymuniad da, a phob bendith am ddyfodol llawn o ddifyrrwch a thrawsffurfiad. A chofiwch chi wrth ichi dyfu a datblygu: enfawr dych chi, cynhwyswch laweroedd: gadewch nawr iddyn nhw fyw!

But if it is not thus that you decide, I would suggest reclining in a dark room, and having a lovely cup of luke-warm matte tea. For my part, I am very fond of reading (and writing) gothic novels in my spare time in order to relax. After all, even Buffy the Vampire Slayer (my heroine!) has to go on holiday once in a blue moon. And, when the Muse calls, who can resist Her? By the way, I am always deadly serious, as you can see, and I like feasting on exciting films like ‘Gladiator’, but, don’t worry, I appreciate too that it’s unrestrained humour that greases the world’s wheels, as they say (well the ones who don’t have the communication skills belonging to a wet sack of dead ferrets!). So it shall not all be doom and gloom! I’ll leave you with every good wish, and every blessing, for a future full of diversion and transformation. And remember whilst you grow and develop: you are enormous, you contain multitudes; now then allow them to grow!

“’Vrith’f u hwahlé ína. Fli-salmé lif hýl fli-afoth-ri fy m’athoo nayn hýl hlispi fliri’f fl’azis hýl” –  U ‘Vrithhain .
“Ia Firithe iusonu ina. A sana, ā fathe inā thu a lisipāzisas sanas ī the” – I Hain u Firithe.
“Yr oedd, yn y dechreuad, yr Haul. Ac ar ei ben ei hunan ydoedd, wedi lapio amdano â myfyrdod, heb adnabod neb ond Efe’i hun” – Cân yr Haul.
“There was, in the beginning, the Sun. And He was alone, and wrapped in thought, and knowing only Himself” – The Sunsong.

Mynegai Pennod / Chapter Index

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 1 Ychwanegol

Pennod Un: Mae Ffred yn Sgriblan / Ffred’s Scribbling

Wel, helo bawb! Ffred sy ma. Wi di bod yn brysur iawn yn ddiweddar. Rhaid i fi neud hyn gan fod pethau’n newid mor gyflym yn ein byd trist a phoenus ni ar hyn o bryd, a wi’n ofni bydda i’n cael ‘ngadael ar ôl fel arall. Newydd gwpla cwrs bendigedig ar-lein gyda grŵp o’r enw “Plant y Wawr Ddu” dw i, gan ddysgu am “Arddeisyf Etheraidd Ymarferol.” Neno’r Saith Anhraethadwy, roedd yn anodd i ddyn fel fi sy’n fwy cyfarwydd â phethau syml fel meithrin y ffwng gorau a pharatoi dognau. A bod yn onest, sa i’n nabod be wi di gonsurio nac a fydda i’n gallu cael gwared arno fe. Mae un peth yn siŵr fe fydd arna i angen ymarfer y swynion bwrw allan fel y cythraul o hyn ‘mlaen! Ond eto i gyd, dros Dymor Edifeirwch Hir wi di bod ati yn nwnsiwn Coleg yr Angylesau Syrthiedig, y tro hwn yn neud cwrs i ddysgu sut i reoli elfennau natur. O, nefi bliw, mae wedi bod yn wych! Licwn i hala “diolch” enfawr i’n tiwtor ni, Arianithi Sesiha, oedd yn seraffaidd, ond eitha sarffaidd ‘fyd. Wel, does fawr o ryfeddod ‘na, achos bod pawb yn mynd yn fwyfwy bwystfilaidd y dyddiau ‘ma. Sa i di cael cymaint o hwyl ers achau, a dyna rywbeth i’w ddathlu yn yr amseroedd tywyll a barbaraidd ‘ma sydd ohoni. Heb raid dweud, fe ddysgon ni i gyd lawer o bethau ‘fyd, ac mae’r technegau’n ddefnyddiol iawn i gadw’r gelod bychain peiriannol draw! Yn anffodus, sa i’n gallu rhannu cyfrinachau’r hud gyda chi, er eich lles eich hunain, ac am mod i di addo. Fodd bynnag, wi di bod yn sgrifennu llawer o lythyrau, a phethau i’n papur bro lleol ni, y Malwr-Awyr, dros y blynyddoedd, yn cynnwys adroddiadau ar ddramâu. Felly dyma dipyn bach o’n sgriblan i roi blas i chi ar sut mae pethau wedi bod yn datblygu rown’ fan ‘yn.

Well, hello everyone! Ffred here. I’ve been very busy recently. I’ve got to be, as things’re changing so quickly in our sad and painful world at the moment, and I’m fearful I’ll be left behind otherwise. I’ve just finished a superb online course with a group called “Children of the Black Dawn,” learning about “Practical Ethereal Invocation.” By the Seven Unspeakable Ones, it was hard for a man like me who’s more familiar with simple things like cultivating the best fungus and preparing potions. To be honest, I don’t know what I’ve conjured, nor whether I’ll be able to get rid of it. One thing’s certain, I’ll have to practise the banishing spells like crazy from now on! But then again, over the Season of Long Repentance, I’ve been hard at it in the dungeon of the College of the Fallen She-Angels, this time doing a course to learn how to control the natural elements. O, dear heavens, it was great! I’d like to send a huge “thanks” to our tutor, Arianithi Sesilithi, who was seraphic, but quite serpentine too. Well, no surprise there, as everyone’s getting more and more bestial these days. I haven’t had so much fun for ages, and that’s something to celebrate in today’s dismal and barbaric times. Needless to say, we all learned a lot of stuff too, and the techniques are very useful for keeping the miniature mechanical leeches away! Unfortunately, I can’t share the magical secrets with you, for your own good, and ‘cos I’ve promised. However, I’ve been writing lots of letters, and things for our local Welsh-language paper the Air-Masher, over the years, including reports on plays. So, here’s a bit of my scribbling to give you a taste of how things have been progressing round here.

 

HUD THEATRIG: Helo Bawb! Ffred sy ‘ma, yn gofyn ‘Ai hon yw dagr a welaf o’m blaen i?’ Y mis ‘ma licwn i gyflwyno i chi adolygiad o ddrama yr es i i’w gwylio ddoe yn Neuadd Dref Aber-cennin. A bod yn onest, y gwir reswm y mynychais i’r digwyddiad oedd achos bod Ethelwen, nith fach fy lojer (sy’n un ar bymtheg oed) yn chwarae rhan bwysig, ond rhaid i fi ddweud, er gwaethaf hynny, y mwynheais i fy hunan yn fawr iawn. Cafodd y ddrama o’r enw ‘Em ac Ec Beth?’ ei hysgrifennu gan y dramodydd o Almaenwr Wilhelm Cynhyrfwr-waywffon, rwy’n credu (maen nhw’n lico gwneud cyfansoddeiriau yn yr Almaeneg).THEATRICAL MAGIC: Hiya All! Ffred here, asking ‘Is this a dagger I see before me?’ This month I’d like to present you with a review of a play I went to see Aber-cennin Town Hall. To be honest, the real reason I attended the event was because Ethelwen, my lodger’s little niece (who’s 16 years old) was playing an important part, but I have to say, despite that, I enjoyed myself very much. The play, called ‘M and C What?’ was written by the German playwright Wilhelm Cynhyrfwr-waywffon, I believe (they do like to make compound words in German).
Mae wedi'i lleoli yn y Parth Glas yn yr hen ddyddiau, ac yn cynnwys llawer o wleidyddiaeth hanesyddol a phethau gwael fel arglwyddi sy'n cysgu drwy’r amser ym Mhalas yr Henuriaid Dyrchafedig pan nad ydyn nhw'n dweud celwyddau noeth, caethiwo ac ecsbloetio'r werin bobl, a llofriddio'i gilydd. Cyffrous iawn ydy’n wir, ond pam y sgrifennai dramodydd o Almaenwr am bethau a ddigwyddodd yn y Parth Glas ganrifoedd yn ôl sy’n achosi penbleth i fi. Rwy’n dwlu ar yr hanes arswyd am ysbrydion sy'n gweini ar feddyliau meidrolion, tra'u llanwant o’r corun i’r sawdl â chreulondeb enbytaf, gan dewychu’u gwaed! Rhyfedd o berthnasol i’r sefyllfa yn y wlad hon Bretany heddiw ydy, heb os, hefyd! Creda i fod Pobl y Parth Glas eisiau cipio grym yn Ynys y Teyrnasau Anghytûn, gyda help yr Undeb Masnachol Milwrol Byd-Eang, gan ddefnyddio technoleg fel peiriannau mwg a drychau hudol. Naeth y nith berfformio’n eithriadol o dda, gan sgrechian a llefain a rhuthro lan a lawr, wedi’i gwisgo mewn rhyw fath o len, ychydig yn debyg i ysbryd neu i wrach. ‘Y Frenhines Teras Mai’ oedd enw ei chymeriad (yr ‘Em’ yn y teitl), ac ‘Y Tywysog Bors ap Siôn’ oedd ei chariad, a cheisiai fe ei lladd hithau yn y pendraw. Ac ro’n nhw ill dau eisiau lladd eu gelyn gwaetha, ‘Yr Arglwydd Ieramheel Corbin’ (yr ‘Ec’ yw hon). Ond drwy'r amser, yn y cefndir, y tu hwnt i'r llenni, ar wahân i'r Dewiniaid a'r Pendefigion, dyna'r Anrhydeddus Arglwyddes Macbeth, Boneddiges y Siambr Wely i’r Frenhines Waedlyd, yn dyfeisio cynllwynion, a rhaffu celwyddau, a thynnu llinynnau er mwyn cyflawni'i dibenion ysgeler ei hun. Ac eto i gyd, mae'n digwydd taw hithau sy'n gweini ar y Grymoedd Rhyfedd 'na o'r enw y Delkvovim sydd eisiau gorfodi'u hewyllys ar yr holl Delkurí sy'n byw yn ein Byd ni, a'u newid am bythm greda i (Mae'n flin 'da fi, ond dw i'm yn siŵr am y geiriau estron yma.)It’s set in the Blue Zone in the old days, and contains lots of historical politics and awful things like lords who are asleep all the time in the Palace of the Exalted Elders, when they're not lying compulsively, enslaving and exploiting the proles, and slaughtering each other. It’s definitely very exciting, but why a German dramatist would write about things that happened in the Blue Zone centuries ago is causing me a headache. I love the horrible story about spirits that tend on mortals’ thoughts, filling them from the crown to the toe top-full of direst cruelty, whilst thickening the blood. It’s also strangely relevant to the situation in this land of Pretany today, without a doubt! I believe that the People of the Blue Zone want to seize power in the Island of the Disunited Kingdoms, with the help of the World-Wide Military Mercantile Union, using technology like smoke machines and magic mirrors. The niece performed exceptionally well, shouting and weeping and rushing up and down, wearing some kind of sheet, a bit like a ghost or a witch. ‘Queen May’ was the name of her character (the ‘M’ in the title), and ‘Boris John’s-son’ was her lover, and he tried to kill her in the end. And the two of them wanted to kill their worst enemy, ‘Lord Jeremiah Corbyn’ (that’s the ‘C’). But all the time, in the background, behind the scenes, apart from the Wizards and the Nobles, there's the Honurbale Lady Macbeth, Lady of the Bedchamber to the Bloody Queen, planning, and spinning lies, and pulling strings in order to fulfil her own ends. And then again, it turns out she is serving those Weird Powers called the Delkvovim who want to impose their will on all the Delkurí who live in our World, and change them forever, I believe (I'm sorry but I'm not sure about the foreign words here.)
A bod yn onest, lladdodd y nith fach ei hun, a phob copa walltog gaeth ei ladd hefyd mae’n ymddangos. Wedi’r cwbl, ‘Efe gaiff waed; ebe hwynt, Gwaed a geith waed,’ fel y dywed y dyfyniad ar y posteri. Ond roedd un peth yn anodd i fi. Mae’r cyfieithiad i’r Gymraeg gan lanc rhyfeddol o ryw wlad annatblygedig ar lan Afon Sed yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, o’r enw Daa·hweeth Oh·fé neu Daud Pekar (Dai Baxter, dw i'n ddweud) i fod i fod yn ardderchog (enw od arno ta be, on’d ife?). Serch hynny, ddeallwn i’m y rhan fwyaf o beth roedd yr actorion yn ei ddweud – efallai bod nhw’n siarad yr Albaneg neu’r Almaeneg – er bod yr iaith yn swnio fel y Rwsieg, neu rywbeth. Rhyw fath o rwtsh, ta be. Wedi dweud hynny, roedd yn eithriadol o ddiwylliannol, gyda’r holl fabanod mewn crochanau, a choedwigoedd yn cerdded, o a’r gwaed i gyd mor goch â chetshyp tomato! ‘A'r coed a ddifethodd fwy o'r bobl nag a ddifethodd y cleddyf y diwrnod hwnnw’ – roedd Hanes Proffwydol Talbot yn gywir am hynny'n ddi-os, hyd yn oed os hen hocedwr oedd e.To be honest, the little niece killed herself, and every last one of ‘em got killed too it appears. After all, ‘Blood will have blood, they say, Blood will have blood,’ as the quotation declares on the posters. But one thing was hard for me. The translation into Welsh by the strange lad from some undeveloped country on the banks of the Sed in the Heart of the Continent, named Daa·hweeth Oh·fé or Daud Pekar (Dai Baxter, I say) is supposed to be excellent (odd name he’s got though, hasn’t he?). Despite that I didn’t understand the majority of what the actors were saying – perhaps they were speaking Scottish or German – although the language sounded like Russian, or somesuch. Some kind of rubbish, in any case. Having said that, it was exceptionally cultural, with all the babies in cauldrons, and walking forests, and all the blood, as red as tomato ketchup! ‘And the trees destroyed more of the people than the sword destroyed that day’ – Talbot's Prophetic History was right about that without a doubt, even if he was an old rogue.
Beth, yn wir, oedd yn digwydd? Beth a wn i? Serch ny roedd yn brofiad bythgofiadwy. Bydd y cwmni (‘Y Chwaraewyr Chwit-chwat’ fel y'u hadwaenir gan y deallusion) yn hercian o gwmpas trefi a phentrefi'r Deheudi dros y gaeaf i ddod â mawredd diwylliant i’r werin bobl yn ystod y tymor mwyaf creulon hwn, sy’n codi lelocs yn y pridd mar’, gan ddrysu cofion â chwant. Dylech chi fynd i weld y sioe ddisglair hon yn bendant. Gair i gall – mae mwy na digon o waed yn llifo fel afon lithrog, ludiog drwy’r perfformiad o ddechrau i ddiwedd. Mae na dipyn bach o fwdw hefyd yn ogystal â dogn o iaith fras fel y gwn i. Byddwch yn ofalus os nad ydych yn hoff iawn o gyfresi treisgar yn debyg i ‘Oddi mewn i’r Cysgodion’ ar y teledu (Ww, mae’n gwneud i fi grynu bob tro!)!What, in fact, was happening? What do I know? Despite that it was an unforgettable experience. The company (‘The Fickle Fol-de-Rols’ as they are known to the intelligentsia) will be dragging themselves around the towns and villages of the Southlands across the winter to bring the wonder of culture to the common people during this cruellest season, which grows lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire. You should go the see this dazzling show, definitely. A word to the wise – there’s more than enough blood flowing like a slippery, sticky river through this performance from start to finish. There’s a bit of voodoo too, as well as a dollop of bad language, as far as I know. Be careful if you’re not too fond of violent series like ‘Out of the Shadows' on the telly (Ooh, it makes me quiver every time!).
DADFLOCIO FY MHIBELLAU: O, gan bwyll nawr, yn hen gymrodyr, yr oedd helbul a helynt yn Ein Tŷ Ni’n ddiweddar gyda’r plymwaith. Nage dyn i gwyno am ddim byd ydw i, ond ar y llaw arall, rwy wastad eisiau diolchi’n wresog i bobl am wasanaeth da. Felly dyma i chi gopi o’r llythyr a anfonais i fynegi pa mor ddiolchgar o’n i pan ges i fy achub rhag tynged waeth na marwolaeth —UNBLOCKING MY PIPES: Oh, steady on now, me old mates, there was trouble and strife in Our ‘Ouse recently with the plumbing. Not that I’m man to complain about anything, but, on the other hand, I always want to give warm thanks to people for good service. So, here you have a copy of the letter I sent to express how thankful I was when I was saved from a fate worse than death —
‘Twym fel Tostyn’ Gwasanaethau Gwres: Annwyl Cyfarwyddwr y Cwmni! Yn ffodus iawn, yr oedd angen arnaf alw ar eich cwmni am ymgeledd a chymorth yr wythnos diwethaf pan gefais broblemau ofnadwy gyda’r gwres canolog yn fy mwthyn pitw, a bu bron i mi rewi i farwolaeth yn fy ngharafán lle rwy wedi bod yn byw y tu ôl i’r tŷ dros y gaeaf oherwydd stŵr gyda’r lletywraig. Syrthiaswn i gysgu tra perfformiai ei nith fach mewn drama, ond problem arall yw honno.‘Warn as Toast’ Heating Services: Dear Company Director! Very fortunately, I had need of calling upon your company for succour and support last week when I experienced awful problems with the central heating in my tiny cottage, and I almost froze to death in my caravan where I have been living behind the house over the winter due to ructions with my lady lodger. I had fallen asleep while her niece was performing in a play, but that’s a different problem.
Mae eich hysbysebion (fe’u gwelaswn ar yr arwyddfwrdd yn Nhesbyro) yn honni mai ‘nyni yw’r mwyaf proffesiynol yn y busnes’ ac mewn gwirionedd, o ganlyniad i’m profiad, dywedwn mai hollol gywir yw’r gosodiad hunananghymeradwyol hwn. Felly, teimlaf fod rhaid imi ysgrifennu atoch er mwyn eich llongyfarch am safon eich gwasanaeth, sydd yn eithriadol o dda. Gyda llaw, nid oes golwg ohonoch yn yr hen archfarchnad ffiaidd o’r enw ‘Uwch-siopau,’ a dylai yna fod, yn bendifaddau.Your advertisements (they are to be seen on the noticeboards in Tesbyro) claim that ‘We are the most professional in the business’ and in truth, as a result of my experience, I would say that this self-deprecating statement is totally true. Thus, I feel that I need to write to you in order to congratulate you for the standard of your service, which is exceptionally good. By the way, there no sign of them in the horrid supermarket named ‘Super-shops,’ and there should be, indubitably.
O’r tro cyntaf pan wnes i’r alwad ffôn i ofyn am gymorth, cyrhaeddai eich staff bob amser yn brydlon. Wel, gorau po gyntaf, meddant, ac rwy’n cytuno’n llwyr yn yr achos hwn! Ar ben hynny, roeddent yn amyneddgar pan oeddwn yn holi iddynt ar hir broses beth oedd yn digwydd. Roeddent ymhellach yn paratoi potiau o de ar fy nghyfer, er nad ydwyf yn yfed y fath hylif drewllyd; te mate yw fy hoff ddiod. Eto i gyd, siriol oedd pob un o’r chwe llanc, hyd yn oed pan na fwytwn y sleisys enfawr o deisen y cynigient mor rheolaidd â deial, ychwaith. Er, o feddwl amdani’n ddwys, ryw’n credu bod chwe phobl yn ormodol, cofiwch chi!From the first time I made the phone call to ask for help, your staff arrived punctually on every occasion. Well, the sooner the better, they say, and I totally agree in this case! On top of that, they were patient when I was asking at length what was happening. Furthermore they prepared pots of tea for me, although I do not drink such stinking brew; maté tea is my favourite beverage. Then again, every one of the six lads was cheerful, even when I would not eat the enormous slices of cake they offered me as regular as clockwork, either. Although, thinking about it, I think six people is excessive, mind you!
Yr oedd ansawdd y gwaith ei hun yn rhagorol hefyd, achos bod y lle yn dechrau teimlo cyn dwymed â’r Sahara ar ôl iddynt adael am y trydydd tro, heb sôn am y ffaith bod eich prisiau’n rhesymol dros ben, wedi rhoi cyfrif am yr holl flychau drudfawr o de Tibetaidd, a’r gacen hufen o fforest law'r Amason. Dyna pam ryw’n mynnu talu’n llawn ac yn ychwanegu cildwrn sylweddol. Rydych yn cynnig gwasanaeth heb ei ail, felly byddaf yn cysylltu â chi eto, a dywedaf wrth fy lletywraig am wneud yn union yr un peth os byddaf yn ei gweld yn fuan. Daliwch ati: marchogion ar feirch gwynion ydych! Dymunwn eich canmol i’r cymylau a’r tu hwnt. Yn eiddoch yn gywir, Mr Ff Phantastig.The standard of the work itself was excellent also, because the place began to feel as warm as the Sahara after they left for the third time, not to mention the fact that your prices are exceedingly reasonable, after taking into account all the costly boxes of Tibetan tea, and the Amazonian gateau. That’s why I am insisting on paying in full and adding a substantial tip. You offer second-to-none service, so I shall be contacting you again, and I shall tell my lady lodger to do the exactly the same thing if I see her soon. Keep up the good work: you are knights in shining armour! I would like to give you the highest praise, and more. Yours faithfully, Mr Ff Phantastig.
CEFNOGWCH EICH CYMUNED LEOL! Mae pethau’n mynd o ddrwg i wael ym Mrynfelin ein cymuned hyfryd ni, ar hyn o bryd am fod cwmni o’r enw ‘Uwch-siopau’ eisiau agor archfarchnad enfawr yng nghanol y dref y flwyddyn nesaf. Fe sylweddola pawb eu bod nhw wedi gwneud yn union yr un peth o’r blaen yn y dinasoedd o gwmpas yr ardal, gan achosi i’r rhan fwyaf o werthwyr a chynhyrchwyr lleol golli eu swyddi. Maen nhw’n honni eu bod nhw’n hybu’r economi ac yn creu cyfoeth, ond fel y gwyddoch chi, celwydd noeth yw hyn mewn gwirionedd, a dim ond malu cachu y maent. A beth am Tesbyro? Dyna eisoes y lle lleia drwg i siopa ynddo, fe ddyweda i.SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL COMMUNITY! Things are going from bad to worse in our lovely community of Brynfelin right now, as a company called ‘Super-shops’ wants to open an enormous supermarket in the middle of the town next year. Everyone realises that they’ve done exactly the same thing before in the cities around the area, causing most of the local sellers and producers to lose their jobs. They allege that they’re stimulating the economy and creating wealth, but as you know, this is a barefaced lie in truth, and they’re just talking shit. And what about Tesbyro? That’s already the least bad place to shop in, say I.
Wedi dweud hynny, mae ysgol newydd, tri chant o dai, tafarn a sinema wedi’u creu ger yr adeiladau newydd sbon yn Aber-cennin yn ddiweddar, ond ni allaf ddweud o ganlyniad i beth mae hyn wedi digwydd mor sydyn. Y peth nesaf fydd i’w weld yma yw fod llefaryddion y cwmni’nbwriadu dod lan o'n Prifddinas Hynafol Hyfryd ni i gwrdd ag aelodau’r cyhoedd yn ein tref fach bert, er mwyn i ni ‘ddod o hyd i fwy o wybodaeth’ am y sefyllfa ofnadwy sy’n prysur ddatblygu. Ddim gwybodaeth sydd ei heisiau yma, ond weithredu uniongyrchol. Os nad chi, pwy; os nad yn awr, pryd?Having said that, a new school, three hundred houses, a pub and a school have been created near the brand-new buildings in Aber-cennin recently, but I can’t say as a result of what this has happened so suddenly. The next thing that will be seen here is that spokespersons of the company are intending to come up from our Lovely Ancient Capital to meet members of the public in our pretty little town, so that we can ‘find out more information’ am the awful situation that’s quickly developing. It’s not information that’s needed here, but direct action. If not you then who; if not now then when?
Byddwch chi’n siŵr o fod yno, yn Neuadd y Dref, ddydd Sul, 1af Ebrill am 9 o’r gloch y bore i fynegi eich gwrthwynebiaeth i’r cynllun gwael hwn. Defnyddiwch eich llais neu collwch eich hunan-barch! Os na fyddwch yn gwneud dim byd, fe fyddwn ni i gyd yn dioddef yn enbyd yn y dyfodol. Fi a ddylai wybod – dw i fy hunan eisoes wedi colli llawer o fusnes yn gwerthu hufen harddwch y tu mas i Tesbyro. Wi’n credu taw un o’r cynhyrfwr dros Uwch-siopau a hysbysodd yr heddlu ynghylch fy menter fach – yr hen gythraul. Gadwech i ni sefyll ynghyd -- mewn undeb y mae nerth!Be sure to be there, in the Town Hall, Sunday 1st April at 9am to express your opposition to this horrible plan. Use your voice or lose your self-respect! If you don’t do anything, we’ll all suffer terribly in the future. I should know – I myself have already lost lots of business selling beauty cream outside Tesbyro. I believe that it’s one of the Super-shops agitators who told the police about my little venture – the old devil. Let us stand together – in unity lies strength!
NEWYDDION CYFFROUS AM ŴYL GWIR A GOLAU: Fel y gŵyr pawb, am fy mhechodau rwy’n trefnu popeth ar gyfer yr ŵyl hon. Rydym ni ill dau ar y pwyllgor wedi dewis Sionyn Tew-ddyn i fod ein siaradwr gwadd. Ro’n ni ‘n arfer bod yn yr un dosbarth gyda’n gilydd pan o’n ni’n gryts nes iddo fe gael ei fwrw mas am ei fod yn dwyn afalau oddi ar yr athrawes. Er eich gwybodaeth, dyma fi’n anfon gair i’r hen gonan sy ddim yn werth pris y stamp a bod yn onest, ond dyna ni, roedd Enwen yn ddi-ildio –EXCITING NEWS ABOUT THE FESTIVAL OF TRUTH AND LIGHT: As everyone knows, for my sins I’m organising everything for this festival. The two of us on the committee have chosen to be our Johnny Fatso to be our invited speaker. We used to be in the same class as each other when we were kids until he got thrown out because he was stealing apples from the lady teacher. For your information, here am I, having a word with the old bugger who’s not worth the price of the stamp to be honest, but there we are, Enwen was adamant —
Yr Anrhydeddus Siôn Grossmann. Annwyl Syr!, Dr Phantastig yw f’enw. Rwy’n byw ym Maes-y-tywod, hynny yw, ardal fwyaf dymunol Brynfelin, a chadeirydd grŵp bach trafod o’r enw ‘Y Rhan-amserwyr’ ydwyf ar hyn o bryd. Yn gyntaf oll, a allaf eich llongyfarch ar gael eich ethol i Lys y Sêr – trwy deg neu drwy hagr – unwaith eto, o drwch blewyn y tro hwn wrth gwrs! Ond eto i gyd, gwell y drwg a wyddys na'r drwg na wyddys, fel y medd yr athronwyr! Nid unigolyn drwg ydych chi, mae angen arnaf ddweud. Wel, rydym yn dathlu eleni hefyd, achos mai ein pen-blwydd yn ddeugain mlwydd oed ydy, ac felly byddwn yn trefnu llawer o ddigwyddiadau drwy’r dref fydd yn llawn o faneri, fflagiau, a rhubanau. The Honourable John Grossmann. Dear Sir!, Dr Ffantastig is my name. I live in Sandy-fields, that is, that most desirable area of Brynfelin, and I am chairperson of a small discussion group called ‘The Part-timers’ at the moment. First of all, can I congratulate you on being elected to the Star Chamber – by fair means or foul – once again, by a hair’s breadth this time of course! But then again, better the devil you know that the one you don’t know, as the philosophers say! Not that you are a bad person, I have to say. Well, we are celebrating this year too, as it is out fortieth anniversary, and therefore we will be organising a lot of events throughout the town, which will be full of banners, flags, and ribbons.
Bydd un o’r achlysuron arbennig yn barti yn y bar Awstralaidd o’r enw ‘Y Walabi Ewn,’ Ddydd Rhyngwladol Gwir a Golau, 29ain Chwefror, yn dechrau am 3 o’r gloch y prynhawn – caiff pawb ddigon o amser i ymlawenhau felly, gadewch inni ddweud. Byddem wrth ein boddau ped ymunech â ni er mwyn mwynhau gwydraid o win coch a brechdan gaws, a chynnig llwncdestun i’r meirwon craff i gyd. Gwn ichi fynd i’r ‘fan arall,’ sef i Brifysgol Rhydrawnt, tra mynychwn minnau Goleg Polytechnig Pontychen. Ond er gwaethaf y ffaith ichi astudio cwrs ôl-fodern a enwir yn ‘Egwyddorion Ymarfer’ (heb raid graddio) efallai yr areithiech am ychydig funudau (hyd at ddwy awr y gwnâi’r tro) ar bwysigrwydd addysg foesol mewn cymdeithas gyfoes.One of the special occasions will be a party in the Australian bar called ‘The Cheeky Wallaby,’ on the International Day of Truth and Light, February 29th, starting at 3pm – so everyone will have enough time to get jolly, let us say. We would be in our element if you could join us in order to enjoy a glass of red wine and a cheese sandwich, and offer a toast to all the discerning departed. I know that you went to the ‘other place,’ namely to Camford University, whilst I attended Oxbridge Polytechnic College. But despite the fact that you studied a post-modern course named ‘Principles of Study’ (without needing to graduate), perhaps you would hold forth for a few minutes (up to two hours would do the trick) on the importance of moral education in contemporary society.
Nid ydym yn sefydliad cyfoethog, gwaetha’r modd, ac felly mae’n ddrwg iawn gennyf na allaf eich talu am eich trafferth, yn enwedig gan fy mod yn gwybod pa mor bwysig ichi yw cael eich arian yn ei ôl ar draul y cyhoedd. Wedi dweud hynny, bydd yn bosibl inni ddarparu tocyn dwyffordd bws i Aber-cennin ichi os teithiwch yn ystod y cyfnod rhataf. Cefnogwr o gludiant cyhoeddus ydych, heb os nac oni bai. Wedyn bydd rhywun yn cwrdd â chi pan gyrhaeddwch. Rwy’n gobeithio y dewch i gymryd rhan. Nid oes rhaid i mi ddweud, bydd gohebydd o’r papur bro yno ar y dydd; rydym yn dwyn mewn cof fod cyhoeddusrwydd o bwys mwyaf i wleidyddion. Rhowch wybod imi ynglŷn â’r trefniadau cyn gynted ag y bo’n gyfleus, os gwelwch yn dda. Ydwyf, Syr (yr hen gono chi!), eich ufudd was, Ffred Phantastig.We are not a wealthy society, more’s the pity, and therefore I am very sorry that I cannot pay you for your trouble, especially as I know how important it is to you to gain reimbursement from the public purse. Having said that, it will be possible for us to provide a return bus ticket to Aber-cennin for you if you travel during the cheapest period. You are a supporter of public transport, no doubt. Then, someone will meet you when you arrive. I hope you will come to take part. I have no need to say, there will be a correspondent from the local paper there on the day; we bear in mind that publicity is of the greatest importance to politicians. Let me know about the arrangements as soon as it may be convenient, if you please. I am, Sir (you old fool), your humble and obedient servant, Ffred Phantastig.
GWNEUD CAIS AM SWYDD: Ar ôl yr holl broblemau pan o’n i’n gweithio fel lladd nadredd i atal ymosodiad gan drychfilod enfawr yng Nghlinig y Pin yn y goedwig ger yr hen Dŷ Glas sawl blwyddyn yn ôl, mae wedi bod yn anodd i fi ddal ati gyda swydd barhaol. Ond bryd hyn, prin ydy arian – a phawb drosto'i hunan, ac i'r diawl â'r diwethaf yw dywediad y dydd. Felly, pan ddigwyddais i ddod ar draws yr hysbyseb yn y papur bro am swydd briodol iawn, fe deimlai y dylai wneud cais ar unwaith, a dyma beth sgrifennais i —APPLYING FOR A JOB: After all the problems when I was working like crazy to stop the invasion by giant insects in the Pines Clinic in the woods near the old Bluehouse a few years ago, it’s been hard for me to stick at it with a permanent job. But by now, money’s scarce – and everyone for him/her self, and devil take the hindmost, is the saying of the day. So, when I happened to come across the advertisement in the local paper for a very appropriate job, I felt I should apply at once, and here’s what I wrote —
Annwyl Syr neu Fadam! Rwy wedi gweld yr hysbyseb am y swydd o’r enw ‘Cynorthwyydd Hunanlywodraethol Llawn Amser Canolfan Chwedlonol Brynfelin’ yn y papur bro fis hwn, ac rwy’n awyddus iawn i wneud cais am hon. Nid oedd llawer o fanylion yn yr hysbyseb, felly dymunwn ddweud wrthych rywfaint amdanaf fy hun er mwyn profi fy mod yn addas i wneud y gwaith y bydd rhaid i’w gyflawni o ddydd i ddydd. Rwy’n gweithio gartre ar hyn o bryd fel cyfieithydd rhydd ei law, gan gynhyrchu fersiynau hen lawysgrifau wedi’u hysgrifennu mewn ieithoedd marw fel ‘Y Crochan sy Wastad yn Llawn’ o Bahia, Brasil. Felly gallaf ddechrau ar unwaith. Arferwn weithio fel cemegydd, a deuthum yn arbenigwr hunanaddysgedig pan symudais yn ôl i Gymru, o ganlyniad i’m diddordeb yn chwedlau Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig yng Ngwm-ran. Felly mae llawer o brofiad gennyf mewn pethau anarferol.Dear Sir or Madam! I have seen the advertisement for the job of ‘Brynfelin Mythical Centre Full-time Self-managing Assistant’ in the local paper this month, and I am very keen to apply for this. There were not a lot of details in the advertisement, therefore I would like to tell you something about myself in order to prove that I am suitable to do the work that will need to be done from day to day. I work at home at the moment as a freelance translator, producing versions of old manuscripts written in dead languages, such as ‘The Overflowing Pot’ from Bahia, Brazil. So, I can start at once. I used to work as a chemist, and became a self-taught specialist when I moved back to Wales, as a result of my interest in the legends of the Temple of the Hidden Glory in Cwm-ran. So, I have a lot of experience in unusual things.
Rwy wedi bod ati’n dysgu’r Gymraeg drwy gydol f’oes, a thybiaf fy mod cyn rhugled â neb arall erbyn hyn. Rwy newydd sefyll yr arholiad priodol i’r cymhwyster o’r enw ‘Diploma mewn Astudiaethau,’ a ddarperir gan Sefydliadau Cyfun Rhydrawnt a Phontychen. Pam na chynigir hwn gan Goleg Cymraeg a Chymreig? Nid myfi a ŵyr. Llwyddais yn orchestol yn y prawf hwn, a nawr gallaf areithio gan ddefnyddio brawddegau erchyll o gymhleth mewn Cymraeg hynafol, fel y rhai a geir yn ‘Cystrawen y Frawddeg Gymraeg’ gan Melville Richards (Gwasg Prifysgol Cymru Caerdydd; 1970).I have been working hard to learn Welsh all my life, and I think that I am as fluent as anyone else by now. I have just sat the exam for the qualification called ‘Diploma in Studies,’ which is provided by the Combined Institutions of Oxbridge and Camford. Why is this not offered by a Welsh-language Welsh College? I do not know. I passed with flying colours in this test, and now I can orate using horrifyingly complex sentences in Ancient Welsh, such as those in ‘Cystrawen y Frawddeg Gymraeg’ by Melville Richards (University of Wales Press Cardiff; 1970).
Byddwn yn falch o gael cyfle i gefnogi’n hiaith, ein diwylliant, ein hanes, ein chwedlau, a’n harferion od yn y Ganolfan ac i’w hybu yn y gymuned ehangach y tu hwnt – megis trwy hudoliaeth neu beidio. Mae rhaid imi ddweud fy mod yn hoff iawn o anifeiliaid, yn enwedig cathod, ac os bydd angen gallaf drin â phobl yn dda iawn hefyd, yn ôl fy lletywraig arhosol. Rwy’n berffaith siŵr fod y gwasanaeth cymuned yn yr ysgol i blant unigryw, y bu raid imi ei wneud o ganlyniad i gamgymeriad anffodus yn y gweithle, wedi bod yn ddefnyddiol iawn o safbwynt deall pobl ifanc a hŷn a’u gormodedd o fannau gwan. Ymhellach, rwy wedi dod o hyd i oriau agor y Canolfan yn ystod yr wythnos ar eich gwefan, ac yn wir y credaf mai eithriadol o bwysig ydy presenoldeb ar y rhyngrwyd.I would be pleased to get a chance to support our language, our culture, our history, and our strange customs in the Centre and to promote them in the wider community beyond – as if by magic, or not. I must say that I am very fond of animals, especially cats, and if necessary I can deal with people very well too, according to my permanent lodging-lady. I am perfectly sure that the community service in the school for unique children that I had to do on account of an unfortunate mistake in the workplace, has been very useful from the point of view of understanding people, old and young, and their profusion of foibles. Furthermore, I have found the Centre’s opening times during the week on your website, and indeed I believe that an internet-presence is exceptionally important.
Es i ar gwrs o’r enw Hyfforddiant Cyfathrebu Pwrpasol yn Ysgol Ffydd y Ddau Ferthyr Dienw ar Bymtheg a Thrigain yn ddiweddar, wedi’i drefnu gan gangen ranbarthol Cymdeithas Ostyngedig Arolygwyr a Chywirwyr. Rwy’n deall cyfathrebu ac offerynnau cyfathrebu, a gallaf ddatblygu cynllun cyfathrebu syml ar gyfer ein Canolfan, gan ddefnyddio meddalwedd ar gyfer gwefannau i gynyddu ein presenoldeb ar y rhyngrwyd am ddim. Ar ben hynny, hoffwn ddefnyddio rhwydweithiau cymdeithasol i weithio’n agos gyda chynulleidfaoedd newydd ac i ennill incwm, gan ddefnyddio’r cyfryngau i hyrwyddo eich gwaith, trwy ysgrifennu straeon addas ar gyfer y newyddion, a thrwy lunio datganiadau i’r wasg.I went on a course called Appropriate Communication Training in the the Seventy-Seven Faceless Martyrs Faith School recently, organised by the regional branch of the Humble Society of Invigilators and Correctors. I understand communication and tools of communication, and can develop a simple communication plan for our Centre, using website software to increase our presence on the internet for free. On top of that, I would like to use social networks to work closely with new audiences and to earn income, using the media to promote our work, by writing stories suitable for the news, and by fashioning press-releases.
Dim ond dau gwestiwn sydd gennyf, sef yn gyntaf, a fydd angen arnaf wneud ceisiadau am gyllid o gwbl? Rwy wedi ennill maint bach oddi wrth Sefydliad Tywysogaidd Cymru yn y gorffennol (enw sydd yn annealladwy i’m hymennydd dryslyd o leiaf, ond dyna ni, nid dim mor rhyfedd â dyn, ife?), er mwyn gwneud arbrofion cemegol ynglŷn â pherffeithio elicsir clirwelediad o fadarch hudol, a thawelydd y bydd milfeddygon yn ei ddefnyddio ar geffylau, gwartheg ac anifeiliaid eraill. Wedi dweud hynny, gwerthfawrogwn hyfforddiant ychwanegol pe bai hwn ar gael.I have only two questions, namely first, will I need to apply for finance at all? I have won a small amount from the Princely Association of Wales in the past (a name which is incomprehensible to my confused mind at least, but there we are, there’s nowt as strange as folk, is there?), in order to do chemical experiments involved in perfecting a potion of second-sight from magic mushrooms, and tranquilizer that veterinaries use for horses, cattle, and other animals. Having said that, I would appreciate additional training if that were available.
Fy ail gwestiwn yw hwn: beth fydd yr amserau cyfatebol dros y Sul? Fe fyddai’n well gennyf weithio ar ddydd Sadwrn nag ar brynhawn Gwener, gan fod angen imi fynychu seremoni yn y Deml bryd hynny, yn fy rôl fel Ceidwad y Cyfrinachau. Gobeithiaf y diwallech fy anghenion arbennig yn hyn o beth. Rwy’n brwd ddisgwyl eich ymateb. Ryw’n edrych ymlaen at ddechrau cyn gynted ag y bo bosibl ac mewn gwirionedd ofnadwy o gyffrous ydwyf. Yr eiddoch yn gywir, Ffred Phantastig.My second question is this: what will be the equivalent hours over the weekend? I would prefer working on Saturday than on Friday afternoon, as I need to attend a ceremony in the Temple at that time, in my role as Keeper of the Secrets. I hope that you could satisfy my special needs in this. I am keenly awaiting your answer. I look forward to beginning as soon as it may be possible and in truth I am terribly excited. Yours faithfully, Ffred Phantastig.
Wel, dyna ni wedi dod i ben ar y sgwrsio unwaith to, bobol bach! Hwyl am y tro, wela i chi i gyd fis nesaf gyda rhagor o ddiwylliant, materion cyfoes, hysbysebion cymunedol ac yn y blaen, ac ati hyd at gyfoedi – a chofiwch, ‘Tyrd, gad im’ dy gythru. Ni’th ddalaf, ond fe’th ddalaf di’n wir.’Well, there we are at the end of our chattering once again, you folks! Bye-bye for now, I’ll see you all again next month with more culture, current affairs, community announcements, and so on and so forth, ad nauseam – and remember, ‘Come, let me clutch thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.’

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 3 Ychwanegol

Pennod Dau: Mae Ffred yn Bwyta Mas / Ffred Eats Out

Cyfarchion cynhesaf fy nghyfeillion bore oes! Mor ddymunol ydy cael pleser eich cwmni unwaith yn rhagor. Heddiw mynnaf eich goleuo ynghylch y pwnc llosg o fwyd rhyngwladol. “Yr Eliffant Gwyn” yw fy hoff dŷ bwyta heb gysgod o amheuaeth. Lle lliwgar iawn ydy, sy’n drewi o ffrwyth Indiaidd gwaharddedig. Dychmygwch y ddau hen ddihiryn hynny, Dvaldí a Hlevné, yn noethlymun groen yng Ngardd y Pleserau Daearol (nid oedd angen dail ffigys bryd hynny) lle dan ganghennau coeden bomgranad yr eistedd duw tew a chwardd yn ei ddyblau, ac iddo drwnc hir sarffaidd, clustiau dirfawr sigladwy, a llawer o freichiau fel Mistar Goglais. Ac yno mae’r creadur hyf yn denu’r ddau sy’n newynu am wybodaeth ryseitiau dirgel â dysglau fyrdd o gyrri stemllyd, danteithiol.

Ww, dyw swyddogion Cangen Filwrol newydd yr EFE (hynny yw, yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang) dim yn rhy hoff o gwbl o’r fath ffeuau drygioni ble bydd y bywyd, y diodydd, y sbeisys, y gerddoriaeth ac adloniant arall, a’r naws, yn peri i ddyn lawenychu’n ddirfawr. Yn wir fe allai’r ficeriaid arfog ddwyn cyrch ar y lle unrhyw bryd. Eto i gyd, dim ond apothecari gostyngedig a dibwys wyf fi, wrth gwrs, sy’n tincran gyda hud yn ei amser sbâr, a dyw hi ddim fel petai olyniaeth faith o Ddewiniaid yn y teulu. Dyw’r awdurdodau ddim yn talu fawr o sylw imi, yn enwedig pan wyf wedi bod yn prysur weithio mor ddirgel yn labordy’r Clinig yn Aberdydd. Er gwaethaf fy holl bryderon, felly, ynghylch y pethau ofnadwy sy’n digwydd ym mhob cwr o’r Byd, dw i ddim yn gallu peidio mynychu bwytai cudd, sinemâu tanddaearol, arddangosfeydd anghyfreithlon, a chyrsiau astrus.

Nid gŵr dewr mohonof fi, ond bydd yr ofn yn gwneud i’r suddion creadigol lifo. Yna fe fyddaf yn ymdrwytho yn y syniadau rhyfedd fydd yn codi bob amser i lenwi fy nychymyg ffrwythlon a’m hysbrydoli. O bryd i’w gilydd fe deimlaf fel petai Grym Diatal y Ddaear yn arllwys trwof fi, hyd yn oed, gan fy ngalw yn fy mlaen tuag at ryw Fyd Arall. Rwy’n rhyw hanner breuddwydio mai os byddaf yn ymladd yn ôl cyn amled ag y medraf yn fy ffordd fy hun, dyna fydd un i’r awdurdodau gormesol. Dyma adroddiad wedi’i seilio ar fy mhrofiad fy hun felly, gobeithio byddwch chi’n ei fwynhau, neu gael rhyw les ganddo o leiaf.

Warmest greetings my lifelong buddies! It is so gratifying to have the pleasure of your company once again. Today I wish to enlighten you regarding the burning topic of international cuisine. “The While Elephant” is my favourite restaurant without a shadow of a doubt. It is a most colourful place, which reeks of forbidden Indian fruit. Imagine those two old scoundrels, Dvaldí and Hlevné, stark-naked in the Garden of Earthly Delights (there was no need for fig-leaves at that time) where sits, under the boughs of a pomegranate tree, a fat god who’s laughing heartily, with a long serpentine trunk, humungous flappable ears, and lots of arms like Mr Tickle. And there the cheeky creature tempts the two who hunger after the knowledge of secret recipes with myriad dishes of delicious, steaming curry.

Ooh, the officers of the new Military Branch of EGO (that is, Ecclesia Generalis Omnipotensque) are not too fond at all of such iniquitous dens where the food, the drinks, the spices, the music and other entertainment, and the atmosphere, send one into paroxysms of delight. Indeed, the armed vicars could raid the place any time. Then again, I am but a humble and unimportant apothecary, of course, who tinkers with magic in his spare time, and it’s not as if there is a long line of Magicians in the family. The authorities do not pay too much attention to me, especially when I have been busy working so secretly in the laboratory of the Clinic in Aberdydd. Despite all my worries, therefore, regarding the terrible things that are occurring in every corner of the World, I cannot restrain myself from frequenting hidden food-outlets, underground cinemas, illegal exhibitions, and abstruse courses.

I am not a brave man, but the fear makes the creative juices flow. Then I steep myself in the strange ideas that always arise to fill my fruitful imagination and inspire me. On occasion, I even feel like the Earth’s Unstoppable Force is pouring through me, calling me on towards some Other World. I just sort of dream that if I fight back as often as I can in my own way, then that’ll be one in the eye for the oppressive authorities. This is a report based on my own experience, then, I hope you’ll enjoy it, or at least benefit somewhat from it.

Rwy’n dwlu ar fwyd sbeisiog, ac yn wir, am daith ar ffigar-êt coginiol oedd i ddod. Licswn i gyfleu ichi ychydig o’r naws a brofais y tro cyntaf y gwnes i dywyllu’i ddrws yn laslanc gwirion, amser maith yn ôl, ond eto i gyd, mae hen gof gan hen gi, onid oes? Efallai y byddaf yn dychwelyd yno am yr eildro cyn hir, a gobeithiaf y cofiant yr hen ddihareb, cân di bennill mwyn i’th nain, fe gân dy nain i tithau, pryd bynnag y gwnelwyf.I love spicy food, and indeed, what a culinary roller-coaster journey was to come. I would like to convey to you a little of the atmosphere I experienced the first time I darkened its door as a stripling lad, ages ago, but then again, an old dog has an old memory, doesn’t it? Perhaps I shall return for a second rime before long, and I hope they will remember the old proverb, sing a sweet song to your Gran, and then she’ll be your biggest fan, whenever I might do so.
Cyn ddistawed â'r bedd ydoedd yno am hanner dydd un Sadwrn gwlyb yng nghanol yr haf (roedd yn dawelach a bod yn onest, o feddwl am yr holl gybiaid oedd yn caboli’r cerrig beddi ac yn plannu blodau parhaol caled yn ymylon y fynwent y drws nesaf). ‘Rarglwydd roeddent yn cael hwyl a sbort a sbri o bob math ymhlith meirwon yr oesau, er gwaethaf y tywydd gwael. Yn yr oes yr ydym yn byw ynddi, fe ddylai pawb ddathlu rhodd marwolaeth heddychlon ac ebargofiant tragwyddol yn ei dilyn yn fwy aml, gan fod hon a wna i fyw fod yn werth chwil, rwy’n credu. O, y pethau rwy wedi eu gweld yn ystod fy mywyd, y cofion i gyd sy’n aros gennyf. Ond un dydd fe fydd popeth wedi mynd fel dagrau yn y glaw, pan ddaw’r amser i fi gysgu am byth. Wel am lol botes maip! Digon yw digon ar yr holl synfyfyrio athroniaethol, yr hen glebrwr.It was as quiet as the grave there at midday one wet Saturday in the middle of the summer (it was quieter to be honest, thinking about all the cubs who were polishing the grave-stones and planting hardy perennials in the verges of the cemetery next door). My Lord, they were having all manner of fun and enjoyment and diversion amongst the dead of the ages, despite the foul weather. In the period in which we live, everyone should celebrate more often the gift of a peaceful death and everlasting oblivion following it, because this is what makes living worthwhile, I believe. O, the things I’ve seen during my life, all the memories which remain with me. But one day everything will be gone like tears in the rain, when the time comes for me to sleep forever. Well, what a lot of old tosh! Enough is enough with all the philosophical musing, you old chatter-box.
Felly awn ni yn ein blaen gyda hanes yr epiffani o ran fy mlasbwyntiau. Roeddwn yn teimlo fel petawn yn bwyta gwellt fy ngwely ar ôl trallodion yr wythnos honno. Yn sydyn, fodd bynnag, roedd yn fy nharo i taw cam dros y trothwy yw hanner y daith, a chloffi rhwng dau feddwl a wnes i am eiliad gan ystyried wrthyf fy hun. Wedi dweud hynny, roedd y rheolwr cyn falched â phaun, ac yn glustiau i gyd pan ofynnais am y fwydlen. Brasgamasai fe tuag ataf oddi mewn i’w adeilad tra oeddwn yn llechi’r tu mas iddo. Gŵr urddasol, swmpus oedd e, yn gwisgo lifrai sidan, wyrddlas ac arni ysgwyddarnau a botymau o aur; ac am ei ben roedd twrban ysgarlad wedi’i addurno â phlu ffenics. Fel rhyw was y Nawab yn yr Oes Fictoraidd oedd e. Neu fe ddichon yr oedd yn ellyll golygus ond dychrynllyd o chwedl Arabaidd megis y Mil Noswaith ac Un, sut y gwyddwn i yn fy nghyni? Ond beth bynnag a fuasai roeddwn wedi fy mesmereiddio gan ei farf, oedd mor gringoch â’r Uffern ddydd Wener y Groglith. Yn wir, yr oedd i fod yn achlysur arbennig dros ben.So, let us proceed with the tale of the epiphany concerning my taste-buds. I was feeling so hungry I could eat my own pillow, after the tribulations of that week. Suddenly, however, it struck me that a step across the threshold is half the journey, and I hovered between two courses for an instant, cogitating internally. Having said that, the manager was as pleased as Punch, and all ears, when I asked for the menu. He had stridden towards me from within his premises while I was lurking outside it. He was a dignified, substantial fellow, wearing sea-green silken livery, with epaulettes and gold buttons, and on his head was a scarlet turban adorned with a phoenix feather. Like some servant to the Nawab in the Victorian Age he was. Or perhaps he was a handsome but terrifying demon from an Arabian tale such as the Thousand-and-One Nights, how was I to know, in my distress? But whatever he might have been, I was mesmerized by his beard, which was as ginger as Hell on Good Friday. Truly, it was to be an exceptionally special occasion.
Y tu mewn, yr oedd y lle mor chwaethus. Roedd darnau dieithr o waith llaw ym mhob man; roedd hyd yn oed y waliau wedi’u haddurno â lluniau o dduwdodau gleision, a’u cnau coco enfawr a’u gwaywffyn anferthol. Bu bron i’m llygaid sefyll allan o’m ben. Nid oedd ddim byd fel ystrydeb ffiaidd, felly. Ar ben hynny, doedd hi ddim yn rhy boeth na swnllyd, heblaw am y gorgan ddi-baid a lifai o’r cyrn sain fel oernad rhyw gath ar fin marw (ac roeddwn eisoes yn gwybod gormod am hynny, ond well imi gadw at y stori). Serch hynny, doedd dim gormod o fynychwyr (nid yr un enaid byw heblaw amdanaf fi) ac roedd digon o le i chwipio chwannen (fel petai), diolch byth, achos fy mod yn casáu mannau caeedig. Os bydda i’n teimlo’n anesmwyth, fe fydd tuedd i fi ymddwyn yn debyg i goblyn bach anwar, fydd yn bloeddio ac yn udo, a cheisio rhedeg i ffwrdd fel gwenci.Inside, the place was so tasteful. There were alien pieces of hand-craft everywhere; even the walls were decorated with pictures of blue divinities, and their huge coconuts and enormous spears. My eyes almost popped out of my head. It was nothing like a foul stereotype, then. Furthermore, it was neither too hot nor too noisy, apart from the ceaseless chanting that flowed from the loudspeakers like the screeching of some cat at death’s door (and I already knew too much about that, but I had better keep to the story). Despite that, there was not a glut of patrons (not a single living soul apart from me) and there was enough space to swing a cat (as it were), thank goodness, because I detest enclosed spaces. If I feel uneasy, there is a tendency for me to behave like an uncivilized imp, who shouts and wails, and tries to run off like the wind.
Yn unol â chyngor y fisir mawreddog, fe gefais i saig arbennig y tŷ sef “Dial yr Ymerawdwr” am ddecpunt ar hugain gan gynnwys tri chwrs a pheint. Nid craig o arian ydwyf erbyn hyn, ddim o bell ffordd, ac nid oeddwn i erbyn hynny ychwaith gan fy mod i newydd golli fy swydd yn y gwaith cemeg. Y mab a anwyd i rôt nid eiff byth i bum ceiniog, fel y meddant. Ond, roedd llawer o arian parod yn fy mhoced i ar ôl i fi dreulio’r bore’ma yn gwerthu hufen harddwch yn cynnwys ffwr cath a the mate, (hynny yw, math o drwyth a wneir o ddail llwyn Ilex paraguayensis) y tu allan i’r archfarchnad enfawr o’r enw Tesbyro. Roedd rhaid i fi wneud gwasanaeth cymunedol o ganlyniad i hynny ond stori hollol wahanol yw honno.In accordance with the imposing vizier’s advice, I had the house special, namely “Emperor’s Revenge” for thirty pounds including three courses and a pint. I am not made of money right now, not by a long chalk, nor was I was then either, as I had just lost my job in the chemical works. He who is born to fourpence will never achieve fivepence, as they say. But there was a lot of loose change in my pocket after I had spent that morning selling beauty cream containing cat fur and matte tea (that is, a type of infusion made from the leaves of the Ilex paraguayensis) outside the enormous supermarket called Tesbyro. I had to do community service as a result of that, but that’s a totally different story.
Fe wnes i ddechrau gyda chwrs cyntaf o selsig Morgannwg â sinsir, garlleg, a chwmin, dysgl o gawl cocos a gwymon, ynghyd â bara naan brith a chaws Caerffili a chyrens ynddo, ar gyfer llyncu’r diferion olaf. Roedd y cyfuniad o sawrau estronol fel symffoni ar daflod fy ngenau. Drwy’r amser roeddwn i’n dal i feddwl taw gormod o bwdin a dagith gi, ond na allwn ffrwyno fy chwant bwyd. Wedyn, ymwrthodais y cyrri malwod arferol, ac yn ei le, mwynheais gyrri cig eidion â tsilis sybachog, ychwanegol, a chwilboeth ar y cythraul ydoedd hefyd, am ei fod yn cynnwys puprennod poethaf y byd, sef “medelwr Carolina.” Sut y gwn i? Wel, fe’u gwerthir yn Nhesbyro, sydd y lle llai drwg i fynd i siopa, yn fy marn ostyngedig i.I started with a first course of Glamorganshire sausage with ginger, garlic, and cumin, a dish of cockle and seaweed soup, together with speckled naan bread containing Caerphilly cheese and currants, for gobbling down the last drops. The combination of strange odours was like a symphony on my palate. All the time, I kept on thinking that too much pudding chokes a dog, but I could not restrain my appetite. Then, I forewent the usual snail curry, and in its place I enjoyed beef curry with extra crinkly chillis, and devilish hot it was, too, as it contained the world’s hottest peppers, namely “Carolina huntsman.” How do I know? Well, they are sold in Tesbyro, which is the least bad place to go shopping, in my humble opinion.
Wedi hyn oll, bues o fewn y dim i drengi o syched, ac roeddwn i’n gorfod cael peint (neu ddau) o lagyr, o’r enw “Glas y Gorlan,” i ddiffodd y tân eiriasboeth yn fy ngheg. Cofiwch chi’n awr na byddaf yn yfed fel rheol ddim ond poteli bach o gwrw chwerw gwan fel “Paun Gwirion.” Ni bydd Enwen fy lojar yn gadael imi lymeitian ar unrhyw beth mwy meddwol os gall hi fy rhwystro. Ond ddyddiau a fu, ac yn enwedig yn yr ogof o londer honno, oedd yn dywyll a swynol, ni allwn i ddim peidio. ‘Neno'r mawredd, roedd y lagyr hwnnw cyn gryfed â gwenwyn y weddw ddu! Mewn gwynfyd, cwplais i’r pryd o fwyd gyda hufen iâ cnau’r India, a saws o ganel a chlof arno.After all this, I was on the verge of dying of thirst, and I had to have a pint (or two) of lager, called “Kingfisher,” to extinguish the scorching fire in my mouth. Remember now that I drink as a rule nothing but small bottles of bitter beer like “Mad Peacock.” Enwen my lodger won’t let me tipple on anything more intoxicating if she can stop me. But in days past, and in particular in that cave of delights that was dark and enchanting, I could not resist. Great Heavens, that lager was as strong as the black widow’s poison! In ecstasy, I finished the meal with nutmeg ice-cream and cinnamon and clove sauce.
Mor llawen â’r gog ar y gainc oeddwn, er bu bron i’m perfeddion ffrwydro. Ond o gofio hyn, rhaid i fi roi gair o rybudd i chi: byddwch yn ofalus wrth ddefnyddio’r cyfleusterau yno. Pan ddechreuodd fy ngholuddyn mawr chwyrnu fel ci’n sugno’r mêr o asgwrn suddlon, rhuthrais i’r tŷ bach, sy’n dwt ond yn bêr iawn, lle caeodd y drws yn glep y tu ôl i fi. Yn anffodus, aeth y clo yn sownd, ac ar ôl hanner awr o ymdrechu ar y sedd borslen, wedi’i dilyn gan awr o weiddi drwy dwll y clo, fe’m hachubwyd gan weinydd yn ei lifrai odidog. Ar ben hynny, oherwydd fy mhrofiad anesmwythol, roedd o’r pwys mwyaf imi dawelu fy nerfau carpiog. Ar unwaith, felly, fe chwafftiais ddysglaid o goffi Cymreig (mae hon yn cynnwys llawer mwy o wisgi, na choffi Gwyddelig cyffredin) ac wedyn, yn syth, un arall.I was as happy as a sand-boy, although my insides were almost exploding. But, while I remember this, I must give you a word of warning: be careful whilst using the conveniences there. When my large intestine began to growl like a dog sucking the marrow from a juicy bone, I rushed to the latrine, which is bijou but most agreeable, where the door slammed shut behind me. Unfortunately, the lock got stuck, and after half an hour’s effort on the porcelain seat, followed by an hour of shouting through the keyhole, I was saved by a waiter in his splendid uniform. Moreover, because of my disconcerting experience, it was of the greatest importance for me to calm my tattered nerves. At once, therefore, I despatched a cup of Welsh coffee (this contains much more whiskey that ordinary Irish coffee) and then straightaway, another.
Yn y pendraw, roeddwn yn cydganu nerth esgyrn fy mhen gyda’r gerddoriaeth gyfareddol gan fytheirio’n uchel. Fe gefais fy nghanmol i’r cymylau yn y Sansgrit coethaf am fod mor ddewr, siŵr o fod (dyna ichi iaith liwgar a mynegol). Rwy wedi bod wrthi hi’n dysgu am bethau fel gwyddorau ac arwyddluniau, ac ieithoedd marw fel Mesmes o Ethiopia, a Nyawaygi o Awstralia, a Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe o Frasil. Rwy’n breuddwydio am gyfieithu rhywbeth diddorol a diddanol i’r Gymraeg yn y dyfodol ('Hanes Gwarthus y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog,' er enghraifft), ac rwy o fewn ychydig i lwyddo! Dyna ddysgu gydol oes ichi, onid ife? Ond digon am fy hobïau i.In the end, I was singing along at the top of my lungs with the enchanting music while belching loudly. I was praised to the heavens in the most refined Sanskrit for being so brave, probably (there’s a colourful and expressive language for you). I have been busy at it learning about things like alphabets and pictograms, and dead languages like Mesmes from Ethiopia, and Nyawaygi from Australia, and Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe from Brazil. I dream of translating something interesting and entertaining into Welsh in the future (‘The Shameful Tale of the Boisterous Red Monkeys,’ for instance), and I’m close to succeeding! That’s life-long learning for you, isn’t it? But enough about my hobbies.
Fe’m danfonwyd i’r drws cyn pen dim gan y rheolwr a gadwasai lygad barcut arnaf trwy gydol y perfformiad swynol. Ac wrth gwrs fe fues i’n foesgar iawn pan ddangosodd y sieff ei gyllyll fwyaf miniog imi ar fy ffordd allan. Kali dduw dinistr a ŵyr beth fyddai wedi digwydd pe buaswn i wedi yfed “Teigr” neu “Cobra”! Mae’n well gennyf gathod nag adar, ond yr wyf yn ofni’r rhai mawr fel llewod ac yn y blaen, heb sôn am ymlusgiaid heb goesau! Mae walabïod (a adwaenir fel gor-gangarŵod) yn wych hefyd, ond tueddant i fod yn haerllug, os cânt y cyfle (fel yn y stori 'Hanes yr Wyth Walabi Drwg oedd Eisiau Cymryd yr Holl Fyd Drosodd')!I was shown to the door in no time by the manager who had kept and eagle eye on me throughout the magical performance. And of course I was very polite when the chef showed me his sharpest knife on my way out. Kali god of destruction knows what would have happened were I to have drunk “Tiger” or “Cobra”! I prefer cats to birds, but I’m frightened of large ones like lions and so on, not to mention legless reptiles! Wallabies (which are also known as dwarf-kangaroos) are great too, but they tend to be impudent if they get the chance (like in the story 'The History of the Eight Wicked Wallabies who Wanted to Take Over the Whole World')!
Fe fyddwn i’n eich annog chi i gyd i fynd yno hefyd er mwyn drachtio’r awyrgylch anhraethadwy o sbeisiog. Mae’r lle ar gyrion y dref i lawr llwybr gefn rhwng mynwent fechan Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig (ac yno mae pencampwr dartiau o’r oes a fu o’r enw Lleu’n gorwedd dan y gro) a maes parcio Tesbyro. Nid oes ddim arwydd y tu allan iddo, felly bydd rhaid ichi ddilyn eich trwyn. Mae yna rywbeth at ddant pawb, os hoffwch bryd o fwyd gwynias sy’n seiliedig ar ymborth Cymreig gyda llond bwced o berlysiau. Fe gewch chi werth eich arian, a hwyl, ar yr un pryd, heb os nac oni bai. Gair i gall (heddychwr ydwyf, felly ni bydd ffon i’r anghall) – yfwch wydreidiau o ddŵr a thafelli o lemon ynddynt yn unig (cwrw yn y bol, twrw yn y pen, wedi’r cwbl!); peidiwch â chanu wrth gwafftio’ch cyri; a, myn Kali, osgowch y tsilis crych fel y pla!I would encourage you all to go there too in order to imbibe the indescribable spicy atmosphere. The place is on the outskirts of the town down a back alley between the small graveyard of the Temple of the Hidden Glory (and there under the gravel lies the champion darts-player from a former age named Lleu) and Tesbyro. There’s no sign outside it, so you’ll have to use your nose. There’s something there to everyone’s taste, if you like a red-hot meal which is based on Welsh foodstuffs with a bucketful of herbs. You’ll get your money’s worth, and have fun, at the same time, without a doubt. A word to the wise (I’m a pacifist, so there’s no stick for the unwise) – drink only glasses of water with slices of lemon in (beer in the belly, tumult in the head, after all!); don’t sing whilst quaffing your curry, and, by Kali, avoid the wrinkled chillis like the plague!

 

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 2 Ychwanegol

Pennod Tri: Mae Ffred yn Mynd i Siopa / Ffred Goes Shopping

Ffrindiau, Ddaearolion, Gyd Ddewiniaid! Ffred sy ma ‘to. Beth am hyn? Rwy wedi bod yn mynychu sesiynau ar Gyfathrebu Swynol yn Neuadd y Cymrodyr yng nghanol dre Pyrthyfall yn ddiweddar. Nes i sefyll yr arholiad ar ben y cwrs ac roedd rhaid i ni siarad yn rhugl yn Hen Iaith y Nw Yrth am bynciau fel alcemeg ddamcaniaethol, astroleg wyddonol, rhifoleg gymwysedig, ac yn y blaen. Nes i lawer o waith wrth baratoi, gan gynnwys sgrifennu sgriptiau o’r blaen llaw a’u dysgu nhw i gyd ar go’. Felly teg dweud ‘dwn i’m llawer am y fath bethau. Dw i’m yn gallu dweud wrthoch chi be’n enwedig ddigwyddodd, na chrybwyll gair o’r hyn a adroddais ar y dydd, achos fod e’n gyfrinachol iawn. Ond rwy’n gallu dweud i fi fwynhau’r rhan hon o’r arholiad yn fawr iawn, ac i fi lwyddo, diolch byth, er bod hi’n cael a chael ar adegau! Felly yn lle malu awyr wrth sôn am ‘ny, rwy wedi penderfynu bod yn ysgafngalon am newid a mynegi’n llais doniol i drwy rannu ychydig fanylion gyda chi am ‘y nghefndir a ‘mywyd hyd yn hyn.

Friends, Earthlings, Fellow Wizards! What about this? I’ve been attending sessions on Beguiling Communication in Comrades’ Hall in Hellsgate town centre recently. I sat the exam at the end of the course, and we needed to speak fluently in the Old Language of the Nw Yrth about topics such as theoretical alchemy, scientific astrology, contemporary numerology, and so on. I did lots of work preparing, including writing scripts beforehand and learning them off by heart. So, it’s fair to say that I don’t know a lot about such things. I can’t tell you exactly what happened, nor mention a word of what I recited on the day, as it’s highly confidential. But I can say I enjoyed that part of the exam very much, and I passed, thank goodness, although it was touch and go in places. So instead of going on about that, I’ve decided to be light-hearted for a change and express my comedic voice by sharing some details with you about my background and my life up to now.

Wi’n dysgu Cymraeg ers achau erbyn hyn ch’mod, wastad yn dysgu falle. Wi’n dod o'r Canolbarth yn wreiddiol wrth gwrs, ar bwys pwynt canolog ein gwlad fechan ond hudol ni, yn ôl yr Arolwg Ordnans. Es i i weithio yn rhywle arall yn y pen draw (sa i’n gallu dweud ble, mae’n breifat) fel gwyddonydd. Achan arbennig dw i, ch’wel (fel dywed y nhad), ac o’n i’n arfer neud arbrofion cyn i fi gael tipyn bach o drafferth gyda’r swydd. Wedyn, des i adre i Gymru heulog flynyddoedd yn ôl pan gaeth cydweithiwr ddamwain yn y gweithle, ond ddim fi oedd ar fai, nac achosais i mo’r problemau chwaith. Peth o ddewin yn y labordy gemeg dw i, fe ddweda i wrthoch chi.I’ve been learning Welsh for ages now you know, always learning, perhaps. I come from the Midlands originally of course, near the centre-point of our small but magical land, according to the Ordnance Survey. I went to work somewhere else in the end (I can’t say where, it’s private) as a scientist. I’m a special boy you see (as my dad says), and I used to do experiments till I had a bit of trouble with the job. Then I came back to sunny Wales years ago when a co-worker had an accident in the workplace, but I wasn’t to blame, and I didn’t cause the problem either. I’m a bit of a wizard in the chemistry laboratory, I’ll tell you.
O’n i’n ceisio creu “elicsir ieuenctid,” w (wel, hufen harddu ar gyfer plorod a rhychau). Do’n i'n hunan ddim yn cael problem gyda’r dasg, ond oedd yr holl beth yn ofnadw, a dweud y gwir, pan ddes i â nghath ddu lwcus i mewn i’r lab a bwytaodd hi’r stwff yn lle i “Byrbrydau Titw” arferol. Bu bron iddi fynd yn anweladwy, fel ysbryd yn y tarth, mewn ffordd. Gaeth y Doethur da o’r enw Rhisiart Rhuddygl (a chemegydd anghyffredin ydy e hefyd) sioc aruthrol pan glywodd e sŵn rhywbeth na allai fe weld yn canu grwndi ar i ddesg, a thaflodd e i ddysglaid o de mate oer drosti. O, aeth y greadures fach yn wirion bost a neidio i’r pot o gemegion gan oernadu fel cyhyraeth. Aeth yr hylif seimllyd ym mhob man, ymlithrodd Rhisiart, a chwympo ar y nyfyn-ysbryd annwyl, gan regi bob yn ail air fel cwrcyn.I was trying to create an “elixir of youth,” mun (well, beauty cream for spots and wrinkles). I myself didn’t have a problem with the task, but the whole thing was awful, to tell the truth, when I brought my lucky black cat into the lab and she ate all the stuff instead of her usual “Kitty Snacks.” She almost went invisible, like a ghost in the mist, in a way. The good Doctor named Richard Radish (who’s an extraordinarily good chemist, too) had a terrible shock when he heard the sound of something unseen purring on his desk, and threw his cup of cold maté tea over her. O, the little creature went bonkers and jumped into the pot of chemicals wailing like a banshee. The slimy liquid went everywhere, Richard slipped, and fell on my dear familiar spirit, swearing like a tom-cat and turning the air blue.
Sa i eisiau sgwrsio amdani, os wi’n hollol onest, mae'n ddigon i hala rhwng tramp a'i gwdyn. Ymhellach, sa i’n gallu siarad amdani, gan fod gorchymyn y llys yn fy ngwahardd i. Digon yw dweud i’r gath oedd wedi’i hanafu ar hap ailfagu blas at fwyd bellach, ond mae Dr Prisiart yn dal i aros oddi ar waith (fe ddwedwn i taw mitiso bant mae e) er i’w asennau ysig wella’n foddhaol o’r diwedd. Ar ôl hynny oedd raid i fi weithio mewn ysgol fel rhan o’r gwasanaeth cymuned, ond oedd yn rhy anodd a ges i broblem enfawr un dydd Sadwrn wedi bwyta cyri eithriadol o boeth y noson gynt (Jiw, wi’n dwlu ar gyri mawlod sbeislyd), ond stori arall yw hynny.I don’t want to chat on about it, if I’m totally honest; it’s enough to upset anyone. And more than that, I can’t talk about it, because the court order prevents me. It’s enough to say that the cat that was injured by accident has got her appetite back now, but Dr Prichard is still staying off work (I’d say that he’s mitching off), although his broken ribs healed satisfactorily in the end. After that, I had to work in a school as part of the community service, but it was too hard and I had an enormous problem one Saturday having eaten an exceptionally hot curry the night before (gosh, I love spicy snail curry), but that’s another story.
Ta be, wi’n byw gartre erbyn hyn ar fy mhen fy hunan yn nhŷ mawr ym Mrynfelin, gyda’n lojar (neu’n “lletywraig” a bod yn posh ac yn fanwl gywir ar yr un pryd) o’r enw Enwen. Mae’n ddiddorol iawn, mae’r enw’n golygu rhywbeth fel y llaeth lled sur sy’n aros yn y fuddai wedi corddi’r ymenyn. Menyw hyfryd yw hi, a’i chroen fel menyn. Wi’n teimlo fel sen i wedi nabod hi ar hyd yn oes, ch’wel. Sdim raid dweud mod i’n gorfod helpu Enwen yn y tŷ, wrth gwrs. So hi’n gofyn i fi neud llawer, achos bod hi’n datgan mod i’n “dderyn,” beth bynnag mae hynny’n olygu. Ond wedyn fe fydd hi’n dweud bod “adar o'r un lliw hedant i'r un lle,” felly bydd popeth yn iawn tra arhosa hi yma yn yn nyth cysurus, sbo.Anyway, I’m living at home now on my own in a big house in Brynfelin, with my lodger (or my “lettinglady” to be posh and totally accurate at the same time) called Enwen. It’s very interesting, the name means something like the rather sour milk that remains in the churn when you’ve churned the butter. She’s a lovely lady, and her skin’s like butter. I feel like I’ve known her all my life. Needless to say I have to help Enwen in the house, of course. She doesn’t ask me to do lots, because she declares that I’m a bit of a “bird,” whatever that means. But then she says that “birds of a feather flock together,” so everything’ll be OK while we stay here in our comfy nest, I s’pose.
Fe fydd hi’n gweiddi arna i dim ond os bachgen dwl fydda i. Hmm, drwy’r amser, te, mae hi’n fishi iawn! Naeth hi weiddi’r dydd o’r blaen pan gollais i’r crwban, a daethon ni o hyd iddo fe yn y peiriant golchi llestri sy’m yn gweithio slawer dydd. Diar, diar, oedd yn ddoniol ac yn drist ar yr un pryd, gan fod e’n trio gaeafgysgu. Oedd e’n lliw chwith erbyn ny, ac mae dal i fod yn wyrdd, er i fi drio beintio fe, ond naeth hynna mo'r tro, sa i’n gwybod pam. Sut bynnag, yn ôl i’r brif stori. Ambell waith, fe fydd angen i fi siopa. O, nefi bliw!She only shouts at me when I’m a silly boy. Hmm, all the time, then, she’s very busy! She shouted at me the other day when I lost the tortoise, and we found him in the dishwasher which hasn’t worked for a long time. Dear, dear, it was funny and sad at the same time, because he was trying to hibernate. He was a funny colour by then and he’s still green, although I tried to paint him, but that didn’t do the trick, I don’t know why. Anyway, back to the main story. Sometimes, I need to go shopping. O, Lordy!
Sa i’n lico siopa o gwbl. Yn wir, wi’n casáu siopa. Wi’n meddwl bod hyn achos bod yn mam yn arfer mynd â fi o gwmpas y ddinas pan o’n i’n ddim o beth. Bob dydd, mae’n debyg, fe fydden ni’n mynd i gannoedd ar gannoedd o siopau. Fe fyddwn i wedi mwynhau chwarae yn y parc sen i wedi gallu. O’n i mor ddiflas â’r peth mwya diflas yn y byd crwn cyfan, credwch chi fi. Oedd yn boeth, ac yn rhy swnllyd yn y siopau, ac oedd gormod o bobl a dim digon o le i symud. O’n i’n ddiawl bach ewn oedd yn sgrechain a llefain, a thrio rhedeg bant. Ww, wi’n teimlo fel ny eto, o bryd i'w gilydd, ond wi di dysgu bod raid i chi wynebu'r canlyniadau pryd bynnag yr â pethau o chwith. A wnelir liw nos a welir liw dydd, meddai y nhad, ac oedd e yn llygad i le yn i farn.I don’t like shopping at all. In fact, I hate shopping. I think that this is because my mum used to take me around the city when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Every day, it seems, we’d go to hundreds and hundreds of shops. I’d have liked to play in the park if I could have. I was as bored as the most bored thing in the entire world, believe you me. It was hot, and too noisy in the shops, and there were too many people and not enough room to move. I was a cheeky little devil who screamed and cried and tried to run off. Oooh, I still feel like that, from time to time, but I’ve learned that you have to face the music whenever things go wrong. Whatever’s done by night is seen by day, said my dad, and he was quite right.
Unwaith, nes i ddianc, pan doedd mam ddim yn edrych, ac es i yn y lifft, lle nes i wthio i bob botwm. Aeth y lifft yn sownd, ac oedd angen arna i gael yn achub gan ddyn tân. Gŵr mawr cryf oedd e, ac yn gwisgo lifrai hyfryd. Oni bai amdano fe, fe fyddwn i yno o hyd. Wedi ny, oedd raid i fi gael y nghlymu yn dynn i fam gan gordyn, rhag ofn i fi ddianc unwaith to! A hefyd, wi’n dwlu ar ddiffoddwyr tân byth oddi ar hynny. Ac edrychwch arna i nawr, wedi tyfu lan yn ddyn tal, dewr. Falle galla i fod yn ddyn tân ryw ddydd fuan – daw'r dywediad ‘Daw dydd y bydd mawr y rhai bychain” i gof, wi’n meddwl. Fe fydda i’n codi llaw ar bob injan dân bob tro y gwela i un ohonyn nhw’n rhuthro lawr yn stryd ni a’i chorn yn canu’n uchel pan fydda i wedi rhoi’r tŷ ar dân.Once, I escaped, when mum wasn’t looking, and I went in the lift, where I pressed every button. The lift got stuck, and I needed to be rescued by a fireman. He was a big strong man, wearing a lovely uniform. If it wasn’t for him, I would still be there. After that I had to be attached tightly to mum by a cord, in case I escaped again! And also, I’ve loved firefighters ever since then. And look at me now that I’ve grown up into a tall brave man. Perhaps I can be a fireman someday soon – the saying “The day is coming when the little ones will be on top” comes to mind, I think. I wave at every fire engine every time one of them rushes down our street with its siren blaring loudly when I set the house on fire.
Felly, y nghas beth yw siopa, hyd yn oed nawr. Wel, ta beth, wi mewn oed nawr, siŵr iawn, ac weithiau, rhaid i fi fynd i siopa, lico neu beidio. Rhaid i ddyn fwyta, meddan nhw. Bydda i’n trio cynllunio taith i’r siopau pan fydd hi’n dawel, os wi’n gallu, ddim ar fore dydd Sadwrn yn bendant (mae da fi gofion brawychus am ny, ac wi’n deffro o hunllef gan chwythu amdani nawr ac yn y man, ond dyna stori hollol wahanol!). Gwna i restr fanwl o’r holl bethau bydda i eisiau prynu, a gobeithio galla i ddod o hyd i bopeth mewn un siop fawr, mewn archfarchnad, mewn gwirionedd.So, my most hated thing is shopping, even now. Well, anyway, I’m grown up now, sure enough, and sometimes, I must go shopping, like it or not. A man must eat, they say. I try to plan the trip to the shops when it’s quiet, if I can, not on Saturday mornings, definitely (I’ve got terrifying memories about that, and I wake up from a nightmare sweating about it now and then. but that’s a totally different story). I make a detailed list of all the things I want to buy, and hope I can find everything in one big shop, in a supermarket, if truth be told.
Tesbyro yw’r fan lleia drwg i siopa, a’i henw’n golygu “canu grwndi wrth i chi orwedd yng ngwres yr haul,” sa i’n deall pam. Ni waeth befo am ny. Wi’n lico archfarchnadoedd i ryw fesur, ch’wel, achos bod chi’n gallu chwarae gyda’r trolïau, gan sglefrio lan a lawr. Www, crwtyn mawr dw i to! Wel, unwaith yn ddyn, dwywaith yn blentyn yw’r ddihareb, ac wi’n cytuno’n llwyr. Ges i bryd o dafod gan dditectif y siop, unwaith neu ddwy, neu dair, a bod yn onest. Gorau po leia a ddywedir am ny te, ond oedd i lifrai’n ysblennydd. Serch ny, a i o gwmpas y lle uffernol yn yr un drefn bob tro, o'r naill ben i'r llall, cyn gynted â phosib! Ac fe fydda i’n cymryd arna i taw capel bychan ydy, ac yn llawn gwynt arogldarth a symbolau cyfrin.Tesbyro is the least bad place to shop, and its name means “purring while lying in the sun’s warmth,” I don’t understand why. Never mind about that. I like supermarkets to some extent, you see, as you can play with the trolleys, sliding up and down. Oooh, I’m still a big kid! Well, once a man, twice a child is the proverb, and I entirely agree. I had a telling off from the store detective once or twice, or three times, to be honest. Least said about that the better, but his uniform was resplendent. Despite that, I go around the hellish place in the same order every time, from one end to the other, as quickly as possible! And I pretend that it’s a little chapel, full of the aroma of incense and arcane symbols.
Ac wedyn, mynd ati bydda i, wedi’r cwbl, chwery mab noeth, ni chwery mab newynog. Fe ddechreua i gyda ffrwythau a llysiau (madarch a tsilis yn enwedig), wedyn bara, menyn a llaeth, wedyn grawnfwyd, ar ôl ny bwyd mewn tun (heb anghofio saws cyri), a ffynonellau protein fel toffw, cynhyrchion soia, neu fwydydd mycoprotein megis “Quorn.” Fe gwpla i da photeli bychain o gwrw chwerw fel “Paun Gwirion” a bocs o siocledi i Enwen. Ceisia i ddewis bocs sy’n llawn dop o siocledi blasus fel melysion Twrci, am na fydd hi’n bwyta’r un o’r rheiny, felly, galla i’u llowcio nhw i gyd. Fe fyddwn i’n defnyddio’r ddesg dalu helpu'ch hunan pe gallwn i, ond y tro diwetha nes i ny, naeth y peth ffrwydro. Gorfu i ni i gyd symud mas o’r lle tra oedd y dyn tân yn ymchwilio unwaith to – dyw rhai pethau byth yn newid, ydyn nhw?And then I go for it, after all, a naked boy plays but a hungry one doesn’t. I’ll begin with fruit and veg (mushrooms and chillis in particular), then bread, butter, and milk, then cereal, after that tinned food (not forgetting curry sauce), and sources of protein like tofu, soya products, or mycoprotein foods like “Quorn.” I finish with little bottles of bitter beer like “Mad Peacock” and a box of chocolates for Enwen. I try to choose a box that’s fill of tasty chocs like Turkish Delight, because she won’t eat a single one of those, so I can guzzle them all. I would use the self-service check-out desk if I could, but the last time I did that, the thing exploded. We all had to get out of the place while the fireman was investigating again – some things never change, do they?
Ta p’un i, dewisa i’r ciw byrrach, a gwena i ar y cynorthwywyr gwerthu’r un modd bob tro. Fe fyddan nhw’n gwisgo lifreion cywrain, yn y marn i, ond bydd rhai ohonyn nhw’n ddisgyblion chweched dosbarth sy’n cael plorod, trueiniaid bach. Fi sy biau rysáit a allai helpu gyda ny, o’n i’n gweithio arni pan ddaeth yn oes waith ffurfiol i ben ac wi’n deall tipyn bach am fyfyrwyr hefyd wedi gweithio am fis yn yr ysgol gythreulig na. Fe ddwedon nhw wrtha i i bod hi ar agor ar ddydd Sadwrn, ac wedyn, nes i ruthro i mewn ar ôl noson gyri. O dyna resyn o beth, ond gad dy lap achan, fel na fydd rhagor o drafferth a helynt!Whatever, I choose the shortest queue, and I smile at the sales assistant in the same way every time. They wear fine uniforms, in my opinion, and some of them are sixth-form pupils who’ve got spots, poor things. I’ve got a recipe that could help with that, I was working on it when my formal working life ended, and I understand a bit about students too having worked for a month in that infernal school. They told me it opened on Saturdays and then I rushed in after a curry-night. O there’s a shame, but button your lip, lad, so that there’ll be no more upset and anguish!
Licwn i’m gweithio yno (yn yr archfarchnad wrth bob rheswm) ond eto i gyd so fe’n bosib. Sa i’n ddigon clyfar gyda phobl, yn anffodus. Mae’n well da fi gathod na bodau dynol, sdim ots da fi, ond menyw reit sbesial yw Enwen. Felly, dyna sut wi’n mynd i siopa nawr heb ormod o broblem ac o ganlyniad wi wrth yn modd ac mor llawen â'r gog. Ond ar y llaw arall wi’n drist iawn achos mod i ddim wedi gyrru injan dân to – dim ond troli! Gan bwyll gowboi! Www, neno'r daioni, on’d yw'r amser yn mynd heibio'n gyflym! Falle byddwn ni’n sgwrsio cyn bo hir, mae na lawer o straeon eraill da fi. O gyda llaw, o ddifri, ddim yr un anifail gaeth i nafu wrth helpu gyda’r stori ma. Peidiwch â bod yn ddieithr da chi! Pob hwyl am y tro! Ffred.I wouldn’t like to work there (in the supermarket, to be sure) but then again it’s not possible. I’m not clever enough with people, unfortunately. I prefer cats over people, doesn’t bother me, but Enwen’s a real special woman. So, that’s how I go shopping now without too much of a problem, and as a result I’m delighted and as happy as a sandboy. But on the other hand I’m very sad because I haven’t driven a fire engine yet – only a trolley! Steady on cowboy! Ooooh, Good Heavens, doesn’t time fly! Perhaps we can chat again before long, I’ve got lots of other stories. O by the way, seriously, not a single animal was hurt helping with this story. Don’t be a stranger, will you? Cheers for the mo! Ffed.

Under the Pines

Tall Tales by Fantastic Fred

Under the Pines script

Pennod Pedwar: Dan y Pinwydd / Under the Pines

Henffych well, fy nghymrodyr ar daith ddarganfod bodolaeth! Dyma’r hen Ffed yn traethu unwaith to. Www, wi newydd ddarllen stori gan M Morgan o’r enw “Y Seiffr” yn ei lyfr “Kate Roberts a’r Ystlum (a dirgelion eraill)” (Y Lolfa, 2012). Mae’n ardderchog a llawn rhyfeddodau’ n wir! Nawr te, mae dirgelwch da fi hefyd, credwch neu beidio! Fel y gwyddoch rhai ohonoch chi, mae capel lleia’r byd yng Nghwm-ran ar bwys lle wi’n dod yn wreiddiol, o’r enw Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig. Maen nhw’n chwedleua i’r hen Lleu aros yma wedi’i frifo’n wael yn yr hen amser gynt. Wel, dyma newyddion cyffrous; fe wnaethon nhw ddarganfod llawysgrifau hynafol mewn jariau gwin af ffurf llestri pridd, ryw ddeunaw mlynedd yn ôl. Ar droad y ganrif, a throad y milflwyddiant ar ben hynny, ar ddechrau Oes y Dyfrwr yn ôl y nghyfrifon i. Beth oedd y fath bethau’n neud mewn capel dwn i’m (y jariau win, ch’mod — mae capeli’n llawn o ddogfennau annealladwy wrth gwrs).

Salutations, my comrades on existence’s journey of discovery! Here’s old Ffred holding forth once again. Oooh, I’ve just read a story by M Morgan called “The Cypher” in his book “Kate Roberts a’r Ystlum (a dirgelion eraill)” (Y Lolfa, 2012). It’s excellent and full of wonders indeed! Now then, I have a mystery too, believe it or not! As some of you will know, the smallest chapel in the world’s in Cwm-ran near where I come from originally. They spin the tale that old Lleu stayed there, terribly injured in days of yore. Well, here’s the exciting news: they discovered ancient manuscripts in earthenware wine-jars, about eighteen years ago. At the turn of the century, and turn of the millennium to boot, at the beginning of the Age of Aquarius according to my calculations. What such things were doing in a chapel I don’t know (the wine-jars, you know — chapels are full of incomprehensible documents of course).

Tyb pawb eraill oedd eu bod nhw’n ddynwarediad modern gan chwaraewyr casetiau. Doedd neb yn gallu’u darllen nhw. Mae’r llawysgrifen yn wael, fel sgriblan morgrug sy di bwyta asid (ond nage asid fformig, maen nhw’n llawn o hwnnw), ac mae’r holl beth yn edrych fel creon ar bapur menyn, llawn lluniau bach, symbolau o liw gwaed, a sgrifen o chwith, siŵr o fod. Wi di bod wrthi hi’n dysgu am bethau fel gwyddorau ac arwyddluniau, ac ieithoedd marw fel Mesmes o Ethiopia, a Nyawaygi o Awstralia, a Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe o Frasil. Wi di bod yn breuddwydio am gyfieithu rhywbeth o bwys, ond “nid datod cwlwm yw ei dorri” meddan nhw, beth bynnag mae hynny’n ei olygu. Felly yn hytrach na gweithio ar y llawysgrifau’u hunain, wi di bod yn aros am ysbrydoliaeth sydyn, ac wi o fewn ychydig i lwyddo. Hei, dyna ddysgu gydol oes i chi, on’d ife? Ond digon am yn hobïau i, dyma fraslun o’r gwaith mawr hyd yn hyn. Wi’n meddwl am “Dan y Pinwydd” fel y teitl, achos taw “Wil Kineythien aí” oedd e’n wreiddiol, sy’n golygu’r un peth…

Everybody else’s opinion was that they were modern counterfeits by pranksters. No-one could read them. The handwriting’s awful, like the scribbling of ants that have eaten acid (but not formic acid, they’re full of that), and the whole thing looks like crayon on grease-proof paper, full of little pictures, blood-coloured symbols, and mirror-writing, probably. I’ve gone at it to learn about things like alphabets and hieroglyphs, and dead languages like Mesmes from Ethiopia, and Nyawaygi from Australia, and Pataxó Hã-Ha-Hãe from Brazil. I’ve been dreaming about translating something important, but “you don’t undo a knot by cutting it” as they say, whatever that means. So rather than working on the manuscripts themselves, I’ve been waiting for a flash of inspiration, and I’m near as damn it to succeeding. Hey that’s lifelong learning for you, isn’t it? But enough about my hobbies, here’s a sketch of the great work up to now. I’m thinking of “Under the Pines” as the title, because it was “Wil Kineythien aí” originally, which means the same thing…

F'annwylaf Mêts! Fe fyddwn i’n fodlon ond i chi dreulio’r mymryn lleiaf o amser yn ‘y nghwmni i. Dim ond awr ro’n i’n gofyn i chi i’w threulio gyda fi. Ond ar ‘y mhen ‘yn hunan ydw i, yn sgwrsio â gwyntoedd cyfnewidiad, creulon a main, wrth i fi sgriblan yr epistol ‘ma ar frys. Felly ai llythyr neu ymson yw hyn? Dyw hi ddim o bwys. Mae’n teimlo fel rwy eisoes yma ers pedwar deg dydd a deugain noson. Rwy mor sychedig, ac yn ystyried difetha ‘y mywyd drwy neidio oddi ar y mynydd.My dearest Mates! I’d be content if only you passed the least bit of time in my company. Only an hour I asked you to spend with me. But I’m on my own, talking with the winds of change, cruel and biting, whilst I hurriedly scribble this epistle. So, is it a letter or a monologue? It’s not important. It feels like I’ve already been here for forty days and forty nights. I’m so thirsty, and considering ending my life by jumping off the mountain.
Fe fedrwn i fod yn geiliog yn clochdar ar yr haul, 'tae waeth am ‘ny, fyddwn i’m yn eich effro chi. Felly, bydda i’n hala’r neges ‘ma i’r gymrodoriaeth yn bell oddi yma yng Nghwm-ran, lle taw pawb yn y gymuned sydd â breintiau a chyfrifoldebau cyfartal. Mae ‘da fi gymrawd yno, Mair-Elen ydy’i henw hi, a dylai’r sgrôl ‘ma fod yn ddiogel, er taw tipyn bach o gwlt meudwyaidd ydy’r rhain, sy’n eithriadol o dduwiol. I could be a cock crowing at the sun, for that matter, I wouldn’t wake you. So, I’ll send this message to the commune far away from here, in Cwm-ran, where everyone in the commune has rights and corresponding privileges. I have a comrade there, Mary-Ellen’s her name, and this scroll should be safe, although that lot, who’re exceptionally devout, are a bit of a secretive cult.
Gyda llaw, byddwch â llygad ar eich ysgwydd am ŵr o'r llysenw 'Cythraul Grymus'. Dydych chi’m yn ei nabod e erbyn hyn, ond ges i hyd iddo fe ar daith hir, pan ‘naeth e gwympo oddi ar ei feic modur, a dyrnu ei ben yn erbyn y creigiau. Dyna lanc galluog iawn. Mae’n llawn i’r ymyl â syniadau chwyldroadol, ac rwy’n credu bydd yn helpu chi i roddi’r gair mas. Gobeithio na fydd hwnnw ddim yn fwy na llond ei Doc Martens yn y dyfodol. Amser a ddengys. By the way, keep your eyes skinned for a bloke nicknamed 'Balrog'. You don’t know him now, but I found him on a long journey, when he fell off his motorbike, and hit his head on the rocks. There’s a really gifted lad. He’s stuffed full of revolutionary ideas, and I believe he’ll help you to spread the word. I do hope he won’t be too big for his Doc Martens in the future. Time will tell.
Mewn gwirionedd, rwy wedi blino’n lân. Wedi’r cwbl, rhwng yr holl deithio, a’r siarad cyhoeddus, dwi ‘di bod yn gweithio fel yr Andros. Rhaid i fi gael uffern o noson dda o orffwys. Roedd difyrru’r miloedd mor anodd â thynnu gwaed o garreg heb sôn am y trefi lle ro’n nhw eisiau i ni roi cwrw a fodca iddyn nhw yn lle poteli o ddŵr. ‘Rarglwydd! Man a man a mynci melyn i fi fwydo'r miloedd o bobl ar yr ŵyl rydd y penwythnos 'na. Ecstasi ro'n nhw'i eisiau, ond yn well ha hynny, miwsig gorawenus a dawnsio gwyllt a gaethon nhw drwy gydol y nos! Nage trechaf yw treisied; dim ond hyn ro’n i eisiau ei ddweud; ac y dylen nhw rannu’r cariad yn deg, hefyd, er mwyn ‘neud y ddaear gron yn fan well i fyw ynddi. In truth, I’m knackered. After all, what with all the travelling, and the public speaking, I’ve been working like the Devil. I have to get one hell of a good night’s rest. Entertaining the masses was as hard as getting blood from a stone not to mention the towns where they wanted us to give them beer and vodka instead of bottles of water. Good Lord! I might as well have fed the thousands of people at the free festival that weekend. Ecstasy they wanted, but better than that, bangin' music and mental dancing was what they got, all night long! Might isn’t right, that’s all I wanted to say; and that they should share the love freely, too, to make the whole world a better place to live in.
Ar y llaw arall, mewn mannau eraill, ro’n nhw’n llyncu ‘y ngeiriau. Serch ‘ny, dwi’m yn gallu deall pam bues i’n gorfod mynd i mewn i’r ddinas ar gefn ceffyl gwyn (f (fel petai, fan wen yn llawn o offer sain a goleuo oedd hi, reit?), wrth iddyn nhw daflu canghennau coed pinwydd ar yr heol o ‘mlaen i. Pe celwn i fantell borffor, a choron, a theyrnwialen, byddwn wedi ymddangos yn ymherodr, yn frenin neu artist rap rhwysgfawr, neu focsiwr yn dod i mewn i'r ring. Ond allwn i'm peidio meddwl taw wrth i rhai ohonyn nhw ysgubo'r fordd, rhai eraill oedd yn paratoi coelcerth angladdol fel nâi'r Cenhedloedd Duon. Ac wedyn, roedd y trefnwyr fysslyd i gyd yn pydru arni, gan dreio'n mwytho i, gan 'molchi i a'n sychu i â lliain, ac wedyn oelio 'nghorff i cyn chwistrellu afftyrsief drewllyd ym mhobman. Ro'n i'n dychmygu'r hen ddydiau yn yr Anialdir Coch neu rywbeth. Roedd fel 'swn i ‘di marw, a bydden nhw’n ‘mharatoi i cyn i fi gael ‘y nghladdu. A dyna oedd pawb yn gweiddi “Ti yw'r gorau! Ein harwr! Duw wyt ti" pan ddes i mas ar y llwyfan cyn dechrau perfformio. Dyn ni i gyd yn feibion i fenywod, a merched i ddynion, pob un ohonyn nhw sydd yr un mor deilwng, on’d ife? Felly dyn a ŵyr beth ro’n nhw’n feddwl.On the other hand, in other places, they hung on my every word. Despite that, I can’t understand why I had to go into the city on the back of a white horse (as it were, it was a white van full of sound and lighting equipment, right?), while they threw pine branches on the street in front of me. If I’d had a purple cloak, and a crown, and a sceptre, I would have looked like an emperor, a king or a pompous rap artist, or a boxer entering the ring. But I couldn't help thinking that while some of them were sweeping the way, others were preparing a funeral pyre like the Vikings used to. And then, all the fussy organisers were beavering about, trying to pamper me, washing me down and drying me off, and oiling up my body, before spraying stinky aftershave everywhere. I was imagining the old days in the Red Desert or something. It was as if I’d died, and they were preparing me before I was buried. And there was everyone shouting out“You're the best! Our hero! You're a god!" when I came out in the stage before starting to perform. We’re all sons of women, and daughters of men, every one of who’s just as deserving, aren’t they? So goodness knows what they meant.
Beth oedd yn bod? Rhyw arfer hynafol, siŵr o fod. Dylwn i fod wedi ‘neud sylw eiriau’r athrawon yn yr ysgol, ond hyd yn oed pan o’n i’n grwt neis-neis, rai blynyddoedd yn ôl, fe wn i’r Hen Lenyddiaeth yn well na nhw. ‘Nawn i byth wrando! Sut bynnag, nage tywysog y byd ‘ma ydw i’n bendant. Cwrddais i â phwysigyn seimlyd a arddelai’r anrhydedd hwnnw pan fues ar encil yn y diffeithdir. Creadur sy’n gyfan gwbl wahanol i unrhyw ddyn ydoedd, neidr gudd go iawn, ‘sdim dwywaith ynghylch ‘ny. Fe sebonodd fi ar ffurf offeiriad coch, gyda gweniaith y saith swynwr seraffaidd o’r llên gêl, ond yn ofer, a ‘nes i wrthsefyll gyda chymorth y delw-addolwyr dioglyd, a ddaeth i i roi help llaw i fi yn amser ‘y nhrallod. Gwell yr ellyll a wyddys na’r cythreuliaid nad adweinir, falle.What was the problem? Some ancient custom, probably I should’ve taken notice of the teachers' words in school, but even when I was a finicky kid, some years back, I knew the Ancient Literature better than them. I’d never listen! Anyhow, I’m definitely not prince of this world. I met some slimy bigwig who claimed that honour when I was on retreat in the desert. He was a creature totally different from any human being, a real snake in the grass, no two ways about it. He soft-soaped me in the form of a red priest, with the blandishments of the seven seraphic sorcerers of the hidden lore, but in vain, and I resisted with the help of the indolent idolaters, who came to my aid in my hour of need. Better the devil you know than the demons you don’t recognise, perhaps.
A dyma ni i gyd, ar yr ystad ar droed Mynydd y Pinwydd, lle mae’r teirw dur yn huno dros nos. Ysgafnu’r baich yw ei rannu, yn wir, ond mae’n beth enbyd, on’d ydy, pan na fydd hyd yn oed ffrindiau gorau boi’n gallu cadw’n effro wrth iddo geisio datrys problemau’r byd. O leia’r peiriannau fyddai’n cadw sŵn dim ond ‘sen nhw’n gweithio. Chi sy’n rhochian fel moch wrth gysgu! Deirgwaith rwy wedi cerdded heibio i chi, y llanciau cefn gwlad hir eich cwsg, ond atebodd neb ddim gair. Mwya’r gresyn nad o’ch chi yma, ro’n i wedi gobeithio am well, ond tra ydy’r enaid yn fodlon, mae’r cnawd yn wael.And here we all are, on the estate at the foot of the Pine Mountain, where the bulldozers are sleeping overnight. A burden shared is a burden halved, to be true, but it’s an awful thing, isn’t it, when even a boy’s best friends can’t stay awake while he tries to solve the world’s problems. At least the machines would only be making a din if they were working. You lot are snorting like pigs while you sleep! Three times I’ve walked by you, you sleeping-beauty country lads, but no-one answered a word. A great pity that you weren’t here, I’d hoped for better, but while the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak.
Rwy ‘di bod yn meddwl tybed beth i’w wneud nesaf, ac wedi dod i benderfyniad erbyn hyn. Ddim heddychwr di-asgwrn-cefn ydw i, y nefoedd wen, ond alla i’m cefnogi trais gwaedlyd chwaith. Gweddus a phleserus yw trengi tros eich mamwlad, ebe rhywun, rywbryd, ond dwi’n meddwl bod pentwr o hen sothach yw hyn. Rwy’n mynd i gwrdd â’r awdurdodau yn hwyrach heno, a gobeithio nad taflu ‘y ngemau o flaen y moch a wna i. Na ddeffro’r ci sy’n cysgu, reit? Ond, gadwech i ni weld beth fydd yn digwydd. Mae’n well ‘da fi hynny na gorfod dadlau gyda’r gormeswyr, yr hen foch budr! Mae 'yn ffrind bore oes wedi trefnu popeth, ac mae’n falch ar y diawl ei hun. Fel ‘y nghysgod i ydy a dweud y gwir, ond mae’n lico chwarae rhan yr ysbïwr, ac fe ‘naiff unrhyw beth i roi’i llaw ar fudrelw. Dylai fe fod yma cyn hir.I’ve been thinking what to do next, and I’ve come to a decision now. I’m no spineless pacifist, heavens above, but I can’t support bloody violence either. It’s right and fitting to die for your homeland, someone said, sometime, but I think that that’s a pile of old rubbish. I’m going to meet the authorities later tonight, and I hope I shan’t be casting my pearls before swine. Don’t wake a sleeping dog, right? But, let’s see what happens. I’d prefer that that having to debate with the oppressors, the dirty old swine! My lifelong buddy has arranged everything, and he’s pleased as Punch himself. He’s like my shadow, to tell the truth, but he likes to play the spy, and he’ll do anything to get his hands on filthy lucre. He should be here before long.
Ac eto i gyd, fe ddaw’r gofid pennaf pan wy’n gofyn i’m hun: ydw i’n wrthryfelgar heb glem, wedi’r cyfan? Ni dda gen i ‘mo’r crefyddau cyfundrefnol, na’n hun ni, na’r rhai sy’n perthyn i’r bobl ddieithr. Allwn i’m rhwystro ‘yn hun rhag rhoi cyfrif da ohono ‘yn hunan pan ‘naethon nhw ddechrau gwerthu yn Nheml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig fel petai’n ddim mwy na'r farchnadfa yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg. (Ac yno mae ystrywiau’r swynwyr yn hud-ddenu meddwl y boblogaeth gyda bara a chwaraeon, fel y maen nhw’n dilyn y llwybr briallog i’r Fall.) Fe’u gorfodwyd i godi weiren bigog er mwyn ‘y nghadw oddi ar y to, gan esgus iddyn nhw ddymuno dychryn y brain pygddu ymaith. O sut byddai’r waliau’n wylo pe gwyddent beth oedd yn digwydd. And then again, the chief trouble comes when I ask myself: am I a rebel without a clue, after all? I don’t care for organised religions, neither our own, nor those that belong to foreigners. I couldn’t stop myself from giving a good account of myself when they started selling bric-a-brac in the Temple of the Hidden Glory as if it were no more than than the marketplace in the Big, Bad City. (And there the sorcerers’ whiles beguile the mind of the populace with bread and circuses, so that they follow the primrose path to Perdition.) They were forced to put up barbed wire to keep me off the roof, pretending they wanted to scare off the ravens. Oh, how would the walls wail if they knew what was happening.
Edrychwch, dyma ‘y ngolwg ar y byd, yn blwmp ac yn blaen. Mae’r Dysgeidiaethau’n dweud taw duwiau ydych chi i gyd. Sut felly? Rhaid i chi gadarnhau taw cariad yw Ffynhonnell Popeth. A beth, wedyn, yw cariad? Ddim rhyw endid haniaethol, na chysgod wedi’i ddyfeisio gan yr athronwyr o Roeg ‘mo fe. Yn hytrach, cyflwr meddwl ydy, pan fyddwch yn barod i roi’ch bywyd er mwyn bodau eraill gyda’r parodrwydd mwyaf. Ar y Ddaear daw teyrnas cariad, y Nw Yrth hwn, yn gynt nag y dychmygwch. Look, here’s my view of the world, straight up. The Teachings say that you lot are all Gods. How so? You have to stress that love is the Source of Everything. And what, then, is love? It’s not some abstract entity, nor a phantom made up by the Greek philosophers. Rather, it’s a state of mind, when you are prepared to give your life for the sake of other beings, with the greatest of readiness. On the Earth shall come the kingdom of love, this Nw Yrth, sooner that you imagine.
Nage breuddwyd ryw hen hipi ‘mo fe ‘mo fe, na gwlad byth bythoedd, na lle gwacsaw, na gwlad hud a lledrith. Mae’n fangre sy’n cynnig realiti yn y fan a’r lle, ac sy’n ein rhyddhau ni o ddelweddau chwant a’n haflonyddai ni fel arall mewn tir diffaith dyfodol heb obaith. Bydd cyrraedd yno’n dalcen caled a alwa am hunanddisgyblaeth a phenderfyniad. Fi sy’n dangos y ffordd; fi sy’n agor y borth; ond sa i’n gallu gorfodi pobl i fynd drwyddo. Dim ond eisiau dangos i chi sut i rannu’r cariad dw i. Dyna sut rydyn ni’n mynd yn nes at y Ffynhonnell, ac at ein gilydd, wel yn ‘y nhyb i, petawn i’n marw, â’m llaw ar ‘y nghalon.It’s not the dream of some old hippy, nor a never-never land, nor a trifling place, nor a land of enchantment. It’s a location that offers reality right then and there, and which frees us from the images of want that would vex us in a hopeless future wasteland. It’ll be hard work getting there, which calls for self-discipline and determination. It’s me who shows the way, I who open the gate, but I can’t force people to go through. I only want to show you how to share the love. That's how we get closer to the Source, and to each other, well, in my opinion, upon my word, and hand on heart.
A phawb sy'n caru yn gallu dod i mewn. A byddwn nhw’n ‘neud hyn drwy gerdded yn ôl ‘y nhraed i, ymdrechu ymdrech deg, a siarad â’u calonnau dan glywed hefyd. Felly, na farnwch fel y rhai sy wedi'u hanafu'n wael, sy’n cynnig dim ond afal derw a finegr i’w hyfed, a pheidiwch dadansoddi pethau ormod. Carwch, carwch o waelod eich calon, achos bod cariad bob amser yn amddiffyn, wastad yn credu, o hyd yn gobeithio, bob adeg yn dal ati. Pan ddaw’r deyrnas, bydd bustl y moroedd yn corddi, a hollta cnawd y ddaear, a’r lien sy’n ein cuddio ni rhag cyfrinachau'r Deml a rwygir i lawr. And everyone who loves can come in. And they’ll do this by following in my footsteps, fighting the good fight, and talking to their hearts whilst listening too. So, don’t judge like those who've been badly damaged, who offer only gall and vinegar to drink, and don’t over-analyse things. Love, love from the bottom of your hearts, because love always protects, always believes, always hopes, always keeps going. When the kingdom comes, the seas’ bile shall boil, and the earth’s flesh shall rend, and the veil that hides us from the secrets of the Temple shall be rent asunder.
Yn wir, ges i flas ar y ddiod neithiwr, yn y parti uwchben y dafarn. Roedd arna i angen boddi ‘yn – ansicrwydd – er ‘mod i’n ymbil ar rywun i fynd â’r ddysgl oddi wrtha i. Dwi ‘di bod yn cael gweledigaethau ers ‘ny, ac yffach cols, ma’ hi’n gwasgu arna i, os wy’n onest. Ma’n dwym yma, dwi’n chwysu’n stecs, ac ma’ ‘ngwaed i’n berwi. Bron ag wylo dagrau o waed dw i. Oni bai am yr hunanamheuaeth, ac arswyd canlyniadau anhysbys, fe allwn i egluro i chi sut i ‘neud yr aberth penodol. ‘Swn i ond yn gallu sefyll yn ‘yn rhych! Truly, I had a skinful last night, in the party above the pub. I needed to drown my – insecurity – although I was begging someone to take the cup away from me. I’ve been having visions since then, and hellfire, it’s pressing down on me, if I’m honest. It’s warm here, I’m sweating buckets, and my blood’s boiling. I’m almost crying tears of blood. If it wasn’t for the self-doubt, and the fear of unknown consequences, I would explain to you how to make the appropriate sacrifice. If only I could stand my ground!
Rhaid i fi fynd nawr. Wi’n meddwl ‘mod i’n clywed aelodau’r Pwyllgor yn dynesu. Falle bydda i bant am gryn amser i ddod, ond cofiwch chi: ble bynnag yr ewch, yno y bydda i, yn eich llygadu chi â llygaid treiddgar cigfran reibus. Ac o ganlyniad i hyn, bydda i wastad yn eich meddyliau a’ch cofion. Afraid dweud hyn: fe fydda i ‘nôl, wi’n addo ar ‘y mheth mawr! I have to go now. I think I hear the members of the Committee approaching. Perhaps I’ll be away for quite some time to come, but you lot remember: wherever you go, there I’ll be, staring down on you with the piercing eyes of a ravenous raven. And as a result of this, I’ll always be in your minds and your memories. No need to say this: I’ll be back, I promise with all my might!
Ond ma’ arna i ofn erchyll. Pam ma’ heddlu yma? Wi’n teimlo’n sâl ac yn dychryn am ‘yn hoedl. Ma’ ‘ngwaed i wedi mynd i rewi nawr, wi’n digalonni, a ‘sdim ysbryd yno i mwyach. Dymuna i taw rhyw lu arallfydol ddôi i ‘nghipio i oddi ar safnau angau a mynd â fi i ddiogelwch, ond nid dyna sut ma’ pethau’n gweithio i lawr fan hyn, gwaetha’r modd. Rhywun a rô nerth i fi ‘neud y cwbl sy eisiau. O Dad, fy Nhad, ble rwyt ti? Wel, mae'r pen-bandit yma o'r diwedda, diolch byth —But I’m terribly frightened. Why are there police here? I feel sick and I’m terrified for my life. My blood’s frozen now, I’m losing heart, there’s no spirit in my any more. I want some otherworldly host to snatch me from death’s jaws and take me to safety, but that’s not how things work down here, more’s the pity. Someone give me strength to do all that’s needed. O Dad, my Dad, where are you? Well, the big chief's here at last, thank goodness —

Wel dyna’r gorau alla i neud y funud ma, ond trist dweud falle taw mwy na thebyg ffugiad yw’r peth wedi’r cwbl, wedi’i neud gan y bachgen trwblus hwn o’r Clinig lan y bryn a fu farw tua’r amser gaeth y jariau’u darganfod. Ch’wel, ‘Daa·hweeth Oh·fé’ oedd yr enw ar gefn y tudalennau, hyd y gwn i. Hynny yw, ‘David Baxter’ o ‘daa’ (‘gwastad’), ‘hweeth’ (‘annwyl’), ‘ofhs’ (‘toes’), a ‘fé’ (‘tân’). Dyna’r llanc a oedd yn arfer cymryd arno fe taw sowldiwr o Galon y Cyfandir oedd e, ac a achosai gymaint o broblemau! Wastad yn cymryd sylweddau meddwol, a dreifo’n danjerus, a rhoi popeth ar dân. A’r chwilod dieflig ym mhobman, ‘Resgob, w! Chep-er, chep-er, chep-er! Digon i yrru dyn o’i go! Ro’n nhw’n greaduriaid arallfydol o blaned hollol wahanol, fe ddywedai.

Well that’s the best I could do right now, but sad to say that more than likely the things a forgery, after all, made by that troubled boy from the Clinic up the hill who died about the time the jars were discovered. You see, ‘Daa·hweeth Oh·fé’ was the name on the back of the pages, as far as I know. That is, ‘David Baxter’ from ‘daa’ (‘constant’), ‘hweeth’ (‘beloved’), ‘ofhs’ (‘dough’), a ‘fé’ (‘fire’). That’s the lad who always used to pretend he was a soldier from the Heart of the Continent, and who caused so many problems! Always taking intoxicating substances, and driving dangerously, and setting things on fire. And the bloody beetles everywhere, Lordy, mun! Chep-er, chep-er, chep-er! Enough to drive a man mental! They were extra-terrestrial creatures from a totally different planet he said.

Ac wedyn roedd y torri i mewn i bobman, a’r rafio ym mherfeddion y nos (dawnsio a chyffuriau heb os), a’r neud difrod maleisus yn Neuadd y Delweddau gyda’i ffrind a dynniff gartwnau ffug-wydd (Steff neu rywbeth oedd ei enw? Dyn od rywsut na’i gilydd, ta be, ond sa i’n gallu gosod y mys ar y dolur o ran be sy’n bod arno fe). Ond llanc mor garedig oedd e, sdim dwywaith amdani. Fe fyddai’n helpu chi bob amser heb raid gofyn Pŵr dab ag e, ar ôl popeth roedd e wedi mynd drwyddo! Er gwaetha’r cam-drin roedd e fel rhyw hen hipi, llawn heddwch a chariad eto. Rhedeg bant a wnaeth e, am rai dyddiau, jyst cyn y, y tân. Rhyw brosiect rhiniol, meddai fe. Hud a lledrith, “i adael ei ôl ar y dyfodol.” Fe fyddai wedi bod yn dad digon da, sai fe wedi ymdawelu dipyn.

Elfan Baldrog Bacster. Dyna’r enw rhyfedd ar y mab sy’n dod i oed bellach., ond dyna ffordd y byd i chi. Mae’n eithriadol gryf ond yn tueddu i fod yn anniben chreulon ‘fyd hyd y gwela i. Mae di bod yn mynnu cydnabyddiaeth ac yn barod i gymryd y lle drosodd nawr bod ei Mam wedi mynd bant i weithio’n rhywle arall. Fe a gweddill y Bobol Sed. Ac mae’r Steff ‘na, y “Tywysydd Medrus” neu beth bynnag yw’i deitl twp, yn ddylanwad drwg ofnadw i ‘nhyb i. Mae’n neud i chi feddwl, on’d ydy, sbo. Dw i’n synnu dyw’r hen Dai Procter yn neud dim byd i gadw’r ffrwyn arnyn nhw. Ond eto i gyd, mae popeth wedi mynd i’r cŵn i’r fath raddau bellach. Dim jôc yna, dw i’m yn gor-ddweud, ond mae’n teimlo fel petai’r Byd yn rhuthro ar ei ben tuag at ddinistr yn y Pwll Diwaelod, rhwng yr holl gimerâu’n ymddangos ym mhob man wrth i bobl newid a mynd yn fwystfilod. Falle taw angen Cynghrair yr Uwch-Arwyr sydd arnon ni wedi’r cwbl, i gadw trefn ar bethau, ond mae’n ymddangos bod nhw ishe’n hysgubo ni’r werin ddilychwin ymaith o’u blaen nhw.

O na bai’n arwr Mor·dwnom Ddewin, Mawdryn Ddifarw, Mulrin, môr-leidr ar y môr cysefin, Nulolana, meistr y geiriau glân, yma i’n helpu ni! Ond ni ddaw e byth i roi’r Byd ar dân, ac felly fi fydd yn gorfod dihuno nerth y Blaned gwsg. Ond wedi dweud ‘ny, ‘dwn i’m beth i’w neud na sut i lithro o dan radar y rhifolegwyr, y meddyliaethyddion, yr offeiriaid, y sêr-ddewiniaid, yr alcemyddion, y chwilyswyr, a’r dehonglwyr yn perthyn i’r Sefydliadau Crefyddol ar y naill ochr, a lluoedd anataliadwy Milisia’r Bobl Wlatgar ar y llall, chwith. Hmm. Iawn, dyna ni te, wi’n eitha di-hwyl nawr. Dw i’n methu cael gwared ar y geiriau od ‘na o ‘mhen i – “Shezesista-duí sivuva-bu, soraka-gohé klilté-dí krinsa-zuhí hílé, elaté-dolé elí-ruí izné-mí” – “Anadl y sarff, swyn bywyd a thranc, d’argoel wneuthur” – ond dw i’m yn deall be i neud gyda nhw, er eu bod yn bwysig iawn, heb os, fel y mae swynion yn yr Hen Hen Yrtheg bob amser. Wi’n teimlo bod rhaid i fi’u hadrodd nhw drosodd a throsodd drwy’r amser.

Ond maen nhw’n dal i newid, fel bod nhw’n dawnsio yn ‘mhen i, o’r braidd fe alla i ymdopi, a bellach mae’n swnio fel: “Sesihā sifufa i, sorahā lithe i thie rira lirī, elū lu a rinae i.” Be ar y Ddaear yw’r ystyr dw i’m yn gallu cael hyd iddo? Dyn a ŵyr i sicrwydd? Ond mae’n rhywbeth i’w neud â rheoli grymoedd natur, uno gwrthgyferbyniadau, creu Dvaldí a Hlevné newydd (neu Thoahatha a Lehenefa, falle), a defnyddio elfennau fel metel a dŵr i agor porth i Fydoedd Eraill, gan berffeithio’r rhyngwynebu rhwng cnawd a phlastig, rhwng silicon a dur gwrthstaen, wrth wahanu ysbryd oddi wrth sylwedd, hollti amser oddi wrth ofod, a thorri achos ac effaith, be bynnag yw ystyr hynny. Wedyn fe fydd Chwaer Lygaid Cadno a’r angylion plwm di-ben yn disgyn drwy’r twll cwningen rhyngalaethog i fwydo arnon ni, ond mab y forwyn fydd yn ein hachub ni gan ddinistrio’r Hen Drefn ar yr un pryd. Ww, diar, diar, dw i’m yn deall be ddylwn i neud o gwbl. Mae’n codi pwys arna i. Pam fi? Dim ond trio neud ‘ngorau glas dw i, gan helpu Dai Procter a chadw ‘mhen i lawr. Rhaid i fi fynd i orffwys mewn stafell dywyll am y pnawn nawr te, a disgwyl gorchmynion oddi uchod fel petai. Wela i chi cyn hir, gobeithio, wel, o leia falle bydda i’n cyfathrebu gyda chi rywsut neu’i gilydd, a bod y Pwerau Dychrynllyd yn caniatáu! Ffred.

And then there was the breaking in everywhere, and the raving in the dead of night (dancing and drugs no doubt), and the malicious damage in the Hall of the Images with his friend who draws sci-fi cartoons (Steff or something was his name? Odd man somehow, anyway, but I can’t put my finger on what his problem is). But he was such a kind lad, no two ways about it. He would always help you without having to ask. Poor dab, after everything he’d been through! Despite the mistreatment he was like some old hippy, still full of peace and love. Ran off for a few days he did, just before the, the fire. Some mysterious project he said. Hocus-pocus, “leaving his mark on the future.” He would’ve been a good enough dad, if he’d calmed down a bit. Elfan Baldrog Bacster.

That’s the strange name of the son who’s coming of age now, but that’s the way of the world for you. He’s exceptionally strong but tends to be sloppy and cruel too as far as I can see. He’s been asserting himself and is ready to take the place over now his Mam’s gone off to work elsewhere. Him and the rest of the Z-People. And that Steff, the “Skilled Leader” or whatever his stupid title is, is a terribly bad influence in my view. It makes you think, doesn’t it, I s’pose. I’m surprised the old Dai Procter doesn’t keep them in check. But then again, everything’s gone to the dogs to such an extent now. No joke there, I’m not exaggerating, but it feels as if the World’s rushing headlong towards complete destruction in the Bottomless Pit, what with all the chimeras appearing everywhere as people change and turn bestial. Perhaps we do need the League of Superheroes after all, to keep things in order, but it looks like they want to sweep us, the untarnished folk, away before them.

If only my hero Mor·dwnom the Wizard, Undead Mawdryn, Mulrin, pirate on the primal ocean, Nulolana, master of the sacred words, were here to help us! But he’ll never come to set the World on fire, and so it’s me who’ll have to wake the power of the sleeping Planet. But having said that, I don’t know what to do, nor how to slip under the radar of the numerologists, the mentalists, the priests, the astrologers, the inquisitors, and the decipherers belonging to the Religious Institutions on the one side, and the irrepressible hordes of the Patriotic People’s Militia on the other, either. Hmm. Right, there we are then, I’m rather upset now. Can’t get those strange words out of me bonce: “Shezesista-duí sivuva-bu, soraka-gohé klilté-dí krinsa-zuhí hílé, elaté-dolé elí-ruí izné-mí” – “Serpent’s breath, charm of death and life, thy omen of making” – but I don’t understand what to do with them, although they’re very important, without a doubt, as spells in Ancient Yrthian always are. I feel like I must keep on saying them over and over all the time.

They keep on changing, like they’re dancing about in my head, I can hardly cope, and now it sounds like: “Sesihā sifufa i, sorahā lithe i thie rira lirī, elū lu a rinae i.” What on Earth’s the meaning I can’t find out? Who knows for sure? But it’s something to do with controlling the forces of nature, uniting opposites, creating a new Dvaldí and Hlevné (or Thoahatha and Lehenefa, perhaps), and using elements like metal and water to open a gate to Other Worlds, perfecting the interface between flesh and plastic, silicon and stainless steel, whilst sundering spirit and substance, splitting time from space, and breaking cause and effect, whatever that means. Then Sister Fox-Eyes and the acephalic leaden angels shall descend through the inter-galactic rabbit hole to feed upon us, but the maiden’s son shall save us, destroying the Old Order at the same time. Ooh, dear me, I don’t know what I should do at all. It makes me want to puke. Why me? I’m only trying to do my very best, helping Dai Procter out and keeping me head down. I’ve got to go to lie down in a dark room for the afternoon now then and await orders from above as it were. See you before long, I hope, well, at least maybe I can communicate with you somehow or other, the Terrible Powers permitting! Ffred.

Strange landscape

Pennod Pump: Urddo (Lleisiau 1) / Initiation (Voices 1)

Y mae Theori Gemau’n sôn am ‘Cysgod Hir y Dyfodol,’ sydd yn enw ar y ffaith y bydd pobl yn cydweithio os ydynt yn coelio y cânt naill ai wobr neu gosb, ryw ddydd a ddaw, o ganlyniad i sut yr ymddwynant yn rheolaidd yn y cyfamser. Gall hyn fod yn dda iawn mewn llawer o sefyllfaoedd yn y byd go iawn. Ond mewn cyferbyniad, dychmygwch eich bod newydd dderbyn y newyddion eich bod i farw yn y dyfodol agos. Yn ddiau y deuech o hyd i lawer ffordd o foddio pob chwant o’r eiddoch cyn ichi ddiosg y corff priddlyd, ac i gythraul â gweddill y byd. Hynny yw, fe dueddwch i fentro ar wneud pethau sy’n risg uchel, ond yn golled uchel ar yr un pryd. Ac yn gyffredinol dim ond ychydig o’r fath ymddygiad a bery ichi drengi hyd yn oed yn gynharach nag y dylech. Felly cleddyf daufiniog yw’r Cysgod hwn. Mae’n dda, ac eithrio pan yw’n ddrwg.

Game Theory talks about the ‘Long Shadow of the Future,’ which is a name for the fact that people cooperate if they believe they will receive either a reward or a penalty, at some point in the future, as a result of how they regularly behave in the meantime. This can be very good in many situations in the real world. But counter to this, imagine you have just received the news that you are to die in the near future. Doubtless you could find many ways of satisfying every one of your desires before you put off the mortal flesh, and to hell with the rest of the world. That is, you would tend to take a chance on doing things that are high-risk, but high-loss at the same time. And in general only a little such behaviour causes you to perish even earlier than you should. Thus this Shadow is a two-edged sword. It is good, except when it is bad.

Glasiad dydd ydoedd, fore Iau'r ail ar hugain o Fehefin 1967 hynny yw Canol Haf (er nad dygwyl y Merthyron Colledig), yn ystod Haf Cariad, ac fe ddigwyddai ‘lleuad fefus’ y noson honno hefyd (fel y dywed brodorion cysefin cyfandir Gogledd America yn eu hieithoedd amryfal eu hunain). A dyna oeddwn yn laslanc wedi’i amddifadu, na charasai lawer o gwbl, yn Nheml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig i gael fy holi gan Aelodau Llawn Urdd Cyfrinachau, fel petawn yn sefyll arholiad.It was daybreak, Thursday morning the twenty-second of June 1967 that is Midsummer Day (although not the Feast of the Lost Martyrs), during the Summer of Love, and a ‘strawberry moon’ would occur that night too (as the native inhabitants of the continent of North America say in their own various languages). And there I was, an orphaned youth, who had not done much loving at all, in the Temple of the Hidden Glory to be examined by the Full Members of the Guild of Secrets as if I were sitting an examination.
Ac yn wir, prawf llythrennol oedd hwn, lle y byddai raid i’r ymgeisydd sefyll trwy gydol yr ymbil, gan wisgo dim ond tiwnig hir o hesian wedi’i channu’n wyn fel y galchen, a gwregys gwyrdd am ei wasg, wrth areithio’n rhugl gan ddefnyddio brawddegau erchyll o gymhleth yn yr Hen Iaith Yrtheg. Fe fyddai raid chwedleua fel y cyfarwyddiaid ddyddiau gynt, gan alw ar i’r Hen Ddienyddiau swyno’r gynulleidfa, a thrwy wneuthur hynny efe a rwydai’u meddyliau, a dwyn eu heneidiau, er cymaint fyddai angerdd geiriau’r darpar Ddewin.And indeed, this was a literal test, where the candidate would have to stand throughout the entreaty, wearing but a long tunic of hessian, bleached white as chalk, with a green belt about his waist, whilst orating fluently, using sentences of terrible complexity in the Old Yrthian Language. There would be need to tell tales like the story-weaverrs in days past, calling on the Ancients of Days to enchant the audience, and by doing that we would entrap their minds, and steal their souls, so great would be the passion of the prospective Magus’ words.
Tra oedd yr Hen Feistres (ac megis rhyw gyfuniad o Blodeuwedd ac Arianrhod a’r Arglwyddes Macbeth ydoedd) yn grymial uwch ein pennau ar ei phulpud fel fersiwn benywaidd y Du Trahaus o lenyddiaeth i ddod, a Hudolion eraill yr Urdd o’r ddeutu, arogl cryfhaol coedwyrdd a araf lanwai’n hysgyfaint o ddysgl ar ben trybedd yng nghanol y cylch cysegredig. Hyhi a oedd am i mi ddioddef y ddefod urddo, a gogoneddus oedd yr hen wrones a wisgai ŵn hir ysgarlad ac arno sêr o aur, a het drichorn, ddu, ac yn ei llaw oedd hudlath o binwydd dros chwe throedfedd. Erbyn hynny cigyddes barchus ydoedd, a sêr-ddewin amatur yn achwaneg i hynny. Ac felly y cychwynnais ar f’araith, ac ymaith â ni ar adenydd gwynt main a gwawdus fy melltithiad, heb allu dal sylw ar ddim ar wahân i’r geiriau gan gyflymed yr oeddem yn hedeg —Whilst the Old Mistress (and she was like some combination of Blodeuwedd and Arianrhod and Lady Macbeth) muttered above us in her pulpit like a female version of the Du Trahaus of literature to come, with the other Wizards of the Guild on both sides, the refreshing odour of wintergreen slowly filled our lungs from a bowl on top of a tripod in the middle of the sacred circle. It was she who wanted me to undergo the initiation ceremony, and the old heroine was magnificent, garbed in a long scarlet gown with golden stars, and a black, tricorn hat, and in her hand a magic staff of pinewood over six feet long. By then she was a respected butcher, and an amateur astrologer in addition to that. And so I began my declamation, and off we went on the wings of the kee and scornful wind of my imprecation, unable to attend to anything apart from the worlds as we were flying so rapidly —
“Gosodwyd i lawr nad oedd neb na allai siarad yr Heniaith i ddal unrhyw swydd uchel yn yr Urdd hon, ac felly yr wyf wedi manwl astudio’r iaith a’r defodau i gyd. Noeth y deuthum o groth fy mam, a noeth y dychwelaf yno, ond fel y’i dywedir, fe ddylai’r plant fod yn fodlon i wisgo’r un dillad ag a wisgasai eu tadau o’u blaenau. Yma safaf o’ch blaenau chwi, a chennyf fi wisg foel newyddian yr Urdd amdanaf, ac fel hyn y llefaraf â chwi. Ond yr wyf wedi tramgwyddo’n groes i’r hyfforddiant a roddir i’r rhai sydd yn cychwyn ar y llwybrau nefol y gwybyddai Mechdeyrnedd y Diffeithwch Dwyreiniol amdanynt. Yr wyf wedi llefaru geiriau nerthol, ac nid dysgwr mohonof fi mwyach. Ai oherwydd fy nghyfeillion ydych, y’m clywch chi’n ddwys, ynteu oblegid fy mod wedi dod yn drechaf ar yr hen gyfrinachau, ac yr ydych yn f’ofni i?”“It has been set down that no-one who could not speak the Old-tongue was to hold any high office in this Society, and so I have finely studied the language and all the rites. Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there, but as it is said, the children should be willing to wear the same garments that their fathers wore before them. Here I stand before you, in the meagre dress of a neophyte of the Guild, and like this shall I speak with you. But I have sinned against the instruction given to those who are setting out on the heavenly byways which the Overlords of the Eastern Desert knew about. I have pronounced words of power and I am a learner no longer. Is it because you are my comrades that you hear me intently, or because I have mastered the old secrets and you fear me?”
Euthum yn fy mlaen wedyn: “Ai aderyn drwgargoelus yw’ch enw arnaf fi? A yw’n hawdd imi gael fy nghyfrif yn ddrygionus, er mai dim ond henoed chwerw, rhagrithiol, beirniadol, ac unig ydych chi i gyd, sydd wedi methu’n lân mewn pob ymdrech? Gwir y mae’r gigfran hon yn sôn yn hyn o beth – Myfi a orfoda i chwi’r colomennod beidio ag anghofio diarhebion y doethion, ac anwybyddu dywediadau’r henafiaid. Felly llefaraf. Na cherwch gysgu, rhag eich myned yn wirion; ond er mai adfyd sy’n datblygu cymeriad, ni ddylech daflu’ch gemau o flaen y moch, rhag iddynt eu sathru dan eu traed, a throi a’ch rhwygo chwi. Pe mynegwn, a thraethu’ch gwendidau, amlach fyddant nag y gellid eu rhifo. Y mae dau beth a ddysgir yn dda yng Nghymru, sef sut i ganmol a sut i feirniadu, a gwneud y naill yn rhy dda yr ydych, tra methwch â gwneud y llall yn llwyr. Fel y’m taflwch finnau ymaith, fel na ddeloch chi byth yn ddoethion.I went on then: “Is bird of ill omen your name for me? Is it easy for me to be accounted evil, although naught but bitter old-folks are you all, prejudiced, judgemental, and lonely, who have utterly failed in every effort? Truly is this raven speaking in this case – It is I who shall force you the doves to cease forgetting the proverbs of the wise and ignoring the sayings of the ancestors. So I speak. Do not love sleep, lest you become stupid, but, although affliction develops character, you should not cast your gems before the swine, lest they trample them underfoot, and turn to maul you. If I were to reveal, and discuss, your weaknesses, they would be more numerous than could be counted. There are two things that are taught well in Wales, namely how to praise and how to judge, and you do the one too well, whilst you fail to do the other entirely. In the same way that you cast me aside, so you may never become wise.
“Mae’r mwyafrif llethol ohonoch chi’n honni bod dynolryw yn iachach, yn gryfach, ac yn hapusach nag y buont erioed, ond mae arnaf ofn na allaf gytuno. Fe ddefnyddiant holl ddyfeisiau technegol eu gwybodaeth helaeth yn ôl fel y gwelant yn dda, gan ddistrywio’r blaned. Fe gredant hefyd, am eu bod mor ddysgedig, a chanddynt gymaint o ysgrifau astrus, eu bod yn medru consurio a gorchymyn yr ysbryd dynol ac yn rheoli hyd yn oed rymoedd natur. Y mae ganddynt eisoes gymaint o arian, a meddiannau, ac uchelgeisiau, a gofidiau’n dynn o’u cwmpas na ddeuent fyth trwy borth y Deml hon pe gwerthent eu heneidiau.“The vast majority of you claim that humankind is healthier, stronger, and happier than they have ever been, but I fear I cannot agree. They use all the technological inventions of their extensive knowledge as they see fit, destroying the planet. They also believe, as they are so learned, and have so many abstruse writings, that they can conjure and command the human spirit and rule even the powers of nature. They already have so much money, and so many possessions, and ambitions, and sorrows, girded tight about them they could never come through the gate of this Temple if they were to sell their souls.
“Ond eto i gyd pobl un rhyw a eilw am i’r dymestl, yr haint, a'r milwyr, daro pobl rhyw arall â lladdfa fawr, canys beth sydd fwy dealladwy ond hefyd yn fwy anghyfiawn nag i bobl gasáu'r hyn nis adnabyddant? Pwy mwyach sydd yn cofio’r dywediad, Na fernwch, fel na’ch barner? Eto myfi sydd wedi gweld yn ystod fy mywyd byr mwy o erchylltod arswydus nag a fedrir yn awr ei draethu, nac a fedrais y pryd hynny ei oddef.“But then again people of a certain kind call for the tempest, and the plague, and the soldiers, to strike down people of another sort in a great slaughter, since what is more comprehensible but also more unjust than that people hate what they do not understand? Who any more remembers the saying: Judge not, that you not be judged? Yet it is I who have seen during my short life more terrible ghastliness than can now be recounted, nor than I could at that time suffer.
“Pe bawn i yn y bedd, yng nghroth fy mam gyntaf, hyhi a’m cadwai’n ddiogel ac a’m cuddiai rhag y gofid uffernol sydd ar y Ddaear hon dan yr Haul. Ond nid ydwyf yn y bedd, yn hytrach yr wyf fel pe bawn yn newydd-anedig. A gwn i mai Saith Swynwr y Nw Yrth sydd yn gwarafun inni ddysgu eu hud, eithr taw’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd a annog imi ei ddefnyddio’n ddwys. Geiriau sobrwydd yr wyf fi yn eu traethu yma.“Were I in the grave, in the womb of my first mother, she would keep me safe and hide me from the hell and the hellish suffering which is on this Earth under the Sun. But I am not in the grave, rather I am as if I were newly-born. And I know that it is the Seven Sorcerers of the Nw Yrth who are preventing us from learning their magic, but that it is the Indolent Idolaters who are encouraging me to use it intensely. Words of gravity am I pronouncing here.
“Felly y mae’r gwynt yn chwythu lle y mynno, eithr myfi sydd wedi defnyddio nerth geiriau hudol i’m cadw fy hunan yn ddianaf, fel pa le bynnag y crwydrwn, hyd yn oed pe rhodiwn ar hyd glyn cysgod angau, nid ofnwn ddim niwed. Ni ddywedaf hyn oll wrthych oblegid ni wyddoch y gwirionedd, eithr oherwydd eich bod yn ei wybod, ond ni sylweddolwch chwi. Ac fe ddywedaf wrthych: Wele, fel y mae clai yn nwylo’r crochenydd, felly yr ydych chwithau yn fy nwylo i, o ganlyniad i’m geiriau swynol! Oblegid nid wyf yn amau na allaf gynhyrfu calonnau’r rhai yma cyn y delwyf i ddiwedd y darn hwn, i newidio eu meddwl. Felly gochelwch chi! Os torrir yn yfflon rywbeth na ellir byth ei gyfannu drachefn na’i wneuthur fel cynt, yna fe brofir gwŷn gwahanol yn wir. Am y rhai megis ag y maent hwy’n barod i gredu addewidion y Dewin, felly y dylent fod mor barod i goelio ei fygythion hefyd.“Thus the wind blows where it will, but it is I who have used the power of magic words to keep myself unharmed, so that wherever I wandered, even if I were to walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I should fear no damage. I do not say all this to you because you do not know the truth, but because you do know but you do not realise. And I say to you: Behold, as is clay in the hands of the potter, so are you in my hands, as a result of my enchantments! For I do not doubt I can strike terror into the hearts of those here before I come to the end of this piece, to change their minds. So beware! If something is broken to smithereens that can never be put together again nor made as before, then a different passion will be experienced indeed. For those such as are ready to believe the promises of the Magus, so they should be as ready to give credence to his threats also.
“O angenrheidrwydd y gweithredais o’m pen a’m pastwn fy hun, er cynted ag y penderfynais deithio lle y mae cyn lleied wedi teithio o’r blaen. Ym mha le y byddai’r achlysur unigryw’n digwydd? Meddyliwn am Neuadd y Delweddau dan y tŵr cloc, un o’m hoff leoedd. Dyna fangre sy’n fwrlwm o egnïon hynod. Ond byddai raid y cadwer pob peth yn y fan gysegredig yn lân, heb olion llysnafedd, na chwys, na dagrau; a heb ei halogi gan werin bobl, hyd at eiliad y seremoni, “rhag i’r holl nerth erch droi yn erbyn y chwiliwr.” Yn enwedig fe fyddai gan y grisial-syllwyr angen bod yn dra chynefin â’r llafar-ganeuon priodol. Hyn oll oedd yn ôl cyfarwyddiadau’r Brodyr Ioan Llwynlesg yn ei Lawlyfr Hud a Lledrith dychrynllyd o’r enw ‘Sefer ha-Marot,’ neu ‘Llyfr Drychau’ a ysgrifennwyd yn y bedwaredd ganrif ar ddeg.“Of necessity I operated on my own initiative, as soon as I decided to travel where so few have travelled before. Where would the unique event take place? I thought about the Hall of the Images below the clock tower, one of my favourite places. That’s a place that’s seething with curious enregies. But it would be necessary that every thing in the consecrated space be kept pure, without traces of snot, and sweat, and tears; and without desecration by normal folk, until the moment of the ceremony, “lest the whole dread power do turn against the seeker.” In particular the scryer would need to be very familiar with the appropriate chants. All of this was according to the instructions of Brother Johann Woodswurch in his terrifying Grimoire called ‘Sefer ha-Marot’ or ‘The Book of Mirrors’ which was written in the fourteenth century.
“Felly yn seler yr hen Dŷ Glas y digwyddai, y bwthyn hwnnw wedi’i adeiladu o gerrig cysegredig a ddygwyd o Breseli, ar gladdfa Geltaidd lle mae mynediad hynafol i Annwfn, wedi’i amddiffyn gan Mawdryn, arglwydd difarw amser, wrth i olau’r lleuad lawn ddisgleirio tu allan. Mae rhai’n ei ddisgrifio fel plasdy i’r meirwon anniddig, ac yno y cyrchais liw nos gyda’r teclynnau arferol -- dagr glân a defnydd helaeth arno, dwy ddoli glwt, potel o ddŵr rhedegog, ffres wedi’i gasglu o nant ddyw Awst, tun o baent coch (neu waed), a brwsh o flew ci -- mewn sach o hesian. Ymhellach, dod â’r drych hudol a wneuthum i weled ynddo'r pethau nas gweler gan lygaid byw. Fe adeiladais byramid sylweddol yng nghanol y llawr o bridd yn symbol o aileni, ac i weithio fel goleufa i’m harwain yn ôl, gan ei fedyddio â gwaed a dywalltai o archoll yn fy mraich chwith. Fe yngenais i’r swynion priodol, a phaentio’r arwyddion cêl, hyd yn oed y Sêl Ysgarlad y nedir i neb ei llunio ar wyneb y Ddaear. Ac yn olaf, fe lowciais i’r dracht arbennig i’r talcen.So in the cellar o the old Blue House it would happen, that cottage built of sacred rock brought from Preseli, on a Celtic burial-site where there is an ancient entrance to the Underworld, guarded by Mawdryn, the undead lord of time, while the light of the full moon glinted outside. Some describe it as a mansion for the restless deceased, and there I made for by night with the usual equipment – a purified, much-used dagger, two rag-dolls, a bottle of fresh, running water, collected from a stream on Lammas Day, a tin of red paint (or blood), and a dog-fur brush – in a hessian sack. Furthermore, I brought the magic mirror in which to see the things that should not be seen by living eyes. I build a substantial pyramid un the middle of the earthen floor as a symbol of rebirth, and to act as a lighthouse to guide me back, baptizing it with blood which poured from a gash in my left arm. I pronounced the appropriate spells, and painted the secret signs, even the Scarlet Seal which all are forbidden from fashioning on the face of the Earth. And last, I downed the special draught.
“Rhwydd disgyn i Annwfn. Fe ddarfu imi deithio’n syth ar draws ehangder helaeth y continwwm gofod-amser fel rhyw blentyn annaearol, cyn imi gyrraedd pyllau diwaelod cyfandir deheuol y Nw Yrth, yn llawn tân rhewllyd a serch a glwyfa. Ac wedyn, wedi cyfnod a deimlai fel tragwyddoldeb wrth imi fod yn y fantol yn hofran rhwng bod ac anfod, fe ddaeth gweledigaeth ohono fe i’r golwg o fôr gwaed berwedig, tra torrodd fy nrych yn gyrbibion. Ac wedyn: O, arswyd, ddychryn, ysgryd – dyma ffiaidd bwyll – Na ddywed tafod d’enw, na deall calon dy dwyll!“Easy is the descent to Hell. I immediately travelled across the vast expanse of the space-time continuum like some unearthly child, before I reached the bottomless pits on the southern continent of the Nw Yrth, full of freezing fire and love that pierces. And then, after a period that felt like eternity whilst I was in the balance hovering between being and non-being, there came into view a vision of him from a sea of boiling blood, while my mirror smashed into fragments. And then: Oh, horror, terror, quaking – here’s a mind so vile – That tongue speaks not your name, nor fathoms heart your guile!
“Baratoed oedd yr Offeiriad Coch, ymgnawdoliad yr hen Swynwyr yn ei ateb yntau. Uchel Dad Cyffredinol. y Brodyr Cwflog ydy, ac yr oedd â chwcwll am ei ben, oedd yn belen o gnawd braenllyd a heigiai â chynrhon; ac o dan ei urddwisg fudredig y symudai heb ball ffurfiau fel seirff cyhyrog. Ar ei faner las yr oedd cadlef y Saith Swynwr gormesol – Heddwch trwy Ryfel. Rhyddid mewn Caethder. Anwybodaeth yw Nerth. Fe lefarodd ef wedyn o ran ei feistri erchyll gan ddywedyd:“How ready was the Red Priest, avatar of the old Sorcerers in his answer. He is Superior General of the Cowled Brothers, and he had a hood about his head, which was a ball of corrupt flesh, teeming with maggots, and under his decayed vestments there moved ceaselessly forms like muscular snakes. On his blue standard there was the battle-cry of the Seven oppressive Sorcerers – Peace through War. Freedom in Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. He spoke then on behalf of his terrible masters, saying:
“‘Os oes gan neb glustiau i wrando, gwrandawed! Ni ddylet ti mor rhyfeddu fe ddarfod i ddynol-ryw ddewis ufuddhau i’w meistri, Saith Swynwr y Nw Yrth sydd mor haelionus a maddeugar tuag at y trychfilod y maent wedi’u dewis, a’u hachub a’u dyrchafu ar y Ddaear a becha’n gyson yn eu herbyn mor ysgeler. Hwynt-hwy a roddodd i’r Pharoaid wybodaeth ma’at ac isfet, a ddysgodd iddynt gyfrinachau’r ren, y ba, y cha, y siwt, y chaibet, yr haw, y chet, yr ib, a’r ach – a ddangosodd sut mae’r grym bywiol yn symbylu’r bersonoliaeth unigol yn y corff, gyda chymorth y cysgod – ac a esboniodd sut i glymu’r galon a’r enw ar ôl marwolaeth y gelain ar ffurf yr ysbryd nerthol, fel y rodio ef lwybrau trefn gyda hwynt fel eu gwas caeth ar y Nw Yrth am byth. A bellach yn yr oes sydd ohoni, hwynt-hwy a ddatgela’r pŵer yn niwclews yr atom, yr holl ddefnydd ar belydriad electromagnetig, a’r cyfrinachau cemegol yn organyn crwn hwnnw’n cynnwys y cromosomau ym mhob cell byw.“’If anyone has ears to listen, let him hear! You should not be so surprised that humankind chose to obey their masters, the Seven Sorcerers of the Nw Yrth who are so generous and forgiving towards those insects they have chosen, and saved, and raised up on the Earth, who constantly sin against them so abominably. It is they who gave to the Pharaohs the knowledge of ma’at and isfet, who taught them the secrets of the ren, the ba, the kha, the siwt, the khaibet, the haw, the khet, the ib, and the akh – who showed how the life-force stimulates the individual personality in the body, with the help of the shadow – and explained how to bind the heart and the name after death of the corpse in the form of the effective spirit, so that it might tread the pathways of order with them as their bond-servant on the Nw Yrth for ever. And now, in this current age, it is they who have revealed the power in the nucleus of the atom, all the uses of electromagnetic radiation, and the chemical secrets in that round organelle containing the chromosomes in every living cell.
“Ond mae’r oes oddi ar ei hechel pan fo rhai’n troi ymaith rhag llwybr rhwyd cyfiawnder sy’n arwain at fodlondeb y tu hwnt i syrffed mewn byd lle y datgelir pob cyfrinach, ac y dilëir pob staen gan wyrthiau syfrdanol ein technoleg, oni bai eu bod yn addoli dan wawl chwilysaidd yr Haul, gwir Dad i bawb. Gerllaw y dangosaf iti sut y maent yn derbyn eu cosb gorfforol a meddyliol. Ac o’th ran di hefyd, cymer ofal, deithiwr tila, sydd wedi dod yma heb wahoddiad a chyn pryd, rhag i’th gannwyll ddiffodd ar y Ddaear cyn iti ddychwelyd, rhag na fo goleuni ynot i ddangos iti i ba le yr elych wrth farw. Gwell fyddai arbed dy lais nerthol di hyd nes y bydd yn gwbl gryf wrth goleddu dy ffyddlondeb tuag at dy wir feistri. Wedyn tyrd yn d’ôl di, ac fe fydd iti wobr enfawr, a bywyd tragwyddol, os llwyddo yn y prawf terfynol a wnei di. Oblegid fel y daw’r fellten o’r dwyrain, gan lewyrchu hyd y gorllewin; felly hefyd y bydd dyfod Teyrnas y Swynwyr, lle yr oedd yn y dechrau, y mae'r awr hon, ac y bydd yn wastad yn oes, mai Ffydd yw Purdeb, Purdeb yw Nerth. Ond yn y cyfamser fe fyddaf fi wastad gyda thi. Nid oes raid i ti ond cofio hyn: Swtach oedd teitl arnaf fi yn y gorffennol pell. Felly sonier enw arglwydd trefn sy’n dofi’r anialwch coch, ac fe ddaw ar y gair!’"The times are out of joint when some may turn away from the easy path of righteousness which leads to satiation beyond surfeit in a world where all secrets are revealed, and all stains are removed by the stunning miracles of our technology, if only they worship under the inquisitorial radiance of the Sun, true Father to all. Imminently I shall show to you how they receive their punishment, corporal and mental. And for your part, too, take care, puny traveller, who has come here uninvited and before his time, lest your candle go out on the Earth before you return, so that there be not be light in you to show you where to go when you die. It would be better to save your voice of power until it is completely strong whilst cultivating your faithfulness towards your true masters. Then come back, and there shall be for you an enormous prize, and eternal life, if you succeed in the final test. For as the lightning comes from the east, and radiates as far as the west; so too shall be the coming of the Kingdom of the Sorcerers, where it was in the beginning, it is now, and it shall be for ever, that Faith is Purity, Purity is Strength. But in the meantime I shall be always with you. You need remember only this: Swtach was my title in the distant past. Therefore speak the name of the lord of order who tames the red wilderness, and he is sure to appear!’
“A chyda caniad calonrwygol utgorn o bres oedd yn ddigon i oeri’r gwaed, disgynnodd y cennad ysgethrin i eigion o blwm tawdd, llawn siapau’n debyg iawn i gyrff a gynhyrfai fel pe baent mewn gloes. Ac o’r herwydd y’i hadwaenir fel y Peintiwr Coch hefyd, gan mai gwaed a thân a chnawd yw ei elfennau, a’i eiddo ef yw’r Sêl Ysgarlad erch, a phoen chwerw-felys yw arf ei gelf. Arhosodd y weledigaeth hon gyda mi hyd nes i’r pelydryn olaf ballu yn y darn o ddrych, wrth i’r llais gorfelys fflatsian yn fy nghlustiau fel triagl, canys yn gymaint ag iddynt wneuthur llawer o bethau, y Swynwyr a ddichon demtio’r rhai a wrendy arnynt. Oblegid a gymero ddiawl yn athro, a ddysg fod yn gythraul. Âi cryndod amhosibl ei atal trwy fy nghnawd a’m hesgyrn, fy ngïau a’m mêr, wrth edrych ar yr holl olygfa uffernol, fel pe bawn yn edrych ar y llyn brwmstan, llosgedig ei hunan, canys diau y gwêl ambell un fwy mewn awr nag a wêl llawer ohonoch chi mewn einioes.“And with the heart-rending blast of a brazen trumpet which was enough to chill the blood, the terrible emissary descended into an ocean of molten lead, full of shapes very like bodies that writhed as if they were in agony. And thus is he known also as the Red Painter as his elements are blood, and fire, and flesh, and to him the dire Scarlet Seal belongs, and bitter-sweet pain is the tool of his art. This vision remained with me until the last ray faded in the shard of mirror, while the saccharine voice sloshed about in my ears like treacle, because in as much as they do many things, the Sorcerers are able to tempt those who listen to them. For whoever takes the devil as a teacher, shall learn to be a devil. An unstoppable trembling went through my flesh and my bones, my sinews and my marrow, whilst looking at the whole hellish scenario, as if I were looking at the burning, brimstone lake itself, since doubtless the occasional one shall see more in an hour than shall see many of you in a lifetime.
“Llefain ac adrodd a wneuthum, ond nid atebwyd mo’m llafarganu. Wedyn, pan eu ceisiaswn hwynt ond heb gael hyd iddynt, fe holais i’r Delw-addolwyr unwaith yn rhagor o affwys anobaith. Ac fe arhosais, a chwyno, a bloeddio tan i’m tafod fynd yn fud. Ac yna fe sylweddolais mai’r Swynwyr a orchmynna ar i ddynion gael eu rhwymo, ond y Delw-addolwyr sy’n awgrymu y gellir ein gollwng trwy’n hymdrechion ein hunain. Fe ystyriwn a ddylwn fy lladd fy hunan yn y fan a’r lle â’r darn o ddrych, ond fe wibiodd trwy fy meddwl fy mywyd hyd yn hynny, a’r gwaith mawr yr oedd yn dal i’w wneud. Rhywsut neu'i gilydd fe syrthiais i fadrondod dwfn. Trannoeth efallai fe’u gwelais hwy, beth bynnag a fo dydd a nos yn y lle yna heb amser.“I wept and recited, but my chanting was not answered. Then, when I had sought them but had not found them, I enquired of the Idolaters once again from the depths of despair. And I waited, and complained, and shouted until my tongue became mute. And then I realised that it is the Sorcerers who command that men are bound, but the Idolaters who suggest that can release ourselves through our own efforts. I considered whether I should kill myself there and then with the fragment of mirror, but my life up to then flashed through my mind, and the great work that was still to be done. Somehow or other I fell into a deep stupor. The next day perhaps, I saw them, whatever may be day and night in that timeless place.
“Mewn breuddwyd llesmeiriol fe’u clywais hwy drannoeth yn ystod rhyw gyfnod heb faint. Yr oedd eu lleisiau fel ochneidio angylion, a rhuo llewpardiaid, a sgrechian tsimpansïaid, a mewian cathod, a chwibanu a chlecian môr-hychod, a rhoncian moch, a llefain babanod, a phob sŵn arall y gellid ei ddychmygu. Nid yr un iaith ddynol a siaradai, ond pob un ar yr un pryd, ac eto y’u deallwn yn berffaith. Eu calonnau nhw’n sgwrsio â’m calon i. Ond am eu gwedd ni fedraf ddywed, gan eu bod yn trawsffurfio drwy’r amser wrth iddynt grychneidio a chwerthin ymhlith coedwig o binwydd, ar wastatiroedd ffrwythlon ger llynnoedd toreithiog dan olau’r Lleuad oriog sydd yn fam i bob creadur gwahanol.“In a hypnotic dream I heard them the next day during some measureless period. Their voices were like the sighs of angels, and the roaring of leopards, and the screeching of chimpanzees, and the mewing of cats, and the whistling and clicking of dolphins, and the crying of babies, and every other sound that could be imagined. Not in a single human language were they speaking, but in every one at the same time, and yet I could understood them perfectly. Their hearts speaking to my heart. But of their aspect I cannot tell, as they were transforming all the time as they capered and laughed amongst the wood of pine-trees, on a fruitful plain by teeming lakes under the light of the capricious Moon who is mother to every different creature.
“Mae’n tybied na ddeallent hwy beth yr ydym ni’n ei wneuthur ar y Ddaear, yn well nag y gwyddom ninnau beth y maent hwy yn ei wneud yn y Nw Yrth, ond hwynt-hwy a’n gedy ni'n llonydd i ffynnu neu ffaelu, ac a oddef inni ddwyn y fath drysorau ohonynt ag a awchom pan ddelo’r amser. Oddi wrthynt hwy a ddaw pob peth da’n rhydd ac yn rhwydd. Trwy symud parhaus y cymalau a’r afonydd yr arddangosent inni ddawnsio, trwy goethi synau’r anifeiliaid amryfal y dysgem ganddynt hwy sut i lefaru. Rhoddai’u clebran llawen gerddi a chanu inni, a chymhellai’u chwarae anhrefnus gyda’r elfennau’n celf. Ond ymddengys nad ydynt yn poeni’n ormodol am yr hadau a heuant ymhlith y chwyn, nac ymhyfrydu yn ffrwythau’u llafur drwy gydol yr oesoedd ychwaith. Dyna’u gofid cryfaf. Ni esyd y Delw-addolwyr ar eu disgyblion hunan-ddewisedig ychwaneg nag a haeddont. Mae’r rhain yn dysgu neu ddarganfod yr hyn a fedront pa bryd bynnag y mynnont fel y bydd popeth yn barod ganddynt yn y cyfryw gyflwr ar y diwedd nes y cychwynnont ar y daith olaf dan wenu am y bydd angau wedi colli’i golyn a’i wenwyn marwol. Dyma a ddadlennid imi yn fy ngweledigaeth. Fe fynegaf fi yma bethau wedi’u cuddio er pan seiliwyd y cyfanfyd. Fe’m gadewid yng ngofal tyner rhai ysbrydion cymwynasgar, a thrwy’u tirion drugareddau fe ddaeth ataf ddeall clir ac eang. “It is suspected that they do not understand what we do on the Earth, any better than we know what they do in the Nw Yrth, but it is they who leave us in peace to flourish or fail, and who suffer us to steal such treasures from them as we may crave when the time comes. From them comes every good thing freely and easily. Through the constant motion of the clouds and rivers they showed us dancing, through refining the noises of the sundry animals we learned from them how to speak. Their joyful babbling gave us poetry and song, and their mucky play with the elements spurred on our art. But it appears that they do not vex themselves unduly about the seeds they sow amongst the weeds, nor delight in the fruits of their labour throughout the ages either. That is their strongest weakness. The Idolaters do not set on their self-chosen disciples more than they may deserve. These learn or discover what they may whenever they desire, so that everything will be ready for them in such a condition in the end that they set out on the last journey with a grin, because death will have lost its sting and its mortal poison. This is what was revealed to me in my vision. I express here things hidden since the universe was established. I was left in the tender care of some beneficent spirits, and through their gentle mercies there came to me clear and extensive understanding.
“Fe welais yn nesaf orawenus hurtio’n gelynion ni mewn anferthol drobwll ewynnog o sain gogoneddus a glendid gwyllt, lle yr oedd côr o leisiau cryfaf y byd yn canu cân feddwol o gymhleth am garu, a chasáu, a chadw, a cholli, ac am uno pob peth croes. Fe sylweddolais wedyn heb feddwl sut i fwrw’r hud grymusaf, drwy ddefnyddio’r nerth symbolaidd ar galon gwe iaith, sy’n aruthrol ond hawddgar. Fe edrychaf a gwrando ar bob dim heddiw fel petai’n newydd, a gwylio’r cymylau, a’r cerrig, a’r afonydd, fel pe bont yn meddu enaid a meddwl. A chan mai’r duwdodau rhyfedd a’m bendithiodd finnau cymaint felly fe bery fy modolaeth heb dreulio dros saith einioes, petai waeth am hynny. Fel mai byw fi, meddaf, ac fel mai byw’ch eneidiau chi, myfi a wnaeth y pethau hyn. Wrth lamsachu gyda’n chwiorydd yr awelon a chyda’n brodyr yr enfysoedd, y mae’n bur amlwg bellach mai dilyn yr hen lwybrau yr oeddwn, ond gydag imi gael golwg ddirwystr ar y wlad y tu hwnt i’r llen, caeodd gorchudd o niwl amdanaf.“Next, I saw the the joyful flummoxing of our enemies in an enormous foamy maelstrom of glorious sound and wild beauty, where there was a choir of the strongest voices in the world singing an intoxicatingly complex song about loving, and hating, and keeping, and losing, and the uniting of all opposites. I realised then without thinking how to cast the strongest magic, through using the symbolic power at the heart of the web of language, which is astounding but lovely. I look at and listen to everything today as if it were new, and watch the clouds, and the rocks, and the rivers, as if they possess soul and mind. And because the strange deities blessed me so much, so my existence shall continue without wearing thin over seven lifetimes, if that mattered at all. As I live, I say, and as your spirits live, it is I who did these things. Whist disporting with our sisters the breezes, and with our brothers the rainbows, it is very obvious now that we were following the old paths, but as soon as I got an unobstructed glimpse of the land beyond the veil, a shroud of fog closed around me.
“Ac wedyn, yn ebrwydd, fe sylweddolais fod rhywbeth (beth yn enwedig?) a’m hymlidiai fi. Fe afaelwn yn y darn o ddrych am y chwyth, wrth i’r cysgodion berwedig ymosod arnaf fel gre o geffylau fampiraidd, ffyrnig, a’u cyrff yn ysgerbydau, a’u llygaid yn fflamllyd, ynghyd â haid o gŵn gwynion cynddeiriog, a’u clustiau’n gringoch. A dyna oedd lleisiau bwystfilaidd ond dynol yn f’amgylchu, gan weiddi, a sibrwd, a gwawdio, a chrio, ac annog, a gweddïo, ac fel Charles Edwards o'm blaen i, yn ei dyddiau olaf, fe glywn yn fy mhen leisiau gwŷr a gwragedd yn crybwyll pob math ar weithgareddau ffiaidd mewn pob iaith, arddull, tafod, cywair a thafodiaith a adnabuwyd er cyn cof. Rwy wedi fy nychryn ar fy hyd, ac yn wir ar fin trengi, ond unwaith yr oeddwn wedi dirnad eu bod yn ymgeisio i’m lladd trwy frathu, a rhwygo, a sathru, a gwasgu, myfi a giliodd ymaith rhag ofn, a saethu geiriau gwarcheidiol i’r tywyllwch llwyr tuag ystlys y bodau annelwig a ddymunai fy nifa, fel pes gollyngwn tuag at nod.“And then, suddenly, I realised that something (what exactly?) was pursuing me. I grabbed the piece of mirror for dear life, while the boiling shadows set upon me like a herd of savage, vampiric horses with skeletal bodies and flaming eyes, together with a pack of rabid white dogs with red ears. And there were voices, bestial but human, surrounding me, shouting, and whistering, and mocking, and crying, and exhorting, and like Charles Edwards before me, in his last days, I heard in my head the voices of men and women, mentioning all kinds of foul activities, in every language, style, tongue, register, and dialect that has been known from time immemorial. I was terror-struck, and on the point of perishing, but as soon as I had discerned that they were attempting to kill me through biting, and tearing, and stomping, and crushing, I pulled away in fear, and shot defensive words into the utter darkness towards the flank of the shapeless beings which desired to destroy me, as if I was releasing them towards a target.
“Ac edifarhaodd arnaf wneuthur ohonof fi swyngyfaredd ar y Ddaear. Fodd bynnag, y mae’r nwyd anfarwol yn y dewin, megis yn y proffwyd, y bardd, a’r artist, yn rhywbeth na ellir ei ladd wrth reswm. Felly tyngu llyfon ac addo’n ofer a wneuthum, gan weddïo ar yr hen dduwdodau gwallgof, ‘Gadewch imi lonydd fel yr ymgysurwyf ychydig, cyn myned ohonof lle na ddychwelwyf, i dir tywyllwch a chysgod ebargofiant. Eithr pwy ydwyf fi fel y delwyf fi atoch? Ac eto yn wir, dim ond trychfil dibwys fwyf fi, ond fe hysbysaf bobloedd y Ddaear ynghylch rhyfeddodau'r Delw-addolwr Dioglyd. Fe wnaf fi aberth, ac edrych hyd oni leddir y bwystfil, a difetha ei gorff ef, a’i roddi i’w losgi yn y tân.’ Yn y funud honno rhwygwyd y düwch melfed gan fflach trydan a berodd i’r endidau ffrwydro â gweryru dirfawr, llawn rhwystredigaeth ac ing, gan ysgeintio’r dirwedd anial â thalpiau dirifedi o ectoplasm seimllyd, poeth. Ym mhob man yr oedd llewych fiolet a drycsawr osôn, tra cythryblai bloeddio chwerthin aflywodraethus holl ddeunydd y lle dirmygadwy hwnnw. Seriwyd fy nghnawd fel petai gan haearn gwynias. Ac felly y’m gwaredwyd rhag crafangau’r Swynwyr gan afiaith y Delw-addolwyr. Fe gollais ymwybyddiaeth.“And I regretted I had performed sorcery on the Earth. However, the immortal passion in the wizard, as in the prophet, the poet, and the artist, is something that cannot be killed of course. Therefore I swore oaths and promised in vain, praying to the old mad deities, ‘Give me peace that I may comfort myself a little, before I go whence I may not return, to the land of darkness and the shadow of oblivion. But who am I that I might come to you? And then again, truly, only a worthless insect may I be, but I shall inform the peoples of the Earth about the wonders of the Indolent Idolaters. I shall make sacrifice, and attend until the creature is slaughtered, and separate its carcase, and put it to roast in the fire.’ At that moment the velvet blackness was rent by a flash of electricity which caused the entities to explode with an enormous whinnying, full of frustration and angst, showering the desolate landscape with countless chunks of slimy, hot ectoplasm. Everywhere, there was a violet glow and the stench of ozone, whilst uncontrollable guffawing roiled the whole fabric of that despicable place. My flesh was seared as if by white-hot iron. And so was I saved from the clutches of the Sorcerers by the mirth of the Idolaters. I lost consciousness.
“Fe ddihunais yn seler tŷ rhif saith, neu efallai dau ar bymtheg, ni allaf fi gofio mwyach; y Tŷ Glas, ta beth. Pan ddeuthum i at fy nghoed, fe welais fy mod yn noethlymun, ac yn fwcws a gwaed a chwys i gyd. Fe deimlwn fel petaswn i wedi bod i ffwrdd ers canrifoedd. Fe syrthiais i gysgu eto. Fe freuddwydiwn fy mod yn llefaru â thafodau, mai yn iaith hynafol y Diffeithwch Dwyreiniol yr adroddwn, ac mewn ieithoedd estron eraill hefyd nad adwaenid i mi o’r blaen. A ddaethwn i o hyd i gyfrinach bywyd tragwyddol? Ond wrth hynny, yn groes i'ch disgwyl chi, nid wyf fi'n golygu parhau yn yr un cyflwr yn llythrennol, ar ffurf sombïaid lluddedig, wedi'u rhewi, a'u ffosileiddio, sy'n aros yn anobeithiol mewn marweidd-dra meddylwaith caethwasol, heb newid, byth bythoedd. Yn hytrach yr wyf fi'n dychmygu ennill y gallu i adael y fodolaeth hon, gan doddi ac ymddatod, fel y dychwelom heb ofn at ffynhonnell pob creadigaeth, gan atseinio ag alaw ddryslyd y cyfanfyd sydd bob amser yn datblygu."I awoke in the cellar of house number seven, or perhaps seventeen, I cannot remember any longer; the Blue House, anyway. When I came to my senses, I saw I was naked, and covered in mucus and blood and sweat. I felt as if I had been away for centuries. I fell asleep again. I dreamt I was speaking in tongues, that in the ancient language of the Eastern Desert I was reciting, and in other foreign languages too that were not known to me before. Had I found the secret of eternal life? But by that, contrary to what you might think, I do not mean literally continuing in the same state, as jaded zombies, frozen and fossilized, which wait hopelessly in a suspended animation of slavish mentation, changeless, for eternity. Buut rather I imagine gaining the ability to relinquish this existence, dissolving and disintegrating, so that we might return without fear to the source of all creativity, resonating with the universe's ever-evolving chaotic tune.
“Fe gredaf fi heb brawf diymwad fod yr ateb yng ngeiriau neilltuol ynghyd ag agwedd meddyliol arbennig. Nid oes gennyf ddim syniad sut y dychwelaswn, ond yr oedd delw’r Sêl Ysgarlad wedi’i selio’n ddwfn ar fy mrest chwith fel arwydd parhaol mai rhyfelwr dros wirionedd ydwyf. Afraid dweud y byddai raid imi ymweld â’r Clinig newydd hanner ffordd i fyny’r bryn tua dwyrain y dref o bryd i’w gilydd oddi yna, ac y deuai pawb yno yn deulu mabwysiedig imi maes o law. Na ato’r duwdodau estron i’w gweision ddioddef y cyfryw brawf byth eto!"I believe without indisputable proof that the answer is in particular words together with a special attitude of mind. I have no idea how I had returned, but the image of the Scarlet Seal had been seared deeply on my left chest as a permanent sign that I am a warrior for truth. Needless to say I would have to visit the new Clinic halfway up the hill towards the east of the town from time to time from then on, and that everyone there would become an adoptive family to me in due course. May the strange deities forbid that their servants suffer such a trial ever again!
“Gan wneuthur o Awen ein Hurdd imi ddysgu hyn oll, nid mor ddeallgar a doeth neb a myfi bellach. Am hynny, fe ddeisyfaf ar i chwi ddiffyn y goleuni a gwneuthur y gorau ohono, cyn y’ch goddiweddo’r tywyllwch. Gwrandewch arnaf oherwydd fy ngeiriau a bery am amser maith. Byw wyf fi, myfi a seiliwyd â’r Sêl Ysgarlad, a byw a wnewch chithau hefyd os daliwch ar eiriau fy llais.” Ac erbyn hynny, os eisiau tawelwch oedd ar neb, dyna’r lle i’w gael, ac yr oedd sŵn y ffrydiau byw y tu allan i’r Deml mor dawel nes gwneud i’r sawl feddwl mai troi’n swrth yn eu hunfan yr oeddent, ac nid llifo mewn hoen.“As the Muse of our Guild has made me learn all this, no-one is as intelligent and wise as me now. Because of that, I implore you to uphold the light and make the most of it, before the darkness overtake you. Listen to me because my words shall persist for a long time. I am alive, I who have been sealed with the Scarlet Seal, and living will you be also if you seize upon the words of my voice.” And by then, if anyone needed silence, that was the place to get it, and the sound of the lively streams outside the Temple was so quiet that one was made to think that they were turning listlessly on the spot, and not flowing joyously.
“Y mae mwynhad anghyffredin pan deimlo dyn ei fod yn cyflawni’i swydd briodol, er mor ddistadl fo honno. A dyma’r hwn a ddaeth trwy ddwfr a gwaed a thân, ac yn ei eiriau y mae pŵer di-ddadl. Y sawl na wrandawo ar hynny, na freicheidio hynny, ac na phrintio hynny yn ei galon, efe sydd wedi troi’n llwyr oddi wrth lwybr y Delw-addolwyr. Dyma un dyn y mae ei ddwylo’n lân, ond dyna’r lleill sydd a’u dwylo’n frwnt. Gwyn ei byd yr hon sydd arni ddysg, a rhoddwch i’r hwn sydd eisoes ganddo ddoniau rhagor, fel ag i beri iddynt hwy lwyddo. Ond gadwech i’r gweddill drengi. Diau y gellwch chwi yfed o nant iaith yr wyf wedi yfed ohoni; ac y’ch golchir â dyfroedd glân ysbrydoliaeth a’m gylch finnau’n gyson bellach.”“There is uncommon enjoyment when a man feels he is accomplishing his appointed task, no matter how insignificant that may be. And here is the one who came through water and blood and fire, and in his words is indisputable power. Whoever does not listen to that, does not embrace that, and does not imprint that on his heart, he has turned completely off the path of the Idolaters. Here is one man whose hands are clean, but there are the others whose hands are dirty. Blessed is she who is learned, and give to him who already has talents more, so as to cause them to succeed. But let the rest perish. Doubtless you will be able to drink of the stream of language that I have drunk from; and that you will be washed with the pure waters of inspiration that wash me constantly now.”
Fe ganodd y gloch deirgwaith. Daethai’r prawf at ei ben, a llwyddaswn finnau, ac ennill clod. Yr oedd rhyw ddieithrwch yn llygaid rhai o’r gwrandawyr na allent mo’m deall y pryd hwnnw, a hwy’n ddiystyr ganddynt a aeth ymaith. Ond er eu gwaethaf y Dewiniaid eraill gan ateb a floeddiai ag un llais y ffurfeb sefydlu: “Tyfwch iddo ŵn mwy coch na chuwch babŵn; torrwch iddo wisg o droed i labed clust; rhoddwch iddo groen i ddawnsio ynddo’n hoen!” Fe dderbyniais i fy hudlath a’m gŵn burgoch oddi wrth fy mam-gu, oedd yn gwenu o glust i glust (yn hytrach na chwyrnu fel mandril ffyrnig, megis yr arferai hi), a deuthum yn Feistr Llawn yr Urdd, yr ieuengaf erioed i wneuthur hynny. Ac o ganlyniad i hyn oll y gwyddwn imi gael hyd i’m gwir lais. Ni chawn i fy mwlian byth wedyn o hynny ymlaen.The bell rang thrice. The test had come to its end, and I had succeeded, and won renown. There was a certain alienation in the eyes of some of the listeners who could not understand me at that time, and they, disdaining, went away. But despite them the other Magi, answering, shouted with one voice the formula of induction: “Grow for him a gown more red than baboon’s frown; cut for him a robe from toe-tip to ear-lobe; give to him a skin for joyful dancing in!” I received my magic stave and my blood-red gown from my grandma, who was grinning from ear to ear (rather than snarling like a ferocious mandrill, as was her wont), and I became Full Master of the Guild, the youngest ever to do that. And as a result of all of this I knew I had found my true voice. I would never again be bullied from then on.
Yn yr amser a fu fe welais fel trwy ddrych, mewn dameg, ond yn awron yr wyf wedi gweld fy nyfodol wyneb yn wyneb. Am nad gwallgof mohonof fi, ond yn hytrach yr allwedd a egyr pob clo – myfi biau hawl gollwng a rhwymo – ac mae’r lleisiau annealladwy wastad yn f’anogi yn fy mlaen. Rwy’n teimlo pŵer y llef ddistaw, fain yn tyfu oddi mewn i’m brest. Fe fyddaf yn cofleidio fy niffygion a’u caru nhw, a’r rhai sy’n perthyn i bobl eraill hefyd, gan mai trwyddyn nhw rydym yn dal i fod yn fodau dynol; perffeithrwydd a chyflawniad sy’n arwain at farweiddio a thranc. Fe weithiaf cyn galetach â thrychfil dygn sy’n grillian drwy ddyfnder y nos: chep-er, chep-er, chep-er: gyda threigl amser fe ddof fi yn rhyfelwr dros ryddid, ac yn rhyw lun ar dywysydd i bobl ifainc, o dan reolaeth athroniaeth y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd.In times past I saw as if through a glass, darkly, but now I have seen my future face-to-face. Because I am not a madman, but rather the key that opens every lock – it is I who possess the power of binding and setting free – and the incomprehensible voices are always pressing me forward. I feel the power of the still, small voice growing within my breast. I shall embrace my imperfections and love them, and those of other people too, as it’s through them that we keep on being human; perfection and completion lead to stagnation and extinction. I shall work as hard as an industrious insect which chirrups through the depth of the night: chep-er, chep-er, chep-er: in the fullness of time I shall become a freedom-fighter, and some kind of guide for young people, under the guidance of the Indolent Idolaters’ philosophy.
Fe blannaf goedwig o binwydd ar bwys tŷ'n gwaredigaeth ar y bryn moel, er cof am eu neges o hunan-greadigaeth trwy arddel llif chwarae caotig. Fe fydd arnaf fi angen dysgu am alsoddeg, alcemeg, astroleg, ac ieithoedd astrus wrth geisio dychwelyd i’r Nw Yrth. Dyddiad y lleuad fefus nesaf fydd dydd Llun yr ugeinfed o Fehefin 2016, rhyw hanner canrif ymlaen. A ddisgwylia llanc priodol y seremoni – neu lances briodol, pwy a ŵyr? (Wedi’r cwbl, mae amser yn hedfan, a phan newidia amserau, nyni a newidia ganddynt, oni wnawn?) A allaf fi gonsurio ymgeisydd addas?I shall plant a forest of pines near the house of our salvation on the bare hill, in memory of their message of self-creation through rejoicing in the flow of chaotic play. I shall need to learn about algebra, alchemy, astrology, and abstruse languages whilst trying to return to the Nw Yrth. The date of the next strawberry moon will be Monday the twentieth of June 2016, some half-century on. Will an appropriate lad be awaiting the ceremony – or appropriate lass, who knows? (After all, time flies, and when times change, we change with them, don’t we?) Will I be able to conjure a suitable candidate?

Header Image Patrick Jemmer

Pennod Chwech: Gyrru (Lleisiau 2) / Driving (Voices 2)

Efallai mai’r cyd-adweithio rhwng amsugno ac adlewyrchu yw gwraidd a chraidd popeth yn y byd; pob peth hynny yw, a grëwyd trwy gêm chwarae mig rhwng grymoedd gwrthwynebol, yr un ohonynt na all fodoli heb y llall. Wedi’r cwbl, bodolaeth cysgodion a ragdyb olau, mewn ffordd debyg i sut y bydd meddyliau a syniadau (heb sôn am wrthrychau) yn y fan hon, ar y funud yma, yn awgrymu bod pethau eraill mewn lleoedd gwahanol, ychydig amser yn ôl, ac y bydd amryw bethau’n dod i fod rywbryd yn y dyfodol. Ar ben hynny, geilw hanesion am storïwyr, a fydd yn eu hadrodd wrth eu newid, ac fe fydd rhaid inni ofyn, felly — A grea plant eu rhieni? A oleua celwyddau wirionedd? A yw ebyrth yn dwyfoli’r annuwiolion? A annog ofn ddewrder? Ai digwyddiadau a wna ddynion? Felly y bo, i ryw raddau, ond dichon fod y sefyllfa’n anos o lawer, mewn realiti, lle bydd y pegynau croes yn cymryd rhan mewn proses cymhleth a chaotig gan gael eu trawsffurfio’n gyson o’r un peth i’r llall mewn ffordd na allwn ni ei rhagweld yn hawdd o gwbl heb ddilyn y llwybr i weld i ble bydd yn arwain o’r diwedd.

Perhaps it is the interaction between absorption and reflection that is the root and essence of everything in the world; every thing that is, which was created through a game of hide-and-seek between opposing forces, the one of which cannot exist without the other. After all, the existence of shadows presupposes light, in a similar way to how thoughts and ideas (not to mention objects) here and now suggest that there were other things in different places, a little while ago, and that various things will be coming into being sometime in the future. As well as that, stories call for story-tellers, who relate them whilst changing them, and we have to ask therefore – Do children create their parents? Do lies illuminate truth? Do sacrifices sanctify the impious? Does fear stimulate bravery? Is it events that make men? Thus it may be, to some extent, but perhaps the situation is much more difficult, in reality, where the opposite poles take part in a complex and chaotic process, being transformed, constantly, from one thing to the other, in a way we cannot envisage easily at all without following the path to see where it will lead at last.

Dyma ddau lanc, David a Steffan, yn mentro ar ryw berwyl drwg a drefnwyd gan y Dewin Ieuengaf, dan gyfeiriad yr Arglwyddes Macbeth, wedi dianc o artaith yr Hen Filwr a thrugareddau tyner ond sarcastig y Meddyliaethydd dan Hyfforddiant. Neu’n hytrach, efallai, dau dywysog swynol o Galon y Cyfandir ydyn nhw, Daud a Stjepan, yn eu cerbyd o bompiwn, gyda’u gweision lifrai sy’n llygod mewn gwirionedd, ac maen nhw’n chwilio am dywysogesau i’w hachub (neu gariadfab i’w garu o ran un ohonyn nhw) – yn ogystal â dreigiau gorselog i’w llofruddio, a rhyfeloedd i’w brwydro. Maen nhw mewn fan wen wedi’i benthyca sy’n llawn pethau a allai beri cryn helynt iddyn nhw, a dweud y gwir. Felly gwell fyddai defnyddio’r enwau amgen Dai a Stevo, falle, sy’n adlewyrchu’u gwir gymeriadau hyf yn fwy manwl, yn ôl rhai sydd ynddi hi, o leia’.Here’s two lads, David and Steffan, venturing out on some ill-appointed task organised by the Youngest Magus, under the direction of Lady Macbeth, having escaped from the Old Soldier’s torture and the tender but sarcastic mercies of the Trainee Mentalist. Or rather, perhaps, they are two charming princes from the Heart of the Continent, Daud and Stjepan, in their pumpkin-carriage, with their footmen who are really mice, and they’re looking for princesses to save (or a swain to caress in the case of one of them) – as well as over-enthusiastic dragons to slay, and wars to fight. They’re in a borrowed white van full of things that could get them into considerable trouble, to tell the truth. So it would be better to use the alternative names Dai and Stevo, perhaps, which reflect their true cheeky characters more accurately, according to some in the know at least.
Byddan nhw’n gwneud cryn dda trwy ddioddef cryn ddrwg – ond pwy all feirniadu – dyna rhyngddyn nhw a’u cawl, on’d ife? ‘Does unrhyw fap wedi’i lunio â symbolau na delweddau fydd o fudd iddyn nhw yn y fangre hon. Yn y pellter, ar yr ystâd, ymhlith y pinwydd, mae’n ymddangos bod rhywbeth fel tŵr golau’n tyllu’r awyr fygythiol. Bychan a wyddant eu bod yn teithio dan gysgod datguddiad mawr ac ofnadw’. A dyna lygad y tŵr hanner-dall yn wincio a disgleirio fel seren ar farw – tri dot – tair strôc – tri dot.They’ll be doing quite some good by undergoing considerable evil – but who can judge – that’s their business, isn’t it? There’s no map fashioned with symbols or images that will be of use to them in this place. In the distance, on the estate, amongst the pines, it appears that something like a tower of light is piercing the threatening sky. Little do they know that they are travelling under the shadow of a great and awful revelation. And the half-blind tower’s eye is winking and shining like a death-bound star – dot, dot, dot – dash, dash, dash – dot, dot, dot.
Ar y radio mae pregethwr ffiaidd o’r enw yr Offeiriad Coch yn orchymyn i bob pechadur ar y Ddaear (pawb felly) dalu sylw i’w rybuddion arswydus, ond mae’i eiriau llesmeiriol yn troi’n slwtsh – ‘dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, burla’ – sy’n rheibio’r ddau lanc fel gweddi a fwriedir galw ar i ryw dduwiau creulon ymddangos. A dyma un o’r cymeriadau yn ein stribed comig, Dai, Daud, David, yn meddwl – On the radio a vile preacher named the Red Priest is commanding every sinner on the Earth (everyone therefore) to pay attention to his fearful warnings, but his hypnotic words are turning to mush – ‘dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, burla’ – which are bewitching the two lads like a prayer intended to summon some cruel gods to appear. And here’s one of the characters in our comic strip, Dai, Daud, David, thinking –
O ystyried y bwcedeidiau o lol sy’n arllwys o’r radio, gan ddyrnu drymiau ‘y nghlustiau, ‘sdim syndod mod i’n clywed awydd chwydu cynnwys ‘nghrombil i dros garped budr fan wncwl Stevie. Ond, fyddai fe ddim yn ‘neud cymaint â hynny o wahaniaeth o ran yr haenen ludiog o faw – Y Saith Swynwr a ŵyr beth – sy’n gorwedd rhwng cwsg ac effro ar y llawr gan lepian ‘y nhreinyrs Vans, sy’n eithriadol o dreuliedig erbyn hyn, gwaetha’r modd. Gallwn i lefain, yn wir, ond dw i’n 'y ngorfodi'n hun i dyfu lan, nadu i’m hun ‘neud ffwdan, a llwyddo i beidio crio. ‘Neno Lushfé, ma’n ddrwg ‘da fi i fi lenwi ‘mol i â’r ddwy botel o owso – a’r holl stwff arall – gynnau fach.Considering the bucket-loads of nonsense pouring from the radio, thrashing my ear-drums, it’s no surprise that I’m feeling like spewing my guts up across the dirty carpet of Stevie’s uncle’s van. But it wouldn’t make much of a difference to the sticky layer of crap – The Seven Sorcerers know what – that’s lying between sleep and waking on the floor, licking my Vans trainers, which are exceptionally distressed by now, more’s the pity. I could cry, really, but I force myself to grow up, stop myself from making a fuss, and manage not to weep. In Lushfé’s name, I’m sorry that I stuffed my guts with two bottles of ouzo – and all the other stuff – earlier on.
Uffern dân! Ro’dd hi ‘di bod yn ddiawl o noson hir – o’dd wedi crwydro fel neidr enfysaidd drwy’r dydd nesa’ – cyn llifo tuag allan i gosi glannau tywyll eraill. Ddylwn i erio’d fod wedi prynu i mewn i’r holl rwtsh ‘na am Barti Calon Haf. Gallwn i deimlo ‘reiliad ‘na flas yr anisid afiach yn adlifo lan ‘y nhiwbs llidus. Ac ar yr un pryd, dyna gorgan rythmig yr efengylwr – ‘silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví’ – yn torri drwy’r glaw llwyd, trwchus, gan fygwth golchi’r ffordd ymaith, a’r pechaduriaid ‘ma yn y fan hefyd. Ond, wel, ch’mod, rywbryd pan fyddwch chi eisoes ar fin mynd yn benysgafn gyda choctel o sylweddau, mewn cau mwdlyd gyda thorf o hen hipis moel a’u plethi cynffon merlen yn hongian i lawr i dyllau eu tinau, wel, byddwch chi’n hwfro lan unrhyw beth fyddan nhw’n roi i chi, heb ormod o feddwl, on’ byddwch? Ac wedyn fe fyddan nhw’n cwympo i gysgu. gan adael i chi wynebu’r awdurdodau ar eich pen eich hunan. Wel, nes i chi ddianc yn y fan wrth gwrs!Hell’s teeth! It’d been a devil of a long night – which had wandered like a rainbow-coloured snake through the next day – before flowing out to tickle other dark shores. I should never’ve bought into all that nonsense about a Midsummer Party. I could feel that second the taste of sickly aniseed refluxing up my scorched tubes. And at the same time, there’s the evangelist’s rhythmic chanting -- ‘silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví’ – breaking through the heavy, grey rain, threatening to wash the road away, and the these sinners in the van too. But, well, y’know, sometimes when you’re already on the verge of going dizzy from a cocktail of substances, in a muddy field with a crowd of old, bald hippies whose pony-tails are hangin’ down to their arse-holes, well, you’ll hoover up anything they give you without much of a thought, won’t you? And they they’ll fall asleep, leaving you to face the authorities on your own. Well, until you escape in the fan, of course!
Ma’n ymddangos bod Stevie ddim yn sylwi ar shwd ma’r geiriau sy’n llifo drwy’r radio i mewn i’n lle cyfyngedig a drewllyd ni’n cytuno mor dda â naws y tywydd tu ôl – ‘turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshapa’. Yr haf yng Nghymru – y gaeaf yng Nghymru – man a man yw hi. Dw i’n crynu o glywed y rhefru dieflig, a bwrw melltithion ar ein diffyg paratoi ni – ac roedd cynlluniau cymaint ‘da fi, Dai-boi, o ran dial a difrod maleisus hefyd, ch’wel. Ond o leia’ ma’ Stevie’n cadw pethau ar fynd, gan stopio nhw rhag mynd yn ddiflas. O ble gythraul ma’r glaw gyrru wedi dod – gyda bod hi’n nosi? A ‘sdim arwydd o gysgod i’w gael, chwaith – ma’ fel corwynt yn Hawäi ‘ma. Da iawn ni o ran cael hwyl yng nghanol yr haf mewn dim ond fest a phâr o siorts – dyna un peth – ond, wel yn wir, yr Hen Dduwiau’n catwo – dyma ‘nghroen gŵydd yn rhynnu gan yr oerfel!.It seems that Stevie doesn’t notice how the words that’re flowing through the radio into our stinky and constrained space agree so well with the mood of the weather outside – ‘turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshapa’. Summer in Wales – winter in Wales – it’s all the same. I’m trembling from hearing the devilish ranting, and curse our lack of preparation – and I, Dai-boy, had such great plans for revenge and malicious damage too, y’see. But at least Stevie’s keeping things going, stopping them getting boring. Where in hell’s the driving rain come from – just as it’s getting dark? And there’s no sign of shelter to be had, either – it’s like a hurricane in Hawaii here. Good for us for having fun in the middle of the summer in only a vest and pair of shorts – that’s one thing – but, well, really, may the Old Gods preserve us – my goose-pimples’re shivering with the cold!
Diolch byth dyw e – Stevie – ddim yn trio bod yn ddigrifwr, fel bydd e’n ‘neud fel arfer. Dw i’m yn credu mod i’n gallu godde’ ei ffraethebion gwael, yn enwedig achos bod rhywbeth – dw i’m yn siŵr beth – yn gyrru iasau drwy ‘nghnawd i, ac ma’r bendro arna’ i hefyd, a bellach ma’r tonnau o garu wedi’u hachosi gan yr ymbleseru diweddar yn ‘neud i fi deimlo’n bendant sâl môr. Gallwn i fod wedi tyngu’n enwau’r Duwiau Rhyfedd oll mod i’n gallu blasu metel – yr un fath o beth a’r gwynt sy’n dod o wn newydd ei danio, a dw i’n gwgu pan dw i’n sylweddoli mod i wedi brathu fy nhafod rhywbryd – pryd yn union – o’r blaen? Sa i’n gallu cofio a dyw’r talpiau gwaedlyd o sain – ‘endilda, andíshish, lilivalis, kestala’ – yn baeddu’r awyr, ddim yn helpu. Dw i’n dymuno byddai’n ymennydd i’n gweithio, a dw i’n llowcio lawr y gegaid o waed a phoer wrth i’n meddwl i bendroi gan geisio dechrau delio â phopeth sy’n digwydd.Thank goodness he – Stevie – isn’t trying to be an entertainer, like he usually does. I don’t think I can stand his weak witticisms, especially as something – I’m not sure what – is sending shivers down my spine, and I’m dizzy too, and now the waves of loving brought on by my recent indulgence are making me feel distinctly sea-sick. I could’ve sworn in the names of all the Strange Gods that I can taste metal – the same kind of thing as the smell that comes from a newly-fired gun, and I scowl when I realise that I’ve bitten my tongue, somehow – when exactly – before? I can’t remember and the bloody gobbets of sound – ‘endilda, andíshish, lilivalis, kestala’ – defiling the air, aren’t helping. I wish my mind would work, and I gulp down the mouthful of blood and spit while my mind reels, trying to begin to deal with everything that’s happening.
Wrth i fi ymysgwyd oddi mewn i bwll du’n meddyliau, gan halio’n hunan ‘nôl i’r byd go iawn, ma’ fel ‘sai’r motor yn byrlymu, wedyn dyna nadu uchel, sŵn ewinedd wedi’u crafu ar hyd bwrdd du, yn sleifio’i hunan drwy’r wal o law wrth i’r siantio ddwysáu -- ‘brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta’. Ac ma’r fan yn rhuthro yn ei blaen hefyd – yn glouach glouach – drwy’r jeli braen o’i chwmpas – gan lafurio a chrynu’n ddirfawr. Ac yn sydyn, beth sy ar y ffordd o flaen y fan? Ife crwt yn crwydro fel enaid wedi’i ddamnio, rhyw endid ectoplasmig colledig, creadur truenus a chwfl am ei ben dan ddedfryd marwolaeth? Sut yn y Ddau Fyd ddigwyddodd hynny? Sa i’n gw’bod, ond er gwaetha’r holl gymysgedd o sylweddau cyfreithlon ac anghyfreithlon yn chwyrlïo yn ‘y nghorff drylliedig, dyma fi’n cipio’r olwyn oddi wrth y gyrrwr ffwndrus. Wedyn rhywbeth yn torri’n glec – ac yr olwynion yn troi’n fwy buan a mwy clou, ‘sdim gwahaniaeth i fi – a’r pinwydd heb fod ymhell —As I stir myself from within the black pool of my thoughts, hauling myself back to the real world, it’s as if the motor’s bubbling, then there’s a loud whining, the sound of nails being scraped on a black-board, sliding itself through the wall of rain, while the chanting intensifies – ‘brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta’. And the van’s rushing forward too – faster and faster – through the putrid jelly about it – labouring and trembling enormously. And suddenly, what’s on the road in front of the van? Is it a kid wandering like a damned soul, some lost ectoplasmic entity, a pitiful creature with a cowl on its head under a death sentence? How in the Two Worlds did that happen? I don’t know, but despite the whole mixture of illegal and illegal substances whirling about in my damaged body, here’s me snatching the wheel off the bewildered driver. Then, something snapping – and the wheels turning quicker and quicker, there’s no difference to me – and the pines not far off —
Dyna sain, llais, yn galw arna i i gofio rhywbeth arall, yn rhywle arall, rywbryd arall -- ‘anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista’ – gwynt coedwyrdd, afftyrsief rhad, ffags wedi’u smyglo. Ydw i’n gwisgo trôns glân i gyrraedd y trefnydd angladdau? Dw i’n ysu am gael brwsio’n nannedd am ryw reswm – ac yn ysu, yn cosi, yn crafu, yn llythrennol hefyd – ‘nenw’r Rhai Dioglyd, dyma chwilod y bedd yn ‘y nghnoi – dw i’n cael ‘yn lleibio’n fyw. Ma’ mrest i’n cael ei wasgu gan gerrig enfawr, anweledig. Dw i angen – rhaid i fi – ddianc – fi’n bron marw o ofn – yn daer am neidio mas o’r fan a rhedeg. Crwt ofnus – oer, chwyslyd, twym, dan glo yn y tywyllwch, sy’n erfyn am ei deganau – dw i, ac yr unig olau yw lamp stryd grynedig yn y pellter. Ife sŵn seiren heddlu yw ‘ny? Ond myn Eneiniog yr Hen Dduwiau a aeth i lawr i’r pyllau tân ar y Nw Yrth – dw i’n cael ymosodiad panig – a drwy’r amser dyna’r brygowthan atgas ‘na, yn galw arnon ni i losgi’n dragwyddol.Then a sound, a voice, calling me to remember something else, somhere else, some other time -- ‘anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista’ – ther smell of wintergreen, cheap aftershave, smuggled fags. Am I wearing clean pants to meet the undertaker? I’m itching to brush my teeth for some reason – and itching, tickling, scratching, literally, too – in the name of the Lazy Ones, the grave-beetles’re gnawing on me – I’m being eaten alive. My chest’s being crushed by an enormous, unseen rock. I need – I have to – escape – I’m almost dying of fear – desperately wanting to jump out of the van and run. I’m a frightened kid – cold, sweaty, warm, locked up in the dark, who’s begging for his toys, and the only light is a trembling street-lamp in the distance. Is that the sound of a police siren? But by The Anointed of the Old Gods who went down into the fire-pits on the Nw Yrth, I’m having a panic attack – and all the time there’s that hateful ranting, calling on us to burn forevermore.
Dw i’n gallu gweld yr holl beth – y ddamwain, ddylen ni ddweud, falle – erbyn hyn – yn araf iawn – mor araf â bo phosib, a dweud y gwir – cyn arafed â chrwban cloff yn hercian heb ei gragen am hanner dydd ryw ddydd crasboeth yng nghanol yr haf – dw i’n credu – ond ife fi ydy – pwy yw’r ‘fi’ ‘na, draw fanna, ta ‘be? Y fi sy’n bloeddio geiriau ola’r swyngan – ‘vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, deklo’.I can see the whole thing – the accident, should we say, maybe – now – very slowly – as slow as possible, to tell the truth – as slow as a lame tortoise limping without its shell at midday on some scorching day in the middle of summer – I think – but is it me – who is that ‘me’, over there, anyway? The me who’s screaming the final words of the incantation – ‘vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, deklo’.
Heb rybudd – mae’r peth, yr ysbryd, y crwt, yr anghenfil, yn dod i olwg unwaith ‘to – dyma Stevie’n brecio’n galed, yr union eiliad pan fydd injin y fan yn cyrraedd ei ‘sgrechian ucha’ – ac wedyn diffygio ma’r brêcs – gan wichian fel ‘sen ni mewn lladd-dy. O, Swtach a’n cadwo ni, dw i’n rhegi dan ‘y nannedd, am ddiwedd i barti rhydd ymhlith y pinwydd ar ôl i ni jyst ddianc o’r heddlu achos bod yr hen ‘ffernols ‘na ar y Pwyllgor wedi treio trefnu i fi gael ‘yn arestio.Without warning – the thing, the spirit, the kid, the monster, comes into view once again – Stevie breaks hard, exactly the same moment that the van engine reaches the peak of its screeching – and then the breaks give way – squealing as if we were in a slaughter-house. Oh, Swtach keep us, I swear under my breath, what an end to a free party amongst the pines after we’ve just escaped from the police ‘cos those old devils on the Committee’ve tried to arrange that I get arrested.
Dw i'm yn deall beth sy'n digwydd, w. Ma’ fel hunllef achoswyd gan fadarch hudol. Mae popeth yn symud yn araf iawn. Ac wedyn dyma fi’n sylweddoli. Ha, dyna ddigri, dw i byth yn gw'bod beth sy'n mynd ymlaen fel rheol. Dw i'n teimlo mod i'n sawl pobl ar yr un pryd, mae fel 'sai llwyth o gymeriadau gwahanol ynddo i sy eisiau dod mas a dweud eu dweud. Mae Dau Fyd yma ar yr un pryd, un ar ben y llall, wedi'u gwahanu oddi wrth ei gilydd gan fath o len. Ac yma, yn y fangre hon lle mae sylwedd yn toddi, dyma Arglwydd yr Hynafiaid a rwygodd y llen o'r blaen, yn treiddio'r llen drachefn.I don’t understand what’s happening, mun. It’s like a nightmare caused by magic mushrooms. Everything’s moving very slow. And then I realise. Ha, that’s funny, I never know what’s going on usually. I feel I’m several people at the same time, it’s like there’s a host of characters in me who want to come out and have their say. There are Two Worlds here at the same time, one on top of the other, separated from each other by a kind of veil. And here, in this place where substance melts, here’s the Lord of the Old Ones who tore the veil before, rending the veil again.
Mae stwff ym mhob man, fel gwe anweladwy, neu'r pilenni yn eich perfeddion, wedi'i dynnu dros bob gofod a lledu mewn pob bwlch. Dw i'n gallu'i glywed e, mewn ffordd, o gil 'yn llygaid, y stwff sy'n gludio holl bytiau’r byd wrth ei gilydd. Wel, mae'n debyg i jam di-liw, falle, neu well fyddai dweud jeli, dw i'n sylwi ar y sylwedd yn debyg i blastig tryloyw pan fydda i'n ymestyn 'y mysedd ar led. Ac os bydda i'n symud yn ara' ara', bydda i'n cyffwrdd â fe, ac wedyn dw i'n sylweddoli fod e'n llusgo drosta i bob tro, gan ‘neud i fi deimlo’n od iawn.There’s stuff everywhere, like an unseen web, or the membranes of your intestines, stretched over every void and spread in every gap. I can sense it, in a way, from the corner of my eyes, the stuff that’s gluing every bit of the world together. Well, it’s like colourless jam, perhaps, or better to say jelly, I notice the substance similar to transparent plastic when I stretch my fingers wide. And if I move extremely slowly, I touch it, and then I realise that it’s dragging against me all the time, making me feel really odd.
A dyna gorff dirgrynol yr Hen Feistr sy wastad yn llechu ar y trothwy, yn cynnwys miloedd o lobau llachar, yn caledu o'r tarth o’n blaen ni. A dw i'n cofio Mam (‘yn angel colledig) a Dad (yr hen ddiawl), a phawb eraill sy wedi mynd a dod, dw i 'di ceisio cysylltu â nhw i ryw raddau, heb lwyddo gan amla'. A dyma'r ceidwad sy'n nabod y porth, sy biau'r allwedd o arian, sy'n crwydro dros amser oll o dan y Sêl Ysgarlad. Dw i angen meddwl am y labwst ‘na o ffrind gorau, y Ficing, yn eistedd yn ‘yn ymyl i, a’r ferch oeraidd ac anodd ei deall, dw i'n lico cymaint (wrth ei chasáu ar yr un pryd), cyn i fi farw.And here’s the pulsating body of the Old Master who’s always lurking on the threshold, consisting of thousands of shining globes, precipitating from the mist in front of us. And I remember Mum (my lost angel) and Dad (the old devil), and everyone else who’s come and gone, that I’ve tried to connect with, to some degree, without succeeding, mostly. And here’s the keeper who knows the gate, who possesses the silver key, who wanders across all time under the Scarlet Seal. I need to think about that lump of a best friend, the Viking, sitting beside me, and the cold, difficult-to-understand girl I like so much (whilst hating her at the same time) before I die.
A dw i’n cael ‘y ngorfodi i wynebu’n holl wendidau, a diffygion, a beiau. Mor lawn sêl o’n i o’r blaen, mor fodlon ar frifo’r rhai sy’n haeddu cael eu cosbi, er gwaetha’r holl eiriau teg a’r moesoli. Ro’dd ‘y mwriad yn iawn, ta be’. Ond y funud hon mae popeth wedi newid yn llwyr. Dw i wedi drysu'n lân. Am ragrithiwr dw i, oedd wedi dymuno bod mor gas o’r blaen. ‘Sdim dewis wedyn, rhaid i fi gyfadde' wrth 'yn hunan dw i'm yn gallu 'nafu neb heb sôn am eu lladd nhw, hyd yn oed y rhai dw i'n casáu mwya', a taw gwell fyddai ‘neud da yn lle brwydro yn ôl. Sut allwn i fod wedi ystyried aberthu’r llanc twp arall ‘na? Sa i’n deall dim byd mwyach. Ro’n i eisiau llwyddo ond dw i ‘di methu. A dyma’r wobr go iawn, siŵr o fod. Ro’n i’n dweud celwyddau wrtha’n hunan drwy’r amser. Dw i ddim pwy dw i’n credu mod i. Be’ sy’n bod arna i? Cofia’r neges o heddwch a chariad, w. Ond nawr dw i ‘di rhedeg bant, unwaith ‘to. Ife ffaelu yw ‘ny?And I’m being forced to achnowledge all my weaknesses and inadequacies and failings. I was so full of enthusiasm before, so willing to harm those who deserved being punished, despite all the fine words and moralizing. I meant well, though. But right now everything’s changed completely. I’m totally confused. What a hypocrite I am, who had wanted to be so nasty before. There’s no choice then, I have to confess to myself that I can’t hurt anyone not to mention kill them, even those I hate most, and that it’d be better to do good instead of fighting back. How could I’ve considered sacrificing that other stupid lad? I don’t understand anything any more. I wanted to succeed but I’ve failed. And this is the real prize, probably. I was lying to myself all along. I’m not who I think I am. What’s up with me? Remember the message of peace and love, mun. But now I’ve run off, once again. Is that failing?
A dyna wyneb ‘yn Mam sy’n gorwedd yn yr ysbyty, druan â hi, and mae’n ymbil arna i am gael ei rhyddhau o’i hartaith a dw i’m yn medru helpu hi. Wrth i fi grychu'n llygaid mor dynn nes bod nhw’n brifo, i geisio atal y braw, dyma'r Hen Ddihenydd sy'n troi'r gofod cyn hau holl hadau caos yn ymrithio. Mae’r endid gyda’i filoedd o lygaid yn dechrau neidio at y fan, ac mae’n llysnafeddog gan olew symudliw fyddai’n achosi i unrhyw ddyn cyffredinol fynd ar drip asid unwaith-mewn-oes ‘sai fe’n dod i gysylltiad â fe. A dyma Isheth ei hun yn ymestyn ei dentaclau fyrdd o ectoplasm, seimllyd tuag aton ni i sleifio'n heneidiau ymaith.And there’s the face of my Mum who’s lying in the hospital, poor thing, and she’s pleading with me to be released from her torture,and I can’t help her. As I scrunch my eyes so tight they hurt, to try and stop the fear, here’s the Ancient of Days manifesting, that which ploughs the void before sowing all the seeds of chaos. The entity with its thousands of eyes starts to jump at the van, and it’s slimy with iridescent oil that would cause any ordinary man to go on a once-in-a-lifetime acid trip if he came into contact with it. And here’s Isheth itself stretching out its myriad slimy, ectoplasmic tentacles towards us, to snatch our solus away.
Ac mae gwynt cyfoglyd blodau pydredig yn llenwi’r awyr – a’r distawrwydd hollol – y tywyllwch llwyr –fel mewn marwdy, ond gwaeth achos fod e’n heigio â cheffylau fampiraidd, rhithiol – y noson honno sy’n digwydd drosodd a thro – noson giaidd, ysgithrog, a’i cheg yn llawn bustl gwenwynig – nos wedi dod yn flaidd rheibus.And there’s a sickly smell of rotten flowers filling the air – and the complete silence – the total darkness – like a morgue, but worse because it’s teeming with spectral, vampiric horses – that night that happens over and over – a savage, tusked night, its mouth full of poison bile – night become a ravenous wolf.
A dyma fi'n cael 'y ngwthio'n syth yn 'y mlaen yn y byd go iawn, wel, y byd dw i'n gydnabod, wrth gael 'y ngwasgu mewn rhyw ddimensiwn tu fas i'r pedwar rhai arferol dw i'n gyfarwydd â nhw dim ond drwy ddarllen yr holl ffug-wydd, a dw i'n cael 'yn estyn a throi'n sbageti ar yr un pryd. A dyna ‘mhen i’n taro yn erbyn y forden flaen – gan hollti ‘nhafod i, a llenwi ‘ngheg â hylif bywyd – gyda blas gwaed. A dyna sawr osôn, a thywyn uwchfioled, a chwerthin gwyllt. Ac wedyn – dim byd.And I’m being pushed straight forward in the real world, well, the world I recognise, whilst being squashed in some dimension outside the usual four I’m familiar with only through reading all the sci-fi, and I’m getting stretched out and turned into spaghetti at the same time. And my head smashes against the dashboard – splitting my tongue, and filling my mouth with life-fluid – with the taste of blood. And there’s the stink of ozone, and an ultraviolet glow, and wild laughing. And then – nothing.
HAEDDODD y digwyddiadau canlynol a gysylltir â’r Clinig hyglod o’r enw Y Pinwydd yn Aberdydd gael eu croniclo yn y newyddion lleol — “Wedi diflannu yr oedd dyn ifanc, dirgel, o’r clinig arbrofol, arloesol, sydd ar fin cael ei gau o ddiffyg cyllid, i’r gymuned leol, lawer gwaith o’r blaen. Bob tro byddai’n gweithredu’n rhyfedd iawn – yn helpu’r henoed i groesi’r ffordd, atal ymladd rhwng plant, paentio dros graffiti yn y Boly-Ysgol, trefnu partïon dawns rhydd ar gyfer y rhai di-waith, a chasglu ysbwriel – ym mhob achos, heb i neb ofyn iddo na’i dalu. Ar adegau eraill, byddai’n cyfieithu gweithiau gan hen feistri anadnabyddus fel Mamrick i’r Gymraeg. Ac mae adrodd heb ei gadarnhau’n honni ei fod wedi darganfod gwaith gwreiddiol yn y Gymraeg gan Tomos Aildon yn laslanc. Wrth fentro’r tu hwnt i furiau diogel y clinig, byddai’n dwyn fel arfer sach yn cynnwys dwy ddoli glwt, cyllell rydlyd, pot o baent coch, a theganau ar ffurf cath a cheiliog, o bob peth dan haul. Ymhellach, arferai’r dyn dieithr siantio mantras mewn ieithoedd estron.”THE FOLLOWING events which are connected with the celebrated Clinic called The Pines in Aberdydd deserved being chronicled in the local news — “The mysterious young man had disappeared from the innovative, experimental clinic, which is on the point of being shut down due to lack of funding, into the local community, many times before. Every time he would act very strangely – helping the aged to cross the road, preventing fights between children, painting over graffiti in the Poly-versity, arranging free dance-parties for the unemployed, and collecting rubbish – in every case, without being asked or payed. On other occasions, he would translate works by unknown old masters such as Mamrick into Welsh. And an unconfirmed report alleges that he has discovered original work in Welsh by a stripling Tomos Aildon. Whilst venturing beyond the clinic’s safe walls, he would usually carry a sack containing two rag-dolls, a rusty knife, a pot of red paint, and toys in the form of a cat and a cockerel, of all things under the sun. Furthermore, the foreigner was accustomed to chant mantras in strange languages.”
Â’r adrodd ymlaen — “Y tro hwn, fodd bynnag, daliwyd ef ar ôl damwain mewn fan wen. Ymddengys bod nyrs yn mynd â fe ymaith i gael triniaeth yn y clinig wedi iddo gael ei anafu’n ddifrifol pan oedd wedi rhedeg i’r stryd i blycio plentyn o ffordd car a yrrai’n rhy gyflym ymhlith y pinwydd, gan achub ei bywyd. Mae’r manylion yn aneglur, fodd bynnag, gan fod yr arwr tybiedig yn gorwedd mewn coma ar hyn o bryd. Nid yw’n sicr faint yw’i oedran, ond cam-drinnid ef yn enbyd pan oedd yn blentyn bach cyn dod i’r wlad hon. Gwirionai ar syniadau’r ocwlt a’r goruwchnaturiol er pan oedd wedi ymuno â’r fyddin fel sowldiwr bach yn dri ar ddeg i frwydo ar hyd a lled y cyfandir yn ôl pob sôn. Yr oedd yn dioddef o siel-syfrdandod, mae’n debyg, ar ôl y rhyfel yng Nghalon y Cyfandir. Mae’r meddygon wedi datgan ei fod yn profi rhithweledigaethau clywedol parhaol – ‘lleisiau o’r byd a ddaw’ – a’i hanogai i wneud gweithredoedd rhyfeddol ddefnyddiol o bob math. Yr oedd y clinigwr dan hyfforddiant wedi credu y dylai’r newid diweddaraf yn ei feddyginiaeth fod wedi cael effaith fuddiol, ond mae’n bosibl ei bod yn ‘anffodus o anghywir’ (yn ôl ei geiriau ei hun). ‘Amser yw’r meddyg gorau’, oedd ei sylw olaf.”The report goes on — “This time, however, he was caught after an accident in a white van. It appears that a nurse was taking him away to get treatment in the clinic after he was seriously injured when he had run into the street to sweep a child from the path of a car that was speeding amongst the pines, saving her life. The details are unclear, however, as he the would-be hero is lying in a coma at this time. It is not sure what his age is, but he was abused terribly when he was a small boy before coming to this country. He was obsessed with ideas of the occult and the supernatural since he joined the army as a boy-soldier at thirteen years of age to fight all over the continent by all accounts. It is likely that he was suffering from shell-shock after the war in the Heart of the Continent. The medics have stated that he was experiencing persistent auditory hallucinations – ‘voices from the world to come’ – which encouraged him to do strangely useful acts of all kinds. The trainee clinician had believed that the latest change in his medication should have had a beneficial effect, but it is possible that she was ‘unfortunately incorrect’ (according to her own words). ‘Time is the best healer’, was her final comment.”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voices 3

Pennod Saith: Canu (Lleisiau 3) / Singing (Voices 3)

Yn ogystal â llefaru yn y ffordd arferol, mae’n bosibl i’r llais gynhyrchu seiniau cerddorol trwy’r proses o’r enw canu. Mae rhai’n dweud mai damwain o ran esblygiad yw canu dynol a ddigwyddodd o ganlyniad i ddatblygu iaith. Fodd bynnag, mae rhai eraill yn credu i ganu ddatblygu’n gyntaf yn hynafiaid dynolryw, gan baratoi’u cyhyrau lleisiol ar gyfer siarad. Serch hynny, mae’n sicr yr adroddid straeon ar ffurf caneuon cofiadwy cyn y’u hysgrifennid. Mae canu a llefaru’n wahanol i ryw raddau, ond yn debyg iawn o ran rhai pethau eraill. Yn yr ymennydd mae sawl rhan yn ymwneud â cherddoriaeth ac iaith, y naill ynghyd â’r llall. Ymddengys y gall canu helpu pobl sydd wedi cael trawiad i siarad, trwy hyfforddi gwahanol rannau’r ymennydd i fabwysiadu swyddogaethau newydd. Gwneir canu’n unigol neu mewn grŵp, yn ffurfiol neu’n anffurfiol, fel rhan o ddefod neu wasanaeth crefyddol, er mwyn pleser neu gysur, neu fel hobi. Mae’n defnyddio technegau neilltuol, yn cynnwys gallu dilyn rhythmau cymhleth, a dal nodynnau estynedig, ac er mwyn canu’n dda mae angen amser, addysg, ymroddiad ac ymarfer. Yr ydys yn honni bod i ganu lawer o fuddion iechyd, er enghraifft: cryfhau’r system imiwnedd, lleihau pwysau gwaed, gwella rheolaeth ar yr anadl a chynaniad, a helpu gyda phrosesu gwybodaeth. O ran manteision seicolegol, ymddengys bod canu’n rhyddhau niwrodrosglwyddyddion penodol yn yr ymennydd, ac felly mae’n helpu i gael gwared ar emosiynau cronedig, gan wella ymlacio a chynyddu hapusrwydd. Llawer o rywogaethau eraill sydd yn canu’n cynnwys adar a morfilod. Mae rhai mathau o anifeiliaid yn dysgu caneuon, tra bydd rhai eraill yn canu ar y pryd, neu newyddu. Weithiau, sylwn ni, bydd giboniaid yn canu mewn grwpiau.

As well as speaking in the ordinary way, it is possible for the voice to produce musical sounds through the process called singing. Some say that human singing is an accident of evolution that happened as a result of the development of language. However, others believe that singing developed first in the ancestors of humanity, preparing their vocal muscles for speaking. Despite that, it is certain that stories were recited in the form of memorable songs before they were written down. Singing and speaking are different to some extent, but very similar in some other ways. In the brain, there are several regions involved with music and language, the one as well as the other. It appears that singing can help people who have had a stroke to speak, through training different parts of the brain to adopt new functions. Singing can be done individually or in a group, formally or informally, as part of a ritual or a religious service, for pleasure or reassurance, or as a hobby. It uses particular techniques, including the ability to follow complex rhythms, and to hold extended notes, and in order to sing well there is a need for time, education, commitment, and practice. It is alleged that singing has many health benefits, for example: strengthening the immune system, lowering blood pressure, improving breath-control and enunciation, and helping with information processing. With respect to psychological advantages, it appears that singing releases particular neurotransmitters in the brain, and so it helps to get rid of pent-up emotions, improving relaxation and increasing happiness. Many other species sing, including birds and whales. Some types of animals learn songs, whilst others sing extempore, or improvise. Sometimes, we note, gibbons sing in groups.

Yr oedd, ers cyn cof, o’r cychwyn cyntaf, yr Un ymhlith Llawer, yr Haul Disglair. Ar ei ben ei hunan ydoedd, wedi'i golli ei hun mewn dwfn fyfyrdod, gan ddychmygu ac ochneidio, fel pe bai ei dendriliau o dân wedi'u lapio mewn haenen drwchus o dywod melyn. Ac yno y disgleiriai‘n raslon yn y nefoedd am y rhawg ar hugain, gan adnabod neb heblaw amdano ei hun. A dôi’r tarthoedd, a deuai’r cymylau, ac âi’r glawogydd ymaith unwaith eto, ond ni allent byth ddiffodd ei oleuni. Am mai bywyd yw golau’r Un, sydd yn dod â ffrwythlondeb i’r Blaned gron hefyd.From the very earliest times, before memory, the One amongst Many, the Dazzling Sun. And he was alone, having lost himself in deep meditation, imagining and sighing, as if his tendrils of fire had become wrapped in a thick layer of yellow sand. And there he shone benevolently in the heavens for ages, knowing no-one apart from himself. And the mists came, and the clouds came, and the rains went away once again, but they could never extinguish his light. For the One’s light is life, which brings fruitfulness to the entire Planet also.
Serch hynny oll, chwit-chwat oedd ewyn y moroedd, ac roedd anadl y gwyntoedd yn fud, ac ni siaradai’r glaswellt a dyfai’n dirf ar wyneb y Blaned â’r Un sy’n Dad i bopeth. A chalon eiriasboeth, unig yn y nefoedd ydoedd, a arhosai i rywbeth ddigwydd. A chyda threigl amser, er nad oedd dim byd mewn bodolaeth yn ei fesur, ond anesmwythder y Golau unigryw ymhlith y sêr anghysbell, di-rif, ymhen yr hir a’r hwyr, roedd ar yr Haul sy’n tywynnu dros bawb awydd cadw cwmni mwy nag ei feddyliau ei hun.Despite all that, fickle was the oceans’ spray, and the winds’ breath was mute, and the grass that grew luscious on the face of the Planet spoke not to the One who is Father to everything. And he was a lonely, white-hot heart in the heavens, who was waiting for something to happen. And with the passage of time, although there was nothing to mesure it but the restlessness of the unique Light amongst the countless, distant stars, at long last, the Sun who shines over everyone wanted more than his own thoughts for company.
Felly, yn yr un modd y bydd tonau’n torri ar y traeth yn treulio’r lan, yr oedd yn ailffurfio ei freuddwydion. Nid oedd erioed wedi syllu mor ystyriol o'r blaen ar y coed urddasol, gan synhwyro bob symudiad bychan eu canghennau. Yn awr yr oedd yn profi’r llonder sy’n dod pan yf pridd cras ddŵr croyw; am y tro cyntaf yr oedd yn cydnabod y cynnwrf a fydd pan flagura egin o’r newydd. Yn y fan a’r lle, wrth i’r Un oedi i wrando, dechreuodd y greadigaeth i gyd lefaru. Ac eto y daliai’r Un i lewyrchu.So, in the same way that waves breaking on the beach wear away the shore, he reformed his dreams. Never before had he stared so intently at the stately trees, feeling each tiny movement of their branches. Now he experienced the joy that comes when scorched soil deinks fresh water; for the first time he recognised the excitement when buds sprout afresh. Then and there, as the One shopped to listen, all creation began to speak. And the One still shone on.
Yn y dyddiau hynny ar wawr cof, ymhell o bobman, pan ddisgynnai’r Un o’r wybren, a sibrydai’r blodau gyfrinachau, fe ddeath creaduriaid symudol o bob math – anifeiliaid sy’n rhedeg a hela a chyplu, bywyd gwyllt ar y gweundiroedd, pysgod yn y môr, adar yn yr awyr, ymlusgiaid sy’n llithro, a phryfed sy’n cythru – i fodoli ar y Blaned, am mai'r Un arferai dramwyo'r tiroedd uchel a’r gwaelodion fel ei gilydd heb rwystr, ac wrth iddo wneud hyn, bob yn ychydig y’i hanfonid yn berlewyg. Symud pob cangen a oedd yn ei lenwi’n llawn i’r ymyl â gorfoledd, ac wrth i’w brofiad ddwysáu, fe drawodd ef gân.In those days at the dawn of memory, far from anywhere, when the One would come down from the firmament, and the flowers spoke secrets, moving creatures of all kind – animals that run and hunt and mate, wildlife on the moors, fish in the sea, birds in the air, creeping things that slither, and insects that scurry – came to exist on the Planet, because the One used to walk the high lands and the plains alike without impediment, and as he did this, little by little he became entranced. The motion of every branch filled him full up with rejoicing, and as his experience intensified, he broke into song.
Nid oedd unrhyw sain o’r un fath erioed wedi'i chlywed o’r blaen ar yr Yrth, na hyd yn oed yn y ffurfafen, ar wahân i gerddoriaeth anghysbell y nefolion leoedd. Ac yn yr eiliad gyntaf honno pan ebychodd meddyliau’r Un yn eiriau llafar, atebodd y Blaned. Y gweryd ei hunan a wnaeth droi’n hylif gludiog, trwchus, ac mewn mannau malwyd y creigiau’n ysgyrion, a hyd yn oed curiad calon danllyd y Blaned y gellid ei glywed. Ac yna’n raddol, cychwynnodd y lafa tawdd, a oedd newydd fod yn gweiddi oddi isod i groen caregog y Byd crwn, dorri trwy’r grawen, gan ffrydio allan a chodi mewn bysedd o hylif creigiog oedd yn ymestyn tuag at yr awyr iach, cyn ymsuddo, a slochian i lawr i berfeddion y Blaned unwaith eto.Never before had any sound of the same kind been heard on the Yrth, nor even in the firmament, apart from the distant music of the heavenly places. And in that first instant when the thoughts of the One burst forth in spoke words, the Planet responded. The soil itself turned to thick, sticky fluid, and in places the rocks were smashed to smithereens, and even the beating of the Planet’s fiery heart could be heard. And then gradually, the molten lava, which had just been crying out from below the round World’s stony skin, began to break through the crust, spurting out and rising up in fingers of rocky liquid, which reached out towards the fresh air, before subsiding, and sloshing down to the depths of the Planet once again.
Wedyn, wrth i lonydd ddisgyn, gyda sibrwd tyner awel, fe ddechreuodd yr Haul sylwi ar y mymryn lleiaf o newid. Ac yn syfrdan roedd yr Un yn gwylio hyn oll a oedd yn digwydd ond nid yn ddistaw. Gan mai erbyn hyn creaduriaid newydd sbon a oedd yn sgwrsio â fe, yn awr roedd plant cnawdol, cochdduon y pridd yn cymryd eu bywyd eu hunain am y tro cyntaf. Ac o hynny ymlaen, fe fyddai’r Blaned yn hollol wahanol yn oes oesoedd; a’r Nw Yrth fyddai ei henw newydd hi. Wrth i’r Un sydd uwchben pob dim anadlu'n gyflym o ganlyniad i’r wyrth hon, yr oedd yr anifeiliaid yn clywed y chwa fywhaol o wynt, a dynesu yn ei gylch ef er mwyn canu eu bywyd. Ac wedyn y cyhoeddodd yr Un y geiriau hyn i bawb:Then, as peace descended, with the tender sighing of a breeze, the Sun began to notice the slightest amount of change. And in surprise the One watched all that was happening, but not in silence. For by now brand-new creatures were conversing with him, now, the russet, fleshy children of the soil assumed their own life for the first time. And from then on, the Planet would be totally different forevermore; and the Nw Yrth would be its new name. As the One who is above everything breathed quickly as a result of this miracle, the animals sensed the life-giving gust of wind, and drew up around him to sing their lives. And then the One proclaimed these words to all:
Wrth i goed ffrwytho fe blygant ac ymostwng,
Llawn glaw, fe gwsg cymylau trymion mewn hedd,
Dylai’r rhai a symuda weiddi a chwarae’n hoenus,
Gan taw hynny yw ystyr gwir hoedl o dan yr Haul.		While trees bear fruit they bend and are humble,
Full of rain, heavy clouds slumber in peace,
Those who move should shout and play joyously,
For that is the true meaning of life under the Sun.
Felly, o’r dechreuadau hyn, fy mhlant i, y daeth i fod bob creadur symudol sy’n trigo gyda ni heddiw. Ond ni chawsom ein gwneud yn ddelw o’r Un ei hunan i fod yn debyg iddo, i fod yn feistri sy'n rheoli dros bopeth ar y Blaned gyfan heb sôn am yn y Cyfanfyd. Nid oedd yn gweithio o’i ben a’i bastwn ei hun ‘chwaith, a bod yn berffaith onest, ond yn hytrach, dim ond dilyn llwybr wedi’i greu gan grwydro’r sêr eraill a wnaeth. Does angen dweud, yn gyntaf oll buom ni i gyd o’r un fath, ac yn chwiorydd a brodyr inni’n gilydd, er bod ein ffurfiau ni’n aneglur. Eto i gyd, o ben bwy gilydd y mae cynlluniau’r Un wastad dan orchudd o ddirgelwch. Ond fe ellwch fod yn siŵr y byddai ef yn rhoi pen ar y cyflwr hwn o hurtrwydd diniwed maes o law.Thus, it is from these beginnings, my children, that there came to be every moving creature which dwells with us today. But we were not made in the image of the One himself, to be like him, to be masters who rule over everything on the entire Planet not to mention in the Cosmos. He was not working under his own initiative either, to be perfectly honest, but rather, he was only following a path created by the wandering of the other stars. Needless to say, first of all, we were all of the same kind, and sisters and brothers to each other, although our forms were unclear. Then again, from start to finish, the plans of the One are always under a cloak of secrecy. But you can be sure that he would put an end to that condition of innocent stupidity in due course.
Nawr, yn y dyddiau ffresiaf hynny, pan ddeuai’r Haul eto i lawr o’r nefoedd er mwyn dawnsio yn ein plith ni, a chwarae gyda ni, arferai pob creadur byw ar wyneb y Nw Yrth ymddangos yr un peth, ac fe ganent yr un gân i’w gilydd ac i’r Un Disglair. Ac wrth i olau’r Haul ymledu o’r Dwyrain i’r Gorllewin bob dydd, byddai bywyd yn mentro draw a thraw i mewn i’r mannau da, a byddai pob creadur yn mynd i fyw i lan bryn neu mewn cwm, ar dir sych ynteu mewn dyfroedd y llynnoedd a’r môr, yn ôl cân ei galon. Tra twymid aelodau newydd grai cread gan belydrau’r Un Llachar, hyd yn oed y creigiau a’r afonydd a oedd yn ymuno â’r gerddoriaeth lon.Now, in those freshest days, when the Sun would yet come down from the heavens in order to dance amongst us, and play with us, every living thing on the face of the Nw Yrth used to look the same, and they sang the same song to each other and to the Resplendent One. And whilst the Sun’s light spread from the East to the West every day, life ventured here and there into the good places, and every creature used to go to dwell up a hill or in a valley, on dry land or in the waters of the lakes and the sea, according to his heart’s song. Whilst the brand-new members of creation were being warmed by the rays of the Dazzling One, even the rocks and the rivers joined in with the joyous music.
Ond pan ddisgynnai’r Haul o’r awyr, a mynd o’r golwg ddiwedd pob dydd, er mwyn ymweld â gwledydd pell rywle arall dros y môr, fe âi’r creaduriaid yn ofnus, a chynnull at ei gilydd ar gyfer cysur. Ac roedd eu lleisiau’n groch oherwydd eu hamheuaeth wrth iddynt syllu i fyny ar y Lleuad Oriog, nad yw ei hwyneb yn gyson, eithr yn hytrach a dyfa a lleihau gyda’r nos yn ystod pob mis.But when the Sun descended from the sky, and went out of sight at the end of each day, in order to visit far lands somewhere else overseas, the creatures would become fearful, and come together for reassurance. And their voices were strident because of their doubt as they stared up at the Fickle Moon, whose face is not constant, but which instead waxes and wanes at night during each month.
Ac wedyn, yr oedden nhw’n canu cân drist heb eiriau yn y lloergan, gan alarnadu ymadael Tad pawb. A dyma ystyr y gân honno. Fe gyhoeddasant: Fe ddylem gasglu at ei gilydd ddefnyddiau crai, meini, a changhennau, a dŵr, a llaid; ac fe ddylem adeiladu tŵr tal yn estyn at y Lleuad. Oblegid mai dim ond y Lloer arhosa gyda ni pan fydd hi’n nosi ac yn oeri, pan fydd yr Un wedi mynd i ffwrdd. Ac eto, tra bydd yr Haul yn gadael a dychwelyd unwaith yn ystod y dydd yn ôl y drefn arferol, y Lloer fydd yn cuddio’i hwyneb a’i ddatgelu’n rheolaidd gyda chylchred y tymhorau.And then, they sang a sad song without words in the moonlight, lamenting the departure of the Father of all. And here is the meaning of that song. They declared: We should collect together raw materials, stones, and branches, and water, and mud; and we should build a tall tower reaching to the Moon. Because only the Moon stays with us when it gets dark and cold, when the One has gone away. And again, while the Sun leaves and returns once during the day according to the usual order, the Moon hides her face and reveals it regularly with the cycle of the seasons.
Fel hyn y gallwn ni ddod yn nes at y Lleuad ein Mam, gan edrych arni’n gariadlon, a chanu ati hi’n dyner, a chofleidio’i golau bywiocaol; ac fe gân pawb gyda'i gilydd yr un gân gref, fel y gwybydd pob un a’i clyw taw plant y Lleuad ydym. Ac yna nid ofnwn ni mwyach, ond yn lle hyn y byddwn yn chwiorydd cryfion a brodyr cedyrn, yr un a’r unrhyw, a nyni fydd biau holl wyneb y Nw Yrth gan ei rannu gyda’n gilydd, ac fe ddygwn ni’r un enw a chanu’r un gân, gan wybod y gallwn ni fyw heb olau’r Haul. Am fod yn hytrach, fe fyddwn ni’n ferched a meibion i’r Lloer! Ac felly, yn unfryd, a chydag un gân, cychwynnodd epil y pridd godi eu tŵr – y rhan fwyaf o’n henafiaid, beth bynnag, ond nid pob un ohonynt, gan fod wyth a sleifiodd ymaith, yn esgus bod arnynt angen ymarfer mwy er mwyn canu’n berffaith.In this way we shall come closer to the Moon our Mother, looking on her lovingly, and singing to her tenderly, and embracing her life-giving light; and everyone shall sing together the same strong song, so that everyone who hears it shall know that we are the children of the Moon. And then we shall not fear any more, but instead of this we shall be strong sisters and robust brothers, one and the same, and it is we who shall own the whole face of the Nw Yrth, sharing it with each other, and we shall bear the same name and sing the same song, knowing that we can live without the Sun’s light. Since, rather, we shall be daughters and sons of the Moon! And so, unanimously, and with one song, the spawn of the soil began to erect their tower – the majority of our forebears, anyway, but not every one of them, because eight slunk away, pretending that they needed to practise more in order to sing perfectly.
Ond yn y nefoedd uwchben, wedi’i gelu gan y cymylau, fe glywodd Tad popeth eu canu’n drist, a gweld eu codi, a gwybod eu bod nhw wedi’i wrthod ef, gan gadw eu hunain yn unig i’r Lleuad, y llygad hwnnw fydd yn ysmicio’n hyf yn awyr y nos. A phan welodd ef fod y creaduriaid i gyd yn llafurio gyda’i gilydd, fel hiliogaeth y Lloer, gan ganu’r un gân wrth iddynt weithio, wedyn y sibrydodd wrtho’i hun. A dyma’r hyn a ddywedodd. Wel, yn awr mae fy mhlant yn f’anghofio i, ac ni dda ganddyn nhw ‘mo’m golau adfywiol rhagor ‘chwaith, ac maen nhw’n cydweithio i godi tŵr yn estyn tuag at y Lleuad, sy’n amrantu fel llygaid lloerig yn nhrymder y nos.But in the heavens above, hidden by the clouds, the Father of everything heard their sad singing, and saw their building, and knew they had rejected him, giving themselves solely to the Moon, that eye that twinkles cheekily in the night sky. And when he saw that all the creatures were labouring together, like the Moon’s progeny, singing the same song as they worked, then he whispered to himself. And here is what he was saying. Well, now my children are forgetting me, and they do not care any more for my reviving light either, and they are working together to raise a tower reaching towards the Moon, who winks like a mad eye in the depths of the night.
Pwy a ŵyr beth a wnân nhw o hyn ymlaen, am nad ydw i’n deall eu hamcanion, a ta be’, yr unig beth dw i eisiau ‘neud bob amser yw chwarae yn y nefoedd gyda’r cymylau a’r gwyntoedd, a dawnsio ar wyneb gwyrdd y Nw Yrth gan ganu cân nad yw neb arall yn deall ei geiriau. Ac ar ben hynny, dim ond adlewyrchu fy ngolau a wna’r Lloer, ac er i fi wybod y bydd y diwrnod nesa’n dilyn yr un o’i flaen yn amseroedd, serch ‘ny, fe fydda i yn y pen draw yn heneiddio a blino ar fy chwarae, ac fe ddaw bywyd i gyd i ben yr adeg honno, gan fynd yn ôl i’r lle y daeth ohono dan lenni nos dragwyddol, dim ond i ddechrau unwaith eto, falle, mewn ffordd, ac ar ffurf, dw i’m yn medru’i rhagweld.Who knows what they will do from here on, as I do not understand their intentions, and anyway, the only thing I want to do all the time is play in the heavens with the clouds and the winds, and dance on the green face of the Nw Yrth, singing a song whose words no-one else understands. And moreover, the Moon only reflects my light, and although I know that the next day will follow the previous one for the time being, despite that, I shall, in the end, grow old and tire of my playing, and all life shall come to an end at that time, going back to whence it came, under the veil of eternal night, only to begin once again, perhaps, in a way, and in a form, I am not able to foresee.
Felly, achos bod fy mhlant yn f’anghofio i, ac yn gweithio a chanu gyda’i gilydd yn hytrach na chwarae gyda fi, gan fy ngwatwar i, fi a wna chwerthin am eu pennau nhw, gan eu hatgoffa nhw taw dim ond o achos fy ngolau bywiocaol y maen nhw’n bodoli, ac mai dim ond adlewyrchu fy ngolau i a wna’r Lleuad, ac mai pan fydda i’n mynd yn lluddedig, wedyn y dychwel popeth i’r llaid o ble y daeth yn wreiddiol, a’r pryd hynny y gorffen y canu i gyd.So, since my children forget me, and work and sing together rather than play with me, mocking me, I shall laugh at them, reminding them that it is only because of my life-giving light that they exist, and that the Moon only reflects my light, and that when I become exhausted, then everything shall return to the muck from which it came originally, and at that time shall all singing cease.
A dyma beth a wna i. Canu cân fawreddog o ofid a gorfoledd a wna, ac fe eilw hi at bob creadur byw ar wahân i bob un arall, ac mewn ffordd wahanol, cyn gynted ag y bydd yn ei chlywed. Ac o fewn yr eiliad honno y bydd e’n trawsffurfio a dod yn annhebyg i weddill y creaduriaid eraill ar wyneb y Nw Yrth. Ac yna y newidia ei gân hefyd. Nid rhagor bydd e’n dewis ei lais na’i eiriau, na bydd e’n byw yn hollol gytûn â’r creaduriaid eraill i gyd ar y Blaned hon.And this is what I shall do. I shall sing a majestic song of fear and rejoicing, and it shall call on each living creature separately from every other one, and in a different way, as soon as he hears it. And within that instant he shall transform and become unlike the rest of the other creatures on the face of the Nw Yrth. And then his song shall change too. No longer shall he choose his voice and his words, nor shall he live in complete harmony with all the other creatures on this Planet.
Yn hytrach, fe fydd y naill yn ymryson â’r llall, ac fe fydd helynt; ac ni fydd yr un ohonyn nhw’n medru byw na thyfu mewn heddwch; na bydd yr un fath yn paru â’r rhai eraill. A bryd hynny y cofia’r creaduriaid i gyd, fesul un, a phob un ar ei ben ei hunan, taw’r Un unig ydw i sy’n rhoi bywyd iddyn nhw, ac fe alwan nhw ar f’enw er mwyn i fi estyn cymorth iddyn nhw. Ac wrth i’r Un ganu’r meddyliau hyn mewn myfyrdod dwys, gan brancio ar ben mynydd dan orchudd o niwl, yn wir, fe ddarfuant. Yn ddisymwth, fe deimlodd y creaduriaid gweithgar ias sydyn o ofn fel petai wynt mawr, oer yn codi, ac wedyn chwythu’n greulon trwy lystyfiant crynedig y Nw Yrth.Rather, the one shall contend with the other, and there shall be strife; and not one of them shall be able to live and to grow in peace; nor shall the one kind couple with the other kinds. And it is at that time that all the creatures, one by one, and each one on his own, shall remember that I am the only One who gives them life and they shall call on my name so that I will give them help. And while the One sang these thoughts in deep meditation, prancing on top of a mountain under a veil of fog, verily, they came to pass. Unexpectedly, the hard-working creatures felt a sudden shudder of fear as if a great, cold wind was rising, and then blowing cruelly trough the trembling vegetation of the Nw Yrth.
Yn awr, wrth i gân Tad popeth, ddychrynllyd o hardd, a phrydferth o frawychus, lifo drostynt, mewn gwirionedd, pob chwaer a brawd a ddechreuodd newid. Ac wrth iddynt fynd yn wahanol, trawsffurfiwyd eu cyrff, eu hwynebau, eu siapau a’u lliwiau; a chychwyn newid a wnaeth eu caneuon hefyd. Ac yno, mewn llewyg, yr oedd pob math o fwystfil newydd yn dweud ei enw unigryw ar goedd ac ar wahân i’r lleill am y tro cyntaf. A dyma ran o’r hyn a lefarasant, sydd erbyn hyn y swyngan rymusa’ o enwi a rhwymo:Now, as the Father of all’s song, terrifyingly beautiful and handsomely frightening, flowed over them, in truth, every sister and brother was beginning to change. And as they became different, their bodies. and their faces, their shapes, and their colours, were transformed; and their songs began to change too. And there, in a swoon, was every sort of new creature saying his unique name out loud and separate from the others for the first time. And here is part of what they spoke, which is by now the most powerful spell of naming and binding:
“Dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, burla -- silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví -- turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshapa -- endilda, andíshish, lilivalis, kestala -- brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta -- anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista -- vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, deklo…”.
“Cwningen, cath., broch, pryf – gwenynen, mwyalch, ewig, corryn – ceiliog, cricsyn, ci, ffured – llyffant, gafr, iâr, ceffyl – arth, gwadd, tylluan, llygoden – mochyn, cigfran, dafad, sarff – alarch, mwydyn, byfflo, nyni...”
“Rabbit, cat, badger, insect – bee, blackbird, hind, spider – cockerel, cricket, dog, ferret – toad, goat, hen, horse – bear, mole, owl, mouse – pig, raven, sheep, snake – swan, worm, buffalo, us..."
Yr oedd yr anifeiliaid yn parhau i enwi eu hunain drwy gydol y dydd, ac ar hyd y nos, o'r naill ben i'r wythnos i'r llall, drwy'r mis crwn cyfan, a daeth golau’r Lleuad a mynd i ffwrdd unwaith eto, wrth i’r creaduriaid greu eu hunain ac ymgyflwyno i’r Un ac i’w gilydd. A’r rhai a siaradodd olaf oedd y rhai ar Gyfandir Deheuol y Nw Yrth, sydd wedi dweud celwyddau wrth eu cymrodyr, er mwyn ymguddio rhag cael eu cosbi ac i osgoi gwamalu’r Haul. Wyth ohonynt oedd, ac yr oeddent wedi rhoi llawer o enwau iddynt eu hunain, megis ‘ampashu, azarié, delkurí, eldo, namana, nekendu, silba, ulkru,’ fel petaent yn dymuno goresgyn grym gormesol iaith, a gwneud tynged yr Un yn gyff gwawd.The animals continued to make themselves throughout the day and throughout the night, from one end of the week to the other, through the entire month, and the light of the Moon came, and went away again, whilst the creatures created themselves and introduced themselves to the One and to each other. And the ones who spoke last were the ones on the Nw Yrth’s southern continent, who had told lies to their comrades, in order to hide themselves from being punished and to avoid the Sun’s frivolousness. Eight of them there were, and they had given many names to themselves, such as ‘ampashu, azarié, delkurí, eldo, namana, nekendu, silba, ulkru,’ as if they desired to overcome the oppressive power of language, and make the One’s fate into a laughing stock.
Ac i ryw raddau llwyddasant, y rhai a oedd wedi ffoi yn y dechreuad, am nas newidiwyd, ac arosasant yn yr un ffurf gysefin. Ac fe luniasant enwau personol iddynt eu hunain hefyd, sef Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, Nebesh, a Swtach. A dyma’r Swynwyr Seraffaidd, saith ohonynt o leiaf, sy’n ymddangos yn ddychrynllyd hyd yn oed heddiw. Ac maent yn casáu’r Byd i gyd a phopeth sydd ynddo, am ei fod yn eu gwatwar a’u cofio am y gorffennol newidiol a fu unwaith ond na fydd byth eto. Ac felly y maent yn ceisio ei ail-wneuthur ar eu delw lem eu hunain. Ond tra byddai Saith o’r rhain yn teyrnasu’n ormesol dros y Nw Yrth yn y dyfodol, un a ddeuai’n was i’r lleill o ganlyniad i’w wrthryfel. Ac am hynny, y sarff a wyddai, ac a ŵyr o hyd, fwy nag a ddywedai; ac mae’n siarad lai byth erbyn hyn, wrth ymlusgo’n anweledig dan laswenu’n ddistaw.And to some extent they succeeded, the ones who had fled in the beginning, as they were not changed, and they stayed in the same primal form. And they fashioned personal names for themselves too, namely Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, Nebesh, a Swtach. And these are the Seraphic Sorcerers, seven of them at least, who appear terrifying even today. And they hate the whole World and everything which is in it, as it mocks them and reminds them of the changeable past which was once, but will never be again. And so, they try to remake it in their own harsh image. But while Seven of these would rule tyrannically over the New Yrth in the future, one would become slave to the rest as a result of his rebellion. And about that the snake knew, and knows still, more than he would say; and he speaks less still now, whilst slithering unseen, grinning silently.
Ac wedi gorffen datgan eu henwau, ni allai’r rhai o’r un fath ddeall cân y fath arall. Ond enw’r un a ddangosai awch ei big, neu graffter ei lygaid, neu gyflymder ei adain, neu afael ei gynffon. Ac felly yr aethant i ffwrdd o dan yr awyr asuraidd er mwyn archwilio posibiliadau eu cyrff newydd, a llefaru â’u lleisiau newydd, er na siaradai’r un fath â’r fath arall.And having finished declaring their names, the ones of one kind could not understand the song of the other kind. But the name of the one showed the sharpness of his beak, or the keenness of his eyes, or the swiftness of his wings, or the grip of his tail. And so they went away under the azure sky in order to investigate the possibilities of their new bodies, and to speak with their new voices, although one kind did not speak with the other.
A sblasiai rhai mewn dŵr, a dyheai rhai eraill wrth lafurio i fyny mynyddoedd, ac âi un arall i drigo ymhlith yr iâ, ac un arall eto i grwydro ar y gwastatiroedd, ond eto i gyd byddai rhai’n mentro i’r gwyntoedd. Ac roedd gan bob un ei nodwedd arbennig ei hunan, a oedd yn gwahaniaethu rhwng y naill a’r llall. Ond rhywbeth arall yn llwyr a ddigwyddodd i’n cyndadau hynafol ni, y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd Dirifedi, Arolygwyr Anawdurdodol Anochel y Nw Yrth, a oedd wedi dod gyntaf o’r creaduriaid i gyd at yr Haul i dderbyn ei farn a’u ffawd yn llawn hwyliau da, dan chwerthin a neidio, gan eu bod yn caru’n Mam ac yn ymddiried yn ein Tad hefyd.And some splashed in water, and others panted whilst labouring up mountains, and another went to dwell amongst the ice, and another again to wander on the plains, but then again there were some venturing onto the winds. And each one had his own special characteristic, which differentiated between the one and the other. But something else entirely happened to our ancient forefathers, the Innumerable Indolent Idolaters, the Ineluctable Unauthoritative Overseers of the Nw Yrth, who had come first of all the creatures to the Sun to receive his judgement and their fate, full of good spirits, laughing and jumping, as they loved our Mother and trusted our Father too.
A'r gwahaniaeth sylfaenol oedd hyn: ni fyddent yn gorffen newid byth, nac aros mewn un ffurf o gwbl wrth drawsffurfio bob amser. Yn hytrach fe fyddent wastad yn prancio a chwarae, wrth ganu’n gyson eu cân gaotig a chyfnewidiol o orfoledd ac anobaith i’n Mam, y Lleuad, wrth ganu clod ein Tad, yr Haul hefyd.And the fundamental difference was this: they would never finish changing, nor stay in one form at all whilst transforming all the time. Rather, they would always gambol and play whilst constantly singing their chaotic and changeable song of exultation and despair to our Mother, the Moon, whilst praising our Father, the Sun, also.
Felly yr oedd pob math o greadur yn ei throi hi’n ddigalon, gan ddilyn ei lwybr ei hun, a llefaru ei iaith neilltuol, o’r paith lle roedd yr Un wedi dysgu iddynt siarad, ac o ble roeddent wedi'u gwasgaru dros wyneb y Nw Yrth. Ac o hynny ymlaen, roedd y Blaned yn fangre oerach a chaletach, ond eto i gyd, roedd yn fwy amryfal a lliwgar hefyd. Thus, each type of creature went away downhearted, following his own path, and speaking his particular language, from the prairie where the One had taught them to speak, and from where they had been scattered across the face of the Nw Yrth. And from then on, the Planet was a colder and harder place, but then again, it was more varied and colourful too.
A ffynnu a wnâi trigolion y Byd, a lluosogi, gan ymladd yn erbyn ei gilydd; a phan fyddai’r naill wedi lladd y llall, wedyn y’i bwytai, neu ynteu adael i’w gelain bydru. Ac amrywiaeth esgorai ar wahaniaeth yn ôl cân yr Haul, yn yr un ffordd fel y blagura’r planhigion heb feddwl am y canlyniadau.And the World’s inhabitants flourished, and multiplied, fighting against one another, and when the one had killed the other, then he would eat it, or leave its corpse to rot. And variety gave birth to difference according to the song of the Sun, in the same way that plants sprout without thinking about the consequences.
Ond ar yr un pryd, roedd angen ar y Swynwyr Seraffaidd, sydd wedi rhoi llawer o enwau iddynt eu hunain, fod yn ffrwythlon, a gorchuddio’r Byd â’u hepil. Ac roedd y Delw-addolwyr yn enwedig yn gas ganddynt hwy, a oedd yn ffieiddio popeth afreolaidd ac anghyson. Ac eisoes yr anfonent filoedd ar filoedd o elynion i ymosod ar ein hynafiaid, gan fynnu mai hwynt-hwy oedd y gorau, oblegid mai dim ond yr Haul Llachar, eu Tad cariadus, sy’n rhoi bywyd, ac mai’r Lloer Oriog, cyfnither i’r Nw Yrth, na fydd ond yn adlewyrchu ei olau’n wan, gan ddrysu’r rhai fydd yn ei haddoli fel Mam.But at the same time the Seraphic Sorcerers, who had given themselves many names, needed to be fruitful, and cover the World with their offspring, and the Idolaters were already hateful to them, who hated everything irregular and inconstant. And already they sent thousands and thousands of enemies to attack our ancestors, insisting that they were the best, because it is only the Resplendent Sun, their loving Father, who gives life, and the Fickle Moon, cousin to the Nw Yrth, but reflects his light weakly, confusing those who worship her as Mother.
Wrth gwrs, fe fydd Tad pawb yn honni nad ydy’n gwybod dim byd yn enwedig am ddim byd o bwys ond dyddiau olaf ein Byd ni. Ond serch hynny, trwy chwarae yn hytrach na chynllunio, fe fydd wastad yn llwyddo i ennill y canlyniadau sydd orau i’r Nw Yrth. A rhaid cofio mai plant yr Haul ydym ni oll hefyd, sy’n rhwym wrth yr un gân er gwaetha’r ieithoedd a’r gweddau gwahanol, er nad yw rhai yn ein plith ni’n sylweddoli’r ffaith na’i chyfadde’.Of course, the Father of everyone will claim that he knows nothing in particular about anything of importance save the last days of our World. But despite that, through playing rather than planning, he will always succeed in accomplishing the results that are best for the Nw Yrth. And we must remember that we are all children of the Sun too, who are bound by the same song, despite the different languages and appearances, although some amongst us do not realise the fact nor admit it.
Drwy gydol ei araith, wrth i’r stori fynd rhagddi, roedd llais yr henuriad yn ei ŵn ysgarlad yn mynd yn arafach ac yn is, a chyda hynny o eiriau, o’r diwedd, fe syrthiodd i gysgu.Throughout his oration, as the story unfolded, the voice of the old one in his scarlet gown was growing slower and quieter, and with these words, at last, he fell asleep.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 4

Pennod Wyth: Myfyrio (Lleisiau 4) / Meditating (Voices 4)

Annwyl gyfeillion y Clinig! Ni fyddwn yn gorliwio pe dywedwn mai trin cysgodion yw fy ngalwedigaeth, fy mhroffesiwn, a’m pleser. Ac o ran y sefyllfa a adroddir yma, rwy’n gallu dweud, “Ar ffin y blanhigfa yr oedd cysgodion hir y pinwydd fel bysedd duon yn denu,” fel yr ysgrifennodd Alun T Lewis yn y stori fer ‘Colledion Rhyfel’. A dyna heb sôn am yr amrywiaeth helaeth o leisiau rhyfedd fydd yn hwylio trwy fy swyddfa sylweddol yma yn Neuadd y Murluniau o bryd i’w gilydd. Ac nid rhaid dweud mai lle â phob cyfleuster priodol ydy hwn hefyd.

Dear Friends of the Clinic! I would not be exaggerating if I were to say that dealing with shadows is my calling, my profession, and my pleasure. And in terms of the situation reported here, I can say, “On the edge of the nursery the long shadows of the pines were beckoning like black fingers,” as Alun T Lewis wrote in the short story ‘Casualties of War’. And that is without mentioning the extensive variety of strange voices which sail through my substantial office here in the Hall of the Murals from time to time. And needless to say, this is a very well-appointed place too.

Peth ofnadwy ydy y bydd rhaid inni gloi ein drysau maes o law o ddiffyg cyllid ar ôl marwolaeth ein noddwr hael ond anhysbys, yr Hen Filwr. Fe ddiflannodd pan oeddwn yn blentyn, ac am flynyddoedd crwydrai ef mewn gwledydd dros y môr, gan ymuno â’r fyddin (mae’n dweud), a theithio i bedwar ban byd i ddarganfod, neu ddyfeisio, gwybodaeth arloesol ynghylch hud geiriau a cherddoriaeth swynol. A thrwy’r amser, tra oedd ef i ffwrdd, roeddwn innau’n llafurio ac astudio, gan geisio cael deupen llinyn ynghyd. Teg dweud bod lleisiau wastad yn galw arno oddi mewn ac oddi allan, i gyflawni cryn ryfeddodau, yn ei farn o leiaf. It is an awful thing that we shall have to lock our doors in due course from a lack of funding after the death of our generous but unrecognised sponsor, the Old Soldier. He disappeared when I was a child, and for years he wandered in lands overseas, joining the army (he says), and travelling to the four corners of the world to discover, or invent, pioneering knowledge regarding the magic of words and beguiling music. And all the time, while he was away, I was labouring and studying, trying to make ends meet. It is fair to say that voices were always calling on him from within and from without, to accomplish considerable wonders, in his opinion at least.
Yn y pen draw, ar ôl dioddef lawer (felly yn ôl y stori), pan gronasai bentwr o arian trwy ei fentrau (ac wrth gwrs yr oedd yn gweithredu’n gyfreithlon bob amser, ac eithrio pan oedd yn chwarae'r llaw wen), daeth ef adref, ennill Tystysgrif mewn Astudiaethau (Doethur hyddysg ydwyf fi, fel y gwyddoch), a dod yn athro hunanddysgedig, heb reswm yn y byd hwn yn fy nhyb ostyngedig. Wrth gwrs, tra oedd e’n mwynhau’i hunan gormod, myfi oedd y gwir filwr, fel petai, a oedd yn brwydro dros wirionedd a chyfiawnder o ran y gorthrymedig a’r cystuddiedig, gan ddysgu yn ystod y broses gymaint am y meddwl dynol, ei hynodweddau, a’r gallu i brofi cyflyrau arbennig o ymwybyddiaeth. Ni ddaeth yr hen gnaf o hyd i hud go iawn erioed, er gwaethaf y datganiadau di-baid i’r gwrthwyneb, hyd yn oed ar ei wely angau.In the end, after suffering much (so the story goes), when he had accumulated a stack of money through his ventures (and of course he always acted legally, except when he was playing fast-and-loose), he came home, gained a Certificate in Studies (I am learned Doctor, as you know), and became a self-taught teacher, for no reason at all in my humble opinion. Of course, while he was enjoying himself so much, it was I who was the true soldier, so to speak, who was fighting for truth and justice on behalf of the downtrodden and the afflicted, learning in the process so much about the human mind, and its peculiarities, and the ability to experience special states of consciousness. The old rogue never found true magic, despite the incessant protestations to the contrary, even on his death-bed.
Fodd bynnag, wedi esbonio hynny oll, rhaid i ddyn gadw at y pwnc dan sylw. Gadwech imi ddweud felly nad endid unedol yw’r cysgod a deflir gan wrthrych estynedig, ond hanfod cymhleth – megis personoliaeth, megis perthynas, megis gwybodaeth – sy’n cynnwys wmbra neu barth hollol ddu, penwmbra neu ogysgod, sy’n rhannol ddu, a rhag-wmbra lle yr arddangosa’r gwrthrych leugylch llachar.However, having explained all that, one must keep to the topic under consideration. Let me say therefore that the shadow thrown by an extended object is not a unitary object, but a complex entity – like a personality, like a relationship, like information – which contains an umbra or totally black region, a penumbra or shade, which is partly dark, and an antumbra where the object displays a bright halo.
Yn y ddogfen hon rwy’n cyflwyno adroddiad llawn ar ein hachos mwyaf enwog, yn cynnwys popeth a drafodwyd ac ysgrifennwyd yn ein Clinig, yn ogystal ag adysgrifau o sawl sgwrs a ddigwyddodd yma. Yr wyf wedi ymbleseru hefyd mewn cynnwys rhai nodiadau esboniadol ar ben pob adran gan fy ysgrifennydd, Helen Grossmann MSc (y ‘darpar feddyliaethydd’ yn ôl ei geiriau ei hunan). Mae hi wedi darparu ar fy nghyfer rybuddion a syniadau eithriadol o gynorthwyol ar nifer o bynciau hanfodol. Yng ngoleuni’r sylwadau plaen hyn, mae arnaf angen eich hysbysu o’r dechrau fod ein dulliau syncretaidd, sy’n seiliedig ar freuddwydio a dychmygu, yn debycach i farddoni ac i fwrw hud nag i’r technegau rhesymegol gwyddoniaeth. Yma, personoliaethau amryfal, tirweddau wedi’u torri, a llif yr ymwybod, yw’r peth arferol.In this document, I present a full report on our most famous case, containing everything which was discussed and written in our Clinic, in addition to transcripts of several conversations which happened here. I have indulged myself also in including some explanatory notes at the head of each section by my secretary, Helen Grossmann MSc (the ‘prospective mentalist’ in her own words). She has provided me with exceptionally helpful warnings and ideas on a number of essential topics. In the light of these forthright observations, I need to advise you from the outset that our syncretic methods, which are based on dreaming and imagining, are more similar to poetry-making and casting spells than to the logical techniques of science. Here multiple personalities, fractured landscapes, and stream of consciousness, are the normal thing.
Yn wir, mae sawl cymeriad yn yr adroddiad hwn, yn ôl pob ymddangosiad. Yn bendant, bydd y penodau’n portreadu amryw leisiau’n cynnwys eiddo ddau lanc, merch, athro, tad a mam, milwr, cythraul, baban yn y groth, darlledwr teledu, meddyg, pyramid neu sigwrat, a bodolaethau o’r tu hwnt. Fe’u trefnwyd mewn modd sy’n gyffelyb i batrwm mathemategol hadau yn yr amryw fathau o bigyrnau benyw, gan ymdroelli o foth gyffredin i greu gwrthrych arallfydol a hypnotaidd. Gwnânt i gyd â gwe astrus, ym mha le y bydd yn chwarae rhan tarddleoedd sy’n bwrw goleuni ar ei gilydd, wrth greu cysgodion ar yr un pryd.In truth, there are several characters in this report, to all appearances. Definitely, the chapters portray various voices including those of two lads, a girl, a teacher, a father and mother, a soldier, a demon, a baby in the womb, a television broadcaster, a doctor, a pyramid or ziggurat, and beings from beyond. They have been arranged in a way that is similar to the mathematical pattern of seeds in the various types of female cones, spiralling out from a common hub to create an otherworldly and hypnotic object. They are involved in an abstruse web, in which they play the part of sources which cast illumination on each other, while creating shadows at the same time.
Yn yr adroddiad hwn, felly, bydd enwau’n dod i’r golwg a mynd o’r golwg yn gyson. Wrth gwrs mae’r Hen Lyfr yn dweud, “Beth yw dy enw? … Lleng yw fy enw; am fod llawer ohonom.” Ac ar adegau (neu, mewn rhai lleoedd), ceir Daud, Stjepan, Jelena, ac Ivan – yn rhywle arall, dyna Dave (Dai), Steffan (Steff, Stezza), Elen, a Jack – a hefyd, fe gwrddwch â David, Stevie, Helen, a John. Hyd yn hyn, yr wyf wedi bod yn sôn am gysgodion, lleisiau, ac enwau’n wir; ond rwy’n petruso ynghylch siarad am ddiawliaid yn y cnawd, er gwaethaf yr holl helbul i’w drafod (yn ogystal â’r daioni). Mater ichi yw derbyn neu beidio a yw'r fath bethau'n bodoli mewn gwirionedd.In this report, therefore, names appear and disappear constantly. Of course, the Old Book says, “What is your name? … My name is Legion, as we are many.” And on occasions (or, in some places), we have Daud, Stjepan, Jelena, and Ivan – elsewhere, there are Dave (Dai), Steffan (Steff, Stezza), Elen, and Jack – and also, you will meet David, Stevie, Helen, and John. Up to now, I have been speaking of shadows, voices, and names for sure; but I hesitate regarding talking about devils in the flesh, despite all the nastiness to be discussed (together with the goodness). It is matter for you to accept or not whether such things exist in reality.
Gyda’r holl gymhlethdod, rhaid gofyn: a allaf ddywed wrthych bwy yw pwy ar bob adeg? Na allaf, yn ddilys ddiamau – megis yn yr hen chwedlau Cymraeg, weithiau mae gwragedd yn flodau neu wdihŵiaid; ambell dro mae gwŷr yn dod yn eryrod, ceirw, bleiddiau, baeddod. Ac yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, gall menywod fod yn ewigod, ac yn binwydd, hefyd. Mae wastad hud a lledrith ym mhob man yn yr hanes hwn fel y mae bob tro yn y byd go iawn (pa beth bynnag a fo hwnnw), os medrwch ei glywed yn ddigon manwl. Yn ddiau, gweddnewidir y talpiau hyn o gnawd gan weithredoedd swynol, trwy enwi. Ni fedrant ddweud celwyddau, gan na wyddant y gwirionedd, ymddengys ar y wyneb. Ond, wedi archwilio’n fwy manwl, fe gyfeddyf dyn o bosibl yr adwaenant y gwir, ynteu na siaradant amdano gan eu bod yn fud. O’r herwydd, efallai, byddant yn celu pechodau o bob math, a ddatgelir yma o ganlyniad i’m cloddio, heb yn wybod iddynt eu hunain. Ewch ati’n ofalus, felly, pan ddewch chi i mewn i’r cysgodion fydd yn toddi a tholchennu fel trwyth yng nghrochan y Dewin.With all the complexity, one must ask: can I tell you who is who on every occasion? I cannot, most assuredly – as in the old Welsh tales, sometimes women are flowers or owls; sometimes men become eagles, deer, wolves, wild boars. And in the Heart of the Continent, women can be does, and pine-trees also. There is enchantment everywhere in this tale, as there always is in the real world (whatever that may be), if you are able to discern it accurately enough. Doubtless, these chunks of flesh are transmogrified by magical acts, through naming. They cannot tell lies, as they do not know the truth, it appears on the surface. But, having investigated in more detail, one confesses that possibly they do recognise the truth, but that they do not speak about it because they are mute. On this account, perhaps, they conceal sins of all kinds, which will be revealed here as a result of my delving, without their own knowledge. Go at it carefully, therefore, when you come into the shadows which melt and coagulate like tincture in the Magician’s cauldron.
A heb os nac oni bai, llawn cysgodion yw’r hanes dadlennol hwn, sef cysgodion camdriniaeth, unigrwydd, a cholled, ynghyd â chysgod ansicrwydd sy’n hongion tros y gallu i feirniadu y tu hwnt i amheuaeth resymol. Sut y gallai sawl gohebydd ymddangos mor hwyliog, felly, wrth adrodd y chwedlau hyn i gyd. am a welaf fi o’r nodiadau amgaeedig? Fodd bynnag, deall i ryw raddau a wnaf fi, gan mai myfi fy hunan fydd yn gwenu o glust i glust bob tro wrth weithio yn y madws hwn, yn enwedig pan fydd Swtach yn snecian i mewn i’r ystafell ymgynghori wrth imi bendwmpian, i gnoi fy mawd troed gowtog – yr hen gythraul blewog!And without doubt, this apocalyptic tale is full of shadows, namely the shadows of abuse, madness, loneliness, and loss, together with the shadow of uncertainty that hangs over the ability to judge beyond reasonable doubt. How could several appear so humorous, then, whilst reciting all these stories, as far as I can see from the enclosed notes? However, I do understand to some extent, as I myself grin from ear to ear all the time whilst working in this madhouse, especially when Swtach sneaks into the consulting room while I doze, to gnaw my gouty big toe – the old furry devil!
Eto i gyd, mae ein stori yn codi cwestiynau di-rif am y materion hyn; am hunan-anghofio a hunanddarganfod; am symbolau, delweddau, a realiti a sut y byddant yn rhyngweithio â’i gilydd, wrth holi am natur gwahaniaethau deuaidd megis goleuni a chysgod, gywir ac anghywir, da a drwg, rhesymu a theimlo, profi a gwybod, yr unigolyn a’r grŵp, yr ‘hunan’ a’r ‘arall,’ er enghraifft. Ond nid fy rôl i yw ateb y fath bosau, braidd y gallaf feddwl am y syniadau. Wedi’r cwbl rwy wedi blino’n lân ar ôl yr holl gyffro. Ni dderbyniaf fi byth ronyn o ddiolchgarwch yn y swydd hon, ychwaith. Soniaf mwyaf am hynny yn nes ymlaen, ond am y tro, rhaid cadw’n dawel.Then again, our story raises endless questions about these matters; about self-forgetting and self-discovery; about symbols, images, and reality and how they interact with each other, whilst inquiring about the nature of binary distinctions such as light and shadow, correct and incorrect, good and evil, logic and feeling, experience and knowledge, the individual and the group, the ‘self’ and the ‘other’, for instance. But it is not my role to answer such riddles, I can scarcely think about the ideas. After all, I am tired out after all the excitement. I never get a grain of thanks in this job, either. I shall speak more about that later on, but for the time being, I must keep quiet.
Mae cyfeirio yma (yn aml yn wallus) ar achlysuron, at ffynonellau llenyddol, ac at ddiwylliant poblogaidd, ond nid wyf wedi ceisio egluro: cysgodion y peth go iawn, allem ddweud, yw’r camgymeriadau a hepgoriadau. Hefyd, mae ychydig iaith fras, rwy wedi’i adael yn gyfan, er mwyn cyflawnder: pwy sydd â hawl i roi taw ar y llwyth o leisiau a fydd yn cyfathrebu yma, p’un a fyddant yn goeth ai ynteu’n aflednais? A pha beth yw llefaru heddiw beth bynnag ond cysgod gwelw'r canu hudol a fodolai gyfnod Tŵr Biblael – y tŵr ifori cysefin hwnnw – sydd wedi dod bellach yn ddim ond mwmial cymysglyd?There is reference here (often incorrectly), to literary sources, and to popular culture, but I have not attempted to clarify: shadows of the real thing, we might say, are the mistakes and omissions. Also, there is a little crude language, which I have left extant, for the sake of completeness: who has the right to silence the host of voices which communicate here, whether they be refined or otherwise vulgar? And what is speech today anyway but a pale shadow of the magical singing that existed at the time of the Tower of Biblael – that original ivory-tower – which has become by now but mixed-up mumbling?
Dyma’r defnyddiau crai. Ond rwy’n gorfod eich atgoffa y bydd pawb yn tueddu i ddioddef o’r un fath o bwysau i ryw fesur, ac o bryd i’w gilydd: pwy a ŵyr sut yr ymatebant? Cysgodion ein gilydd ydym ni i gyd, onid ife? I gloi, rwy’n holi: oes gwers i’w ddysgu o hyn oll? O’m profiad fy hunan, yr unig ateb y gallaf ei roi yw’r canlynol. Efallai gyda threigl amser fe fyddwn ni’n gweld y datblyga’r hunan, gan ymestyn i anwesu’r arall, a’i lapio i mewn i’w hanfod, nes y caiff eu gwahaniaethau sylfaenol – y rhai a ddaw rhyngof fi a ti, rhyngddi hi ac ef, rhyngom ni a chi – eu goresgyn mewn rhyw ffordd arwyddocaol a pharhaol. Dyna oedd gobaith yr Hen Dduwiau Rhyfedd, o leiaf, hyd y gwn i, a ofynnai: Onid rhannau’r un dilechdid trofaus yw damnio a gwaredu? Pwy, felly a all ddosrannu clod a bai? A ddylem farnu, neu, a ddylem gael ein barnu? Gadawaf i chi benderfynu — D.B.P.Here are the raw materials. But I must remind you that everyone will tend to suffer from the same kind of pressures to some degree, and from time to time: who knows how they will respond? We are all shadows of each other, are we not? To close, I enquire: is there a lesson to be learned from all this? From my own experience, the only answer I can give is the following. Perhaps in the fullness of time we shall see that the self will develop, reaching out to embrace the other, and wrapping it into its essence, so that their foundational differences – the ones that come between me and you, her and him, us and you – shall be overcome in some significant and lasting way. That was the hope of the Strange Old Gods, at least, as far as I know, who asked: Are not damnation and deliverance parts of the same contrary dialectics? Who, therefore, can apportion praise and blame? Should we judge, or, should we be judged? I shall leave you to decide — D.B.P.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 8-B

pic_lleisiau_04_diwedd_eng

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 5

Pennod Naw: Aberthu (Lleisiau 5) / Sacrificing (Voices 5)

Lleoedd o dywyllwch yw cysgodion, wedi’u creu’n berffaith naturiol gan oleuadau, y naill yn mynd law yn llaw â’r llall. Bydd y fath ffenomen yn digwydd pan atelir golau wedi’i gynhyrchu gan ryw wrthrych llachar, gan wrthrych afloyw. Lleinw’r cysgod yr holl gyfaint y tu hwnt i’r ail wrthrych, ac amlinell yw’r enw ar ei drawslun. Crea ffynonellau llydan o olau gysgodion aneglur; a sawl tarddle gwahanol yn agos at ei gilydd a all greu cysgodion cymhleth ac ynddynt liwiau. Golau a chysgod, da a drwg, tad a mab, dyfarniad ac achubiaeth, byw a marw – yr ydym ni ddynolryw wedi dyfeisio’r geiriau i fynegi’r gwahaniaethau deuaidd hyn oll. Bydd y cysyniadau hyn yn declynnau ardderchog ar gyfer dadleuon damcaniaethol, ond pa rai ohonynt fydd yn sylfaenol, ac yn ddilys, a, rhaid gofyn, o bwys, pan ddaw hi i’r pen?

Shadows are areas of darkness, created perfectly naturally by lights, the one going hand-in-hand with the other. This type of phenomenon occurs when light produces by some shining object is blocked by an opaque object. The shadow fills the whole volume beyond the second object, and its cross-section is called a silhouette. Wide light-sources create unclear shadows, and several different sources close together can create complex shadows with colours in them. Light and shadow, good and bad, father and son, judgement and salvation, life and death – we, humanity, have invented the words to express all these binary differences. These concepts are excellent tools for theoretical debates, but which ones are fundamental, and authentic, and, one must ask, important, when push comes to shove?

Mae dylanwad aelod ieuengaf Urdd Cyfrinachau wedi ymledu’n bellach nag y gallai fod wedi dychmygu. Er na chofiai’n berffaith yr hyn a oedd wedi digwydd ar ei daith arallfydol, aeth y siocdon fel tisian cawr dig trwy’r Ddau Fyd. Roedd rhywbeth oddi mewn i’r Hen Filwr yn ei orfodi i rodio’r Byd, ac yn hyn o beth, roedd yn debyg i aelodau diystyrllyd y Gydfrawdoliaeth Gwflog. Fe grwydrai’r gŵr castiog, y twyllwr afreolus hwnnw, tros wyneb y Ddaear, wrth i’r Dewin Ieuengaf weithio'i fysedd at yr asgwrn gartref (trwy ddi-stop ddarllen, ac arteithiedig fyfyrio, a llawer iawn o weithgareddau annisgrifiadwy eraill), ac er mai llawn heddwch oedd ei galon, mewn theori o leiaf, rhyfel a’i dilynai. Ac endid o’r enw Swtach, arglwydd yr anialwch, sydd yn casáu dysg, ac oedd wedi blino’n llwyr ar yr holl astudio, âi gyda fe wastad ac ym mhob man, heb ei weld ond nerthol, fel cysgod inciog drygioni, gan hau gwyntoedd er mwyn medi corwyntoedd â gwên greulon. Ond bob hyn a hyn byddai raid iddo fynd yn ôl i’w Blanet ei hun i daro i mewn i’r hen sigwratau i gael sgwrs gyda’r Hen Feistri.The influence of the youngest member of the Guild of Secrets has spread further that he could have imagined. Although he didn’t remember perfectly what had happened on his otherworldly trip, the shock-wave went like the sneeze of an angry giant through the Two Worlds. Something within the Old Soldier made him walk the World, and in this, he was similar to the despicable members of the Cowled Brotherhood. The wily man, that obstreperous trickster, wandered therefore over the face of the Earth, whilst the Youngest Magician worked his fingers to the bone at home (through non-stop reading, and tortured meditating, and very many other indescribable acts), and although his hara teas full of peace, in theory at least, war followed him. And an entity called Swtach, lord of the desert, who hates learning, and who had grown weary with all the studying, went with him always and everywhere, unseen but powerful., like an inky shadow of evil, sowing winds in order to reap whirlwinds, with a cruel smile. But every now and then he would have to come back to his own Planet to pop into the old ziggurats to have a chat with the Old Masters.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 5 extra image
Yn y prif sigwrat ar gyfandir deheuol y Nw Yrth, ymdaena trallod drostynt, y Saith Swynwr, fel petai’n rhyw faneg felfed, lac, a gais gyflawni’r weithred fydd yn angenrheidiol er mwyn cipio buddugoliaeth sarrug o enau trechiad. Ar draws gwagle na ellir ei bontio fel arfer, tyr dwndwr pwyllgor o leisiau meinion trwy sain ddi-dor argregyn trychfilaidd, a grafa’n fygythiol: “chep-er, chep-er, chep-er” —
“Felly, a ydy’r dychryn yn dod ar eu gwarthaf, ymhen yr hir a’r hwyr?”
“A ydy amser cystudd yn cyrraedd?”		In the chief ziggurat on the southern continent of the Nw Yrth, tribulation spreads itself across them, the Seven Sorcerers, as if it were some slack, velvet glove, which is trying to complete the act which will be necessary in order to seize sullen victory from the jaws of defeat. Over a void which cannot usually be bridged, the clamour of a committee of high-pitched voices cuts through the ceaseless sound of insectile carapaces, which are scraping threateningly -- “chep-er, chep-er, chep-er” —
“So, is the terror coming upon them, at long last?”
“Is the time of tribulation arriving?”
Ac ar y Ddaear, mae Swtach wedi bod yn gweithio’n galed iawn. Os bydd ei gynlluniau’n llwyddo, fe ddechreua rhyfel yng nghanol y cyfandir gogleddol sydd yn ffromi ers amser maith. Bydd yn wrthdrawiad erchyll, ac fe fydd teuluoedd a chymunedau’n cael eu gwahaniaethu ar sail iaith, crefydd, lliw croen, a chefndir ethnig, gyda meibion yn ymosod ar dadau, mamau’n poeri ar eu merched, cymdogion yn tanio tai’i gilydd, a ffrindiau bore oes yn lladd hen gymrodyr. Milwyr fydd yn brwydro hefyd, fel brawychwyr neu ymladdwyr dros ryddid, a’r gair yn dibynnu ar ba ochr fyddwch yn ei chefnogi. Ni fydd y naill garfan na’r llall yn ennill, ac efallai na fydd yn bosibl i neb drechu beth bynnag yn y pendraw, gyda’r ddwy ohonynt (os bydd dim ond dwy) yn cyflym ruthro i ddinistr llwyr, gan fynd â gweddill y Byd ganddynt.On the Earth, Swtach has been working very hard. If his plans succeed, a war shall begin in the middle of the northern continent which has been brewing for a long time. It will be a terrible conflict, and families and communities will be divided on the basis of language, faith, skin-colour, and ethnic background, with sons attacking fathers, mothers spitting in daughters, neighbours setting fire to each others’ houses, and life-long friends killing old comrades. Soldiers will be fighting too, as traitors or freedom-fighters, with the word depending on which side you support. Neither the one side nor the other will win, and perhaps it won’t be possible for anyone to prevail anyway in the end, with the two of them (if there are only two) rushing quickly towards complete destruction, taking the rest of the World with them.
Dyma un o’r soldiwrs honedig sy’n droseddwr cyson a deliwr cyffuriau ceiniog a dimai erbyn hyn. Yn y dyfodol, fe gaiff e ei lladd gan ffrwydrad o'i wneuthuriad ei hun, ond ar hyn o bryd mae’n dioddef o gyfergyd ar ôl cael ei guro bron hyd farw gan aelodau criw gwrthwynebol. Mae llygaid y dyn mor ddu â lympiau o lo, ac mae’n dal i ffroeni rhyw stwff sbeislyd, gwyn o’r tun bychan, tolciog mae’n mynd â fe o bant i dalar. Er gwaetha’i ddryswch, mae e’n sicr bod rhaid iddo weithredu’n gadarn, gan ddilyn y gorchmynion brawychus mae wedi’u derbyn gan yr awdurdodau arallfydol.Here's one of the would-be soldiers who’s a constant criminal and run-of-the-mill drug-dealer right now. In the future, he’ll be killed by an explosion of his own making, but now he’s suffering from concussion after being beaten almost to death by members of an opposing gang. The man’s eyes are as black as lumps of coal, and he keeps sniffing some white, spicy stuff from the tiny, battered tin he takes all everywhere. Despite his confusion, he sure that he has to act steadfastly, following the fearsome commands he’s received from the otherworldly authorities.
Er mwyn cyflawni’r dasg benodedig mae wedi dod â’r arfau arferol. Ond dyw e ddim ar ei ben ei hun: tad a mab sydd yma, Ishakí ac Adauvam o’r Hen Lyfr, ond heb gwmni colomen wen na chigfran ddu, sy’n llefaru â thafodau o dân, y tro hwn. Trwy wneud beth sydd ei angen, fe fydd yn dwyn y rhyfel oesol yn erbyn grymoedd y gwrthsafiad ar y Ddaear i ben unwaith ac am byth cyn i’r frwydr ddiweddara’ gychwyn yn ei filltir sgwâr, gan gipio’r wlad yn ôl i’r dyfodol. Puro’r tir a wnaiff. Cael gwared ar yr eilunaddolwyr. Achub y werin. Gadael ei farc ar hanes. A dyma’i feddyliau’n rhedeg yn wyllt —In order to complete the appointed task, he’s brought the usual tools. But he’s not on his own: there’s a father and son here, Ishakí and Adauvam from the Old Book, but lacking the company of the white dove or the black raven, which talk with tongues of fire, this time. By doing what’s needed, he shall bring the age-old war against the forces of the resistance on the Earth to and end once and for all before the latest battle begins in his back-yard, seizing the land back for the future. He’ll purify the ground. Get rid of the idolaters. Save the folk. Leave his mark on history. And here are his thoughts, running wild —
“Dyma fi’n llechu ar ‘mhen ‘yn hunan yn y cysgodion. Mae twll yn ‘y mhen i, gwyll yn ‘y nghalon. Gwacter drwydda i o’r corun i’r sawdl. Wastad mor unig. Nage. Fyddan nhw byth yn gadael llonydd i fi. Ddim yma, ddim nawr. Y lleisiau tu mewn i ‘mhen. Gwawdio. Arteithio. Cegau â gwaed arnyn nhw. ‘Mhersonoliaeth wedi’i harllwys i mewn i fwced.”“Here’s me lurking alone in the shadows. There’s a hole in my head, dark in my heart. Emptiness through me from head to toe. Always so lonely. No. They never leave me alone. Not here, not now. The voices inside my head. Mocking. Torturing. Mouths with blood on. My personality poured into a bucket.”
Mae’r holl dirwedd anial yn gorwedd dan gysgod porffor. Mae’n ymddangos mai rhyw greadur bach, lled ymwybodol, sydd yn y sach hesian wrth draed y dyn colledig, a’i ymennydd wedi’i ddrysu o ganlyniad i’r ergyd a fu bron â thorri ei benglog. Efallai mai dim ond ei ddychymyg ffrwythlon yw tarddle’r holl olygfa hon. Ond mae’r peth pitw’n ceisio gwingo, gan dynnu rhag ei rwymau garw, wrth i donnau o boen olchi drosto. Mae’n dychryn oherwydd prinder awyr iach, a’i gyhyrau wedi’u hanalluogi ag asid. Mae rhyw wichian yn dianc o’i wefusau trwy’r clwt brwnt wedi’i wthio i’w geg. Mae’r acolit eiddgar i’r cythreuliaid sy’n ansylweddol ond gwirioneddol iawn, yn cicio’r sach yn ddifeddwl, ac mae’r symud cychwynnol yn lleihau â sgrech fain.The whole desolate landscape lies under a purple shadow. It appears that there is some small half-conscious creature, in the hessian sack at the feet of the lost man, whose mind is fogged due to the blow that almost split his skull. Perhaps it’s just his fertile imagination that’s the source of this whole scene. But the pitiful thing’s trying to squirm, pulling against its rough bonds, whilst waves of pain wash over it. It’s agitated through lack of fresh air, and its muscles are incapacitated by acid. A little squeal escapes its lips through the dirty rag stuffed into his mouth. The ardent acolyte of the extra-terrestrial devils, who are insubstantial but very real, kicks the sack unthinkingly, and the incipient movement dampens with a shrill screech.
Ar y Nw Yrth, hongia’r sŵn, mor finiog â dagr o grisial, wedi’i grogi ag edefyn arian o alar yn yr awyr wenwynllyd. Ar yr un pryd, gorleinw bodau rif y tywod mân y safle rhithiol, ac y maent yn anweledig ac yn fud, ond yn bresennol serch hynny. Wedi cronni’i hunan fel llosgfynydd ar fin ffrwydro, dyma lais unigryw i’w clywed, sydd yn daer, awdurdodol, dwys, ac yn hawlio ymateb:
“Bydd rhaid aberth.”
“Pwy fydd yr oen i’w offrymu?”
“Pa beth fydd y bwch dihangol?”
Ac wedyn, heb saib, dyna saith llais yn cychwyn llafarganu’r hen weddi waharddedig o drawsffurfio ac ymgorffori, drosodd a throsodd:		On the Nw Yrth, the sound, as sharp as a crystal dagger, hangs suspended by a silver thread of grief in the toxic air. At the same time, beings as numberless as sand-grains stuff the spectral landscape, and they are unseen and mute, but present nevertheless. Having damned themselves up like a volcano about to explode, here a unique voice is to be heard, which is insistent, authoritative, intense, and which demands a response:
“A sacrifice is necessary.”
“Who shall be the lamb to be sacrificed?”
“What thing shall be the scape-goat?”
And the, without a pause, there’s seven voices beginning to chant the old forbidden prayer of transformation and incarnation, over and over:
“Khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi,”
“Cyn gynted ag y deuthum i fod, daeth bodolaeth i fod; daeth pob bod i fod ar ôl imi ddod i fodolaeth.”		“Khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi,”
“As soon as I came to be, existence came to be; every being came to be after I came into existence.”
Ar y Ddaear, mae ias drydanol yn rhedeg ar hyd asgwrn cefn y dyn gyda dechrau’r siantio: “Dw i’n gw’bod beth dw i i ‘neud, nawr a wastad. Ydw i’n barod? Nagw, dw i’m. Sa i’n barod o gwbl. Sa i’n gallu. Rhaid i fi. Y drws a’r allwedd dw i. Y ceidwad a’r ffordd. Dw i ‘di dysgu popeth o’r Hen Lyfrau. Gan ‘yn Meistri, gyda help y Mynachod Cwflog. Dyma ‘nhynged i. Maen nhw ‘di dweud pethau wrtho i. Siarad maen nhw. Dangos. Datgelu. Ac O, maen nhw’n gallu torri, a chnoi, a llarpio, a slaesio, a rhwygo. Rhaid i fi lwyddo.”On the Earth, an electrical shudder runs down the back of the man as soon as soon as the chanting begins: “I know what I’m doing, now and always. Am I ready? No, I’m not. I’m not ready at all. I can’t. I must. I am the door and the key. The keeper and the way. I’ve learned everything from the Old Books. From my Masters, with the help of the Cowled Monks. This is my fate. They’ve told me things. They speak. Show. Reveal. And, Oh, they can cut, and bite, and rend, and slash, and rip. I must succeed.”
 crych gwan trwy’r lluosogrwydd disgwylgar, y gynulleidfa ddiwahoddiad honno; efallai mai dim ond anadl y creigiau cignoeth ydy, ynteu’n hytrach ochenaid ddrewllyd o’r tir gwahanglwyfus. A dyna’r llais trallodus yn erfyn unwaith eto, a drachefn, mae’n cael ei ateb:
“Y ddewiniaeth ddaearol ddechreua’r ddefod!”
“Ni allwn ni weithredu heb gydsyniad!”
“Nyni a eilw am ateb!”		A weak ripple goes through the expectant multitude, that uninvited audience; perhaps it’s only the breath of the raw rocks, or rather a stinking sigh from the leprous ground. And then there’s the turbulent voice beseeching once again, and again, it is answered:
“The earthly enchantment starts the ceremony!”
“We cannot act without consent!”
“We demand an answer!”
A dyma’r gwas yn anwadalu. “Yr un unigryw dw i, yr un ddewiswyd ac yr un fydd yn dewis; fi fydd yn gollwng yr haint a’r lluoedd o sgarabiaid rheibus; fi fydd yn gwasgaru grymoedd anhygoel y Fall. Fi a ddaw’n Swynwr, gan chwalu’r Ddau Fyd. Yno i fe gaiff pob darogan ei wireddu! Myfi – fi – fydd yn cychwyn, trwy loes chwerwfelys, ddilyw na ellir ei argáu. Ac fel hyn fe fyddwn ni’n ennill y rhyfel – yn oes oesoedd – yn dragywydd – byth bythoedd!”And the servant vacillates: “The unique one am I, the one chosen and the one who choses; it is I who’ll loose the pestilence and the hosts of ravenous scarabs; I shall scatter the incredible forces of Perdition. I shall become a Sorcerer, disintegrating the Two Worlds. In me shall every prophecy be fulfilled! Me – I – shall begin, through bitter-sweet anguish, a deluge that cannot be dammed. And thus shall we win the war – forever and ever – eternally – for evermore!”
Wrth i’r byrdwn hwn – “Nyni a eilw am ateb,” a adroddir saith gwaith – orffen, dyma dalpiau tewion o absenoldeb wylofus yn hel at ei gilydd yn y groth wag o ectoplasm ar y maen aberthu yng nghanol lle diffaith deisyf. Cynydda’r gwasgedd afieithus, mwy nerthol na mellt, fyddai’n codi croen gŵydd ar y Swynwyr pe bai ganddynt groen i’w effeithio. A dyna gysgodion berwedig o ddimensiwn arall yn dod ynghyd, fel praidd esgyrnog o geffylau fampiraidd, ffyrnig, fflamllyd eu llygaid, ynghyd â haid ddialgar o gŵn gwynion cynddeiriog, cringoch eu clustiau.As this refrain – “We demand an answer,” repeated seven-fold – finishes, thick chunks of doleful absence gather in the empty ectoplasmic womb on the sacrificial stone in the middle of the desolate invocation-place. The rapturous pressure, more powerful than lightning, increases, which would give the Sorcerers goose-bumps if they possessed skin to be effected. And then boiling shadows from another dimension come together, like a tusked herd of vampiric horses, their eyes flaming, together with a vengeful pack of rabid white dogs, whose ears are red.
Amleda canhwyllau llygaid â’r dirgryniad uwchsonig sy’n rhwygo gwaetgelloedd (am fod gan rai o’r Swynwyr lygaid, a bod hylif o ryw fath yn cylchredeg trwy eu cyrff i gyd), a dyna ddechrau anterth symffoni wedi’i pherfformio i groesawu cyrraedd gorfoleddus Duwdodau enbyd, nas clywyd hyd yn hyn yn ein cyfanfyd. Ac ar ôl milenia o alltudiaeth, amlwg fydd eu dial.
“Nyni a eilw arnoch chi!”
“Y ni a eilw arnoch!”
“Nyni a eilw ar –”
“Y ni a eilw –”
“Nyni a –”
“Nyni –”
“Ni –”		Pupils dilate wuth the ultrasonic vibration that bursts blood-cells (since some of the Sorcerers have eyes, and fluid of some kind circulates through all their bodies), and then begins the zenith of a symphony performed to welcome the jubilant arrival of terrible Divinities, which has not been heard up till now in our universe. And after millennia of exile, their revenge shall be palpable.
“It is we who call upon you!”
“We who call you!”
“We who call on –“
“We wo call –“
“We who –“
“We –“
“Us –“
Fe’i rhoddir yn ei orwedd, y plentyn sydd eto’n ddi-nam (ar wahân i’r ffaith bu bron iddo beri i’w Mam farw wrth esgor arno), wedi’i rewi ag ofn. A dyna fe ar silff yn yr un ystum fel a disgrifir yn y Llawlyfr Hud a Lledrith dychrynllyd, ‘Sefer ha-Marot’, a gollwyd ers hydoedd maith ond sy wedi’i ddarganfod yn ddiweddar, megis trwy hudoliaeth. Ond nid ar y Ddaeary mae'r dewis blentyn yn bodoli ar hyn o bryd, wrth gwrs, nac ar y Nw Yrth ychwaith, ond yn y gofod rhwng y Ddau Fyd, yn yr amrantiad hwnnw rhwng y gorffennol a’r dyfodol, yn y bwlch beichiog rhwng dechrau a gorffen. Ac yno pob plentyn wedi’i gam-drin ydy, pob gŵr sydd o reidrwydd wedi rhoi’r gorau i ymddwyn yn ôl y moesau cymdeithasol arferol. Mae llaw ffawd yn hofran, gan ddisgwyl rhyddhau’r geiriau terfynol. Syllu mae offeiriad mwyaf amhrofiadol y Byd ar y lleoliad: rhyw seler ddiwaelod, neu dŵr heb dop iddo, efallai.He’s put to lie down, the as yet blameless child (apart from the fact that he almost caused his Mum’s death whilst giving birth to him), frozen with fear. And there he is on a ledge in the same posture as described in the terrifying Grimoire, ‘Sefer ha-Marot’, which has been lost for ages but which has recently been discovered, as if by magic. But it’s not on the Earth that the chosen child exists at present, of course, nor on the Nw Yrth either, but in the void between the Two Worlds, in that instant between the past and the future, in the pregnant gap between starting and finishing. And there he is every abused child, every man who of necessity has given up behaving according to the usual social rules. The hand of fate hovers, waiting the release of the final words. The World’s most inexperienced priest stares at the location: some bottomless cellar, or tower without a top, perhaps.
Goleuir gwep y dyn gan y wên wannaf i wibio trosto ers iddo ddianc o’i elynion gan esgus ei fod wedi marw. Ond yn anffodus iddo, mae’i wep, a’i gorff hefyd, yn wlyb domen gan waed, poer, chwys, a llysnafedd trwyn. A dyma’r dyn aflan yn mwmial ei fantrâu astrus, nas hailfywiogwyd gan anadl einioes ers cyn cof yn y niwl tragwyddol ar wawr amser. A dyma’i gorff yn ystumio wrth i hwrdd o gyffro lifo trwyddo. Saib, ac wedyn si, braidd yn anamlwg, sy’n atseinio trwy’r Ddau Fyd – y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth – wrth i hanes gloffi rhwng dau lwybr. Yn awr y gŵyr ef. Ie. Ie. Ie. Deirgwaith ie. Mae blas rhyddid bron ar ei wefusau, o’i ran ef ac o ran ei werin oll – y rhai arbennig. yr etholedig – ac awdurdod, trefn, purdeb, heddwch, sydd o’u blaenau –The man’s face is lit up by the weakest smile to flash across it since he escaped from his enemies pretending he’d died. But unfortunately for him, his face, and his body too, are soaked with blood, and spittle, and sweat, and snot. And then the filthy man mutters his abstruse mantras, which have not been revived by the breath of life since time immemorial in the eternal fog at the dawn of time. And his body distorts as a spasm of excitement flows through him. A pause, and then a hum, rather indistinct, echoes through the Two Worlds – the Earth and the Nw Yrth – as history wavers between two paths. Now he knows. Yes. Yes. Yes. Thrice yes. The taste of freedom’s almost on his lips, for himself and all his people – the special ones, the chosen – and authority, order, purity, peace, are in front of them –
Yn awr bydd yn digwydd. Yma. Y tu allan i’r bwthyn, mae’r awyr gleisiog, anfaddeugar, gyforiog o alaethau anhysbys, yn tywyllu, wrth i’r sêr, fesul un, diffodd, ar eu hunion, ac yn ddiwrthdro. Dyma gyrraedd Dydd y Farn a ofnwyd. A rhithiau gwancus yw’r saith cysgod byw, sydd bron â marw o chwant eneidiau. Ac yno fe fyddai popeth wedi gorffen (er na fyddai dyrchafael yr arwr hunan-benodedig wedi digwydd oherwydd ei halogedd), oni bai am un ffaith hanfodol arall. Anghywir yw geiriau’r ddefod mae’n eu bloeddio –Now it will happen. Here. Outside the cottage, the unforgiving, bruised sky, teeming with unknown griefs, is darkening, while the stars, one-by-one, go out, immediately, and irreversibly. The feared Day of Judgement arrives. And ravenous spectres are the seven living shadows, which are almost dying from want of souls. And there everything would have finished (although the ascension of the self-chosen saviour would not have taken place, due to his filthiness), were it not for one other, essential, fact. The words of the rite he’s bawling are incorrect –
“Kheper-i kheper kheperu kheper-kuy en kheperu em khepri kheperu em sep tepy,”
"Creawdwr popeth sydd wedi dod i fodolaeth wyf fi; a myfi a ddaeth i fod ar ffurf duw Khepri, ac ymffurfiais yn yr oes gysefin. Deuthum i fodolaeth ar lun Khepri, a myfi yw crëwr popeth a ddaeth i fod. Ymffurfiais gan ddefnyddio’r sylwedd hynafol, a myfi a wnaeth a llunio ei hun o’r defnydd a fu yn yr adeg gyntaf.”		“Kheper-i kheper kheperu kheper-kuy en kheperu em khepri kheperu em sep tepy,”
“The creator of all that has come into existence am I; and it is I who came to be in the form of the god Khepri, and I formed myself in the primal age. I came into existence in the image of Khepri, and I myself am creator of everything which came to be. I formed myself using the ancient substance, and it is I who made and formed himself from the material which was in the first-time.”
Dyna resyn o beth – i rai, efallai – on’d ife? Mae’r dyn byrbwyll, sy’n credu mai Eneiniog yr Hen Feistri ydy, wedi torri’r gorchymyn y bydd yn angenrheidiol ufuddhau iddo, “rhag i’r holl nerth erch droi yn erbyn y chwiliwr.” Ac ar ben hynny, dyna’r geiriau gwallus hefyd.That’s a pity – for some, perhaps – isn’t it? The rash man, who believes he’s the Old Masters’ Anointed One, has broken the commandment which it’s essential to obey, “lest the whole dread power turn against the seeker.” And on top of that there’s the incorrect words, too.
Dyma’r gyllell farus yn herciog ddisgyn wrth i’r Duwiau creulon sy’n llechu yn y dimensiynau ychwanegol y tu hwnt i fodolaeth farwol ddisgwyl. Ond, yn sydyn, dyna’r dagr rhydlyd yn gwingo fel pe bai’n byw ar wahân i’w driniwr, a dyna’r dyn yn torri ei hunan, yn hytrach na hala’r offrwm priodol i ebargofiant. A dyna waed yn llifo mewn afon wyllt yn erbyn cefndir cyn ddued â machlud didostur y Nw Yrth. A dyna’r dyn yn rhwystredig ubain a’i wyneb yn ecstatig a dieflig, bob yn eilwers. Heb yn wybod iddo, mae’r seremoni wedi llwyddo, mewn ffordd o siarad o leiaf, am fod ei floeddiau wedi agor llwybr anhysbys i’r Byd Arall, sy’n waharddedig fel rheol. Ac er na all y Swynwyr eu hunain groesi ar hyn o bryd, fe fydd eu dylanwad yn gryfach o lawer o hyn ymlaen.The greedy knife jerkily descends as the cruel Gods who are lurking in the extra dimensions beyond mortal existence, wait. But suddenly, the rusty dagger twitches as if it were alive separate from its wielder, and the man’s cutting himself, rather than sending the appropriate offering to oblivion. And blood flows in a wild river against a background as black as the Nw Yrth’s merciless sunset. And the man howls in frustration, and his face is ecstatic and devilish, in turns. Unbeknown to him, the ceremony has succeeded, in a manner of speaking at least, because his cries have opened an unknown path to the Other World which is usually prohibited. And although the Sorcerers themselves cannot cross at the present time, their influence will be much stronger from now on.
Y munud yma, holltir y tywyllwch ysgithrog gan drwst o daran digon i hollti’ch pen. Ym mhob man mae llewych fiolet a drycsawr osôn, ac mae beichio chwerthin rhai endidau annynol yn cythryblu holl ddeunydd y lle ffiaidd. Ac wedyn, dyma doddi amser a gofod.This minute, the tusked darkness is slashed by a peal of thunder sufficient to split your head open. Everywhere there’s a violet glow and the stink of ozone, and the bellowed laughter of some inhuman entities stirs up the entire fabric of the hateful place. And then, time and space dissolve.
Rhwygir personoliaethau’n ddarnau. Drysir achosiaeth yn yr un modd ag y tynnir drws oddi ar ei golfachau. Mae un person yn dod yn un arall. Wrth i’r cyfanfyd atseinio, dyn sy’n cymryd rhan plentyn, menyw a ymddengys fel gŵr, yr ifainc sy’n cyfnewid â’r henoed, ac fe ysgubir pob delwedd a adeiladwyd yn y dychymig â symbolau cyfarwydd gan realiti dychrynllyd y tu hwnt i ddisgrifiad. Mae pawb yn dod yn un, wrth i’r unigolyn ymddryllio fel teilchion o ryw ddrych hudol. Trawsffurfir y dirwedd yn llwyr. Ar y Nw Yrth, lle mae amser yn mynd heibio lawer cynt nag ar y Ddaear, mae pob peth o chwith. Ac yno plentyn a ddanfonwyd i wneud gwaith dyn.Personalities are rent in shreds. Causation is confounded the same way that a door is yanked off its hinges. One person becomes another. As the universe resounds, a man takes the part of a child, a woman appears like a man, the young change places with the old, and every image built in the imagination with familiar symbols is swept away by a fearsome reality beyond description. Everyone becomes one, as the individual shatters like fragments of some magic mirror. The landscape is transformed entirely. On the Nw Yrth, where time goes by a lot quicker than on the Earth, everything is out of synch. And there a child has been sent to do a man’s work.
O’r diwedd, fe derfynir y ddefod wrthun. Mae’r crwt yn y sach – beth bynnag fo ef erbyn hyn, ynteu ba le bynnag y bo, y pryd hwn – yn gweiddi petai’r byd ar ben, wrth i’w gyn-ddaliwr syrthio ar ben ei gorff rhwymedig, mewn lludded llwyr. Ac yno, yn ôl rheolau arferol y cosmos, fe ddylai rhywun fod wedi trengi – ond – ond – fe ddymunai’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd, yn amgen. Ond er gwaethaf hynny, yr oedd porth i’r Byd Arall wedi cael ei agor, un na chaiff ei gau yn ystod oes y plentyn.At last, the repugnant rite is finished. The kid in the sack – whatever he may be by now, or wherever he may be at this time – is shouting as if the world were ending, as his former captor falls on top of his bound body, completely exhausted. And there, according to the normal rules of the cosmos, someone should have perished – but – but – the indolent Idolaters desired different. But despite that, a gate to the Other World had been opened, one which will not be closed during the child’s lifetime.
Wedi goroesi ar fympwy galluoedd y gwrthsafiad, saith bywyd hudol fydd yn aros i’w treulio eto gan y bachgen dan gyfaredd – ac efallai mai gwyn ei fyd yn wir. Ond nid hynny a fydd, er amcan ei grëwr, y Dewin Ieuengaf hwnnw, a oedd wedi cynllunio’r holl ystryw y tu ôl i’r llenni. Ac er na fydd y llanc yn cofio dim byd am y digwyddiadau hyn, fe fydd yn cael ei blagio gan hunllefau o hyn ymlaen. Ond wedi dweud hynny, nid y gorffennol fydd y broblem fwyaf, gan mai’r dyfodol a orletha bawb, yng nghyflawnder amser, mor sicr â bod bara mewn torth. Nid oedd y rhyfel ymhlith y gwahanol lwythau wedi’i osgoi, dim ond ei oroesi, ac fe fydd y Lleu Llaw Gyffes newydd-anedig hwn yn defnyddio ei gyfleoedd i fyw, fesul un.Having survived on the whim of the opposition forces, there are seven magical lives remain yet to be spent by the enchanted boy – and perhaps he might have a blessed life indeed. But this is not to be, despite the intent of his creator, that Youngest Magus, who had planned the whole ruse behind the scenes. And although the lad won’t remember anything about these events, he’ll be plagued by nightmares from now on. But having said that, it’s not the past that’ll be the biggest problem, since the future overwhelms everyone, in the fullness of time, as sure as eggs is eggs. The war between the different tribes had not been avoided, only postponed, and this newly-born Lleu Llaw Gyffes will use up his chances to live, one by one.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 6

Pennod Deg: Breuddwydio (Lleisiau 6) / Dreaming (Voices 6)

Mewn llên gwerin, ac mewn mytholeg, ‘ysbryd’ yw enw a roddir i enaid neu bersonoliaeth ddigorff bod marw, a all ymddangos i’r rhai sy’n byw eto. Yn fwy cyffredinol, mae’r gair yn cyfeirio hefyd at unrhyw endid anghorfforol, da neu ddrwg, yn aml sydd â galluoedd eithriadol, neu bwerau hudol, na reolir gan ddeddfau natur arferol. Cododd cred yn y rhithiau hyn, sydd yn debyg i gysgodion bywiog i ryw raddau, o animistiaeth ac addoli hynafiaid mewn diwylliannau cyn-lythrennog. Y dyddiau hyn, pobl sy’n credu yn y goruwchnaturiol a’r paranormal, unigolion sy’n defnyddio (neu’n camddefnyddio) cyffuriau neilltuol, neu’r rhai sy’n lluddedig neu dan bwysau emosiynol dwys, sydd, yn ddigon aml, yn dod i ystyried mai creaduriaid byw, ysbrydion, neu endidau annynol, yw cysgodion. Hyd yn oed heddiw, mae amryw fathau o ddefod grefyddol yn bodoli, yn ogystal â seremonïau hudol, a ddefnyddir i fwrw allan ysbrydion aflonydd a chythryblus ar ffurf cysgodion.

In folk-lore, and in mythology, ‘spirit’ is the name given to the soul or disembodied personality of a dead being, which can appear to those who are still alive. Thre word also refers more generally to any incorporeal entity, good or evil, often with extraordinary abilities, or magical powers, which is not bound by the normal laws of nature. Belief in these spectres, which are similar to animated shadows to some degree, arose from animism and ancestor-worship in pre-literate societies. These days it is people who believe in the supernatural and the paranormal, individuals who use (or misuse) particular drugs, or those who are exhausted or under intense emotional pressure, who, often enough, come to consider that shadows are living creatures, spirits, or non-human entities. Even today, there exist various kinds of religious rite, as well as magical ceremonies, which are used to cast out restless and troublesome spirits in the form of shadow.

[Daud] Yr amser ‘na, ‘to, O diar! Chwe blwydd oed, Daud bach. Ac unwaith ‘to, rwyt ti’n ymladd i’w hyrddio nhw yn ôl, y rhai fyddai’n d’alltudio di i’r gwely dychrynllyd, fel rwyt ti ‘di ‘neud drosodd a throsodd. Dwy’r nos bydd y gwely ‘ma’n dy garcharu di, gwely sy 'di mynd yn borth yn arwain bob tro i’r un gors ddrycsawrus, yn berwi o arswydau tewion, llysnafeddog. Deg o’r gloch: rhy hwyr o bell ffordd. O’r diwedd mae dy rieni rhwystredig, sy’n lluddedig a llawn gofidiau, yn dy orchfygu di. Diolch byth, maen nhw’n dweud dan eu dannedd, wrth groesi’u bysedd. Mae plu’r cwilt llaith yn pigo dy groen, fel ‘sai celain drwm, oer, llawn pryfed chwannog am gnoi, wedi’i thaenu drosot ti. Dyna ddiffodd y golau, ac maen nhw’n dy adael ar dy ben dy hunan gan ddweud y ‘Duwiau a’th fendithio’ ola’ fel ‘sai’n felltith, a dyna daranu dy guriad calon yn y tywyllwch.[Daud] That time again, Oh dear! Six years old, Daud boy. And once again, you’re fighting to push them back, the ones who would exile you to the horrible bed, like you’ve done over and over. Through the night this bed’ll be imprisoning you, a bed that’s become a gate, always leading to the same stinking bog, boiling with fat, slimy terrors. Ten o’clock: too late by a long chalk. Finally, your frustrated parents, who are exhausted and full of worries, overcome you. Thank goodness, they say under their breath, whilst crossing their fingers. The damp quilt’s feathers prick your skin, as if a cold, heavy corpse full of insects eager to gnaw, had been spread across you. The lights are put out, and they leave you alone, saying the last ‘Gods bless you’ as if it were a curse, and there’s your heart-beat thundering in the darkness.
[Stjepan] Ie, dyna ti, fachgen da, O gannwyll fy llygad, ‘yn Stjepan i, ‘y nyn bach mawr – medd Mam. Ww, mae hi’n taflu cysgod maith ar fy mywyd oll! Sa i’n gallu mynd mas. Rhaid i fi aros yn y tŷ, astudio, dysgu. Dw i 'di bod yn tynnu pethau oddi wrth ei gilydd bob amser ers i fi fod yn faban, medd Mam. Wastad yn gofyn cwestiynau. ‘Sdim syndod dyn nhw ddim yn gwybod be’ i ‘neud â fi, a fi’n tyfu lan mor glou, yn brwydro yn erbyn y cryts eraill drwy’r amser. A dyma fi’n ‘neud y fath lanast ym mhobman. O, peri cryn bryder iddyn nhw dw i. Dyw Mam ddim yn yfed diodydd meddwl ond unwaith yn y pedwar amser, ond fi sy’n hala hi’n wallgo'. A dw i mor flinedig o ganlyniad i’r trafferthion ‘ma i gyd![Stjepan] Yes, there you are, good boy, O apple of my eye, my Stjepan, my big little man – says Mam. Oooh, she casts a long shadow over my whole life! I can’t go out. I have to stay in the house, study, learn. I’ve always been pulling things apart since I was a baby, says Mum. Always asking questions. It’s no surprise they don’t know what to do with me, and I’m growing up so quick, fighting with the other kids all the time. And I make such a mess everywhere. O I do cause them real worry. Mum only drinks alcoholic beverages once in a blue moon, but I drive her mad. And I’m so tired as a result of all these problems.
[Daud] Siawns na fyddai’n fwy saff ‘set ti’n turio i lawr, ‘achan, o dan haen ar haen o lenni ar y gwely simsan, i’r siglen fawn ar ei waelod, achos taw chreadur gwelw, gwan, dall wyt ti – lleuen noeth, ddiamddiffyn – y bili benji sy’n pesychu a chwato. Ti’n methu anadlu – dy sinysau mor orlawn â charthffosydd y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg – paid trio defnyddio dy drwyn di – ti’n mogi – rho gynnig ar agor dy geg di – mor dwym ydy nawr i lawr fan ‘yn. Fe gaiff Huwcyn Lonydd fynd i Swtach! Dyma ti ar y ffordd i’r Uffern. A ti’n disgwyl y llaw anochel yn ei maneg ledr, fydd yn ymddangos o ddim ac wedyn dy daro di’n anymwybodol heb i ti allu ei osgoi.[Daud] Perhaps it’s be more safe if you burrowed down, mate, under layer upon layer of sheets on the wobbly bed, into the peat bog at the bottom, ‘cos you’re a blind, weak, pale creature – a defenceless, naked louse – the runt who’s coughing and skulking. You can’t breathe – your sinuses are as full as the sewers of the Big, Bad City – don’t try to use your nose – you’re suffocating – have a go at opening your mouth – it’s so warm now, down ‘ere. Sandman be damned! Here you are on the way to Hell. And you’re waiting for the unavoidable hand in its leather glove, that’ll appear from nowhere and then knock you unconscious without you being able to avoid it.
[Stjepan] Sa i’n lico’r plantos bach eraill, sa i’n debyg iddyn nhw, maen nhw’n weud, dim o gwbl, un od, dyna’r gair. So Dad yn dweud lot, ydy e, ta be’, dim ond syllu arna i, er fod e ddim yma ran fwya’r amser. Mae wastad bant yn gweithio, dyna beth Mam yn ddweud. Rhaid i fi fod yn fachgen da, defnyddio’n noniau, osgoi gwastraffu amser, a chael hwyl. Dw i angen peidio cael ‘y mabanu cymaint, ond dw i’n mynd ar gyfeiliorn mor aml, gan grwydro oddi ar y llwybr union, a gadael i’n meddyliau i grwydro. Sa i eisiau cael ‘y nhaflu i gysgod rhyw blentyn drewllyd arall, dw i? Nagw, nagw’n wir! ‘Swn i mas, yn mynd i gwmni drwg, chwarae â’r plant direidus sy’n byw dros y ffordd – wedyn fe fyddwn i’n mynd yn ddiawl bach ewn, yn gymwys fel nhw, ac elwn i i helynt, yn y diwedd. Gallwn i gael ‘y nhemtio; wedyn ‘nelwn i ddrwg, fe allwn i hyd yn oed bechu’n ddifrifol![Stjepan] I don’t like the other little children at all, I’m not like them, they say, not at all, an odd one, that’s the word. Dad doesn’t say a lot, does he, anyway, just stares at me, although he’s not here most of the time. He’s always off working, that’s what Mum says. I’ve got to be a good boy, use my talents, avoid wasting time and having fun. I don’t want to be babied so much, but I go wrong so often, wandering off the straight and narrow, and letting my thoughts wander. I don’t want to be overshadowed by some other stinky child, do I? No, no indeed! If I were out, getting into bad company, playing with the cheeky kids who live across the road – then I’d become a cheeky little devil, exactly like them, and I’d get into trouble, in the end. I could be tempted, then I’d do wrong, I could sin grieviously, even!
[Daud] Felly – faint yn hwyrach? Mae’n ymddangos bod amser wedi arafu a stopio. Rwyt ti’n gorwedd ar y slab llyfn wedi’i ‘neud o fetel du, neu o lechfaen llachar, falle? Purddu ydy, yma yn y dyfnderoedd – wastad mor oer – tywyllwch rhewllyd – so ti’n gallu symud dy ben di i weld pwy sy ‘na – be’ maen nhw’n ‘neud. Mae’n niwlog ‘ma, a ti’n hanner dall – mae dy lygaid di’n goch, llidus, a gludiog. Hnnnnnn – ti’n brwydro’n ffyrnig – ti’n mynd yn sownd mewn pwll o ofn, ac yno mae rhyw law chwyslyd yn dy dagu di, wrth i gyllell dy drywanu di ar yr un pryd. Ti’m yn gallu gweld o gwbl, ac yn y lle ‘ma dallineb yw gwyll tragwyddol, ble mae’r Angau’n byw, yn barod i dy arwain di’n syth i’r Byd Arall![Daud] So – how much later? It appears that time has slowed down and stopped. You’re lying on the smooth slab made of black metal, or from polished slate, maybe? It’s jet-black, here in the depths – always so cold – freezing darkness – you can’t move your head to see who’s there – what they’re doing. It’s foggy here, and you’re half-blind – your eyes are red, sore, and sticky. Hnnnnnn – you’re fighting fiercely – you’re getting stuck in a pit of fear, and there there’s some sweaty hand choking you, while a knife stabs you at the same time. You can’t see at all, and in this place, blindness is eternal night, where Death lives, ready to lead you straight to the Other World.
[Stjepan] Sa i eisiau bod yn blentyn amhosib ei reoli, fydd yn cael ‘yn ymwahanu â Mam. Wi’n teimlo mor ddrylliedig, wi’n gw’bod mod i’n pechu, alla’ i’m peidio. Dw i angen gweithio’n galed, bwrw ati i ennill y dyfodol wi’n haeddu – llais Mam yn siarad naw -- yn enwedig achos bod rhaid i ‘Nhad fynd bant i deithio drwy’r amser, gan adael i ni ar ein pennau’n hunain. Be’ dw i eisiau bod, ‘te? Wwww – plismon, nyrs, dyn tân, gyrrwr ambiwlans? Wn i’m yn sicr a allwn i ddibynnu arna ‘yn hunan i ‘neud pethau’n iawn ‘sai’r sefyllfa’n fater o fywyd a marwolaeth. ‘Sdim lot o hunanhyder sy ‘da fi, medd yr athrawon, dyna’r peth, on’d ife? Athro falle, te?[Stjepan] I don’t want to be an unruly child, who’ll be taken away from Mam. I feel so wrecked, I know I sin, I can’t not do. I need to work hard, keep on at it to achieve the future I deserve – Mam’s voice speaking now – especially ‘cos my Dad has to go off travelling all the time, leaving is on our own. What do I want to be, then? Oooooh – policeman, nurse, fireman, ambulance driver? I don’t know for sure whether I could depend on myself to do things right if the situation was a matter of life and death. I don’t have a lot of self-confidence, say the teachers, that’s the thing, isn’t it? Teacher perhaps, then?
[Daud] Bob tro, bob nos, fil o weithiau, yr un ar ôl ei gilydd – yr un lleoliad – ward lawfeddygol ble mae popeth wedi’i ‘neud o fetel – neu falle fod di ar allor o faen, ddu, sy’n wlyb ac oer – O Dduwiau Cwsg – pam ti ‘di troi’ch cefnau arna i? Ac rwyt ti’n ddall – ond ti’n gallu synhwyro dy hunan, yno, yng nghrombil y Ddaear – heb lygaid a gwan – a ti’n gwybod fod e’n mynd i ddigwydd – ti’n aros – yn boddi mewn tonnau o banig – ti ‘di mynd yn sownd, mae pinnau bach trwy dy gorff i gyd – dere ‘mlaen ‘te ‘achan – tynna dy hunan lan – coda dy ben di – dim ond tamaid bach, bach – ti’n crefu – dim ond un amrant – ‘set ti ond gallu gweld, falle byddet ti’n gallu ‘neud rhywbeth – plis – na – ond mae’n digwydd – bwria di ati, w – hnnn-nnnnn – dim stŵr – mud a dall a byddar – ti’m yn gallu anadlu – ti’n trio sgrechian a llefain, ond dim sŵn sy’n dod mas.[Daud] All the time, every night, a thousand times one after the other – the same location – a surgical ward where everything’s made of metal – or perhaps you’re on an altar of black stone, that’s wet and cold – Oh Sleeping Gods – why have you turned your backs on me? And you’re blind – but you can sense yourself, there, in the bowels of the Earth – eyeless and weak – and you know that it’s going to happen – you’re waiting – drowning in waves of panic – you’ve got stuck, there’s little pins through your entire body – come on then, mate – lift yourself up – raise your head – only a tiny little bit – you plead – just one eyelid – if only you could see – perhaps you could do something – please – no – but it’s happening – keep at it, mun -- hnnn-nnnnn – mute and blind and deaf – you can’t breathe – you’re trying to screech and cry but no sound’s coming out.
[Stjepan] Dylet ti fod yn ddeintydd – llais Mam eto, er bod hi’n dweud llawfeddyg y geg bob amser. Swydd dda, gyrfa dda yw hi, wi’n deall hynny, llawer o arian, statws, pensiwn, popeth sy’n dda, yr holl beth. Ond byddai’n gas ‘da fi orfod edrych i mewn i gegau pobl, drwy’r dydd, bob dydd! Beth amdanoch chi? Wn i ddim, wir, w! Alla i ddim dychmygu tyfu lan, ennill arian ta be’. Sa i’n credu mod i’n ddigon deallus, ond dw i byth yn siŵr amdani. Wi'n astudio’n galed iawn, sbo, gobeithio ta be, fe ddylwn i lwyddo, dyna’r ffordd i lwyddo. Wedyn, fe gân nhw weld, y bwlis ‘na i gyd![Stjepan] You should be a dentist – Mum’s voice again, although she always says dental surgeon. It’s a good job, a good career, I understand that, lots of money, status, a pension, all the good stuff, everything. But I’d hate having to look into people’s mouths all day, every day! What about you? I dunno, really, mun! I can’t imagine growing up, earning money anyway. I don’t believe that I’m clever enough, but I’m never sure about it. I’m working very hard, s’pose, hope so anyway, I should succeed, that’s the way to succeed. Then they’ll see, all those bullies!
[Daud] So ti’n gallu gweiddi – fydd sŵn ddim yn dod ond ti’n gw’bod be sy’n digwydd – a dyma’r maen, sy’n hongian rhwng daear a nef, yn dechrau dod i lawr oddi uchod – mor ofnadw' o araf – hyd yn oed yn arafach na’r creaduriaid bychain arafaf sy’n llusgo ar lawr ar eu boliau – a dyna ti’n gweddïo – O, Dadau – os gwelwch chi’n dda – Duwiau a’m cartho fi – gadewch i fi fynd – bydda i’n wir dda, wi’n addo – wi’n tyngu – na – na! Dall wyt ti – ti’n ffaelu ‘neud yr un sŵn – ti’n methu symud un gewyn – hnnnnn-nnnnnn – ti’n brwydro – ddim yn medru symud – a dyna ddisgyn y maen aruthrol, gwastad i’r dim, duloyw – gan d’wasgu di yn llwch – ac felly yr ei di.[Daud] You can’t shout – sound won’t come – but you know what’s happening -- and there’s the stone that’s hanging between earth and heaven, beginning to come down from above – so awfully slowly – even slower than the slowest little creatures that slither down there on their bellies – and you’re praying – Oh, Fathers – if you see fit – Gods help me – let me go – I’ll be really good, I promise – I swear – no – no! You’re blind – you can’t make a single sound – you aren’t able to move one sinew -- hnnnnn-nnnnnn – you’re fighting – can’t move – and there’s the enormous, perfectly flat, jet-black stone, descending – crushing you to dust – and so you perish.
[Stjepan] Rywbryd yn y dyfodol fe fydd yn rhaid i fi briodi a magu teulu. Wi’n dymuno mod i ddim mor swil, wi eisiau ymuno â’r cryts eraill, a chwarae da nhw. Wi’n teimlo mor dwp, mor unig, yn hollol ar wahân. Wel, gallwn i fod yn ‘ffeiriad i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang, ond fyddai ddim yn bosib i fi ofalu am ddim ond plwyf gwledig ymhell o bobman. Byddwn i’n casáu mynd yn sownd, ffaelu meddwl, methu gwella yn ‘y ngwaith.[Stjepan] Sometime in the future I’ll have to get married and raise a family. I wish I wasn’t so shy, I want to join in with the other kids, and play with them. I feel so stupid, so lonely, totally separate. Well, I could be a priest in the World-Wide Church, but it wouldn’t be possible for me to look after just a country parish far from anywhere. I’d hate to get stuck, to stop thinking, not be able to improve in my work.
[Daud] Ond – aaaaa – erbyn hyn – y staer droellog – ymhellach i lawr – ti’n mynd i’r Pwll Diwaelod – bachgen drwg – pechadur wyt ti – sy ‘di ‘neud y pethau gwaethaf – ti’n trio troi oddi wrth ben anochel y daith – trio mynd yn ôl – tuag at i lan – ond dyna’r staer yn mynd yn llwybr llithrig. Ti’n cydio yn y canllaw, sy’n tynnu’i hunan ymaith, a dyna ti’n cwympo, yn llithro i lawr, i lawr, wastad yn nes at y lle so ti eisiau mynd yno. A dyna ti’n rhuthro tuag – tuag ato fe.[Daud] But – aaaah – now – the spiral staircase – further down – you’re going to the Bottomless Pit – you’re a bad boy – a sinner – who’s done the worst things – you’re trying to turn away from the journey’s inevitable end – trying to go back – upwards – but the stairs’re becoming a slippery slope. You grab the hand-rail, which pulls itself away, and you’re falling, sliding down, down, always closer to the place don’t want to go to. And you’re rushing towards – towards him.
[Stjepan] Fe fyddwn i eisiau gweithio a gweithio – ac www, meddyliwch am Gadfridogion yr Eglwys Filwrol, gogoneddus mewn ysgarlad, wrth iddyn nhw ymgynghori a dadlau Duwiau a Chythreuliaid, da a drwg. ‘Sai’r Rhai Hollalluog yn dymuno, gallwn i gael ‘yn etholi fel y Prif Offeiriad ei hunan yn y pendraw, er mod i ddim yn credu mod i’n ddigon glân; felly sut allwn i ddweud wrth yr holl bechaduriaid eraill beth i’w gredu, neu sut i fihafio, neu beth ddylen nhw ‘neud bob tro.[Stjepan] I’d need to work and work – and Ooooh, think about the Generals of the Martial Church, glorious in scarlet, as they consult and debate Gods and Demons, good and evil. If the Almighty Ones wished it, I could get elected as the Chief Priest himself in the end, although I don’t believe I’m holy enough; so how could I tell all the other sinners what to believe, or how to behave, or what they should do all the time.
[Daud] Ti ar dy ben dy hunan nawr, felly, w, gyda fe – ac mae e mor agos, mor araf – ac mae’n gwisgo gŵn â chwcwll – cwfl o frethyn llwyd, trwchus, stiff, sy’n frifo fe bob tro mae’n symud – ac mae’n aros yno, yn disgwyl amdanat ti – ffurf gripledig, a chloff, a chefngrwm – a dyna fe’n clywed oglau dy ofn di – yn snwffian er gwaetha’i ddallineb – ac fe’n – gwybod – deall – popeth yn dy gylch di – mae’n bwydo ar dy gamweddau di – drwy’r amser – cyn iddo fe ddatgelu’i hunan – er fydd e ddim yn dod i nôl di ei hunan – dim ond disgwyl a 'naiff – a ti sy wastad yn cael dy orfodi i fynd i lawr ato fe – bob amser – a dyna ti’n cyfri erbyn hyn i drio arafu amser, i geisio gohirio'r peth sy’n mynd i ddigwydd, fydd yn anorfod yn y pendraw.[Daud] You’re on your own now, then, mun, with him – and he’s so close, so slow – and he’s wearing a gown with a cowl – a cowl of stiff, heavy, grey cloth, that hurts him every time he moves – and he’s waiting there, expecting you – a crippled, lame, hunch-backed figure – and he smells your fear – snuffling despite his blindness – and he – knows – understands – everything about you – he’s feeding on your misdeeds – all the time – before he reveals himself – although he won’t come to fetch you himself – he’ll just wait – and it’s you who always gets forced to go down to him – always – and there you are counting now to try and slow down time, to try and postpone the thing that’s going to happen, that’ll be unavoidable in the end.
[Stjepan] Be’ am wleidyddiaeth? Llais Dad y tro hwn, ac mae’n isel, ond cryf a dwfn – a bygythiol. Prif weinidog fyddai swydd heb ei hail, tybio. Estyn cymorth i bobl, i gymdeithas, ‘neud pethau da. Bywyd anrhydeddus a llawn daioni, yn gwasanaethu’r werin a’r wlad, dyna fe, reit? Dwi’m yn malio’r un ffeuen ym mri, ond ar y llaw arall, peth pwysig yw’ch enw da. Ond swil iawn dw i, rhy swil a bod yn onest. Dim ond defnyddio’r talentau roddodd yr Hen Dduwiau i fi dw i’n moyn. Be bynnag, fe ddylwn i gael gyrfa sefydlog maes o law, fe ddylwn i briodi, cael ‘y nghryts ‘yn hunan. Ond a bod yn onest, y gwir gwestiwn yw, ddim fydda i’n cyrraedd y brig erioed, ond yn hytrach, fydda i’n dal i fod ar wyneb y Ddaear hon ymhen ychydig o flynyddoedd, heb sôn am fod yn fyw ac yn iach?[Stjepan] What about politics? Dad’s voice this time, and it’s quiet, but strong and deep – and threatening. Prime Minister would be a smashing, I guess. Giving support to people, to communities, doing good things. An honourable life, full goodness, serving the people and the land, that’s it, right? I don’t give a damn about fame, but on the other hand, your good name’s an important thing. But I’m very shy, too shy to be honest. I only want to use the talents the Old Gods have given me. Anyway, I should have an established career in due course, I should get married, have my own kids. But to be honest, the real question is, not will I ever get to the top, but rather, will I still be on the face of this Earth in a few years’ time, not to mention being alive and well?
[Daud] Miliwn o gamau – naw cant naw deg naw mil naw cant naw deg naw o gamau – Na – na – dwy ti’m yn moyn 'neud e – so ti’n gallu 'neud e – ti’n pallu 'neud e – rhaid i ti 'neud e – na – mae arnat ti angen. A dyna ti, ym mhen yr hir a'r hwyr, yn gorfod edrych – edrych lan – a dyna gwympo’i gwcwll oddi ar – oddi ar – ei ben e – dro ar ôl tro – a dyna syrthio’r cwfl – O, mor araf – bod yn dipyn – a ti’n weld e – na, na, na – teirgwaith na, ti’n nadu – na, eto – a’i ben e’n belen ddychlamol lawn cynrhon – ac maen nhw’n gwingo – wrth haffio’u hunain a’i gilydd – a dyna nhw’n plopian at y fantell front – cyfoglyd ydyn nhw, mae’n ddigon i godi pwys arnat ti – yr holl ddrewdod braen, a’r pen erchyll ‘na, heb drwyn, na cheg, na chlustiau, na llygaid. A dyna ti’n cicio, a sgrechian, gan gorddi â'th freichiau a'th goesau.[Daud] A thousand steps – nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand nine-hundred and ninety-nine steps – No – no – you don’t want to do it – you can’t do it – you refuse to do it – you have to do it – no – you need to. And, at long last, you have to look – to look up – and his cowl’s falling from – from – his head – time after time – and the cowl’s falling – O, so slowly – bit by bit – and you see him – no, no, no – three times no, you’re braying – no, again – and his head’s a pulsing ball full of maggots – and they’re writhing – whilst gobbling themselves and each other up – and they plop onto the dirty gown – they’re sickening, it’s enough to make you heave – the whole putrid stench, and that terrible head, without a nose, or mouth, or ears, or eyes. And you kick, and screech, threshing your arms and legs about.
[Stjepan] A fi, wel – rho fendith arna i, ‘Nhadau, achos mod i wedi pechu – dyma’r holl bethau drwg wi’n dal i’w ‘neud, sa i’n gallu stopio, O Wezir a’m helpo! Mae arswyd arna i, wi’n moyn bod yn berson arall, nage fi fy hunan rhagor. Be ddylwn i ‘neud? Wi’n suddo’n ddyfnach i bechu. Www – wi’n gallu gwyntio'r llynnoedd o frwmstan, blasu cnawd y damnedigion wedi’i farbeciwio. Fe fydd y dyn sy eisoes wedi derbyn rhywfaint yn derbyn mwy; ond amdano fe sy heb dderbyn dim, bydd hyd yn oed beth mae’n ei feddu’n cael ei gymryd oddi arno fe. A dyma fi ar ‘yn ffordd i’r Isfyd, felly.[Stjepan] And I, well – bless me, My Fathers, as I have sinned – here are all the bad things I still do, I can’t stop, o Wezir help me! I’m terrified, I want to be someone else, not myself any more. What should I do? I’m sinking deeper into sin. Oooh – I can smell the lakes of brimstone, taste the barbecued flesh of the damned. The man who’s already received something will get more; but as for him who’s received nothing, even what he possesses shall be taken away from him. And here I am on my way to the Otherworld, then.
Wedyn, yn ôl at fyd Daud – a dyma ddigwydd tranc arall – wedi’i ddilyn gan ddeffro arall. Unwaith yn rhagor mae dy sgrech di wedi galw’r rhieni ac mae’r golau yn y coridor yn llamu’n fyw. Mae’r curiad rhythmig o ofn oedd wedi bod yn carlamu drwy dy gorff di i gyd yn ildio i feichio wylo. Mae’n flin iawn da ti – ti’n nabod eu llygaid molog yn rhy dda – mae’n ddrwg calon gen ti fod di’n bygro’u bywydau.Then, back to Daud’s world – and there’s another death – followed by another wakening. Once more your scream has summoned the parents and the light in the corridor springs to life. The rhythmic pulsing of fear that had been galloping through your whole body gives way to sobbing. You’re very sorry – you recognise their bleary eyes only too well – you heartily regret that you’re buggering up their lives.
Yr ofn ‘ma, y pwysau afiach, ciaidd ‘ma, pryd fydd e’n mynd i ddod i ben? O leia’ fe fu farw dy arwr di, Sorakados o’r Hen Lyfrau, a oedd wedi teithio i’r Nw Yrth i frwydro yn erbyn y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd; fe’i lladdon nhw fe pan oedd e’n un ar hugain oed. Mae llawr o amser ar ôl i ti cyn hynny, on’d oes?This fear, this brutal, unhealthy pressure, when will it be going to come to an end? At least your hero died, Sorakados from the Old Books, who’d travelled to the Nw Yrth to fight against the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers; they killed him when he was twenty-one. There’s a lot of time left for me before then, isn’t there?
Mae dy Mam, dy angyles lân – sy’n afiach, ar fin marw – yn clebran. A bu bron i ti’i lladd hi unwaith eisoes, ddydd gest di d’eni! Arnat ti mae’r holl fai. Mae dy Dad, brenin rhacsog y castell, wel – be yw’r gair – rhywbeth sy 'di bod 'da fe yn dy erbyn byth er hynny. Mae e wastad yn mynd bant, gweithio, teithio, gwerthu, meddwi’n chwil, brwydro, cael ei anafu, gweiddi. A nawr dyma fe’n chwifio’i freichiau’n hollol ddi-rym fel arfer pan fydd Mam wedi cynhyrfu'n lân. Rywbryd, fe fyddi di’n gobeithio byddai’n marw, neu cael ei ladd, neu be’ bynnag. Ond mae rhywbeth yn ei gylch sy’n wyllt, anrhagweladwy, ffyrnig, ac mewn ffordd rwyt ti’n meddwl dylet ti fod fel ‘na, gan gerdded yn ei ôl troed. Heb yr holl drais, wrth gwrs.Your Mam, your pure angel – who’s ill, on the point of death – is prattling on. And you’ve almost killed her once already, on the day of your birth! It’s all your fault. Your Dad, ragged king of the castle, well – what’s the word? – he’s resented you since then. He’s always going off, working, travelling, selling, getting drunk, fighting, getting injured, shouting. And now he’s waving his arms totally ineffectually as usual when Mam gets terribly upset. Sometimes, you hope he woild die, or get killed, or whatever. But there’s something about him that’s wild, unpredictable, fierce, and in a way you think you should be like that, following in his footsteps. Without all the violence, of course.
Mae dy chwaer, sy wedi sleifio rownd y drws, yn syllu arnat ti’n dosturiol ond gyda chariad. A dyna eiriau llym wedi’u tagu, dicter wedi’i ffrwyno. Mae’u seithuctod, eu breuddwydion heb eu cyflawni’n creu hinsawdd fechan gyda dynameg gaotig ei hun; mae’r sefyllfa deuluol fel rhyw fath o sosban bwysedd – fyddi di byth yn gwybod sut i’w bodloni nhw.Your sister, who’s slunk round the door, is staring at you pityingly but with love. And then harsh words are choked back, anger reigned in. Their futility, their unfulfilled dreams, create a micro-climate with its own chaotic dynamics; the family situation is like some kind of pressure cooker – you’ll never know how to satisfy them.
Ti’n blasu anhoffter dy Dad, poen dy Mam, a serch dy chwaer. Bai – cariad – euogrwydd – atgasedd – cywilydd – y rhain i gyd sy’n bodoli gyda’i gilydd yn y lle ‘ma. Fe fyddi di’n ymgartrefi yn dy Annwfn dy hunan liw nos, ble fyddi di’n cael dy wasgu gan y maen yn yr hunllef bob tro, a bid siŵr fe fydd yr oriau effro’n wael hefyd. Ond o leia’ fe elli di ddianc i fyd comics. Fe wyddost ti sut mae cyfrifo, sut mae sillafu, a bellach fe fyddi di’n dysgu dwlu ar batrymau, gan greu diogelwch drwy drefnu, drwy ddefodau. Fe fyddi di’n dechrau bwrw hud. A fydd hyn yn ddigon cryf i’th achub di? Ond waeth befo am yr hyn sy yng nghôl y dyfodol; weithiau, efallai o ganlyniad i’r swyn-ganeuon a’r ystumiau wedi’u hail-wneud drosodd a throsodd cyn syrthio i gysgu, fe fydd rhywbeth hollol wahanol yn digwydd gyda’r nos. Ac fe fyddi di’n teimlo fel ‘sai tithau fydd wedi cymryd y llyw, i ryw raddau o leia’, a dyma sut fyddi di’n disgrifio’r profiad wrthot ti dy hunan pan fyddi di’n ei gofio’n hwyrach —You taste your Dad’s dislike, your Mum’s pain, and your sister’s love. Blame – love – guilt – hatred – shame – all these exist together in this place. You’ll be settling down in your own Hell by night, where you’ll be crushed by the stone in the nightmare every time, and you can be sure that the waking hours will be terrible also. But at least you can escape into the world of comics. You know how to count, how to spell, and now you’ll learn to love patterns, creating safety through ordering, through rituals. You’ll begin to cast spells. Will this be strong enough to save you? But never mind about what the future holds; sometimes, perhaps as a result of the incantations and the gestures, repeated over and over before falling to sleep, something totally different will happen at night. And you feel as if it’s you who’ve taken charge, to some extent at least, and here’s how you describe the experience to yourself when you remember later —
Heb rybudd, mae’r byd i gyd yn crebachu a thoddi. Dw i’n cael ‘y ngwasgu a ‘nhynnu ar yr un pryd fel ‘swn i’n cwympo i mewn i un o’r tyllau duon ‘na, mae’r Athro Stephen Hawking wastad yn sôn amdanyn nhw. Ydw i’n mynd i farw, unwaith eto, gan adael yr holl lanastr budr sydd byw ar ôl? A dyma ryw rym yn ‘nghodi i gerfydd ‘y ngwar, gan beri i fi hedfan i lan, yn arafach ac yn arafach wrth i ‘nghoesau a ‘mreichiau, ‘yn holl gorff, chwyrlïo ar hap. Byddwn i’n sgrechian fel cigfran lwglyd ar do Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig ‘sai ‘na wynt yn ‘yn ysgyfaint o gwbl.Without warning, the whole world crinkles and melts. I’m squashed and stretched at the same time as if I was falling into one of those black holes Professor Stephen Hawking’s always on about. Am I going to die, again, leaving the whole dirty mess that’s life behind? And there’s some force lifting me up by the scuff of my neck, causing me to fly upwards, quicker and quicker as my arms and legs, my whole body, twirls round randomly. I’d screech like a starving raven on the roof of the Temple of the Hidden Glory if there was any wind in my lungs at all.
A dyna fi felly, o’r diwedd, o dan heulwen ddigon llachar i ddallu rhywun, ar ben tŵr enfawr o berl sy’n crafu’r nefoedd glas noeth fel ewin y cawr cysefin yn pigo trwyn blewog yr Hen Ddihenydd. Mae’r dymestl gyhyrog yn chwythu lle y mynno (wrth reswm) -- pwy sy’n gallu atal grymoedd natur rhag chwarae eu castiau? -- ac mae’i thafodau bloesg yn cosi ymhobman. O Dad – dw i’n dweud wrtha ‘yn hunan drosodd a throsodd – dw i’n maddau i ti, dwyt ti’m yn gwybod be o’t ti’n ‘neud.And so there you are, at last, under sunlight bright enough to blind someone, on top of an enormous, tower of pearl that scratches the naked blue heavens like the nail of the original giant picking the Ancient of Days’ hairy nose. The muscular storm blows where it wishes (of course) – who can stop the forces of nature from playing their tricks? – and its lisping tongues tickle everywhere. O Dad – I say to myself over and over – I forgive you, you didn’t know what you were doing.
Ac wedyn, yn hollol ddisymwth, fe godiff o ddim tu ôl i fi, rywbeth, be’n union ydy dw i’m yn gwybod. O, dw i’n teimlo mor sâl â chiper ail-law wedi’i gyfodi, ond hefyd yn gyffro i gyd o gredu bydda i’n ymuno â’r cyndeidiau o’r diwedd. Am ollyngdod melys fydd dod yn gysgod a’i lais yn ubain leilai nes iddo ddiflannu am byth. Ond dan yr amgylchiadau, sut alla i feddwl y fath bethau blodeuog, hyd yn oed, tybed? Ond yn lle cael ‘y ninistrio’n farddonol, gwely pedwar postyn sy’n codi i ‘ngolwg fel hofrennydd a yrrir gan ryw fath o hylif hyfflam, trwchus sy’n ffrwtian mor beryglus ar hyd y lle, ac arno griw o gryts colledig jyst fel fi.And then – totally unexpectedly, there rises from no-where behind me, something, what exactly it is I don’t know. Oh, I feel as sick as a second-hand regurgitated kipper, but also all excited from realising that I’ll be joining the ancestors at last. What sweet release shall be becoming a shadow whose voice howls less and less until it disappears for ever. But under the circumstances, how can I even think such flowery things, I wonder? But instead of being poetically destroyed, a four-poster bed rises into my sight like a helicopter powered by some kind of dense, flammable fluid that’s fizzling all over the place, and on it are a bunch of lost kids just like me.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 6 extra image
Maen nhw i gyd yn fôr-ladron, sy’n gwisgo gwasgodau coch, a hetiau trichorn ac arnynt y benglog a’r esgyrn croes. Bachgen hŷn yw capten y gwely hedegog wedi’i orchuddio â’r fflag ddu, ac am ganol y llanc o Ficing mae gwregys aur ac ynddo gleddyf hudol (mwy na thebyg). Mae e fel y ffrind gorau dw i’m wedi cwrdd â fe eto.They’re all pirates, who’re wearing red waist-coats, and tricorn hats with the skull-and-crossbones on them. An older boy’s the captain of the flying bed, covered by the pirate flag, and around the Viking-lad’s waist there’s a golden belt with a magical sword in to (more than likely). He’s like the best friend I’ve never yet met.
Ac mae’n ymddangos taw canwr bywyd yw e, yr un sy’n galw ar bawb i chwarae’n benrhydd, gan leddfu poen briwiau glasgoch, llidiog, a gwella crachod dwfn wedi’u hachosi trwy gwympo oddi ar eich beic, cyn i chi crafu nhw ymaith. Mae’n dda gen i mod i ddim ar ‘mhen ‘yn hunan ar ben y tŵr esgyrnog ‘na ynghanol yr awyr ddigwmwl, ond fyddwn i’m yn nabod e ‘swn i’n taro fy nhrwyn ynddo fe. Dw i’m yn nabod ar y Ddaear na’r Nw Yrth pwy yw’r Rodnis eraill ‘chwaith, a dw i’n ofni beth sy’n mynd i ddigwydd.And it appears that he’s the life-singer, the one who calls on everyone to play without holding back, soothing the pain of angry, violet wounds, and mending deep scabs caused by falling off your bike, before you scratch them off. I’m happy I’m not in my own on top of that skeletal tower in the middle of the cloudless sky, but I wouldn’t know him from Adam. I don’t know who on Earth or on the Nw Yrth are those other Herberts are either, and I’m frightened of what’s going to happen.
Brysia di, ‘achan, neidia, mae’n gweiddi arna i. Dere ‘mlaen, ymddirieda yno i, neu fe fydd hi’n rhy hwyr! Rho’r gorau i fecso amdanat ti dy hunan, tyrd i ymuno â’r grŵp o frodyr ‘ma! Gwan ei galon a gyll, yw’r unig beth sy’n llenwi’n meddwl wedyn, ac ar ôl eiliad iasol o oedi dyma fi’n taflu ‘yn hunan tuag at y gwely, sy’n hofran yn ddiamynedd ar yr awel sbeitlyd, gan ymdrechgar guro’i adenydd sylweddol. Ac mae’n cymryd oesoedd i gyrraedd, am wn i o leia’, a dw i’n credu fe fydda i’n cwympo, gan gael ‘yn lladd yn y pen draw – fflatsh, fel pwmpen wedi’i gollwng o awyren jet – ar y tir glas filltir islaw.Hurry up, mate, jump, he shouts at me. Come one, trust me, or it’ll be too late! Give up worrying about yourself, come to join this band of brothers! He who hesitates is lost, is the only thing that fills my mind then, and after a thrilling instant of hesitation I’m throwing myself towards the bed, which hovers impatiently on the spiteful air, energetically beating its substantial wings. And it takes ages to arrive, as far as I know at least, and I think I’ll fall, getting killed in the end – splat, like a pumpkin dropped from a jet-plane – on the verdant land a mile below.
Ond gyda sgrialu dwys gan ‘y nghymrodyr newydd ar y gwely, sy’n ‘yn llusgo nerth eu breichiau, dyma fi’n cwympo'n ffradach ar y strwythur enfawr, haearn mewn union bryd, ac wedyn swalpio – a’r tŵr anhygoel ‘na’n ffrwydro’n deilchion, mewn fflach o olau uwchfioled, gan adael yr awyr yn sawru o osôn, wrth i’r holl dirwedd doreithiog oddi tanon ni, sy’n llawn planhigion lliwgar, rhyfedd, ddiasbedain yn wyllt. A dim ond wedyn, ymlacio, a wna i, gan ‘y ngadael ‘yn hun i fynd yn llwyr.But with intense scrabbling by my new comrades on the bed, who drag me with all the strength in their arms, I flop onto the enormous iron structure just in time, and then flailing about – and the incredible tower there’s exploding into bits, in a flash of ultraviolet light, leaving the air stinking of ozone, as the whole bountiful landscape below us, which is full of strange, brightly-coloured plants, resounds wildly. And only then, I relax, letting myself go completely.
Ac felly, ar unwaith y tro ‘ma, bant â ni, i lan ac i lawr, ymlaen ac yn ôl, rownd a rownd. Rydyn ni’n canu siantis môr wrth geisio cadw’r gwely’n wastad, a dyna ni’n hollti tonnau’r awyr sy’n drwm o lawenydd. Ac yn y pellter, mae’r tŵr eithriadol ‘na’n ail-adeiladu ei hunan, rhywsut neu’i gilydd, er do’n ni’m yn sylwi ar y ffaith pryd ‘ny.And so, straight away this time, off we go, up and down, back and forth, round and round. We sing seas-shanties whilst trying to keep the bed level, and we cleave the sky’s waves which are heavy with joy. And in the distance, that exceptional tower is re-building itself, somehow or other, although I didn’t notice the fact at the time.
Mae’r gwely’n siglo’n ofnadwy wrth gyflymu a chodi'n uwch uwch ‘sai un o’r criw o fwncïod ewn wedi gosod y llyw i gyrraedd calon yr Haul, fel gallai pawb rannu’r profiad o dranc a phuro ac aileni gyda’i gilydd gan aberthu’u hunain er mwyn y lleill ac o ganlyniad aildyfu’u hadenydd llarpiog. Mae fel ‘sai egni oll yr Un Llachar wedi cronni yn ‘y mherfeddion, ac mae gwepau pob un o’r bechgyn yn disgleirio fel lleuad lawn am ddaearnesafiant. Allwn i’m mynegi’r fath syniadau mewn geiriau synhwyrol na chall bryd ‘ny, ond dw i’n siŵr mod i’n teimlo mwy hapus nag erioed o’r blaen. Ac wedyn, mewn chwinciad, dyna fi wedi dihuno. Sa i’n cofio bellach sut neu pryd es i i’r ysgol y dydd ‘na, neu hyd oed a es i o gwbl.The bed jiggles awfully whilst speeding up and rising higher and higher, as if one of the crew of cheeky monkeys’d set the controls to reach the heart of the Sun. so that everyone could share the experience of death and purification together, sacrificing themselves for the sake of the others, and as a result re-growing their tattered wings. It’s as if the Resplendent One’s whole power had collected in my guts, and the faces of every one of the boys is shining like a full moon at perigee. I couldn’t express such ideas in sensible or wise words then, but I sure that I was feeling happier than ever before. And then, in the wink of an eye, I’d woken up. I can’t remember now how nor when I went to school that day, or even whether I went at all.
Rywbryd yn y dyfodol, ac yn rhywle arall yn llwyr, mae enwau a sefyllfaoedd wedi newid, ond er hynny, mae ffawd yn dal i weithredu fel arfer. A dyna gord E-fflat pur, canu grwndi cread oll, yn gwasgu’r gwynt o ysgyfaint tri dyn, wth beri i’w llygaid wylo dagrau o waed. Ac wedyn mae’r sain yn hofran dan wgu uwchben y tân yn ffrio’r fil o ganhwyllau gwaedrudd sy’n llenwi’r lle sanctaidd. A dyna lanc ar fin dangos ei fod yn ŵr, o’r enw Dai Baxter; a’i enaid yn cael ei fwrw trwy byrth canfyddiad i hunllef fythol, wrth ei gorff yn gorffwys fel petai’n cysgu dan garthen diwybod ymhlith y fflamiau.Sometime in the future, and somewhere else entirely, names and situations have changed, but despite that, fate still operates as usual. And there’s a pure, E-flat chord, all creation’s purring, pressing the wind from the lungs of three men, whilst causing their eyes to weep tears of blood. And then the sound hovers, pouting, over the fire that’s drying the thousand candles that fill the sacred space. And there’s a lad on the point of proving he’s a man, named Dai Baxter, his spirit being thrown through the gates of perception into an eternal nightmare, while his body lies as if he were sleeping under a blanket of unknowing amidst the flames.
Ac yn nheyrnas y dychymyg, lle bydd delweddau’n dod i fywyd yn aml, tywysog golygus ydy, a’i groen llachar cyn wynned ag eira pur dan lach y ymestl, a’i wefusau cusanadwy cyn goched â gwaed lleidr croeshoeliedig sy’n erfyn am drugaredd, a’i wallt haerllug cyn ddued â chalon y frân sy’n tynnu llygad o gyrff drylliedig, petasai arwr mewn chwedl dylwyth teg, ynteu seren mewn llyfr comic erch. Serch hynny, neu o’i achos efallai, fe oroesa ei gymeriad digymar a’i gysgod hefyd, hyd yn oed pan fydd wedi marw. A heb yn wybod iddo, ar hyn o bryd, mae croth ei gariad yn meithrin corff baban hudol, ei fab e, sef yr un nerthol a ddaw.And in the kingdom of the imagination, where images often come to life, he’s a handsome prince, his shining skin as white as pure snow under the tempest’s lash, and his kissable lips as red as the blood of a crucified thief who’s pleading for mercy, and his presumptuous hair as black as the heart of the crow that’s pulling eyes out of shattered bodies, as if he were the hero in a fairy-tale, or the star in a lurid comic-book. Despite that, or because of it perhaps, his peerless character will survive, along with his shadow, even when he dies. And unbeknownst to him, at the moment, his girlfriend’s womb is nurturing the body of a magical baby, his son, namely the powerful one to come.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 7

Pennod Un Ar Ddeg: Cyfathrebu (Lleisiau 7) / Communicating (Voices 7)

Mae sawl ffynhonnell ddienw’n honni mai arwydd cyntaf gwallgofrwydd yw siarad â’ch hunan, onid ydynt? Ond wedi dweud hynny, pa beth arall y medrwch ei wneud pan fyddwch yn hollol ar eich pen eich hun ac unig? Dan y fath amgylchiadau, efallai mai sain eich llais eich hun yn atseinio y tu mewn i’ch pen sydd yn eich cadw yn eich iawn bwyll. Ac eto i gyd, a allwch ymddiried yn lleisiau beirniadol y rhai a ddywed na ddylech droi i mewn na chreu bydoedd hudol llawn ffrindiau dychmygol i gael hyd i ryw gysur ac i osgoi gofalon y byd pob dydd? O bryd i’w gilydd, ymhellach, mae llawenychu mewn ffantasi yn gallu helpu i ddatrys problemau dyrys ac i ddatgelu ffeithiau wedi’u celu. Cyn hired ag y lleisiau oddi mewn, sydd yn tueddu i ddiasbedain fel arfer yng nghilfachau dyfnaf yr enaid, na fyddant yn eich camarwain, na’ch denu i wneud drwg, oni allwn ni gytuno eu bod yn ddiniwed o leiaf, ac yn eithriadol o ddefnyddiol ar y gorau? Dyna gasgliad y siaman cyfoes sydd yn credu bod ganddo fynediad i realiti amgen, drwy wrando ar y lleisiau fyrdd wedi’u hysbrydoli gan sylweddau neilltuol ac ymarferion meddyliol, lle y gall ddarganfod cyfrinachau a newid hynt digwyddiadau.

Some anonymous sources allege that speaking to yourself is the first sign of madness, don’t they? But having said that, what else can you do when you are totally alone and lonely? Under such circumstances, perhaps it’s the sound of your own voice resounding inside your head that keeps you sane. And then again, can you trust in the judgemental voices of those who say that you should not turn inside, nor create magical worlds full of imaginary friends, to find some comfort and avoid the cares of the every-day world? From time to time, furthermore, indulging in fantasy can help to solve perplexing problems and to reveal hidden facts. As long as the voices within, which tend to resound usually in the deepest recesses of the soul, do not mislead you, nor tempt you to do evil, can we not agree that they are harmless at least, and exceptionally useful at the best? That’s the conclusion of the contemporary shaman who believes that he has access to an alternative reality, through listening to the myriad voices inspired by particular substances and mental practices, where he can discover secrets and change the course of events.

Annwyl ffrind! Dw i’n sylweddoli dwyt ti ddim yn ymateb yn syth, os o gwbl ar adegau. Ond ‘sdim ots ‘da fi, dim ond lico sgwrsio dw i, ‘achan. Gobeithio mod i’n gallu defnyddio’r fath air, ond dw i’n teimlo ein bod ni’n ffrindiau erbyn hyn. Mae’n chwith ‘da fi ddechrau fel hyn, dw i’n casáu pobl sy’n cwyno bob amser, ond rhaid i fi ofyn ta p’un, sa i’n disgwyl i chi ateb, w! A bod yn onest, dw i’n gwerthfawrogi’r cyfle i sgwrsio, dyna i gyd.Dear friend! I realise you don’t reply straight away, if at all, on occasions. But that’s no problem to me, I just like chatting, mate. I hope I can use such a word, but I feel like we’re friends by now. I’m sorry to start like this, I hate people who go on all the time, but I have to ask anyway, I’m not expecting you to answer, mun! And to be honest, I appreciate the chance to talk, that’s all.
Pam maen nhw’n neud pethau fel ‘yn? Brwydro dros liw croen, crefydd, iaith, ethnigrwydd? Uffernol yw rhyfel, ac mae pawb yn yr Uffern gyda’i gilydd yn y rhyfel ‘ma. Dw i ‘di gweld cyrff marw wedi’u gwasgaru hyd y llawr, unwaith neu ddwy, pan fydd bom wedi ffrwydro ar byws yr archfarchnad. Dynion, menywod, plant. Un peth yw anafu a lladd oedolion, ond y pethau maen nhw’n ‘neud gyda’r cryts! Dw i wastad wedi cael hunllefau er pan o’n i’n blentyn ‘yn hunan, ‘does neb yn gallu esbonio pam. Mae fel ‘sai rhywbeth cas iawn wedi digwydd i fi dw i ddim yn gallu'i gofio, fel rhyw ysfa uffernol sa i’n gallu ei chrafu. Credwch chi fi, dyw dim byd wedi gwella bellach, a nawr mae pethau’n waeth yn y byd go iawn hefyd! Mae rhaid i Mam roi rhywbeth sbesial i fi gyda’r nos sy’n helpu fi i fynd i gysgu. Ond hyd yn oed wedyn, mae’r geiriau cyfarwydd sy’n gwahanu’r ochrau oddi wrth ei gilydd er gwaetha’ pa mor syml ydyn nhw, yn dal i lifo drosta i – ‘ffatri, tvornica, fabrika, usine, fábrica, fabbrica, fabrik, fabrik, tehdas, ergostásio’ i ddechrau.Why do they do things like this? Fighting over skin-colour, language, ethnicity? War’s Hell, and everyone’s in Hell together in this war. I’ve seen dead bodies scattered all over the ground once or twice, when a bomb’s exploded near the supermarket. Men, women, children. It’s one thing to injure and kill adults, but the things they do with the kids! I’ve always had nightmares since when I was a child myself, no-one can explain why. It’s as if something hateful had happened to me that I can’t remember, like some hellish itch I can’t scratch. Believe you me, nothing’s got better by now, and now things’re worse in the real world too! Mam has to give me something special at night that helps me go to sleep. But even then, the familiar words that separate the sides from each other despite how simple they are, keep on flowing over me – ‘factory, tvornica, fabrika, usine, fábrica, fabbrica, fabrik, fabrik, tehdas, ergostásio’ to start.
Mae’n neud i ‘ngwaed i ferwi! Fydda i ddim yn ymladd byth ond mod i eisiau lladd y llofruddion. Mae ‘Nhad i a’r sowldiwrs eraill eisiau i fi neud pethau arswydus i gryts eraill ond dw i’n gwrthod bob amser. Fyddan nhw ddim yn gallu ‘neud i fi fihafio mor ddrwg, ac, O, dw i’n cael ‘y nghosbi’n enbyd. Bu bron i fi farw sawl gwaith, gyda mwy o’r geiriau bradwrus yn llenwi ‘nghlustiau – ‘riža, reis, pirinač, riz, arroz, riso, reis, ris, riisi, rýzi.’ Ac ro’n nhw’n ‘y ngwawdio i ar y naw pan ‘nes i bisio’n hunan. Ond sa i’n mynd bant i unman, er mod i eisiau rhedeg yn bell i ffwrdd oddi ‘ma. Goroeswr dw i! Dw i wedi bod yn meddwl am dwyn yr hen fan wen, cofiwch chi, a mynd am dro ynddi hi gyda’r Ficing ‘na ‘sai diddordeb ‘da fe, ond sa i ‘di penderfynu ‘to.It makes my blood boil! I’ll never kill, except I want to kill the murderers. My Dad and the other soldiers want me to do abominable things to other kids but I always refuse. They won’t be able to make me behave so badly, and Oh, I get punished terribly. I’ve almost died several times, with more of the treacherous words filling my ears – ‘riža, rice, pirinač, riz, arroz, riso, reis, ris, riisi, rýzi..’ And they mocked me awfully when I peed myself. But I’m not going off anywhere, although I want to run far away from here. I’m a survivor! I’ve been thinking about stealing the old white van, mind you, and going for a spin in it with that Viking, if he’s interested, but I’ve not decided yet.
Cigydd yw ‘Nhad i wrth ei grefft, jyst fel yr hen berthnasau yn rhywle dros y môr mewn tre’ gaeth ei sefydlu gan y Ficingiaid ganrifoedd yn ôl dw i’n credu. Dw i ‘di bod yn darllen popeth am y lle, yn enwedig ar ôl siarad gyda’r Hen Filwr ‘na sy’n ffrind i Dad. Mae’n dweud fod e’n dod o ‘na’n wreiddiol, a fod e’n lle anhygoel o ddiddorol i fyw yno. Mae’n brofiadol iawn, proffesiynol hefyd, ‘Nhad, mae pawb yn lico fe – ar ein hochr ni, dw i’n feddwl. Maen nhw – y rhai ar yr ochr arall – yn honni taw bwtsier ydy’n wir wrth ei alwedigaeth, er ‘ny. Dyna beth a ‘nelen nhw, sbo, ond bwli go iawn ydy’n wir.My Dad’s a butcher by profession, just like the old relations somewhere overseas in a town that was founded by the Vikings centuries ago I think. I’ve been reading everything about the place, especially after speaking with that Old Soldier, who’s a friend of Dad’s. He says he comes from there originally, and that it’s an incredible place to live in. He’s very experienced, professional too, my Dad, everyone likes him – on our side, I mean. They – the ones on the other side – claim he’s a real butcher by calling, though. They would do, s’pose, but he actually is a real bully.
Bydd e’n mynd i frwydro, a lladd pobl, wrth i Mam helpu nhw yn yr ysbyty. Mae’n mynd mas yn yr hen fan wen gyda’i gwn a’i gyllell tra mae hi’n cael lifft gan wisgo ei het, a’i wisg, a’i watsh fach ben i waered. Mae Dad yn lico’i lifrai milwrol caci hefyd, yn enwedig y cap pêl-fas ac arno lun o gythraul fflamllyd. Mae’n flin ‘da fi fod y ddau ohonyn nhw’n edrych mor flinedig drwy’r amser. Falle taw tipyn bach o saib i ymlacio yn y tŷ’n gwrando ar ‘gerddoriaeth, glazba, muzika, musique, música, musica, musik, musik, musiikki, mousikí’ fyddai’n helpu nhw i deimlo’n well.He goes out to fight, and kill people, while Mam helps them in the hospital. He goes out in the old white fan with his gun and his knife while she gets a lift wearing her hat and her uniform, and her little upside-down watch. Dad likes his khaki military uniform too, especially the baseball cap with the picture of the flaming demon on it. I’m sorry the two of them look so tired all the time. Perhaps a bit of time off to relax in the house listening to ‘music, glazba, muzika, musique, música, musica, musik, musik, musiikki, mousikí’ would help them to feel better.
Mae rhai pobl yn meddwl bod y nosweithiau’n well na’r dyddiau, bod y tywyllwch yn cuddio nhw, ond ‘does neb yn gallu osgoi’r saethwyr cudd, dyna beth mae Dad yn ddweud. Hei, dyma sut dych chi’n nabod pwy yw pwy, hyd yn oed o dan lenni’r nos. Wel, ar ôl yr holl drafferth a helynt gyda Tŵr Biblael, drwy’r iaith maen nhw’n defnyddio, dyna sut, os bydd tafod yn eu ceg ta be’. O, ‘nogomet, pêl-droed, fudbal, football, fútbol, calcio, fußball, fotboll, jalkapallo, podósfairo’ – dw i’n casáu’r gêm brydferth o ganlyniad!Some people thing that the evenings are better than the days, that the darkness hides them, but no-one can avoid the sniper, that’s what Dad says. Hey, here’s how you know who’s who, even under cover of darkness. Well, after all the trial and tribulation with the Biblael Tower, by the language they use, that’s how, if they’ve got a tongue in their head anyway. Oh, ‘nogomet, football, fudbal, football, fútbol, calcio, fußball, fotboll, jalkapallo, podósfairo’ – I hate the beautiful game as a result!
A dyna oedd y llanc posh ‘na o’r ochr arall oedd wedi cwympo oddi ar ei fotor-beic ar gwrt blaen y garej ar lan yr afon ar bwys y pinwydd. Ro’n ni’n nabod e, ch’wel, achos fod e’n gwirioni ar ‘yn annwyl chwaer; mae pawb yn sôn amdano fe ar y slei, er iddo fe gael ei eni i deulu sy’n perthyn i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ym mhen tlotaf y dref, ac maen nhw’n dweud, ein dynion ni, fe ddylai fe ladd ei hunan wrth adrodd ei weddïau ffug. Pan wrthododd e (dim syndod yno, ond er fod e mor ddewr, roedd e’n rhegi fel tincer, gw’bod rhai llwon gwych mae’r llanciau ‘na sy’n mynd i wasanaethau’r Eglwys Arall!). Ond ta be’, ro’n nhw’n mynd i ddodi tar a phlu arno fe, y cachgwn o gythreuliaid.And then there was that posh lad from the other side, who’d fallen off his motorbike and the front court of the garage on the bank of the river by the pines. We knew him, y’see, ‘cos he’s mad about my dear sister, everyone’s talking about him on the sly, although he was born into a family that belongs to the World-Wide Church, on the wrong side of the tracks, and they say, our men, that he should kill himself whilst saying his fake prayers. When he refused (no surprise there, but although he’s so brave, he was swearing like the blazes, they do know some great swear-words, those lads who go to services of the Other Church!). But anyway, they were going to tar-and-feather him, those devilish cowards.
Ond fi roddodd ben ar hynny oll drwy sleifio lan ac arllwys petrol dros y llawr, ac wedyn tanio’r hen le a llusgo’r boi ymaith. Mae’n iawn a dweud y gwir, er fod e’n aelod o’r Eglwys Bondigrybwyll. Gymaint ag unrhyw beth arall, dw i’n siŵr bod y chwaer angen tipyn bach o gwmni gan lanc. Merch brydferth yw hi wedi’r cwbl, ac mae pawb angen rhywun ar eu hochr nhw i roi’r byd yn ei le, a ‘neud stwff arall hefyd, hyd yn oed mewn cylchfa ryfel.But it was me who put a stop to all that by sidling up and pouring petrol over the floor, and then setting fire to the old place and dragging the boy off. He’s OK to tell the truth, although he’s a member of the So-Called Church. As much as anything else, I’m sure that my sister wants a bit of company from a boy. She’s a beautiful girl, after all, and everyone needs someone at their side to set the world to rights, and the other stuff too, even in a war-zone.
Gwallt golau sy ‘da fe, tipyn bach o waed Ficingaidd ynddo fe, falle! Deallus iawn, ac yn darllen comics drwy’r amser. Ond mae llawer o broblemau ‘da fe hyd y gwn i. Dw i’n dychmygu fod e’n eitha’ hoff o’r hen fwg drwg, a’r gweddill. Ac ar ben ‘ny, mae e’n ffansïo’n chwaer i, rhywbeth fel ‘na. Dw i’n credu fod e’n ‘sgrifennu cerddi ac yn hala nhw iddi hi. Dyna pam mae Dad yn gasáu fe. ‘Sdim ots ‘da fi am ‘ny, mae’n reit ddewr, licwn i fod yn ffrind iddo fe. Cymaint o gastiau fydden ni’n chwarae ar bawb!He’s got blond hair, bit of Viking blood in him, p’rhaps! Very intelligent, and reads comics all the time. But he’s got lots of problems as far as I know. I imagine he’s quite fond of the old wacky-baccy, and the rest. And on top of that, he fancies my sister, something like that. I think he writes poems and sends them to her. That’s why Dad hates him. I don’t care about that, he’s really brave, I’d like to be a friend of his. How much we’d scam people!
‘Achan, roedd fel afon o ddŵr o’r Hen Lyfr neu rywbeth. Roedd yn lwcus, yn wyrth fach, roedd bocs o fatsis ‘da fi bryd ‘ny achos mod i’n trio rhoi’r gorau i ‘smygu. O, Lushfé a wylai o golli’r frwydr, ro’n nhw’n dawnsio fel crics mewn padell ffrio ar blât poeth wrth drio diffodd y fflamiau. Gan ddefnyddio dŵr, y ffyliaid! Ac yna roedd y ffrwydrad. Bu bron iddo fe hyrddio ni ill dau bant i’r Nw Yrth. Ges i gyfergyd o ana’ i’r pen o achos hynny, siŵr o fod. Sa i’n gallu meddwl reit o hyd. Waeth befo am ‘ny, chwerthin am eu pennau nhw i gyd am oriau o’n i, pan ddes i at ‘y nghoed ta be'!Mate, it was like a river of fire from the Old Book, or something. It was lucky, a small miracle, that I had a box of matches that time, ‘cos I’m tryin’ to give up smokin’. Oh, Lushfé who wept when he lost the battle, they were dancing like crickets in a frying pan on a hot-plate while they tried to put out the flames. Using water, the fools! And then there was the explosion. It almost blasted both of us off to the Nw Yrth. I had concussion from an injury to the head ‘cos of that, probably. I still can’t think right. Never mind about that, I was laughing at them for hours, when I came to my senses anyway!
Ro’n i’n cuddio ynghanol y goedwig binwydd wedi 'nrysu’n llwyr ac yn waed i gyd gyda 'nillad yn rhacs fel mewn rhyw hen ffilm sombi. Fe deimlai fel ‘swn i’n gwisgo sachlen a lludw fel penydiwr bawlyd o’r canol oesoedd yn crefu ar yr Offeiriad mewn Gofal tu blaen i ddrws Tŷ Edifeirwch. Ond nage aelod o’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ‘mo fi, w, hidiwch befo am ‘yn ffrindiau! Llechu, hynny yw, nes iddyn nhw ‘nhal i, gwaetha’r modd. Mae ‘da fi ryw gasgliad o greithiau neis iawn o’r corun i’r sawdl o ganlyniad i’r gurfa ges i. Ond o leia’ do’n i’m mewn sach go iawn i gael ‘y nghuro fel y cryts eraill, y pŵr dabs â nhw! Sa i’n gallu deall, dw i’n casáu’r hen ddiawl, ‘y Nhad, ond mae e’n neud dim ond beth mae’n feddwl yn dda, i’n rhoi i ar ben y ffordd, hynny yw, y ‘cesta, put, drum, chemin, camino, sentiero, pfad, väg, polku, monopáti.’I was hiding in the middle of the pine forest totally confused and covered in blood with my clothes in rags like in some old zombie film. It felt like I was wearing sack-cloth and ashes like a mucky penitent from the middle ages beseeching the Priest-in-Charge in front of the door of the House of Penitence. But I’m not a member of the World-Wide Church, mun, never mind about my friends! Lurking, that is, until they caught me, more’s the pity. I’ve got quite a collection of really nice scars from head to toe as a result of the hiding I had. But at least I wasn’t in a real sack to get beaten like the other kids, the poor dabs! I can’t understand, I hate the old devil, my Dad, but he’s only doing what he thinks is right, in a way, to put me on the right path, that is the ‘cesta, put, drum, chemin, camino, sentiero, pfad, väg, polku, monopáti.’
A dyna air cymhleth i chi, te – ‘dad, tata, tad, babo, papa, papá, papà, papa, pappa, isä, bampás.’ Wel, nage’r enw ei hunan ond y teimladau. Dw i’n medru gweld pa mor anodd yw popeth. Mae’i lygaid mor ddu â lympiau o lo, ac mae wastad yn ffroeni stwff o’r tun tolciog mae’n dod â fe o bant i dalar. Synnwn i’m ‘sai fe’n mynd â fe i’r gwely. Falle fod e’n cynnwys ei enaid. Brwydro dros ryddid a gwirionedd mae e, yr hen wrol ryfelwr. Eisiau cipio’r wlad yn ôl i’r dyfodol. Puro’r tir. Cael gwared ar y paganiaid. Achub y werin. Gadael ei farc ar hanes. Ac mae e yn ddewr, mae e ‘di gweld pethau ofnadw’, mae’n gweiddi amdanyn nhw yn ei gwsg.And there’s a complex word for you – ‘dad, tata, dad, babo, papa, papá, papà, papa, pappa, isä, bampás.’ Well, not the noun itself, but the feelings. I can see how hard everything is. His eyes are as black as lumps of coal, and he’s always snorting stuff from that battered tin he takes with him all over. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took it to bed. Maybe it’s got his soul in it. He’s fighting for freedom and truth, the brave old warrior. Wants to seize the land back for the future. Purify the ground. Get shot of the heathens. Save the people. Leave his mark on history. And he is brave, he’s seen awful things, he shouts about them in his sleep.
Ac wedyn dyna Mam. O’i rhan hi, dyw hi ddim yn gallu peidio pesychu, ac mae hi’n dal i lowcio o’r fflasg boced o arian ‘na. Dw i’n bwrw’r bai ar yr holl chwilod yno yn y ‘sbyty brwnt. Ti’n gallu clywed nhw’n sgrialu drwy’r siafftiau awyr oll, gan gwyno chep-er, chep-er, chep-er ddydd a nos. A sôn am greaduriaid ffiaidd, dyna frawd Dad, neu’n hytrach ‘y Brawd’ gyda’r cwcwll a mantell front, a’r gweddïau, a’r llygaid coch, a’r dwylo ac arnyn nhw ewinedd fel crafangau. Dw i’n weld e’n edrych arna i, gan ysu i ‘neud, wel, sa i eisiau meddwl am beth. Ond fe fydda i’n ‘neud rhywbeth yn ei gylch e, gewch chi weld, fe fydda i’n rhoi rhawaid o halen yn ei botes e ‘to!And then there’s Mam. For her part, she can’t stop coughing, and she keeps on gulping from that silver pocket-flask. I blame all the beetles there in the filthy hospital. You can hear them scuttling through all the air-shafts, whingeing chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, day and night. And talk about vile creatures, there’s Dad’s brother, or rather, ‘the Brother’ with his cowl and dirty robe, and the prayers, and the red eyes, and the hands with their nails like claws. I’ve see him looking at me, itching to do, well, I don’t want to think about what. But I’ll do something about him, you’ll see, I’ll really fix him good and proper yet!
Dw i’n mynd mas gyda Mam bron bob dydd i’r siop lawn silffoedd gwag i aros mewn ciw tu mas i gael dognau. Pethau fel ‘mrkva, šargarepa, moron, carottes, zanahorias, carote, möhren, morötter, porkkanat, karóta.’ ‘Sdim digon o fara i’w gael yn unman – ‘kruh, hljeb, hleb, pain, pan, pane, brot, bröd, leipä, psomi’ – mae pobl yn ymosod ar ei gilydd i gael briwsion, a dim ond ychydig o ddŵr ffres sydd hefyd. Wrth gwrs mae’r trydan wedi mynd ers achau, felly mae canhwyllau’n bwysig ofnadw’. Ac eto i gyd dyna’r sielio di-stop gan fortarau.I go out with Mam almost every day to the shop full of empty shelves to wait in a queue outside to get rations. Things like ‘mrkva, šargarepa, carrots, carottes, zanahorias, carote, möhren, morötter, porkkanat, karóta.’ There’s not enough bread to be had anywhere -- ‘kruh, hljeb, hleb, pain, pan, pane, brot, bröd, leipä, psomí’ – there are people attacking each other to get crumbs, and there’s only a bit of fresh water too. Of course the electric’s been gone for ages, so candles are awfully important. And then again, there’s the non-stop shelling with mortars.
Mae hi wastad yn bwrw glaw yma, hyd yn oed pan fydd yn heulog, ac ym mhob man mae tyllau enfawr llawn gwaed, a dŵr marwaidd, a llaid. Ac o bryd i’w gilydd mae aelodau’r corff ar draws ac ar hyd. Yn wir, dw i wedi gweld nhw, dw i’m yn dweud celwyddau, w! Cariad yw’r Hen Dduwiau, ond mae’n edrych fel ‘sai cariad wedi marw, yn fan ‘yn o leia’. ‘Neno Wezir, y newidiwr ffurf chwedlonol, dw i ‘di bod yn darllen amdano, dw i angen trawsffurfio’n hunan rhywsut neu’i gilydd, fel y galla i ddianc. Dw i eisiau hedfan bant o faes y gad fel rhyw hen gigfran sy’ di cael llond ei bol ar boen a thranc. Ond sa i’n gallu gadael ‘y nghartre’, ‘y nheulu, ‘yn ffrind newydd, alla i? O, a dyna’n Mam, a’r chwaer. Ni allwn i fyw hebddyn nhw, w! Ta be’, nes i ni gwrdd unwaith ‘to yn ein breuddwydion (neu’n hunllefau!), ta-ta tan toc, mêt!It’s always raining here, even when it’s sunny, and everywhere there’s enormous holes full of blood and stagnant water, and mud. And now’n’then there’s body-parts all over the place. Really, I’ve seen ‘em, I’m not telling lies, mun! The Old Gods are Love, but it looks like love’s dead, here, anyway! In the name of Wezir, the fabled shape-shifter, I’ve been reading about him, I need to transform myself somehow or other, so I can escape. I want to fly off from the battle-field like some old raven who’s had a gutful of pain and death. But I can’t leave my home, my family, my new friend, can I? And, Oh, there’s my Mam, and my sis. I couldn’t live without them, mun! Anyway, till we meet again in our dreams (or our nightmares!), ta-ta for now, mate!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 8

Pennod Deuddeg: Dychmygu (Lleisiau 8) / Imagining (Voices 8)

Yn ôl theorïau cyfoes, fel bodau dynol, yr ydym ni’n creu synnwyr dirwedd a ellir ei rannu gan bobl eraill, trwy ddehongli synhwyrion allanol. Dyma’r ‘byd canfyddedig.’ Ar y llaw arall, trwy ddychmygu yr ydym ni’n llunio delweddau, syniadau, a theimladau yn y meddwl, heb ddefnyddio synhwyrion yn uniongyrchol, i greu synnwyr realiti personol, mewnol. Dyma’r ‘byd dychmygol.’ Mewn rhai cyflyrau meddyliol, bydd yn anodd gwahaniaethu rhwng y byd canfyddedig, a’r byd dychmygol. Ar ben hynny, rhai systemau cred sydd yn honni mai rhith yw’r holl fyd canfyddedig beth bynnag; ac mae sawl diwylliant yn credu bod bydoedd dychmygol yr un mor real â’r byd canfyddedig. Er sylwadau o’r fath, mae dychmygu’n ein helpu i ddysgu pethau newydd, cyfuno profiadau amrywiol, a defnyddio gwybodaeth. Gallwn ni hyfforddi’r dychymyg trwy chwedleua, gwrando ar straeon, ac actio. Bydd maint dychymyg person a gynyddir trwy gymryd cyffuriau seicedelig, neilltuol; ymarfer myfyrio neu ddefnyddio hypnosis; ynteu gael ysgogi’r ymennydd gan drydan, er enghraifft. Ymhellach, ymddengys bod cofio a dychmygu’n effeithio ar ei gilydd. Fel rheol (ac wrth ddwyn mewn cof effeithiau sawl cyflwr meddyliol), ni fydd pobl yn gadael i’w dychmygion effeithio’n ormod ar eu gweithredoedd; ond eu credau, i’r gwrthwyneb, a fydd yn llywio’n gryf sut y byddant yn ymddwyn. Wedi dweud hynny, am na chyfyngir dychmygu gan ffactorau allanol, fe allant ddwyn pleser enfawr o bryd i’w gilydd; ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn bosibl dioddef o bryderon dychmygol, erchyll, hefyd. Wedi dweud hynny, am na chyfyngir dychmygu gan ffactorau allanol, fe all ddwyn pleser enfawr o bryd i’w gilydd; ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn bosibl dioddef o bryderon dychmygol, erchyll, hefyd.

According to current theories, as human beings, we create a sense of reality that can be shared with other people, through interpreting external sense-data. This is the ‘perceived world.’ On the other hand, through imagining we fashion images, ideas, and feelings in the mind, without using sense-data directly, to create an internal, personal, sense of reality. This is the ‘imagined world.’ In some mental conditions, it is difficult to differentiate between the perceived world and the imagined world. On top of that, there are some belief-systems which claim that the whole perceived world is an illusion in any case; and several cultures believe that imaginary worlds are just as real as the perceived world. Observations of this kind notwithstanding, imagining helps us to learn new things, integrate varied experiences, and use information. We can train the imagination through tale-telling, listening to stories, and acting. The extent of a person’s imagination is increased through taking particular psychedelic drugs; practising meditation or using hypnosis; or having the brain stimulated with electricity, for example. Furthermore, it appears that remembering and imagining affect each other. Usually (and bearing in mind the effects of several mental conditions), people do not allow their imaginations effect their actions too much; but their beliefs, to the contrary, strongly steer how they behave. Having said that, since imagining is not restricted by external factors, it can bring enormous pleasure from time to time; but, then again, it is possible to suffer from terrible imaginary worries, also.

O, Jelena, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona: ‘yn chwaer, ‘y nghysgod, ‘y nghryfder, ‘y ngofid, ‘y mywyd! Mae hi ‘di bod yn warchodwraig mor rhadlon, a solet, a chyfareddol (neu falle byddai’n well dweud ceidwad y carchar, a dweud y gwir) drwy gydol ‘yn oes hyd yn ‘yn. Dw i’n ei chofio hi’n sleifio rownd y drws, i syllu arna i’n dosturiol ond llawn chariad, a finnau’n ddim ond crwt drewllyd oedd newydd ddihuno o hunllef unwaith eto, wedi pisio’r gwely.Oh, Jelena, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona: my sister, my shadow, my strength, my trouble, my life! She’s been such a gracious, and solid, and enchanting custodian (or perhaps it would be better to say jail-keeper, to tell the truth) all my life up to now. I remember her sidling round the door, to stare at me with pity but full of love, when I was but a stinky kid who’d just awoken from a nightmare once again, having peed the bed.
Dw i ‘di bod mor ffodus achos bod hi ‘di bod yn ‘y ngharco i bob amser ar ôl i Mam fynd i gysgu am byth. Ac mae hi mor brydferth, jyst fel Mam, ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, mae hi’n gallu bihafio fel rhyw fath o anghenfil arallfydol, y gysgadures yn y fagddu, y llechwraig yn y cysgodion, fydd yn mynd yn gacwn gwyllt os bydd unrhyw un yn ceisio’n hanafu ni. Wrth gwrs, dyna oedd cyn i fi ddarganfod sut i fwrw hud, i ‘neud i bethau ddigwydd, ‘yn amddiffyn ‘yn hunan rhag mynachod ffiaidd ac ysbrydion drwg, gan gael be’ dw i eisiau, ran fwya’r amser o leia’. Mae rhyw Hen Filwr (sa i’n gw’bod ei enw go iawn, ffrind i Dad), wedi bod yn ‘nysgu i pan fydd Dad bant. Cymhleth iawn ydy, cofiwch chi!I’ve been so fortunate ‘cos she’s always been caring for me after Mam went to sleep for ever. And she’s so beautiful, just like Mam, but despite that, she can behave like some kind of alien monster, the sleeper in the pitch-dark, the lurker in the shadows, who’ll go raving nuts if anyone tries to harm us. Of course, that was before I discovered how to do magic, to make things happen, defend myself from vile monks and evil spirits, getting what I want, most of the time at least. Some Old Soldier (I dunno his real name, friend of Dad’s), has been teaching me when Dad’s off. It’s really complicated, believe me!
Wel, dyna ni. Dyn ni i gyd yn tyfu i lan mor gyflym, on’d ydyn ni? Merch dal, gref, osgeiddig yw hi bellach, fydd yn gadael y nyth yn ddigon buan. Wi’n credu bydd hi’n mynd bant gyda’n ffrind y Ficing achos bod pawb angen rhywun ar eu hochr nhw i roi’r byd yn ei le, a’r gweddill, pan fyddan nhw’n dod yn oedolion, ac mae hi’n ‘sgrifennu cerddi ac yn hala nhw ato fe ar y slei bach. Mae hi’n gwirioni arno fe, dyna’r peth, mae hi ‘di cwympo dros ei phen a’i chlustiau mewn cariad â’r hen gono. Dyna beth mae’n ysbïwyr i, y ddwy gigfran gall ond chwit-chwat, Cof a Meddwl, yn ddweud wrtha i, ta be’.Well, there we are. We’re all growing up so quick, aren’t we? She’s a tall, strong, graceful girl now, who’ll be flying the nest soon enough. I think she’ll be going off with my friend the Viking because everyone needs someone besides them to set the world to rights, and the rest, when they get to be adults, and she writes poems and sends them to him on the sly. She’s mad for him, that’s the thing, she’s fallen head over heels in love with the old bugger. That’s what my spies, the two wise but unreliable ravens, Thought and Memory, tell me, anyway.
O’r braidd galla i ddychmygu bod hebddi hi, be’ fydda i’n mynd i ‘neud? Ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn rhaid i fywyd fynd yn ei flaen, on’ bydd, a gyda problemau daw cyfleoedd. Falle os dianc a ‘naiff hi, wel, wedyn, siŵr o fod, fe alla i gael hyd i ferch arall yn rhywle draw dros yr enfys, hyd yn oed os bydd yn rhaid i fi hwylio yno mewn llong Ficingaidd heb gymorth neb arall, neu hedfan ar ‘yn liwt ‘yn hun ar ryw wely wedi’i hyrddio yno gan ffrwydrad anferth! Wedi’r cwbl, chwaer hyfryd yw un peth, ond llawer gwell fyddai Tywysoges yn y cnawd, y peth go iawn, reit? O, fy Morwyn Ddihalog wedi’i bendigo saith gwaith, dere di ata i, eich Tywysog Swynol sy’n disgwyl!I can scarcely imagine being without her, what am I going to do? But then again, life must go on, mustn’t it, and with problems come opportunities. P’rhaps if she does escape, well, then, probably, I can find another girl somewhere over the rainbow, even if I have to sail there in a Viking ship without anyone else’s help, or fly under my own steam on some bed which gets flung there by a humungous explosion. After all, a lovely sister is one thing, but lots better would be a Princess in the flesh, the real deal, right? Oh, my Immaculate Virgin, seven-times blessed, come to me, your Charming Prince who awaits!
Fe fydd hi’n ferch mor bert, mor glyfar, mor bell, ac fe fydda i’n dwlu arni hi mor frwd. Nyrs neu rywbeth fel ‘ny, yr un ffunud â Mam sy wedi mynd, fydd hi, ta be’. Dw i’m yn nabod hi ‘to, er mod i’n breuddwydio amdani hi bob nos. Pan gwrddwn ni â’n gilydd am y tro cynta’, fe fydda i’n honni’r hawl i aros yno gyda hi, yn y tŵr o berl, mewn gwlad yn bell dros y môr, ble bynnag bydd ‘ny, ac fe fydd hi’n ‘y nghymryd i dan ei hadain fel ‘sai hi’n rhyw angel arallfydol.She’ll be a girl so pretty, so clever, so distant, and I’ll dote on her so fervently. She’ll be a nurse, or something like that, the spitting image as Mam who’s gone away, anyway. I don’t know her yet, although I dream about her every night. When we meet each other for the first time, I’ll claim the right to stay with her, in the tower of pearl, in a land far over the sea, wherever that shall be. And she’ll take me under her wind as if she was an angel from another world.
Ac yno fe fyddwn ni’n prancio, dan y pinwydd bythwyrdd yn nolau lledrithiol Aberdydd, o ble ddaeth ‘y nghyndadau’n wreiddiol, neu i ble aethon nhw, y wlad ‘na llawn pwcaod, a bendith y mamau, ac uncyrn, a chorachod, a chewri. Yn y dechrau, bydd hi’n bihafio’n debyg i chwaer hŷn, gan edrych ar ‘yn ôl i, ond wedyn, sawl mis yn hwyrach, bydd hi’n gwylltio arna i bob tro bydda i’n siarad lol. Ac wedyn, bydd hi’n dianc oddi wrtha i, gan redeg bant pan fydda i’n dynesu, dim ond i gwrsio ar ‘yn ôl i pan fydda i’n encilio.And there we’ll cavort under the evergreen pines in the phantom vales of Aberdydd, where my ancestors came from originally, or where they went to, in that land full of goblins, and fairy-folk, and unicorns, and dwarves, and giants. To begin with, she’ll behave like an older sister, looking after me, and then, several months late, she’ll get angry with me every time I talk nonsense. And then she’ll escape from me, running off when I get closer, only to chase after me when I retreat.
Fe all hi ddarllen ‘yn meddyliau, gan drio dod o hyd i’r holl gyfrinachau ynghylch ‘y mhersonoliaeth sy wedi’u cuddio mor ddwfn tu mewn i fi, fel ‘sai pwerau sbesial ‘da hi. Fe fydd hi’n adrodd chwedlau mor rhyfedd wrtha i, am garu, ac am dranc, ac yn ‘neud pethau secsi, y genawes fach, ac fe fydda i’n dwlu ar siarad â hi gymaint! Fydda i byth eisiau gadael ei hochr.She’ll be able to read my thoughts, trying to find all the secrets about my personality that have been hidden so deep inside me, like she has some special powers. She’ll recite such strange tales to me, about love-making, and about death, and do sexy things, the little vixen, and I’ll love talking to her so much! I’ll never want to leave her side.
Ac fe fyddwn ni’n chwarae gemau gyda’n gilydd – rwy’n dy garu di, sa i’n dy garu di, dw i’n dy garu di, nid wyf yn dy garu -- yr un peth drosodd a thro. Falle fydda i byth yn ei deall yn llwyr, achos bydd hi mor ddwys, mor ddifrifol, o bryd i’w gilydd. Ond fydd hi’m yn bosib cadw ‘yn hunan rhag meddwl amdani hi, ac fe fydd ‘y nheimladau ati’n tyfu bob dydd.And we’ll play games with each other – I love you, I love you not, I do love you, no I don’t love you – the same thing over and again. I’ll never understand her completely, as she’s so intense, so serious, sometimes. But I shan’t be able to keep myself from thinking about her, and my feelings towards her’ll grow stronger every day.
Heb gysgod o amheuaeth bydd hi eisiau symbylu’n ffyniant emosiynol, gan ‘yn helpu i i drawsffurfio’n llid yn heddwch, ac mae pawb yn dweud bod y fath beth yn bwysig iawn. A wi’n dychmygu bydd hi’n edrych arna i mor astud ar achlysuron, fel Meddyliaethydd proffesiynol, ond wedyn ‘y ngwawdio fi nes i fi bron â wylo.Without a shadow of a doubt she’ll want to urge on my emotional development, helping me to transform my anger into peacefulness, and everyone says that that kind of thing is very important. And I imagine she’ll look at me so intently on occasions, like a professional Mentalist, but then mock me until I almost cry.
Cyn gofyn i’w rhieni hi, y Dewin a’r Foneddiges, am ganiatâd i’w phriod i falle bydd yn rhaid i fi ddiodde’ diheurbrawf fel yn yr Hen Lyfr, gan roi’n llaw mewn dŵr berwedig, neu ddal haearn poeth. Bydd fel ‘sai hi’n ‘yn rhoi i ar brawf, gyda help ei frawd y Ficing, a bydda i angen ymladd gornestau yn erbyn gelynion erchyll fel yr Offeiriad Coch, a mynd i gyrchu pethau fel Pair Dadeni, Cleddyf Sorakados, y Siaced Fraith, a’r Seint Greal.Before asking her parents, the Wizard and the Lady, for permission to marry her perhaps I’ll have to undergo trial-by-ordeal like in the Old Book, putting my hand in boiling water, or holding onto hot iron. It’ll be like she’s put me to the test, with the help of her brother, the Viking, and I’ll need to fight contests against terrible enemies like the Red Priest, and go in quest of things like the Cauldron of Rebirth, the Sword of Sorakados, the Coat-of-Many-Colours, and the Holy Grail.
Ac wedyn pan fydda i wedi mynd â hi, fel marchog ar farch gwyn, fe fydda i’n ennill ei serch a chipio ei chalon hefyd. Wedi’r cwbl, a ddioddefws a orfu, medd rhywun, yr Hen Filwr ‘na, siŵr o fod. Ac yn y pen draw, fe fydd hi’n ildia i’n swyn i, ac fe fyddwn ni’n priodi, heb glebran am fabis a theuluoedd, fel gallwn ni garu, a charu, a dyna ni’n cwtsio a chusanu’n ffyrnig fel yn y ffilmiau gwirion ‘na i gyd! O, hir yw pob aros yn wir!And then when I’ve seized the day, like a knight in shining armour, I’ll win her love, and snatch her heart too. After all, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, says someone, that Old Soldier, probably. And in the end, she’ll yield to my charms, and we’ll marry, without blathering on about babies and families, so that we shall be able to make love, and then some more, cuddling and kissing like in all those soppy films! Oh, waiting is such sweet sorrow indeed!
Sa i’n medru darogan y dyfodol, dyw ‘ny ddim yn un o’n aml dalent (a dyna lawn cystal, sbo!), ond dyna ‘mreuddwyd gyson. Dyw’r hud ddim yn gweithio drwy’r amser, dyna’r unig broblem, y drwg yn y caws, ond rhaid i fi roi cynnig arni. Amser y lleuad lawn fydd orau iddi, a dyna pan fydd Dad bant, hefyd, diolch byth. Mae e’n mynd yn waeth drwy’r amser, yr hen fwli. Falle fe fydd e’n cael ei ladd y tro hwn, a daw yn ôl mewn bag corff. Teg dweud nage ceisio dod â fe’n ôl a wna i os dyna fydd yn digwydd!I can’t predict the future, that isn’t one of my many talents (and that’s just as well, s’pose!), but that’s my constant dream. The magic doesn’t work all the time, that’s the only problem, the fly in the ointment, but I’ve got to give it a whirl. Time of the full moon’s best for it, and that’s when Dad’ll be off, too, thank goodness. He’s getting worse all the time, the old bully. Maybe he’ll get killed this time, and come back in a body-bag. Fair to say I won’t be trying to bring him back if that’s what happens.
Ddylwn i’m gwastraffu amser, dyna beth mae’r Hen Filwr yn ddweud. A’r cam cynta’ yw meddwl am be’ ti eisiau mor galed ag fe allwch chi. Dw i angen bod yn ofalus, ‘te, gyda be’ wi’n meddwl amdano fe, achos bod ‘y mreuddwydion wastad yn tueddu i ddod yn wir. Dw i’n dod yn gyfarwydd â’r defodau nawr, a’r geiriau hud, a’r torri ‘yn hunan, a’r gwaed. Ac fe wn i bydda i’n teimlo sâl fel ci ar ôl cwpla, fe ‘swn i wedi marw, mewn ffordd, felly well i’r seremoni lwyddo. Tybed fydd y ddau ddymuniad yn cyfri’ fel un, w? Dal gafael yn y chwaer a hefyd cael hyd i gariad? Wel, fe fydda i’n byw mewn gobaith. Ta ta tan toc. Gadewch i ni weld, fel y dywedan nhw, yr hen frithgi di, w!I shouldn’t waste time, that’s what the Old Soldier says. And the first step is thinking about what I want as hard as you can. I gotta be careful, then, with what I think about, as my dreams always tend to come true. I’m getting used to the rituals now, and the magic words, and the cutting myself, and the blood. And I know I’ll feel sick as a dog after finishing, like I’ve died, in a way, so the ceremony’d better succeed. I wonder if the two wishes count as one, mun? Keeping hold of the sis and getting a girl too? Well, I’ll live in hope. Bye-bye for now. Let us see, as they say, you old mongrel, you!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 9

Pennod Tri Ar Ddeg: Esbonio (Lleisiau 9) / Explaining (Voices 9)

“Pa mor debyg i ddyddiau mis yw penodau’n hoedlau? … Dim ond cysgodion ein gweithrediadau barddol ydy’r meddyliau wedi’u mynegi trwy gyfrwng rhyddiaith … Ond er llenyddiaeth oll y Ddau Fyd, byw bywyd yn ddewr a heb ofn yw’r peth pwysicaf.” – o ‘Barddoni a Byw’ gan Yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar. “Trwy ddyfeisio, creasai ef egwyddor dirwedd.” – o ‘Pendil Foucault’ gan Umberto Eco.

“How like the days of a month are the episodes of our lives? … Only shadows of our poetic activities are the thoughts expressed through the medium of prose … But despite all the literature of the Two Worlds, living life bravely and without fear is the most important thing” – from ‘Poetry-making and Living’ by Professor Jelena Pekar. “Inventing, he had created the principle of reality.” – from “Foucault’s Pendulum” by Umberto Eco.

Cyn dechrau ar y trywydd troellog hwn, mae arnaf angen dweud bod pob gair yn yr adrodd hwn yn dod yn syth o geg y claf ei hun, y glaslanc gofidus a oedd yn defnyddio’r enw Daud Pekar (1978 – 2000) pan gyrhaeddodd y Clinig, ond a ddewisodd fabwysiadu’r enw amgen David Baxter o hynny ymlaen. Ond wedi dweud hynny, efallai mai gwell fyddai dweud mai’n ‘preswyliwr blaenaf’ ydoedd, ynteu’r ‘prif gymeriad’ yn y ddrama hon. Ar wahân i’w eiriau ei hun, nid oes fodd arall o wybod beth oedd cefndir y digwyddiadau a adroddir yma, gan fod y cymeriadau eraill un ai’n gwrthod, ynteu fethu, tystio.Before beginning on this twisting trail, I need to say that evey word in this report comes straight from the mouth of the patient himself, the troubled youth who was using the name Daud Pekar (1978 – 2000) when he arrived at the Clinic, but who chose to adopt the alternative name David Baxter from then on. But having said that, perhaps it would be better to say that he was our ‘formost resident,’ or the ‘main character’ in this drama. Apart from his own words, there is no other way to know what was the background to the events that are reported here, because the other characters either refuse, or are unable, to testify.
Cafodd, felly, y cymeriad o’r enw Daud, ei eni a’i fagu yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol, sydd wedi datblygu i fod y Wladwriaeth Ddwyreiniol Annibynnol bellach. Roedd Ivan, Tad Daud, yn ddeliwr cyffuriau adloniadol trwy’r cyfandir; a dyn treisgar, byrbwyll, heb asgwrn graslon yn perthyn iddo ydoedd yn wir. Pan na fyddai’n cludo’r sylweddau na’u gwerthu, fe lyncai feintiau anferth ohonynt. Pa beth bynnag oedd ei gymelliadau, lluniodd gyfundrefn gymhleth o ddefodau, wedi’u seilio ar goelion a ddaeth o hyd iddynt yn Hen Lyfrau Llên o bedwar ban byd, y byddai’n eu dwyn, a’u gwerthu ar y farchnad ddu. Saith oed oedd amser colynnol i Daud, pan ddaeth yr Annwyl Arweinydd i rym yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol. Gyda rhyfel ar yr orwel, aeth Ivan i gredu mai aberth dynol fyddai modd i ddod yn anfarwol. Ond gan ei fod mor ffwndrus wrth berfformio’r seremoni briodol, fe drosglwyddodd ei fywydau hudol i gyd i’w fab.So, the character named Daud was born and brought up in the Old Eastern Kingdom, which has become the Independent Eastern Commonwealth now. Ivan, Daud’s father, was a dealer in recreational drugs throughout the continent; and indeed he was a violent, rash man, without a gracious bone in his body. When he was not transporting or selling the substances, he would be imbibing enormous quantities of them. Whatever were his motives, he fashioned a complex system of rituals, based on beliefs he found in Old Books of Lore from the four corners of the world, which he would steal, and sell on the black market. Seven years old was a pivotal time to Daud, when the Beloved Leader came to power in the Old Eastern Kingdom. With war on the horizon, Ivan came to believe that human sacrifice would be a way to become immortal. But since he was so befuddled while performing the appropriate ceremony, he transferred all his magical lives to his son.
Daeth Ivan yn hurfilwr yng Nghalon y Cyfandir pan gychwynnodd y rhyfel yno, ac fe’i hadwaenid fel ‘Jak Mali Vrag’ (‘Ellyllyn Cryf’). Gorfodwyd y Daud ifanc, ar achlysuron, i fod yn dyst i erchyllterau gan ei Dad, pan rwymid plant o deuluoedd oedd yn dilyn dysgeidiaeth y Broffwydes mewn sachau (neu’n aml, mewn gorchuddion cwilt), cyn cael eu colbio neu’u gwanu gan aelodau’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang a’r Eglwys Annibynnol ill ddau. Ar adegau, yr oedd rhaid i’r bachgen gael gwared â’r offer gwaedlyd, a, gwael dweud, hyd yn oed y celanedd. Trwy weddill ei oes fer, dioddefai Daud gan hunllefau gwael o ganlyniad i’r digwyddiadau hyn. Gadewch inni beidio ag anghofio, ar y llaw arall, wrth reswm, mai Dilynwyr y Broffwydes a gyflwynai erchyllterau hefyd yn eu tro. Byddent yn rhoddi plant aelodau’r Eglwys yn gwisgo gŵn nosys hen-ffasiwn nes iddynt ymddangos fel penydwyr, mewn magnel, a’u taflu nhw trwy’r awyr i’w tranc.Ivan became a soldier-of-fortune in the Heart of the Continent when the war began there, and he was known as ‘Jak Mali Vrag’ (‘Strong Little Demon’). The young Daud was compelled, on occasions, to be a witness to atrocities by his Father, when children from families who followed the teachings of the Seeress were bound in sacks (or often, in quilt covers), before being beaten or stabbed both by members of the World-Wide Church and the Independent Church. On occasions, the boy had to get rid of the bloody instruments, and, terrible to say, even the corpses. Throughout the remainder of his short life, Daud would suffer from terrible nightmares as a result of these events. Let us not forget, on the other hand, of course, that the Followers of the Seeress also executed atrocities in their turn. They would place children of Church members wearing old-fashioned night-gowns so that they looked like penitents, in a trebuchet, and throw them through the air to their destruction.
Gwelodd Daud bai arno’i hun am farwolaeth ei Fam (a oedd yn gweithio fel nyrs), wedi dechrau’r rhyfel yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol. Yr oedd problemau difrifol wedi digwydd pan y’i ganwyd, ac yr oedd ei Fam yn sâl iawn byth oddi ar hynny. Fe gredai Daud fod rhyw Dduwdod wedi troi ei gefn arno (nid ydym wedi gallu canfod hyd yn hyn pa un yr oedd yn sôn amdano ar y pryd). Felly y datblygodd gasineb tuag at grefydd, er iddo ofni eto bechod a dialedd, a pharhau i wlychu’r gwely; o’r herwydd fe’i cosbwyd yn ddiarbed gan ei Dad. Er popeth oedd wedi digwydd, maentumiodd y mab ei fod yn parchu’r Tad, wrth ei gasáu’n gydamserol, gan mai ‘rhyfelwr dros ryddid’ ydoedd, a oedd yn ceisio gwella’r Ddaear (ynteu’r rhan ohoni yng nghyfyl Calon y Cyfandir o leiaf) trwy gymorth grymoedd arallfydol. Ac yn ôl yr hanes, dysgodd Daud gryn gyfrinachau trwy wylio’i Dad.Daud blamed himself for the death of his Mother (who was working as a nurse), after the start of the war in the Old Eastern Kingdom. Serious problems had occurred when he was born and his Mother was very ill after then. Daud believed that some Divinity had turned his back on him (we have not been able to discern up to now which one he was talking about at the time). So he developed a hated towards religion, although he yet feared sin and retribution, and continued to wet the bed; because of this he was punished relentlessly by his Father. Despite everything that would happen from then on, the son maintained that he respected the father, whilst hating him simultaneously, as he was a ‘freedom-fighter’, who was trying to improve the Earth (or the part of it in the vicinity of the Heart of the Continent at least) through the help of otherworldly forces. And according to the tale, Daud learned considerable secrets by watching his Father.
Ar ôl tranc ei Fam, gwarchodasid Daud gan ei chwaer, Jelena, enw, wrth gwrs, sy’n golygu ‘pinwydden fenyw’ (neu ‘ewig’) yn eu mamiaith. Ni fuasai neb o’i gwmpas yn dweud mai ‘hollol normal’ oedd ef; a chyffesu’r gwirionedd, byddent wedi dweud ei fod yn ‘dipyn o 'deryn,’ a rhy amlwg imi oedd ganddo broblemau cymdeithasol o ryw fath. Ac yna – trychineb yn dilyn yn dynn ar sodlau anhap – derbyniodd ef yn sgil yr arswydau oll, gynghori dwys gan ei ewythr, mynach yr Eglwys Annibynnol o’r Frawdoliaeth Gycyllog, a geisiodd ei gam-drin yn rhywiol.After the demise of his Mother, Daud was looked after by his sister, Jelena, a name, of course, which means ‘female pine’ (or ‘doe’) in their mother-tongue. No-one around him would have said that he was ‘totally normal’; and to confess the truth, they would have said he was a ‘bit of a lad,’ and it was only too obvious to me that he had social problems of some kind. And then – disaster following hard on the heels of misfortune – he received in the wake of all the other horrors, intensive counselling from his uncle, a monk of the Independent Church in the Cowled Brotherhood, who tried to sexually abuse him.
Oherwydd ei hanes, diarddelodd Daud drais, a daeth yn ‘filwr o heddychwr’ pan oedd tua 13 oed, yn hytrach na dilyn camre ei Dad, gan geisio achub bywydau bob adeg y gallai. Enillodd, yn ei farn, lawer o lwyddiannau trwy gymorth hud defodol wedi’i seilio ar ymarferion Ivan, a alwai ar i fodau rhyfedd ymrithio – endidau, fodd bynnag, a archai iawndal drudfawr yn y pen draw.Due to his history, Daud disavowed violence, and became a ‘pacifist fighter’ when he was 13, rather than following in his Father’s footsteps, trying to save lives every time he could. He secured, in his opinion, many successes through the help of ritual magic based on Ivan’s practices, which would summon strange beings to materialize – entities, however, which would seek very costly recompense in the end.
Y pryd hynny, roedd llanc dieithr o’r enw Stjepan Velikičovjek (‘Steffan Grossmann’), o’r Dywysogaeth Orllewinol Deyrngar, oedd yn aelod o’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang, yn byw mewn tlodi ger teulu Daud. Yr oedd arno eisiau ei ladd ei hun o ganlyniad i broblemau personol, mwy na thebyg, ac roedd yn cael ei fwlian yn enbyd hefyd gan Ivan a’r milwyr eraill. Yn ystod Brwydr y Llwyn Pinwydd, cipiodd Daud Stjepan o safn angau (sef ‘afon o dân’ o faint y darlledid amdano yn yr Hen Lyfr), ac aeth y ddau ymlaen i fod yn ffrindiau gorau, a chael llawer mwy o anturiaethau gyda’i gilydd.At that time, there was a foreign lad named Stjepan Velikičovjek (‘Steffan Grossmann’), from the Faithful Western Principality, who was a member of the World-Wide Church, living in poverty near Daud’s family. He wanted to kill himself as a result of personal problems, more than likely, and he was also bullied awfully by Ivan and the other soldiers. During the Battle of the Pine-Grove, Daud snatched Stjepan from the jaws of death (namely a ‘river of fire’ of proportions one would read about in the Old Book), and the two went on to be best friends, and have many more adventures together.
Noswyl pen-blwydd Daud yn 17 oed, lladdwyd ei Dad, ar ôl i fagl ffŵl a oedd wedi’i gosod dan ei fan ffrwydro y tu allan i Dŵr y Tŷ Glas yn y Weriniaeth Ddeheuol Niwtral. Er i’r mab, a oedd yno ar y pryd dim ond oblegid taerineb y dyn hŷn, oroesi’r ffrwydrad, anafwyd ef yn ddifrifol. O hynny ymlaen, fe brofai weledigaethau afieithus o achos y feddyginiaeth boen a gymerai.On the eve of Daud’s 17th birthday, his Father was killed, after a booby-trap that had been placed under his van exploded outside the Blue House Tower in the Neutral Southern Principality. Although the son, who was there at the time only at the insistence of the older man, survived the explosion, he was seriously injured. From then on, he would experience rapturous visions because of the pain medication he was taking.
Yr oedd Daud wedi dod i’r casgliad mai Aberdydd, y dref honno dros y môr a sefydlasid gan y Llychlynwyr ganrifoedd yn ôl, oedd cartref i’w wir berthnasau. Yr oedd wedi darllen llawer iawn am ein hanes, diwylliant, iaith, arferiadau, ac yn y blaen, gan benderfynu y byddai’n lle eithriadol o ddiddorol i fyw ynddo.Daud had come to the conclusion that Aberdydd, that town overseas that had been founded by the Norsemen centuries ago, was home to his true relatives. He had read a very great deal about our history, culture, language, customs, and so on, deciding that it would be an exceptionally interesting place to live in.
Daeth yr amddifad yn syth i Gymru’n ffoaduriaid, lle roedd yn byw dan y ffugenw ‘David Baxter.’ Trefnwyd popeth gan yr Hen Filwr, dan gochl dirgelwch llwyr, mewn stori glogyn a chyllell yn cynnwys defodau hudol ac aberth dynol, petasai dyn yn coelio’i ddisgrifiadau. Nifer ffodus ac anffodus i’n harwr Daud (ynteu David), ydoedd 17, felly.The orphan came straight to Wales as a refugee, where he was living under the pseudonym ‘David Baxter.’ Everything was arranged by the Old Soldier, under a cover of complete secrecy, in a cloak-and-dagger story involving magical rituals and human sacrifice, it one were to believe his descriptions. Seventeen was a number both fortunate and unfortunate for our hero Daud (or David), therefore.
Serch hynny oll, athrylith o fachgen oedd ef. Cyn ymadael â’i gartref, ei brif bleser fyddai cuddio yn yr ystafell wely gan wrando ar raglennu radio gan ein Hasiantaeth Ddarlledu Annibynnol Genedlaethol i ddysgu’n heniaith, Esboniodd ei fod yn teimlo mai blas hynafol ond cyfoes sydd arni, a edy i siaradwyr rhugl afael mewn rhyw rym hudol a wnelo â goroesi tranc ac ailgyfodi’r meirwon – campau a ddigwydd yn aml yn yr hen chwedlau, ac yn ei hoff nofelau graffig hefyd.Despite all that, he was a boy genius. before leaving his home, his chief pleasure would be hiding in the bedroom listening to radio programmes from our National Independent Broadcasting Agency to learn our archaic tongue. He explained that he felt it has an ancient yet contemporary flavour, which allows fluent speakers to grasp some magical power to do with surviving annihilation and resurrecting the dead – feats which happen often in the old tales, and in his favourite graphic novels too.
Fel yr wyf eisoes wedi egluro, yr oedd Daud yn gwirioni ar bopeth ynghylch Aberdydd, gan lyncu gwybodaeth cyn cyrraedd, ac ar ôl. Dyna pam mae cymaint o gyfeiriadau at Neuadd y Delweddau (‘Neuadd Aberdydd’ o hyn ymlaen) yn y penawdau fydd yn dilyn. Honnai fod tŵr Neuadd Aberdydd yn ei atgoffa o eiddo’r Tŷ Glas o hen fri yn y Weriniaeth Ddeheuol Niwtral. Yn wir, wedi ymsefydlu yma, ni allai ei atal ei hun rhag ymweld â’r lle sanctaidd hwn (yn ei dyb o leiaf). Wrth gwrs yr oedd yn credu mai dim ond efelychiad gwan o’r un o iawn yw Neuadd y Murluniau yma yn y plasty, gan fynegi’i farn mewn iaith halier bob tro y deuai i gwrdd â mi. A pham mae hyn? Gan fod y lluniau ar furiau’r Neuadd yn y dref yn fwy tebyg i gartwnau mewn rhyw lyfr comics penodol, na’r eiddom ni!As I have already explained, Daud doted on everything concerning Aberdydd, wolfing down information before arriving, and after. That is why there are so many references to the Hall of the Images (‘Aberdydd Hall’) in the chapters which will follow. He would claim that the tower of Aberdydd Hall reminded him of that of the Blue House of old renown in the Neutral Southern Principality. Indeed, having established himself here, he could not stop himself from visiting this sacred place (in his opinion at least). Of course, he thought that the Hall of the Murals here in the mansion is only a pale imitation of the real one, expressing his opinion in choice language every time he would come to meet with me. And why is this? Because the pictures on the walls of the Hall in the town are more like cartoons in some particular comic book, than ours!
Dyma sut y datblyga’r stori. Angenrheidiol cofio, fodd bynnag, mai dim ond brithgof o gyrbibion o’r gwir hanes yw’r nodiadau hyn i gyd. Nodwch, hefyd, os gwelwch chi’n dda, fod persbectif y naratif wedi newid bellach. Mwyach, gwelwn ni ddigwyddiadau’r gorffennol yng Nghalon y Cyfandir wedi’u traethu o safbwynt cymeriad o’r enw David Baxter sydd newydd gyrraedd y Clinig yma yn Aberdydd, ac yn edrych yn ôl dros olygfeydd o’i hen fywyd. Ac afraid dweud, fe fydd cydnabyddion newydd sbon David, sef Steffan, Helen, ac ati, a’u hanesion, eu gobeithion, eu gofidiau, a’u hawyddau, yr holl sefyllfa hynny yw, yn dylanwadu ar ei atgofion – ac ar sut y bydd yn ymddwyn – o hyn ymlaen.This is how the story develops. It is essential to remember, however, that all these notes are but a faded memory of fragments of the true tale. Note, also, if you please, that the perspective of the narrative has changed now. Henceforth, we shall see events of the past in the Heart of the Continent, narrated from the point of view of a character called David Baxter who has just arrived at the Clinic here in Aberdydd, and is looking back over scenes from his former life. And, needless to say, David’s brand-new acquaintances, namely Steffan, Helen, and so on, and their stories, their hopes, their worries, and their desires, the whole situation that is, will influence his memories – and how he behaves – from now on.

Pennod Pedwar Ar Ddeg: Cyfieithu (Lleisiau 10) / Translating (Voices 10)

Yn y bôn, mae siambr atsain acwstig yn lle gwag caeedig lle bydd seiniau’n diasbedain oddi ar y waliau drosodd a throsodd, gan ddwysáu a chael eu hystumio yn ystod y broses. Yn fwy diweddar, yr ydys yn defnyddio’r ymadrodd yn drosiadol, yn y cyfryngau’n enwedig, er mwyn cyfeirio at sefyllfa sydd yn cynnwys system gaeedig o bobl a chysyniadau. Yn y math hwn o amgylchedd bydd cyfathrebu’n golygu ailadrodd yr un set gyfyngedig o syniadau bob tro, fel mai’r coelion sydd eisoes yn bod a atgyfnerthir a chryfheir. Yma, oherwydd tuedd cadarnhad anymwybodol, hynny yw, tueddiad dynol i bobl chwilio am dystiolaeth sy’n cadarnhau eu credoau ac anwybyddu tystiolaeth arall, bydd y gohebyddion yn dewis dim ond y wybodaeth sydd yn cyd-fynd â’u safbwynt presennol. Yn y gymdeithas letach mae’r effaith siambr atsain yn arwain at lwytholdeb diwylliannol, polareiddiad gwleidyddol cynyddol, ac eithafiaeth. Ond nid yw’r effaith hon yn gweithredu’n waeth nag mewn rhai teuluoedd toredig, lle mae’r aelodau’n dweud tair stori: yr un a gyhoeddir wrth y byd; yr un a rhennir rhyngddynt; a’r hanes gwir. Mewn teulu toredig, nid oes gynulleidfa o gwbl ar gyfer y stori o iawn, gan ei bod yn bygwth chwalu’r ddelwedd deuluol gau. A dyna beth i’w osgoi, costied a gostio.

Basically, an acoustic echo chamber is an enclosed empty space where sounds reverberate off the walls over and over, intensifying, and being distorted during the process. More recently, the expression is being used metaphorically, in the media especially, in order to refer to a situation which includes a closed system of people and concepts. In this type of circumstance, communicating entails repeating the same restricted set of ideas all the time, such that it is the beliefs that already exist that are reinforced and strengthened. Here, because of unconscious confirmation bias, that is the human tendency for people to seek evidence that confirms their beliefs and to ignore other evidence, the correspondents will choose only the information which accords with their present viewpoint. In wider society, the echo-chamber effect leads to cultural tribalism, increasing political polarization, and extremism. But nowhere does this effect operate worse than in some broken homes, where the members tell three stories: the one which is proclaimed to the world; the one which is shared between them; and the true tale. In broken families, there is no audience for the real story, since it threatens to shatter the fake family image. And that is a thing to be avoided, whatever the cost.

Hei, yr hen frithgi di, w! Mae’r hen dwpsyn na, Ffred, y gofalwr neu beth bynnag yn y Clinig yn Aberdydd, wedi bod yn, wel, ‘cyfathrebu’ da fi unwaith to. Mae’n dweud fod e wedi dod o hyd i ryw ddogfen o Affrica neu rywle, a’i fod e’n drio’i chyfieithu hi, ond heb lwyddo. Pam ddylai dyn mewn oed eisiau neud y fath beth, dwn i’m, ond dyna ti, creadur od iawn yw e’n wir. Mae’n hala gormod o lawer o amser ar ofalu am ei gasgliad o chwilod llywaeth yn ‘y nhyb i, y bwystfilod drewllyd, atgas. Ta be, rhyw chwedl hynafol o Sansibar am folgodogion ewn a’u crochan hudol yw hi, hyd y gwela i. Wi di eistedd yn y tŷ bach am oriau (wel, hanner awr o leia) gan fwrw golwg dros y darn o bapur, neu femrwn, neu bapyrws, neu beth bynnag, a dw i’n gallu datgan yn bendant mod i’n gw’bod dyw hi ddim wedi’i sgrifennu yn Arabeg, na Kiswahili, na Saesneg.Hey, you old mongrel, mun! That old eejit, Fred, the caretaker or whatever in the Clinic in Aberdydd, has been, well, ‘communicating’ with me once again. He says he’s come across some document from Africa or somewhere, and he’s trying to translate it, but no success. Why a full-grown man should want to do such a thing, I dunno, he really is a dead odd character. He spends far too much time on looking after his collection of tame beetles in my opinion, the nasty stinky beasts. Anyway, it’s some ancient tale from Zanzibar about cheeky marsupials and their magic cauldron, as far as I can see. I’ve sat in the lavvy for hours (well, half an hour at least) casting an eye over the piece of paper, or parchment, or papyrus, or whatever, and I can declare definitively that I know it’s not written in Arabic, or Kiswahili, or English.
Ar ôl yr holl waith caled na (yr ystyried, nage’r peth arall!), fe weddodd Ffred wrtha i taw Asa o ogledd Tansania yw’r iaith. Wel tipyn o arbenigwr mewn ieithoedd estron dw i, fel mae’n digwydd, a dw i hyd yn oed yn well gyda dyfeisio straeon. Ac fe fydd unrhyw beth yn well na neud y gwaith cartre diflas i’r hen gythraul drewllyd na yn ôl yn yr ysgol. O, cymaint dw i’n casáu’r dosbarthiadau mathemateg uffernol na, w! Ac fe fydda i’n ennill ugain punt os galla i berswadio Ffredi-boi bod popeth yn gywir. Felly, darllenwch ymlaen, ffrindiau, i glywed hanes gwarthus y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog! (Gyda llaw, ro’n i’n anghywir am y manylion, a’r teitl, i ddechrau) —After all that hard work (the considering, not the other thing!), Fred told me that the language is Asa from North Tanzania. Well, I’m a bit of an expert in foreign languages, as it happens, and I’m even better at inventing stories. And anything’s better than doing the boring homework for that old stinky devil, back in the school. O how much I hate those hellish maths classes, mun! And I’ll win twenty quid if I can persuade Freddy-boy that everything’s correct. So, read on, friends, to hear the shameful story of the Boisterous Red Monkeys! (By the way, I was wrong about the details, and the title, to start off with) —
"Unwaith, ddim yn hir yn ôl, ddim yn bell oddi yma, ar Ynys Sansibar, roedd grŵp bach bach o fwncïod cochion, Procolobus kirkii a bod yn fanwl gywir. Ro’n nhw mewn perygl mawr o ddiflannu oddi ar wyneb y Ddaear gron hon, er eu bod yn byw yno fel un teulu gweddol hapus mewn ffordd o siarad, gyda mam a thad, Mag a Jog, merch, Eg, dau ffrind, Steg a Dag, a thad-cu hefyd, Ig (ond fe fydden nhw i gyd yn dweud ‘Wncwl Ig’ jyst i ddrysu pethau), ond do’n nhw ddim yn perthyn at ei gilydd fel mewn teulu go iawn a dweud y gwir. Un o’r bechgyn oedd yn lico’r merch, a hi oedd yn ffansïo’r crwt arall, a’r trydydd llanc ‘ma oedd yn dwlu ar y bachgen cynta’. Ro’n nhw i gyd wastad yn chwarae castiau, achos taw mwncïod hwyliog o’n nhw heb os. Chi’n gwybod sut greaduriaid yw’r rhain, on’d dych chi?“Once upon a time, not long ago, not far from here, on the Isle of Zanzibar, there was a small troupe of red monkeys, Procolobus kirkii to be totally correct. They were in great danger of disappearing off the face of this round Earth, although they lived there like one reasonably happy family in a manner of speaking, with a mum and dad, Mag and Jog, a daughter, Eg, two friends, Steg and Dag, and a grand-dad, too, Ig (although they would all say ‘Uncle Ig’ just to confuse things), but they didn’t belong together like in a real family to tell the truth. One of the boys liked the girl, and she fancied the other kid, and the third lad there was crazy about the first boy. They were always up to mischief, because they were boisterous monkeys without a doubt. You know what kind of critters those are, don’t you?
"Yn yr hen ddyddiau, roedd ‘na gyflenwad toreithiog o gnau coco ar gyfer y mwncïod, oedd yn beth da, achos bod pawb yn meddwl eu bod nhw’n eithriadol o flasus, ac iachus hefyd. Ac ar ben hynny, doedd neb yn hoff iawn o fangrofau, ac mewn gwirionedd, roedd y ffrwythau ‘ma’n codi pwys arnyn nhw; falle bod nhw’n alergaidd iddyn nhw. Pwy allai ddweud, ‘sdim meddygon i ofalu am fwncïod, hyd yn oed rhai ciwt, clyfar, a diddorol, peidiwch chi â bod mor dwp!“In the old days, there was an abundant supply of coconuts for the monkeys, which was a good thing, because everyone thought they were exceptionally tasty, and healthy to boot. And on top of that, no-one was very keen on mangroves, and in truth, those fruits made them sick; perhaps they were allergic to them. Who could say, there’s no doctors to look after monkeys, even cute, clever, and interesting ones, don’t you be so stupid!
"Ond aeth y ffermwyr ar yr ynys mor grac o weld eu cefndyr coedwigol yn gwledda ar eu cnydau, fe fydden nhw’n saethu ar antur ar y creaduriaid annwyl drwy gydol y dydd. Ond heini ac ystwyth oedd y bwbachod, a ddihangai’n rhwydd, ac felly roedd ar y ffermwyr angen codi muriau enfawr o gwmpas y palmwydd ac arnyn nhw weiren rasel, i gadw’r lladron ewn mas.“But the farmers on the island got so mad to see their arboreal cousins feasting on their crops, that they would take pot-shots at the dear creatures all day long. But lithe and lissom were the bugbears, who easily escaped, and so the farmers needed to put up enormous walls around the palms with razor-wire on them, to keep the cheeky thieves out.
"A dyna oedd yn peri penbleth mawr, a dweud y lleia’, i arwyr ein hanes ni, oedd yn dechrau newynu. Dyna oedd y dynion yn cweryla drwy’r amser ynghylch sut i ddod o hyd i ddigon o gnau coco. Fe fyddai un ohonyn nhw’n astudio’n astud yn y llyfrgelloedd prin, y tafarnau dibrin, a’r tai ciando croesawgar ar y tir mawr yng ngogledd Tansania wrth i’r llall fynd bant i frwydro neu ddwyn pethau, neu i werthu sbeisys sbesial i fodau dynol gwirion dros y môr, a arferai eu rhoi nhw lan eu trwynau gan amlaf, fel petai’n rhyw fath o snisin dieithr, egsotig, ac afresymol o ddrud.“And that caused a big problem, to say the least, to the heroes of our tale, who began to starve. The men were quarrelling all the time about how to find enough coconuts. One of them would study keenly in the scarce libraries, the plentiful watering-holes, and the welcoming flop-houses on the mainland in Northern Tanzania whilst the other went off to fight or steal things, or to sell special spices to stupid human beings overseas, who used to put them up their noses, for the most part, as if it were some sort of foreign, exotic, and exorbitantly expensive snuff.
"Tra oedd y brwydro a’r fusnes cludo sbeis yn braf a phroffidiol iawn i dad-cu (o’r enw Wncwl Ig, wrth gwrs), dim ond yr hen iaith Asa ro’n nhw’n siarad yn y sefydliadau addysg uwch wedi’u crybwyll o’r blaen. Ac roedd yr iaith honno, gan gynnwys ond ychydig eiriau roedd yr henuriaid yn arfer eu defnyddio amser maith yn ôl, ar farw. Oherwydd hynny, lwyddodd y tad ddim i ddysgu dim byd, ac eithrio, efallai, y ddihareb: “Ilat ‘ore’ek buxurita ga, ma’a wataka rakash, wat dah hajat, ‘agim yataa kite” – “Pan fydd y llygad pell wedi llosgi’r cymylau, nes y sychir y dŵr oll, wedyn crafu’r Ddaear fel cŵn a wnawn ni, i fwyta ac yfed cyn marw.” Ond eto i gyd, doedd e ddim yn sicr o gwbl.“Whilst the fighting and the spice-transport business was fine and most profitable to the grand-dad (called Uncle Ig, of course), they only spoke the old Asa language in the institutions of higher education mentioned before. And that language, containing only a few words that the elders were accustomed, to use a long time ago, was on the point of dying. Because of that, the father did not succeed in learning a thing, except, maybe, from the proverb: “Ilat ‘ore’ek buxurita ga, ma’a wataka rakash, wat dah hajat, ‘agim yataa kite” – “When the far eye buns the clouds, so that all the water is dried up, then like dogs we shall claw the Earth, to eat and drink before we die.” But then again, he really was not sure at all.
Pechod adrodd nad oedd popeth yn fêl ac yn fefus yn llwyni’r Baradwys Ddaearol, chwaith. Tra oedd dynion y nyth oddi cartre’, fe fyddai’r fam yn rhedeg bant gyda ffrind blewog arall oedd wedi bod yn gyfaill i un o’r gwŷr, i gael tipyn o hwyl a chysur yn ystod y nosweithiau hir, unig, ddylem ni ddweud? Ac wrth gwrs dyna oedd yn broblem enfawr i bawb pan ddaeth y misdimanars i gyd i’r fei o’r diwedd. Ni wyddai neb a fydden nhw’n mynd ai’n dod. Yn wir, aeth yr holl sefyllfa’n ffrwydrol yn y pen draw.“It is a shame to report that it was not all a bed of roses in the groves of the Earthly Paradise, either. Whilst the men of the nest were away from home, the mother would run off with another hairy friend who’d been a mate of one of the blokes, to have a bit of fun and reassurance during the long, lonely nights, should we say? And of course, that was an enormous problem to everyone when all the shenanigans came to light at last. No-one knew whether they were coming or going. Indeed, the whole situation became explosive in the end.
"Nawr, wrth i’r llanc mwya’ dorri cartŵns ar risgl y coed o gwmpas y lle, roedd y ferch yn brysur brysur yn neud pwy a ŵyr beth. Fe fyddai hi’n brasgamu ar hyd ac ar led yn y fforest gan adrodd barddoniaeth. Wrth gwrs fe fyddai mam yn achub y cyfle ‘ma i din-droi lan coed rhyw fwnci arall, gan fwynhau sgyrsiau hyfryd yn lle neud y gwaith tŷ (dyna oedd swydd i’r dynion, meddai hi). Ond nage Mag yn unig oedd yn manteisio ar y rhyddid, ond Eg hefyd, a fyddai’n diflannu’n aml gydag un o’r bois i Fan-di-nam, ar wahân i’r amser pan aeth hi unwaith ar ei phen ei hunan am wythnos gron.“Now, while the bigger lad carved cartoons on the bark of trees around the place, the daughter was very busy doing who-knows-what. She would stride up and down in the forest, reciting poetry. Of course, mother would seize this opportunity to dawdle up the tree of some other monkey, enjoying lovely chats instead of doing the house-work (that was a job for men, she said). But it was not only Mag who was taking advantage of the freedom, but Eg too, who would often disappear with one of the boys to No-fault-here, apart from the time when she went, once, on her own for a whole week.
"Fel sy’n digwydd yn aml mewn sefyllfaoedd o’r fath hwn, roedd rhaid i’r crwt lleia’ ddatrys y broblem, ennill y wobr, a goresgyn yr anawsterau. Tra byddai’r gweddill yn gwastraffu amser drudfawr, fe âi fe mas ymhlith trigolion y goedwig gan chwilio am atebion. Y mwnci a gerddo a gaiff, oedd ei arwyddair. Ac ym Man-di-nam, fe lwyddodd yr un mwnci clyfar ‘na i ddysgu gan ryw hen wraig hysbys frodorol o’r enw El-en Tw-wr, gyfrinach neu ddwy ar sut i ffermio’r cnau coco gorau erioed i’w gweld yr ochr ‘ma i India, gan ddefnyddio gwyrthiau technolegol wedi’u cyflwyno gan lwyth o swynwyr arallfydol yn ôl pob sôn.“As happens often in situations of this sort, it was up to the smallest kid to solve the problem, win the prize, and overcome the difficulties. While the rest were squandering valuable time, he would go out amongst the forest-dwellers seeking answers. The monkey who seeks shall find, was his watch-word. And in No-fault-here, that same clever monkey succeeded in learning from some old native wise-woman named El-en Tw-wr, a secret or two on how to farm the best ever coconuts to be seen this side this side of India, using technological miracles introduced by a tribe of extra-terrestrial wizards, apparently.
"Sa i’n gallu sôn amdani yma mwyach ar boen ‘y mywyd, ond digon dweud fe gaeth e rysáit symla’r byd yn esbonio sut i dyfu’r cnau coco mwya’, blasua’, caleta’, melysa’, a mwya’ blewog, yn rhad ac am ddim, drwy ddefnyddio dim ond sylweddau hollol naturiol ac adnewyddadwy, oedd ar gael i bob mwnci iach ar alwad, mwy neu lai! (Fydda i ddim yn gollwng y sarff o’r fagl ymlusgiad os datgela i fod angen i’n teulu hapus o brimatiaid ni fwyta llawer iawn o gnau coco, ac wedyn aros am sbel, cyn i’r hud biolegol ddechrau gweithio.) Ac wedyn fe gaeth yr anifail cyfrwys syniad, a llunio cynllun.“I cannot mention it further here on pain of death, but sufficient to say that he got the world’s simplest recipe explaining how to grow the biggest, tastiest, hardest, sweetest, and hairiest coconuts, totally free, by using only totally natural and sustainable substances, which were available more-or-less on demand to every healthy monkey! (I won’t be letting the snake out of the reptile trap if I reveal that our happy family of primates needed to eat a very great deal of coconuts, and then wait for a while, before the biological magic began to work.) And then the cunning animal had an idea, and fashioned a plan.
"Fe barablai’r mwnci goleuedig ‘na’n huawdl am beth oedd e wedi’i ddarganfod, a gadawyd gan y ffermwyr i’r teulu bach ddod i mewn i’r lle caeedig yn gyfreithlon am y tro cynta’ i’w helpu nhw i foderneiddio’r proses cynhyrchu. Fe fydden nhw’n darparu gwasanaethau o bob math o amgylch y gweithfeydd newydd wrth allu llowcio cymaint o’r cynnyrch ag a fynnen nhw. Ac yr oedd y sgîl-effeithiau’n hawdd eu rhagweld, o un safbwynt, ac eithriadol o werthfawr hefyd, ond nage yn y ffordd a fwriadwyd o bersbectif arall.“That enlightened monkey chattered eloquently about what he’d discovered, and the small family was allowed by the farmers to come into the stockade legally for the first time to help them to modernize the production process. They would provide services of all kinds about the new works whilst being able to gobble down as much of the produce as they wanted. And the side-effects were easy to foresee, from one point-of-view, and exceptionally worthwhile too, but not in the way that was intended, from another perspective.
"Gyda llwyddiant enfawr y dull newydd o ffrwythloni, roedd rhaid i’r gweithwyr blewog lafurio’n galetach galetach, ond do’n nhw ddim yn cael eu talu digon o’r cynnyrch blasus achos bod yr amaethwyr llechwraidd yn debyg i gribinwyr crebachlyd. Ac ymhellach ‘naethon nhw drin y gweision druan fel y naethai’r Hen Frenhinoedd drin ei bobl filenia yn ôl. Doedd ‘na ddim digon o amser sbâr i orwedd mewn hamog ‘chwaith gan chwarae bili-ffŵl ac yfed jin a thonic. Felly ro’n nhw’n mynd yn flinedig ofnadw’ a achosai iddyn nhw ollwng hanner y cnau coco, fyddai’n torri’n yfflon. Wrth gwrs, fel y gwyddoch chi, gobeithio, fe fydd y palmwydd yn tyfu i fod tua 30 medr o daldra, felly pan gwympai’r cnau enfawr i lawr ar bennau’r gweithwyr dynol diog isod, dyna oedd dau fath o gnau’n cael eu torri!“With the enormous success of the new method of fertilisation, the hairy workers had to labour harder and harder, but they weren’t being paid enough of the tasty produce because the sneaky agriculturalists were like shrivelled-up misers. And moreover, they treated the poor slaves as the Ancient Kings had treated their people millennia ago. There wasn’t enough spare time to lie in a hammock either, playing the fool and drinking gin and tonic. So they were getting awfully tired, which caused them to drop half of the coconuts, which would break into smithereens. Of course, as you know, I hope, palm-trees grow to be about 30 metres tall, so when the enormous nuts fell down onto the heads of the lazy human workers below, then there were two kinds of nuts being broken!
"Roedd ‘na ganlyniadau annisgwyl eraill hefyd. Gan na allai’r mwncïod fwyta llawer o achos diffyg amser ac awydd, cymaint oedd eu blinder, do’n nhw ddim yn cynhyrchu digon o wrtaith organig a dyna gâi effaith wael ar y cnydau’n ddigon buan. Ymhellach, roedd tensiynau rhwng aelodau’r criw blewog yn cynyddu, o ganlyniad i’r casgliad hwn o amgylchiadau gofidus, gyda’r un yn ymosod ar y lleill gan ddefnyddio geiriau anfoesgar, a dyrnau, a dannedd miniog, a chnau coco wedi’u taflu. Hyd yn oed yn waeth oedd pan sylweddolodd pawb fod mam wedi bod yn gwerthu sbeis ar y slei heb yn wybod i neb.“There were other unexpected consequences too. As the monkeys couldn’t eat a lot due to lack of time and appetite, so great was their exhaustion, they weren’t producing enough organic fertilizer and that had a terrible effect on the crops soon enough. Furthermore, tensions between members of the hairy crew were growing, as a result of this collection of troubling circumstances, with the one setting about the others using rude words, and fists, and sharp teeth, and chucked coconuts. Even worse was when everyone realised that mother had been selling spice on the sly without anyone knowing.
"Un dydd poeth a chreulon pan oedd pawb wedi bod wrthi’n gweithio heb stop ers oriau, roedd y mwnci ieuenga’n seibio lan yn y to am funud i gael mwgyn bach o ddail banana sych, a joch o’r wisgi Cymreig gorau (o’r enw Wiliam Owen o Fala) pan adawodd i’r sigarét syrthio i lawr y ffatri. Wel, roedd y lle’n llawn dop o wrtaith mynci, a blawd llif, a chnau coco wedi’u stacio, a sbwriel, a phetrol wedi’i ollwng o’r generadur hynafol, a phethau fel ‘na. Heb raid dweud, ffrwydrodd yr adeilad ar unwaith a phopeth ynddo hefyd, yn cynnwys y mwncïod i gyd, siŵr o fod, mewn fflach lachar a chawod o gnau coco drylliedig.“One hot and cruel day when everyone had been at it working non-stop for hours, the youngest monkey paused up in the roof for a minute to have a quick smoke of dried banana-leaf, and a tod of the finest Welsh whiskey (called William Own of Bala) when he let the cigarette fall to the factory floor. Well, the place was stuffed full of monkey fertiliser, and sawdust, and stacked coconuts, and rubbish, and petrol spilled from the ancient generator, and things like that. Needless to say, the building exploded at once and everything in it too, including all the monkeys, probably, in a blinding flash and a shower of shattered coconuts.
"Ond nid dyna ben ar ein stori rybuddiol ni. Wrth i’r tîm o lafurwyr gorfodol fwyta’r coconyts anaeddfed, ro’n nhw’n creu mwy o le i’r planhigion eraill a adawyd ar ôl dyfu’n gryf ynddo. Ar ôl y ffrwydrad a wasgarodd dom ar hyd y lle, aeth y tyfiant yn wyllt am sbel ond o’r diwedd roedd y tir yn orchuddiedig, a dyna a ddifethai’r cnwd yn llwyr o hynny ymlaen. Achos taw atyniad twristiaid pwysig oedd y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog, ar ôl eu tranc, yn fuan y diflannodd y fasnach ymweld oddi ar yr ynys hefyd.“But that’s not the end of our cautionary tale. While the team of slave-labourers ate the organic coconuts, they were creating more space for the other plants that were left behind to grow vigorously in. After the explosion, which scattered manure all over the place, the vegetation went wild for a while but finally the land was overgrown, and that’s what destroyed the crop entirely from then on. Since the Boisterous Red Monkeys were an important tourist attraction, after their demise the sight-seeing industry soon disappeared off the island too.
"Ac wrth gwrs, dyma darddiad y dywediad byd-enwog, ‘Oni thelwch i fwnci ei gyflog cymwys, dim ond cnau wedi’u torri a gewch.’ Er gwaetha’r ffaith bod y chwedl hon yn dod atoch chi, ble bynnag y boch, o Berfeddion Affrica Dywyll (wel, o ynys oddi ar ei harfordir dwyreiniol), pwysig iawn i chi i gyd ddwyn y neges ‘ma mewn cof bob amser, hefyd, on’d ife, bobol bach? Ac, i orffen, on’d dych chi eisiau gofyn – beth am y mwnci bach, mab i Eg a Dag (falle), impyn llinell y Cochion, oedd yn cael ei fagu ym Man-di-nam gan El-en? A, ond rhy hwyr ydych chi erbyn hyn, ffrindiau chwilfrydig. Rhaid i chi aros i weld.”“And of course, that’s the derivation of the wold-famous saying, ‘Unless you pay a monkey his appropriate wage, all you’ll get is cracked nuts.’ Despite the fact that this tale comes to you, wherever you may be, from the Darkest Depths of Africa (well, from an island off its eastern coast), it’s very important for all of you always to bear this message in mind, too, isn’t it, folks? And, to finish, don’t you want to ask – what about the little monkey, son to Eg and Dag (perhaps), scion of the Red line, who was being brought up in No-fault-here by El-en? Ah, but you’re too late by now, inquisitive friends. You’ll have to wait to see.”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 11

Pennod Pymtheg: Disgwyl (Lleisiau 11) / Awaiting (Voices 11)

Fe fwria golau a gwrthrychau gysgodion, ac fe fwria Dewiniaid hudion. A allem ddweud, felly, mai hanfodion lledrithiol yw cysgodion, ac mai teclyn ardderchog ar gyfer trawsffurfio hudol fyddai trafod symbolau a delweddau wedi’u creu, fel petai, â chysgodion, yn cynnwys egni cylchol y lleuad a sylwedd cyfnewidiol y môr? Wedi’r cwbl, o safbwynt gwyddonol mae’n ddigon posibl mai o’r môr yn wreiddiol y daeth hynafiad pob ffurf ar fywyd sydd yn bodoli ar y ddaear heddiw. Yn ogystal, nid oes gwadu bod cysylltiad cryf rhwng y lleuad a’r llanwau. O ystyried llên gwerin, mytholeg, ac ofergoelion, mae pobl yn credu ers milenia y gall y lleuad ennyn amhwylledd, a pheri i fodau dynol chwannog fynd yn fleidd-ddynion. Ac at hynny, bydd llawer o seremonïau o bedwar ban byd yn digwydd dan oleuni’r lleuad i ddal a defnyddio ei bŵer cyfriniol, a fyddwn ni’n eu labeli ai’n rhai crefyddol, ai’n rhai hudol. Ac at hynny, bydd llawer o seremonïau o bedwar ban byd yn digwydd dan oleuni’r lleuad i ddal a defnyddio ei bŵer cyfriniol, a fyddwn ni’n eu labeli ai’n rhai crefyddol, ai’n rhai hudol. Efallai, felly, mai dim ond bod yng ngŵydd y lleuad wrth iddi lewyrchu dros wyneb y môr, os byddwch mewn cyflwr meddwl neilltuol, neu stad ddwysach o ymwybod, fydd yn ddigon i gychwyn cyfres o ddigwyddiadau fydd yn datblygu megis adwaith cadwynol. A phwy a ŵyr i ble y bydd y cyfryw daith gaotig yn arwain?

Light and objects cast shadows, and Magicians cast spells. Could we say, therefore, that shadows are spectral essences, and that an excellent tool for magical transformation would be dealing with symbols and images created, as it were, from shadows, containing the cyclical energy of the moon, and the ever-changing substance of the sea? After all, from a scientific viewpoint it is quite possible that the ancestors of every life-from that exists on the earth today came from the sea originally. In addition, it cannot be denied that there is a connection between the moon and the tides. Considering folk-lore, mythology, and superstitions, people have believed for millennia that the moon can elicit mental confusion, and cause susceptible human beings to become werewolves. And, moreover, many ceremonies from all over the world take place under the light of the moon in order to capture and utilize its mystical power, whether we label them as religious, or as magical. Perhaps, therefore, it is but sufficient to be in the presence of the moon as it shines over the surface of the ocean, if you are in a particular mental state, or a heightened state of awareness, to begin a series of events that will develop like a chain reaction. And who knows where such a chaotic journey will lead?

Nos – gyfrwys, greulon, grafangog – sy’n ymgodi uwch dy ben di, David bach, gan fygwth llyncu, dileu, claddu. Lan yn yr awyr borffor, afluniaidd – y siôl sidan, rwygedig honno – mae llais cryg y lleuad yn clebran, mewn tafodiaith farw, na ellir ei chyfieithu. Mae pelydrau lleuad, candryll a miniog, sy’n cael eu geni, a fydd yn marw hefyd, ar wyneb garw’r môr, yn amneidio arnat ti. Mae’r baneri bratiog ar y promenâd yn cadw sŵn fel seiren hiraethus, wrth geisio dianc rhag pigau’r gwynt wedi hen alaru, gan dy rybuddio rhag boddi mewn lagŵn dychmygol o fraw. Dim ond ffôl fyddai’n ymlid ei gysgod, ac wedyn ei ofni, ond rywbryd, heno, mae pethau’n hollol wahanol, rhywsut, ac rwyt ti wedi dy orchuddio gan flanced o gywilydd ac anobaith. “Wela i di’n nes ‘mlaen, ‘yn mab, paid di â phoeni. Fe fyddwn ni’n hala tipyn o amser gyda’n gilydd pan ddo’ i’n ôl,” dyna beth oedd e wedi’i ddweud yn watwarus, y Brawd tew, chwyslyd, atgas, wrth i ti sefyll yn stond ar ben y staer. Ac fel arfer, rwyt ti’n teimlo’n hollol wag, a dwyt ti ddim yn gwybod beth ar y Ddau Fyd i’w ‘neud.Night – cunning, cruel, clawed – rears up above you, Davy-boy, threatening to devour, destroy, bury. Up in the deformed, purple sky – that torn silk shawl – the moon’s hoarse voice is chattering, in a dead dialect, that can’t be translated. Moon-beams, shattered and sharp, which are being born, and will die, too, on the ocean’s rough surface, are beckoning you. The tattered banners on the promenade are making a noise like a wistful siren, whilst trying to escape from the beaks of the long-exhausted wind, warning you against drowning in an imaginary lagoon of fear. Only a food would chase his shadow and then fear it, but sometimes things are totally different, somehow, and tonight, you are covered by a blanket of shame and despair. “See you later on, my son, don’t you worry. We’ll spend a bit of time together when I come back,” that’s what he’d mockingly said, the fat, sweaty, hateful Brother, while you stood stock-still at the top of the stairs. And as usual, you’re feeling totally empty, and you don’t know what in the Two Worlds to do.
Rwyt ti wedi bod yn cyrcydu o flaen y ffenest fawr byth oddi ar hynny, ac erbyn hyn mae dy ben-gliniau’n cwyno, wrth erfyn ar y wybren ddofn, ddi-sêr, am drugaredd. Ond mae’r lleuad yn dal i chwerthin am ben y dirwedd lom, o ble mae’r Hen Dduwiau wedi’i heglu hi amser maith yn ôl. Mae dy ên di’n pwyso ar dy freichiau wedi’u croesi, sy’n siglo ar fin y silff aflêr – ac wrth i’th feddwl grwydro, rwyt ti’n rhythu allan i’r storm – ond, ar beth? Mae rhywbeth yno, tu allan, yn aros, yn llawn digofaint cronedig, ac mae’n crafu a nadu’n hir ac yn uchel mewn rhwystredigaeth. Un llais arall, digyffro ond calonogol, sy’n rhannu dy unigrwydd, wedi cripian i’th ymennydd o hirbell, o wlad ddieithr, hardd, yn rhywle dros y môr, drwy hisian statig y radio.You’ve been squatting in front of the big window ever since then, and by now your knees are complaining, whilst beseeching the deep, starless sky, for mercy. But the moon is still laughing at the bleak landscape, from where the Old Gods have legged it long ago. Your chin’s resting on your crossed arms, which are jiggling on the edge of the messy sill – and as your mind wanders, you stare out into the storm – but, at what? There’s something there, outside, waiting, full of pent-up wrath, and it’s scratching and braying long and loud in frustration. One other voice, impassive but heartening, shares your loneliness, having crawled into your mind from afar, from a beautiful foreign land, somewhere overseas, trough the radio’s static hissing.
[Radio] “Ryw’n sefyll yn falch, fy maen gwyn noeth yn wynebu’r môr mawr ar yr ochr dde, a’r dref wedi’i threfnu’r tu ôl. Mae gennyf rwndwalau cedyrn yn y parcdir trwsiadus, diaddurn, sydd yn estyn o’m hamgylch, ac yma gwarchodir mi gan binwydd sydd yn gwylio bob amser. O ddydd i ddydd, byddaf yn clywed aroglau cymysgedd meddwol o elfennau – ewyn hallt ac arno sawr gwymon, petrol, osôn; deilbridd sych newydd ei ddyfrhau gan y glaw; a chawl dinas o fwrllwch llawn o garbon monocsid, huddygl, a chyfansoddion o nitrogen, sylffwr, a phlwm. Yn aml bydd fy nghroen yn troi’n llwyd tywyll am ei bod hi wastad yn pistyllio ar yr arfordir hwn, gan fwrw glaw trwm ond twym o’r de-orllewin ar bob cwr o’r lle. Ac wedyn yr af fi’n wyn eto am gyfnod byr, cyn i’r gylchred barhau. A hefyd mae ‘na wythiennau gwyrddlas i’w gweld yn igam-ogamu fel nadredd a 'sgaldanwyd, o’r rhodenni mellt o gopr a osodir yn fy muriau.”[Radio] “Proudly I stand, my bare white stone facing the great sea on the southern side, with the town arrayed behind. I have firm foundations in the unadorned, tidy parkland which extends around me, and here I am guarded by pine-trees which are always watching. From day to day, I smell an intoxicating mixture of elements – salty spray with the smelling of seaweed, petrol, ozone; dry humus just watered by the rain; and a city-soup of smog full of carbon monoxide, soot, and compounds of nitrogen sulfur, and lead. Often, my skin turns dark grey as it is always pouring with rain on this coast, bringing heavy but warm rain from the south-west down on every corner of the place. And then I become white again for a short while, before the cycle continues. And also, there are blue-green veins to be seen, zig-zagging like scalded snakes from the copper lightning-rods set into my walls.”
Dyma dy ben-gliniau di’n brifo, yn enwedig fel byddan nhw’n ‘neud pan fyddi di yn y Lle Cwrdd. Rwyt ti’n aros, gwynio, disgwyl. Dyma dy galon yn rasio tu mewn i’th frest dynn, a wasgir gan ofn gwyllt. Un o’r gloch yw hi, ni ddylai crwt sy’n un ar ddeg oed ddim bod ar ddihun eto, yr adeg hon o’r nos. Penlinio, dolurio, aros yr wyt. Mae dy warchodwraig, neu efallai ceidwad y carchar (ddylem ni ddweud?), sydd mor garedig, a ffyrnig, a chyfareddol, y dywysoges arallfydol honno fydd byth yn dy adael di, yn cysgu’n dawel yn ei gwely'r drws nesa’, diolch byth. A dyma ti’n disgwyl, gwrando, gweddïo.Your knees hurt, exactly like they do when you’re in the Gathering Place. You’re waiting, aching, expecting. Your heart races inside your tight chest, which is being squashed by a wild terror. It’s one o’clock, an eleven-year-old kid shouldn’t be awake still, this time of night. You keel, hurt, wait. Your guardian, or perhaps the jail-keeper (should we say?), who’s so kind, and fierce, and enchanting, that otherworldly princess who’ll never leave you, is sleeping soundly in the bed next door, thank goodness. And you await, listen, pray.
[Radio] “Ar un ochr, pyrth enfawr o efydd, a ffenestri amryliw uwch eu pennau, a dalwyr ffagl o alwminiwm o’u deutu, sydd yn gwarchod y fynedfa i dwnelau troellog, swyddfeydd modern, a siambrau traddodiadol ac ynddynt waliau wedi’u haddurno â phaneli pinwydd, a lloriau a deilir â mosaigau. Yn y lle hwn, bydd oglau cwyr yn trechu’ch trwyn o’r coridorau caboledig drwy gydol yr amser byddwch yn rhodio’r llwybrau hudol, tra bydd blaenau’ch bysedd yn cyffwrdd â lliain gwlanog, gwyrdd, a lledr rhytgoch ym mhob man.”[Radio] “On one side, enormous gates of bronze, with multi-coloured windows above them, and aluminium torch-holders flanking them, guard the entrance to winding corridors, modern offices, and traditional chambers, their walls adorned with pine panels, and floors tiled with mosaics. In this place, the smell of wax overpowers your nose from the polished corridors all the time you tread the magical pathways, while your finger-tips touch green baize, and rust-red leather, everywhere.”
Bellach, dim ond y tonnau sy’n sisial – ond eto i gyd, dydyn nhw ddim yn dweud dim byd o werth, dim byd penodol, dim byd i dawelu'r meddwl. Tu allan i’r tŷ drafftiog, mae llu o binwydd llwglyd yn tresmasu ar yr olygfa fawreddog i’w weld trwy’r ffenestr ddall, ond dyw’r un ohonyn nhw ddim yn estyn cangen i afael ynot ti, dy ddwyn di ymaith i wledydd rhyfeddol. A thrwy’r amser, mae’r llais ar y radio’n bwrw ymlaen â’i ddisgrifiad –Now, it’s only the waves whispering – but then again, they aren’t saying anything of worth, anything definite, anything to calm your mind. Outside the drafty house, a host of famished pines encroaches on the majestic view to be seen through the blind window, but not one of them extends a branch to grab onto you, to bear you away to strange lands. And all the time, the voice on the radio presses on with its description –
[Radio] “Ac yn y fan hon yr wyf yn byw ers achau, a mawreddog wyf fi, yn enwedig fy nhŵr glas tra gweladwy, sy’n portreadu pen blaen cwch hir, hynny yw, y fath o long a fuasai wedi perthyn i’r hen fôr-ladron o’r Llu Du, sef, y Llychlynwyr. Mae hwn yn pwyntio’n falch trwy amser a gofod tuag at orffennol hynafol y dref. A chyda adenydd y bad hedegog sydd yn ffurfio fy nghorff ar led, byddaf yn eich atgoffa o bterodactyl, ynteu ryw fath o ddraig, marchriffwn, sffincs, neu greadur chwedlonol arall. Ymhellach, rwy’n diogelu gweithgareddau dinesig, darparu safle i ddigwyddiadau diwylliannol, a chynnig adloniannau. Gan amlaf yr atseinia fy mannau mewnol â chanu, o ddarnau aruchel, megis ‘Corws Cyfriniol’ gan Mamrick, i roc gothig heb ei ail, fel ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’ gan Necro Stellar.”[Radio] “And in this place I have lived for ages, and I am majestic, especially my highly visible blue tower, which portrays the prow of a long-boat, that is, the kind of ship which would have belonged to the old pirates of the Black Horde, namely, the Norsemen. This points proudly through time and space towards the town’s ancient past. And with the wings of the flying boat, which forms my body, spread out, I will remind you of a pterodactyl, or some kind of dragon, hippogriff, sphinx, or other legendary creature. Further, I safeguard civic activities, provide a location for cultural events, and offer entertainments. Most often my internal spaces resound with singing, from sublime pieces, such as ‘Mystic Chorus’ by Mamrick, to incomparable gothic rock, like ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’ by Necro Stellar.”
Ti dan bwysau enfawr, yn fferllyd. Mae dy gyhyrau’n galw mas, ond elli di ddim ateb dy gorff dy hunan. Mae’r straen bron yn ormod i ti. Mae’n teimlo fel ‘sai gronynnau tywod sy ‘di dianc o’r traeth yn ymosod ar dy lygaid di. Llefain – ti’n dymuno ‘neud hyn, ond ti’n pallu; so ti eisiau, ond ti’n credu ‘nei di. A’r llais yn dal i siarad –You’re under enormous pressure, numb. Your muscles are calling out, but you can’t answer your own body. The strain’s almost too much for you. You feel like sand-grains that’ve escaped from the beach are assaulting your eyes. Cry – you want to do it, but you can’t; you don’t want to, but you think you will. And the voice is still speaking –
[Radio] “Megis drych a ddelir i fyny i adlewyrchu’r dref ei hun, rwy’n cymysgu’n anymwthiol nodweddion traddodiadol â rhai modern, ac mae fy nhŵr urddasol yn darparu tirnod amlwg sydd hefyd yn cyhoeddi’r amser i bedwar cwr y dref o’r awrleisiau a osodir ar bob un o’i bedwar wyneb. Oddi ar waliau’r tu mewn, mae wynepryd llym ond teg y môr-leidr Stefan, y Jarl Aber-Dyggðar, yn rhythu i lawr arnoch o ddelw’n fwy o lawer na’r gwreiddiol, gan roi sêl bendith Nordig ar y llawer iawn o achlysuron arbennig fydd yn digwydd yn ddi-baid o dan ei lygaid caregog gwydrog – fy llygaid caregog – llygaid byw tref Aberdydd.”[Radio] “Like a mirror which is held up to reflect the town itself, I unobtrusively mix traditional characteristics with modern ones, and my stately tower provides an obvious landmark which also proclaims the time to the four corners of the town from the time-pieces which are set into each one of its four faces. From the interior walls, the stern but fair visage of the pirate Stefan, the Earl Aber-Dyggðar, stares down on you from the much larger than life-sized image, bestowing a Nordic seal of blessing on the very many special occasions which happen ceaselessly under his wandering glassy eyes – my rocky eyes – the living eyes of the town of Aberdydd.”
Ble ma’ e? Unwaith ‘to? A pam mor hwyr? Ydy e’n smyglo cyffuriau, colbio cryts, llowcio sbeis fel dy Dad? Nage fod di’n hidio’r un daten amdano fe, ti’n gobeithio byddai’n marw, ond gwell fyddai gwneud yr holl chwarae gwirion gwrthun a darfod. Fe fydd yn codi pwys arnat ti bob tro – y gweddïau wylofus, y curo bron ingol, yr atgno ffug, siantio’r penydiau wedi’u hysbrydoli gan dafodau’r aflan wrth siglo ymlaen ac yn ôl, a gweddill y perfformiad nosol tu hwnt i eiriau. Be’ sy’n corddi’n fwy – dy du mewn neu dy feddwl di? – wrth i ti boeni am be’ ‘naiff dy chwaer pan fydd Wncwl yn cyrraedd adre’. Mae’r niwl barus yr ochr arall i’r gwydr yn trio dewino dy lygaid coslyd di, heb ofal yn y byd, wrth i’r tonnau eiddil yn taflu eu hunain i’w marwolaeth yn llesg yn erbyn y traeth, sy’n ffroeni fel ‘sai fe ddim yn malio’r un tywodyn ynddyn nhw.Where is he? Again? And why so late? Is he smuggling drugs, coshing kids, quaffing spice like your Dad? Not that you give a hoot about him, you wish he’d die, but it would be better if the whole nasty horse-play was over and done with. It makes you sick every time – the tearful prayers, the agonized breast-beating, the fake remorse, the chanting of the penances inspired by the tongues of the unclean whilst rocking back and forth, and the rest of the unspeakable nightly performance. What’s churning more – your insides or your mind? – as you worry about what your sister’ll do when Uncle gets home. The greedy fog the other side of the glass is trying to beguile your itchy eyes, without a care in the world, whilst feeble waves fling themselves to their death, languidly, on the beach, which sniffs as if it didn’t care a sand-grain about them.
[Radio] “Ac yn fy nghanol, fy nghalon, yn ddwfn tu mewn i’m strwythur cadarn, rwy’n celu perl eithriadol o deg, sef y murluniau enfawr a chrëwyd yn wreiddiol ar gyfer Freddie Procter, y Barwn 1af Tesbyro, fydd, ryfedd dweud, yn tywynnu ac allyrru sawr osôn pan y'u goleuir â golau uwch-fioled. Bydd y lliwiau chwyrlïol, llesmeiriol yn denu’ch meddyliau’n hudol i’r golygfeydd dieithr o’r Nw Yrth, gan greu, drwy ddeheurwydd yr arlunydd, nas dywedir, fyd mewnol o ddelweddau mor hardd, a realaidd, a syfrdanol, o fewn fy myd wedi’i adeiladu o friciau a morter, o garreg, a gwydr, a dur, sydd yn bodoli yn ei dro, ym myd allanol tref Aberdydd.”[Radio] “And at my centre, in my heart, deep within my robust structure, I hide an exceptionally fair pearl, namely the enormous murals created originally for Freddie Procter, the 1st Baron Tesbyro, which, strange to say, glow and give off the smell of ozone when they are illuminated with ultra-violet light. The hypnotic, squirling colours magically attract your thoughts to the alien scenes from the Nw Yrth, creating, through the indescribable dexterity of the artist, an internal world of images so beautiful, and realistic, and stunning, within my world built of bricks and mortar, of stone, and glass, and steel, which exists in its turn, in the outer world of the town of Aberdydd.”
Ti ar bigau drain, ac mae diffyg synau ystyrlon heblaw am y rhai’n llifo o’r radio’n gwneud llanast o’th ddychymyg. Ti’n clustfeinio i ganfod y symud lleia’ lawr staer. Dro ar ôl tro, pigo dy ddychymyg mae rhyw bennill twp sy’n dwyn i gof linell glo’r ffilm arswyd o’r enw ‘Alien’ a ryddhawyd flwyddyn ar ôl dy eni, ac mae’n ddigon i godi gwallt dy ben, wrth hala ysgryd trwot ti:You’re on tenterhooks, and the lack of meaningful sounds apart from the ones flowing from the radio is playing havoc with your imagination. You’re straining your ears to discern the least motion downstairs. Time after time, some stupid verse that recalls the tag-line from the horror-film called ‘Alien’ which was released the year after you were born, stings your imagination, and it’s enough to make your hair stand on end, while sending a shiver through you:

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 11 image 2

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 11 image 3
Ac wedyn – O, ‘neno’r Hen Dduwiau Rhyfedd – dyma ddechrau’r peth fydd yn mynd i dynnu dy berfedd di. Dyna’r palfalu truenus wedi’i gelu mor wael, am allweddi a chlo, wrth iddo yntau’i hunan sefyll, neu simsanu, ar ben y drws fyddai castell brenhinol mewn stori hud a lledrith yn falch ohono – dyna ryw ddyn o’i go’ – wedi’i ddrysu gan ddiod gref, a gofid, a sêl grefyddol, a llid. Ac mae’r Wncwl ffiaidd yn ei abid aflan yn rhoncian i lan y staer a’i wynt yn ei ddwrn, gan regi’n annealladwy mewn iaith nas clywyd ar y Ddaear hyd yn hyn. Mae’n chwysu’n stêcs, a rhochian fel mochyn piwis, gordew, a’i wyneb mor goch â hydrant tân ar fin ffrwydro.And then – O, in the names of the Old Strange Gods – there’s the start of the thing that’s going to tear your guts out. There’s the pitiful fumbling concealed so badly, for keys and lock, while he himself stands, or totters, in the doorway that a royal castle in a fairy-tale would be proud of – there’s the man off his head – bewildered by liquor, and worry, and religious zeal, and fury. And the abominable Uncle in his filthy habit is lurching up the stairs, out of puff, swearing incomprehensibly in a language not heard in the Earth up to now. He’s sweating buckets, and grunting like an obese, puce pig, his face as red as a fire-hydrant about to explode.
Dyna ôl-fflach. Ro’t ti ofn ofnadw’ pan ‘nest ti ymlusgo lawr staer yn chwech oed, un tro pan o’t ti yn y tŷ ar dy ben dy hunan (mwy neu lai) tua un ar ddeg o’r gloch, gyda’r rhieni bant a’r chwaer yn cysgu fel twrch, i edrych ar y greadures ddychrynllyd – y ‘sénomorff’ o’r ffilm – ar y teledu.Then a flash-back. You were terribly frightened when you slunk downstairs at age six, one time when you were home alone (more or less) about 11pm, with the ‘rents out and your sis sleeping like a log, to look at the terrifying creature – the ‘xenomorph’ from the film – on the telly.
Ac yn ôl yn y presennol, ym meddwl ofnus y bachgen mae mwmial yr Offeiriad Coch hwn yn swnio’n debyg i ryw weddi i Nuthkí, yr Hen Feistres Golledig sy’n rhoi bywyd dim ond i dwyn tranc yn ei sgil, ac mae e’n ymuno â’r seiniau diystyr, gan symud yn rhythmig ar drothwy’r stafell i greu hud o anadl ddrewllyd y mynach sy’n gwthio ei breichiau tuag ato fe, a’i fysedd tenau’n grafangau barus, gwaedlyd, A dyma’r bachgen yn dal i gofio –And back in the present, in the boy’s terrified mind, the muttering of this Red Priest sounds similar to some prayer to Nuthkí, the Old Lost Mistress who gives life only to bring destruction in her wake, and he joins in with the meaningless sounds, moving rhythmically on the threshold of the room to create magic from the stinking breath of the monk who’s pushing his arms towards him, with his spindly fingers like bloody, rapacious claws. And the boy’s still remembering –
Roedd yn fraw cyfoglyd i ti weld y gwaed, a’r perfeddion, a’r anghenfil didostur, a’r tywyllwch, y gwyll ofnadw’, a’r android milain heb ben – a’r marw, y marw i gyd – oddi ar ôl i’r hen gadair esmwyth, dreuliedig ond mor gyfforddus a chysurol yng nghornel bella’r lolfa —It was a sickening horror for you to see the blood, and the guts, and the merciless beast, and the darkness, the awful darkness, and the vicious headless android – and the dying, all the dying – from behind the comfy-chair, worn but so comfortable and reassuring in the farthest corner of the lounge –
A dyna sbringiau’r gwely lluddedig yn ‘stafell y dywysoges yn dechrau ymateb – ond ddim morwyn lân ‘mo hi bellach – y gysgadures yn y fagddu, y llechwraig yn y cysgodion, sy’n dod ati ei hun – ac felly nawr fe fydd yn chwarae’r diawl! A dyna Nuthkí ar ddihun. Ac wrth iddi lamu o’i siambr sorri at ben y staer ar ffurf panther angheuol, llyfn, cul, dyna fyrstio rhyw bibell waed yn ddwfn yn ymennydd y dyn anfad dan bwysau’i gasineb a’i wanc. A dyna fe’n sefyll yn stond am yr eiliad leia’, fel ‘sai’n dweud y fendith wrth ei braidd ddiwerth, cyn moelyd i waelod y staer, ddibyn-dobyn, cyn farwed â’r hoelen yn y ddihareb. A’r pryd ‘ny gaeth dau beth eu pennau: o ran Jelena, y byddai raid iddi hi adael cyn gynted ag y byddai’n bosib, ac o ran Daud, na ddeuai ddim yn Dad i blentyn byth erioed.And then the springs of the weary bed in the princess’s room begin to respond – but she’s no holy maiden any more – it’s the sleeper in outer darkness, the lurker in the shadows, who’s coming to – and so now there’ll be hell to pay! And then Nuthkí herself is awake. And as she springs from her boudoir at the top of the stairs in the form of a thin, sleek, deadly panther, some blood-vessel deep in the wicked man’s brain bursts under the pressure of his hatred and his greed. And he stands stock-still for an absolute instant, as if he was giving the blessing to his worthless flock, before toppling to the bottom of the stairs, head-over-heels, as dead as the nail in the proverb. And just then two things were decided: for Jelena, that she would have to leave as soon as possible, and for Daud, that he would never, ever, be Dad to a child.
Mae un o’r ddau’n gywir yn ei rhagolygon hi, tra bydd y llall yn cael mai anghywir yw e. Y tu hwnt i’r llenni mae’r Hen Filwr a’r Dewin Ieuengaf yn tynnu llinynnau i ‘neud gwyrthiau, ac achosi rhyfeddodau. A rhwng y ddau ohonyn nhw (heb anghofio am y Foneddiges), maen nhw’n deall eu crefft i'r dim. Mae’r ddau ddyn yn credu’u bod yn gweithio yn erbyn ei gilydd (yr hen ymryson teuluol), ond, i’r gwrthwyneb, bydd y naill yn helpu’r llall. Serch hynny, o achos y castiau hudol oll, fe fydd baban yn cael ei greu (yn y ffordd arferol, ch’mod!), yn cynnwys yr holl elfennau priodol, sef corff a chysgod, enw, personoliaeth, a grym bywiol. Popeth, welwch chi, byddwch chi angen i lunio enaid effeithiol. Beth fydd y Dewin yn ei eisiau gyda baban, wel, dyw e ddim yn ddweud. Ond mae’r Hen Filwr yn breuddwydio fel a ganlyn.One of the two is correct in her forecast, whilst the other will find that he is incorrect. Behind the scenes, the Old Soldier and the Youngest Magus are pulling strings to do miracles, and cause wonders. And between the two of them (not forgetting about the Lady), they know all the tricks in the book. The two men think they’re working against each other (the old family rivalry), but, to the contrary, the one is helping the other. Despite that, because of all the magical tricks, a baby shall be created (in the usual way, you know!), containing all the appropriate elements, namely body and shadow, name, personality, and life-force. Everything, you see, you need to fashion an effective spirit. What the Magician wants with a baby, well, he’s not saying. But the Old Soldier dreams as follows.
Dyma’r un nerthol, sy wedi bodoli’n dragwyddol, a oedd cyn i bopeth ddod i fodolaeth, ac a ddaw yn ôl yn fyw i deyrnasu dros y Ddau Fyd am byth. Trwy gyfrwng hud cymhleth dros ben, fydd yn ei ddihysbyddu hyd angau, mae’r Hen Filwr yn bwriadu’i ddifeddiannu a chipio’i bŵer. Ac felly mai arglwydd pellafoedd y gwagle y tu hwnt i amser fydd yr Hen Filwr yn y pen draw, ar ffurf unben tadol. Wel, dyna’r amcan, ta beth, ond fydd e’n llwyddo? Fe fydd hynny yn dibynnu ar ffactorau o bob math, yn cynnwys sawl bod dynol. Ac fe wyddoch chi sut maen nhw, oni ‘newch?This is the powerful one, who has existed eternally, who was before everything came into existence, and who shall come back to life to reign over the Two Worlds forever. By means of exceptionally complex magic, which will drain him almost to death, the Old Soldier intends to dispossess him and seize his power. And this the Old Soldier shall be the lord of the extremities of the void beyond time in the end, in the form of a benevolent despot. Well, that’s the intention, anyway, but will he succeed? That will depend on all kinds of factors, including several human beings. And you know what they’re like, don’t you?

Pennod Un ar Bymtheg: Cysgu (Lleisiau 12) / Sleeping (Voices 12)

Mewn gwledydd poeth, darpara cysgodion gysgodfeydd pwysig rhag yr haul, a grea fywyd, ond a’i difa hefyd. Yn yr Hen Aifft, er enghraifft, ystyriwyd y cysgod dynol pygddu yn rhan anhepgor y bersonoliaeth, a allai symud, serch hynny, yn annibynnol ar y corff er mwyn diogelu ei berchen. Gweddïai’r boblogaeth gyfan y goroesent ar ôl tranc eu ffurf gorfforol, yn yr Isfyd oedd yn llawn cysgodion, lle yr âi’r Haul pan fyddai’n marw ar derfyn pob dydd. Oblegid y goel hon, yr oedd cryn ymdrech dros barhau’n fyw ar ôl marwolaeth, o ran y cyfoethogion o leiaf. Golygai’r darpariaethau priodol baratoi corff y person a oedd wedi marw yn ôl cyfarwyddiadau cymhleth, yn ogystal â chodi bedd arbennig a gyflanwyd yn dda â meddiannau. Byddai’r bedd yn llawn o amwledau nerthol a thestunau’n cynnwys trysorfa o wybodaeth grefyddol a hudol fel y byddai’r lle’n gyforiog o hud a swynion. Yr oedd y rhain i fod i alluogi’r ymadawedig i oroesi a ffynnu yn y byd a ddaw o leiaf cystal ag y gwnaethai o’r blaen, os nad lawer gwell. Yr oedd y fath feddau’n ‘peiriannau aileni,’ hynny yw, mynedfeydd i’r Byd Nesaf, ar y trothwy tywyll rhwng byw a marw. Wrth gwrs, fe fyddai angen ar y rhai a adawyd yn ôl ddarparu cyflenwad cyson o fwyd i’r ymadawedig, a llefaru’i enw hefyd, i faentumio’i fodolaeth barhaol.

In hot climates, shadows provide important shelter from the sun, which creates life, but destroys it also. In Ancient Egypt, for example, the pitch-black human shadow was considered to be an inseparable part of the personality, which, despite that, could more independently of the body in order to safeguard its owner. The entire population prayed that they would survive after the demise of their physical form, in the Otherworld which was full of shadows, where the Sun would go when he died at the end of every day. Due to this belief, there was considerable effort to continue to live after death, on the part of the wealthy at least. The appropriate provisions involved preparing the body of the person wo had died according to complex instructions, in addition to building a special grave well-supplied with possessions. The grave would be full of powerful amulets and texts containing a treasure-house of religious and magical knowledge so that the place would be teeming with magic and enchantments. These were supposed to empower the departed to survive and flourish in the world to come at least as well as he had done before, if not much better. Such tombs were ‘resurrection machines,’ that is, entrances to the Next World, on the threshold between living and dying. Of course, it would be necessary for those left behind to provide a constant supply of food for the departed, and pronounce his name also, in order to maintain his continuing existence.

[Tŷ Aileni] “Myfi yw'r Bedd, y Deml, y Sigwrat, y Pyramid, a Thŷ Aileni, a adwaenir hefyd fel Brihadishvara, Caana, Meta Romuli, Nohoch Mul, a Punden Berundak. Cysgod a lecha y tu mewn i’m strwythur – a chysgodion a fwriaf y tu allan – yr wyf fel deial haul a fesura rythm cyson yr hollfyd. Oblegid mai tŷ’r Haul ydwyf hefyd. Cynhwysa’r siambrau hyn fy ewyllys a’m neges at yr oesoedd annirnadwy nad ydynt wedi cyrraedd eto. Yn y lle hwn fe glywch fy ngwir lais yn canu cân ynghylch cyfnod cyn cof a oedd eisoes wedi dirwyn i ben amser anfesuradwy yn ôl. Gwrandewch ar fy ngeiriau, bob un ohonoch a chanddynt glustiau i wrando, ac ymennydd i ddeall. Rhowch sylw i’r holl bethau hyn yn ofalus, gan na wedda i’r doethion droi rhag hyfforddiant yn ofer, rhag gwybodaeth a gasglwyd bob yn ychydig, ac a gynigir mor hael, fel y gallant ymgyfoethogi. Gwrandewch arnaf, daliwch sylw, a dysgwch, wrth imi ddechrau datgan geiriau Swyn Aileni a yrr drystau trwy’r Ddau Fyd – khepereni kheperen kheperet…”[House of Rebirth] “I am the Tomb, the Temple, the Ziggurat, the Pyramid, and the House of Rebirth, which is known also as Brihadishvara, Caana, Meta Romuli, Nohoch Mul, a Punden Berundak. Shadow lurks inside my structure – and shadows I cast outside – I am like a sun-dial which measures the universe’s constant rhythm. For I am the Sun also. These chambers comprise my will and my message to the inconceivable ages which have not yet arrived. In this place you shall hear my true voice singing a song about an immemorial period that had already come to an end an immeasurable time ago. Listen to my words, every one of you who has ears to hear, and a mind to understand. Pay careful heed to all these things, for it is not fitting for the wise to turn from instruction in vain, from knowledge which has been collected little by little, and which is offered so generously so that they can enrich themselves. Listen to me, pay attention, and learn, whilst I begin to declare the words of the Charm of Rebirth which sends rumbles through the Two Worlds -- khepereni kheperen kheperet…”
[Yr Ananedig] “Mewn cawl trwchus a thryloyw rwy’n nofio, yn y lle hwn llawn dymuniad mud, neu falle mod i’n hwylio ar wyneb rhyw fôr anhysbys, sy’n gyforiog o ddymuniadau heb eu cyflawni hyd yn hyn. Ydw i’n farw neu heb fy ngeni eto? Fel y morfil lleia' yn y byd, rwy’n ymhyfrydu yn teimlo’r dŵr o’m cwmpas, wrth i fi ganu, chep-er – chep-er – chep-er. Wel o leia’ rwy’n credu mod i’n grillian, neu ‘neud sŵn o ryw fath, heb eiriau nac alaw, wrth lafurio i gyfleu cymaint o bethau anghyson ac annisgrifiadwy, i ddweud chwedlau am fywydau di-rif nad yw neb wedi’u byw eto. A hanesion llawn arswyd a dagrau, nwydau a gofidiau, awyddau, pleserau, a phoenau ydyn nhw i gyd. Cyfuniad o elfennau anhygoel o rymus a esgorodd arna i, cymysgedd yn cynnwys gwaed a mêl, halen a lledrith a chwys a phridd. Deffrodd rhyw lanw mewnol luosogi fy nghelloedd, gan gynnau ffiws goch, gignoeth fy mywyd ar yr un pryd.”[The Unborn] “In a thick, translucent soup I swim, in this place full of silent desire, or perhaps I’m sailing on the surface of some unknown sea, overflowing with desires unfulfilled up to now. Am I dead or as yet unborn? Like the tiniest whale in the world, I delight in feeling the water around me, whilst I sing, chep-er – chep-er -- chep-er. Well at least I think I’m chirping, or making sound of some kind, without words or tune, whilst labouring to convey so many things, inconsistent and indescribable, to tell tales about numberless lives which no-one has yet lived. And these are all stories full of terror and tears, passions and fears, desires, and pleasures, and pains. An incredibly potent combination of elements brought me forth, a mixture containing blood and honey, salt and magic and sweat and earth. Some internal tide awoke the proliferation of my cells, igniting the raw, red fuse of my life at the same time.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Yn y dechreuad, fe freuddwydia’r cawl cychwynnol sydd yn gyflawn ynddo’i hun, ac ymhlith y dyfroedd yr ymgoda meddyliau a grea eu hunain. Ond tra bo’r meddyliau hyn yn rymus, serch hynny y maent yn fud hefyd. Gwrandewch, am mai dyma fi’n dywed wrthych sut y daeth y cyfanfyd oll i fod.”[House of Rebirth] “In the beginning, the primordial broth, which is complete in itself, dreams, and amidst the waters there arise thoughts which create themselves. But whilst these thoughts are powerful, despite that they are mute also. Listen, for here am I telling you how the whole universe came to be.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Drwy’r amser yn y tywyllwch ‘ma mae ‘nghorff i’n troi a throsi, tyfu ac ymestyn, plygu a thrawsffurfio, am fy mod i’n gaeth i ddeddfau biogenetig, yn yr un modd â phob creadur arall wedi’i ‘neud o gig a gwaed, asgwrn a chroen. Felly mae fy siâp corfforol yn ymateb i alwad meysydd grym a graddiannau cemegol am hyn o dro, gan newid ei ffurf o hyd ac o hyd. Ac wrth i fi ddatblygu, rwy’n bysgodyn i ddechrau, wedyn salamander, ar ôl hynny crwban, wedi’i ddilyn gan giw, cyn dod yn fochyn, ac yn nesa’n llo, sy’n troi’n gwningen, ac yn olaf rwy’n grwt. Ac o sylweddoli hyn, fe fyddwn i ddod i feddu ar yr hud mwya’ nerthol, ‘swn i ond yn gallu cofio, neu ddyfeisio, y geiriau priodol i fynegi’r trawsffurfiad yn fanwl gywir, i’w gychwyn, i’w reoli, i’w atal, i’w lywio ar hyd llwybrau newydd. Ond cyn gynted ag rwy’n meddwl y fath bethau, dyma fi’n newid fy meddwl yn syth, achos dw i ddim yn sicr bod hyn oll yn wir, yn y fan hon lle mae cysyniadau’n toddi ac ail-ffurfio’n hudol bob amser. A dyma fi’n dechrau colli synnwyr realiti, gan ofyn fel mae pobl wedi ‘neud cyn amled o’r blaen: beth, yn enwedig, yw gwirionedd? A dyna pam, mewn eiliadau o ofn llwyr wrth i fi hongian yma’n noeth, mor lawn disgwyliad nes i fi deimlo fel ‘swn i ar fin ffrwydro, rwy’n sgrechian, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, ac mae fel ‘sai fy ymwybod newydd ei rwygo’n hollol annisgwyl o wagle difeddwl. Ond nage fi sy wedi dewis derbyn y baich hwn, yr haint farwol wedi’i throsglwyddo o’r rhieni i’r plentyn. Ac er hynny, fi sy wedi’i dynghedu i fyw, ac i farw o’r diwedd, ar derfyn bywyd cythryblus.”[The Unborn] “All the time in this darkness my body tosses and turns, grows and extends, bends and transforms, as I am enslaved by biogenetic laws, in the same way as every other creature made of flesh and blood, bone and skin. So my physical shape responds to the call of force-fields and chemical gradients for the time being, changing its form incessantly. And as I develop, I’m a fish to start with, then a salamander, after that a tortoise, followed by a chick, before becoming a pig, and next a calf, which turns into a rabbit, and last I am a child. And realising this, I would come to possess the most powerful magic, if I could only remember, or invent, the appropriate words to express the metamorphosis absolutely correctly, to start it, to control it, to halt it, to steer it along new paths. But as soon as I think such things, I change my mind straight away, because I’m not sure that all this is true, in this place where concepts are melting and re-forming magically all the time. And I start to lose a sense of reality, asking myself like people have done so often before: what, exactly, is truth? And that’s why, in moments of complete terror as I hang here naked, so full of expectations I feel like I’m about to explode, I scream, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, and it’s as if my consciousness has just been torn totally unexpectedly from an unthinking void. But it’s not me who’s chosen to accept this burden, the deadly infection transmitted from the parents to the child. And despite that, it’s me who’s been fated to live, and to die at last, at the end of a turbulent life.”
[Tŷ Aileni] "Yn gyntaf oll, hollta dychmygion gwreiddiol yr ymennydd anhrefnus yn olau a thywyll, egni a sylwedd, enaid a chorff, ystyriaeth a gweithred, symud a gorffwys, ac â’r rhain yn eu blaenau i hofran dros wyneb y môr mawr, llwyd o bosibiliadau di-ben-draw. Yn awr, fel neidr swrth yn torheulo ar dywod poeth yr anialwch wrth arogleuo’r awyr yn astud, synhwyra’r meddyliau symudiad yr ehangder aruthrol o dŵr, gan ddechrau llunio o’r elfennau cyntefig galon, a cheg, dannedd, a thafod, i ynganu’r geiriau creadigol a fydd yn cyflawni’r weithred fawr, sef datgelu gogoniant y greadigaeth.”[House of Rebirth] "First of all, the disordered mind’s original thoughts split into light and darkness, energy and substance, spirit and body, consideration and action, movement and repose; and these go forward to hover over the face of the great, grey sea of endless possibilities. Now, like a lethargic snake basking on the desert’s hot sand while intently sniffing the air, the thoughts sense the movement of the vast expanse of water, beginning to fashion from the primordial elements a heart and a mouth, teeth, and a tongue, to pronounce the creative words which shall complete the great task, namely revealing the glory of the creation.”
[Yr Ananedig] “O Fam, fy Mam, sgwrsiwch â fi: dyma fi’n aros, ar binnau bach, a gwrando. Gadewch i ni gerdded gyda’n gilydd dan yr awyr nos, ar lan y môr meddylgar sy’n ffynhonnell i gymaint, fi sy’n deithiwr yn eich croth, a chi sy’n rhodio llwybrau cymhleth bywyd, wrth i’ch traed noeth suddo i’r tywod oer, hynafol. Diogelwch fi, Fam, chi sy ‘di dewis, a fi sy heb ddewis o gwbl, wrth i ni grwydro dan belydrau’r lleuad sy’n wraig i natur, ac felly morwyn fagu i bawb, ac a fydd yn goleuo’r holl fyd yn ei hamser ei hun. Mae’r triliynau o ronynnau tywod yn croniclo oferedd yr oesoedd, wrth i’r dŵr corddol ein hatgoffa o ble rydym ni wedi dod, ac i ble y byddwn ni’n dychwelyd. Mae’r tonnau’n tyner sisial wrth fy nghelloedd llawn hylif helïaidd, wrth i’r haemoglobin yn fy nghelloedd gwaed, sydd â haearn yn ei galon, ruthro drwy fy ngwythiennau, chep – er – chep – er – chep – er. A dyma fi’n dyhefod wrth geisio canu mewn cytgord ag aflonyddiadau bychain ar y maes magnetig sy’n amgylchu’r blaned, ond o achos y cyfyngiadau ar fy nghorff pitw, dw i’n cael fy nghondemnio i fethu.”[The Unborn] “O Mother, my Mother, talk to me; here I am, waiting, on tenterhooks, and listening. Let us walk together under the night sky, along the shore of the thoughtful sea which is the source of so much, I who am a traveller in your womb, and you who stroll life’s complex paths, whilst your bare feet sink into the ancient, cold sand. Protect me, Mother, you who have chosen, and I who lack any choice at all, while we wander under the beams of the moon who is wife to nature, and therefore nursemaid to all, and who will light up the whole world in her own time. The trillions of sand-grains chronicle the futility of the ages, whilst the churning water reminds us of whence we have come, and whither we shall return. The tender waves whisper to my cells full of saline fluid, whilst the haemoglobin in my blood-cells, which has iron in its heart, rushes through my veins, chep – er – chep – er – chep – er. And I pant while trying to sing in harmony with the tiny perturbations in the magnetic field that enswathes the planet, but due to the restrictions on my feeble body, I am condemned to fail.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Ac yn sydyn dyna ymddiddan y meddyliau creadigol wrth ei gilydd gan ddefnyddio geiriau nas clywyd erioed o’r blaen. Gwaedda’r dyfroedd byrlymus mewn loes oblegid y wasgfa esgor, wrth i felt fflachio o boptu, gan roi genedigaeth i wagle di-drefn y gofod. Wedyn, trefnir y gwagle yn unol â chynddelw’r cosmos, ar sail y meddyliau a ddatgenir ar ffurf geiriau, gan y geg, y tafod, y dannedd, a’r gwefusau. Ac felly dyma ddod yr Haul, a’r planedau i gyd, i fod.”[House of Rebirth] “And suddenly the creative thoughts converse with each other using words that have never been heard before. The bubbling waters cry out in pain due to the birthing pangs, whilst lightning flashes all around, giving birth to the disordered void of space. Then, the void is ordered in accordance with the blueprint of the cosmos, on the basis of the thoughts which are declared in the form of words, by the mouth, the tongue, the teeth, and the lips. And so the Sun, and all the planets, come to be.”
[Yr Ananedig] “A fi, sydd â llygaid ond nad yw’n gallu gweld o hyd, fi sy’n nofio yn y môr mewnol – fi ydy sy’n cael ei amddiffyn gan hylif y groth, rhag grym atyniad enfawr ein tad y ddaear, a phwysedd aruthrol cwrlid yr awyr atmosfferig. Yn fy esgyrn galcheiddiwyd, trwy fy systëin sylffyraidd, ac yn fy ffosffadau ffyrnig, rwy’n teimlo’n bod ni i gyd yn blant i rymoedd yr hollfyd. Mae’u hegnïon cymhleth a manwl gyweiriedig yn rhyngweithio gyda’i gilydd i’n bywiogi ni. Rydym ni’n rhannu’u hymdrechion dros esblygiad a newid o achos y pâr o rubanau cemegol wedi’u plethu yng nghalon pob cell. Fel aelodau’r hil ddynol rydym ni oll yn cael ein huno gan y peiriant molecylaidd hwn sy’n diffinio’n rhywogaeth. Mae’r templed ‘ma’n gyrru’n chwantau, a thanio’n hofnau, wrth reoli’n breuddwydion hefyd. Ac felly, y wybodaeth hon wedi’i chodio yng nghraidd ein bodolaeth, fydd yn gweithio i lunio’r dyfodol, gan fwyngloddio haen o bosibiliadau dychmygol heb ffin na therfyn.”[The Unborn] “And I, who have eyes but cannot see still, I who am swimming in the internal sea – it is I who am being protected by the womb’s fluid from the enormous attractive power of our father the earth, and the immense pressure of the quilt of atmospheric air. In my calcified bones, through my sulfurous cysteine, and in my ferocious phosphates, I feel that we are all children to the forces of the universe. Their complex and finely-tuned energies interact with each other to enliven us. We share their efforts towards evolution and change because of the pair of chemical ribbons pleated in the heart of every cell. As members of the human race we all united by this molecular machine which defines our species. This template drives our desires, and ignites our fears, while also governing our dreams. And so, it is this information encoded in the essence of our existence, which will work to fashion the future, mining a seam of imaginary possibilities without boundary or end.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Gweithia’r Haul, hanfod haelioni, drwy gyfrwng y meddwl, yr enaid, a’r llais i greu bywyd trwy ddatgan y geiriau hudol. Dyma sut mae elfennau sylfaenol y drefn gosmig yn cysylltu â’i gilydd. Newid yw craidd amser, a gwelir newid trwy gyfrwng symudiad gwrthrychau a datblygiad prosesau; a thrwy briodweddau meintiol a duedda i gynyddu a lleihau, a rhai ansoddol a duedda i gryfhau a gwanhau. Ac ymddengys fel petasai amser a achosa newid yn ei dro, er mai dim ond arwydd yr ail yw’r cyntaf. Ac o ran yr hollfyd, bywyd yw prif arwydd newid. Ac felly yng nghyflawnder amser, fel y medd dyn, ar yr amser penodedig y cwyd bywyd, a dilyn ei gwrs digynnig, gan lanw a threio, cynyddu a chilio, ar hap a damwain i bob golwg, wrth esblygu yn y modd mwyaf cymhleth a rhyfeddol.”[House of Rebirth] “The Sun, the essence of generosity, works by means of the mind, the spirit, and the voice, to create life by declaring the magic words. This is how the fundamental elements of the cosmic order are connected with each other. Change is the crux of time, and change is seen by means of the movement of objects and the development of processes; and through quantitative properties which tend to increase and decrease, and qualitative ones which tend to intensify and weaken. And it appears as if it is time which causes change in its turn, although the former is but a sign of the latter. And on the part of the universe, life is the main sign of change. And so it is, that in the fullness of time, as one says, at the appointed time, that life arises and follows its exceptional course, ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning, living and dying at random to all appearances, whilst evolving in the most complex and wonderful fashion.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Am fydoedd, am fywydau, mae bodau dynol yn eu creu, gan weu tapestri o ieithoedd a syniadau. Mae symbol yn galw ar symbol, wrth i arwyddion gyplu’n ddiarbed wrth ei gilydd i ‘neud cadwyni o ystyr newydd sbon. A dyna sut mae cymaint o eiriau’n ffrydio allan i’r byd i ddisgrifio cytserau eiriasboeth o wybodaeth, gan gysylltu meddwl â meddwl a thanio injans syfrdanol meddwl a dychymyg. Fe fydd yr holl ddrama hon yn aros amdana i. Mae e eisoes yn barod, y llwybr llydan ‘na fydd yn arwain i dranc. ‘Sdim ond rhaid i’r cymeriadau, a’r lleoedd, y deialog, y naratif, a’r digwyddiadau, yn ogystal â’r manylion fyrdd eraill gael eu datgelu. A fi fydd yr un a gaiff ei orfod i ddarganfod popeth, mewn dyfodol na fydda i’n medru’i reoli. Ac o achos hyn oll dw i’n beichio wylo wrth ddawnsio yma yn fy nghroth saff, wedi’i dal hi ar ddeliriwm tynged anhysbys.”[The Unborn] “What worlds, what lives, human beings create, weaving a tapestry of languages and ideas. Symbol calls to symbol, whilst signs couple together unrelentingly to make chains of brand-new meaning. And that’s how so many worlds flood out into the world to describe white-hot constellations of information, connecting mind with mind and firing stupendous engines of though and imagining. All this drama shall be awaiting me. It is already ready, that wide path that will lead to destruction. There is only need for the characters, and the locations, the dialogue, the narrative, and the events, together with the myriad of other details, to be revealed. And it’s me who’ll be forced to discover everything, in a future I won’t be able to control. And because of all this I sob while dancing here in my safe womb, drunk on the delirium of an unknown destiny.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Oherwydd nerth yr Haul yr ymddengys yr holl elfennau, a’r pwerau oll, a fodola heddiw. O ganlyniad i’w eiriau y dônt i fod. Trwy lefaru y crea ef bob peth sydd. Ac felly y mae: Lushfé, y goelcerth sy wastad yn ysu, a Tefnuth, a’i syrthni yn dofi pob grym; Hebé, y ddrycin, sy’n rhuo ym mhobman, a Nuthkí, yr hanfod sy’n bwydo a lladd; Wezir, y gofod sy’n berwi heb ysbaid, ac Isheth, yr egni sy’n llenwi pob cil; Nebesh, yr afon na ellir ei hatal, a Swtach, yr anial, sy’n celu ei wep. A’r enwau ar y Saith Swynwr yw Lushfé a Tefnuth, Hebé a Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, a Nebesh. Ond am Swtach y gwrthryfelwr ni allaf sôn mwyach, ond i ddweud iddo fynd yn was caeth i’r llall trwy geisio goruchafu arnynt yn anghyfreithlon. Am mai, fel yr ydys wedi ysgrifennu: Trwy ennill y daw colli, a’r sawl a fetha a ennill.”[House of Rebirth] “Due to the might of the Sun, all the elements appear, and all the powers, which exist today. It is as a result of his words that they came to be. It is through speaking that he created every thing that there is. And so there is: Lushfé, the bonfire that’s always consuming, and Tefnuth whose slothfulness tames every power; Hebé, the tempest who bellows all over, and Nuthkí the essence that both feeds and kills; Wezir, the void-space who’s ceaselessly boiling, and Isheth, the energy filling all nooks; Nebesh, the river that cannot be halted, and Swtach the desert, who covers his face. And the names of the Seven Sorcerers are Lushfé and Tefnuth, Hebé and Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, and Nebesh. But about Swtach the rebel, I cannot speak further, only to say that he became bond-sevant to the others by trying to dominate them illegally. For, as it has been written: ‘Trough winning one loses; and he who fails shall win’.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Eto i gyd, ymhlith y dychmygion digyswllt ‘ma, mae pigiadau o anesmwythder yn plagio fy nghorff eiddil, wrth i donnau o bryder olchi drosof fi. Wedi’r cwbl, beth am haint a hagrwch, helbul a helynt? Dw i’m yn gallu anghofio taw’r helics dwbl, troellog ‘na, wedi’i gelu yng nghnewyll bron pob cell, sy’n cynnwys gwybodaeth ynglŷn â therfyn bywyd yn ogystal â’i gychwyn. Y tu mewn i’n sborau ni, mae had ein digalondid, hyd yn oed ein distryw.”[The Unborn] “Then again, amongst these unconnected imaginings, prickles of unease plague my puny body, whilst waves of worry wash over me. After all, what about disease and deformity, trial and tribulation? I cannot forget that that spiral double helix, concealed in the nucleus of almost every cell, contains information about the end of life as well as its beginning. Inside our spores there are the seeds of our desolation, even our destruction.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Ar ben y system sanctaidd y mae’r Haul, felly, yn llythrennol ac yn drosiadol, efe a reola dros holl gyfundrefn natur er y cychwyn cyntaf. Geiriau ei gân hudol a chwareus a dynn fywyd o’r pridd mud, marw, oer. Yr oedd iaith yno pan anwyd y byd; mae’r holl blaned wedi’i dilladu ag ieithoedd, a dawn ymadrodd a addurna’r tir, y môr a’r awyr, gan wneud y byd yn lle eithriadol o gymhleth ar yr un pryd. Ym mhob man, siantia’r sgarabiaid litani gylchol marwolaeth a dadeni oddi mewn i’r tail toreithiog, rhagorol. A dyna fantra a gychwyn ei hun, a gyfeiria at ei hun, a drawsffurfia ei hun, drwy’r amser – khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.”[House of Rebirth] “At the top of the sacred system is the Sun, therefore, literally and metaphorically; he who has been ruling over the whole order of nature since the beginning time. It is the words of his magical and playful song that draw life from the cold, dead, mute soil. There was language there when the world was born; the whole planet is clothed with languages, and the gift of speech adorns the land, the sea, and the sky, making the world an exceptionally complex place at the same time. Everywhere, the scarabs chant a cyclical litany of death and rebirth from within the superb, fertile manure. And that is a mantra which begins itself, which refers to itself, which transforms itself, all the time -- khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.”
[Yr Ananedig] “O, bellach mae arna i angen troi at y rhiant gwryw, yr un absennol, fe sy’n rhedeg bant bob tro, nad yw eisiau arddel fy modolaeth, sy’n dymuno fy ngwrthod i. Dych chi wedi diodde’ cymaint ond dod drwyddi, ac fe fyddwch yn godde’ unwaith yn rhagor cyn cael eich rhyddhau. Ac felly, rwy’n codi fy llais dychmygol, llawn cryndod a dychryn. O Dad, ‘Nhad, arnoch chi rwy’n galw, erfyn, deisyf; chi sy’n diogelu ffon hudol iaith, sy’n rheoli cyfathrebu, er dydych chi ddim yn sylweddoli’r ffaith. Chi fyddai’n gwybod i ble y bydd y symffoni symbolaidd hon yn fy arwain i, ‘sech chi’n cyflawni’r seremoni briodol, er na fyddech chi’n dweud wrtha i hyd yn oed wedyn. Falle yn y dyfodol fe fydda i’n diodde’ o anaffylacsis arteithiol fydd yn atal fy alfeoli anafus rhag agor i anadlu awyr amhûr yr atmosffer. Neu’n hytrach, o bosibl, fe fydda i’n cael fy nifa gan lygredd canseraidd pan fydd y naill gell yn lladd y llall, gan lyncu’r cnodweoedd a’r cwndidau a luniwyd mor gywrain ar ôl fy ymgnawdoli. Ac wedyn fe fyddai’r gad fewnol yn adlewyrchu’r rhyfeloedd allanol, o leia’, lle mae natur, sy ddim yn meithrin rhagor, yn ymladd yn erbyn ei hunan ar ffurf dynolryw farus, hunanol, anystyriol, a rhyfelgar ar yr un llaw, a’r ddaeargryn, y llosgfynydd, y corwynt, a’r tswnami ar y llaw arall, gan wasgaru, yn esgeulus, ddifrod yn ei sgil.”[The Unborn] ‘Oh, now I need to turn to the male parent, the absent one, the one who runs away all the time, who does not want to acknowledge my existence, who wishes to deny me. You have suffered so much but come through it, and you will suffer once again before being released. And so, I raise up my imaginary voice, full of trembling and fear. O Father, my Father, you I invoke, beseech, implore, you who safeguard the magical staff of life, who rule communication, although you do not realise the fact. It is you who would know where this symbolic symphony will lead me, if you were to complete the appropriate ceremony, although you would not tell me even then. Perhaps in the future I’ll suffer from agonizing anaphylaxis which will impede my injured alveoli from opening to inhale the atmosphere’s impure air. Or rather, possibly, I shall be consumed by cancerous corruption, when one cell kills the other, swallowing the tissues and the conduits fashioned so adroitly after my enfleshing. But then the internal war would reflect the external battles, at least, where nature, which no longer nurtures, fights against itself in the form of greedy, selfish, inconsiderate, and warlike humanity, on the one hand, and the earthquake, the volcano, the hurricane, and the tsunami, or the other, scattering, carelessly, destruction in its wake.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Mae fy miliwn o feini wedi malu cenhedloedd wrth gael eu symud. Ac wedyn maent wedi diasbedain gan sain hypnotig yr offeiriaid drwy oesoedd rif y gwlith. Mae yna gyfrinachau, sydd â photensial enfawr i newid y byd, yn llechu y tu mewn i’m dyfnderoedd ceudyllog. Nid oes dim byd mor drwm â gwybodaeth guddiedig yr hud ieithyddol yr wyf yn gafael ynddi mor dynn. Mae wedi bod yn galw’n daer am goffa drwy’r tymhorau, y blynyddoedd, y canrifoedd, a’r milenia; mae’n ymbil am gael ei rhyddhau, er mwyn imi allu cyflawni’r dasg hanfodol o adfywhau’r Dewin, cyn gwthio’i enaid ar hyd y Llwybr Llaethog at dragwyddoldeb yn y nefoedd.”[House of Rebirth] “My million stones have crushed nations whilst being moved. And then they have resounded to the mesmeric sound of the priests through innumerable ages. There are secrets, which have enormous potential to change the world, lurking inside my cavernous depths. There is nothing as weighty as the hidden knowledge of the linguistic magic that I am gripping onto so tightly. It has been calling insistently for remembrance through the seasons, the years, the centuries, and the millennia; it is pleading to be released, so that I can complete the essential task of reviving the Magus, before thrusting his soul along the Milky Way to eternity in the heavens.”
[Yr Ananedig] “Ond alla i roi bai ar rymoedd amhersonol natur, ydy’r agwedd ‘ma’n deg? Mae llawer o bobl yn dweud taw gweithrediadau rhyw Dduwdod neu’i gilydd yw trychinebau, plâu, haint, a newyn. Ond pa fath o Dduwdod call a allai achosi i’r fath bethau ddigwydd? Ac wedyn, ar y llaw arall, ‘sai’r Rhai Nerthol yn hollol loerig, oni fyddai’r Ddau Fyd lai nag mewnffrwydro dan bwysau’r amhosibilrwydd anhraethol, heb os nac oni bai? A chofiwch chi nad fi, yr amnio-forwr yn y bru, gwlyb at y croen, a’i ysgyfaint yn llond o hylif, sy wedi dewis y rhan leia’ o hyn oll. Ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, dyma fi wedi fy allwthio fy hunan i’r gofod mewnol ‘ma, dyma fi’n bwydo, a thyfu ac aeddfedu, gan greu ac ail-greu fy hunan, a dyma fi’n sgrechian yn fud, a syflyd, gan bwtian fy Mam oddi mewn. Ond nage fi sy wedi dewis dim byd o gwbl o’r pethau ‘ma. Na gallwn i wrthod, ‘chwaith, y rhodd hon o fywyd, yr anrheg fwya’ ymhlith yr holl anrhegion. Ac am ei bod wedi’i chyflwyno heb haelder, ac yn brin o serch, dim ond manbeth anfuddiol, llawn ing fydd e yn y diwedd, beth bynnag.”[The Unborn] “But can I blame the impersonal forces of nature, is that attitude fair? Many people say that plagues, pestilence, and famine are acts of some Divinity or other. But what kind of sane Divinity could cause such things to happen? And then, on the other hand, if the Powerful Ones were totally mad, would not the Two Worlds simply implode under the pressure of the incalculable improbability, without a doubt? And remember that it is not I, the amnio-naut in the womb, wet to the skin, and lungs full of fluid, who has chosen the least part of all this. But despite that, here am I having extruded myself into this internal space, here I am, feeding, and growing, and maturing, creating and re-creating myself, and here I am screaming silently, and stirring, nudging my Mother from within. But it is not me who’s chosen anything at all of these things. Nor could I refuse, either, this gift of life, the greatest gift of all. And because it has been presented without generosity, and is lacking in love, only a worthless trifle full of anguish shall it be, in the end, anyway.”
[Tŷ Aileni] “Mae fy llygaid hollweledol o lapis-laswli glas yr awyr, a luniwyd gan y pen-seiri meini, yn debyg i eiddo baban heb ei eni. Ac maent wedi gwylio popeth yn drist ar hyd yr oesoedd, wrth warchod hyd yn hyn ddefodau sydd heb eu cyflawni ers cannoedd o ganrifoedd. Am mai myfi fy hun yw’r porth a’r allwedd i’r Byd Nesaf, myfi a ddylai fod yn dŷ olaf i’r Dewin a man cychwyn ei daith ymhlith y sêr ar ben hynny. Ond – gwae fi!– rwy wedi cael fy nhreisio a’m halogi, a bellach gwag yw fy nghroth, ac unig fy lleoedd sanctaidd! Nid oes mwyach gorff wedi’i lapio fel mymi’n gorwedd yn ddiogel y tu mewn i’w gocŵn hudol. Ond mae yna un mewn bodolaeth a ŵyr y swyngyfaredd gywir, sydd yn consurio’r grymoedd cronedig wrth imi gyfathrebu wrthych y materion hyn i gyd. Ac felly rwy’n chwannog ddisgwyl dychwelyd yr Un Detholedig ar farw. Ac wedyn, pan fydd popeth yn barod, efe a ddaw i gael ei ail-eni, ac fe fyddaf fi’n anwesu ei gorff nas llygrir yn fy arch garreg, wrth i’w enw, a phersonoliaeth, a chysgod, ac enaid rodio llwybrau’r Ddau Fyd ar ffurf ysbryd nerthol heb rwystr am byth!”[House of Rebirth] “My all-seeing eyes of sky-blue lapis-lazuli, which were fashioned by the master masons, are similar to those of an unborn babe. And they have watched everything sadly throughout the ages, whilst guarding up to now rites which have not been performed for hundreds of centuries. For I myself am the gate and the key to the Next World, it is I who should be last house for the Magus and starting-point for his journey amongst the stars as well as that. But – Oh, woe! – I have been violated and desecrated, and now my womb is empty, and my sacred spaces lonely! There is no longer a body wrapped as a mummy, lying safe inside its magical cocoon. But there is one in existence who knows the correct enchantment, who is conjuring the pent-up forces whilst I communicate all these matters to you. And so, I eagerly await the return of the Chosen One on the point of death. And then, when everything is ready, he shall come to be reborn, and I shall caress his uncorrupted body in my stone coffin, whilst his name, and personality, and shadow, and spirit, stroll the paths of the Two Worlds in the form of a powerful spirit, without hindrance, for ever!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 13

Pennod Dau ar Bymtheg: Ymdrybaeddu (Lleisiau 13) / Wallowing (Voices 13)

Nid anodd gweld, o ran y rhai sydd yn ymbleseru yn boddio’u llygaid ar nofelau graffig o leiaf, mai profiad hollol newydd yw hwn o’i gymharu â darllen llyfr neu edrych ar baentiad, er enghraifft. Ac fe ddylem nodi’n astud nad y gair ‘darllen’ a ddefnyddiwyd yn y cyd-destun hwn. Felly mae rhaid datblygu dull gwahanol yn ei hanfod o drafod comics, fel mae Julia Round wedi esbonio. Yr uned i’r naratif mewn stribed comic yw’r panel. Mae hwn yn cynrychioli arwydd hybrid newydd sydd yn cyfuno agweddau llenyddol â rhai gweledol. Yn y panel, sydd yn defnyddio estheteg dra arddulliedig, mae gofod yn cynrychioli amser, gan greu o ddim fyd ffantastig wedi’i seilio ar wirionedd ffuglennol lle mae popeth yn y pair bob amser.Bydd y nodweddion hyn i gyd yn cyfrannu at lunio gor-realiaeth lle y bydd traethydd y stori’n gymeriad ynddi. Bydd hefyd yn drysu safbwynt darluniadol gwrthrychol y gwyliwr, a’i synnwyr hunaniaeth ar ben hynny, gan na all wahaniaethu’n ymwybodol rhwng ei sefyllfa yn y byd go iawn yn ystod ei brofiad, a’r hyn sydd yn digwydd yn efelychiad dirwedd a grëir yn y llyfr comics. Bydd yn dod yn awdur cyfrannol a chanddo fewnbwn i’r naratif, ac efe fydd yn llenwi bylchau pwysig, gan ddarparu dehongliadau amgen i’r hanes.

It is not hard to see, on the part of those who delight in feasting their eyes on graphic novels at least, that this is a totally new experience compared with reading a book or looking at a painting, for example. And we should carefully note that it is not the word ‘read’ that has been used in this context. Thus, there is a need to develop a fundamentally different method of discussing comics, as Julia Round has explained. The unit of the narrative in a comic strip is the panel. This represents a new hybrid sign which unites literary aspects with visual ones. In the panel, which uses a highly stylized aesthetic, space represents time, creating out of no-where a fantastic world based in fictional truth where everything is always mutable.All these characteristics contribute to fashioning a hyper-reality where the narrator of the story is a character in it. It also confuses the objective pictorial viewpoint of the viewer, and his sense of identity on top of that, since he cannot differentiate consciously between his situation in the real world during his experience, and what is happening in the simulation of reality which is created in the comic book. He becomes a contributing author who has input into the narrative, and it is he who fills in important gaps, providing alternative interpretations for the story.

Yng nghysur y gwely hedegog (er nad yw’n hedfan ar hyn o bryd), o dan y cwilt ac arno ddelweddau o angenfilod, wrth olau tortsh, bydd ein David bach ni (er fod e’n llanc plorynnog llawn hormonau yn ei arddegau bellach) yn dwlu ar ddarllen ei hoff gomics wedi’u hysbrydoli gan chwedlau hynafol a hynod Urdd y Cyfrinachau. Mamrick (‘Y Cysgod’) o’r Wlad-wen yw’r awdur, ac mae darluniau arswydus o brydferth gan Grossmann (‘Y Ficing’) sy’n hanu o dref Aberdydd dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd. Mae’r Hen Filwr, y dyn doniol ‘na a’i lygaid yn pefrio bob tro, sy fel Wncwl clyfar, cyfeillgar, wedi bod yn dod â nhw ato fe. Mae’r noddedig ifanc wedi bod yn edrych ymlaen at yr ymweliadau mor frwd, achos bod y comics mor wych, ac yn wir mae ‘di bod yn dysgu cymaint am hud gan y cyfarwydd teithiol (dyna’i eiriau ei hunan, cofiwch chi) a’r nofelau graffig (a rhoi iddyn nhw eu henw cywir).In the comfort of the flying bed (although it's not flying at the moment), under the quilt with its monstrous images, by torchlight, our little David (although he’s a spotty teen-ager full of hormones now) just loves reading his favourite comics inspired by the ancient and strange legends of the Guild of Secrets. Mamrick (‘The Shadow’) of the White-land is the author, and there are terrifyingly beautiful illustrations by Grossmann (‘The Viking’) who comes from the idyllic town of Aberdydd across the Great Grey Sea. The Old Soldier, that funny man whose eyes are always sparkling, who’s like a friendly, clever Uncle, has been bringing them to him. The young protégé’s been looking forward to the visits so keenly, because the comics are so great, and really, he’s been leaning so much about magic from the peripatetic story-teller and the graphic novels (to give them their correct name).
Dyw e ddim yn gwybod be’ yw’i hoff beth, rhwng yr holl seremonïau, a lladd, a mynd i’r Nw Yrth, a’r rhegi barddonol, a’r ieithoedd estron, ac O, y lluniau ‘na o feddi siaradus gyda thyrrau gleision, a’r baban o fwtant! Ond falle'r ffrwydradau i gyd yw’r peth gorau, ond eto i gyd, dyna’r creaduriaid arallfydol sy eisiau cymryd y Ddaear drosodd, heb sôn am y Cyfanfyd oll. ‘Neno Wezir (sy’n un o’r cymeriadau mwya’ pwysig, gyda llaw), mae David eisiau bod yn Ddewin pan fydd yn tyfu lan. A dyma ddechrau’r stori –He doesn’t know what is his favourite thing, what with all the ceremonies, and slaying, and going to the Nw Yrth, and the poetic swearing, and the strange languages, and Oh, those pictures of talking tombs, and blue towers, and the mutant baby! But perhaps the best thing is all those explosions. By Wezir (who’s one of the most important characters, by the way), David wants to be a Wizard when he grows up! And here's the beginning of the story –
"Filenia yn ôl, fe ddatguddiodd Lugal-mach, yr hen sêr-ddewin, aelod o’r genedl Ubaid, lyfrau sanctaidd o’r enw ‘Dingir Gal-gal-ngu-ne-ra’ (hynny yw, ‘Ar gyfer Fy Nuwiau Mawr Oll’), yn adfeilion dinas chwedlonol Eridu. Roedd y rhain wedi cael eu danfon i’r Ddaear yn ystod gwawr y lleuad goch, pan ddidolwyd trefn oddi wrth anrhefn ar y Nw Yrth gan weision y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd. Roedden nhw’n bwriadu denu bodau dynol chwilfrydig, unigolion oedd yn awyddus i ddysgu cyfrinachu o bob math, gan ddymuno cael gwybod sut i drin pŵer, rheoli pobl eraill a dylanwadu ar gyfeiriad digwyddiadau. Ac o syllu ar y tudalennau’n cynnwys cymaint o wybodaeth anghredadwy, wedi’u hadlewyrchu mewn drych sgrio, fe fyddai’r chwiliwr yn gweld delweddu’n ymrithio o’i amgylch…"Millennia ago, Lugal-mach, the old astrologer, a member of the Ubaid people, unearthed the sacred books called ‘Dingir Gal-gal-ngu-ne-ra’ (that is, 'For All the Great Gods') in the ruins of the fabled city of Eridu. These had been sent to Earth during the dawn of the red moon, when order and disorder were separated on the Nw Yrth by the servants of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers. They intended to tempt inquisitive human beings, individuals who were keen to learn secrets of all kinds, desiring to get to know how to wield power, control other people, and influence the course of events. And from staring at the pages containing so much unbelievable information, the seeker would see images materializing all around him…
“Ac fe fyddai’n gwledda’i lygaid ar luniau symudol, amryliw o’r hyn a fu, yr hyn sydd, a’r hyn a allai fod. Ond nid yr hyn a fydd yn ddiamau a ddangosid, mae rhaid pwysleisio, ond yn hytrach y canlyniadau tebycaf yn cydymffurfio â chwantau’r gwyliwr. O ganlyniad i’r amlygiadau ysgytwol a brofodd Lugal-mach wrth ddarllen y symbolau byw, fe ddarfu iddo wneuthur sawl peth. Y cyntaf ohonynt oedd gofannu cleddyf deufin wedi’i fendithio â rhaib hynafol yn Swmereg, sy’n rhedeg; ‘Nid marw’r fath beth a eill huno am hydoedd; A’r Angau Glas drengo ar ben dirgel oesoedd.’ Ac fe’i tymherodd â’i waed ei hun…“And he would feast his eyes on multi-coloured moving pictures of what has been, what is, and what could be. But it is not the things that will be without a doubt which would be shown, we must emphasize, but rather the most likely outcomes according with the desires of the watcher. As a result of the shocking revelations Lugal-mach experienced whilst reading the living symbols, it came to pass that he did several things. The first of them was to forge a two-edged sword blessed with an ancient hex in Sumerian, which runs: 'That is not dead which can eternal lie; And with strange aeons even Death may die,’ and he infused it with his own blood…
“Wedyn, frawyched dweud, roedd rhaid iddo’i offrymu'i hun mewn tân, er mwyn iddo gael ei aileni ar ffurf baban gwyrthiol fel, o’r diwedd, wedi aeddfedu a dioddef sawl profedigaeth, y gallai groesi’r gofod i’r Nw Yrth ar ffurf dyn ifanc, golygus. Ac yn awr yr wyf fi, Sorakados y Tywysog, wedi llwyddo i ddarganfod cyfrinachau fy etifeddiaeth, er mai yn gyntaf oll yr oedd rhaid imi syllu am oriau ar yr enfys o olew a chwyrlïai ar wyneb du fy nrych sgrio wrth gynhemlu uwchben y llyfr hynafol. O wneuthur hyn, ac aros gan lafarganu, fe ddeuthum i sylweddoli mai myfi yw’r hen sêr-ddewin, a’m henw’n golygu ‘Swynwr’ yn iaith gysefin y Nw Yrth, ac y bydd arnaf angen dilyn trywydd Lugal-mach…"Then, terrifying to relate, it was necessary for him to immolate himself in fire, in order that he might be reborn in the form of a miraculous babe, so that, finally, having matured and endured a number of trials, he could cross the void to the Nw Yrth in the form of a handsome young man. And now I, Sorakados the Prince, have succeeded in discovering the secrets of my inheritance, although first of all I had to stare for hours into the oily rainbow that swirled on the black face of my scrying-glass whilst meditating about the ancient book. By doing this, and waiting, chanting, I came realise that it is I who am the old astrologer, my name meaning ‘Sorcerer’ in the original language of the Nw Yrth, and that I shall need to follow the trail of Lugal-mach…
“Ac felly paratois i deithio’n syth i’r Nw Yrth, lle y crwydrwn yma a thraw, gan ysbïo ar bob peth a wnâi’r amryfal drigolion, wrth flasu pleserau di-sôn-amdanynt. Ond roeddwn yn gwybod yr arhoswn yno am byth oni bai am yr hudlath wedi’i harysgrifio â llythrennau rwnig, cochion a nerthol, a adawai i fi ddychwelyd yn iach fy nghroen drachefn i’r Ddaear ar wely hedegog ac arno adenydd eryr gwyn. Ac yn hyn o beth, byddwn yn debyg i ryw Ddewin arall o fri a wisgai fantell lwyd i ddechrau, a droai’n glaerwyn ar ôl iddo godi o farw’n fyw wedi cael ei ladd gan gythraul fflamllyd...“And so, I prepared to travel straight to the Nw Yrth, where I would wander yonder and anon, spying on every thing which the multifarious inhabitants did, whilst tasting pleasures unheard-of. But I knew that I would stay there for ever if it were not for the wand inscribed with runic letters, red and powerful, which would allow me to return unscathed to the Earth, on a flying bed with the wings of a white eagle. And in this matter I would be like some other renowned Magus who wore a grey mantle to start with, which turned blazing white after he came back to life having been killed by a flaming demon...
“A phedwar tocyn y deuthum â nhw i’m cynorthwyo ar y daith, er mwyn talu teyrnged a bodloni’r gwarchodwyr sydd i’w cael yno. Am y byddai heriau i’w hwynebau ar y cilbyst rhwng y Ddau Fyd, ar lan Afon Wylofus, ar drothwy Dinas y Sigwratau, ac yn y Goedwig Emog. Ac felly yr oedd gennyf lain cyn lased â llygaid baban heb ei eni yn y bru, carreg cyn ddued â phechod y Ddaear oll, o Dŷ Aileni, hedyn cyn wyrdded â’r plancton yn y Môr Mawr Llwyd sy’n chwerthin bob tro am ben ofergoeledd yr hil ddynol, a phluen cyn wynned â’r gwynt wedi’i phlycio o ystlys Sarff Asgellog...“And four tokens I took to aid me on the journey, in order to pay tribute and assuage the guardians who are to be found there. For there would be challenges to be faced at the gatepost between the Two Worlds, on the shore of the Tearful River, at the threshold of the City of the Ziggurats, and in the Bejewelled Forest. And so, I had a bead as blue as the eyes of an unborn babe in the womb; a stone as black as the sin of the whole Earth, from the House of Rebirth; a seed as green as the plankton in the Great Grey Sea that’s always laughing at the futility of the human race; and a feather as white as the wind, plucked from the flank of a Winged Serpent…
“Ymhellach, yr oeddwn yn dwyn yn fy nwylo dwy ddoli clwt i fod yn aberth pe byddai angen; ac fel dyn marw, yr oeddwn yn cludo dau ddarn arian yn fy ngheg yn anrheg i’r Gwylwyr Trachwantus. Yn fy ngwregys wedi’i chau â gwäeg o aur yr oedd y cleddyf hudol. Am y golygfeydd rhyfedd roeddwn wedi cael fy rhybuddio ymlaen llaw gan y delweddau. Ac yn wir, fe welais ddyn cloff yn gyrru mul a lwythwyd â meddiannau, a chyfoeth, a memrynau; hen wragedd yn gwau tynged y ddynolryw ar wŷdd enfawr o esgyrn; a gŵr marw yn boddi yn yr afon rhwng teyrnasoedd bod ac anfod. A dyna oeddwn hefyd ar y ffin rhwng byw a marw, rhwng y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth. Ond er yr holl synau iasol – yr esgyrn yn crensian; y trychfilod yn ddi-ball rincian, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er; y siacaliaid yn udo at y cigfrain ysbeilgar –euthum yn syth heibio iddynt..."Moreover, I was carrying in my hands two rag-dolls to be a sacrifice if there were need; and like a dead man, I transported two coins in my mouth as a present for the Avaricious Watchers. In my belt, fastened with a golden buckle, there was the magical sword. About the weird vistas, I had been warned beforehand by the images. And indeed, I saw a lame man driving a mule loaded with possessions, and riches, and parchments; an old woman weaving the fate of humanity on a massive loom of bone; and a dead man drowning in the river between the realms of being and non-being. And there was I also, on the boundary between living and dying, between the Earth and the Nw Yrth. And despite all the eerie sounds -- the bones crunching; the insects constantly chirruping, chep-er, chep-er, chep-er, the jackals howling at the marauding ravens -- I went straight past them...
"Rwyf wedi cerdded yn sgil y seren wib, wrth fynd heibio i garthbyllau dyfnaf y Byd Arall. Rydw i wedi teithio i lawr y Mynydd Gwydr, gan ddilyn Afon Dagrau tuag at y Môr Gwaedlyd liw nos. Wedi disgyn i fol yr Anghenfil Sarffaidd sydd yn byw yno yr wyf, a’m cludodd i’r Cyfandir Deheuol. Ac o’r diwedd rwyf wedi treiddio trwy brif borth Dinas Saith Sigwrat i’r Isfyd y tu hwnt. A dyma fi’n darogan a datgan yr hyn fydd yn digwydd o hyn ymlaen…"I have walked in the wake of the shooting star, whilst skirting the deepest cesspits of the Other World. I have journeyed down the Glass Mountain, following the River of Tears towards the Bloody Sea at night. I have descended into the belly of the Serpentine Monster that lives there, which transported me to the Southern Continent. And in the end I have broken through the main gate of the City of Seven Ziggurats into the Netherworld beyond. And here I foretell and declare what shall happen from now on…
"Yma yng nghanol y fforest o golofnau o ambr a fewnosodir â muchudd, ymysg y pentyrrau wedi’u hesgeuluso o ddiemwntau a gwyrddfeini, rhuddemau a saffirau, fe fydd eneidiau di-rif y rhai isel eu pennau’n ymchwyddo o’m cwmpas yn fud, gan ddod â’u hanrhegion: hesbin berffaith‐gwbl, ceiliog du, chath wen, a hwrdd perffaith‐gwbl. Ond ni fydd arnaf angen y fath offrymau…"Here in the middle of the forest of columns of amber inlaid with jet-stone, amongst the unattended piles of diamonds and emeralds, rubies and sapphires, the countless shades of the dead and gone will surge around me silently, bringing their gifts: an unblemished ewe, a black rooster, a white cat, and a perfect ram. But I shall not need such offerings...
"Fe fyddaf yn dawnsio gyda’r hudoles hynaf, fwyaf glandeg, Tefnuth, y Dduwies a gyfradawyd gan ei gariad pan oedd hi ar fedr esgor ar eu plentyn. Bydd hi’n gwisgo gŵn hir o sidan du, menig gwynion, a thwrban coch. Ac fe fyddaf fi’n sisial geiriau serch yn ei chlustiau, megis, 'Ar y gwynt gwyllt hedfanwch, rhwng y byd hwn a'r llall. O deyrnas gwyll, fe welwch o'ch clwyd, gystuddiau'r byw; a gwylnos y meirwon.' A heb y gronyn lleiaf o amheuaeth, fe ddaw’i cheffylau ffrochus ag ysbryd fy Mam y Frenhines, a anfonwyd i farw cyn ei phryd gan ei Gŵr, fy Nhad y Brenin. Ac wedyn fe allaf fi ddwyn y Fam yn ôl i fywyd…"I shall dance with the most ancient, loveliest, temptress, Tefnuth, the Goddess who was abandoned by her sweet-heart when she was about to give birth to their child. She shall be decked in a gown of black silk, white gloves, and a red turban. And I shall whisper sweet nothings in her ears, such as, 'On the wild wind you fly, between this world and the other. From the twilight realm, you see from your perch, the trials of the quick; and the wake of the dead.' And without the least shadow of a doubt, her mad horses shall bring to me the spirit of my Mother the Queen, who was sent to death before her time by her Husband, my Father the King. And then I shall be able to bring my Mother back to life…
“Ymhellach, fe wnaf ymddiddan â Hebé, hanfod afreolus cariad a dial, a chynnig iddi fodrwyau o aur nes y diogelo ferch neilltuol sydd i fod yn wraig imi pan ddychwelaf. Hyhi sy’n dwyn baban a’i enaid yn berl drudfawr, o’i gymharu â’r lleill i gyd sydd mor frwnt â chytiau cŵn Annwfn, a’r Mab hwn, yr un nerthol i ddod, fydd yn etifeddu holl ogoniant y deyrnas maes o law...“Moreover, I shall commune with Hebé, the unruly essence of love and vengeance and offer her golden rings so that she may protect a certain girl who is to be wife to me when I return. It is she who is bearing a baby whose soul is a pearl of great price, compared with the all others which are as grubby as the Hell-hounds' kennels, and this Son, the powerful one to come, shall inherit all the glory of the kingdom in due course…
"Ar hyn o dro, o’m pen a’m pastwn fy hun, fe fyddaf yn aberthu’r arall ar allor yr hunan, wedi’i gorchuddio â felfed porffor, gan gyfnewid un bywyd am y cread oll. Trwy nerth fy ngeiriau y dileaf bob peth a wnaed yn y Ddau Fyd, gan adael dim ond blagur gwyrdd adfywhad ymhlith adfeilion llwyd dinistr. Ar ôl hyn yr â f’awydd a’m hewyllys yn un â’i gilydd, ac fe una’r crëwr a’i wneuthuriad. Felly y lluniaf fyd newydd, lle mai gwirionedd a chwytho hwnt a thraw ar wynt fy nychymig. Ac yna, y pryd hynny, fe fyddaf yn esgyn i ogoniant!""At this point, by my own doing, I shall sacrifice the other on the altar of the self, draped with purple velvet, exchanging one life for the whole creation. Through the power of my words I shall annihilate all that was made in the Two Worlds, leaving only the green buds of regeneration amidst the grey ruins of destruction. After this my desire and my will shall become one with each other, and the creator shall unite with his making. Thus, shall I shall fashion a new world, in which truth blows hither and thither on the wind of my imagination. And then, at that time, shall I ascend to glory!"
Geiriau swynol yw’r rhain, wrth gwrs, ac roedd Sorakados y Tywysog yn llefaru o galon. Ac wedi darllen y llyfr ysgymun yn y modd a ddisgrifiwyd uchod, roedd yn credu’i fod wedi dysgu popeth i’w gael ohono. Ond er gwaetha’r hyn a allai fod wedi bod, roedd y Swynwyr wedi’i dentio i’r Nw Yrth drwy dwyll. Mae hanes ei gwymp yn hir a phoenus ei adrodd heb sôn am ei glywed. Ond nid oes ond rhaid dweud y canlynol yma. Cyn gynted ag iddo orffen ei ymson rhyfygus o flaen prif borth Dinas Saith Sigwrat, fe gododd gwynt creulon, ac ysgubo’r Tywysog ymaith.These are enchanting words, of course, and Sorakados was speaking from the heart. And having read the accursed book in the way described above, he believed that he had learned everything to be had from it. But despite that which would have been, the Sorcerers had tempted him to the Nw Yrth on false pretences. The tale of his downfall is long and painful to relate, let alone to hear. But only the following need be said here. A soon as he finished his presumptuous soliloquy before the chief gate of the City of the Seven Ziggurats, a cruel wind arose, and swept the Prince away.
Tra oedd yng nghrafangau’r storm, cafodd ei orfodi i ymladd yn erbyn llwyth o greaduriaid erchyll, yn cynnwys cnud o gŵn cynddeiriog, rheibus, a’u cyrff mor wyn â’r sialc yn siambr artaith rhyw athro cythreulig, eu llygaid cyn lased ag eiddo Tŷ Aileni yng nghanol yr anialwch coch, a’u clustiau mwy cringoch na’r fflamau fydd yn llosgi’r Ddaear yn ulw pan fydd yr Haul yn marw yn y dyfodol anhygoel o bell. Nesa’ fe laddodd rhan fwya’ o’r gre o geffylau fampiraidd gwyllt, a chan pob un wyth coes fel yn hen chwedlau’r Llychlynwyr, a oedd yn brathu, a stampio, a sathru, a gweryru fel petai’r Ddau Fyd ar ben. Ac wedyn fe gafodd ei ollwng, bron yn noeth, ac yn waed a chleisiau i gyd, ymhlith fforest enfawr o binwydd ac ynddi greaduriaid arallfydol o bob math, a siâp, a maint, fyddai’n ymosod arno’n enbyd ym mhen yr hir a'r hwyr.While he was in the talons of the storm, he was forced to fight against a host of dread creatures, including a pack of voracious, rabid dogs, with bodies as white as the chalk in some devilish teacher’s torture-chamber, eyes as blue as those of the House of Rebirth in the middle of the red desert, and ears more ginger than the flames that shall singe the Earth to a cinder when the Sun dies in the incredibly far future. Next, he slew the majority of the flock of wild, vampiric horses, each one of which had eight legs like in the old tales of the Norsemen, and was biting, and stamping, and trampling, and whinnying as if the Two Worlds were at an end. And then he was dropped, almost naked, and covered in blood and bruises, amongst an enormous forest of pines in which there were otherworldly creatures of every kind, and shape, and size. which would eventually set upon him terribly.
Ac yn y byd go iawn (os gellir ei alw felly), yn y gwely simsan, mae’n harwr ni o lanc, David, yn dychmygu teithio i fydoedd eraill, gan fyw bywydau eraill. Ar bob ochr mae’n clywed Hebé y gaseg lwyd rithiol, yn gweryru heb rwystr, a thyllau’i llygaid yn belenni fflamgoch, a’i chyrff esgyrnog yn crychlamu fel petai wedi’i wneud o arian byw. Ond yna fe siomir e'n ddirfawr o ddarllen am dranc Sorakados mewn coelcerth fflamllyd ar ôl cael ei dwyllo gan Swtach, gwas i’r Swynwyr.And in the real world (if such it can be called), in the wobbly bed, our heroic lad, David, imagines journeying to other worlds, living other lives. On every side he hears Hebé the spectral grey mare neighing without restraint, and her eye sockets are balls of fire, and her bony body leaps as if it were made of quicksilver. But then he is sorely disappointed to learn about the demise of Sorakados in a flaming bonfire after being tricked by Swtach, servant to the Sorcerers.
Ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, mae David yn breuddwydio a dymuno nerth ei enaid y medrai ddianc, a mynd yno, i foddio’i lygaid ei hun ar ryfeddodau’r Nw Yrth. Ac yno fe fyddai’n ymladd yn erbyn Tefnuth, Arglwyddes y Meirwon, yn ei thiriogaeth fud lawn cyfoeth a moethau sy ddim o werth i neb yno, ond y tro hwn byddai’r dyn marwol yn ennill a honni’r wobr deilwng. Wrth gwrs, pe bai’r Wyddfa’n gaws fe fyddai’n haws cael cosyn, ond yn gyffredinol, dyw’r byd ddim yn cydymffurfio ag ewyllys dyn er cymaint pŵer ei feddyliau, ydy e? Ond, wedi dweud hynny, mae pwerau swynol yn wahanol, ac mae wastad le i obeithio, on’d oes? Ac mewn gwirionedd, gyda’r fath ddymuniad, dyma agor porth i’r Dduwies Decaf, a Mwyaf Marwol, ddod drwyddo.But despite that, David dreams and desires with all his might that he could escape, and go there, to feast his own eyes on the wonders of the Nw Yrth. And there he would fight against Tefnuth, Mistress of the Dead, in her speechless dominion full of wealth and luxury that are of no worth to anyone there, but this time the mortal would win and claim the appropriate prize. Of course, if wishes were horses then beggars would ride, but in general, the world does not conform to a man's will, no matter how powerful are his thoughts, does it? But, having said that, magical powers are different, and there's always room to hope, isn't there? And in fact, with such a desire, a gate opens for the Fairest, and Most Deadly, Goddess to come though.
Ac felly un nos, mae’n trio mor galed i chwarae rhan Sorakados, dewr ond byrbwyll, yn y Byd Arall, er mwyn achub ei Mam druan, ei angyles wedi'i dirboeni, y bu bron iddi farw wrth ei ddwyn i’r byd, a dod â hi’n ôl o’r tu hwnt i’r bedd. A’r munud yna, pan fydd ei waed yn arllwys mewn llid mud i’r ffiol rad o bres mae wedi’i dwyn o’r siop drugareddau, mae’n teimlo fel ‘sai’r tywyllwch dirmygus wedi’i rwygo gan drwst o daran digon i hollti’i ben. Ym mhob man mae llewych fiolet a drycsawr osôn, ac mae beichio chwerthin annynol yn atseinio drwy’r ‘stafell wely ddrewllyd. Ond wedyn, dim byd. Falle dylai’r bachgen twp fod wedi deall taw neb yn y Ddau Fyd sy’n gallu galw ysbryd yn ôl yn fyw o afael y Medelwr Didostur. Ac mae’r llanc anghysuradwy’n crio ei hun i gysgu unwaith eto, y tro hwn mewn gwely gwaedlyd, wrth i ryw gyfran o’i bŵer hudol ddiflannu oddi mewn iddo. Ac ar ben hynny, dyma ddau o’r Swynwyr Milain yn dod i mewn i fywyd David.And so, one night, he tries so hard to play the part of brave but foolhardy Sorakados in the Other World, in order to rescue his poor Mam, his tortured angel, who almost died while bringing him into the world, and bring her back from beyond the grave. And that minute when his blood spills in silent fury into the cheap brass goblet he's pinched from the junk-shop, it feels like the mocking darkness has been torn open by a peal of thunder sufficient to split his head open. Everywhere, there's an ultraviolet glow and a stench of ozone, and some inhuman guffawing echoes through the smelly bedroom. But then, nothing. Perhaps the silly boy should've known that no-one can call a spirit back to life from the grip of the Grim Reaper. And the inconsolable lad cries himself to sleep once again, this time in a bloody bed, while some portion of his magical power disappears from within him. And on top of that, this is when two of the Savage Sorcerers come into David’s life.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 14

Pennod Deunaw: Aeddfedu (Lleisiau 14) / Maturing (Voices 14)

Yn ystod y dydd, arlliwir cysgodion wedi’u taflu gan yr Haul â glas. Mae’r golau sydd yn cyrraedd yr awyrgylch yn uniongyrchol o’r Haul yn cynnwys pob lliw. Fodd bynnag, glas yw lliw’r golau cefndir yn llenwi’r awyr oherwydd maint y molecylau a gynhwysir ynddi, sydd yn gwasgaru’r lliwiau eraill. Ymhellach, ni all gwrthrychau atal ond y golau melyn, llachar sydd yn eu cyrraedd yn syth o’r Haul, nid y golau glas o’r cefndir. Felly mae cysgodion yn cynnwys y fath olau glas sydd yn cyrraedd gwrthrych yn anuniongyrchol o rannau eraill yr awyr ac a all fynd o gwmpas yr ymylon.Gall golau lliw, golau wedi’i belydru gan darddleoedd lluosog, neu olau a adlewyrchir  gan sawl gwrthrych, greu cysgodion amryliw, cymhleth. Y mae arlunwyr yn defnyddio technegau fel ciarosgwro, silwét, ac effeithiau niwlog, er mwyn dynwared cysgodion o’r fath. Ar adegau y mae pobl yn gallu gweld cysgodion wedi’u bwrw ar wyneb y Ddaear gan yr Haul, y Lleuad, Gwener, ac Iau. Gyda chodiad yr Haul, a phan fydd yr Haul yn machludo, yn ystod yr oriau cyfnos, bydd y Ddaear yn taflu cysgod dulas neu laslwyd ar yr awyrgylch wrth y gorwel, er inni fethu ei adnabod yn aml. Yn yr un modd, awyr waedlyd fin nos ynteu yn y bore sydd yn dangos system bwysedd uchel, ac felly tywydd braf, yn dynesu neu’n ymadael, yn ôl eu trefn.

During the day, shadows cast by the Sun are tinted with blue. The light which reaches the atmosphere directly from the Sun contains every colour. However, blue is the background colour filling the sky because of the size of the molecules which are contained in it, which scatter other colours. Furthermore, objects can only hinder the bright, yellow light that reaches them directly from the Sun, not the blue light from the background. So, shadows contain this type of blue light which reaches the object directly from other parts of the sky, and which can go around their edges.Coloured light, light radiated by multiple sources, or light which is reflected from several objects, can create complex, multi-coloured shadows. Illustrators use techniques such as chiaroscuro, silhouette, and cloudy effects in order to imitate this kind of shadow. On occasions, people can see shadows cast on the Earth’s face by the Sun, the Moon, Venus, and Jupiter. At the rising of the Sun, and when the Sun sets, during the twilight hours, the Earth casts a violet or blue-grey shadow on the atmosphere near the horizon, although we often fail to recognise it. In the same way, a bloody sky in the evening, or in the morning, shows a high-pressure system, and thus fine weather, arriving or departing, respectively.

[David] On’d yw’n ddoniol meddwl sut mae geiriau, ac arogleuon, yn deffro atgofion am bethau? Doniol yn yr ystyr ‘rhyfedd,’ rwy’n feddwl, nage doniol yn yr ystyr ‘digrif.’ Ond, ddim cysgodion gwag yw’r rhain, y pethau mae pobl yn dweud, y sawrau, ond yn hytrach profiadau corfforol go iawn, sy’n rhewi’r galon, ac yn gwneud i’r mêr ferwi. Wedi’r cwbl, fi – y David Baxter newydd sbon – a ddylai wybod, fi sy ‘di diodde’ cryn drawsnewidiad gynnau fach, gan gael ‘y mwrw oddi ar ‘yn echel i law chwith y cae, fi sy ‘di neidio drwy ystumdro amser, ac sy’n dal i hedfan o gwmpas ar ffigyr-êt erbyn hyn. Sut ‘naeth hyn oll ddigwydd? Wel dyna stori i chi, ‘swn i ddim ond yn gallu dwyn y ffeithiau i gof. Ond yma, nawr, sa i’n gw’bod, ond er ‘ny, dw i’m yn gallu cael gwared ar y geiriau ‘na sy ‘di nythu yn ‘yn meddwl – ‘Efe gaiff waed; ebe hwynt, Gwaed a geith waed.’[David] Isn’t it funny how words, and smells, awake memories about things? Funny in the sense of ‘strange’, I mean, not funny in the sense of ‘entertaining.’ But, these aren’t empty shadows, the things people say, the scents, but rather real, physical experiences, which freeze your heart, and make your blood boil. After all, it’s me – the brand-new David Baxter – who should know, it’s me who’s undergone quite a transformation a little while back, getting knocked off balance into left-field, me who’s jumped through a time-warp, and who’s still flying about on a roller-coaster now. How did all this happen. Well that’s a story for you, if I could only bring the facts to mind. But here, now, I don’t know, but despite that, I can’t get rid of those worlds that’ve nested in my mind – ‘It will have blood, they say, Blood will have blood.’
[Steffan] Hei, ti, fachgen ar goll, y sinach bach, Staffy, w! Dere ‘mlaen, nawr, gan bwyll, gwboi! Fi sy ‘ma, ti, Stevo o’r dyfodol – rwyt ti’n ddyn erbyn hyn (fi sy’n ddyn dw i’n feddwl)! Dw i’n mynd i weud wrthot ti be’ fydd yn digwydd i ti, iawn? ‘Sdim brawd ‘da ti, er gwaetha’r addewidion, dim ond chwaer annisgwyl o’r enw Elen – y forwyn ddihalog ‘na wedi’i bendigo saith gwaith – Astolat, Benoic, Corbenic, Garlot, Listenoise, y Ddigymar, yr Iau -- dwyt ti’m yn nabod hi ‘to, er fod di’n breuddwydio amdani bob nos. Wel, hmm, ti heb y model rôl gwryw ‘na ti wastad wedi chwennych amdano fe, achos bod dy Dad wedi rhedeg bant gyda’r ferch fach ‘na oedd wedi priodi â’r hen smyglwr neu beth bynnag ar y ‘stad. Nawr 'te, paid di â phoeni, gad i’r llanc hŷn ‘ma, gydio ynot ti, dy ddal di’n dynn, rhoi cwtsh mawr i ti, fel dim ond dyn go iawn yn gallu’i ‘neud. Dw i’n gw’bod i ti gael dy fwrw i’r dwfn, a fod di wastad wedi bod mewn trafferth, yn boddi mewn tensiwn a drama. Bues i yno ‘fyd, cofia di![Steffan] Hey, you, lost boy, you little creep, Staffy, mun! Come on, now, steady on cowboy! It’s me here, Stevo from the future – you’re a man by now (me who’s a man I mean)! I’m going to tell you what’ll happen to you, OK? You don’t have a brother, despite that promises, only an unexpected sister called Elen – that immaculate virgin seven-times blessed -- Astolat, Benoic, Corbenic, Garlot, Listenoise, the Incomparable, the Younger – you don’t know her yet, although you dream about her every night. Well, hmm, you don’t have that male role-model you’ve always yearned for, because your Dad has run off with the that little girl who was married to the old smuggler or whatever on the estate. Now then, don’t you worry, let this older lad grab onto you, hold you tight, give you a big cuddle, like only a real man can do. I know that you’ve been thrown in at the deep end, that you’ve always been in trouble, drowning in tension and drama. I was there too, remember!
[David] Bron yn ddau ar bymtheg dw i bryd hyn, gyda’r pen-blwydd jyst rownd y gornel, ac mae’n oedran hudol, dw i’m y gwybod pam – mae’r arholiadau uffernol mor bwysig, ac yn dod yn nes nes. Dw i newydd ddianc o wers ddwbl Saesneg ddifflach, ac rwy’n hanner canolbwyntio ar y llyfr o’n blaen i, hanner hel meddyliau, hanner pendwmpian, hanner bwrw hud. ‘Neno Lushfé, faint o haneri allai fod ym mywyd un llanc? Ta be, wrth drio ‘neud yr holl bethau ‘ma, a ffaelu, dw i’n cael ‘y nghysuro gan y set deledu ar fin mynd a'i phen iddi, sy’n darlledu geiriau rhyw hen ben parablus, penfoel o’r enw John Balrog Grossmann. Mae hwn yn ddarlledwr enwog o Aberdydd, tad pwy oedd wedi ffoi dros y Môr Dwyreiniol yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr, gan ddod yn smyglwr rhyngwladol adnabyddus. A dyma’i lais yn ceisio anwesu’n ymwybod swrth—[David] I’m almost seventeen by now, with the birthday just round the corner, and it’s a magical age, I don’t know why – the hellish exams are so important and they’re getting closer and closer. I’ve just escaped from an uninspiring double-English lesson, and I’m half concentrating in the book in front of me, half turning things over in my head, half dozing, half casting spells. In Lushfé’s name, how many halves could there be in one boy’s life? Anyway, while trying to do all these things, and failing, I’m reassured by the TV set that’s about to give up the ghost, which is broadcasting the words of some old, bald talking head called John Balrog Grossmann. He’s a famous broadcaster from Aberdydd, whose father had fled over the Eastern Sea during the Great Tribulation, becoming a well-known international smuggler. And his voice is trying to caress my sullen consciousness-
[Teledu] “Cynlluniwyd yr adeiladau eu hun, a leolir yn nhir wedi’i adennill o Feysydd-y-Tywod, gan Sven Rundskop o’r Tiroedd Isel. Dechreuwyd codi ym 1960, a gorffennwyd ef ym 1966. Cyn yr aildrefnwyd llywodraeth leol yn ddiweddaraf, pencadlys balch Pwyllgor Tref Aberdydd fu’r cyfadeilad hwn, ac yn awr, rhan o swyddfeydd Bro Gymunedol Aberdydd ydy.”[Television] “The buildings themselves, which are located in land reclaimed from the Sand-Fields, were planned by Sven Rundskop from the Lowlands. Building was begun in 1960, and it was finished in 1966. Before local government was reorganised most recently, this complex was the proud headquarters of Aberdydd Town Council, and now, it is part of the offices of Aberdydd Community Region.”
[David] Dw i’n gwenu wrth ochneidio, ac wedyn llusgo ‘yn hunan yn ôl at destun y Bardd – wel, yr hen Wilhelm o leia’, achos bod Almaenwr oedd e, nage Cymro – rwy’n ceisio’i gyfieithu i’r Gymraeg – ‘dwn i’m pam. Pam fyddai’n sgrifennu yn y Saesneg ta be, neu falle taw hen Almaeneg ydy? Ond dw i’n dwlu ar yr hanes arswyd am ysbrydion sy’n gweini ar feddyliau meidrolion, tra’u llanwant o’r corun i’r sawdl â chreulondeb enbytaf, gan dewychu’u gwaed! Mae fel rhyw lyfr comics gwych, w! Ardderchog![David] I smile while I sigh, and then drag myself back to the text of the Bard – well, old Wilhelm at least, ‘cos he was a German, not Welsh – I’m trying to translate into Welsh – I dunno why. Why would he write in English anyway, or perhaps it’s Old German? But I love the horror story about spirits that wait of mortals’ thoughts, while filling them from head to toe with direst cruelty, thickening their blood! It’s like some excellent comic-book, mun! Awesome!
[Steffan] Wrth gwrs mod i ‘di bod ble rwyt ti nawr, ond creda di fi, bydd pethau’n mynd i newid yn ddigon buan, mêt. Ti sy’n mynd i ddarganfod ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr taw gwych fydd dod yn dal iawn pan fod di’n ifanc o hyd; ‘nei di hyd yn oed dyfu barf cyn y cryts eraill! Ambell un fydd yn edmygu ‘ny, ta p’un. Dw i’n cyfadde’ byddi di’n dechrau edrych yn union fel Dad, ond, byddi’n dalach o lawer, a ‘naiff y mynd yn foel aros nes i ti fod yn ddeg ar hugain. ‘Nei di bethau yn dy amser da dy hunan, ‘lly bydd popeth yn iawn yn y diwedd![Steffan] Of course I’ve been where you are now, but believe me, things will be going to change soon enough, mate. You’re going to discover in the end that it’s great to get really tall when you’re still young, you’ll even grow a beard before the other kids! A few’ll admire you anyway. I admit you’ll start to look just like Dad, but you’ll be a lot taller, and the going bald will wait till you’re thirty. You’ll do things in your own time, so everything’ll be fine in the end!
[David] Ac mae’n codi croen gŵydd arna i lyncu mêr gwefreiddiol o esgyrn y geiriau sy’n bygwth torri’n ysgyrion yn ‘y nghorn gwddf, dim ond i ‘nhagu i, fel ‘sen nhw’n deilchion o ryw ddrych hudol. Ac wedyn byddai’n ysgyfaint i’n nofio yn ‘y ngwaed ‘yn hunan – gyda rhywun yn gweiddi o hyd ei lef – ‘Ai dagr yw hwn rwy’n ei weld o’m blaen i?’[David] And it gives me goose-bumps to slurp up the electrifying marrow from the bones of the words which threaten to splinter in my throat, only to choke me, as if they were fragments of some magic mirror. And then my lungs would be swimming in my own blood – with someone shouting at the top of his lungs – ‘Is this a dagger I see before me?’
[Steffan] A dwi’n medru gweud yn hyderus fe fydd y gwaith caled yn werth y drafferth. Meddylia am dy Wncwl Procter. Roedd e’n gallu ennill Tystysgrif mewn Astudiaethau, ar ôl iddo adael y fyddin neu rywbeth, gan ‘neud yr holl ymchwil i bynciau rhyfedd, gwelyau hedegog anhysbys, iwffos, cyfathrebu gyda bodau arallfydol, pethau fel ‘ny. A hynny oll, y pŵr dab, er bu farw ei wraig a’i ferch, dyna’r gwir. ‘Lly ti’n gorfod sylweddoli bydd problemau ‘da ni i gyd ar amserau. Fe wn i fod dy helbulon yn ymddangos yn ofnadw’, ond, mewn gwirionedd, ‘naiff pethau wella. Wrth gwrs fydd hyn ddim yn ‘neud dy fywyd di’n haws y munud ‘ma, ond, wel, well i ti ddwg ‘ny mewn cof, ar bob cyfri’, w![Steffan] I can confidently say that all the hard work’ll be worth the trouble. Think about your Uncle Procter. He was able to get a Certificate in Studies, after he’d left the army or something, doing all that research into strange topics, unidentified flying beds, UFOs, communicating with extra-terrestrials, things like that. And all that, the poor dab, although his wife and daughter died, that’s the truth. So, you have to realise that we all have problems at times. I know your tribulations seem awful, but, really, things’ll get better. Of course, this won’t make your life easier this minute, but, well, you’d better bear that in mind on all accounts, mun!
[David] A dyma fi, yn ôl yn ‘y mebyd, un ar ddeg oed erbyn hyn, yn yr un ‘stafell wely, ond mae’r lliwiau’n wahanol, yn lanach, a mwy claer. Mae’r ymadrodd bach ‘na wedi ‘y lluchio ‘nôl; nawr rwy’n swatio dan y cwilt llethol, brwnt ‘to. Ond fyddwn i ‘rioed wedi’i w’bod e’r pryd ‘na – y dywediad ‘na, y fath eirfa – ta p’un i. Wel, fyddai Dad ‘rioed wedi siarad fel ‘na – cyn iddo fe – ddiflannu – er – serch ‘ny – dw i’m yn siŵr, falle byddai – alla i’m cofio.[David] And here I am, back in my childhood, eleven years old now, in the same bedroom but the colours are different, cleaner, and brighter. That little expression’s flung me back; now I’m snuggling under the dirty, oppressive quilt again. But I would never have known it then – that saying, that kind of vocab – anyway. Well, Dad never would’ve spoken like that – before he – disappeared – but, despite that – I’m not sure, perhaps he would – I can’t remember.
[Steffan] Fe fyddet ti’n dwlu ar ddod i nabod dy chwaer, a bod yn onest, i fwynhau ei chwmni, rhannu dy broblemau, a mynd ar anturiaethau. Bydd y syniad o gwrdd, o ddod at eich gilydd, o fyw’n ddedwydd byth oddi ar ‘ny, yn rhoi rhywbeth i ti fyw er ei fwyn yn dy ddyddiau mwya’ tywyll, gan dy gynnal di drwyddo. Byddet ti’n cysylltu â hi, ‘sai pethau’n wahanol, ond dan yr amgylchiadau, ‘lly y bydd.[Steffan] You’d love to get to know your sister, to be honest, to enjoy her company, share your problems, and go on adventures. The idea of meeting, of getting together, of living happily ever after will give you something to live for in your darkest day, keeping you going. You’d get in contact with her, if things were different, but under the circumstances, that’s how it’s to be.
[David] Roedd hi (Mam dw i’n ei golygu nawr) wedi mynd bant i ganu’i thelyn gyda’r angylion – wedi marw – er mod i’n casáu’r gair. ‘Lly gaeth Dad ei ryddhau i hala mwy o amser oddi cartre’ nag erio’d o’r blaen, ac fe fyddai’n cerdded ar y Ddaear, gan fynd o gwmpas ei bethau. Masnachu â’r crachach ran fwya’r amser, fe ddwedodd e wrtha i. Gwerthu pethau gwerthfawr. Rhoi iddyn nhw beth maen nhw eisiau. Darparu gwasanaeth hanfodol. Dod o hyd i nwyddau anodd cael gafael arnyn nhw. Cludo sylweddau arbennig. Cynorthwyo’r cystuddiedig. A llawer o bethau eraill do’n i’m yn gallu deall. Ta be’, ‘nâi fe adael llonydd i fi ddysgu ar ‘y mhen ‘yn hunan yn aml iawn. Wel, roedd y ci dwl, a’r chwaer hyfryd, a’r chwilod swynol dan ‘yn ofal i, dyna i gyd, sbo, ar ôl i fi gael gwaed ar ei frawd, y Brawd ffiaidd ‘na, o leia’.[David] She (Mam I mean now) had gone off to play her harp with the angels – had died – although I hate the world. So Dad was let off to spend more time away from home that ever before, and he would walk the Earth, going about his own business. Doing business with the snobs most of the time, he told me. Selling expensive things. Giving them what they want. Providing essential services. Finding difficult to get hold of goods. Transporting special substances. Giving succour to the afflicted. And lots of other things I didn’t understand. Anyway, he left me in peace to study on my own very often. Well, there was the stupid dog, and the lovely sister, and the enchanting beetles under my care, that’s all, s’pose, after I got rid of his brother, that hateful Brother, at least.
[Steffan] Wrth gwrs, cyfeillgarwch gyda chwaer yw un peth, ond bydd yr holl astudio i ‘neud. Wedi’r cwbl, bywyd o synfyfyrio tawel fydd dy dynged di, reit, ‘achan, achos fyddi di’m am fod at dy glustiau mewn perthnasau a dramâu. Ond rwy’n addo fe fyddi di’n dwlu ar gael tipyn bach o hwyl gyda’r llanciau, siŵr o fod, ‘fyd, wel, rhaid cael rhyw amser sbâr nawr ac yn y man, rhwng yr ymchwil, meddwl, ‘sgrifennu, gweddïo, a be’ bynnag arall. Eto i gyd wejen fyddai’n neis i ti, on’ byddai, ‘lle? Fyddi di’m eisiau’i gorffen hi’n hen lanc heb yr un ffrind yn y byd.[Steffan] Of course, friendship with a sister’s one thing, but there’ll be all the studying to do. After all, a life of quiet contemplations is to be your fate, right, mate, ‘cos you don’t want to be up to your ears in relationships and dramas. But I promise you’ll love having a bit of fun with the lads, probably, too, well, you’ve got to have some spare time now and then, in between the research, studying, writing, praying, and whatever else. Then again, a girlfriend would be nice, wouldn’t it, p’rhaps? You don’t want to end up as an old bachelor without a single friend in the world.
[David] Ar dywyllwch y dŵr ryw’n syllu, wrth weud wrtha’n hunan am lacio’n llygaid. A dyma fi’n sylweddoli mod i ‘di colli’r teimlad yn ‘y nghoesau, wrth i fi ymestyn y breichiau i dylino ‘ngwar. Rwy’n trio peidio meddwl, ond mae rhywbeth yn yr awyr wedi ‘nghofio fi am y pethau ‘na sy ‘di digwydd lawer gwaith o’r blaen pan fydd 'yn chwaer hŷn yn dod ‘nôl yn hwyr – nosweithiau llawn piffian, a chusanu, a chwtsio ar y stepen drws. Ac mae’n codi pwys arna i, dyw’m yn deg na reit, ddim o gwbl. Sut allai hi ‘neud y fath bethau, a fi, ei brawd bach, yn llechu lan staer, gan edrych ar yr holl berfformiad mor frwd?[David] I’m staring at the darkness of the sea, whilst telling myself to relax my eyes. And I realise I’ve lost the feeling in my legs, as I stretch out my arm to massage the back of my neck. I’m trying not to think, but something in the air’s reminded me of those things that’ve happened lots of times before when my older sister comes home late – evenings full of giggling, and kissing, and cuddling on the door-step. And it makes me sick, it’s not fair, not right, not at all. How could she do such things, with me, her little brother, lurking upstairs, watching the whole performance so keenly?
[Teledu] “Addurnir yr adeiladau â cherrig cysegredig a ddygwyd o Breseli, ac y mae yno dŵr cloc art-deco rhyw gant o fedr o daldra. Dadleuol a dweud y lleiaf oedd y prosiect i gyd pan adeiladwyd y cyfadail oherwydd bod y pensaer yn mynnu defnyddio arddull o’r enw ‘hynafol noeth’ a oedd wedi mynd allan o fri y pryd hynny.”[Television] “The buildings are adorned with sacred stone brought from Preseley, and there is an art-deco clock-tower some hundred feet in height. The entire project was debatable to say the least when the complex was constructed because the architect insisted on using a style called ‘Naked Ancient’ which had gone out of fashion at that time.”
[David] Hmm, ac a sôn am farddoniaeth – O, am frithgi hirflew, drewllyd yw’r noson hon, pan ddigwydd Brad y Cyllell Hir, creadur sy’n torri gwynt yn uchel, wrth lafoerio ym mhobman, ac wedyn mynnu bwydo’n swnllyd unwaith yn rhagor, cyn syrthio i gysgu wedi lledu’i hun mor flêr dros gelfi twt y Bae Di-ben-draw ger glannau Afon Dagrau; O, un o hen gŵn brwnt Annwfn wyt ti’n wir![David] Hmm, and talking of poetry – Oh, what a stinky, long-haired mongrel is this night, when the Treachery of the Long Knife occurs, a creature that breaks wind loudly, whilst slobbering everywhere, and then insists on feeding noisily once again, before falling asleep having spread itself so messily across the tidy furniture of the Endless Bay by the banks of the River of Tears; Oh, one of the dirty old hounds of Hell are you indeed!
[Teledu] “Y mae’r tŵr glas enwog hwn yn arddangos arweddau nodweddiadol, megis ffureg (hynny yw pen blaen) cwch hir Llychlynnaidd, a fydd yn atgoffa gwylwyr o gymeriad hanesyddol o’r enw y Jarl Aber-Dyggðar, Glustiau Blewog, yr anturiwr y credir iddo sefydlu’r dref. Yn hen iaith mamau’r dras Ficingaidd, mae’n debyg bod y teitl yn golygu ‘Anhawster Rhinwedd.’ Wrth gwrs mae’r llysenw yn llefaru drosto ei hun.”[Television] “This famous blue tower displays characteristic features, such as the prow (that is the front end) of a Viking longboat, which will remind viewers of a historical character of the name of Hairy-Ears, the Earl Aber-Dyggðar, the adventurer who is believed to have founded the town. In the old language of the mothers of the Viking race, it is likely that the title means ‘Virtue’s Difficulty.’ Of course, the nickname speaks for itself.”
[Steffan] Balch iawn fyddi di o ddod o hyd i ffrind gorau – David Baxter yw ei enw e (neu, dyna fydd yr enw), ond bydd pawb yn defnyddio’r llysenw Dai (a llawer o bethau gwaeth, ‘fyd!). O’r braidd byddi di’n credu hyn. Mae’n iau na ti – rhyw flynyddoedd yw’r gwahaniaeth. Pam mae’n dy lico di? Pam dych chi’n ca’l cymaint o hwyl â’ch gilydd? ‘Dwn i’m, ond fe fyddi di’n teimlo’n braf gyda fe, fyddi di byth eisiau cefnu arno, er bydd e’n dy blagio di’n atgas bob amser.[Steffan] You’ll be dead proud when you find a best friend – David Baxter’s his name (or, that will be the name), but everyone used the nickname Dai (and lots of worse things, too!). You’ll hardly believe this. He’s younger than you – a few years’ difference. Why does he like you? Why do you have so much fun together? I dunno, but you’ll feel great with him, you’ll never want to turn your back on him, although he’ll be teasing you all the time.
[David] Dyma fi’n drifftio unwaith ‘to, nofio yn yr awyr, ymladd â’r cymylau, wrth gysidro, myfyrio, pwyso a mesur. Rwy’n trio peidio meddwl o hyd -- pwy yw ‘Nhad – ble mae e – beth mae’n ‘neud? Ond dyna’r peth gwaetha’ fi’n gallu ‘neud. Rwy eisiau gweddïo, ond alla i’m dod o hyd i’r geiriau cywir; dw i’n ceisio galw ar yr Hen Dduwiau, ond maen nhw’n gwadu’r ymbil.[David] And I’m drifting again, floating in the air, fighting the clouds while considering, meditating, weighing up. I’m trying not to think still – who is Dad – where is he -- what’s he doing? But that’s the worst thing I can do. I want to pray, but I can’t find the right words; I’m trying to invoke the Old Gods, but they’re denying my pleading.
[Teledu] “Cynhwysa’r gymhlethfa: Neuadd y Delweddau, Neuadd y Dre, a Llysoedd Cyfraith Fydol Aberdydd, a lleolir Llys Eglwysig y Sir gyferbyn â hi. Yn Neuadd y Delweddau yr arddangosir Panelau Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid, a gomisiynwyd ym 1966 er mwyn coffáu’r Daith rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Tra lliwgar, a phenigamp o addurnedig yw’r wyth panel baróc, o faint dirfawr.”[Television] “The complex contains the Hall of the Images, the Town Hall, and Aberdydd Worldly Law Courts, and the County Ecclesiastical Court is located opposite it. In the Hall of the Images are displayed the Panels of the Extremely Exalted Empire of the Yrthians, which were commissioned in 1966 to commemorate the Journey between the Two Worlds. Most colourful, and masterfully adorned are the eight baroque panels, of enormous size.”
[Steffan] Bydd yn wych mynd i’r pictiwrs ‘da Davie-boi ar nos Lun ar ôl y dosbarth celf i oedolion i wylio ffilm arswyd neu ddwy (oedolyn – Ww, dyna air i ti!). Fe fyddi di’n dwlu ar gomics ‘fyd, w, wedi’r cyfan, wel ‘nofelau graffig’ ta be’! Ond bydd yn chwithig pan fydd pawb o gwmpas yn ‘smygu’r mwg drwg, rhaid i ti fod yn garcus, ond anadlu tipyn bach fydd yn iawn, reit? Fe ‘naiff i ti deimlo’n wirion, dyna’r peth – Ww, mor dwp â’r hen Wncwl ‘na sy wastad yn gwisgo lan a siantio yn y fforest ar bwys yr hen fwthyn glas, neu yn ei seler, dw i’m yn siŵr. Eitha neis na fydd dim wejen ‘da Dai, dyna fyddai’n rhoi sbrag ynddi! O, Staffy ifanc, w, y sil mân sy’n llechu yn y cefndir! Rhaid i ti gredu bydd y pethau ‘ma’n mynd i ddigwydd. Blodeuo a ffynnu ‘nei di – ond, ych a fi, ddylwn i’m gweud ‘ny – dyna eiriau sy’n rhy athronyddol a mawreddog o’r hanner. Jyst gweud byddi di’n ‘neud yn iawn fyddai’n llawer gwell.[Steffan] It’ll be great to go the pictures with Davie-boy Monday nights after the adult art class to watch a horror film or two (adult – Oooh, there’s a word for you!). You’ll love comics, too, mun, after all, well, graphic novels anyway! But it’ll be awkward when everyone around you’s smoking the wacky-backy, you’ll have to be careful, but inhaling a bit’ll be OK, right? It’ll make you feel stupid, that’s the thing – Ooh, as silly as that old Uncle who’s always dressing up and chanting in the forest by the old blue cottage, or in the cellar, I’m not sure. It’s quite nice Dai hasn’t got a girlfriend, that would put a spoke in the wheels! Oh, young Staffy, mun, the small-fry who’s lurking in the background! You gotta believe that these things are going to happen. You’ll flower and flourish – but, yuck, I shouldn’t say that – those are words that are too philosophical and pompous by half. Just saying you’ll do well would be a lot better.
[Teledu] “Ar y cychwyn y bwriedid dangos y murluniau yn Nheml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig, ar ôl iddynt gael eu gwrthod gan Dŷ’r Llywodraeth yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, ond fe’u hystyrid yn rhy fodern ac aflednais oblegid yr holl gnawd noethlymun. Erbyn hyn, fodd bynnag, cefndir gogoneddus o afieithus i lawer o’r gweithgareddau fydd yn digwydd y tu mewn i ganolfan ddinesig Aberdydd ydynt. Fe gyfareddir pawb fydd yn bwrw llygad trostynt gan y delweddau arallfydol. Serch hynny, rhy arswydus i’w weld heb baratoad arbennig, yw un o’r paneli, sef ‘Bradychu Wezir gan Swtach.’”[Television] “Initially it was intended to display the murals in the Temple of the Hidden Glory, after they were refused by Government House in the Big, Bad, City, but they were considered too modern and vulgar due to all the uncovered flesh. By now, however, they are a gloriously exuberant background to many of the activities that take place inside Aberdydd civic centre. Everyone who casts an eye over them is enchanted by the otherworldly images. Despite that, one of the panels, namely ‘Wezir’s Betrayal by Swtach’ is too horrendous to be seen without special preparation.
[David] Yn sydyn, yn ôl yn y presennol – dyna floeddio a rhegi lawr staer – nage peth anghyffredin yn y tŷ ‘ma, David bach, rwy’n meddwl wrth ‘yn hunan wrth ruthro mas o’r ‘stafell wely. Mae’r lleuad lem yn syllu ar bopeth gan geryddu’n syn, wedyn, wedi ystyried am ychydig, mae’n gwenu mewn ysbryd o gyfeillach. Dyma fi’n agor drws y ffrynt a ‘nghalon yn ‘y ngwddf. Dad sy yma; o ble ma’ ‘di dod mor annisgwyl? Be’ sy ‘di digwydd – ma’ ‘di’i glwyfo’n ofnadw’ – ‘neno Wezir – o’r braidd gall e aros ar ei draed – ma’ gwaed – llifogydd o’r stwff, ym mhob man – sa i’n deall be’ ma’n weud – ma’ cynnwrf o fynd a dod tu mas i’r tŷ – dyna fachgen, fi, wedi’i ‘sgubo i mewn i fan wen yn llaid i gyd -- a dyna rywbeth arall – rhywbeth gwlyb a llonydd wedi’i lapio mewn – mewn cwilt? Ydy Dad wedi lladd rhywbeth – neu, rywun? Gyrru am hanner awr, am gwpl o oriau, falle, bydd ofn yn newid amser. A dyna ‘sgubo geiriau’r ddrama drosta i unwaith ‘to – ‘O, arswyd, ddychryn, ysgryd – dyma ffiaidd bwyll – Na ddywed tafod ei enw, na deall calon ei dwyll!’[David] Suddenly, back to the present – there’s shouting and swearing down stairs – not an uncommon thing in this house, David-boy, I think to myself while rushing out of the bedroom. The harsh moon is staring at everything, scolding in amazement, then, having considered for a bit, she smiles in a spirit of comradeship. I open the front door, my heart in my throat. Dad’s there, where’s he come from so unexpectedly? What’s happened – he’s terribly wounded – in Wezir’s name – he can hardly stay on his feet – there’s blood – floods of the stuff, everywhere – I don’t understand what he’s saying – there’s a hubbub of coming and going outside the house – then a boy, me, swept into a white fan covered in muck -- and there’s something else – something wet and still, wrapped up in – in a quilt? Has Dad killed something – or, somebody? Driving for half an hour, a couple of hours, maybe, fear changes time. And then the words of the play sweeping over me once again – ‘Oh, horror, terror, trembling – here’s a spirit vile – Which tongue speaks not his name, nor heart conceives his guile.’
[Steffan] Yn y dyfodol bydd y Brifdechneg yn Nhref Emrallt (wel, y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, fe ddylwn i weud) yn galw arnat ti (nage’r hen Boly-ysgol ofnadw’ yn Aberdydd!). Hmm, roedd Dad yn berwi am wleidyddiaeth bob amser, ac fe fyddai fe wedi dwlu ar dy weld di fel Cynrychiolydd y Werin yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth, neu hyd yn oed Gwladweinydd Blaenorol, neu rywbeth. Penderfynu a dal ati fydd y pethau pwysica’. Fi sy’n gwybod bydd rhaid i ti weithio’n galed iawn, 'neud dy orau glas, a mwy, neu dim ond breuddwyd gwrach fydd hyn.[Steffan] In the future the Unitechnic in Emerald Town (well, the Big, Bad City, I should say) will be calling you (not the old, awful Poly-versity in Aberdydd!). Hmm, Dad was always on about politics all the time, and he would’ve loved seeing you as a People's Representative in Government House, or even Foremost Statesman, or something. Decision and dedication will be the most important things. I know you’ll have to work very hard, do your very best, and more, or this’ll all be just a pipe-dream.
[Teledu] “Heblaw am ei swyddogaethau gweinyddol, cynhelir seremonïau dinesig, cyngherddau, a digwyddiadau cymdeithasol yn y gymhlethfa hon. Ymhlith y defodau y mae cyfarfodydd gwobrwyo ysgolion, a chyflwyniad graddau’r Boly-ysgol.”[Television] “Apart from its administrative functions, civic ceremonies, concerts, and social events are held in this complex. Amongst the rituals there are school prize-givings, and the Poly-versity’s degree presentations.”
[David] Ac wedyn dyna rywbeth yn sblasio’n moch. Fi’n gwingo, gan drio cyffwrdd â’r lle a’i rwbio fe, ond fi’n taenu’r staen, y mefl, dros ‘yn wyneb yn lle. Slapiau llithrig i roi taw ar lanc wylofus. Rhywbeth wedi’i ‘neud o fetel, hir a gwlyb, ac eitha twym, wedi’i hwpo i ‘nwylo. Mae’r lleithder trioglyd, miniog yn ‘neud i fi wichian fel llygoden fawr mewn labordy, sy newydd gael sioc drydanol.[David] And then there’s something splashing my cheek. I squirm, trying to touch the place and rub it, but I spread the stain, the blemish, over my face instead. Slippery slaps to shut up a tearful lad. Something made of metal, long and wet, and quite warm, shoved into my hands. The sharp, treacly moistness makes me squeak like a just-electrocuted lab-rat.
[Steffan] Ond eto i gyd, wel, ti wastad wedi casáu a gwrthwynebu be bynnag mae Dad yn lico. O ran addysg felly, fe allem ni ddweud byddi di’n troi i’r iawn i gael hyd i alwedigaeth. Ar ôl dadlau’n ffyrnig gyda mynach sy’n ffrind i Dad, ac aelod o’r Frawdoliaeth Gwflog, o’r enw Yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, byddi di dros dy ben a’th glustiau mewn cariad â Dewiniaeth Lanaf, a gyrfa gyda’r Eglwys Gywir fydd yn aros. Dychmyga’r delfryd athronyddol, aruchel o ganfod y gwirionedd. Damcaniaeth, ystyried, gweiddi, marwhau, trafod, darostwng, egluro, derbyn. Ac felly fe fyddi di’n cymryd rhan ym mhroses mwya’ hynafol y byd, fel y caiff cysyniadau anghywir, a syniadau ffiaidd yn groes i’r rhai uniongred, yn ogystal â’r iaith sathredig a ddefnyddir gan y werin bobl a’r annysgedig i’w mynegi nhw, eu hysgubo ymaith yn llwyr oddi ar fwrdd y cyfamod, fel y medd Goruchwylwyr yr Eglwys Filwriaethus. A dim ond wedyn bydd gwirionedd, a threfn, a phurdeb, a nerth ysbrydol, drechu.[Steffan] But then again, well, you’ve always hated and opposed whatever Dad likes. In terms of education, then, we could say that you’ll see the light to find a calling. After debating fiercely with a monk who’s a friend of Dad’s and a member of the Cowled Brotherhood, called the Old Holy Warrior, you’ll be head over heels in love with Most Holy Divinity, and a career with the True Church awaits. Imagine the sublime philosophical ideal of discerning the truth. Hypothesis, consideration, praying, mortification, discussion, submission, illumination, acceptance. And so you taking part in the world’s most ancient process, so that incorrect concepts, and vile ideas contrary to the orthodoxy, together with the debased language used by the common folk and the uneducated to express them, shall be swept away entirely from the table of the covenant as the Overseers of the Church Militant say. And only then shall truth, and order, and purity, and spiritual power, prevail.
[Teledu] “Yno y perfformir cyngherddau o bob math, yn cynnwys, er enghraifft, Gwasanaethau Geni a Marwolaeth yng ngolau cannwyll, ymddangosiadau gan fandiau roc fel ‘Hebé Lwyd,’ ac adloniant traddodiadol gan Gôr Urdd y Cyfrinachau. Gŵyl Ficingaidd Aberdydd a’r dathliadau blynyddol o’r enw Cyrraedd y Môr-ladron yw enghreifftiau o ddigwyddiadau cymdeithasol a gynhelir ar gyfer hwyl y cyhoedd.”[Television] “There, there are performed concerts of all kinds, including, for example, candle-lit Birth and Death Ceremonies, appearances by rock bands such as ‘Hebé the Grey,’ and traditional entertainment by the Choir of the Guild of Secrets. Aberdydd Viking Festival and the yearly celebrations called Arrival of the Pirates are examples of social events that are held for public amusement.”
[Steffan] Ond, serch ‘ny, mae moddau’r fath athroniaeth farddonol, prosesau dewiniaeth fentrus, technegau’r Gwaith Mawr, mor anhrefnus yn eu hanfod, mor anfoddhaol. Fe fydd gormod o gyfleoedd i fod yn ansicr, i ‘neud camgymeriadau. Bydd rhaid i ti fod yn ofalus – paid ag ymlid y cysgod a cholli’r sylwedd – rhag i ti dy golli dy hunan mewn trobyllau affwysol synfyfyrio. Gan ‘ny, o ystyried popeth yn fanwl iawn byddi di’n casglu bydd rhaid i ti ganolbwyntio ar rifoleg, ar batrymau. Wedi’r cwbl, dyna’r meddwl dynol yn ymarfer ei allu creadigol ucha’, gan lawenhau yn defnyddio’i fedrau ysblennydd.[Steffan] But, despite that, the methods of such poetical philosophy, the processes of speculative divinity, the techniques of the Great Work, are so essentially disordered, so unsatisfactory. There’s too many opportunities to be unsure, to make mistakes. You’ll have to be careful – don’t go after the shadow and miss the substance – in case you lose yourself in unfathomable whirlpools of cogitation. So, having considered everything in great detail, you’ll conclude that you need to concentrate on numerology, on patterns. After all, that’s the human mind exercising its highest creative ability, rejoicing in using its splendid skills.
[Teledu] “Ers i’r Asiantaeth Ddarlledu Annibynnol Genedlaethol gomisiynu’r gyfres deledu eithriadol o boblogaidd o’r enw ‘Oddi mewn i’r Cysgodion’ gan Mamrick, ffilmiwyd sawl pennod y tu mewn i’r cyfadeilad —”[Television] “Since the National Independent Broadcasting Agency commissioned the exceptionally popular television series called ‘Out of the Shadows’ by Mamrick, several episodes have been filmed inside the complex—“
[David] Nage’r act ola’ ydy, nage’n wir, ddim o bell ffordd, ond y digwyddiad ‘ma fydd yn seilio’n tynghedau ni i gyd. Dyna fi’n clywed y gorchymyn wrth i ‘nghalon ddyrnu, fel ‘sai ‘mhen i bron â ffrwydro – a ‘sai ‘ny ‘di digwydd, nage fi fyddai’r unig greadur i farw’r noson ‘na, falle.[David] It’s not the last act, not by a long chalk, but in this case, but it’s this event that’ll seal all our fates. I hear the command as my heart drums, as if my head’s almost exploding – and if that’d happened, I wouldn’t be the only creature to die that night, maybe.
[Steffan] O fe fyddi di’n cysegru dy fywyd i’r ddisgyblaeth ‘ma. A saith fydd dy hoff rif o bell ffordd – y seithfed o Orffenna’ oedd pan gest ti d’eni – seithfed dydd y seithfed mis – ‘lly’r Cranc yw dy arwydd y Sidydd, a’r Tarw yn codi. A ‘fyd, ceir -- y Saith Corrach – y Saith Fôr – y Botasau Saith Lig – Saith Trefn Pensaernïaeth – Saith Lliw’r Enfys – Saith Cyfwng mewn Graddfa – Saith Cyfandir. Ac o wybod y daw hyder, medd y Brodyr mewn Gofal yn Athrofa’r Brifdechneg. Ie, rhifoleg, dyna beth fyddi di’n ‘neud, fe ddoi di’n rhifolegwr, rhywun sy’n meddwl, synfyfyrio, creu, egluro, profi, darogan, addysgu. Ac ymhen amser, byddi di’n cyrraedd gradd meddyliaethydd, falle. Wedyn bydd pawb yn difaru be maen nhw di ‘neud o’r blaen.[Steffan] Oh, you’ll consecrate your life to this discipline. And seven will be your favourite number by a long way – the seventh of July was when you were born – the seventh day of the seventh month – so your zodiac-sign’s the Crab, with the Bull rising. And also, there’s – the Seven Dwarfs – the Seven Seas – the Seven League Boots – the Seven Orders of Architecture – the Seven Colours of the Rainbow – Seven Intervals in a Scale – Seven Continents. And knowledge brings confidence, say the Brothers in Charge in the Unitechnic’s Seminary. Yes, numerology, that’s what you’ll do, you’ll become a numerologist, someone who thinks, meditates, creates, explains, tests, predicts, educates. And in time, you might attain the grade of mentalist, maybe. Then everyone’ll regret what they’ve done before.
[David] Mae’r twymder gludiog, llethol, eisiau’n mygu fi. Ond wedyn dyna lais gwan Dad yn torri ar draws, fel chwythiad o oerni atgas, brau, yn ‘y nghnoi – geiriau’n syth o lygad y ffynnon yn wir – ac mae’n swnio fel bod ei ysbryd yn cyflym ‘sigo – ‘Dere ‘mlaen, fab – y gyllell, dyna hi – rho ffling iddi hi i’r afon ddrewllyd!’ A, wel, sa i’n siŵr, ond wrth gwrs, dyna be’ fe ‘na i. Ac y tro hwn, yn wir, fi sy eisiau lladd, â’n holl galon, a meddwl, ac enaid. A dyna fi’n siantio dro ar ôl dro, ’Tyrd, gad im’ dy gythru. Ni’th ddaliaf, ond fe’th ddaliaf di yn wir.’[David] The oppressive, sticky warmth wants to suffocate me. But then Dad’s voice cuts across, like a blast of brittle, hateful coldness, gnawing at me – words straight from the horse’s mouth indeed – and it sounds like his spirit’s rapidly ebbing away – ‘Come on, son – the knife, that’s it – chuck it in the stinking river!’ Ah, well, I’m not sure, but of course, that’s what I do. And then, definitely, it's me who wanted to kill, with my whole heart, and mind, and soul. And I chant over and over, ‘Come, let me grab thee. I hold thee not, and yet I have thee still.’
[Steffan] Yn wir, dyna pam gest ti dy eni, siŵr o fod. O, sut beth fydd byw ymhlith yr ieuenctid prydferth, peniog, sêr y nefoedd, wrth ddysgu, trafod, tywynnu megis golau llachar mewn byd niwlog, datgelu gwirionedd, hedfan cyfuwch, yn agos at yr Haul, hyd yn oed, fel Thethalu a’i mab Ichrus yn dianc o’r lluoedd anfad gyda’u hadenydd o bapur, cwyr selio, a chorden. Rwyt ti’n amau na fydd gen ti’r gallu, y ddawn; fyddi’m yn llwyddo. Byddi di’n gweithio mor galed, fel na fydd yr arholiadau i gyd yn ormod. Dim ond o dro i dro fe gei di dy demtio gan y sbeis sbesial ‘na o Sansibar fydd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd yn roi i ti fel gelli di gael gwelidigaethau o ogoniant, rwy’n addo. Dwyt ti’m eisiau gadael i’r cyfle lithro drwy dy fysedd, neu aberthu dy fywyd yn ofer, wyt ti?[Steffan] Indeed, that’s why you were born, probably. Oh, what a thing it shall be to live amongst the brainy, beautiful youths, the stars of the heavens, whilst learning, discussing, shining like a resplendent light in a foggy world, revealing truth, flying so high, close to the Sun, even, life Thethalu and her son Ichrus escaping from the unclean hordes with their wings of paper, and sealing-wax, and string. You doubt you’ll have the ability, the talent, that you won’t succeed. You’ll work so hard, so that the exams won’t be too much. You’ll only occasionally get tempted by that special spice from Zanzibar that the Old Holy Warrior gives you so you can have visions of glory, I promise. You don’t want to let the chance slip through your fingers, or sacrifice your future for nothing, do you?
Ac yna, ar lan yr afon, tu blaen i’r Tŷ Glas o hen fri sy mor brydferth, wrth i fi – David ar drothwy ei ddyndod – daflu’r gyllell waedlyd i’r dŵr mud, dyna Lushfé a’i adenydd flamllyd ar led yn darllen 'yn meddyliau, ac mae’n dod yn gwbl ddirybudd mewn ateb i’r alwad fel seren wib yn torri ar draws yr awyr afluniaidd gan gario’i gelfydd eirias. A dyna Dad yn llafurio bwffian ar ei ffag ola’ erioed wrth i Hebé y gaseg esgyrnog, rithiol brancio’n wyllt ar wynt y dymestl. Ac fel arfer mae hi wedi bradychu dyn i ddwylo’r Saith gyda’i haddewidion sy’n cynnwys elfen o wirionedd, ac ar y llaw arall, ei hanner celwyddau.And then, on the river-bank, in front of the Blue House of old renown, which is so beautiful, while I – David on the threshold of his manhood – fling the bloody knife into the silent water, Lushfé with his flaming wings spread wide reads my mind, and he comes completely unannounced in answer to the call like a shooting star cutting across the troubled sky carrying his white-hot sword. Dad’s laboriously puffing on his last ever fag whilst Hebé the spectral, skeletal mare prances wildly on the tempest’s wind. And as usual she has betrayed a man into the hands of the Seven with her promises that contain an element of truth, and on the other hand, her half lies.
A dyna Dad yn taflu’i smôc i lawr, wedi’i flino’n llwyr. Am funud, eiliad, chwinciad, dw i’n llygadrythu arno fe, a chasineb oer ac mor finiog â rasel, yn fy nghalon, wrth i’r pwll o betrol ledu oddi dan y fan. A dyna fe’n diflannu’n wir, unwaith ac am byth – y dyn ‘na oedd yn glyfar, gorffwyll, a chreulon ar yr un pryd – â chlec daranllyd a fflach lachar sy'n tanio'r byd, gan ‘yn byddaru i ‘fyd. Dw i’n cael ‘yn hyrddio i’r afon ddu, lonydd, ac ar ei hwyneb ddarnau o’r fan, a thalpiau o gnawd dynol ar dân. Ac ar ôl hyn, ni fydda i byth yn gweld, na chlywed, ‘y Nhad cythreulig, gwaedlyd yn fyw eto. Mae wedi esgyn i ogoniant yn ôl ei gynllun. Dyna’r cyfan. Dim ond yn hwyrach sylweddolais i taw deliwr cyffuriau fuodd e drwy’r amser – a taw fi sy wedi ‘nghreithio’n enbyd yn y ffrwydrad.Dad’s throwing his smoke down, completely exhausted. For a minute, a second, the blink of an eye, I stare at him, with hatred, cold, and sharp as a razor, in my heart, while the pool of petrol spreads from under the van. And then he really disappears, once and for all, that man who was clever, wild, and cruel at the same time – with a thunderous click and a blinding flash that sets the world on fire, deafening me too. I’m hurled into the still, black river, and on its surface are bits of the van, and chunks of burning human flesh. After this, I’ll never see, or hear, my bloody, devilish Dad, alive again. He’s ascended to glory according to his plan. That’s it. Only later I realised that he’d been a drug-dealer all the time – and that I had got terribly scarred in the explosion.
Ac yn y dyfodol, yn rhywle arall yn llwyr, dyna aer drewllyd rhyw seler yn heidio o bryfed tanllyd, fyrdd. Maen nhw’n galw’r tarw aberthol, priodol i ddefod y sgarabau, mae’r Hen Filwr yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, sy’n credu taw gwir feistr cyfrinachau ydy, wedi’i chychwyn. Fe fydd y dyn hwn. Steffan Grossmann, sy’n drist, call, ac enfawr ar yr un pryd, i fod i ddarparu’r galon a’r grym bywiol i’r un a fu, ac a fydd drachefn, nes y bodola ef yn yr amser a ddaw fel y bodolai fe yn y gorffennol pell. Ac wedyn dyna’r cysgodion rheibus yn llyncu’r dyn, sy’n ŵr gwyryf, ac a oedd ar fedr ei ladd ei hun ar un adeg – gan ei gludo fe tuag at Ddydd y Farn mae wedi'i ddewis ar ei gyfer ei hun. Heb sŵn, heb symud, heb newid – mae’n cael ei ddileu o fodolaeth ar wyneb y Ddaear – ‘does ‘na ddim twll, na bwlch; dim ond diffyg sydd bellach, lle mai llawnder fu gynt.And in the future, somewhere else entirely, the stinking air of some cellar’s teeming with a myriad of fiery insects. They’re calling the appropriate sacrificial bull to the ceremony of the scarabs, that the Old Soldier, the Old Holy Warrior, who believes he’s the true master of secrets, has initiated. This man, Steffan Grossmann, who’s sad, wise, and enormous at the same time, is supposed to provide the heart and the life-force for the one who has been, and who will be again, so that he shall exist in the time to come as he existed in the far past. And then the voracious shadows devour the man, who’s a virgin, and who was about to kill himself at one stage, transporting him towards the Day of Judgement he has chosen for himself. Without sound, without movement, without change – he gets deleted from existence on the face of the Earth – there’s no hole, or gap; now there’s just a lack, where fullness was before.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 15

Pennod Pedwar ar Bymtheg: Dihuno (Lleisiau 15) / Awakening (Voices 15)

Man drothwyol lawn cysgodion yw’r groth, a’i thrigolion yn bodoli’n rywle rhwng tywyllwch a goleuni, esblygu a byw, synhwyro a gwybod, meddwl a gwneuthur. Yn hylif amniotig y bru y nofia’r embryo, gan ddisgwyl, a datblygu’n ddi-baid, tra llunnir ei ffurf, ei gorff, ei gyneddfau, trwy amryfal brosesau biolegol sydd dra chymhleth, o’r enw ontogenesis. Yn ddiamgyffred, cyfuna biliynau ar filiynau o atomau yr eiliad, mewn adweithiau cemegol wedi’u disgrifio gan egwyddorion ystadegol, a yrrir gan ddeddfau naturiol. Ac fel hyn yr adeiledir cyfansoddion, moleciwlau, a macromolecylau; proteinau, brasterau, a charbohydradau; hormonau, ensymau, ac asid niwclëig; pilennau, adeileddau cellog, organynnau, celloedd; ac wedyn gwythiennau, rhydwelïau a chapilarïau; gwaed a lymff; esgyrn, meinweoedd, organau, a systemau; croen, cnawd, cyhyr, ac ewin; calon, ysgyfaint, iau, arennau, ac ymennydd. Wrth reswm, bydd prosesau o’r fath, sef ffurfio, dyfu, datblygu, aeddfedu, marw, ailgylchu, ac amnewid, yn parhau drwy gydol ein bywydau. Ac felly y gofynnwn i’n hunain: rhwng y newid cyson oll, a adnabyddwn ni’n hunain byth yn wir, fel bodau parhaol, cyn y chwelir ein sylwedd fel tywod yr anialwch i bedwar ban yr hollfyd unwaith eto?

The womb is a liminal place full of shadows, whose inhabitants exits somewhere between darkness and light, evolving and living, sensing and knowing, thinking and doing. In the uterus’s amniotic fluid, the embryo swims, waiting, and develops ceaselessly, while its form, its body, its faculties are fashioned through multiple biological processes that are hugely complex, called ontogenesis. Unthinkingly, billions upon billions of atoms a second combine, in chemical reactions described by statistical principles, which are driven by natural laws. And thus are built compounds, molecules, and macromolecules; proteins, fats, and carbohydrates; hormones, enzymes, and nucleic acids; membranes, cellular structures, organelles, cells; and then veins, arteries, and capillaries; blood and lymph; bones, tissues, organs, and systems; skin, flesh, muscle, and nail; heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, and brain. Of course, such processes, namely formation, growth, development, maturing, death, recycling, and replacement, continue throughout our lives. And so, we ask ourselves, what with all the constant change, can we ever know ourselves truly, as permanent beings, before our substance is scattered like the desert sand to the four corners of the universe once again?

[Yr Ananedig] Yn fy sach sicr rwy’n arnofio mor llonydd, gan huno’n dawel, wrth ddynwared symudiadau pobl yn y byd ffrochus tu allan. A nes i’m hamser gyrraedd, bydd yr ogo’ gigog hon yn fy nghysgodi a’m hamddiffyn rhag drygioni’r Ddaear. Ond dw i ddim yn cysgu bob amser, ac wedi dihuno am sbel, dyma fi’n ‘neud y cyfan mae’r drefn fawr yn gadael i fi’i ‘neud, gan ebychu: O Fyd anhysbys, carwch fi! O Fywyd, na clwyfwch fi! Ynteu fel arall, byddwch fy nadwneud i! Ond wedyn, mor boenus o ara’, rwy’n sylweddoli na fyddan nhw’n ‘neud hyn, na allan nhw, am mai byddar, a dall, a mud, ac anfedrus yw’r byd, a bywyd. Rhy lachar yw’r lledrith sydd yn fy rhwymo; rhy wan y llais fyddai’n datgan y gair a berai i fi doddi a diflannu. Arnyn nhw mae’r bai am fethu esbonio wrtha i daerineb chwant dynol, a chryfder y reddf oroesi. Ond o’m rhan innau hefyd, dw i’n teimlo’n euog ac analluog, gan taw fi sydd heb ddawn ymddatod; na galla i anweddu fel tarth yn Haul y bore. ‘Dwn i’m pam taw mor wan dw i; na sut i ddod o hyd i’r medr cymwys.[The Unborn] In my safe sack I hover so peacefully, sleeping soundly, imitating the movements of people in the wild world outside. And until my time arrives, this fleshy cave shall shelter me and protect me from the evil of the Earth. But I do not sleep all the time, and having awoken for a while, I do everything the order of the universe allows me to do, exclaiming: Oh, unknown World, love me! Oh Life, do not injure me! Or otherwise, undo me! But then, so painfully slowly, I realise that they will not do this, that they cannot, because deaf, and blind, and mute, and incompetent, are the world, and life. Too bright is the magic that binds me; too weak is the voice that would pronounce the word which could cause me to dissolve and disappear. Theirs is the blame for failing to explain to me the vehemence of human desire, and the strength of the instinct to survive. But on my part too, I feel guilty and impotent, since I lack the skill of undoing; nor can I evaporate like mist in the morning Sun. I know not why I am so weak; nor how to find the requisite ability.
[Tŷ Aileni] Oddi allan yr ymddengys fy mod yn sefyll yma yn hollol ddistaw, ond mae fy llais yn sibrwd yn y cysgodion y tu mewn, wrth i gytgan yr offeiriaid olaf atseinio’n iasol o bob arwyneb, sef: Deled ei deyrnas ef! Gwëir chwedlau di-rif am y Nw Yrth trwy fy nhramwyfeydd, fy rhagystafelloedd, fy storfeydd, a’m siambrau cudd. Mae’r muriau a’r nenfydau’n gyforiog o ddelwau cerfiedig ac wedi'u paentio, rhai sanctaidd a rhai cableddus yn ddiwahân. Ac yn rhannol oblegid hyn yr wyf yn llawn o ddewiniaeth ac egni ysbrydol.[The House of Rebirth] From the outside it appears that I stand here totally silent, but my voice whispers in the shadows inside, whilst the chorus of the last priests echoes chillingly from every surface, namely: May his kingdom come! Numberless tales of the Nw Yrth are woven through my passages, my antechambers, my stores, and my hidden rooms. The walls and ceilings are overflowing with carved and painted images, holy ones and profane ones alike. And partly because of this I am full of magic and spiritual energy.
[Yr Ananedig] Fel hyn, drwy’r amser, yn y gwyll tawedog rwy’n hofran, a’m llygaid glas yr awyr wedi’u cau mor dynn yn erbyn beth bynnag welwn i fel arall, ond er ‘ny, yn nhrefn amser fy mod i’n mynd yn fwy anfodlon ac aflonydd. O dro i dro mae tonnau o ryw sylwedd yn rhoi swaden i fi, ac mae’n teimlo ‘sai fe’n ysgubo trwo' i hefyd. O bryd i’w gilydd bydd fy nghorff i gyd yn crynu, ond ‘dwn i’m o gwbl beth sy’n digwydd, ond nage fi sy’n achosi’r fath gyffro. Mae pinnau bach ar fy nghroen i gyd, wrth i fi ystyried allwn i fodoli yn unman tu allan i’r fan fewnol ‘ma, sy’n dwym a diogel, ble rwy’n gallu bod mor ddiog, gan ildio i’m chwantau, a diwallu fy anghenion heb bryder. Sut fyddai hi, ‘sai fy nghyflenwad helaeth o fwyd ac ocsigen yn cael ei dorri? Beth fyddai’n digwydd ‘swn i’n cael fy alltudio o gysur cysgodol y bru? Fedrwn i wledda ar fwydydd cigaidd, gan hela, dilyn trywydd, lladd, traflyncu, treulio, ac ysgarthu, ‘sai’n rhaid i fi? Neu beth am ffermio, trin tir, ffrwythloni, hau, a medi? Mae fy nghnawd fel pridd y bedd o’m hamgylch, wedi’i fachu yn fy enaid ag anghenion, a phoenau – a phleserau. Ac felly, o ddychmygu’r olygfa ‘ma ar fodolaeth saproffytig, sy’n annifyr tu hwnt, beichio llefain dw i, wedi mynd i banic llwyr.[The Unborn] Like this, all the time, in the taciturn gloom I hover, my sky-blue eyes shut so tight against whatever I could otherwise see, but despite that, in time I become more disgruntled and uneasy. Now and then waves of some substance buffet me, and it feels like it’s sweeping through me too. From time to time my whole body shakes, but I don’t know at all what’s happening, but it’s not me causing this commotion. There are pins and needles all over my skin, as I consider whether I could exist anywhere outside this internal place, which is warm and safe, where I can be so lazy, giving in to my desires, and satisfying my needs without worry. What would it be like, if my plentiful supply of food and oxygen were to be cut off? What would happen if I were to be exiled from the shadowy comfort of the womb? Could I feast on meaty foods, hunting, tracking, killing, guzzling, digesting, and excreting, if needs be? Or what about farming, cultivating, fertilizing, sowing, and harvesting? My flesh is like grave-dirt about me; hooked into my soul by needs, and pains – and pleasures. And so, imagining this vista of saprophytic existence, which is extremely unpleasant, I sob, having gone into a complete panic.
[Tŷ Aileni] O waed, a chwys, a dagrau, ac ymdrech y caf fy ngeni; a dim ond trwy ryw fedr pensaernïol dirgel ac anhygoel y’m codir. Yr arwyddluniau cysegredig o’r enw hieroglyffau wedi’u hysgythru ar fy waliau a wna goffa am enw a champau’r sawl y byddai ei gorff dynol orwedd yma’n ddiogel am dragwyddoldeb. I ddechrau daeth Duwdod yn ddyn, ac ar ôl i’r Dewin gael ei hebrwng yma i dŷ ei hir gartref, wedyn fe ddaw’r dyn yn Dduwdod unwaith yn rhagor. Ac yna fe dychwel enaid effeithiol y Dewin i’r Nw Yrth, o ble y daeth yn wreiddiol.[The House of Rebirth] From blood, and sweat, and tears, and effort I am born, and only through some secret architectonic skill am I raised up. The sacred pictograms called hieroglyphs inscribed on my walls commemorate the name and the accomplishments of the one whose human body would lie here safely for eternity. To start with a Divinity became man, and after the Magus is escorted here to the house of his long rest, then the man becomes Divinity once more. And then the effective spirit of the Magus returns to the Nw Yrth whence he came originally.
[Yr Ananedig] Unwaith eto, rwy’n siglo yn y fantol, gan gael fy mhoeni gan weledigaethau sy’n fy nhynnu yma ac acw, i lan ac i lawr, i’r chwith ac i’r dde, yn ôl ac ymlaen ar yr un pryd, nes mod i’n amau na fydda i’n goroesi. Ond wedi dod at fy nghoed, dw i’n cofio taw disgynnydd llinell môr-leidr di-syfl dw i, sy’n syllu ar orwel herllyd ble mae rhyw arwyddocâd anhysbys yn aros i’w ddatgelu. Wel dyna syniad hyfryd, on’d ife? Ac wedyn dyna chwalu’r freuddwyd bitw. Mae’n teimlo fel ‘sai llen rewllyd yn disgyn o ‘nghwmpas, a fi’n crogi am hanner curiad calon – ‘chep’ heb ‘er’ – uwchben gwacter nas pontir byth, sy’n berwi o seirff mwya’ gwenwynllyd y Nw Yrth. A dyna fi’n cwympo, neu hedfan, neu’n cael fy nhaflu i – i ble? Beth yw’r lle ‘ma heb – heb ddim byd o gwbl ynddo fe? Ond eto i gyd, sut allwch chi ymdrin â siapiau dych chi’m wedi eu gweld, na chyffwrdd â nhw? Sut fydd yn bosib dychmygu arogleuon dych chi’m wedi profi eto? All pethau fodoli o gwbl yn y byd ‘ma o syniadau pur os na allwch chi’u disgrifio mewn geiriau? Ac wrth i fi ddal i syrthio, cychwyn crisialu’n gynamserol a wnaiff fy synnwyr hunaniaeth, fy nghymeriad gwyrthiol. Ac fe wn hyn o leia’: fydd dim byd yn fy nghalon ond casineb. Fydda i’m yn teimlo ond ofn a ffieidd-dra. Dim ond ceisio dial a wna i. Nage’r un eiliad fydd heb sŵn fy sgrech.[The Unborn] Once again, I dangle in the balance, pained by visions that pull me this way and that, up and down, left and right, back and forth at the same time, until I doubt I’ll survive. But having come to my senses, I remember that I am the descendant of a line of steadfast pirates, who is staring at a provocative horizon where some unknown significance awaits to be to revealed. Well that’s a lovely idea, isn’t it? And then the pitiful dream shatters. It feels like a freezing curtain descends around me, and I hang for half a heart-beat – ‘chep’ without ‘er’ – over an unbridgeable void, which is seething with the Nw Yrth’s most poisonous snakes. And then I’m falling, or flying, or being thrown – where? What’s this place without – without anything at all in it? But then again, how can you deal with shapes you’ve never seen, nor touched? How is it possible to imagine smells you’ve not experienced yet? Can things exist at all in this world of pure ideas if you can’t describe them in words? And as I continue to fall, my sense of identity, my miraculous personality, starts to crystallize prematurely. And I know this at least: there shall be nothing in my heart but hate. I shall feel nothing but fear and disgust. Only revenge shall I seek. Not one instant shall be without the sound of my scream.
[Tŷ Aileni] Ystyrier Lushfé y rheolwr mawr cyntaf, a roddodd ddiwylliant, cyfraith, a threfn inni, ac a ddaeth â chanibaliaeth i ben trwy ddarparu cigoedd eraill. Lladdwyd ef gan Swtach, a thynnwyd ei gorff yn ddarnau, a ddisgynnodd ef i’r lleoedd tanddaearol yn Nhir y Brwyn ger yr Afon Chwim. Ond, wrth i’r Haul fynd ar ei daith feunyddiol a esyd derfynau’r dydd a’r nos, gan greu bywyd trwy ganu’i gân o greu, roedd Tefnuth yn gwrando’n astud, a thrwy ei hystryw, fe lwyddodd hi i ddadansoddi ystyr cêl y geiriau. A dygodd hi enw tra chyfrinachol yr Haul gan ennill awdurdod i orchymyn y byw a’r meirwon. Ac er gwaethaf ei friwiau enbyd, daeth Lushfé yn ôl yn fyw trwy gastiau hudol ei chwaer Tefnuth, a oedd yn wraig iddo hefyd. Yn yr un modd, y Dewin a dderbyn yn etifeddiaeth fywyd Lushfé. Dim ond gorfod cofio enwau’r bodau byw oll a fu yn y cychwyn cyntaf a wna ef, ond nid y geiriau cysefin, ond yn hytrach, y ffurfiau yr esblygant i’w cymryd yn y dyfodol pell. Oblegid mai yn y wir Ddewin, megis yn yr had dynol, gwyrthol yn tyfu yn y groth, y mae pŵer dilyffethair pob creadur o dan yr Haul.[The House of Rebirth] Consider Lushfé the first great ruler, who gave culture, law, and order to us, and who brought cannibalism to an end by providing other meats. He was killed by Swtach, and his body dismembered, and he descended to the underground places in the Land of the Rushes by the Swift River. But, as the Sun went on his daily journey which sets the bounds on the day and the night, creating life by singing his song of creation, Tefnuth was listening keenly, and through her wiles, she succeeded in analysing the hidden meaning of the words. And she stole the most secret name of the Sun, gaining the authority to command the living and the dead. And despite his terrible wounds, Lushfé came back to life through the magical tricks of his sister Tefnuth, who was his wife also. In the same way, it is the Magus who shall receive as an inheritance the life of Lushfé. He shall only have to remember the names of all the living things which there were in the first-times, not the original words, but rather the forms which they shall evolve to take in the far future. For in the true Magus, as in the miraculous human seed growing in the womb, is the untrammelled power of every creature under the Sun.
[Yr Ananedig] Ac yn sydyn, O, dw i’n dirnad yr holl beth, taw craidd amser yw newid, a byddwn ni’n sylwi ar newid pan fydd gwrthrychau’n symud, a hefyd drwy gryfhau a gwanhau’u hansoddau, neu gynyddu a lleihau’u maint. Ond fe fydd yn edrych fel ‘sai’r endid o’r enw amser yn achosi newid ar ben hynny, er dyw e ddim yn bodoli ynddo ei hun. Ac mae’n wir taw prif arwydd newid yw bywyd, sy’n codi, dilyn ei gwrs, llanw a threio, cynyddu a chilio. Ond gyda help yr hud cryfa’, fe allwch chi atal treigl amser, rhodio’r gofod rhwng yr eiliadau, a chyflawni pob chwant. Fe fydd yn rhaid i chi ond consurio’r teimladau a’r delweddau priodol mor ddwys ag y bo modd, ac wedyn llefaru’r geiriau‘n disgrifio’n fanwl gywir pob datblygiad a newid, wrth ‘neud yr ystumiau gofynnol. A dyma fydd yn rhwymo’r naill a rhyddhau’r llall, gan roddi bod a dileu, hydoddi a thewychu, yn unol â’r ewyllys.[The Unborn] And suddenly, Oh, I comprehend the whole thing, that change is the crux of time, and we recognise change when objects move, and also through the strengthening and weakening of their qualities, or the increase and decrease of their size. But it’ll look as if an entity called time causes change as well, although it doesn’t exist in its own right. And it’s true that the chief sign of change is life, which arises, follows its course, ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes. But with the help of the strongest magic you can stop the flow of time, walk the void between the instants, and fulfil every desire. You have only to conjure the appropriate feelings and images as intensely as possible, and then speak the words describing with absolute exactness every development and change, whilst making the called-for motions. And this will bind the one thing and free the other, creating and destroying, dissolving and coagulating, in accordance with the will.
[Tŷ Aileni] Sicrha’r arwyddion hyn wedi’u mewnsgrifio ym mhobman ar y waliau, y memrynau, ac ar bob gwrthrych, y bydd ef yn byw a bwyta ymhlith y sêr bythol yn y byd a ddaw, pan bwysir ei galon lân yn erbyn pluen gwirionedd. Fe fydd y galon yn ysgafnach na’r bluen oherwydd yr hud, ac wedyn fe fernir bod yr erfyniwr yn deilwng o fywyd tragwyddol. Cyhoedda fy muriau’r gwirionedd anghyfnewidiol, canlynol. Y Dewin fydd y tarw aberthol, yn ogystal â’r offeiriad llywyddol, ac ar ben hynny’r gyllell benodol. Yn y pendraw yn y wlad honno tros Afon Dagrau, fe gasgla’r ailanedig bwerau’r Swynwyr i gyd, a fydd yn ddistadl o’u cymharu â’i rym glân. Felly efe a'u rhwyga nhw’n gareiau; fe wasga ef eu grym bywydol â dwrn o haearn; fe ferwa ef eu gweddillion mewn crochan enfawr; fe wledda ef ar eu perfeddion; fe wna ef ddileu eu hesgyrn yn llwyr gan gnoi; fe rydd ef eu lludw ar ei dân. Ac yna fe lynca ef eu hud yn gyflawn, wrth osgoi eu bustl gwenwynllyd. Ac wedi iddo gymryd meddiant o’u grymoedd goruwchnaturiol fe all ef deyrnasu tros y Ddau Fyd, gan mai ef a’r holl gread fydd yr un fath â’i gilydd erbyn hynny.[The House of Rebirth] These signs, inscribed everywhere on the walls, the parchments, and on every surface, will secure that he shall live and eat amongst the eternal stars in the world to come, when his pure heart is weighed against the feather of truth. The heart shall be lighter than the feather because of the magic, and then it shall be judged that the supplicant is worthy of eternal life. My walls proclaim the following changeless truth. The Magus shall be the sacrificial bull, as well as the officiating priest, and, moreover, the appointed knife. In the end in that land across the River of Tears, the reborn shall collect the powers of all the Sorcerers, who shall be insignificant in comparison with his holy might. Thus it is he who shall tear them to pieces, he shall squeeze out their life-force with an iron fist; he shall boil their left-overs in an enormous cauldron; he shall feast on their entrails; he shall completely gnaw away their bones; he shall put their ashes on his fire. And then he shall fully devour their magic, whilst avoiding their poisonous bile. And after he takes possession of their supernatural powers, he shall be able to reign over the Two Worlds, for he and all creation shall be one with each other by then.
[Yr Ananedig] Yn wir y digwyddiad gorau erioed oedd pan sylweddolais hyn, gan effro o ‘nghwsg gorfodol i brofi’r datguddiad. Dyna oedd pan ddaeth bywyd i ben – ‘y mywyd cynta’ yn gaeth i’r groth o leia’ – pan glywais i’r chwilod tom o amgylch Tŷ Aileni’n siantio’u cân dragwyddol drosodd a throsodd –‘khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.’ A dyna gân sy’n asio marwolaeth a dadeni wrth ei gilydd, wrth ddiddymu’r ddau. A thro ar ôl tro, drachefn a thrachefn byddan nhw’n canu’r un peth – wrth gyfeilio i guriad ‘y nghalon ddu – “chep-er – chep-er – chep-er.”[The Unborn] Indeed it was the best thing ever to happen when I realised this, waking from my enforced sleep to experience the revelation. That was when life came to an end – my first womb-bound life at least – when I heard the dung-beetles around the House of Rebirth chanting their eternal song over and over – khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi. And that’s the song that binds death and rebirth together, whilst abolishing both. And time after time, ever and anon, they sing the same thing – whilst accompanying the beating of my black heart – “chep-er – chep-er – chep-er.”
[Tŷ Aileni] Oblegid mai’r Dewin fydd unig feistr y greadigaeth oll, ef fydd yn trechu annibendod, a thawelu’r môr cychwynnol, corddol. Myfi, Tŷ Aileni, fydd yn gweld, a synhwyro, a chlywed, ac arogleuo, a blasu. Gwybod, a deall, a meddwl, a gweiddi a wnaf. O’r herwydd yr wyf yn mynegu hyn. Fe reola’r Dewin y lleoedd y tu hwnt i amser. Cyn loywed â’r Haul ei hun fydd ef, ond hollol gudd rhag llygaid pawb. Â’i rym o’i flaen, fel neidr eirias, megis llygad o dân sydd yn gweld popeth. Oherwydd hyn y gwna ef ba beth bynnag a ddymuna, ar y gair, i’r dim, a heb rwystr; yn yr un modd, yr hyn na ddymuna, na all dim awdurdod nac ar y Ddaear nac ar y Nw Yrth orfodi ef i’w wneud. Fe fydd ond arno angen llefaru’r union eiriau, ond os na wna hyn, fe fetha ef yn deg, a fydd y canlyniadau'n enbyd.[The House of Rebirth] For the Magus shall be the sole master of all creation, he shall overcome confusion, and silence the churning originary ocean. It is I, the House of Rebirth, who shall see, and sense, and hear, and smell, and taste. I shall know, and understand, and think, and shout. Therefore, I express this. The Magus shall rule the places beyond time. As bright as the Sun himself shall he be, but totally hidden from the eyes of all. His power shall go before him, like a white-hot serpent, like an eye of fire which sees everything. Because of this he shall do whatever he desires, instantaneously, perfectly, and without impediment; in the same way, what he does not wish, no authority, either on the Earth or on the Nw Yrth, can compel him to do. He need only pronounce the precise words; but if he does not do this, he shall fail, and fail utterly, and the consequences shall be dire.
[Yr Ananedig] Yn ‘y hylif brith, dw i’n gwegian yn simsan, wrth blygu ‘nghorff sy wedi’i rolio’n ffurf ymlusgiad neu amffibiad bellach ond sy’n parhaus drawsffurfio; a chysgwr effro sy’n breuddwydio am fyd echryslon dw i, yr un sy eisoes yn ddialgar. Cwch gwenyn yw’n meddwl, yn heigio â gwenyn, ac ma’ pob un ohonyn nhw’n ‘y mhigo â chwestiwn wrth beillio’n ofnau, a lluosogi’n arteithiau, ond dyw’r atebion melysber byth yn dod. Ac felly, dyma fi, wedi’n mantellu â chyfnos diderfyn, ac yno i, ma’ trachwant anhraethol y Rheibiwr yn ymgodi ac ymdawelu. Dyma gynnwys y sach ddisylwedd yn griddfan, wrth i fi estyn tentaclau eneidiol, gludiog, i flasu’r byd tu mas.[The Unborn] In my speckled fluid, I totter shakily, whilst bending my body which has been rolled up into the form of a reptile or amphibian now, but which is transforming constantly; and I am a waking sleeper dreaming of an atrocious world, the one who’s vengeful already. My mind’s a hive, teeming with bees, and every one of them stings me with a question whilst pollinating my fears, and multiplying my tortures, but the honeyed answers never come. And so, here’s me, cloaked in endless twilight, and in me the unutterable greed of the Wizard rears up and abates. The contents of the insubstantial sack groans, as I extend sticky, psychic tentacles, to taste the world outside.
[Tŷ Aileni] Felly y cyhoeddaf, o ardaloedd sych, gwyllt yr anialwch, a gwastatiroedd ffrwythlon Bilabel ger yr Afon Wylofus, i’r eangderau anferth o dwndra ar ben pegynau’r Nw Yrth. Cân fy saernïaeth, fy nghnawd anorganig, fy esgyrn gwneud, ogoniant y Dewin. Oherwydd mai ef a fydd yn teyrnasu tros y Swynwyr i gyd, fel arglwydd y gwagle y tu hwnt i amser. Ac ef yw’r un a fu cyn i bopeth ddod i fodolaeth; sydd yn byw bellach; ac a fydd yn awdurdod tros y Ddau Fyd, nes i’r mynyddoedd dreulio’n ronynnau tywod, a’r rheiny yn llwch mân. Ac ar ôl hyn fe chwythir y mymrynnau ymaith i bedwar ban y cyfanfyd. Ac ymehanga’r Haul gwan gan gwblhau cylchred ei fywyd, a llosgi’n waedrudd, wrth iddo ysu’r Ddaear yn ulw. Ac wedyn y berwa’r cawl cychwynnol yn sych, gan adael y Blaned yn ddim ond gwylltir anial o halen.[The Hose of Rebirth] Thus I proclaim, from the wild, dry areas of the desert, and the fruitful plains of Biblael near the Weeping River, to the enormous expanses of tundra at the poles of the Nw Yrth. My workmanship, my inorganic flesh, my manufactured bones, sing the glory of the Magus. For it is he who shall reign over all the Sorcerers, as lord of the void beyond time. And he is the one who was before everything came into existence; who lives now; and who shall be authority over the Two Worlds, until the mountains crumble away to grains of sand, and those to fine dust. And after this the particles shall be blown away to the four corners of the universe. And the feeble Sun shall expand, completing its life-cycle, burning blood-red whilst it scorches the Earth to a crisp. And then the primal ocean shall boil dry, leaving the Planet as naught but a barren wilderness of salt.
[Yr Ananedig] A dyma fi, darpar Ddewin anhysbys, heb ei eni eto, sy’m yn cael ei weld, yn holi’r byd dagreuol tu mas i’r bru. Oddi mewn i ‘nghocŵn cloëdig, fe fydda i’n anffurfio ac ail-wneud pob talp o fater fydd fy meddyliau’n taro arno fe, os bydd angen, neu os bydda i eisiau, nes iddo fe gydffurfio â siâp ‘yn enaid sy'n mwtanu bob tro. Wedi’n syrffedu, am ennyd o leia’, ar dameidiau blasus, tyner o gasineb ac ofn, o genfigen, a dicter, a gwanc – pob un ohonyn nhw sy’n ‘yn halogi’n fwy, wrth ‘neud i fi bwffian chwerthin ar yr un pryd – dyma fi’n llyfu ‘neintgig heb ddant ynddo eto, a sugno 'mawd fel pib. Ac yna, wedi’n lapio mewn môr llawn cysgodion, dyma fi’n pendant deithio yn ‘mlaen.[The Unborn] And here I am, an unknown Wizard to-be, not yet born and unseen, interrogating the tearful world outside the womb. From within my sealed cocoon, I’ll disfigure and re-make every chunk of matter my thoughts hit against, if needs be, or if I want to, until it conforms with the shape of my constantly mutating soul. Surfeited, for a moment at least, on tender, tasty morsels of hatred and fear, of jealousy, and anger, and greed – every one of which defiles me more, while making me giggle at the same time – here I am licking my as-yet toothless gums, and sucking my pipe-like thumb. And then, wrapped in a sea of shadows, I travel resolutely on.
[Tŷ Aileni] Ac yn fuan fe ddarperir yr elfennau priodol i gyd yn ôl yr angen. Yr elfen gyntaf yw’r cnawd, ac fe gaf fi hwn trwy ddichell gan y ferch fydd yn organedd letyol i gorff newydd y Dewin maes o law. Yr ail elfen, a’r drydedd a ddaw o’r cariad coll, o’r enw ‘Y Pobydd,’ wedi’i ddal mewn hunllef anorffen, a fydd yn ildio’r hud a’r bersonoliaeth unigol. Efe fydd yn rhoi’i gysgod imi pan ddaw ei freuddwyd i ben, amser enedigaeth y Dewin. Bydd gweddill yr elfennau’n dod o’r gŵr diwair sydd yn drist, call, ac enfawr ar yr un pryd, o’r enw ‘Y Tew Ŵr.’ Yn y dyfodol y cyll ef ei galon a’i rym bywiol hefyd. A thrwy hyn oll fe all y Dewin ddal i fyw ar yn y Nw Yrth dan olau cryf yr Haul gwir am byth, gan ganu cân adnewyddu cyson – kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi – hyd at ei therfyn. Fel hyn yn fy ffurf yr ydys yn ysgrifennu – yn y modd hwn trwy fy nhystiolaeth y bydd![The House of Rebirth] And soon all the appropriate elements shall be provided as necessary. The first element is the flesh, and I shall have this through trickery from the girl who shall be host to the Magus’s new body in due course. The second element, and the third, shall come from the lost lover, named ‘The Baker,’ caught in an endless nightmare, who shall yield the magic and the individual personality. He shall give his shadow to me when his dream comes to an end at the time of the Magus’s birth. The rest of the elements shall come from the chaste man who is sad, wise, and huge at the same time, called ‘The Fat Man.’ In the future he shall lose his heart, and his life-force also. And through all this the Magus can continue to live on the Nw Yrth under the strong light of the true Sun for ever, singing the song of constant rejuvenation -- kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi – to its conclusion. Thus in my form it is written – in this way, thorough my witness, shall it be!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 16

Pennod Ugain: Dianc (Lleisiau 16) / Escaping (Voices 16)

Mae cysgodion yn byw mewn lleoliad rhyfedd rhwng golau dydd a gwyll, rhwng y symbolau rhesymegol a’r delweddau twyllodrus sydd yn bodoli yn llygad yr haul a’r arswyd llwyr sydd yn dod yn real liw nos. A ydy’n bosibl dangos cyffelybiaeth rhwng y fath ffenomen a chysyniad treigl amser, felly? Beth am y presennol, er enghraifft, yr amser nad yw’n bod, o un persbectif, sydd wastad ar y ffin rhwng y gorffennol a’r dyfodol? Neu ynteu, ar y llaw arall, efallai mai gwell fyddai dweud mai’r presennol yw’r unig amser sydd yn bodoli, o’r safbwynt hwn. Beth bynnag fo’r ateb, os bydd ateb o gwbl, gallwn ni fynd yn ein blaen i holi: A achosir y ffenomen yr ydym yn arddel mai’r presennol ydy gan grychdonnau’r dyfodol yn llifo tuag at y gorffennol, neu gan gysgodion pethau sydd wedi mynd a deflir ar ddigwyddiadau sydd i ddod?

Shadows live in strange locations between daylight and dusk, between the logical symbols and the deceptive images which exist in direct sunlight and the complete horror that becomes real at night-time. Is it possible to show a correspondence between such a phenomenon and the concept of the flow of time, therefore? What about the present, for example, the time which does not exist, from one perspective, which is always on the boundary between the past and the future? Or, on the other hand, perhaps it would be better to say the present is the only time that exists, from this viewpoint. Whatever the answer may be, if there is any answer at all, we can go on to enquire: Is the phenomenon we hold to be the present caused by ripples of the future flowing towards the past, or by shadows of things which have been that are thrown on events which are to come?

[Steffan] O fechgyn, fy mechgyn annwyl i – Staffy ifanc, Stevo yn hwyrach – dyma fi, Steffan o’r dyfodol. Myfi fydd chi ill dau pan fyddwch chi’n hŷn, dychmygwch hynny! Fe dybiaf fi ei bod yn eithaf annheg mai fi, yr ymgnawdoliad cyfredol eich personoliaeth, sydd yn cael y gair olaf, ond mae’n anochel, dyna drefn y bydysawd, gan mai fy meddwl sy’n deffro atgofion am ein hanes cyfrannol ni, yn consurio cysgodion y nos oddi mewn i’r gwyll. Fodd bynnag, chi, y lleisiau afreal sy’n ffurfio côr y calonnau unig yn fy mhen, yw fy meddwl a’m meddyliau, yr hen ddiawliaid chi! Ac rydych chi’n bwysig iawn, heb os. Wel, chi ill dau, a’r gweddill ohonoch chi, y rhannau eraill, sydd yn amrywiadau di-dor ar yr un hen thema, sef cymeriad y dyn hwn rhwng yr amser y cafodd ei eni ac yr adeg bresennol hon.[Steffan] O boys, my dear boys – Young Staffy, Stevo later on – here I am, Steffan from the future. I shall be you two when you’re older, imagine that! I suppose it is rather unfair that it is I, the present incarnation of your personality who has the last word, but it’s inevitable, that’s the order of the universe, as it is my mind that is awakening memories about our shared history, conjuring shadows of the night from within the dark. However, you, the unreal voices that form the lonely-hearts choir in my head, are my mind and my thoughts, you old devils! And you are very important, without a doubt. Well, you two, and the rest of you, the other parts, which are endless variations on the same old theme, namely the character of this man between the time he was born and this present moment.
[David] Pa fath o beth yn union yw dianc, tybed, David Baxter, yn enwedig pan dych chi wastad yn bracsan drwy gysgodion mor drwchus â llaid ffosydd y Cythrwfl Mawr, yn y Dyffryn Baca hwn, fydd ddim yn diflannu hyd yn oed yn y dydd, heb sôn am y nos? Eistedd – cerdded – rhedeg – ehedeg. Dw i’n cyrcydu’n ddistaw, a’r creithiau fel llythrennau rwnig, coch dros ‘y nghorff i gyd yn brifo’n ofnadw’, gan ystyried y dyfodol, a thrio ‘narbwyllo’n hunan taw goroeswr wrth natur dw i, yn bendant. Wel wedi’r cwbl, dim ond fi sy ‘ma o hyd. Huno’n ysbeidiol mae Mam yn rhywle ar yr ochr arall, ‘yn angyles warcheidiol, er gwaetha’ sut ‘nes i drin y gyllell hudol, a dw i’n chlywed hi’n sgrechian bob amser o hyd. Gan ddefnyddio pŵer geiriau ‘nes i ofalu i’n Wncwl anfad o gamdriniwr fynd i’w dranc, pan dorrodd gwythïen waed yn ei ymennydd ar ben y staer y noson ‘na. Dw i ‘di ‘neud ‘y ngorau glas i gadw’r chwaer, ond heb lwyddo achos bod hi ‘di rhedeg bant i fod yn farddes enwog neu rywbeth a ‘sneb ‘ma i ‘ngharco fi rhagor. Ac ar ben popeth, mae ‘Nhad newydd estyn y fer, ffoi rhag y farn a ddaw, cicio’r bwced, mynd i gyfarfod â’i grewyr (mewn ffordd o siarad), dianc o arswyd y byd. Dyna Steffan, sbo, ond dyw e’m yn cyfri’ fel teulu, ydy e?[David] What kind of thing exactly is escaping, I wonder, David Baxter, especially when you’re always wading through shadows as thick as the mud in the trenches of the Great Turbulence, in this Vale of Tears, which don’t disappear even in the day, not to mention the night? Sitting – walking – running – flying. I’m crouching silently, the scars like red runic letters all over my body hurting awfully, considering the future, and trying to convince myself that I am a natural survivor, definitely. Well, after all, there’s only me who’s still here. Mam, my guardian angel, is sleeping fitfully on the other side somewhere, despite how I wielded the magic knife, and I hear her screaming all the time still. Using the power of words, I ensured that my iniquitous Uncle, the abuser, went to his demise, when he burst a blood-vessel in his brain at the top of the stairs that night. I’ve done my best to keep my sister, but no success as she’s run off to be a famous poet or something and there’s no-one here to look after me any more. And to top it all off, my Dad has just popped his clogs, fled from his final judgement, kicked the bucket, gone to meet his makers (in a manner of speaking), escaped from the horrors of the world. There’s Steffan, I suppose, but he doesn’t count as family, does he?
[Steffan] Dyma fi, felly, dyn mewn oed, ac rwy’n ystyried y cyfryw ystrydebau rhadlon a chysurlon y gallwn i’u clebran wrthoch, y bechgyn ieuengach, wrth edrych yn ôl trwy’r sbectol ruddwawr honno sydd yn ymddangos ar drwyn dyn gyda threigl amser. Ond wrth gwrs, rwy’n gwrthod ei gwisgo hi o achos fy malchder, ac am mai gŵr geirwir ydw i. O, gwagedd yw’r cwbl, medd y pregethwr, ond coeliwch chi fi, nid pregethwr mohonof fi erbyn hyn, gymrodyr, myn yr Hen Dduwiau Gwallgof! Ond wedi dweud hynny, adfyd a ddaw â dysg yn ei law, felly fe af fi yn fy mlaen.[Steffan] Here I am, then, a grown-up man, and I’m considering the kind of gracious and reassuring clichés I could prattle to you, the younger boys, whilst looking back through those rose-tinted spectacles which appear on a man’s nose in the fullness of time. But of course, I refuse to wear them due to my pride, and because I am a truthful man. Oh, everything is vanity, says the preacher, but believe you me, I’m no preacher now, comrades, by the Old Mad Gods! But having said that, adversity brings learning in its hand, so, I shall proceed.
[David] Fe ddylai fe fod wedi bod yn rhyddhad hyfryd, ond beth sy ‘di digwydd yn lle ‘ny? ‘Dwn i’m, er taw dim ond euogrwydd a gwarth sy ar ôl i fi. Yna, mae’n meddyliau i’n hedfan bant fel dail yn cael eu chwythu gan dymestl yn nhrymder y nos. Euog a wêl ei gysgod rhyngddo â’r Haul, ac a fydd yn gorfod ffoi am ei hoedl rhagddo. Ond, dw i’m yn deall pam dw i’m yn ddibechod, na gwybod rhag pa fraw dw i’n trio dianc. Yn sydyn, dw i’n ‘y nghael fy hunan yn sefyll yn stond, ar bwys glannau dyfroedd tawel y dychymyg, ac wedyn – taith, gobaith, hiraeth, iaith – mae’r geiriau ‘ma yn tynnu arna i o bell, fel ‘sai tiroedd newydd yn ‘y ngwahodd; a churiadau rhai drymiau estron dyn nhw, fydd yn ‘y ngalw i ‘mlaen fel galla i gwrdd â ‘nhynged.[David] It should’ve been a blessed release, but what’s happened instead? I dunno, although only guilt and shame are left to me. Here, my thoughts are flying off like leaves being blown by a tempest in the depths of the night. It’s a guilty man who sees his shadow between himself and the Sun, and who must flee for his life from it. But, I don’t understand why I’m not sinless, nor know from what fear I’m trying to escape. Suddenly, I find myself standing stock-still, beside the shores of the quiet waters of the imagination, and then – journey, hope, longing, language – these words tug on me from afar, as if new lands are inviting me; and they’re the beats of some strange drums, which’ll call me on so that I can meet my fate.
[Steffan] Ni ddylwn i fod mor llym, gan mai dim ond adwaith amddiffynnol yw’r ymddygiad hwn, a chi ill dau fydd yn deall heb yr un broblem o gwbl o ble rydyn ni’n cael y fath odrwydd a gwendidau. Mae’n ddrwg gennyf fy mod yn dal i siarad mewn damhegion ond cydwybod euog a ofna ei gysgod, gan hel esgusion drwy’r amser a cheisio ffoi rhag y gwirionedd poenus. Felly, gadewch imi ateb y cwestiynau sy’n dawnsio fel gwybed o flaen eich meddyliau cythryblus o hyd. Efallai y gallaf fi ladd rhai cysgodion dychmygol. [Steffan] I shouldn’t be so harsh, since this behaviour is only a defence mechanism, and you two will understand without a problem at all from where we get such oddness and foibles. I am sorry that I am still talking in riddles but it’s a guilty conscience that fears its shadow, proffering excuses all the time and trying to escape the painful truth. So, let me answer the questions that still are dancing like midges before your troubled minds. Perhaps I shall be able to slay some imaginary shadows.
[David] Ta be’, peth rhyfedd yw dianc yn wir, dw i’n credu. Mae teithiau ac felly diangfeydd ym mhobman, ac fe fyddan nhw’n sleifio aton ni bob tro, yn enwedig pan fyddwn ni’m yn eu disgwyl nhw o gwbl, pan wyddom ni awn ni’m i unman. Mewn gwirionedd, fe all byw ei hunan deimlo’n debyg i ddihangfa beryglus, o ble, neu i ble, na wn i, ‘sdim clem ‘da fi, a dim syndod ‘na ‘te, ha ha! Ond er gwell neu er gwaeth fe fydd bywyd yn datgelu’i gyfrinachau fel trysorau anhysbys wedi’u gwasgaru mewn tomenni tail ar ymyl llwybr fydd yn arwain o enedigaeth i farwolaeth. O bryd i’w gilydd byddwn ni’n dawnsio ar hyd y ffordd o frics melyn, yn rhywle draw dros yr enfys, ble fe ddown ni o hyd i iechyd, cyfoeth, a dedwyddwch. Ond ambell waith, fe fyddwn ni’n ymlusgo ar ein pedwar, ar hyd y ffordd i byllau dyfna' anobaith y Nw Yrth, wedi’i phalmantu â bwriadau da. Weithiau’r naill, weithiau’r llall: pwy a ŵyr cyn i ni orffen y daith, cyn i ni ddianc unwaith ac am byth? Y cyfan allwn ni ‘neud yw cerdded, neu neidio, neu redeg, dan lefain neu chwerthin ar yr un pryd.[David] Anyhow, escape is a strange thing indeed, I think. There are journeys, and therefore escapes, everywhere, and they creep up on us all the time, especially when we don’t expect them at all, when we think we’re not going anywhere. In truth, living itself can feel similar to a dangerous escape, from where, or to where, I have no clue, and that’s no surprise then, ha ha! But, for better or for worse, life reveals its secrets like unknown treasures scattered in dung-heaps besides the path that leads from the cradle to the grave. From time to time we’ll dance down the yellow-brick road, somewhere over the rainbow, where we’ll find health, wealth, and happiness. But sometimes, we’ll crawl on all fours, along the road to the Nw Yrth’s deepest pools of despair, paved with good intentions. Sometimes the one, sometimes the other, who knows before we finish the journey, before we escape once and for all? All we can do is walk, or jump, or run, weeping or laughing at the same time.
[Steffan] O, fechgyn, bydd gennych y fath freuddwydion ynghylch y dyfodol. Ac yn wir, fe ewch i’r Brifdechneg er mwyn dilyn y llwybr tuag at ogoniant glân, a phurdeb tragwyddol, gan geisio llwyddo fel rhifolwr a all reoli ffawd y werin annisgybledig a bustachaidd. Am syniad nobl! Ond, gwael dweud, bydd pawb eraill yn ymddangos mor ymhongar, mor falch, mor uchelgeisiol i ddringo’r polyn llithrog, i ddod yn feddyliaethydd byd-eang, ynteu Gynrychiolydd y Werin. Felly, ar y wyneb o leiaf, fe ddewch chi’n hen daid ifanc, fydd yn tynnu’n groes i’r lleill ar egwyddor, gan geisio’ch fflangellu’ch hun drwy’r amser. Nid ymsefydlwch ymhlith y byddigions. Ni fyddwch byth yn teimlo’n llonydd yno, am mai’r unig lanc heb gariad fyddwch. Ac a bod yn onest, byddwch yn ddigwmni’n aml iawn, pan fydd y gweddill yn cael hwyl o bob math, ni fydd rhaid imi ymhelaethu, obeithiwn, ar yr ystyr bellach. Ac ar ben hynny ni fydd dim ffrindiau gorau, ac ymhlith yr holl rwystredigaeth, fe syrthiwch dros eich pen a’ch clustiau mewn cariad â bywyd y tai gamblo, y clybiau cabare anghyfreithlon, y siopau sbeis sydd ar agor ddydd a nos, ac ogofeydd lladron fyrdd eraill. Ac O, afraid dweud, fe ddysgwch beth neu ddau yno![Steffan] Oh, boys, you shall have such dreams concerning the future. And truly, you shall go to the Unitechnic to follow the path towards holy glory, and eternal purity, trying to succeed as a numerologist who can control the fate of the undisciplined and bestial folk. What a noble idea! But, terrible to relate, everyone else will appear so pretentious, so proud, so ambitious to climb the slippery pole, to become a world-famous mentalist, or a People’s Representative. So, on the surface at least, you’ll become an old young fogey, who’ll contradict the rest on principle, trying to flagellate yourself all the time. You’ll not settle down amongst the posh nobs. You’ll never feel at peace there, as you’ll be the only lad without a companion. And to be honest, very often you’ll be lacking company, when the rest are having fun of all sorts, I’ll not have to elaborate, I hope, on the meaning further. And on top of that, there’ll be no best friends, and what with all the frustration, you’ll fall head-over-heels in love with the life of the gambling houses, the illegal cabaret clubs, the twenty-four-hour spice-shops, and myriad other dens of iniquity. And Oh, needless to say, you shall learn a thing or two there!
[David] Wrth gwrs, mae diangfeydd i gyd yn dechrau gydag un cam, maen nhw’n dweud. Dw i wastad yn meddwl am y gofodwyr sy’n dychmygu mynd mas i dywyllwch enfawr pellafoedd y gwagle mewn llongau gofod. Falle, ‘sen nhw’n llwyddo, fe fyddai ‘ny’n un cam bach i ddyn, ond un llam mawr i ddynolryw hefyd. Ond lwyddan nhw byth. Eto i gyd, ‘sdim rhaid i ni fynd mor bell, on’d oes, achos bod ni’n gallu goresgyn ein hofnau drwy deithio i leoedd mewnol, i fannau ble na all neb ein clywed ni’n sgrechain. Reit te, dyma ni’n dechrau siarad am ddefnyddio’r llais, am chwedleua, am ddweud celwyddau. Beth arall allwn ni weud am iaith, te?[David] Of course, all escapes begin with a single step, they say. I’m always thinking about the space-men who imagine going off into the enormous darkness of the depths of space on space-ships. Perhaps, it they succeeded, that would be one small step for a man, but one big leap for mankind too. But they’ll never do it! There again, there’s no need for us to go so far, is there, because we can overcome our fears by travelling to internal spaces, to places where no-one can hear us scream. Right then, we’re starting to talk about using the voice, about tale-telling, about spouting lies. What else can we say about language, then?
[Steffan] Nawr, gadewch imi fwrw fy mola berfedd. Ni ddylai dyn byth ddweud mai camgymeriad yw’r un profiad, ond ‘neno Hebé, pe dymunwn i edifarhau rhywbeth erioed, fe fyddai’r hyn y byddaf yn mynd i sôn amdano nesaf. Gall pechod mawr ddyfod trwy ddrws bychan, meddant. Grrrrr! Fe fedrwch chwyrnu fel arth fawr, flewog erbyn hyn, ac efallai mai dyna sut y byddwch yn ymddangos. Ond er hynny, bydd yn anodd iawn ichi ymddwyn yn synhwyrol a chall yn yr Uffern newydd, yn ffau’r llewod, y clwb nos, y tŷ cysgu, y gwely aflan, y siambr sbeis, a’r cant a mil o fannau eraill sy’n perthyn i’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd yma ar y Ddaear. Nid yn unig y plymiwch eich llwy yn y crochanau hynny o lygredigaeth; ond fe fyddwch yn mwynhau’ch bwrw’ch hun lwrw’ch pen i garthbyllau’n waeth nag eiddo’r Nw Yrth, hefyd. Myn cebyst', a fydd y cynlluniau oll, wedi’u trefnu mor gynnil, yn mynd i’r gwellt?[Steffan] Now, let me spill the beans. One should never say that any single experience is a mistake, but, by Hebé, if I ever wanted to regret anything, it would be what I am going to talk about next. A big sin can come in through a tiny door, so they say. Grrrrr! You can growl like a great, hairy bear by now, and perhaps that is how you’ll appear. But despite that, it’ll be very hard for you to behave sensibly and wisely in that fresh new Hell, in the lions’ den, the night-club, the flop-house, the shameful bed, the spice-chamber, and the thousand-and-one other places that belong to the Indolent Idolaters here on the Earth. Not only shall you plunge your spoon into that cauldron of corruption; but you shall enjoy throwing yourself head-first into sewers worse than those of the Nw Yrth, too. My Lord, shall all the plans, so carefully made, come to naught?
[David] Mae’n amlwg i fi o leia’, taw dihangfa o ryw fath yw’r anrheg wedi’i guddio yng nghalon iaith fel gwlithen yng nghanol letysen. Fe gawson ni’n geni heb iaith ond fydd y sefyllfa ‘ma ddim yn parhau am amser hir. Wedyn, ar ôl consurio ysbryd rhyw iaith, fel arfer yn unol â dewis y rhieni, fe fyddwn ni’n crwydro drwy febyd fel nant sisialog, gan ddysgu ystyr geiriau chwerw a melys, a llawer o derminoleg briodol hefyd. Ar y naill law, gyda’r iaith ‘ma fe fydd rhai’n bwrw hud drwy weddill eu hoes. Ar y llaw arall, falle bydd hi’n ein rheoli a’n llywio ni at angau, hyd yn oed. Mae’n bosib bydd hi’n cynnau tân syniadau newydd, gan agor ffyrdd i ddarganfod gwybodaeth anadnabyddus, a chefnogi einioes lawn o antur a chyffro. Serch ‘ny, gall ychydig o eiriau drwg ddod yn hadau trychineb a dinistr, fel bydd yn aml ddigwydd ym mywyd y sawl dyw’m yn ddigon clyfar na gofalus. Yn yr achos ‘ma, dim byd ond taith hir a phoenus i’r carchar neu’r gwallgofdy fydd byw – taith fydd yn arwain cyn rhy hir i dranc gwarthus.[David] It’s obvious to me at least, that escape of some sort is the present hidden in the heart of language, like a slug in the middle of a lettuce. We were born without language but this situation doesn’t last for a long time. Then, after conjuring up the spirit of some language, usually in accordance with our parents’ choice, we wander through childhood like a babbling brook, learning the meaning of words, bitter and sweet, and lots of appropriate terminology too. On the one hand, with this language some will cast spells for the rest of their lives. On the other hand, perhaps it will control us and steer us towards death, even. It’s possible that it’ll light the fire of new ideas, opening ways to discover unknown information, and support a lifetime full of adventure and excitement. Despite that, a few bad words can become seeds of disaster and destruction, as often happens in the life of one who’s not clever or careful enough. In this case, living will be but a long and painful journey to the jail or the mad-house – a journey that’ll lead before too long to an ignominious death.
[Steffan] Yn y cyfamser, yn ôl yn y Brifdechneg, ar ôl pob penwythnos rhemp, ffieiddiwch yr amgylchfyd dirdynnol a’ch gwna’n hollol ddigalon. Yno, ni fyddwch byth yn ddigon da o achos eich acen werinol a’ch cefndir gostyngedig – a’ch doniau arallfydol o ran cyfrif yr ots gamblo, dweud ffortiynau, a chael sbeis gan yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd. Cewch chi’ch cnoi’n dipiau ac wedyn eich poeri allan fel pe tasech yn rhyw dalp o faco drewllyd. Byddwch yn felltigedig, ar wahân, ac ni wybyddwch sut y bydd gweiddi ar y diawliaid, sut i fynegi’ch teimladau dyfnaf, cywir. Ceisiwch astudio’r Hen Lyfrau dan ddylanwad sylweddau neilltuol i ddwysáu’ch mewnwelediad, a phallu, gan deimlo’n ddiwerth. Ond llwyddo a wnewch i brofi gweledigaethau arswydus o’r Nw Yrth a’r gweithredoedd a achosir gan y rhai sydd yn gwrthod rheol gyfreithiol y Swynwyr Seraffaidd. Ond o leiaf byddant yn ysbrydoli’ch paentiadau enwog yn amserau i ddod. Ac yn y pendraw, bydd hyn i gyd yn dal i fyny â chi’n wir, gan fynd yn ormod, a ffrwydrwch chi. Fe ddywedwch wrthynt yr hyn feddyliwch ohonynt i gyd trwy beintio’ch barn, llawn symbolau astrus, ar wal y Neuadd Fawr wedi’i thaenu â murluniau o hen gonos, mewn gwaed (wel, paent coch), un nos olau leuad. Bydd fel pe buasech yn tynnu nyth cacwn ar eich pen chi, fy machgen i![Steffan] In the meantime, back in the Unitechnic, after every weekend of excess, you’ll despise the excruciating environment which totally disheartens you. There, you’ll never be good enough due to your plebeian accent and your humble background – and your otherworldly talents at calculating gambling odds, telling fortunes, and getting spice from the Old Holy Warrior. You shall be chewed up and then spat out as if you were some chunk of stinking tobacco. You shall be accursed, cast out, and you shall not know how to shout at the devils, how to express your true, deepest feelings. You shall attempt to study the Old Books under the influence of particular substances to intensify your insight, and shall fail, feeling worthless. But succeed you shall in experiencing horrifying visions of the Nw Yrth and the acts caused by those who refuse the legal rule of the Seraphic Sorcerers. But at least they shall inspire your famous paintings in times to come! And in the end, all this shall catch up with you indeed, becoming too much, and you shall explode. You shall tell them what you think of them all by plastering your opinion, full of abstruse symbols, on the wall of the Great Hall, covered with pictures of old fogeys, using blood (well, red paint), one moon-lit night. It will be as if you have kicked a hornet’s nest, my boy!
[David] Mae’r lluniau ‘ma o ddiangfeydd, wedi’u llenwi â hiraeth am dir wedi’i anghofio amser maith yn ôl, yn carlamu drwy’n ymennydd llidiog fel ceffylau esgyrnog, cynddeiriog, a dw i’n teimlo mor gryf fod rhaid i fi’n hunan ddianc, rhedeg bant, deifio i’r Môr Mawr Llwyd a nofio nerth ‘y mreichiau. Felly dyma fi’n cyflym godi oddi ar yr hen gadair esmwyth wedi’i staenio eto â’r holl waed a chofion arswyd a marw; baglu i’r awyr drwchus a llygredig yn y byd tu hwnt i’r dychymyg sy’n llechu tu mas, gan adael awyrgylch myglyd y tŷ am byth. Dyma ddechrau taith tuag at ryddid dw i ‘di bod yn aros amdani drwy gydol ‘yn oes. Dyma’r adeg i fynd, i chwilio am yr enfys a’r peth wmbredd o aur, pair dadeni, ar ei ben, neu af fi byth! Rhwydd hynt i chi, a da boch chi – nes i ni i gyd gyrraedd pennau’n teithiau, ddiwedd yr un hanes dynol – achos fe fydd pob stori’n gorffen fel ‘na, yn y llyfrau gorau o leia’ – mewn dianc i deyrnas, allwn ni obeithio, ble na fydd cysgodion rheibus yn bodoli o gwbl! Ac am ryw reswm, dyna’r Hen Filwr yn galw arna i dan wenu o glust i glust wrth i ‘nghreithiau ysu a llosgi fel glo byw ar ‘y nghroen.[David] These pictures of escapes, filled with longing for a long-ago-forgotten land, gallop through my inflamed mind like rabid, skeletal horses, and I feel so strongly that I myself must escape, run off, dive into the Great Grey Sea and swim as hard as I can. So I get up quickly from the old comfy chair still stained with all the blood and the memories of horror and dying; stumble into the thick and polluted air in the unimaginable world that lurks outside, leaving the stifling atmosphere of the house for ever. This is the beginning of a journey towards freedom I’ve been waiting for all my life. This is the time to go, to look for the rainbow and for the pile of gold, the cauldron of rebirth, at its end, or I never will! May the winds favour you, and may you go well – until we all reach the end of our journeys, at the end of the same human story – as every story finishes like that, in the best books at least – in escape to a kingdom, we can hope, where greedy shadows don’t exist at all! And for some reason, there’s the Old Soldier calling me, grinning from ear to ear, as my scars itch and burn like live coals on my skin.
[Steffan] O diar, O diar! Dyna ffŵl fyddwch chi! Dyna drueni a fydd! Pa fodd y cwympodd y cedyrn – fel yr ebycha’r Deon wrth iddo’ch alltudio o’r Brifdechneg, pan ddaw hi’n gyfrif. Felly, ‘Bant â chi, fachgen!’ dim byd mwy na hynny. Fe fydd yn eich atal rhag bwyd a llety – ac wedyn, trwy bŵer cloch, llyfr, a channwyll y bydd eich enw’n gabl. Fe rwygir eich gŵn yn ddau – fe droir eich cap academaidd i’n sbot morter go iawn. Ac felly – ymhlith bedlam y byrddau duon – yn ôl deddf y jyngl addysgol, sef, Meistr y manylion a drecho – y bydd yn oes oesoedd, amen. Wele nerth y Gair! Ni fedra’r rhif saith eich helpu’r tro hwn wrth ichi adrodd – Ysfa Saith Mlynedd – y Saith Lliw Sylfaenol – Saith Diwrnod yr Wythnos – y Saith Gelfyddyd Freiniol – Saith Symudiad mewn Bale – Saith Rhyfeddod y Byd – y Rhyfel Saith Mlynedd – ond nid yr un mymryn o’r mantrâu hudol hyn fydd o fudd ichi. Fe gewch eich taflu allan o’r Sefydliad Hynafol a Rhyfedd cyn ichi ddechrau’n o iawn. Ond ni fydd dim troi’r cloc yn ei ôl erbyn hynny. Pa beth bynnag a ddechreuwyd, ni ellir heb ei wneuthur. Dyna’r cwbl, bois bach, heb air o gelwydd! Beth yn y Ddau Fyd yw diben yr holl beth? A yw hi’n werth mynd ymlaen? Wel dichon mai’r doeth na ddywed a ŵyr, ond cofiwch chi hyn o leiaf: arf glew yn ei galon, fy mechgyn i, asgre lân, diogel ei pherchen. Felly, diolch ichi, a ffarwél![Steffan] Oh dear, Oh dear! What a fool you shall be! It shall be such a pity! Oh how the mighty are fallen – as the Dean exclaims while he exiles you from the Unitechnic, when the time comes. So ‘Off with you, boy!’ nothing more than that. He will ban you from bed and board – and then, through the power of bell, book, and candle, you shall be pronounced anathema. Your gown shall be torn asunder – Your mortarboard shall be made into a real mortar-board. And so – amongst the bedlam of the blackboards – according to the law of the academic jungle, namely, May the master of the minutiae prevail – shall it be, for ever and ever, amen. Behold the power of the Word! The number seven shall not be able to help you this time as you recite – The Seven Year Itch – Seven Days of the Week – the Seven Liberal Arts – Seven Movements in Ballet – Seven Wonders of the World – the Seven Years War – but not one jot of these magical mantras shall be of benefit to you. You shall be flung out of the Ancient and Strange Institution before you start properly. But there shall be no turning the clock back by then. Whatever’s begun, cannot be undone. That is all, my lads, without a word of a lie! What in the Two Worlds is the point of the whole palaver? Is it worth going on? Well perhaps the wise man does not say what he knows, but remember this at least: the weapon of the brave is in his heart, my boys, safe is the owner of a pure heart. So, thanks to you, and farewell!
Heb yn wybod i’r ddau lanc, maen nhw’n consurio rhithiau’r dyfodol, neu’n gweithredu fel erialau, falle – y naill ohonyn nhw sy eisiau galw ei Mam yn ôl o’r bedd o hyd, gan lynu wrth fywyd; y llall sy eisiau gadael popeth ar ôl, gan feddwl uwchben ‘neud amdano’i hun.Unbeknownst to the two lads, they’re conjuring spectres of the future, or acting as aerials, perhaps – the one of them who wants to call his Mam back from the grave still, clinging to life; the other who wants to leave everything behind, meditating on killing himself.
Felly dyma fachgen o’r enw David ar fin dianc, ar fedr rhedeg i ffwrdd unwaith eto, fel arfer, ac efallai bydd yn llwyddo’r tro hwn, er nad yw’n sylweddoli cywir natur y grym sy wastad yn ei yrru yn ei flaen, na phoeni amdani ‘chwaith, wrth iddo symud. Ac eto i gyd i ba hafan ddiogel bydd e’n ffoi, ac i freichiau cynnes pwy? Fe fydd rhywun, yn rhywle, rhywsut, i ofalu amdano fe, fydd e’n gallu rhannu gyda nhw’i freuddwydion twp am newid y byd drwy drefnu partïon rhydd, a cherddoriaeth rafio, a lledu’r cariad, on’ bydd? Ond cyn i ‘ny allu digwydd, bydd rhaid iddo ymweld â’r bwthyn yn y goedwig o binwydd ar lan yr afon lle bydd popeth wastad yn edrych mor drist, y lle mae’r Hen Filwr wedi’i ddangos iddo. Mae’n sicr fe fydd rhywbeth yno o werth enfawr os bydd yn bosibl dod o hyd iddo.So, here’s a boy called David on the verge of escaping, about to run off once again, as usual, and perhaps he’ll succeed this time, although he doesn’t realise the true nature of the force that’s always driving him on, nor worry about it either, as he moves. And then again, to what safe haven will he flee, and into whose warm arms? There will be someone, somewhere, somehow, to care for him, with whom he’ll be able to share his silly dreams about changing the world through organising free parties, and rave music, and spreading the love, won’t there? But before that can happen, he’ll have to visit the cottage in the pine woods on the bank of the river where everything always looks so sad, the place the Old Soldier has shown him. He’s sure there’ll be something there of enormous value if he can find it.
A dyna ddyn o’r enw Steffan, fel gafr ar daranau. Mae wedi dod i ben ei dennyn erbyn hyn ac yn eistedd yn unig ar lan yr Afon Wylofus ymhlith y fforest binwydd, yn y cysgod llydan sydd sylwedd oedolaeth, a dydy’r tywyllwch ddim yn ffrind mwyach, na’dy, dim yn awr. Mae’r nos yn udo, er bod ei udo’i hun wedi distewi, ond ‘sdim môr-ladron i’w gipio ymaith ar wely hedfannog, nac yw gwerin y coed yno i’w gwtsio fe bellach – dim gwir ffrindiau gwryw – neb. Ar ei ben ei hunan, mae’n llygadu’r allweddi â gwaed arnyn nhw, a’r cnawd cignoeth ar flaen ei fraich chwith, wrth i’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd wylio yn y pellter, dan bwdu. Mae rhai geiriau wedi’u cysegru i briodferch anhrefn, iddi hyhi sy'n marchogaeth ar y bwystfil, yn hongian yn y tarth: ‘Â'r gyllell hon yr wyf fi'n tynnu'r gwaed, sydd fy mywyd.’ Fel sy ‘di digwydd mor aml o’r blaen, fe fyddai raid i’r llanc wisgo llewys hir yfory i gelu’r briwiau, ond y tro ‘ma mae ‘di penderfynu heb gysgod amheuaeth taw yfory na fydd. Wezir a’m helpo yw’i obaith gwan wrth baratoi i’w daflu ei hun i’r dŵr lliw rhwd, llawn olew seicedelig, trolïau siopa drylliedig, a chyrff llygod mawr, marw. A dyna fe’n dymuno fe allai fe hedfan.And there’s a man called Steffan, extremely agitated. He’s reached the end of his tether by now and it sitting alone on the bank of the Weeping River amongst the forest of pines, in the wide shadow that is the substance of adulthood, and the darkness is no longer a friend, not now. The night is howling, although his own howling has stopped, but there are no pirates to snatch him away on a flying bed, nor are the tree-people there to cuddle him now – no true male friends – no-one. Alone, he eyes up the bloody keys, and the raw flesh on his lower left arm, whilst the Old Holy Warrior watches in the distance, scowling. Some words dedicated to the bride of chaos, the rider upon the beast, hang in the mist: ‘With this knife, do I draw out the blood, which is my life’. As has happened so often before, the lad’ll have to wear long sleeves tomorrow to hide the wounds, but, this time, he’s decided without a shadow of a doubt that tomorrow shall not be. Wezir help me, is his wan hope while preparing to fling himself into the rust-coloured water, full of psychedelic oil, wrecked shopping-trolleys, and the bodies of dead rats. And he so wishes he could fly.
Ac o achos meddyliau’r ddau lanc, sy’n atsain o’r dyfodol i’r gorffennol, siŵr o fod, dyna ryw gân, ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’, gan y band roc gothig o’r enw Necro Stellar nas cyfansoddwyd eto, wedi’i darlledu o’r Nw Yrth i chwythu trwy ymennydd y ddau, ac mae’n llawn hud Guede, a dagrau cyson y Swynwr Seraffaidd o’r enw Nebesh—And due to the thoughts of the two lads, which are echoing from the future to the past, probably, there’s some song, ‘Dlo Kwala Manyan’, by the goth-rock band called Necro Stellar which hasn’t yet been composed, broadcast from the Nw Yrth to blow through the minds of both, and it’s full of Guede magic, and the constant tears of the Seraphic Sorcerer named Nebesh—
Ym mhobman rwy’n gweld y gwepau ‘ma,
Drwy’r wyneb drychaidd maen nhw’n gwylio;
Yn aml rwy’n syllu i’m hadlewyrchiad,
Gan geisio dal golygon y meirwon;
Maen nhw i gyd yn aros dan y dŵr,
Mewn cyrff eilwaith yn y cnawd,
Gan wenu mewn heddwch ar y gwaelod,
Maen nhw’n dod mas cyn edwino'n gyflym.

Edrych! Dyna ysgafn a thyner yw bywyd,
A dyna uchel yw eneidiau’r meirwon;
Yn awr rwy’n gwisgo’r masg Guede ar ‘y mhen,
Rwy’n estyn atat ti ‘nwylo.

Dim ond dynesa at ‘yn hanfod fioled,
Agor letach dy lygaid a wnïwyd;
Yn fuan bydd yn rhaid i ti groesi’r ffens gyfyngol,
I sylweddoli Tranc a Bywyd.		Everywhere I see these faces,
Through the mirror-like surface they watch;
I peer into my reflection often,
Trying to catch the aspects of the dead ones;
All of them are waiting under water,
In bodies once again reborn,
Smiling in peace at the bottom,
They emerge before quickly fading.

Look! How fragile and tender is life,
And how high up are the souls of the dead;
Now I wear the Guede mask on my head,
I stretch out to you my hands.

Just come closer to my violet essence,
Open wider your sewed-up eyes;
Soon you must cross the restricting fence,
Life and Death to realise.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 17

Pennod Un ar Hugain: Darogan (Lleisiau 17) / Foretelling (Voices 17)

“Mor wan â mwg yw dyn, ac yn y pridd dinistrir ef; ar hyn o bryd, yn y fan a’r lle, rydym i fyw” – Diarheb Etrwsgeg o ‘Egwyddorion Barddoniath Feddyliaethol’ gan Yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar.

“Popeth byrhoedlog anfonir yn arwydd; Diffyg y Ddaear sy’n tyfu o herwydd; Heb ei ddisgrifio, yn y fan ‘ma y’i cwplir; Hanfod menywod a’n harwain o anwir” – o ‘Corws Cyfriniol’ gan P Mamrick (fersiwn o ‘Chorus Mystycus’ yn ‘Faust Rhan 2’ gan Johann Wolfgang von Goethe).

“A man is as weak as smoke, and in the soil he is destroyed; it is here and now we are to live” –Etruscan proverb from ‘Principles of Mentalist Poetry’ by Professor Jelena Pekar.

“All things that wither are sent but as guidelines; The Earth’s Lack of lustre thus outstrips its confines; Escaping description, here all lies completed; By feminine soul untruths’ wiles are defeated” – from ‘Mystic Chorus’ by P Mamrick (a version of ‘Chorus Mysticus’ in ‘Faust Part 2’ by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe).

Yn nhiroedd anghysbell tros y Môr Mawr Llwyd (felly y rhed y stori rwy wedi’i chlywed), roedd Daud (yn ôl ei eiriau ei hun a adroddai wrthyf fi yn ystod y sesiynau sgwrsio a gwrando tra hir ond hudol y’m gorfodid i’w dioddef yn Ystafell 1/7 bron pob dydd), wedi bod yn poeni mai ei ymadael yn y pendraw a wnâi ei chwaer Jelena, y ‘dywysoges arallfydol’, pan fyddai wedi ymbriodi Stjepan. Ac wedyn – arswyd y byd! – byddai raid iddo dyfu i fyny fel petai, ac aeddfedu. Roedd ef yn gywir i ryw raddau, am fod Jelena ar fin dod yn farddes enwog erbyn i’w Tad farw mewn sefyllfaoedd drwgdybus, ac felly gadawodd hi’r cartref teuluol am byth i deithio a pherfformio trwy’r byd tros y Saith Môr Pechadurus. Mae hi bellach, gredech chi, yn athrawes gadeiriol ym Mholy-ysgol Aberdydd, a defnyddiwn ni lawer o’i dulliau chwyldroadol, ac yn enwedig, ‘barddoniaeth feddyliaethol,’ yn gelfydd yma.In remote lands over the Great Grey Sea (so runs the story I’ve heard), Daud (according to his own words, which he recited to me during the very long but enchanting talk-and-listen sessions that I was forced to endure in Room 1/7 almost every day), had been worrying that his sister, Jelena, the ‘extra-terrestrial princess’, would leave him in the end. when she married Stjepan. And then, -- horror of horrors! – he would have to grow up, as it were, and mature. He was correct to some extent, as Jelena was on the verge of becoming a famous poet by the time their Father died in suspicious circumstances, and so she left the family home to travel and teach throughout the world over the Seven Sinful Seas. She is by now, would you believe it, a chaired professor in Aberdydd Poly-versity, and we use many of her revolutionary methods, and especially ‘mentalist poetry,’ to good effect here.
O ran Stjepan, wrth gwrs, roedd Daud yn anghywir mewn ffordd, a heb fod yn rhy aflednais, roedd gan y cyntaf ei broblemau ei hun gyda hunaniaeth, ac fel arall, gan gynnwys caethineb i sylwedd o wledydd estron, o’r enw ‘sbeis,’ wedi’i wneud o faw mwnci. Ni allaf fi honni rhithyn o wybodaeth na phrofiad ynghylch y fath sylwedd; mae’r rhai y byddwn ni’n eu defnyddio gan amlaf yma yn y Clinig yn bur, digymysg, a llawer drutach; maent o ansawdd clinigol, ddylem ddweud.On the part of Stjepan, of course, Daud was incorrect in a way, and without being too course, the former had his own problems with identity, and otherwise, including addiction to substances from foreign parts, called ‘spice,’ made from monkey dropping. I cannot claim a speck of knowledge about, or of experience of, such a substance; the ones we use most often here in the Clinic are pure, unadulterated, and a lot more expensive; they are of clinical quality, could we say?
Pa un bynnag, daethpwyd â Daud i Aberdydd gan yr Hen Filwr yn fuan ar ôl i’w Dad ymadael i Byllau Du’r Nw Yrth. Yn anffodus, yn ôl cyfrif Jelena, yr oedd hi’n rhy brysur o lawer i ymweld â’r brawd byth erioed, ac ni fyddai lawer o gysylltiad rhyngddynt yn ein tref hyfryd ar lan y môr ychwaith cyd iddo fynd i ymuno â’i gyndadau.In any case, Daud was brought to Aberdydd by the Old Soldier soon after his father departed to the Black Pools of the Nw Yrth. Unfortunately, according to Jelena’s account, she would be much too busy to visit her brother ever again, and there would not be much contact between them in our lovely sea-side town either before he went to meet his forefathers.
Yr oedd ‘colli’ ei chwaer yn ergyd ysgytwol i enaid Daud (roedd yn defnyddio’r enw David erbyn hynny, arfer a seiliwyd ar ei gariad dros ben llestri tuag at Aberdydd), ac ymatebodd yn enbyd. Roedd wedi bod yn gwneud ei orau glas gyda ni yn y Clinig yn y dechrau, ond rebel yn y bôn ydoedd, a dymunai ef gyfieithu gweithiau gan Cynhyrfwr-gwaywffon a Mamrick i’r Gymraeg yn hytrach nag astudio’r cyrsiau penodedig. Wrth reswm roedd glaslanciau eraill hefyd, plant amddifaid. a rhai a chanddynt ddoniau rhyfedd, ac yn y blaen, dan ein gofal yma ar y pryd. Ond fel arfer, nid oedd David yn hoff iawn o’i gyd-ddisgyblion o gwbl. Y ‘Dynion Sed’ oedd ei enw gwatwarus arnynt am nad oedd ganddynt yr un pwerau ag roedd ganddo ef, yn ei farn. Yn anad dim y byddai’n cwyno am y gwersi mewn calcwlws gwahaniaethol a chyfannol ac ati, gan gofio pethau annifyr o’i febyd tramor, ond odid.‘Losing’ his sister was a shocking blow to Daud’s spirit (he was using the name David by then, a practice based on his over-the-top love for Aberdydd), and he responded terribly. He had been doing his level best with us in the Clinic to start, but he was fundamentally a rebel, and he wanted to translate works by Shakes-spear and Mamrick into Welsh rather than study the appointed courses. Of course there were other youths too, orphans, and ones with strange talents, and so on, under our care here at the time. But as usual David was not very fond of his fellow-pupils at all. The ‘Zed-Men’ was his mocking name for them, as they did not have the same powers as he did, in his opinion. More than anything else he used to complain about the lessons in differential and integral calculus and suchlike, remembering distasteful things from his childhood overseas, probably.
Ond nid y rhain yr oeddem yn eu darparu yma y pryd hynny. A bod yn fanwl gywir, roeddem yn canolbwyntio ar bynciau sydd yn bwysicach o lawer ar gyfer ein huwch-arwyr mewn bwriad, megis astroleg ac alcemeg, a ddysgwyd gan yr Hen Filwr oedd yn gweithio tros yr achos cyn iddo esgyn i ogoniant. Wel, rwy’n dyfalu mai dyna oedd ei amcan gan ei eiriau olaf, sef, ‘ Glân yw enaid dyn, Nid bywyd ond fflam hygryn, Drenga wrth godi,’ beth bynnag fydd ystyr hynny.But it is not these that were being provided here at that time. To be totally correct, we were concentrating on topics which are much more useful for our would-be super-heroes, such as astrology and alchemy, which were taught by the Old Soldier who was working for the cause before he ascended to glory. Well, I am guessing that that was his intention from his last words, namely, ‘Pure is a man’s soul, Life nought but a trembling flame, Which dies as it rises,’ whatever that means.
Mynegai David ei anfodlonrwydd tuag at bawb a phopeth, ac yn enwedig at ‘rymoedd gormesol yr awdurdodau atgas’ (pwy bynnag fônt) trwy ddifetha’r adeiladau o amgylch Poly-ysgol Aberdydd, a’r Clinig hwn ei hun, ag arwydd lluoedd y gwrthryfelwyr o’r hen Famwlad. Ac ym mhob un o’i anturiau, derbyniodd David gefnogaeth gyson gan ddyn o’r enw Steffan Grossmann, oedd yn gwirfoddoli yma yn y Clinig. Ddylai Steffan, sy’n drist, call, ac enfawr, fod wedi dod yn rhifolwr glân yn gweithio i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ar ôl gadael y Brifdechneg, yn nhyb ei Fam, sydd cyn wynned â'r ewyn ar y dŵr. Wedyn, byddai’n rheoli’r Bydysawd (neu ryw ranbarth pwysig o’r Ddaear o leiaf) o Dref Emrallt, gan gywiro camgymeriadau, a rhoi trefn yn lle anrhefn. Cyn iddo ddiflannu mor sydyn â lleidr yng nghrombil y nos, yr oedd ei Dad absennol yn credu y dylai Steffan fynd yn ei flaen i ennill dyrneidiau o fudrelw (heb sôn am y cil-dyrnau cyfreithlon, a’r llwgrwobrau arferol ac anarferol), trwy wasanaethu ei wlad a’i gyd-wladwyr fel Cynrychiolydd y Werin yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth.David expressed his dissatisfaction towards everyone and everything, and especially towards the ‘oppressive forces of the hateful authorities’ (whoever they may be) through defacing the buildings around Aberdydd Poly-versity, and this very Clinic, with symbols of the rebel forces from the old Motherland. And in every one of his adventures, David received constant support from the man called Steffan Grossmann who was volunteering here in the Clinic. Steffan, who is sad, wise, and enormous, should have become a holy numerologist working for the World-Wide Church after leaving the Unitechnic, in the opinion of his Mother, who is as pure as driven snow. Then, he would govern the Universe (or an important region of the Earth at least) from Emerald Town, correcting mistakes, and replacing disorder with order. Before he disappeared as suddenly as a thief in the depths of the night, his absent Father believed that he should go on to earn fistfuls of filthy lucre (not to mention the legal tips, and the usual and unusual bribes), through serving his country and his compatriots as People's Representative in Government House.
Fel y digwyddodd, cafodd y tri ohonynt ei siomi’n enbyd oherwydd yr antur drychinebus a byrhoedlog yn Hybarch Sefydliad Addysg Uwch. Ar ôl dioddef o waeledd nerfol o ganlyniad i’w brofiadau personol a’i ddefnydd o gyffuriau anghyfreithlon, a berai iddo brofi gweledigaethau brawychus, ac, ar adegau, ceisio lladd ei hun, creodd ef fyd ffantasi’n seiliedig ar lyfrau comics arswyd. Arferai fe ddweud ei storïau wrth David, cyn iddynt gael eu cyhoeddi o’r diwedd yn y wasg ddirgel.As it happened, the three of them were terribly disappointed because of the disastrous and short-lived adventure in the Venerable Institute of Higher Learning. After suffering a nervous breakdown because of his personal experiences and his use of illegal drugs, which caused him to experience terrifying visions, and, on occasions, to try and kill himself, he created for himself a fantasy world based on horror-comics. He used to tell his stories to David before they were eventually published in the underground press.
Digwyddodd un o’i gastiau gwaeth pan wnaeth David ‘herwgipio’ ei ffrind ffyddlon a dianc mewn fan wen wedi’i dwyn, gan ffoi rhag yr heddlu (a rhai milwyr arfog) yn oriau mân y bore. Dydw i ddim wedi medru canfod sut beth oedd y perthynas rhwng y ddau lanc gan na fydd Steffan yn esbonio. A oeddent yn bartneriaid paffio, brwydrwyr tros ryddid a heddwch, rebeliaid heb achos na chliw, aelodau rhyw gwlt oes newydd, brodyr yn y rhyfel i oroesi, ynteu ddim ond bechgyn gwirion a ddylai fod wedi gwybod yn well?One of his worst outrages occurred when David ‘kidnapped’ his faithful friend, and escaped in a stolen white van, fleeing from the police (and some armed soldiers) in the early hours of the morning. I have not been able to discern what kind of relationship existed between the two lads as Steffan will not explain. Were they sparring partners, fighters for freedom and peace, rebels without cause or clue, members of some new-age cult, brothers in the war to survive, or just silly boys who should have known better?
Sawl peth sydd yn sicr, fodd bynnag, sef: na allai Steffan benderfynu beth i’w wneud gyda’i fywyd, wedi profi cryn drafferth wrth geisio astudio yn y Brifdechneg; ei fod yn gobeithio cael hyd i ysbrydoliaeth ynghylch ei ddyfodol a’i gwrs trwy fywyd; a’i fod yn profi cymysgedd o orfoledd ac arswyd o ddod i adnabod ei chwaer, Helen, a oedd, ryfedd dweud, newydd gyrraedd y Clinig heb rybudd fel ‘meddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant’ (dyna’i geiriau, nid yr eiddof fi).Several things are sure, however, namely: that Steffan could not decide what to do with his life, having experienced considerable trouble whilst trying to study at the Unitechnic; that he was hoping to find inspiration regarding his future and direction in life; and that he was experiencing a mixture of joy and terror from getting to know his sister, Helen, who had, strange to relate, just come to the Clinic without warning as a ‘trainee mentalist’ (those are her words, not mine).
Nid oes ond rhaid dweud bod llawer o syniadau lliwgar iawn gan y ddau lanc wedi’u seilio ar y comics roeddent mor hoff ohonynt, o ran Trawsffurfio’r Byd Oll yn unol â dysgedigaeth dau grŵp rhyfedd o fodau arallfydol a allai ymyrryd mewn bywyd a thynged popeth ar wyneb ein Daear gron, ac a fyddai’n gwneud felly ar yr esgus lleiaf. Ar ben hynny, yr oedd yng nghastiau’r ddau, elfennau o ymarferion hudol a ddyfeisiwyd gan y llanciau’u hunain yn ôl pob golwg. Dydw i ddim yn sicr a lwyddasant, trwy chwarae eu gemau, i greu byd dychmygol go iawn, fel petai, wedi’i boblogi â chymeriadau, digwyddiadau, hanes, ac ieithoedd.One need only say that the two lads had very colourful ideas based on the comics of which they were so fond, involving Transforming the Whole World in accord with the teachings of two weird groups of otherworldly beings who could interfere with the life and fate of everything on the face of our round Earth, and who would do so at the least excuse. As well as that, there were in the antics of the two elements of magical practices which were devised by the lads themselves to all appearances. I am not sure whether they succeeded, through their games, in creating a real imaginary world, as it were, populated by characters, events, history, and languages.
Fodd bynnag, ymddengys yn amlwg imi y bu cryn benbleth yn bodoli yn ymennydd David ynglŷn â gwir hunaniaeth Steffan. Mae’n debyg bod y cyntaf yn meddwl yn aml mai Stjepan oedd yr ail. Ni waeth beth a fo am hynny, pan yrrodd y llanciau’r cerbyd i goeden, dryswyd cof David hyd yn oed yn waeth nag o’r blaen, a chollodd ef ei synnwyr hunaniaeth blaenorol yn llwyr. Yr oedd y ddau greadur ifanc mewn coma am gryn amser, rhywbeth a achosai i’r Hen Filwr brofi trafferth ofnadwy am ryw reswm nad wy’n deall o gwbl hyd yn hyn. A, rhyfedd iawn adrodd, yr oedd ef yn anghysuradwy pan wellasant – gan lawenydd, ddywedwn i, heb os nac oni bai, o’i adnabod cystal.However, it appears to me that considerable confusion existed in David’s mind about the true nature of Steffan’s identity. It is likely that the former often thought that the latter was Stjepan. Never mind about that, when the lads drove the vehicle into a tree, David’s memory was upset even worse than before, and he lost his former sense of identity entirely. The two young things were in a coma for a considerable time, something that caused the Old Soldier to experience awful trouble for some reason I do not at all understand even now. And, very strange to relate, he was inconsolable when they recovered – from happiness, I would say, without a doubt, as I know him so well.
O hynny ymlaen y mynnai David ddefnyddio’r llysenw Dai neu Dazza (sydd yn codi pwys arnaf fi), a cheisio gorfodi Steffan i fabwysiadau ffugenw cyfatebol, sef ‘Stezza’ (sydd yn gwneud imi grynu’n fwy). Ymhellach, âi Dai a Steffan fel pâr o efeilliaid na ellid eu gwahanu o amgylch y cefn gwlad, gan drefnu partïon dawns rhydd yma a thraw, yn groes i bob rheol a osodwyd gan y Pwyllgor Cyhoeddus Lleol (heb sôn am orchmynion y Llywodraeth Genedlaethol). Cyfansoddwyd y darn canlynol fel ‘hanes bywyd amgen,’ gan Dai gan ddefnyddio’r dechneg o’r enw ‘botsian,’ o dan ddylanwad cyffuriau neu swyngwsg ar dro, fel rhan o’i driniaeth yma yn y Clinig.From then on, David insisted on using the nickname Dai or Dazza (which makes me feel ill), and he tried to force Steffan to adopt a corresponding nom de guerre, namely ‘Stezza’ (which makes me cringe more). Furthermore, Dai and Steffan would go around the countryside like a pair of inseparable twins, organising free dance-parties here and there, contrary to every rule set by the Local Public Committee (not to mention the commands of the National Government). The following piece was composed by Dai as an ‘alternative life-history,’ using the technique called ‘pottering about,’ under the influence of drugs or trance on occasions, as part of his treatment here in the Clinic.
Fe ddisgyn cysgod dros yr ŵyn,
Ac ar ben hynny ger mur llwyn,
Mewn hen gwm mud (neu hwyrach glyn),
Sy’n serth a dirgel hyd yn hyn,
A’r tyle’n llawn o binwydd crin –
A swrth – heb sain – llawn tywyll rin,
Lle, ‘nawr, dan drem y lleuad lem,
Fe drig teuluoedd tra di-glem,
Mewn bwthyn tlawd a phlasty coeth,
Myn brain, ni thyfant wynwydd doeth,
(Ond dwg, efallai, lwythi gwanc)!
A chri eu geni hyd eu tranc,
Yw sgrech o wŷn gan rithiol graith;
A’u huddir beunydd gan swyn iaith –
Gan gysgod coch a gwawdlyd gnawd –
Hyd nes y dychwel cryman ffawd,
I’w hela nhw dros gau a phant –
Ac arllwys gwaed mewn fflamllyd nant.
Os un fydd farw, pawb fydd fyw –
A achub ef holl ddynol ryw?		Across the lambs a shadow falls,
And furthermore, beside grove’s wall,
In old mute coomb (or maybe vale),
Where secret still, and steep, winds trail,
On hill, chock-full of withered pines –
So sullen – dumb – dark virtue’s shrine,
Where, now, 'neath harsh-eyed gaze of moon,
Live tribes of truly clueless loons,
In cottage poor, and mansion fine,
Oh Gods, they grow not wisdom’s vines,
(But bear, perchance, loads huge of lust)!
From birthing-cry to death’s last gust,
They screech with pain from spectral scar,
Each day locked tight by word-charmed bars –
By shadow red and bloody flesh –
Until returns fate's scythe afresh,
To hound them down through field and dell –
And blood pours out ‘midst flame-stream fell.
If one man dies, then all survive;
Through him will human-kind all thrive?
Yn y dull arloesol hwn, wedi’i berffeithio gennyf fi fy hun yma yn ein Clinig arbrofol, bydd y claf yn breuddwydio, dychmygu cymeriadau, a dyfeisio sefyllfaoedd, heb lestair – fel petai’n ‘corlannu praidd o gysgodion’ – ac wedyn bydd yn actio’r ffantasi, er mwyn dod â chyfrinachau’r anymwybod i’r amlwg, a chyrraedd cyfanrwydd meddyliol. Manwl dros ben oedd y rhan fwyaf o argoelion Dai, ar ôl dehongli, mewn gwirionedd. Felly y mae stori Daud, David, neu Dai’n parhau fel rhyw nofel graffig, o safbwynt a leolir yma yn y Clinig ymhlith y pinwydd yn Aberdydd. Rhaid cofio fodd bynnag mai tra bo un set o gymeriadau (Daud, Stjepan, Jelena, ac Ivan) yn eithaf gwahanol i’r lleill (David, Staffan, Elen a John; neu Dai, Stevo, Helen a Jack) ar y wyneb, mae llawer o debygrwydd rhwng eu personoliaethau a’u perthnasau yn y bôn – yn fy nhyb proffesiynol o leiaf.In this innovative method, perfected by me myself here in our experimental Clinic, the patient dreams, imagines characters, and invents situations without restraint – as if he were ‘shepherding a flock of shadows’ – and then he acts out the fantasy, in order to bring the secrets of the unconscious to light, and reach mental wholeness. Extremely detailed was the majority of Dai’s forecasts, after interpretation, in truth. So, the story of Daud, David, or Dai, continues, like some graphic novel, from a viewpoint located here in the Clinic amidst the pines in Aberdydd. One must remember however that whilst one set of characters (Daud, Stjepan, Jelena and Ivan) are quite different to the others (David, Steffan, Elen and John; or Dai, Stevo, Helen and Jack) on the surface, there are many similarities between their personalities and their relationships deep down – in my professional opinion at least.
A myfi a ddylai wybod, ac ni ddargyfeirir hynt fy nymuniadau, er sut i’r Hen Filwr geisio fy rhwystro er ei fwyn hunanol ef ei hun. Am mai myfi yw’r unig ddyn hyd yn hyn sydd yn deall, ac wedi datgan, geiriau Defod Amasus i agor porth rhwng ein byd arferol ni o symbolau defnyddiol a delweddau hardd a hudol, a rhyw fyd arall, sydd amgen o’r gwraidd, ac yn llawn arswydau a rhyfeddodau mwy real na realiti ei hun, ac sydd yn dal i fyw eto!And I should know, and the course of my desires shall not be averted, despite how the Old Soldier tried to prevent me, to his own selfish ends. For I am the only man up to now, who has understood, and declared, the words of the Amasus Ritual to open a gate between our usual world of useful symbols and images, beautiful and magical, and some other world, which is fundamentally other, and full of horrors and wonders more real than reality itself, and who still lives yet!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 18

Pennod Dau ar Hugain: Llefaru (Lleisiau 18) / Speaking (Voices 18)

Er popeth yr ydym yn ei wybod parthed cysgodion trwy wyrthiau gwyddoniaeth, sef yr achoseg sydd yn cyfrif am y faith eu bod yn bodoli yn y lle cyntaf. a deddfau natur sydd yn rheoli sut yr ymddygant, mae rhai yn dal i amau nad gwir bethau ydynt o gwbl, am nad ydynt yn endidau sylweddol, fel petai. Maent yn maentumio mai dim ond ffenomenau eilaidd ydy cysgodion, ac oherwydd y fath amheuon, yn mynnu holi a ydy’n synhwyrol tybio ai ffrwythau ein cyd-ddychmygu yn unig ydynt, mewn gwirionedd. Os bydd hyn yn gywir, wedyn bydd yn naturiol ystyried cwestiynau eraill: a allwn ni eu trin dim ond fel gwrthrychau ofn plentynnaidd, symbolau sydd yn arwyddo diffygion  a chwantau anymwybodol, neu ysbrydoliaeth ar gyfer delweddau celfyddydol? Ac onid ydy cysgodion yn bwysig na pheryglus o ran peri difrod corfforol neu gythrwfl yn y byd go iawn o leiaf, er enghraifft, a ganiateir inni gael gwared ar bob cysgod amheuaeth yn y dirgel, gan gyfnewid presenoldeb am absenoldeb, pethau sylweddol am rai disylwedd, goleuni am gysgod, heb achosi helbul a helynt? Fodd bynnag, pe gwnelem hyn, beth fyddai’r effaith ar sut y canfyddem wirionedd, a dirwedd ei hun? A beth am y problemau seicolegol a allai ddigwydd o ganlyniad?

Despite everything we know regarding shadows through the miracles of science, namely the aetiology which accounts for the fact that they exist in the first place, and the laws of nature which govern how they behave, there are some who still doubt that they are real things, as they are not substantial entities, as it were. They maintain that shadows are only secondary phenomena, and because of such doubts, insist on questioning whether it is sensible to consider whether, in truth, they are only the fruits of our shared imagination. If this is true, it is natural to consider other questions: can we treat them merely as objects of childish fears, symbols that signify unconscious lacks and desires, or inspiration for artistic images? And if shadows are neither important nor dangerous in terms of causing physical damage, or disturbance in the real world at least, for example, are we permitted to get rid of every shadow of doubt by stealth, exchanging presence for absence, substantial things for insubstantial ones, light for shadow, without causing trials and tribulations? However, if we were to do this, what would be the effect on how we perceive truth, and reality itself? And what of the psychological problems that might ensue as a result?

Pwy sy wedi cymryd yr awenau yma yn y Clinig hwn? Pwy sy mewn gofal ac wrth y llyw? Pwy sy’n gyfrifol, neu mewn awdurdod? Pwy sy’n arolygu, goruchwylio, cyfarwyddo, rheoli? Ac wrth gwrs, menyw yw’r ateb priodol. Hyd yn oed pan fydd yn hollol ar ei phen ei hunan, mwy neu lai, ta beth, ar ôl iddo – yntau – gefni arni hi! Hmm, wel, er gwaetha’ ‘ny…Who’s taken up the reins in this Clinic? Who’s in charge and at the helm? Who’s responsible, or in authority? Who’s supervising, overseeing, directing, managing? And of course, a woman is the appropriate answer. Even when she’s totally on her own, more or less, anyway, after he – him – deserted her! Hmm, well, never mind that…
Eilchwyl ac eilchwaith rwy’n clywed y geiriau’n galw arna i – y fam, y cadlywydd, y storïwr – drosodd a throsodd, ac maen nhw’n canu cân hudolus y Delw-addolwyr, lawn gwirionedd, dewrder, ac anobaith, ond, eto i gyd, un sy mor gyfarwydd, mor ddengar, yn rhy ddynol o lawer. Ym mro cysgodion maen nhw’n byw, yr hanesion, gan luosogi yn nheyrnas ddychmygol iaith, lle bydd chwedlau a hen hunain yn cyson gael eu hailgylchu a’u hailddyfeisio, fel na waeth pa mor gyflym y rhedwch, allwch chi byth ddianc rhagddyn nhw. Dyna pam rwy’n nychu, ar fy mhen fy hunan yn y gegin dywyll, ddrafftiog, gan hel cysgodion gefn trymedd nos.Time and time again I hear the words calling to me – the mother, the generalissimo, the story-teller – over and over, and they are singing the magical song of the Idolaters, full of truth, bravery, and despair, but, then again, one which is so familiar, tempting, much too human. In the land of the shadows they live, the tales, multiplying in the imaginary kingdom of language, where legends and old selves are constantly recycled and reinvented, so that no matter how quickly you run, you’ll never escape them. That’s why I’m languishing, alone in the dark, drafty kitchen, chasing shadows in the deepest depths of night.
A dyma fi’n archwilio fy hanes fel creadures sy wastad yn gwylio dramâu’n datblygu o’i chwmpas. Ond ar yr un pryd, ein hanes ni i gyd yw hwn, sydd lawn symbolau absenoldeb, diffyg, ac eisiau yn wir. Ac rwy’n tybio, pwy sy’n cymryd cyfrifoldeb am y rhan fwya’ o’r pethau rydym ni’n eu gwneud, o’r pethau sy’n digwydd i ni? Ydym ni’n rhydd neu fyddwn ni’n dawnsio ar ôl tiwn a gyfansoddwyd gan pwy-a-ŵyr-pwy, gan gael ein gorfodi i ddweud straeon bob tro i wneud synnwyr o’r byd? O’r braidd y gellir dweud, a sut bynnag, dyna rhyngddi hi a’i chawl, fe atebwch chi. Wel, chwarae teg, ond allwch chi’m honni dw i’m wedi gweithio hyd at yr asgwrn, achos mod i wedi ymlâdd, er na alla i syrthio i gysgu. Ond, ar ôl aros am hydoedd, fe fydda i’n pendwmpian ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr, tra aflonyddir ar fy ngorffwys gan yr un freuddwyd bob nos, lle bydd y Ddaear gron bron ar ben, a fi yw’r unig enaid ar ôl.And here I am investigating my history as a creature who’s always watching dramas unfolding about her. But at the same time, this is the story of us all, which is full of the symbols of absence, lack, and want indeed. And I wonder, who takes responsibility for the majority of the things we do, of the things that happen to us? Are we free or do we dance to a tune composed by who-knows-who, being forced to tell stories all the time to make sense of the world? We can scarcely say, and anyway, that’s her problem, you’ll answer. Well, fair enough, but you can’t claim that I haven’t worked my fingers to the bone, because I’m exhausted, although I can’t fall asleep. But, after waiting for ages, I’ll doze in the end, while my rest is disturbed by the same dream every night, where the whole Earth is almost at an end, and I am the only soul left.
Edrychwch yma, nawr. Fydda i ddim yn ymdrechu i ddadansoddi ystyron yn y fan a’r lle. Person pwyllog ac ymarferol dw i, nage’r fath i ymhyfrydu mewn ehediadau dychymyg, a sut bynnag, dw i ddim yn gymwys, ac rwy’n rhy brysur, ac mor flinedig. Yma, yng ngwlad y tylwyth teg, fi yw’r ddewines garedig, ac mae wastad negeseuon i’w gwneud. Mae’n teimlo fel petawn i’n treulio fy amser i gyd yn codi arian, cwnsela meddyliau cythryblus, estyn cymorth i’r cystuddiedig, edrych ar ôl y rhai ar fin farw, ac atal yr hen le rhag dod oddi wrth ei gilydd. Trwy gydol y dydd fe fydda i’n meddwl, a phenderfynu, a gweithredu, gan geisio 'neud y peth gorau. ‘Sdim syndod mod i ddim yn gallu cysgu pan ddaw’r amser! A fi yn fam sengl i hurtyn o fab, sy ddim yn gallu chwythu’i drwyn yn iawn, heb sôn am y llanc newydd gyrraedd dyw’m yn medru sut i sychu’i din na chlymu’i gareiau eto.Look here, now. I won’t be striving to analyse meanings here and now. I’m a sensible and practical person, not the kind to indulge in flights of fantasy, and anyway, I’m not competent, and I’m too busy, and so tired. Here, in the enchanted forest, I’m the fairy-godmother, and there’s always chores to be done. It feels like I spend all my time raising money, counselling troubled minds, giving help to the afflicted, looking after those at death’s door, and stopping the old place from falling apart. All day long I’ll be thinking, and deciding, and acting, trying to do the best thing. It’s no surprise I can’t sleep when the time comes! And me a single mother to a fool of a son, who can’t blow his own nose, not to mention the lad who’s just arrived, who isn’t able to wipe his bum nor tie his laces yet.
Ond, wedi dweud hynny oll, dw i ddim yn gallu peidio â synfyfyrio dros ddirgelion bywyd o bryd i’w gilydd, yn enwedig pan fydd angen ar Gyfarwyddwr y Clinig ail farn ynghylch un o’r preswylwyr (fel mae’n eu galw nhw). Gwaith heb ŵyl a wna Huw’n ddi-hwyl, meddan nhw, wedi’r cyfan. Mewn gwirionedd, wedi darllen yr adroddiadau, siarad â’r cleifion, gwneud ymchwil i’r pynciau priodol yn y gwerslyfrau a’r llenyddiaeth gyfoes, ymgynghori â’r brawd, a ‘sgrifennu’r nodiadau, fe fyddai rhai’n dweud mai fi yw’r arbenigwr yn y madws ‘ma. Ond, yn bennaf oll, fi yw’r unig un sy’n talu sylw i les y bobl sy’n byw yma, o ran corff ac enaid. A dyn ni’n croesawi pobl o bob math, fel yng ngeiriau rhyw hen bennill, rydym wedi gweithio gyda’r rhai sy’n chwarae rhan baban, athro, meddyg, gwas; llechgi, dysgwr, llenor, bardd; milwr, ceidwad, arwr, nyrs. Ac ambell greadur od sy’n defnyddio’r teil Dewin, hefyd.But, having said all that, I can’t stop pondering on life’s mysteries from time to time, especially when the Director of the Clinic needs a second opinion about one of the residents (as he calls them). All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy they say, after all. In truth, having read the reports, spoken with the patients, done research into the appropriate topics in the textbooks and the current literature, consulted with my brother, and written the notes, some would say that it’s me who’s the specialist in this mad’ouse. But, chief of all, I am the only one who pays attention to the welfare of the people who live here, their bodies and their minds. And we welcome all kinds of people, like in the words of some old verse, we’ve worked with ones who play the part of baby, teacher, medic, lad; lecher, learner, writer, bard; soldier, keeper, hero, nurse. And the occasional odd creature who used the title Wizard, too.
Wel, hanner gwaith ei ddechrau, a dyma fi wedi cychwyn, felly man a man i fi fynd yn fy mlaen! Yn y byd dynol hwn a grëir o eiriau, rhaid ceisio deall: ydy unrhyw beth yn bodoli ar wahân i’n meddyliau, ein cysyniadau? Ydym ni’n byw mewn ogof, lle dim ond cysgodion y pethau go iawn wedi’u taflu ar y waliau yw’r delweddau aneglur sy wastad yn toddi, a dianc rhag ein gafael? Mae popeth wedi’i gymysgu, achos dyw dim byd yn bod ar ei ben ei hun. Er enghraifft, mae gwrthrychau’n rhagdybio goddrychau; mae ar blant angen rhieni; er mwyn bod yn ddinesydd rhaid i gymdeithas fodoli; dyw’m yn bosibl sefydlu perthynas na chael sgwrs heb ddwy bobl. (wel, dwy bersonoliaeth, falle). Ond yn y diwedd fe fydda i’n ateb fy hunan gyda chwestiwn arall: pwy ydwyf fi? Neu, a bod yn fwy gwrthrychol: pwy yw hi; pwy yw’r wraig hon? Rwy’n crafu fy mhen wedi’i blastro ag eironi, gan geisio penderfynu a alla i gadw fy nhafod yn fy moch, wrth beidio rhoi fy nhroed ynddo ar yr un pryd. O, rwy’n dwlu ar gymysgu metafforau!Well, a job begun is almost done, and I’ve started so might as well go on! In this human world, created of words, we have to try to understand: does anything exist separate from our thoughts, our concepts? Do we live in a cave, were the indistinct images that’re always melting, and escaping from our grasp, are but shadows of the real things, cast on the walls? Everything is mixed up, because nothing exists on its own. For example, objects presuppose subjects; children need parents; in order to be a citizen, society must exist; it’s not possible to establish a relationship or have a chat without two people (well, two personalities, perhaps). But in the end I answer myself with another question: who am I? Or, to be more objective: who is she, who is this woman? I scratch my head, which is plastered with irony, trying to decide whether I can keep my tongue in my cheek while not putting my foot in there at the same time. Oh, I love mixing up metaphors!
Nawr ‘te, bobol bach! Gobeithio byddwch chi’n maddau fy ymgais i fod yn ffraeth yna. Menyw synhwyrol, gall, a pholéit dw i, ac eithrio pan nad ‘dw i. Nage'r Arglwyddes Macbeth na gwraig o'r Mabinogi fel Arianrhod neu Blodeuwedd monof fi! Dim ond hyn rwy’n olygu: pa achos neilltuol o’r hil ddynol yw hon? Sut wraig yw hi? Neu, yn hytrach, gwell fyddai gofyn: beth yn union yw natur ddynol y sawl sy’n gallu llunio’r fath stwff fel a gyflawnir yn y darn yma? Peidiwch chi anghofio fy mod yn chwerthin am fy mhen i ‘ma, ‘fyd. Pwy ydy, mewn geiriau eraill, all wau geiriau a ‘sgrifennu pethau rhyfeddol fel hyn, mor fawreddog â Chân Tefnuth a ddygai Lushfé yn ôl i fywyd, lawn hyd yr ymylon o harddwch a nerth? P’un o’i phen a’i phastwn, fedr gyflawni cyfryw wyrthiau? Pa fath o unigolyn all gymell pobl eraill i deimlo fel hyn neu fel ‘ny drwy ddefnyddio dim ond sgriblan inciog ar ddarnau papur sy’n dawnsio o flaen y llygaid fel gwybed mân; drwy sibrwd dim ond chwythiadau tila o wynt sy’n cosi’r clustiau am foment yn unig? Ond wrth gwrs, mae’n bosibl mai’r unig ateb yw dweud bod rhaid arholi’r gwaith ei hun yn fanwl. Ac yma, pan dw i’n dweud gwaith, straeon bywyd newydd rwy’n eu meddwl, grëwyd drwy broses siarad a dychmygu fydd yn arwain at ddatblygu a thyfu. Dyna gyfaredd iaith.Now then, people! I hope you’ll forgive my attempt to be witty then. I’m a sensible, clever, and polite woman, except when I’m not. I’m not Lady Macbeth nor a woman from the Mabinogi like Arianrhod or Blodeuwedd! I mean only this: what particular specimen of the human race is this? What kind of woman is she? Or perhaps, it would be better to ask: what exactly is the human nature of the person who can fashion the kind of stuff that’s presented in this piece? Don’t forget that I’m laughing at myself here, too. Who is it, in other words, who can weave a web of words and write wondrous things like this, as majestic as the Song of Tefnuth which brought Lushfé back to life, brim-full of beauty and strength? Who, under her own direction, can perform such miracles? What kind of individual can induce other people to feel this way or that by using only inky scribbles on bits of paper which dance in front of the eyes like midges; by whispering only puny breaths of air that tickle the ears for just a moment? But of course, it’s possible that the only answer is to say that one must interrogate the work itself in detail. And here, when I say work, it’s the new life-stories I mean, created through a process of speaking and imagining which’ll lead to development and growth. That is the magic of language.
Gadewch i ni ddwyn cymeriad i gof, felly. Mae hi’n gyffelyb i ryw wraig lên sy’n cael blas ar gymysgu brawddegau byrion, sardonig, â ffraethebion hirach, wedi’u saernïo’n gelfydd. ‘Does mo'i gwell am gadw cyfrinach wrth iddi sôn am fyw, bod yn unig, magu plentyn ar ei phen ei hun, gweithio’n rhy galed o lawer i gyflawni’r gorchwylion oll, a threngi. Mae’i llais, ddywedem ni, yn gyhyrog, a’i hacen yn ein hatgoffa o’i gwreiddiau, nad anghofir byth, ac ar ei synnwyr hiwmor mae blas y pridd, er gwaetha’r amser mae wedi aberthu’n gaethwraig i’r deml hon i’r rhinweddau iachaol a’i thrigolion. Yn ei gwaith pob dydd, mae’n clywed lleisiau fyrdd yn siarad yn ddi-baid. Felly mae’r straeon mae’n eu hadrodd yn llawn pennau’n parablu, gan leisio hen bobl, pobl gyffredin, y rhai wedi’u hanghofio, y colledigion, cymaint â’r ifainc, y bobl brydferth, y cyfoethogion, a’r rhai delfrydyddol.Let us bring a character to mind then. She is similar to some literary woman who’s got a taste for mixing short, sardonic sentences with longer witticisms. artfully fashioned. She’s the soul of discretion whilst talking of living, being lonely, raising a child on her own, working much too hard to complete all her tasks, and perishing. Her voice, we might say, is muscular, and her accent reminds us of her roots, never to be forgotten, and her sense of humour is earthy, despite the time she’s sacrificed as indentured servant to this temple of the healing virtues and its inhabitants. In her every-day work, she hears myriad voices talking ceaselessly. So, the stories she tells are full of talking heads, giving voice to old people, common folk, those who are forgotten, the lost, as much as the young, the beautiful, the wealthy, and the idealistic.
Ac wedyn, ryw’n holi fy hunan: faint o fywyd awdures fydd yn chware rhan yn y darnau mae’n sgrifennu, p’run yw’n ei lico ai peidio, a hyd yn oed os dyw hi’m yn bwriadu sôn amdani’i hunan? O ble mae’i llais yn dod, ei ffordd benodol o siarad? Ac i ba raddau all y pethau mae’n ceisio’u dweud yn ei gwaith ddod i fod yn wahanol i’r rhai fyddwch chi, y derbynyddion, yn clywed? Ife chi, y gynulleidfa, sy’n fydwraig, mewn ffordd o siarad, chi sy’n dwyn synnwyr ac ystyr wrth ryngweithio gyda’r testun? Oes bosibl i ni gyffredinoli? Ddylwn ni geisio gwneud y fath bethau o gwbl?And then, I ask myself: how much of an authoress’s life will play a part in the pieces she writes, whether she likes it or not, and even if she doesn’t intend to speak of herself? From where does her voice come, her specific way of talking? And to what degree can the things she tries to say in her work come to be different from that ones you, the receivers, hear? Is it you, the audience, who’s a midwife, in a manner of speaking, is it you who bring sense and meaning whilst interacting with the text? Is it possible for us to generalize? Should we try to do such things at all?
Fodd bynnag, rhaid i chi ofyn: fydd hi’n traethu straeon sy’n codi o’i phrofiad ei hun, neu’n hytrach ife dim ond eich hudo â’i swyn celfyddydol a wnaiff? Neu, fyddai’n well i chi ddweud, ei dewiniaeth awtistig? Ydy’n wir y bydd rhaid i wraig gloddio lawr i’w chraidd i gysylltu’i hunan â’r byd, neu ddylai hi fod yn ceisio ymestyn tu hwnt i’w ffiniau bob amser? Ife ysmaliwr neu athrylith yw’r storïwr; ydy hi’n gweld yn glir, neu ddim ond honni? Ond eto i gyd, pa bwys ydy i chi? Ta beth, wrth i fantol profiad ogwyddo yn ôl ac ymlaen, mae’n ymddangos bod y cynhyrchydd yn dymuno, yn fwy na dim byd arall yn y Ddau Fyd, reoli llif y traethiad.However, you have to ask: does she narrate stories that arise from her own experience, or rather does she just bewitch you with her artistic charm? Or, would it be better to say, her autistic spells? Is it true that a woman must delve down into her core to connect herself with the world, or should she be trying to reach beyond her boundaries all the time? Is the story-teller a joker or a genius; does she see clearly, or just claim to? But then again, what does it matter to you? Anyway, as the scale of experience oscillates back and forth, it appears that the producer desires, more than anything else in the Two Worlds, to control the flow of the narrative.
Rywbryd, falle, mae’n wir gerddores a meistres ar ei chrefft, sy'n plycio gïau’ch calonnau a chwarae mig gyda’ch emosiynau, wrth ddisgrifio penbleth ac ofn distaw. Ac o ganlyniad, yn aml, fe adewir eich eneidiau’n drwm dan gysgod colled a arhosa am amser maith ar ôl i’r difyrrwch orffen. Ac ymhellach, yn ei rôl fel mam i blant amddifaid, meithrinyddes i oedolion colledig, iachäwr i eneidiau clwyfedig, a santes achosion anobeithiol, bydd rhaid iddi roi sylw i hanesion trist enbyd, ac ar adegau, eu cyfuno â rhai eitha' doniol. Felly, wedi’u hysgubo yn eu blaenau gan ei thrugareddau tirion, fe fydd y côr o leisiau dan ei chyfeiriad, a fyddan nhw’n perthyn i fenywod neu ddynion, ni waeth am eu cefndiroedd na’u safle cymdeithasol, yr hen a’r ifainc fel ei gilydd, yn swnio mor ddilys, mor nerthol, mor felys, mor grac.Sometime, perhaps, she is a true musician, and mistress of her craft, who plucks at your heart-strings and plays hide-and-seek with your emotions, whilst describing confusion and mute fear. And as a result, often, your emotions will be left heavy under a shadow o loss which remains for a long time after the entertainment finishes. And furthermore, in her role as mother to orphans, foster-mother to lost adults, healer of damaged souls, and patron saint of lost causes, she’ll need to attend to terribly sad tales, and, on occasions, unite them with quite funny ones. So, swept along by her tender mercies, the chorus of voices under her direction, whether they belong to women or men, regardless of their backgrounds or their social station, the old and the young alike, will sound so suitable, so powerful, so sweet, so angry.
Ond, serch hynny oll, falle mai hunanaberth yw gwir natur crefft y faethmam, awdures bywydau newydd, ffres (pan fydd yr hud yn gweithio o leia’), ac mai fel hyn yr oedd yn wastad, ac y bydd am byth, hefyd. Ran fwya’r amser bydd hi’n rhoi’r gorau i adrodd ei gwirionedd ei hun i greu lle i’r lleisiau eraill. Pwy a ŵyr, felly, o bosibl drwy’i thwyllo’i hun, fe fydd hi’n rhyddhau’r cymeriadau mae’n eu portreadu neu’u hymgorffori, o staen hoced. A thrwy wneud hyn fe fydd yn cyflawni’r campwaith o drawsnewid alcemegol, gan droi personoliaethau plymaidd yn ysbrydion llachar o aur. Ac wedyn, o safbwynt arall, falle mai ymateb y gynulleidfa, y gohebydd, y gwrandäwr, neu’r claf, yw craidd go iawn y mater, beth bynnag fo’r ystyr a ddychmygir a llunio gan awdures y cyfathrebu. Wedi’r cwbl, nage’r achos pennaf ydy hi, sy’n cychwyn creu o ddim, ond yn hytrach mae’n ddemiwrgos, hynny yw, dirprwy sy’n is-greu gyda’r defnyddiau crai sy’n bodoli’n barod.But, despite all that, perhaps self-sacrifice is the true nature of the nurse-maid, the authoress of fresh, new lives (when the magic works at least), and thus it always was, and will be for ever, too. Most of the time she gives up telling her own truth to create a space for the other voices. Who knows, then, maybe by deceiving herself, she frees the other characters she portrays, or incarnates, from the stain of deceit. And through doing this she achieves the masterwork of alchemical transformation, turning leaden personalities into shining spirits of gold. And then, from another point of view, perhaps the response of the audience, the correspondent, the watcher, or the patient, is the true crux of the matter, whatever is the meaning imagined and fashioned by the authoress of the communication. After all, she is not the first cause, who initiates creation ab-initio, but rather she’s a demiurge, a deputy who sub-creates with the raw materials which already exist.
Wel, chwarae teg, ond beth wedyn? Ar ôl iddyn nhw gael eu gollwng yn rhydd, ddylai meddyliau a byd-olygon newydd sbon (a’r ymenyddiau sy’n eu cynnwys nhw) allu tramwyo’r Ddaear heb lyffethair, yn amddifaid unig, dim ond i edwino oherwydd diffyg maeth? Y broblem sylfaenol yw fod y byd wedi newid yn gymharol ddiweddar. Ers gwawr gwareiddiad y cythreuliaid sy’n rheoli dros fanylion pwysica’ naratif mawr bywyd, gan adael i'r angylion lenwi’r bylchau fyddai’n anesboniadwy fel arall. Ond nawr bod yr awdurdodau ysbrydol, hynafol, fu mor brysur o’r blaen, wedi ffoi, pwy, wedyn, fydd yn gofalu am y syniadau newydd-anedig, sy’n egino o’r hadau wedi’u hau gan y dramodydd, gan dyfu lan ym mhridd ffrwythlon penglogau'n barod i’w derbyn?Well, fair play, but what then? After they are set free, should thoughts and brand-new world-views (and the brains that contain them), be able to roam the Earth without restraint, like lonely orphans, only to wither due to lack of nourishment? The foundational problem is that the world has changed comparatively recently. Since the dawn of civilization, it’s the devils who’ve ruled the most important details of life’s great narrative, leaving the angels to fill in the gaps which would otherwise be inexplicable. But now that the ancient spiritual authorities, who were so busy before, have fled, who, then, will care for the new-born ideas, which sprout from the seeds sown by the dramatist, growing up in the fertile soil of skulls ready to accept them?
Ar y llaw arall, i’r gwrthwyneb, pwy fydd ar fai pan fydd geiriau’n gweithio’n rhy dda, gan fwrw hud na ellir ei wrthsefyll ar y rhai di-asgwrn-cefn fyddan nhw’n cyfarch? Beth am y fath syniadau, fydd yn mynd yn eu blaen dim ond i fwydo’r dychmygion drygnaws sy’n perthyn i loerigion, bygylwyr, a theyrnedd? A dyna oll heb sôn am y geiriau graenus fydd yn taro ar glustiau didostur, ac felly na ddaw o hyd i gartref ysbrydol, fel petaen nhw’n had a syrthiodd ar greigleoedd. Pwy a ŵyr? Dyw neb yn gwybod. Pwy ddylai wybod? Dyw neb yn malio’r un ffeuen. A chyda hynny, yr ydych chi wedi cael rhybudd. Gochelwch, chi ddarlledwyr, gwrandawyr, darllenwyr; chi i gyd sy’n gwirioni ar gynhyrchu a defnyddio geiriau; achos mai dyma ddreigiau’n llechu. P’un o’r ddwy fydd gryfa’ neu galla’, yr un goch neu’r un wen, ffeithiau caled byd profiad sy’n cyfyngu posibiliadau, neu ddychmygion a all gefnogi pob canlyniad heb gyfeirio at ddim byd o bwys? Dyna fydd yn wers i chi’i dysgu ar eich liwt eich hun!On the other hand, on the contrary, who’ll be to blame when words work too well, casting irresistible spells on the spineless ones they greet? What about such ideas, which go on only to feed the malevolent imaginations that belong to madmen, bullies, and despots? And that’s all without mentioning the polished words which hit on merciless ears, and so don’t find a spiritual home, as if they were seed which fell on rocky land. Who knows? No-one knows. Who should know? No-one gives a hoot. And with that, you’ve been warned. Take care, you broadcasters, listeners, readers; all of you who love producing and using words, because here lurk dragons. Which one of the two will be stronger or cleverer, the red one or the white, the hard facts of experience which limit possibilities, or imaginings which can support every outcome without referring to anything of importance? That shall be a lesson for you to learn for yourselves!
Ni waeth befo am yr holl synfyfyrion athronyddol, fe fydd wastad raid dod yn ôl i’r byd go iawn, llawn pethau ymarferol, a phroblemau i’w datrys, ac felly hynny a wna i. Fi fydd yn ennill yma o’r diwedd, wrth gymryd arna i fy mod yn colli, er mod i’n casáu defnyddio’r fath dermau militaraidd. Nage brwydro sy’n llwyddo mewn mynd â’r maen i’r wal wedi’r cyfan. Y ffaith amdani yw mai trwy fod yn hyblyg a phlygu gyda’r gwynt fel corsen, fydda i byth yn cael fy nhorri, tra bydd y lleill yn cael eu chwythu yma a thraw fel dail marw. Fi sy’n tynnu’r llinynnau o’r golwg yn y cefndir, wrth iddyn nhw chwarae’u rhannau penodol gan neidio lan a lawr fel pypedau.Never mind about all the philosophical musings, one must always come back to the real world, full of practical things, and problems to be solved, and so that’s what I shall do. I shall win here in the end, whilst pretending that I’m losing, although I hate using such militaristic terms. It’s not fighting that succeeds in achieving your aims after all. The fact of the matter is that by being flexible and bending with the wind like a reed, I’ll never be broken, whilst the others shall be blown hither and thither like dead leaves. It’s me who’s pulling the strings out of sight in the background, while they play their proper parts, jumping up and down like puppets.
Mae’n hen syniad, y forwyn sydd yn feistres mewn gwirionedd, dim ond rhaid i ni ystyried Nebesh yn gorchymyn i Swtach gyflawni’i erchyllterau yn erbyn Lushfé. Ond, nage fi sy’n sgrifennu’r sgript gyfan, dim ond ysgogi’r actorion a wna i. Ond wrth gwrs, dim ond gweithio er lles yr unigolyn fydda i, wel, wrth ddwyn mewn cof anghenion y Clinig hefyd. Ac yn wir, rydym wedi gweld rhyfeddodau yn y lle ‘ma, fel academydd yn dod yn iachäwr; cyn-filiwr sy bellach yn gwneud hedd; hurtyn sy’n llefaru â thafodau; llanc truenus yn troi’n arwr; a phobl mewn braw’n cwympo mewn cariad. Pwy a feddyliai? Mae rhyw newydd wyrth o hyd.It’s an old idea, the maid who is mistress in truth, one has only to consider Nebesh commanding Swtach to commit his atrocities against Lushfé. But, it’s not me who writes the entire script, I just stir up the actors. But of course, I only work for the good of the individuals, well, whilst bearing in mind the needs of the Clinic too. And indeed, we’ve witnessed wonders in this place, such as an academic becoming a healer; a former soldier who is now making peace; a nitwit who speaks in tongues; a pitiful youth turning into a hero; and scared people falling in love. Who would’ve thought it? Wonders never cease.
A dyma fi ar ddihun ym mherfeddion nos unwaith eto, yn disgwyl y llanciau sy’n peryglu fel arfer. Dyna sut maen nhw’n talu i fi yn ôl am yr help i gyd. Ond er gwaetha’r gwaith caled oll a’r dioddefaint di-baid, fydd na’r byd na’r betws ddim yn sylweddoli mai hanner ohonof fi yw marchog ar farch gwyn yn ymosod ar felinau gwynt fel yn yr hen ddyddiau gynt, a hanner arall athro o’r Hen Lyfrau a aeth ar gefn asyn yn y dyddiau ola’. Fydda i byth yn derbyn gwobr gyhoeddus felly, serch y nosau heb gwsg, a’r aberthau i gyd o ran dynoliaeth. Wel, rhinwedd yw mam pob dedwydd, sbo. A llawn cystal, achos dydw i fawr o un am anrhydeddau na ffwdan a dweud y lleia’, yn wahanol i’m hannwyl frawd i!And here am I awake in the depths of the night once again, waiting for the lads who are adventuring as usual. That’s how they pay me back for all my help. But despite all the hard work and the incessant suffering, neither priest nor politician will realise that I’m half knight on a white charger setting about windmills like in the old days of yore, and another half teacher from the Old Books who went on donkey-back in the last days. So, I’ll never receive a public reward, despite the sleepless nights, and all the sacrifices for humanity. Well, virtue’s its own reward, I suppose. And just as well, as I’m not much of one for honours and fuss to say the least, in contrast to my dear brother!
Ta be’, well ‘da fi fod fy hoff fechgyn mas yn y byd yn cael hwyl nag eu bod nhw’n aros yma fel cŵn bach. Ac mae’n ddefnyddiol iawn pan fyddan nhw’n mynd ar ryw berwyl sbesial o dro i dro. Rwy’n siŵr bod nhw’n meddwl byddan nhw’n achub y byd un dydd, y twpsod ifanc. Ond eto i gyd, fe fydda i’n dal i gofio’r freuddwyd sy’n dod nos ar ôl nos, ac wedyn bydd hi’n gyrru ias i lawr fy nghefn o sylweddoli ‘does dim ots a fyddwn ni’n byw ai marw, o safbwynt y dyfodol pell. A hefyd dyna’r meddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant bondigrybwyll ‘na, sy’n dweud taw rhyw farddes enwog ydy o dramor drwy’r amser. O, mae hi wastad yn ymyrryd ac achosi penbleth fel ‘sai hi’n gwybod popeth ac yn meddu ar y lle ar ben ‘ny. A’r holl sôn am dechnegau arloesol wedi’u hysbrydoli gan fodau arallfydol. Myn Hebé! ‘Sdim syndod be’ bynnag, o nabod pwy yw hi, ond pam mae hi wedi dod ‘ma yn awr, fydda i byth yn deall. Ond rhaid i ni ddal ati serch ‘ny. ‘Sdim dewis ‘da ni. Gobeithio bydda i’n gallu cael hoe fach cyn i’r tywysogion golygus ddychwelyd, rwy ar fin marw o ddiffyg cwsg. Dim ond ryw hanner awr a wnâi’r tro. Amser a ddywed.Anyway, I’d prefer that my favourite boys are out in the world having fun than that they stay here like puppy-dogs. And it’s very useful when they do some special errand from time to time. I am sure they think they’ll save the world one day, the young idiots. But then again, I still remember the dream that comes night after night, and then it sends a shiver down my spine to realise it makes no difference whether we live or die, from the viewpoint of the far future. And also, there’s that so-called trainee mentalist, who’s always saying she’s some famous poet from abroad. Oh, she’s always interfering and causing a headache as if she knows everything and owns the place as well. And all the carry-on about innovative techniques inspired by extra-terrestrial beings. By Hebé! No surprise anyway, knowing who she is, but why she’s come here now, I’ll never understand. But one must carry on regardless. We have no choice. I hope I’ll be able to get forty winks before the handsome princes come back, I’m almost dying from lack of sleep. Just half an hour would do. Time will tell.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 19

Pennod Tri ar Hugain: Addysgu (Lleisiau 19) / Educating (Voices 19)

Yn yr un modd â phopeth arall, mae cysgodion yn tyfu, ac maent yn marw hefyd, ond ni allant byth ddianc rhag yr egwyddorion mathemategol sydd yn eu rheoli bob amser. Bydd yr haul yn bwrw cysgodion a newidia’n llwyr trwy gydol y dydd. Bydd hyd cysgod gwrthrych penodol a deflir ar lawr mewn cyfrannedd union âchotangiad ongl godi’r haul o’i chymharu â’r gorwel. Tua chodiad yr haul a machlud haul, gall cysgodion fod yn eithriadol o hir. Os â’r haul yn union uwchben gwrthrych, wedyn y teflir y cysgod yn union oddi tano. Amrywiadau tebyg i’r rhain sydd yn helpu teithwyr i ddilyn y trywydd cywir ers amser maith, yn enwedig mewn rhanbarthau anial. Mae’r haul a’r cysgod yn mynd law yn llaw gyda’n gilydd felly, a phwy all ddweud p’un yw’r pwysicaf o’r ddau pan fydd bywyd yr anturiaethwr yn y fantol mewn gwledydd nas mapiwyd?

In the same way as everything else, shadows grow and the die too, but they can never escape from the mathematical principles which always control them. The sun casts shadows that change throughout the day. The length of a definite object cast on the ground is directly proportional to the cotangent of the sun’s angle of elevation from the horizon. Towards sunrise and sunset, shadows can be exceptionally long. If the sun goes directly above an object, then the shadow is cast directly below. It is variations similar to these which have long helped travellers to follow the correct path, especially in desert regions. The sun and the shadow go hand in hand with each other, therefore, and who can say which one is the more important of the two when the adventurer’s life is in the balance, in uncharted territories?

Roedd y corff dieflig yn gwisgo amdo llwyd o hesian yn debyg i hen sach yn rhyngu arni ar flaen y ‘stafell yn sawru o fechgyn yn eu harddegau, fel rhyw fynach cycyllog, wrth i ffrwd o rwtsh dirgel lifo o’i wefusau mileinig. Yr Hen Filwr oedd enw’r llanciau arno, ac roedd yn pesychu’n ofnadwy, ac wedi bod yn gwneud hyn ers meitin. Roedd gan Dai ryw deimlad plagus ei fod yn nabod yr hen ddyn mewn rhyw ffordd tu hwnt i eiriau, fel ‘sai yntau wedi bod yn gyfaill amheus i’r Dad dyw’m yn gallu cofio ‘chwaith. Ond eto i gyd, roedd y llanc yn credu na ddylai fe’i hun ddim dal ar dir y rhai byw, rhywsut, a taw dim ond cysgod gafaelgar o fyd arall oedd e, a dyna fyddai’n esbonio llawer.The unholy corpse wearing a grey shroud of hessian similar to an old sack was rambling on at the front of the classroom that stank of teenage boys, like some cowled monk, whilst a stream of mysterious nonsense flowed from his vicious lips. The Old Soldier was the lads’ name for him, and he was coughing terribly, and had been doing so for a long time. Dai had some nagging feeling that he knew the old man in some unspeakable way, as if he had been a dodgy friend of the Father he couldn’t remember either. But then again, the lad believed he himself shouldn’t still be alive, somehow, and that he was only a tenacious shadow from another world, and that would explain a lot.
Ond be’ bynnag oedd yr hanes, doedd Dai Baxter ddim yn gwrando, na byddai wedi deall dim byd ‘chwaith, petai fe wedi bod yn clustfeinio’n astud. Roedd capten clwb y misffitiaid, brenin y rhai fyddai byth yn gartrefol yn unman, yn sgwatio’n anghyfforddus ar gadair fechan tu ôl i ddesg yng nghornel bella’r ‘stafell gan geisio cuddio’i ben gyda llawlyfr. Ychydig yn hŷn na’r lliprynnod da-i-ddim eraill yn y dosbarth oedd e, o ran ei, wel ei sefyllfa oedd y gair roeddwn nhw’n ddefnyddio yno, ac roedd e’n perthyn i ryw rywogaeth led ddynol yr oedd aelodau ohoni’n enfawr, blewog, ac anaddysgadwy. Ceffyl blaen yn y ras oedd e i ddod o hyd i wejen neu farw wrth geisio, achos taw dyn go iawn oedd e, arwr o ryw fath, yn ei famwlad, a bod y creithiau dros ei gorff i gyd yn tystio i ‘ny, wel dyna oedd y stori ta be’. Ond fe fyddai’n ofalus iawn, gan fod e mor wrol, fyddai fe’m eisiau chael hi yn y clwb ac yn magu esgyrn bach. Pan fyddai wedi perswadio’r ferch i ildio i’w swynion, hynny yw.But whatever was the tale, Dai Baxter wasn’t listening, nor would he have understood anything either, if he’d been earwigging carefully. The captain of the misfits’ club, the king of those who would never be at home anywhere, was squatting uncomfortably on a tiny chair behind a desk in the furthest corner of the room, trying to hide his head with a text-book. He was a bit older that the other worthless weaklings in the class, because of his, well, his situation was the word they used there, and he belonged to some subhuman species whose members were huge, hairy, and uneducable. He was a front-runner in the race to get a girlfriend or die trying, because he was a real man, a hero of some sort, in his homeland, and the scars over his whole body testified to that, well that was the yarn anyway. But he’d be really careful, as he was so virile, he’d not want to get her up the duff, with a bun in the oven. When he’d persuaded the girl to give in to his charms, that is.
Beth bynnag oedd calcwlws esoterig, a sut yn y Ddau Fyd roedd yn cysylltu â rhifoleg y deuddeg arwydd a hanes y Mab Darogan, ddeallodd e’m o gwbl. Ond hyd yn oed meddwl am y peth oedd digon i’ch gyrru chi o’ch iawn bwyll, yn enwedig yn hwyr ddydd Gwener; heb sôn am yr arteithiwr, yr Hen Procter pigog, maleisus ‘na. Roedd gyda’r dyn cas lais main, treiddiol fethai byth dorri drwy’r awyr fyglyd. Ac roedd e wastad yn hwpo’i law chwith rhwng botymau’i grys llychwin i anwesu’i frest. Wrth i goes Dai fwrw yn erbyn gwaelod ei ddesg simsan oedd ag arwyddion coch, rhyfedd ymhobman drosti, roedd ei gorff yn canolbwyntio ar y poen yn ei ben ôl, wedi’i gondemnio i eistedd am dragwyddoldeb ar sedd o haearn gwynias o ganlyniad i droseddau oll ei fachgendod.Whatever esoteric calculus was, and how in the Two Worlds it was connected to the numerology of the signs of the zodiac and the history of the Son Foretold, he did not understand at all. But even thinking about the thing was enough to drive you out of your mind, especially late on Friday, not to mention the torturer, that spiteful, irritable old Procter. The hateful man had a piercing, shrill voice that would never fail to cut through the stifling air. And he was always shoving his left hand between the buttons of his stained shirt to caress his chest. As Dai’s leg beat against the bottom of the wobbly desk which had strange, red signs everywhere over it, his body concentrated on the pain in his backside, condemned to sit for eternity on a seat of red-hot iron as a result of all his boyhood transgressions.
Dim ond ei olwg ar y glwyd rydlyd ar ben pella’r meysydd sarrug yn hongian yn ddi-gâr ar ei golfachau drylliedig fel ‘sai’n grocbren, oedd yn cynnig y mymryn lleia’ o obaith o ran ffordd mas. Roedd Dai yn ystyried y llwybr yn fanwl, gan dybio fyddai’n arwain ei ymennydd i ebargofiant bendigedig yn gynt ‘sai fe’n syllu arno fe mor galed nes i’w lygaid ffrwydro. Ond, serch ‘ny, allai Dai ddim peidio dychmygu taw’r llwybr o aur tuag at ryddid oedd e, er gwaetha’r ffaith ei fod wedi’i goltario ‘slawer dydd, ond yn llawn tyllau creulon erbyn ‘ny. ‘Naeth e grymu’i gefn mewn rhwystredigaeth yn erbyn y gadair anfaddeugar o galed, a gollwng ochenaid gŵr dan gollfarn.Only his view of the rusty gate at the farthest end of the sullen fields, hanging forlornly on its broken hinges as it if were a gallows, offered the slightest bit of hope in terms of a way out. Dai considered the path in detail, wondering whether it would lead his mind to blessed oblivion sooner if he were to stare at it so hard that his eyes exploded. But despite that, Dai couldn’t stop himself imagining that it was the golden path to freedom, even though it had been tarred over for ages, but was full of cruel holes by then. He arched his back in frustration against the unforgivingly hard chair, and let out the sigh of a condemned man.
‘Chep – chep – chep – chep,’ roedd bysedd y cloc yn symud yn ara’ deg, fel ‘sen nhw’n sgarabau chwyddedig yn cropian yn llygaid yr Haul trwy laid ffrwythlon Maes Brwyn ar lan Afon Dagrau. Ac yno byddan nhw’n brysur hisian eu llafargan chwit-chwat, wrth i’w cefndyr pell, y chwilod chwantus o’r enw croenysorion, luosogi tu mewn i’r celanedd chwerw, gan chwalu’u hesgyrn a llawcio’u cnawd yn chwim. O, Elen, Elen, Elen, y Dywysoges o’r plasty coeth, hir yw pob aros yn wir! Yr un boeriad â Mam sy ‘di mynd ond nad anghofir byth wyt ti, maen nhw’n gweud; a ti’n ferch anhapus, unig ond mor eofn. Dygodd rhyw Foneddiges Ddrwg ei Thad hurt, yr hen wrach, a rhedeg bant gyda fe. Fe ddylet ti ‘mhriodi fi, Sorakados y Tywysog a byw mewn dedwyddwch, a heddwch, a harmoni. Ond paid di glebran mor hyfryd a di-stop am dyfu lan, cymryd cyfrifoldeb, cael gyrfa, ac yn enwedig am gael babis a magu teulu. Dim ond ildia i’n swynion neu bydda i angen bwrw hud arnat ti i ‘neud i ti ‘ngharu i, ond fe fyddwn ni’n cwympo mewn cariad ta be’.‘Chep – chep – chep – chep,’ the hands of the clock were moving very slowly, as if they were bloated scarabs crawling in the direct light of the Sun through the fruitful soil of the Field of Rushes on the bank of the River of Tears. And there they busily hiss their fickle chant, whilst their distant cousins, the wanton beetles called dermestids, multiply within the bitter corpses, shattering their bones and swiftly gobbling their flesh. O, Elen, Elen, Elen, the Princess from the fine mansion, it is always so long to wait! You’re the spitting image of Mam who’s gone but who will never be forgotten, they say, and you’re a lonely, unhappy girl, but so brave. Some Evil Queen stole your foolish father, the old witch, and ran off with him. You should marry me, Sorakados the Prince, and live in bliss, and peace, and harmony. But don’t chatter on so beautifully and non-stop about growing up, taking responsibility, getting a career, and especially about having babies and raising a family. Just yield to my charms or I’ll need to cast a spell on you to make you love me, but we’ll fall in love anyway.
Yn ddisymwth, dyna ddod y byd i ben mewn cawod o sêr llachar a llwch calch, wrth i sychwr bwrdd du brwnt ffrwydro ar ochr pen Dai. “Beth ddiawl wyt ti’n feddwl ti’n ‘neud yn union, y pwdryn? Dim byd, dyna’n amlwg. Mae taten ddrwg ym mhob sach, ac am sinach diog, diffaith wyt ti’n wir! Rwy’n deall fod di dan gysgod dy Dad eto, ac yn y blaen, ond, ‘tawn i’n marw!” Atseiniodd y tonau trwynol, gwael trwy benglog y llanc syfrdan yn ogystal â chwerthin coeglyd y bechgyn ieuengach.Unexpectedly, the world ends in a shower of dazzling stars and chalk dust, as a dirty black-board duster explodes on the side of Dai’s head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, exactly, you idiot? Nothing, that’s obvious. There’s a bad apple in every barrel, and what a worthless, lazy creep you are to be sure! I know you’re under your Father’s shadow still and so on, but, my word!” The terrible, nasal tones reverberated through the stunned lad’s skull, as well as the sarcastic laughter of the younger boys.
‘Naeth Procter godi ar ei draed, gan boeri rhywbeth cas allan i facyn poced ac arno baent coch yn ôl pob golwg. Heb raid dweud, doedd e’m yn debyg i afrewig yn y lleia’, ond yn hytrach fel prif brigyn cloff. Baglu at gefn y ‘stafell ddosbarth ‘naeth e, cyn gostwng ei wyneb nes gallai Dai weld enamel melyn, creithiog ei ddannedd a chlywed gwynt yr hen goffi, a’r ffags, a’r jin neu ryw foddion annymunol ar ei anadl. Roedd rhywbeth bron â phydredig am ei gorff crebachlyd. ‘Naeth Dai wingo yn ei gadair a thynnu’n ôl wrth i’w lygaid grwydro dros yr olygfa enbyd i chwilio’n anobeithiol am ddihangfa. Yr oedd fel ‘sai Procter yn gymysgedd od o sgerbwd a bwgan brain, yn cymryd arno taw Dewin oedd e. Roedd e’n gwisgo gŵn hir oedd wedi bod yn ‘sgarlad ar un adeg, ond oedd yn llwyd ac yn dyllau i gyd erbyn hyn. Roedd e’n edrych fel mwmi drwg o hen ffilm neu lyfr comics arswyd oedd wedi dod yn fyw i sgrechian melltithion mewn iaith annealladwy ar ei ysglyfaeth ddethol, neu’i reibio fe. A ‘naeth Dai eisoes wybod gormod o lawer am hynny o’i brofiadau’i hun.Procter got up on his feet, spitting something nasty out into a pocket handkerchief that had red paint on it by all accounts. Needless to say, he was not in the least like an antelope, but, rather, like a lame stick insect. He stumbled to the back of the classroom, before lowering his face until Dai could see the pitted yellow enamel of his teeth and smell the scent of the old coffee, and the fags, and the gin or some unpleasant medicine on his breath. There was something almost rotten about his wizened body. Dai squirmed on his chair and pulled back as his eyes wandered over the terrible scene to look hopelessly for an escape. It was as if Procter was an odd mixture of skeleton and scare-crow, pretending that he was a Wizard. He was wearing a long gown which had been scarlet at one time, but was grey and full of holes by now. He looked like an evil mummy from an old film or horror comic that had come alive to screech curses in an incomprehensible language at its chosen prey, or to bewitch him. And Dai already knew much too much about that from his own experience.
“Nawr ‘te, dw i ‘di cael llond bol ar y ffwlbri ‘ma. Ynfytyn â’i ben yn y gwynt wyt ti – mor ddi-ddal â cheiliog y gwynt. A dros ‘y nghrogi byddi di ‘ma dan ‘y ngofal am flwyddyn arall ac un arall ‘to. Fe fydda i’n gorfod aros yn y lle uffernol ‘ma dros nos, mwy neu lai, i gywiro papurau arholiad ysgoloriaeth y boneddigions ffroenuchel ‘na o Ysgol Elen Luyddog yr ochr arall i’r Mynydd Gwydr, ddydd Gwener, o bob dydd, a fi mor flinedig â mwnci marw. Wel, ‘achan, byddi di yma hefyd. Meistr pob gwaith yw ymarfer. Fe fyddi di angen copïo’r tabl hir ffurfiau sylfaenol ddoi di o hyd iddo fe ar y daflen fformiwla, a holl restr cyfatebiaethau alcemegol, nes i ti dysgu nhw ar gof. Ac wedyn bydd rhaid i ti drefnu fy nodiadau ar eiriau nerthol o’r Nw Yrth, wyt ti’n deall, fachgen twp, w?”“Now then, I’ve had a gut-full of this nonsense. You’re a moron with his head in the clouds – as fickle as a weather-cock. I’ll be damned if you’re here under my care for another year and then yet another. I’ll have to stay in this hellish place over night, more or less, to mark the scholarship exam papers for those stuck-up toffs from Elen the Valiant School the other side of the Glass Mountain, Friday, of all days, and I’m as tired as a dead monkey. Well, mate, you’ll be staying behind too. One can master any task with practice. You’ll need to copy the long table of fundamental forms you’ll find on the formula sheet, and the whole list of alchemical correspondences, until you learn them by heart. And then you’ll have to put in order my notes on words of power from the Nw Yrth, do you understand, you stupid boy?”
Ond mae meddwl Dai’n crwydro’n waeth nag fel arfer. O Elen, yn annwyl Elen! Ti sy 'di bod yn helpu fi i gofio pethau ar ôl y ddamwain, i ail-adeiladu syniad o pwy dw i. Ti'n darllen ‘yn meddyliau wrth ddarllen adroddiadau i fi am y pethau erchyll 'na oedd yn digwydd dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd pan o'n i'n grwt. Ac wedyn hefyd dangos lluniau i fi sy'n atgoffa fi o'r llefydd a'r bobl; ac am 'y nheulu marw. A nawr dw i'n deall pam mae cymaint o broblemau 'da fi ar hyn o bryd. Mae'n ofnadw' methu nabod pwy wyt ti, ond mae popeth yn dod yn ôl fesul tipyn. Ti'n sylweddoli 'ny ac yn annog i i gael hyd i'n hunan drwy drefnu'r digwyddiadau yng nghefn gwlad i roi ffon yn olwyn y Pwyllgor Cyhoeddus Lleol. O, a hefyd, 'neud yr holl gyfieithu i Ffred Be-di-enw i arddangos yn ochr artistig i. Sa i'n siŵr am achub y Blaned, 'chwaith, t’mod, nac agor yn llygad mewnol, na mynd i chwilio am Garreg Flamel. Ond dim ots am ‘ny, cymaint dw i'n gwerthfawrogi dy gymorth i gyd, ac angen bod yn ŵr i ti, achos fyddi di byth yn gwylltio wrtha i.But Dai’s mind is wandering worse than usual. O Elen, my dear Elen! You who’ve been helping me to remember things after the accident, to rebuild a sense of who I am. You read my mind as you read reports to me about those terrible things that were happening over the Great Grey Sea when I was a kid. And then, also, you show me pictures that remind me of the places and the people, and about my dead family. And now I understand why I have so many problems right now. It’s terrible not knowing who you are, but everything’s coming back bit by bit. You realise that and encourage me to find myself by organising the events in the countryside to get up the nose of the Local Public Committee. Oh, and by doing all the translating for Fred What’s-his-name, to show off my artistic side, as well. I’m not sure about saving the Planet, though, y’know, nor about opening my internal eye, nor going on a quest for Flamel’s Stone. But never mind that, how much I appreciate all your support, and need to be your husband, ‘cos you never get angry with me.
Wel, dim ond os bydda i'n 'neud rhywbeth twp fel siarad am fwrw hud neu welyau hedegog, snecian bant i ymweld â Neuadd y Delweddau ble dw i'n dwlu ar y lluniau, neu ddweud mod i eisiau darllen llyfr comics am sbel. Ond er 'ny, fe fydd popeth yn haws o lawer o ganlyniad, pan fydd rhaid i fi fynd i weld y Dewin rhyfedd 'na bob p'nhawn i sôn am oriau am 'y mywyd wrth iddo fe wrando'n astud a sgriblan nodiadau gan ddweud dim ond 'hmm' nawr ac yn y man. Un peth, wedi gweud 'ny, dw i'n hoff iawn o'r teisennau sbesial, fe fydd e'n rhoi i fi bob amser, achos bod nhw'n 'neud i fi deimlo mor llawen â'r gog. Hmm, llawer gwell ydy, ta be', na'r gwersi 'ma gydag yntau, yr hen gythraul, er mod i'm yn meddwl llawer o'r Neuadd bondigrybwyll yno yn y plasty, ble ‘sdim ond lluniau o hen ddihirod, er bod un ohonyn nhw'n llawer mwy ifanc na'r lleill am ryw reswm. Prin mae'n werth talu sylw arnyn nhw (ac eithrio'r un sy'n debyg i'r Dewin). Ond dw i'n credu taw mor wych yw'r gynau coch, yr hetiau trichorn, a'r hudlathau ac arnyn nhw rwnau o waed maen nhw i gyd yn cario, a bod yn onest. Un dydd, fe allwn i fod yn gwisgo dillad o'r un fath pan briodwn ni, 'nghariad!Well, only if I do something daft like talk about casting spells or flying beds, sneaking off to visit the Hall of the Images where I love the pictures, or saying that I want to read comic-books for a while. But despite that, everything is much easier as a result, when I need to go and see that strange Wizard every afternoon to talk for hours about my life while he listens keenly and scribbles notes, saying only ‘hmm’ every now and then. One thing, having said that, I’m very fond of the special cakes he gives me every time, ‘cos they make me feel as happy as a pig in clover. Hmm, it’s a lot better, anyway, than these lessons with him, the old devil, although I don’t think a lot of the so-called Hall there in the mansion, where there’s nothin’ but pictures of old villains, although one of them’s a lot younger than the rest for some reason. It’s hardly worth paying attention to them (except the one that’s similar to the Wizard). But I think that the red robes, and the tricorn hats, and the magic staves with bloody runes on them that they all carry, are so great, to be honest. One day I could be wearing clothes like that when we get married, my lovely!
Wedyn, ‘naeth y cryts yn y seddau blaen gilwenu unwaith ‘to. Dyna lwyth o wirioniaid llwyr oedden nhw, a gwyryfon bob un ohonyn nhw hefyd! ‘Naeth Dai roncian o’r neilltu o achos yr ergyd, a bu bron iddo gwympo i’r llawr. Ar ôl sadio’i hunan, ‘naeth godi’i war, wrth i’w wrychyn godi ar yr un pryd. ‘Neno Wezir! A sôn am fynd â’r gwynt o’i hwyliau. Byddai’n gwneud llanast o’i gynllun i fynd mas gydag Elen; allai fe ddim cysylltu â hi i roi gwybod iddi hi, dim nawr, be’ bynnag. Roedd hi wedi cynhyrfu’n lân pan oedd e ‘di cwrdd â hi ar bwys y bwthyn y tro diwetha’ i fwynhau ei chwmni (a’r gweddill). Malu awyr am newidiadau ysgubol roedd hi, neu am ‘neud cynlluniau ar gyfer y dyfodol, rhywbeth fel ‘ny, doedd dim ots ‘da fe, doedd e’m yn gwrando ‘chwaith, achos taw dim ond chwant ysol hala cryn amser gyda hi pan allen nhw fod ar eu pennau’u hunain fel petai, oedd arno.Then, the kids in the front seats sneered once again. What a tribe of complete simpletons they were, and virgins too, every one of them! Dai lurched to one side because of the blow, and he almost fell on the floor. After steadying himself, he shrugged his shoulders, whilst his hackles rose at the same time. By Wezir! And talk about taking the wind out of his sails. It would make a mess of his plan to go out with Elen, he couldn’t contact her to let her know, not now, anyway. She’d got very upset when he’d met her near the cottage the last time to enjoy her company (and the rest). Taking nonsense about sweeping changes she was, or about making plans for the future, something like that, he didn’t care, he wasn’t listening either, ‘cos his all-consuming desire was just to spend considerable time with her when they could be on their own.
Elen Luyddog, Meum athamanticum, Helen y Milwr, dyna pwy ydy hi, ‘yn Elen i, a'i gwallt mor llathraidd, yn union fel dail y planhigyn o'r un enw, sy'n tyfu'n orau ymhlith calchfaen a glaswelltir, dan y pinwydd. Dw i 'di darganfod fod e wedi'i gysegru i Baldrog, ysbryd harddwch caotig ar y Nw Yrth, a gaeth ei ladd gan saeth wedi'i 'neud o'i goesynnau wedi'u caledu trwy hud Swtach, o’r enw Defod Amasus. Na galla i byth ddeall y forwyn yn gyfan gwbl, mor wahanol i fi ydy hi, sy’n fwy tebyg i ffrwyth blasus, neu lysieuyn iachus, neu flodyn godidog, nag i greadur anifeilaidd. A fydda i byth yn cael hyd i'r geiriau priodol i'w disgrifio hi, 'chwaith, Unigryw ydy hi, mae hi'n rhywogaeth ynddi'i hunan, aelod o dras sy ddim yn gyffredin yn y wlad 'ma, er bod hi wedi crwydro dros y Ddaear i gyd yn ystod ei bywyd hyd yn hyn o Diroedd y Gorllewin i Diriogaeth y Dwyrain. Falle taw dyna o ble mae’r geiriau dieithr ond swynol fydd hi’n sisial yn ‘y nghlust o bryd i’w gilydd yn dod.Valiant Elen, Meum athamanticum, Helen the Soldier, that’s who she is, my Elen, her hair so glossy, exactly like the plant of the same name, that grows best amongst limestone and grassland, under the pines. I’ve discovered it’s sacred to Baldrog, the spirt of chaotic beauty on the Nw Yrth, who was killed by an arrow made of its stems hardened through Swtach’s magic, called the Amasus Ritual. Nor will I ever be able to understand the maiden fully, so different to me is she, ‘cos she’s more similar to a tasty fruit, or healthy vegetable, or wonderful flower than to a brutish creature. And I’ll never find the appropriate words to describe her, either. She’s unique, she’s a species unto herself, a member of a race that’s not common in this land, although she‘s wandered over all the Earth during her life up to now, from the West-lands to the Eastern Territory. Maybe that’s where the foreign but enchanting words she whispers in my ear from time to time come from.
O, mae hi'n canu'r fath ganeuon, llawn barddoniaeth annealladwy, am fyw, a charu, a threngi, rhywbeth fel, “Dim ond yr un a gâr heb dinc o fariaeth, y rhoddir iddo nerth yn ei awr dduaf.” Ond yn y lle 'ma mae hi bellach wedi plannu'i gwreiddiau'n ddwfn yn y pridd coch, ffrwythlon, i dyfu'n goeden enfawr, gref, fydd yn meithrin y rhai y bydd arnyn nhw'r angen mwya', gan ‘y nghynnwys i. A, mae’i harogl mor berlysiog â gwair newydd ei dorri, fel pan fydd ei bysedd hir fel deiliant pluog yn cyffwrdd â 'nghroen, byddan nhw'n iacháu'n briwiau i gyd. Ac mae’r geiriau sy’n llifo'n gyson o'i gwefusau glân, mor hyfryd a phur achos bod nhw'n enwi pob creadur sy'n bodoli ar wyneb y Blaned heddi' ac esbonio'i bwrpas a'i ffawd. Ac fe allan nhw ryddhau neu rwymo yn unol â glendid calon yr un fydd yn eu datgan, fel y ddiod sanctaidd sy'n perthyn i'r Baldrog colledig.Oh, she sings such songs, full of incomprehensible poetry, about living and loving, and dying, something like, “Only the one who loves without desire, shall be given strength in his darkest hour.” But in this place, she’s now planted her roots deep in the fruitful, red soil, to grow into an enormous, strong tree which shall nourish those who have the greatest need, including me. Ah, her scent is as aromatic as newly-cut grass, so that when her long fingers like feathery foliage touch my skin, they heal all my wounds. And the words that flow constantly from her holy lips are so lovely and pure, because they name every creature that exists on the face of the Earth today and explain its purpose and its fate. And they can release or bind according to the purity of the heart of the one who declares them, like the holy drink that belongs to the lost Baldrog.
Ond yn ôl yn y siambr artaith, roedd yr Hen Filwr yn arteithio’n rhugl. Yr oedd Dai wedi clywed yr holl rwtsh o’r blaen -- hedyn pob drwg yw diogi – bla, bla – fe ddylet ti dorchi dy lewys – mwy o ffiloreg – ni thâl hi ddim i ti sefyll yma’n crafu dy ben ôl drwy’r amser – roedd yn hala fe’n grac. ‘Naeth e gwympo ar draws ei ddesg greithiog, gan felltithio Procter yn enw Wezir, y bwgan hwnnw sy’n rheoli dros yr holl gelfyddydau a gwyddorion dirgel, digalon, dychrynllyd, fel achoseg, afresymegolrwydd, alsoddeg, alcemeg, astroleg, alegori, ac alltudiaeth. Ac yn wir roedd y llanc yn galw ar i’r Meistr Erchyll gosbi’r athro, heb yn wybod iddo. Yn ei gell heb olau a llychlyd, dyna wrando’r un sy’n grwgnach heb stop wrth neb arbennig, am fanion diwerth a diystyr. A dyna fe’n mynd yn fwyfwy cynhyrflyd, a’i lais yn oernadu fel chwiban trên ager, nes i’r cysgodion o’i gwmpas danio mewn fflamau gleision rhewllyd o wybodaeth nas ceisiwyd.But back in the torture-chamber, the Old Soldier was orating fluently. Dai had heard all the nonsense before – laziness is the root of all evil – blah, blah – you should pull your sleeves up – more balderdash – it doesn’t pay to stand there scratching your backside all the time – it sent him crazy. He slumped across his scarred desk, cursing Procter in the name of Wezir, that bogey who rules over all the arts and sciences that are deep, despondent, dreadful, like aetiology, illogicality, algebra, alchemy, astrology, allegory, and exile. And indeed, the lad was invoking the Terrible Master to punish the teacher without knowing it. In his lightless and dusty cell, the one who ceaselessly grumbles to no-one in particular about worthless and meaningless details, is listening. And he gets more and more agitated, his voice howling like a steam-train’s whistle, until the shadows about him ignite in freezing blue flames of unsought-for knowledge.
Felly dyna’r llanc wedi hen flino ar yr holl sothach yn pendwmpian, tra llenwir ei feddwl gan ddelwedd Procter – a’r athro wedi’i wasgu gan werslyfrau, a’i goesau a’i freichiau ar led mewn pwll o hylif porffor, gludiog sy’n llifo allan ohono, ac wedi’i drywanu i farwolaeth â phensiliau ym mheli’r llygaid. Ac mae’r holl olygfa yn llosgi fel mewn un o’r lluniau ardderchog yn Neuadd y Delweddau yn Nhref Aberdydd yn dangos pyllau dyfna’r Nw Yrth yn llawn o waed berwedig a chyrff yn ymdorchi mewn gwewyr o loes. Tân chwilboeth y tro hwn, roedd yn ei weld gyda llygad ei feddwl, sut bynnag, yn hytrach na thafodau gweinion Wezir o fflam sbeitlyd a brathog. A chwap! Dyna’r chwilod croenysol, chwilgar yn casglu ynghyd yn chwareus i dreulio pob gronyn bach o gnawd a chig, gwaed a gewyn. A grillian cythreulig y sgarabau sy’n cyfeilio iddyn nhw’n ddi-dor, ‘chep – chep – chep – chep,’ fel rhyw gloc, a’i bysedd wedi’u camu’n boenus.So, the lad, long tired with all the nonsense, dozes, whilst his mind is filled with images of Procter – the teacher crushed by textbooks, his legs and arms akimbo in a pool of sticky, purple liquid that flows out from him, stabbed to death with pencils in his eyeballs. And the whole vista is burning like in one of the awesome pictures in the Hall of the Images in Aberdydd Town showing the deepest pools of the Nw Yrth full of boiling blood and bodies writhing in pangs of agony. Red-hot fire this time, he was seeing in his mind’s eye, though, rather than Wezir’s weak tongues of spiteful and caustic flame. And whap! There’s the inquisitive, flesh-eating beetles coming together playfully to digest every little morsel of flesh and meat, blood and sinew. And the scarabs’ chirruping accompanies them without stop, ‘chep – chep – chep – chep,’ like some clock whose hands are painfully distorted.
Pan ‘naeth Dai gwpla synfyfyrio, meddwl arall oedd yn crwydro i’w ben dryslyd. Roedd y cwbl yn freuddwyd gwrach wrth ei hewyllys, falle, ond doedd e’m yn barod i roi’r ffidil yn y to eto, ac roedd e mewn hwyliau i roi hi i Procter a setlo fe, a dweud y leia’. Os nad nawr, yn syth ar ôl ‘neud ei benyd, wedyn rywbryd cyn rhy hir, fe fyddai’n troi'r byrddau a dysgu gwers iddo yntau. Wel, nawr ‘te, roedd Dai’n nabod y lle’n burion. Roedd e’n sicr bod yr Hen Filwr yn treulio rhan fwya’r amser yn yr hen blasty erbyn hyn o achos ei salwch. Ond bwthyn bach, budr ar y ‘stad yn y tir fu’n perthyn i’r hen le, oedd ble byddai’n mynd eto ar adegau i gael tipyn bach o lonydd, gan brancio o gwmpas wrth olau lleuad. Doedd e’m yn rhy bell o’r afon ddrewllyd, a ‘naeth Dai benderfynu taw falle gallai fe alw heibio ‘sai fe’n sicrhau’n gynta’ fyddai’r athro ffiaidd ddim gartre’.When Dai finished meditating, there was another thought wandering into his confused head. The whole thing was wishful thinking, perhaps, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet, and he was in the mood to see to Procter and sort him out, to say the least. If not now, straight after doing his penance, then sometime before too long, he’d turn the tables and teach him a lesson. Well, now then, Dai knew the place quite well. He was sure that the Old Soldier spent most of his time in the old mansion by now because of his illness. But a small, dirty cottage on the estate in the grounds that had belonged to the old place, was where he would go still on occasions to have a bit of peace, prancing about by moonlight. It wasn’t too far from the stinking river, and Dai decided that perhaps he could call by if he made sure first that the hateful teacher wasn’t at home.
‘Naeth y syniad o ddial i ddod rywbryd yn y dyfodol roi hwb i’w galon, a ‘naeth Dai ddechrau edrych ‘mlaen at fod yn ellyll bach drwg, ac at beri difrod go iawn i eiddo (os nad i berson) ei boenydiwr. Mewn gwirionedd, y disgybl fyddai’n dod yn athro; ac yn wir fe fyddai’r Hen Filwr yn pesychu, a gwichian, a bwldagu, a bloeddio nes iddo bron â marw pan welai beth fyddai’r llanc wedi ‘neud. Gyda chryn bleser cerfiodd Dai arwydd grymoedd y gwrthryfelwyr drosodd a throsodd ar y ddesg mewn inc coch.The idea of revenge to come sometime in the future perked him up, and Dai began to look forward to being a naughty little imp, and causing real damage to the property (if not the person) of his persecutor. In truth, the pupil would become the teacher, and indeed the Old Soldier would cough, and squeal, and splutter, and shout until he almost died, when he saw what the lad had done. With considerable pleasure Dai carved the sign of the rebel forces over and over on the desk in red ink.
Stezza, partner paffio Dai ers cwpl o flynyddoedd, ddylai fod yn barod i’w helpu – ‘sai fe’m wedi cael ei ladd erbyn hynny. Tarw swmpus oedd e, gyda’i gyhyrau enfawr. Ac er ei fod yn ddeallus iawn o ran theorïau astrus a chysyniadau anghredadwy, nage’r un blewyn o synnwyr cyffredin oedd gan yr hwlcyn delfrydol ‘na. Fe allai fod wedi bod yn chwilyswr da ofnadw’, heb os, achos fod e’n ddigon twp, a chryf, a selog. Ond yn lle ‘ny roedd e’n breuddwydio am gymryd urddau’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ac wedyn gwaedu’r Ddaear rhag staen drygioni, wedi’i anogi gan yr athro atgas, ei Wncwl John. Hmm, erbyn meddwl am bethau am sbel, byddai Stezza’n defnyddio’r llysenw Hen Filwr Llwyd ar y diawl crachlyd bob tro ‘fyd. Reit, dyna’r peth mwya’ pwysig, meddyliai Dai gan ystyried popeth oedd ar y gweill. Fe allai Stevo fod yn aberth dynol ‘sai unrhyw beth yn mynd o'i le ar y cynllun cyfrwys. Ond, rhaid cyfadde’: on’d oedd e’n gallu tynnu cartwnau gwych!Stezza, Dai’s sparring-partner for a couple of years, should be ready to help – if he’d not been killed by then. He was a bulky bull, what with his enormous muscles. And although he was very intelligent with abstruse theories and unbelievable concepts, the idealistic lout possessed not the least inkling of common sense. He could have been an awfully good inquisitor, without a doubt, as he was stupid, and strong, and zealous enough. But instead of that he dreamt of taking holy orders in the World-Wide Church and then ridding the Earth of the stain of evil, encouraged by the hateful teacher, his Uncle John. Hmm, thinking about things for a while, Stezza always used to use the nickname Old Holy Warrior for the scabby devil, too. Right, that’s the most important thing, thought Dai, considering everything that was in the pipe-line. Stevo could be a human sacrifice if anything went wrong with the cunning plan. But he had to admit: he couldn’t half draw great cartoons!
Ychydig a wyddai Dai beth fyddai’n digwydd yn nes ymlaen, dim ond sawl wythnos yn y dyfodol, o ganlyniad i’w bensynnu, neu, efallai, er ei waetha’. Ond cyn hynny oll roedd y gwyliau hir yn galw ar Dai, a Stevo, ac Elen, Elen, Elen, O! Fe fyddai mwy o’r partïon dawns rhydd i’w trefnu, a disgiau i’w troelli, a charu i’w ‘neud, a chariad i’w ledu – a sylweddau sbesial i’w gwerthu, a’u llyncu! Ac o bosib byddai Stevo’n dod yn ased gwerthfawr yn y frwydr dros ryddid mynegiant, fel gwrthgiliwr a wyddai gyfrinachau’r ochr arall. O ble daeth yr holl syniadau ‘ma, a’r egni i’w cyflawni nhw? Doedd y llanc ddim yn siŵr. Roedd fel ‘sai rhannau amgen i bersonoliaeth Dai, lleisiau’n galwn arno fe, fel ‘sai pobl hollol wahanol yn llechu tu mewn i’w gorff, neu’i feddwl. Ond paid becso am ‘ny, roedd rhyddid a haf llawn serch yn aros. Ar ôl noswaith o ddiflastod, wrth gwrs, yng nghwmni’r dyn pesychlyd, esgyrnog. A dyna oedd Dai'n consurio drychiolaethau, wrth wanu blaen ei fawd gyda chwmpas miniog a danjerus.Little did Dai know what would happen later on, only a few weeks in the future, because of his day-dreaming, or, perhaps, despite it. But before all that, the long holidays were calling on Dai, and Stevo, and Elen, Elen, Elen, Oh! There would be more free dance parties to be arranged, and discs to be spun, and loving to be done, and love to be spread – and special substances to be sold, and imbibed! And, possibly, Stevo himself might become a valuable asset in the fight for freedom of expression, like a defector who knew the other side’s secrets. Where did all these ideas come from, and the energy to carry them out? The lad wasn't sure. It was as if there were different parts to Dai’s personality, voices calling to him, as if there were totally different people lurking inside his body, or his mind. But no worries about that, freedom and a summer full of love awaited. After an evening of misery, of course, in the company of the skeletal, coughing man. And there was Dai, conjuring phantasms, whilst piercing the tip of his thumb with a sharp and dangerous pair of compasses.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 20

Pennod Pedwar ar Hugain: Cynllwynio (Lleisiau 20) / Scheming (Voices 20)

Simsan pob ffurf. Er mai solet ydy ar yr wyneb, mor anfaterol â chysgod yw realiti erbyn edrych yn ddyfnach. Pan archwiliwn ni fwyfwy i wir strwythur gwrthrychau corfforol, fe ddarganfyddwn nad ydynt yn bodoli yn yr un modd y’u clywn yn y byd beunyddiol. Mae popeth yn cynnwys lle gwag wedi’i lenwi â meysydd, a grymoedd, a gronynnau dirgrynol wedi’u disgrifio gan tonffwythiannau tebygoliaethol. Beth, felly, yw natur bywyd dynol; oes ystyr i feddwl, meddu, teimlo, caru; sut y dylai dyn ystyried bodolaeth wedi’i chorffori, pan ymddengys nad ydym yn fwy na chydadwaith cyson golau a thywyllwch? Ni allwn ni fod yn ni’n hunain, hyd yn oed, heb bobl eraill, sy’n creu gwe amryliw, aml-weadol, a chymhleth o wahaniaethau, y tyfwn ni i fod yn rhan ohoni gan adeiladu ein personoliaethau. Mae’n digwydd mai rhwng cael ein geni a marw, llenwir ni â lleisiau dieithr sydd yn dod yn rhan anwahanadwy ohonom. Nyni yw’r cymysgedd hwn o dafodau baldorddus a ddarlledir yn ddi-stŵr i’r cyfanfyd ar ffurf tonnau pelydriad electromagnetig braidd na ellir eu canfod wrth inni fyw. Ond beth yw ffawd y llif damweiniol hwn o wybodaeth a anfonwyd allan eisoes, pan dawdd ein cyrff cnawdol o’r diwedd?

All forms are unstable. Although it is solid on the surface, reality is as immaterial as a shadow when one looks deeper. When we investigate more and more into the structure of physical objects, we discover that they do not exist in the same way that we sense them in the everyday world. Everything consists of empty space filled with fields, and forces, and oscillating particles, described by probabilistic wave-functions. What, therefore, is the nature of human life; is there any meaning to thinking, possessing, feeling, loving; how should one consider embodied existence when it appears that we are no more than the constant interplay of light and darkness? We cannot be ourselves, even, without other people, who create a complex multi-coloured, multi-textured web of differences of which we grow to be a part, developing our personalities. It happens that between being born and dying, we are filled with strange voices that become an inseparable part of us. We are this mélange of babbling tongues which is broadcast silently to the cosmos in the form of waves of scarcely detectable electromagnetic radiation whilst we live. But what is the fate of this haphazard stream of information which has already been sent out, when our fleshy bodies dissolve in the end?

Ar ei orsedd, eistedd Hen Filwr, a fynnai fod yn Ddewin, yn marw. Neu’n hytrach, yn disgwyl yr amser penodedig pan fydd bywyd yn trawsnewid o’r naill ffurf i’r llall yn y wlad honno lle mae dŵr yn dawnsio wrth i adar siaradus gynorthwyo’r arwr a â ar drywydd afalau sy’n canu. Fe’i gwasanaethir gan dri gweinydd anghymodlon a gwyllt eu tymer, ac o bosibl y gallem eu galw’n Amheuaeth, Anobaith, a Mileindra. Perffaith pob triawd, yn ôl y sôn, ond mae’r criw hwn yn debycach i dri chyff gwawd nag i’r tair Tynged, ac yn ddiamau, maent yn poeni’n fwy am waed, a chwys, a dagrau, nag am fywyd, rhyddid, a’r ymchwil am ddedwyddwch. Yn y cyfamser, mae dau acolit diarwybod yr Hen Filwr, Anffyddlon ac Ynfyd, yn dod adref, wedi mynd ar y sbri mewn parti rhydd, ond, heb yn wybod iddynt, dim ond gohirio’r ffawd a bennwyd iddynt a wnânt. Fe fydd eu cyfarfod rhagordeiniedig gyda thynged yn anochel. Wedi’r cwbl, “Os un fydd farw, pawb fydd fyw; A achub ef holl ddynolryw?” medd y cwpled profoclyd gan Mamrick.On his throne, an Old Soldier, who would be a Wizard, sits dying. Or rather, awaiting the appointed time when life transforms from one form to another in that land where water dances whilst talkative birds help the hero on his quest for singing apples. He is attended by three irreconcilable and irascible ministers whom we might dub Doubt, Despair, and Spitefulness. All triads are perfect, apparently, but this shower’s more like three stooges than the three Fates, and they are certainly more concerned about blood, and sweat, and tears, than with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Meanwhile, the Old Soldier’s two unwitting acolytes, Faithless and Foolish, are coming home after gallivanting about at a free party, but, unbeknownst to them, they are merely postponing the fate which has been appointed for them. Their pre-ordained date with destiny is unavoidable. After all, "When one man dies, then all survive; Through him will human-kind all thrive?" says the tantalising couplet by Mamrick.
Y mae gan yr Hen Filwr ar ei derfyn faterion tra phwysig i’w trin – ar ei ran ef ei hun ac ar gyfer dynoliaeth oll – oni iddo gael llonydd gyda’r botel o jin amhrisiadwy, a’r casgliad anferthol o bils, a phowdrau, a diodydd, ynghyd â’r teclynnau priodol eraill. Ac am y gallai gofio neu ddychmygu’r hyn a olygid. Yn enwedig meddwl am y geiriau cywir. Eithr dim ond y llinellau, "Nid marw’r fath beth a all huno am hydoedd; A’r Angau Glas drengo ar ben dirgel oesoedd" sydd yn gwatwarus redeg trwy’i feddwl dryslyd. Dyma ddinistr a gelyniaeth ddilafar yn baeddu’r awyr ddrewllyd, wrth i gyrbibion o sgwrs sbeitlyd gael eu saethu’n benrhydd fel dartiau gwenwynllyd rhwng y tri pherson digariad a rhwystredig. Mae’r sylwadau pigog yn argraffu’u hunain ar enaid y lle fel rhyw fath o ffotograff Kirlianaidd, hagr. A pa eiriau doethineb sydd yn cyfeilio i’r holl olygfa alaethus? Wel, dim byd ond deialog dryslyd o ‘Melltith Beddrod y Sombi’ neu ‘Fe Gerddwn i gyda Mwmi’, neu ryw ffilm debyg gan y cyfarwyddwr anadnabyddus o’r enw Siôn Llwynlesg, yr ymddengys ei fod yn llifo ar ddolen ddiddiwedd o’r lantar wedi mynd a’i phen iddi sy’n llechu yng nghornel siambr y claf.The expiring Old Soldier has matters of great import to attend to – for himself and all of humanity -- if only he were to be left in peace with the bottle of priceless gin, and the stupendous collection of pills, and powders, and potions, together with the other appropriate tools. And if only he could remember or imagine, what would be required. Especially think of the correct words. But only the lines, "That is not dead which can eternal lie; And with strange aeons even death may die" run mocking through his troubled mind. Doom and unspoken hostility befoul the foetid air, as fragments of spiteful conversation are fired convulsively like poisoned darts between the three loveless and frustrated persons. The barbed comments imprint themselves on the psyche of the place like some ugly Kirlian photograph. And what words of wisdom are accompanying the whole sorry scene? Well, nothing but garbled dialogue from “The Curse of the Zombie’s Tomb” or “I Walked with a Mummy’ or suchlike film by the little-known director Siôn Llwynlesg, which appears to be streaming on an infinite loop from the clapped-out google-box that squats in the corner of the invalid’s chamber.
“Wel, dyna fe te, mae’r hen ddyn wedi dweud bydda i’n gallu dod â’r fan pan fydd dy hoff garcharor, neu dylai hynny fod dy unig glaf go iawn wedi dod ‘nôl y pnawn ma. Be yw’i enw e, David? Yr un sy’n meddwl fod e’n arwr rhyfel o wledydd pell, ta be. Llanc o’i gof, er gwaetha’i sgriblan i gyd, a chyfieithu, a bod yn droellwr disgiau, ac achub y byd, ac ati. Neud synnwyr, achos bydda i’n chael hi pan aiff e ta p’un i. Dyw fawr o werth, yr hen gruglwyth o sgrap, wael ei gyflwr. Fe wedodd e’n reit blaen wrtha i gynnau fach. Yn syth yn y nghlust i wrth i fi blygio drosto fo, gan sychu’i dalcen oer a thamp. Ti naeth glywed e, on’d ife?”“Well, that’s it then, the old man’s said I can take the van when your favourite inmate, or should that be your one-and-only real patient, gets back this afternoon. What’s his name, David? The one that thinks he’s a war hero from foreign parts, anyway. Nutter, despite all his scribbling, and translating, and DJ-ing, and saving the world, and what-not. Makes sense as I’ll be getting it when he goes anyway. For what it’s worth, the old, dilapidated heap of junk. He said it quite plainly to me right now. Right in my ear as I was leaning over him, mopping his clammy brow. You heard him, didn’t you?”
“Ie, ie, mae o’n iawn, mi ddwedodd yr hen ddiawl gwirion gallai fo ddod â hi, waeth gen i amdani, dw i’m yn gyrru, diolch yn fawr i chi. Mi rwy’n medru, ond yn dewis peidio, a bod yn onest. Tasg i ddyn ydy gyrru. Brwnt, swnllyd, a danjerus. Mi rwyf fi’n ffieiddio’r holl nwyon gwacáu, ac oglau diesel. Nid y math o beth y dylai darpar feddyliaethydd megis mi sydd yn ymgymryd â hyfforddiant mewn swydd fod yn ei wneud. A fan wen, pa mor ddi-chwaeth ydy honno? Mi rwyf wedi ennill y radd o Feistr yn y Gwyddorau mewn Astudiaethau Technegol o Boly-ysgol Aberdydd. Beth bynnag, mi a fydd yn derbyn y siârs naeth o fuddsoddi ynddyn nhw rai blynyddoedd yn ôl. Y rhai ar gyfer y fferm foch ar y Cyfandir Deheuol. Addo nhw i mi naeth o pan naeth o brynu’r warchodfa lamaod i mi, i fyny yn y gogledd. Pan ga i’n arian falla af fi draw fan’co i gael cip ar y cenawon bach. Pert ar y diawl y gwichwyr bychain na. Mae’r lle’n enfawr, ac maen nhw’n neud yn eithriadol o dda bellach, y ffermwyr dw i’n meddwl, gan droi cig mochyn allan i’w ddefnyddio mewn chop-suey ledled y byd. Ac mi fydd yn rhaid i mi fynd ar wyliau hir pan fydd yr holl lanast ma wedi dod i ben.”“Yeah, yeah, he’s right, the silly old devil said he could take it, I can’t be bothered with it, I don’t drive, thank you very much. I can do, but I choose not to, to be honest. Driving’s a man’s job. Dirty, noisy, and dangerous. I abhor all those exhaust gases, and the smell of diesel. Not the kind of thing that a prospective mentalist like me who’s undertaking on-the-job training should be doing. And a white van, how vulgar is that? I have a Master of Science degree in Technical Studies. From Aberdydd Polyversity. Anyway, I’m getting the shares he invested in a few years ago. The ones for the pig-farm on the Southern Continent. Promised me them when he bought me the lama reserve up in the north. When I get my money, I might go over there to have a look at the little blighters. Cute as hell them little squealers. The place is vast and they’re doing exceptionally well now, the farmers I mean, churning out pork for use in chop-suey all over the world. And I’ll be needing a long holiday once all this mess is over.”
“O, da iawn ti, cariad, y moch, wel, fyddwn i ddim wedi gallu dyfalu ny! Nawr edrycha, dw i’n gwybod taw dim ond sawl gwaith ti di medru dod i lawr ma yn ystod y cyfnod mae e di bod yn gorwedd ar farw. Wrth gwrs nad dy broblem di ydy, rhwng y gwaith, d’elusennau di, dy ddarpar faban bach, y – beth ddylwn i ddweud – cariadfab newydd wrth gwrs, a’r gweithgareddau hanfodol eraill sy’n codi’n naturiol mewn bywyd pob dydd meddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant, neu farddes, neu be bynnag, fel y gwyliau dirybudd i’r Bahamas. Ond mewn gwirionedd dw i ddim yn meddwl dylet ti fod yn sôn amdano fe fel ny wrth iddo fe eistedd yna’n nychu. Nage’r peth iawn i’w wneud ydy o gwbl. Dyw e ddim wedi ymadael eto, t’mod. Ta be, fi sy di bod yn gofalu amdano fe ers achau. Prin ein bod ni’n gweld yr un ohonoch chi. Ac ar ben ny, be am yr ewyllys?”“Oh, good for you, love, the pigs, well, I wouldn’t have been able to guess that! Now look, I know you’ve only been able to get down here a few times in the period he’s been lying dying. Of course, it’s not your fault, what with your work, your charities, your prospective little baby, the – what should I say – new suitor, of course, and all the other crucial activities that pop up naturally in the every-day life of a trainee mentalist, or poetess, or whatever, like the unexpected holidays to the Bahamas. But I really don’t think you should be talking like that about him with him sits there, expiring. It’s just not the right thing to do. He’s not departed yet you know. Anyway, I’m the one who’s been caring for him all this time. We hardly ever see either of you. And on top of that, what about the will?”
“O, ddynes annwyl, faswn i ddim yn pryderu ynghylch hynny. Mi rydw i’n sicr fod o wedi trefnu popeth, sut allwn ni ddweud – ‘yn briodol’? Mi gewch chi weld. Mi rwy’n dychmygu bydd pawb yn cael eu ‘haeddiant teilwng’ maes o law. O, beth mae’r hen fwngrel, drewllyd, ofnadw na’n neud yn fan’ma. Mae o’n neud i’r holl le arogli’n ddrwg a slobran dros bob man. Mor fudr ydy.”“Oh, my dear, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m certain he’s sorted everything out, how can we say – ‘appropriately’? You just wait and see. I imagine everyone’ll get their ‘just deserts’ in due course. Oh, what’s that awful, smelly, old mongrel doing in here. It’s stinking the whole place out and slobbering everywhere. It’s so unhygienic.”
“Hym! Dyna hen ddigon ar yr holl ‘gwraig annwyl’ gen ti, ‘Flodyn Tatws’, diolch yn fawr iawn i ti. A beidiwch â sôn am yr hen Swt fel ny. Y mabi mawr i ydy, wel, yr un arall be bynnag. Mae e fel duw o gwmpas y lle ma. Patrolio’r wal derfyn, cadw’r chwilod a’r rodnis mas. Sdim syndod fod e’n casáu Dai, rhwng yr holl gerddoriaeth uchel, a’r udo ar y lleuad. Wel mae e wedi gadael ei hun i lawr heddi, gan adael i chi ill dau ddod i mewn, on’d ydy? Myn Hebé, dyna’r ffôn. Pryd fydd hi’n stopio rownd fan’yn? Yn hoff wirion Dai heb os. Meddwl taw proffwyd oes newydd cerddoriaeth farwhun ydy i goroni’r cwbl. Wedi mynd bant ar berwyl pwysig pwysig i weld aelodau’r Pwyllgor ch’mod. Gobeithio na fydd trafferth gyda’r heddlu’r tro hwn. Wel, dw i’n gweld bod y ddau ohonoch chi eisoes wedi neud eich hunain yn ddigon cysurus. Peidiwch symud gewyn. Fe fydd mwy i’w ddweud ar y materion ma ar fyr o amser.”“Hmph! That’s quite enough of all that ‘my-dearing,’ from you, ‘Dearest Girl,’ thanks very much. And don’t you talk about old Swt like that. He’s my big baby, well, the other one anyway. He’s like a god about this place. Patrolling the perimeter, keeping the beetles and riff-raff out. No wonder he hates Dai, what with all that loud music, and howling at the moon. Well, he’s let himself down today letting you two in, hasn’t he? In Hebé’s name, there’s the phone. When will it stop around here? My favourite simpleton Dai no doubt. Thinks he’s the prophet of the new age of trance music to crown it all. He’s gone off on very important business to see the members of the Committee you know. I hope there won’t be trouble with the police this time. Well, I see you’ve both made yourselves comfortable enough already. Don’t move a muscle. There’ll be more to say about these matters shortly.”
“Helo! A, reit, yr Arglwyddes Macbeth at Sowldiwr Bach. Ydw, dw i’n gwybod taw toriad gwawr ydy. Fe wedes i wrthot ti am alw’n gynnar iawn. Na, na, cadw dy lais i lawr, nei di? Mae Elen Fannog a’r Minotor yma ar hyn o bryd. Ust! Nagw, dw i’m eisiau clywed am broblemau’r Ficing gyda’r plymwaith. Llid y bledren ti’n weud? Mae e’n wlychu’i hun drwy’r amser, ydy? Ach a fi! Bydd yn rhaid iddo fe fynd i’r Clinig i gael ei drin. Be ar y Nw Yrth mae e di bod yn neud? Taw te, fe fydd e’n iawn yn y pendraw, ac mae na sefyllfa’n datblygu ma! Nebesh mawr, cwympodd y Ficing oddi ar ei fotor-beic? Unwaith to? Bwrw ei ben yn erbyn carreg, ife? Ti oedd ar fai? Ar ôl bwyta madarch? Trio ymosod arnat ti? Gwaed ym mhob man? Tithau hefyd? Cyfergyd? Hunllefau? Gweledigaethau? Siarad â bodau arallfydol? Ddim yn gallu cofio? Eisiau boddi ei hun? Pam yn y Ddau Fyd? Problemau gyda’r gariad? Wel dim newid yno. Ti oedd yn achub e? Mor iach â chricsyn bellach? Wel, hwrê, husâ, a diolch byth am ny! Ta be, ddylet ti ddim bod ar y ffôn wrth yrru. Cofia di’r ddirwy a’r pwyntiau ar dy drywydd di. Ac wyt ti’n yrrwr digon gwael ar y gorau. Be, ti di troi i mewn i gilfach barcio? A’r Ficing sy’n dreifio achos fod di’n chwil gaib racs ar ... be ... neithdar synthetig? O, gadwo i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd eich cipio chi ill dau, a’ch dwyn chi ymaith!...“Hello! Ah, right. Lady Macbeth to Boy Soldier. Yes, I know it’s the crack of dawn. I said to call really early. No, no, keep your voice down, will you? Helen of Troy and the Minotaur are here right now. Hush! No I don’t want to hear about the Viking’s problems with the plumbing. Cystitis you say? He’s wetting himself all the time, is he? Yuck! He’ll have to go to the Clinic and get himself seen to. What on the Nw Yrth’s he been up to? Shush now, he’ll be fine in the end, and there’s a situation developing here! Great Nebesh, what, the Viking fell off his motor-bike. Again? Hit his head against a rock, is it? Your fault? Eaten mushrooms? Tried to attack you? Blood everywhere? You too? Concussion? Nightmares? Visions? Talking to aliens? Can’t remember? Wants to drown himself? Why in the Two Worlds? Problems with the lover? Well, no change there. You saved him? Right as rain now? Well, hooray, hoorah, and thank goodness for that! Anyway, you shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving. Think of the fine, and the points on your licence. And you’re a bad enough driver at the best of times. What, you’re pulled in a lay-by? And the Viking’s diving as you’re off your face on … what … synthetic nectar? Oh, may the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers seize you both and carry you away!...
“…Edrycha nawr, rhaid i fi siarad yn dawel bach, mae’r ddau ny, Cruella a’r Cribiniwr Crebachlyd yn hofran yn y stafell ginio. Sarhau, cam-drin, ac ymelwa, dyna’r unig bethau maen nhw’n gallu neud yn dda. Gwranda di, fe fydda i angen dy help. Mae’r Daliwr Plant a Trunchbull yn honni fod e wedi gweud taw nhw fydd yn cael popeth. Popeth! Dychmyga di, y lleban na gyda’r clustiau rwberaidd na a’r trwyn na fel trwnc Dumbo. Ac mae e eisiau’r fan na. Heddi. Cywilydd o beth! Ydy, wrth gwrs fod e’n mynd i yrru bant ynddi hi. Sut arall fydd e’n mynd i fynd â hi?...“Look, now, I’ve got to keep my voice down, those two, Cruella and the Grinch, are hovering about in the dining room. Insult, mistreat, and exploit, those’re the only things they can do well. Listen, I’ll need your help. The Child-Catcher and Trunchbull are claiming he’s said they’ll get everything. Everything! Imagine, that lout, with those rubbery ears and that nose like Dumbo’s trunk. And he wants that van. Today. Shameful! Yes, just drive off with it. How else is he going to take it?...
“…Ac maen nhw’n gweud bydd e’n gadael popeth iddyn nhw. Popeth! Ie, y moch drewllyd. Dw i’m yn golygu nhw, y fferm foch dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd dw i’n meddwl. Siârs. Ond popeth arall hefyd. Ein plasty oer, adfeiliog, hyfryd ni, ble dyn ni’n byw! A’r peth ffiaidd na, fel pyramid, mae wedi gadw bob tro yn seler y bwthyn gyda’r dolis clwt ofnadw ‘na sy’n edrych fel chi ill dau, a’r sach hesian lawn cyllyll rhydlyd. Dw i wastad wedi gasáu fe, y sigwrat neu beth bynnag a fo, ond mae’n llawn dop o wst-ti-be, sbeis, llaeth mwnci. Paid gweud wrtha i do’t ti’m yn gwybod. Mae’n stwff anhygoel, agos yn arallfydol. Amhrisiadwy. Dw i’n gwybod bod dy wenwyn di’n rhywbeth arall ond sdim ots am ny. Pawb at y beth y bo. Fe fydd yn rhaid i fi gael gwared arno fe, rhywsut neu’i gilydd, cyn iddyn nhw gael eu dwylo blewog arno fe a dechrau chwarae gyda fe, a ffureta ym mhob man. Ti fydd yn gorfod i’n helpu fii…“…And they’re saying he’s leaving it all to them. Everything! Yes, the stinking pigs. No, I don’t mean them, it’s the pig-farm across the Great Grey Sea I mean. Shares. But everything else too. Our lovely, crumbling, cold mansion, where we live! And that vile pyramid-like thing that he’s always kept in the cellar of the cottage with those horrible rag-dolls that look like you two, and the hessian sack full of rusty knives. I’ve always detested it, the ziggurat or whatever it is, but it’s full of you-know-what, spice, mother’s ruin. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. It’s incredible stuff, almost out-of-this-world. Priceless. I know your poison is something different but never mind about that. Each to his own. I’m going to have to get it out of the way, somehow, before they get their thieving hands on it and start messing about and sticking their noses in everywhere. You’ll have to help me…
“…Be, mae’r Ficing wedi mynd yn sownd ar weiren bigog? Swtach! Mae angen llaw gadarn ar y llanc na. Dw i’n difaru fagu fe ar y mhen yn hunan nawr. Rôdd e’n ddyn eitha neis, ei dad e, ar yr wyneb, rôdd e’n ddigyffro a thawel, a da i ddim. Rôdd y moelni’n neud iddo fe edrych yn eitha aeddfed, dw i’n credu. Ddim yn anneniadol, a bod yn onest, o rywun sy’n gweithio fel, beth ôdd e, llawfeddyg y geg sy'n teithio o gwmpas y byd? Swn i wedi bod yn ugain mlynedd yn ieuengach … Be? Sut feiddi di siarad gyda dy hynafiaid di fel na! A finnau’n hen wraig lesg, fyd. Ta be, swn i yno fe fyddwn i’n rhoi weiren bigog i’r ddau ohonoch chi, rownd y pennau! Chi di mynd yn glwc drwy’r holl rafio, a’r cyffuriau, a’r gweddill. Sôn am ddynion gwallgof, dych chi di colli arni. Fe fydd eich bywydau’n annymunol, anwar, a byr, i sicrwydd. A chi ill dau’n honni taw rhyw fath o ryfelwyr dros gyfiawnder cymdeithasol dych chi. Nage Eneiniog yr Hen Feistri mo ti, t’mod, f’achan! Aros di funud, dw i’n cael y ngalw…”“…What? The Viking’s got stuck on barbed wire? Swtach! That lad needs a firm hand. I’m regretting bringing him up alone now you know. He was quite a nice man, his father, on the surface, he was calm and quiet, and good for nothing. The baldness made him look quite mature, I think. Not unattractive really, for some who works as, what was it, an oral surgeon who travels around the world? If I’d been twenty years younger... What? How dare you speak to your elders like that! And me a frail old lady, too. Anyway, if I was there I’d give you both barbed wire, around your heads! You’ve addled your brains with all that raving, and the drugs, and the rest. Talk about mental cases, you’ve lost it. Your lives’ll be nasty, brutish, and short, for sure. And you two claim to be some kind of social justice warriors! You’re not the Old Masters’ Anointed One, y’know, my lad! Hang on, hang on, I’m being summoned.”
“O, helô, dyna chi. Hoffwn, hoffwn ni ill dau baned arall o de, os gwelwch chi’n dda. Mae mor uffernol o boeth yn fan’ma rhwng yr holl offer meddygol yn pwmpio a sugno. Gwaeth nag Anialdir y Dwyrain. A dyna’r trychfilod gwrthun ym mhobman. Ddim yn medru’u gweld nhw ond dyna’r chep-er, chep-er, chep-er cyfoglyd na drwy’r amser. Brwnt, dyna sut mae hi yma. Mae’r pinwydd peryglus, ofnadwy yn hanogi nhw, mi rwy’n sicr. Mi ddylai’r holl le gael ei gau. Mi fyddwn i’n losgi fo i lawr petaswn i’n cael hanner cyfle. Sdim cleifion go iawn ychwaith, ond David lloerig a’r hen ddihiryn trist ma o filwr wedi troi’n athro…“Oh hello, there you are. Yes, we’d both like another cup of tea if you’d be so kind. It’s so damned hot in here what with all this equipment pumping and sucking. Worse that the Eastern Desert. And there’s the repulsive insects everywhere. Can’t see ‘em, but there’s that sickening chep-er, chep-er, chep-er all the time. Dirty, that’s what it is here. Those awful, dangerous pine-trees encourage them, I’m sure. This whole place should be closed down. I’d burn it down if I had half a chance. No real patients either, apart from moonstruck David and this sad old reprobate of a soldier turned teacher…
“…Ac mae o’n dal i baldaruo am sothach hefyd. Pyramidiau, melltithion, sigwratau, aberthau, geiriau hudol. Neu fadarch hudol, mwy na thebyg. Pwy a ŵyr! Mi rwyf yn coelio fod o’n gofyn am botel o’r cyffuriau. Rhywbeth fel na. Siawns dydych chi ddim yn medru cadw’r stwff na, na roi fo allan jyst fel ny, ydych chi? Ble maen nhw, gyda llaw, y cyffuriau? Mae o angen dogn da o’r tawelydd ceffylau na fyddan nhw i gyd yn gymryd pan fyddan nhw’n rafio. O, ac mi rydyn ni’n ffansïo picau ar y maen, hefyd, os byddech chi mor garedig. A dim ond gofyn dw i, ond oeddwn i’n dy glywed di’n berwi am ryw hen beth neilltuol rŵan jest?”“…And he keeps gabbling on about nonsense too. Pyramids, curses, ziggurats, sacrifices, magic words. Or magic mushrooms, most likely. One wonders! I think he’s asking for a bottle of the drugs. Something like that. Surely you’re not authorised to store that stuff or give it out, just like that, are you? Where are they, by the way, the drugs? He needs a good dose of that horse tranquilizer they all take while raving. Oh, and we fancy Welsh cakes, too, if you would be so kind. And only asking, but did I hear you going on about some particular antique just now?”
“O, os chi eisiau unrhyw beth arall, chi’n gallu mynd i’r gegin a ffeindio fe ar eich liwt eich hunain! Chi’n trin y lle fel sai fe eisoes eich un chi. Ta be, dyna oedd Dai. Ac wrth gwrs ei gysgod, Stevie, yn chwarae bili-ffŵl fel arfer. Maen nhw wedi torri i lawr yng nghefn gwlad yn rhywle wrth ddod yn ôl o ryw ‘ddigwyddiad’. Fe fydda i’n gofyn i’r gofalwr Ffred o ddrws nesa fynd â’r car arall a gyrru draw i’w hachub nhw. Fe fydd yn cymryd oriau i’r lori ddamweiniau gyrraedd yno, felly sgen i ddim dewis o gwbl. Mae Stevie, O diar, wel, dyw e ddim yn rhy dda, wedwn ni. Bydd yn rhaid iddo fe gael ei weld yn yr ysbyty, siŵr o fod, ‘lly well i chi aros ma yn y plasty dros nos, tan fore fory, mae’n llawer mwy cyfforddus. Nawr te, yn ôl at yr alwad ffôn, maen nhw di mynd i banics llwyr, y pŵr dabs. Peidiwch cyffwrdd â dim byd wrth i fi bant.”“Oh, if you want anything else you can go to the kitchen and find it yourselves! You’re treating this place as if it’s your own already. Anyway, that was Dai. And, of course, his shadow, Stevie, playing the fool as usual. They’ve broken down out in the countryside somewhere coming back from some ‘event’. I’ll ask the caretaker Ffred from next door to take the other car and drive over to rescue them. It’ll take hours for the tow-truck to get there, so I’ve absolutely no choice. Stevie’s, Oh dear, well, he’s not very well shall we say. He’ll probably need to be seen in the hospital, so you’d better stay here in the mansion-house overnight, until tomorrow morning, it’s a lot more comfortable. Now, back to the phone-call, they’re in a complete panic, the poor dabs. Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”
“Reit, Gomando Trefol … wyt ti yno? Blodeuwedd sy ma. Ie, iawn, wyt ti di gael e oddi ar y weiren? O’r gorau. Fe fydda i’n mynd â Gwrach Ddrwg y Gorllewin a Ffoi-rhag-tranc o gwmpas y plasty gas gan esgus mod i’n chwlio am yr ewyllys. Sa i’n gallu gadael nhw ar eu pennau eu hunain am amser hir. A dwi’n siŵr bod nhw’n gw'bod am ‘feddyginiaeth werin’ ein hen ŵr hysbys ni. Synnwn i ddim sen nhw’n fflicio’r botymau neu dynnu’r tiwbiau mas i’w yrru fe i’r Nw Yrth cyn pryd. Ac mae cymaint o stwff trydanol ma, a’r silindrau ocsigen. Fe allai fynd lan fel ffwrnais chwyth os aiff unrhyw beth o’i le. A fydd e’m yn aros yn llonydd. Mynnu gwingo. Ac mae hyd yn oed wedi dianc i’r bwthyn gwpl o dro erbyn hyn, gan wisgo dim byd ond hen gynfas. Nagw, sa i’n dychmygu lleisiau o’r tu hwnt! Ydw, wrth gwrs mod i’n siŵr! Dw i wedi clywed nhw, y twpsyn hurt. Gyda ‘nghlustiau’n hunan. Wrth siarad gyda ti. Be? Pa fath o seremoni? Ti di bod yn llefaru wrth yr awyr? Siarad gyda’r ymadawedig, y rhai gwrthodedig? Gyda dy Dad di? Neno’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd, gei di gau dy geg!…“Right, Urban Commando ... are you there? Blodeuwedd here. Yes, OK, have you got him off the wire? Right. I’ll be taking the Wicked Witch of the West and Voldemort around the mansion. pretending to look for the will. I can’t leave them alone for long. And I’m sure they know about our wise old man’s ‘folk medicine.’ I wouldn’t it past them to go flicking the switches or pulling the tubes and sending him to Kingdom Come before his time. And there’s so much electrical stuff here, and the oxygen cylinders. It could all go up like a blast furnace if something goes wrong. And he won’t sit still. Insists on squirming about. And he's even escaped to the cottage a couple of times now, wearing nothing but an old sheet! No, I’m not imagining voices from beyond! Yes, of course I’m sure! I’ve heard them, you silly boy. With my own ears. While I’ve been talking to you. What? What kind of ceremony? You’ve been communing with the air? Talking to the departed, the forsaken ones? With your Dad? For the sake of the Indolent Idolaters, will you shut up!...
“…Felly bydd yn rhaid i ti hel hi nawr, cyn gynted ag y gelli di, ac fe ddylet ti allu cyrraedd adre o fewn deg munud, rhoi dy ben i lawr, dod at dy goed di, a sobri dy hunan. Cofia di, byddi di angen cuddio’r fan rownd cefn yr hen stablau. Wedyn, heno, cer yn ôl i’r hen le, y bwthyn, dan lenni’r gwyll fel petai, i gythru i ‘Arch y Cyfamod’ a mynd â hi bant fel na fydd Fwngws y Bwci-bw na’r Arglwyddes Tremaine yn gallu chipio hi. Mae allwedd ‘da ti, on’d oes, hmm? Mae da fi lygaid ym mhob man y machgen, a dw i’n sylweddoli fod di’n snecio bant ar y slei bach, ac i ble, a gyda pwy, er dwyt ti’m wedi mynd i mewn to! Watsia di, mae’r drws yn stiff ond mae Ffred wedi bod yn mynd a dod yno o bryd i’w gilydd…“…So, you’ll have to set off now, as soon as you possibly can, and you should be able to get home within ten minutes, get your head down, come to your senses, and sober up. Remember, you’ll need to hide then van round the back of the old stables. Then tonight, go back to the old place, the cottage, under cover of darkness as it were, to grab the ‘Ark of the Covenant’ and take it away so Fungus the Bogeyman and Lady Tremaine can’t steal it. You’ve got a key, haven’t you, hmm? I’ve got eyes everywhere my lad, and I realise you sneak off on the sly, and where, and with who, although you’ve not been in yet! Watch it, the door’s stiff, but Ffred’s been going back and forth there from time to time…
“Bydd yn ofalus gyda’r fan, cofia, tipyn o lanc-rasiwr yw’r Ficing na, heb sôn am yr anaf i’r pen a’r diffyg ymennydd yn y lle cynta. A dim stopio i ‘helpu’ pobl sy ddim eisiau dy help di! Mae’r holl gellwair fod di’n gallu witsio nhw’n achosi cymaint o drafferth! Yn enwedig pan fydd e’n gweithio. Be nawr, mae e di cwympo i lawr mewn tomen enfawr o dom da stemllyd, a ti’n credu fod e di cleisio asgwrn y gynnen? O, asgwrn cynffon ti’n feddwl. Esgyll Lushfé … gwaeth nag un o’r Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog o Sansibar yn yr hen chwedl! Ac wrth gwrs, “Oni thelwch i fwnci ei gyflog cymwys, dim ond cnau wedi’u torri a gewch.” Dw i’n gw'bod dyw’m yn ddywediad Cymraeg go iawn. Rôdd Ffred yn gweud wrtha i gaeth ei sgrifennu yn Asa sy’n iaith farw o ogledd Tansania! Sut ar y Ddaear gaeth e’i gymwysterau sgen i’r un syniad. Ffred a’r Ficing. Fe ddylai’r gwas ddal ati gyda tynnu’r cartwnau a sgrifennu’r ffug-wydd. Fe fydd e’n ladd ei hun ryw ddydd, bid siŵr, druan â fe! Felly paid â mynd â fe, neno Nuthkí Arglwydd Byw a Marw. Gan bwyll nawr, ddim cythraul gyrru!”“Be careful with the van, mind, that Viking’s a bit of a boy-racer not to mention the head injury and the lack of brains in the first place. And no stopping to ‘help’ people who don’t want your help. All that pretending you can enchant them causes so much trouble! Especially when it works. What, he’s fallen over in a huge pile of steaming cow-dung, and you think he’s bruised the bone of contention? Oh, the coccyx you mean. Lushfé’s Wings ... worse than one of the Boisterous Red Monkeys from Zanzibar in the old tale! And of course, “If you don’t pay a monkey his appropriate wage, all you’ll get is cracked nuts.” I know it’s not a real Welsh saying. Ffred was telling me it was written in Asa which is a dead language from Northern Tanzania! How on Earth he qualified, I’ve no idea. Ffred and the Viking. The boy should stick to drawing the cartoons and writing the sci-fi. He’ll kill himself someday, I’m sure of it, the poor thing! So don’t take him, in the name of Nuthkí, Lord of Living and Dying. Steady on, now, no road rage!
A dyma godi’r Hen Filwr oddi ar ei orsedd, i hercian o’i siambr, drwy’r gegin, tuag at ddrws cefn i’r plasty, gan frewlan wrtho’i hun: “Ble mae fy hudlath? Mae’r ddefod ar fin dechrau. Ydw i’n gwisgo ‘ngwn sgarlad? Rhaid i fi gofio’r geiriau priodol, a phaentio’r arwyddion cêl. Rwy eisiau mynd mas am dro ar y gwely hedegog unwaith eto. I fynd â fi i … i’r lle arall … llawn cyfiawnder priodol, trefn lwyr, cosb am bechodau, a dial am ddrygioni … tra bydd y nghannwyll ynghynn eto. Ac yno fe fyddaf yn derbyn y wobr rwy’n ei haeddu ar ôl bywyd o galedi ac unigrwydd. Fe fydd yn ddiweddglo ffrwydrol, fy nianc terfynol, rwy wedi gofalu am hynny. O, pwy oedd y bobl hynny i gyd? Beth oedden nhw’n neud yma? Mae’r gwallgofiaid wedi cymryd y seilam drosodd. Mae fel hunllef. A dyna’r creaduriaid, tanbaid, cennog, erchyll yn llechu yn y corneli, lle mae’r onglau oll wedi’u hystumio, a’r holl ectoplasm seimllyd, poeth hefyd, yn diferu lawr y waliau o boptu. Maen nhw’n fy nisgwyl i! Ac rwy’n gallu gwynto’r osôn, a chlywed y golau uwchfioled. Rwy mor flinedig, ond yn gorfod cyrraedd y bwthyn i gyflawni’r hyn sydd ei angen cyn iddi fynd yn rhy hwyr!”And the Old Soldier gets up from his throne, to stumble from his chamber, through the kitchen, towards the tradesman’s entrance to the mansion, muttering to himself: “Where’s my magic wand? The ceremony’s about to start. Am I wearing my scarlet gown? I have to remember the right words, and paint the secret signs. I want to go out for a ride on the flying bed again. To take me to … to the other place … full of appropriate justice, complete order, punishment for sins, and revenge for evil … while my candle’s still alight. And there, I’ll receive the prize I deserve after a life of hardship and loneliness. It will be an explosive finale, I’ve seen to that. Oh, who were all those people? What were they doing here? The lunatics have taken over the asylum. It’s like a nightmare. And there’s the scaly, flaming creatures lurking in the corners, where all the angles have been distorted, and all the hot, slimy ectoplasm, too, dripping down the walls all around. They’re expecting me! And I can smell the ozone, and feel the ultraviolet light. I’m so tired, but have to get to the cottage to complete what’s needed before it’s too late!”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 21

Pennod Pump ar Hugain: Rheibio (Lleisiau 21) / Enchanting (Voices 21)

Mae un theori ynghylch ffawd y cyfanfyd yn darogan y canlyniad canlynol. Wrth i’r bydysawd ymledu’n dragwyddol tuag at ebargofiant, bydd y mwyafrif o’r mathau o ronynnau elfennol o fater (hynny yw, y ffermionau) yn diflannu, gan adael dim ond ychydig ohonynt ar ôl, yn ogystal â ffotonau o olau (sydd yn fosonau). Yn unol ag egwyddorion ystadegol yn gysylltiedig i’r ffenomen o’r enw entropi, bydd popeth yn cyrraedd o’r diwedd gyflwr o’r enw gwastadrwydd gwres, lle ceir y gydrywiaeth fwyaf ac unffurfiaeth tymheredd o ran mater ac egni. Oblegid yr ymlediad cyson, bydd tonfedd y pelydriad electromagnetig yn mynd yn hwy hwy, yn gochach gochach, wrth i’r gronynnau symud yn bellach byth oddi wrth ei gilydd. Heb raid dweud, ni fydd yr un bod dynol yno i wylio’r achlysur hwn, fydd yn ofer, gwag, ac unig, yn datblygu yn y dyfodol pell anhygoel. Serch hynny, fodd bynnag, rhaid inni gofio nad yw’r posibilrwydd hwn yn dweud dim byd o gwbl wrthym am y sefyllfa amhendant ond cynhyrfus yn y byd sydd ohoni. Felly, a ddylem adael i’r fath fyfyrio damcaniaethol liwio ein meddyliau a’n hymddygiad wrth inni ddal i fyw, a ffynnu, a llwyddo yn y gornel anhygyrch hon o’r alaeth o leiaf – wrth inni ladd ein hunain a’r blaned sydd yn ein meithrin ar yr un pryd?

One theory relating to the fate of the universe predicts the following result. Whilst the cosmos expands eternally towards oblivion, the majority of the types of fundamental particles of matter (that is the fermions) will disappear, leaving only a few of them behind, together with photons of light (which are bosons). In accordance with statistical principles connected with the phenomenon called entropy, everything will at last reach a state named heat death, that is the greatest homogeneity and uniformity of temperature on the part of matter and energy. Because of the constant expansion, the wavelength of the electromagnetic radiation will get longer and longer, redder and redder, as the particles move further away from each other. Needless to say, there will not be a single human being there to watch this eventuality, which will be futile, empty, and lonely, developing in the incredibly distant future. Despite that, however, we must remember that this possibility tells us nothing at all about the vague but exciting situation in the present day. Thus, should we allow such hypothetical musing to steer our thoughts and our behaviours whilst we are still alive, and flourishing, and succeeding in this remote part of the galaxy at least – whilst killing ourselves and the planet which nourishes us at the same time?

Dyma Hen Filwr sy’n dymuno dod yn Ddewin. Mae wedi bod yn crwydro o amgylch ei blasty, yr honglad cyndadol y mae’n perthyn arno am hyn o dro, o leiaf, wrth i’r lleill chwilota am rywbeth pwysig iawn. A rhwng y dryswch oll, a’r loes ddiddiwedd, mae’n hau dannedd y ddraig yn ei sgil nes i’r holl deulu drwg ei dymer (heblaw Ffred yr hen was da a ffyddlon) syrffedu ar y perfformiad. Unwaith y bu bron iddo ddianc drwy’r drws gefn am y trydydd tro, mae rhaid i’r angylion gwasanaethgar roi dogn helaeth o snisin lleddfol iddomewn gobled o gopr yn llawn medd poeth. Ac wedyn dyna nhw’n ysgubo i ffordd i’r dafarn leol, Y Ddafad Golledig, am brynhawn hir o gwnsela a synfyfyrio, ac i foddio’u pryderon mewn galwyn neu ddau o’r Ambrosia Ffug, gan adael eu noddwr dan lygaid barcut y gofalwr.Here’s an Old Soldier who desires to become a Wizard. He has been wandering about his manor-house, the ancestral pile he owns at the moment, at least, whilst the others ferret about for something very important. And what with all the confusion, and the never-ending pain, he sows the seeds of chaos in his wake, until the whole bad-tempered family (apart from Ffred the faithful old retainer) get fed-up with the performance. As soon as he’s almost escaped through the back door for the third time, the ministering angels have to give him a plentiful dose of calming snuff in a copper goblet full of hot mead. And then they sweep off to the local hostelry, The Lost Sheep, for a long afternoon of counselling and meditation, and to drown their worries in a gallon or two of the Fake Ambrosia, leaving their patron under the caretaker’s eagle eye.
O ganlyniad i ryw dro anlwcus ar fyd, fodd bynnag (ymyriad dwyfol yn cynorthwyo gwendid dynol, efallai), mae’r gŵr cyflog yn teimlo’n eithriadol o flinedig ar ôl llyncu dwsin o deisen sbesial oedd yn oeri ar y pentan. Wrth iddo fwynhau cwsg y rhai cyfiawn, adewch inni obeithio, mewn gwely crog yn yr ystafell wydr, fel rhyw ddiogyn cysglyd, dyna ymlusgo’r athro cythreulig drwy dwnnel cudd tuag at seler ei loches ar lan yr afon beraroglus. Mae’n hen law gyda’r cyffuriau, wrth gwrs, yn ei farn ei hun beth bynnag, ac actor gwych ar ben hynny, ac wedi iddo deipio ei neges derfynol, dyna fe’n ymbleseru, ynteu ymgolli, mewn gweledigaethau, cyn i’w Waith Mawr ddechrau o ddifri —By some unlucky twist of fate, however (divine intervention assisting human weakness, perhaps), the employee is feeling exceptionally tired after gulping down a dozen special cakes that were cooling on the hob. As he enjoys the sleep of the blessed, let us hope, in a hammock in the conservatory, like some like sleepy sloth, the devilish teacher slips through the hidden tunnel towards the cellar of his hide-away on the bank of the sweet-smelling river. He’s an old hand with the drugs, of course, in his own opinion anyway, and an excellent actor to boot, and after he’s typed his last message, he indulges, or loses himself, in visions, before his Great Work begins in earnest —
“Ar fin dibyn rwy’n eistedd, yn hongian rhwng y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth, gan alw ar bob duwdod allaf fi feddwl amdano i’m helpu ar fy nhaith olaf gan fy mod yn ofni nad ydw i wedi paratoi’n ddigon da. Hen Filwr yn rhith athro ydw i (neu’r ffordd arall), a Dewin fyddwn i hefyd, dyn sy’n blentyn tynged, a gwystl ffawd, ond nid trwy ddewis ond yn hytrach oherwydd tafliad y disiau cosmig. Ond pwy sy’n perthyn ar y llaw sy’n chwarae’r fath gastiau gyda fy mywyd, gyda’n bywydau ni i gyd? Rhaid holi, wrth reswm, a ydy hynny, y syniad mai dim ond gwerinwyr mewn gêm wyddbwyll ydym, yn well na’r sefyllfa amgen, lle y cawn ni’n rheoli gan rymoedd corfforol yn hollol y tu hwnt i’n dirnad. Does dim gwahaniaeth am y manylion a dweud y gwir, achos mai dyma fi’n gwingo uwchben gwagle enfawr, pygddu, ond, neno’r Saith Hen Feistr, dw i ddim yn barod i neidio eto…“I’m sitting on the edge of a precipice, hanging between the Earth and the Nw Yrth, calling on every divinity I can think of to help me on my last journey as I’m afraid I’ve not prepared well enough. I’m an Old Soldier in the guise of a teacher (or vice-versa), and I would be a Wizard too, a man who is destiny’s child, and a hostage to fortune, and not by choice but rather because of the toss of the cosmic dice. But who owns the hand that plays such tricks with my life, with all our lives? You have to ask, of course, whether that, the idea that we’re nothing but pawns in a game of chess, is better than the alternative situation, where we are controlled by physical forces completely beyond our comprehension. It makes no difference about the details to tell the truth, since here I am squirming above an enormous pitch-black, void, but, by the Seven Old Masters, I’m not ready to jump yet…
“Fe wn i y bydd Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid yn ymweld â phechodau’r ifainc nad yw’n bodoli eto ar yr henoed; a’r rhieni, a gosbir er mwyn puro’r plant; ac o reidrwydd rwy’n derbyn y canlyniad hwn. Ac fel hyn, gan gario iau camweddau’r Ddaear ar fy ngwar, yr Angau fyddaf fi, a fydd yn difa’r Byd er mwyn cychwyn creu o’r newydd. Dyma fi’n gweiddi, felly, O Kali Fawr, a adwaenir fel Nuthkí ar y Nw Yrth, rhowch imi nerth! Mae hyrddiau o loes yn golchi fy rheswm ymaith. Dyna wayw’n debyg i waywffon ac ar ei bigyn ryw fustl chwerw draig, yn gwanu f’ochr unwaith eto, fel sydd wedi bod yn digwydd cyn amled yn ddiweddar. Fel Lushfé ydwyf fi, yn nwylo Swtach, cyn iddo yntau gafodd ei ddatgymalu a’i aelodau’u gwasgaru i bedwar ban y Nw Yrth…“I know that the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers of the Extremely Exalted Empire of the Yrthians visit the sins of the young who do not yet exist upon the aged; and it is the parents who are punished in order to purify the children; and of necessity I accept this conclusion. And so, bearing the yoke of the Earth’s sins on my shoulders, I shall become Death, who shall destroy the World in order to begin creating afresh. I shout out, therefore, O Great Kali, who is known as Nuthkí on the Nw Yrth, give me strength! Spasms of pain wash my reason away. A pang like a spear with some bitter dragon’s bile on its tip stabs my side once again, as has been happening so often recently. Like Lushfé am I, in the hands of Swtach, before he was dismembered and his limbs scattered to the four corners of the Nw Yrth…
“Ond wedyn, dracht o drwyth gwenwynig yn cynnwys llwch anghyfreithlon, fydd yn fy nghodi i anterth gorfoledd ffwndrus. Efallai y gall hyn ddifodi pob gronyn o’r siel-syfrdandod rwy’n dioddef ohono ers blynyddoedd. Ac ar ben hynny bydd rhaid imi gael gwared ar gysgod dychryn rhyfel, a gysylltir â’r gad anferthol honno i ddod, sydd i fod i anrhydeddu’n ffydd lân, gwarchod ein bodolaeth yn ei phurdeb a’i nerth cysefin, amddiffyn ein tylwyth rhag ysglyfaethwyr fyddai’n ein difa ni, ac ategu’n hegwyddorion yn wyneb y rhai fyddai’n ysgubo ymaith bob cysyniad o gyfiawnder, cywirdeb, a chysondeb…“But then, a draught of poisonous infusion containing illegal dust, raises me to the zenith of perplexed exultation. Perhaps this can delete every jot of the shell-shock I’ve been suffering from for years. And also, I must get rid of the shade of war-terror, connected with that colossal battle that’s to come, which is supposed to honour our holy faith, safeguard our existence in its purity and original strength, defend our tribe against predators who would destroy us, and uphold our principles in the face of those who would sweep away every concept of justice, correctness, and consistency…
“Rwy wedi consurio’r fangre arallfydol yn unol â’r rysáit, ond nid wyf fi’n adnabod rhithyn yma gan nad ydwyf wedi cael fy hyfforddi, ond yn lle hyn wedi dwyn y geiriau’n anghyfreithlon, ynteu’u dyfeisio nhw. Ond eto i gyd, angen yw mam pob dyfais, a hwn a dyr ddeddf. O, cyn ddued â maen aberthol yw popeth yn y fan hon, ac mor oer a llithrig hefyd, nid bod dim byd i’w weld yn glir, na’i glywed yn gwbl sicr, ond mor llyfn â drych o arian caboledig, pur, wedi’i lapio mewn llen o sidan coch ydy wyneb y tir lle rwyf fi’n aros…“I’ve conjured the otherworldly locus according to the recipe, but I do not recognise a speck here as I have not been trained, but instead have stolen the words illegally, or invented them. But then again, necessity is the mother of invention, and this knows no law. Oh, everything in this place is as black as a sacrificial stone, and as cold and slippery too, not that there’s anything to be seen clearly, nor heard with complete certainty, but as smooth as a mirror of pure, polished silver, wrapped in a sheet of red silk is the surface of the land where I am waiting...
“Hyblyg yw pob ymyl syth a ddylai fod yn sad, ac mae’n enbyd o gyfforddus, ar ryw ystyr, ond yma, y sawl sy’n cysgu a fydd yn marw’n ddiamau, yn y pendraw. Dyma annedd Kalpavriksha, y goeden sy’n diwallu pob dymuniad, ac fe’i rheolir gan Kamadhenu, y fuwch sy’n gorwedd ar slab o halen, gan freuddwydio am orffennol na fu, a dyfodol na fydd yn bosibl ychwaith. Ac yma mae Kalachakra, olwyn amser, yn cylchdroi byth a hefyd, a chanu’i chân greulon am ddychwelyd tragwyddol. O, am gelwyddau melys fydd i’w profi gan yr anwyliadwrus!...“Every straight edge, which should be stable, is flexible, and it’s terribly comfortable, in some sense, but here, he who sleeps shall die without a doubt, in the end. This is habitation of Kalpavriksha, the tree which fulfils very wish, and it is governed by Kamadhenu, the cow who lies on a slab of salt, dreaming of a past that has not been, and a future which is not possible either. And here Kalachakra, the time-wheel, is always rotating, and singing its cruel song of eternal return. Oh, what sweet lies are to be experienced by the unwary!...
“Mae pinnau bach ar fy nghroen, fel petaswn i’n rhyw ffetws, ffiaidd a ffrom, yn ffyrnig ddatblygu yn y bru. A dyna gan fod llygad cyfansawdd y bodolaethau ar blaned las a choch, ger seren oedd yn hen pan anwyd ein Daear ni, yn rhythu i’m henaid, wrth i’w teimlyddion grynu mewn disgwyliad o gael hyd i was newydd. Wrth gwrs, byddan nhw wastad yn dymuno gwybod beth fydd yn digwydd pan fydd rhyw ynfytyn yn ymdrechu i gyflawni defodau alcemegol yn golygu cyffuriau seicedelig er mwyn trawsffurfio’i ddirnad. Dan bwysau’r pefriad digyffro, nad wyf yn gallu'i weld oddi mewn i’r tywyllwch llwyr, er fy mod yn ei ddychmygu’n berffaith serch hynny, rwy’n amau nad wy’n deilwng, ac yn cwynfan yn blentynnaidd o’r herwydd…“There are pins-and-needles on my skin, as if I were some foetus, obnoxious and irascible, developing fiercely in the womb. And that is because the compound eyes of the beings on a blue and red planet, near a star that was old when our Earth was born, are staring into my soul, whilst their feelers tremble in expectation of finding a new servant. Of course, they always want to know what will happen when some fool strives to complete an alchemical rite involving psychedelic drugs, in order to transform his perception. Under the pressure of the ceaseless sparkling, which I cannot see from within the complete darkness, but which I imagine perfectly despite that, I doubt I am worthy, and whimper childishly as a result…
“Nid oes dim ceiliog yn canu yma yn yr anialdir rhwng y Ddau Fyd i fesur amser, dim cymdeithas i reoli â llaw haearn dros safonau ymddygiad a ddisgwylir gan grwpiau nac unigolion, dim byd o gwbl heblaw sgraffinio’r tariannau o gitin yn cuddio cefnau’r creaduriaid rhyfedd yn y Byd Arall sydd y tu hwnt i'm cyrraedd eto. Felly na, na, deirgwaith na: yn driphlyg rwy’n gwadu’r rhai fyddai’n fy rhwystro ac atal f’ymchwil am y nerth ysbrydol a’r grym corfforol sydd eu mawr angen i wastrodi’n Byd Cythryblus ni. Fel arwr anorchfygol rwy’n gosod fy mryd yn erbyn y cyhuddwyr, ac yn diarddel eu barn! Wedi ymbaratoi rwyf fi i wynebu fy heriau; rwy’n gwisgo’r fantell drom, wedi’i dwyn oddi ar fy mrawd, rhag y peryglon a ddaw; a gŵn ysgarlad, ysblennydd ydy, ac ynddo edafedd o swynganeuon euraidd wedi’u cyfrodeddu gan gorynnod hudol…“There is no cock crowing here in the wilderness between the Two Worlds to measure time, no society to rule with an iron hand over the standards of behaviour that are expected from groups or individuals, nothing at all except the scraping of the shields of chitin hiding the backs of the strange creatures in the Other World which is beyond my reach yet. So, no, no, thrice no: triply I deny those who would restrain me and halt my quest for the spiritual strength and the physical might which are greatly needed to discipline our Turbulent World. Like an invincible hero I set my mind against the accusers, and disavow their judgement! I have prepared myself to face my challenges; I am wearing the heavy robe, stolen from my brother, against the dangers which shall come; and it is a splendid, scarlet gown, containing threads of golden charms plaited by magical spiders…
“Er mwyn cychwyn y seremoni a chreu cyswllt â’r Isfyd, rwy’n dechrau llafarganu geiriau’r Ddefod Amasus, yn y drefn wrthol ac o chwith – ‘Hatalag, Mitalag’ – wrth i bopeth o’m gwmpas lifo i’r Pwll Diwaelod gan newid y Byd yn llwyr. Ac felly, yng ngolau’r lleuad sy bellach yn llewyrchu mor danbaid ag onics tawdd yng ngwres craterau dyfnaf y Nw Yrth, rwy’n chwilio am wyddorion cudd, gan syrthio i lawr twll cwningen, sy’n dwll clo hefyd. Mae’r lle hwn yn heigio ag ansicrwydd fel adlewyrchiad mewn drych chwilfriw, ac fe’i rheolir gan ddeddfau afresymegol, sef mai’r gwagle sydd yn cynnwys hadau pob posibilrwydd, mai llonyddwch yw symudiad, ac mai cynradd â mynd i unman yw teithio i bobman…“In order to initiate the ceremony and create a link with the Otherworld, I begin to chant the words of the Amasus Ritual, in reverse order, and backwards -- ‘Hatalag, Mitalag’ – whilst everything about me flows into the Bottomless Pit, changing the World entirely. And so, in light of the moon which is by now gleaming as fiercely as molten onyx in the heat of the Nw Yrth’s deepest craters, I search for hidden principles, falling down a rabbit-hole that is also a key-hole. This place teems with uncertainty like a reflection in a shattered mirror, and it is governed by illogical laws, namely that the void contains the seeds of every possibility, that stillness is motion, and that travelling everywhere is equivalent to going no-where.
“Dewch gyda fi, felly, ar y fordaith ryfedd hon i’r Nw Yrth. Siwrnai i diroedd toreithiog ond rhithiol fydd hi, lle y mae tywysogesau hudolus a thywysogion dychmygol yn byw. Awn ni gyda’n gilydd i deyrnasoedd dirgel, yn orlawn o fesmeriaeth a manna. Yn y dirwedd hon, pob mynydd ysgithrog sy’n canu chwedl; pob glaswelltyn sy’n sisial cyfrinachau; ac mae’r nentydd baldorddus eu hunain yn dod ag ystyr, os trafferthwn ni glustfeinio. Yn y Byd hwn, mae atgofion o’r dyfodol yn dwyn addewidion; ac mae realiti gwneuthuredig yn cynrychioli llun o fywyd yn syfrdanol o hardd, a ddyfeisir gennym ni’n hunain. Ac yno fe achosaf fi i’r Duwdodau Anghofiedig gasglu ynghyd, trwy drin y geiriau – ‘Ataz, Itaz’…“Come with me, then, on this strange voyage to the Nw Yrth. It will be a journey to fruitful but spectral lands, where live enchanting princesses and imaginary princes. We shall go together to secret kingdoms, overflowing with mesmerism and manna. In this landscape, every craggy mountain sings a tale; every glass-blade whispers secrets; and the babbling brooks themselves carry meaning, if we bother to prick up our ears. In this World, future-memories bear promises; and manufactured reality represents a picture of life, stupendously beautiful, invented by us ourselves. And there I shall cause the Forgotten Deities to collect together, by wielding the words – ‘Ataz, Itaz’…
“Yno, ar y Nw Yrth, mae’r trigolion yn brwydro heb orffwys ryfel y galluoedd. Ar hyn o bryd, y Saith Swynwr Seraffiaid, arglwyddi cyfiawnder, sy’n llywodraethu oddi mewn i’r prif sigwrat ar Gyfandir Deheuol y blaned, gan chwifio eu baner las, ysblennydd, wrth orfodi cyfreithiau llymion a disgyblaeth haearnaidd. Rywbryd, ar y Ddaear, maen nhw’n dod i’r golwg ar ffurf cysgodion aruthrol, cwflog, mewn breuddwydion gorfoleddus. Ac wedyn byddan nhw’n temtio eneidiau meidrol â geiriau croyw a thameidiau blasus o ambrosia, o fara angylion, o fanna nefol. Cynnull grymoedd trefn at ei gilydd y maen nhw, gan gynnwys offeiriaid, athrawon, milwyr, academyddion, a gwleidyddion, y rhai sy’n ysu am ddyfarnu ar briodoldeb, pwyll, moesoldeb, cywirdeb, a dirwedd. Ac mae arnom ni angen eu help ar y Ddaear yn awr yn fwy na byth erioed o’r blaen, yn y dyddiau olaf hyn…“There, on the Nw Yrth, the inhabitants fight without rest the war of the powers. At the moment, it is the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, the lords of justice, who are governing, from within the main ziggurat on the planet’s southern continent, waving their splendid, blue banner, whilst enforcing strict laws and iron discipline. Sometimes, on the Earth, they come to light in the form of immense, cowled shadows, in ecstatic dreams. And then they tempt mortal souls with sweet words and tasty morsel of ambrosia, and angelic bread, and of heavenly manna. They are collecting together the forces of order, including priests, teachers, soldiers, academicians, and politicians, those who crave to adjudicate on prudence, appropriateness, morality, correctness, and actuality. And we need their help on the Earth now more than ever before, in these last days...
“Sefyll yn erbyn y Swynwr y mae’r hurfilwyr, lluoedd y gwrthsafiad, y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd Dirifedi, Arolygwyr Anawdurdodol Anochel y Nw Yrth, o dan y lluman coch, carpiog, y tu hwnt i’r pwll gresynus ar gyfandir gogleddol y Byd. Rwy wedi dysgu bod y Delw-addolwyr yn mynnu teyrnged ormodol ond na roddan nhw ddim byd ond difancoll yn y pen draw. Oherwydd hyn, nid oes ganddynt nifer helaeth o ddisgyblion go iawn ac eithrio ychydig siamaniaid, lloerigion, artistiaid, a dewiniaid sy’n prancio'n ddiedifar, gan mai’r Hen Feistri fydd yn eu gwobrwyo â choronau llawryf am eu pennau mewn ebargofiant. Ond maen nhw’n ffynnu ar bob diferyn o anhrefn, ac amheuaeth, y mymryn lleiaf o anufudd-dod ac annibyniaeth sy’n eu bwydo nhw. Ac mae'n nhw'n lluosogi'n fwyfwy cyflym bellalch. A dyna pam y bydd rhaid imi weithio mor galed i’w rhwystro nhw…“Standing against the Sorcerers are the mercenaries, the opposition forces, the Innumerable Indolent Idolaters, the Ineluctable Unauthoritative Overseers of the Nw Yrth, under the ragged, red standard, beyond the wretched pool on the World’s northern continent. I have learned that the Idolaters insist on excessive tribute but that they render nothing blotting-out in the end. Because of this, they do not have an extensive number of true disciples except a few shamans, madmen, artists, and magicians, who prance unrepentantly, as it is the Old Masters who shall crown their heads with laurel in oblivion. But they flourish on every drop of disorder, and doubt, the least bit of disobedience and independence feeds them. And now they are multiplying more and more rapidly. And that is why I must work so hard to prevent them...
“Nawr, crwydro rhwng y Ddau Fyd y mae gwas i’r Saith Swynwr o’r enw Swtach. Yr un ysbryd grymus go iawn ymysg y lluoedd ydy, sy’n dyfeisio dryswch, creu caos, lledaenu llanastr, sibrwd sothach, ymhyfrydu yn aflendid, megino malais, a gwancio gwaed. Pan fyddaf yn edrych arno, byddaf yn gweld glaslanc anafus, delwedd dialedd, a’i groen yn llawn chwysigod, ac mae ganddo gyrn a charnau gafraidd, cynffon gringoch, afaelgar, a llygaid yn hollol ddu fel diemwntau creulon. Bydd yn gwisgo lifrai milwrol, racsiog, wedi’i liwio’n wyrdd brith, ac wrth iddo gyfareddu, bydd yn trafod ei arfau uffernol, sef twca danheddog, esgyrn wedi’u hogi, a chrochan o fustl berwedig. Rwy wedi derbyn ei gymorth sawl gwaith hyd yn hyn, ac mae wedi dod â chyfarwyddiadau ar sut i agor y porth i’r Nw Yrth…“Now, wandering between the Two Wolds is a servant of the Seven Sorcerers called Swtach. It is he who is the one true powerful spirit amongst the hosts, who invents uncertainty, creates chaos, disperses disorder, whispers rubbish, frolics in filthiness, fans malice’s flames, and gorges on gore. When I look at him, I see an injured youth, the image of revenge, his skin all blistered, and he has horns and goat-hoofs, a prehensile, ginger tail, and totally black eyes like cruel diamonds. He wears ragged military uniform, coloured mottled green, and as he makes his enchantments he handles his infernal implements, namely a serrated carving-knife, sharpened bones, and a cauldron of boiling bile. I have received his support several times up to now, and he has brought instructions on how to open the gate to the Nw Yrth…
“Trwy adrodd y swyngan briodol, wedi’i hysgrifennu’n wreiddiol mewn symbolau byw o dân ar waliau’r temlau mwyaf hynafol, ac yn y Llawlyfr Hud a Lledrith colledig o’r enw ‘Ar gyfer Fy Nuwiau Mawr Oll’ rwy wedi’i ddarganfod wrth deithio, rwy wedi gorfodi Swtach i fynd amgych ogylch i ddarganfod gwybodaeth er fy mwyn. Felly y gallaf fi, yr Hen Filwr – a ail-grëir gan Khepri a thywysir gan Karna, mab gordderch i Kunti, a Kumbhakarna, sy’n traflynci mwncïod – ymddwyn fel yr Arglwydd Krishna sy’n ymgaru â’r holl Fyd. Fe fyddaf yn ennyn y sarff Kundalini, sy’n gorwedd yn dorchau yn y fflamau tragwyddol, allan o’i chwsg…“By reciting the appropriate incantation, written originally in living symbols of fire on the walls of the most ancient temples, and later in the lost Grimoire called ‘For All the Great Gods’ that I have found on my travels, I have forced Swtach to go hither and thither to unearth information on my behalf. Thus shall I, the Old Soldier – who shall be re-created by Khepri, and guided by Karna, illegitimate son of Kunti, and Kumbhakarna, the monkey-eater – be able to behave like the Lord Krishna who makes love to the whole World. I shall rouse the serpent Kundalini, who lies coiled up in the eternal flames, out of her sleep.
“O’r herwydd, datgelir imi gan Shakti a Shiva hen ddirgelion y wain a’r cleddyf, y lingam a’r yoni, y crib a’r golofn; ac fe ddysgaf fi gyfrinachau’r wy a’r had. Ond bydd arnaf angen gofalu rhag ofn imi ddatgan y geiriau â nam, gan mai methu fydd yn golygu tynged waeth nag angau. Ond ni phallaf fi byth wrth imi ddyfalbarhau i siantio geiriau’r Ddefod – ‘Atsetop Oe’! Ac o’r diwedd, bydd pawb yn dal i fyw ar y Ddaear yn llawenhau, pan fyddant wedi’u golchi a’u glanhau hefyd, â gwaed, a dagrau a thân…As a result, there shall be revealed to me by Shakti and Shiva, the old mysteries of the scabbard and the sword, the lingam and the yoni, the comb and the column; and I shall learn the secrets of the egg and the seed. But I shall need to take care lest I declare the worlds incorrectly, since failure shall mean a fate worse than death. But I shall never fail as I persevere in chanting the words of the Ritual -- ‘Atsetop Oe’! And finally, everyone who still lives on the Earth shall rejoice, when they have been washed, and cleaned as well, with blood, and tears, and fire…
“A nawr, dyma fi’n breuddwydio mai baban heb ei eni dw i, sy’n bodoli ar ffurf ymwybod glân wedi’i ddilladu â chnawd. Ar fy mhen fy hunan dw i, yn berwi gan ddryswch, mewn croth ble dw i’n rhaglennu system gyfrifiadurol, gynhenid y Byd. Nesaf, dyna fi’n dihuno fel rhyw gachgi wedi’i wlychu gan waed, a daflwyd yn ddiswta i fforest ffiaidd i’w ddistryw. A Jack Procter dw i, a’i ddisgybl Dai Baxter, David – Ivan, a’i fab Daud – dw i’m yn byw, ond dw i’m wedi marw ‘chwaith – ac eto, yn seler fy mwthyn ac ym medd hynafol y Dewin, sef Tŷ Aileni, llawn cysgodion dw i hefyd. Achos mai, yn ôl y pennod ‘Cyfrinachau'r Gelfyddyd Dduaf’ – ‘Mae f'enaid wedi'i agor bellach, i'w gelu yn y gwrthrych rwy'n ei ddymuno. F'aberth fydd f'anfarwoldeb.’…“And now, I dream that I am an unborn babe, who exists in the form of spotless consciousness clothed with flesh. I am alone, boiling with confusion, in a womb where I am programming the World’s innate computer system. Next, I awake as some coward slick with blood, who has been thrown abruptly into a hateful forest to be destroyed. And Jack Procter am I, and his pupil Dai Baxter, David – Ivan, and his son Daud – I live not, but I’ve not died either – and again, I’m in the cellar of my cottage and in the ancient tomb of the Wizard, namely the House of Rebirth, full of shadows, too. Because, according to the chapter ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’ – ‘My soul is now open, to be concealed in the object of my desire. My sacrifice shall be my immortality.’…
“Erbyn hyn mae Amser Cystudd ar fedr cyrraedd o bellafoedd y gwagle er mwyn newid ein hen Ddaear yn gyfan gwbl, gan adael holl Fyd heddiw ar ôl. Ac fe ddaw popeth i ben mewn coelcerth enfawr; ac fe lysg y cyfan yn wenfflam; ac fe lyncir pob dim gan fflam;ac fe’m serir â’r Sêl Ysgarlad, wynias; ac fe ddiddymir camweddau’r Byd gan afon o waed; a’r pryd hwn y bydd pob math o artaith yn dechrau ar gyfer y rhai fydd yn ei haeddu. Felly y cychwynna bodolaeth fod, a dechreua’r bod hwn fodoli drachefn. A dyma fi’n bloeddio’r geiriau olaf – ‘Mifares Leiro’ – Hen Dad yr Awyr, O Fam Fawr, Dywyll, yn eich dwylo chi dw i’n rhoi f’ysbryd! I mewn i’r gwacter dirfawr, gwag — lle yr amnewidir tynerwch, cydymffurfiad, maddeuant, bendith am leufer, ffosffor, fflworoleuedd, cannwyll — fi —““By now the Time of Tribulation is on the verge of arriving from the extremities of the void to change our old Earth completely, leaving the whole of today’s World behind. And everything shall come to an end in an enormous bonfire; and the whole shall blaze away; and I shall be sealed with the red-hot Scarlet Seal; and the World’s transgressions shall be annulled in a river of blood; and at that time all manner of torture shall begin for those who deserve it. Thus shall existence begin to be, and this being shall start to exist again. And here I shout the final words – ‘Mifares Leiro’ – Old Father of the Sky, O Great, Dark Mother, into your hands I place my spirit! Into the immense, empty void — where softness, compliance, forgiveness, grace shall be replaced by lumen, phosphor, fluor, candle — I —!
Ac yn seler y bwthyn, sydd debycach, efallai, i dŵr rhithiol o asgwrn, dyna ffrwydro llithriad ebrwydd o sain, o ddeuddeg o herts i ddeuddeng mil o herts yn ddigon bron i dorri tympanau clustiau. Dyna ddilyn y math o saib a ddisgrifir mewn nofelau graffig – gohirio disgwylgar – ac wedyn – gollwng – dirybudd – fel tswnami. Ac wedi agor y porth, dyna’r Hen Filwr yn ymbaratoi am wahodd y Saith Swynwr i ddod drwyddo gan ddefnyddio gweddill y Ddefod Wysio, yn cynnwys y geiriau priodol, y teclynnau arferol, a’r ystumiau i gyd. Mae wedi ysgrifennu ei ewyllys olaf. Ac mae wrth ei fodd o gredu y bydd yn ennill y wobr derfynol maes o law, wrth iddo yfed y coctel o gyffuriau, ond nid yw'n sbliff dew dros ben, a gwydraid siampên Bollinger, lled oer (un radd Celsius ar ddeg yw’r tymheredd delfrydol), i’w chanlyn, ond rhywbeth sy’n llai chwaethus o lawer.And in the cellar of the cottage, which is more similar, perhaps, to a spectral tower of bone, a sudden glissando of sound erupts, from twenty Hertz to twenty-thousand hertz, almost sufficient to burst ear-drums. And there follows the kind of pause described in graphic novels – pregnant postponement – and then – release – unexpected – like a tsunami. And having opened the gate, the Old Soldier prepares himself to invite the Seven Sorcerers to come through using the rest of the Rite of Summoning, including the appropriate words, the usual tools, and all the gestures. He has written his last will and testament. And he is delighted to think that he shall win the final prize in due course, as he drinks the cocktail of drugs, but it’s not an exceptionally fat spliff, and a glass of cool Bollinger champagne (eleven degrees Celsius is the ideal temperature) to follow it, but something that is a lot less tasteful.
Ac am ryw reswm, wedi methu cyflawni’r aberth gofynnol o ddau fywyd diwerth, mewn gwrthdrawiad fan y tro cyntaf, pan oedd fel pe baent wedi’u diogelu gan darian hudol na allai fe dorri drwyddi ar y pryd er ei ymdrechion cryfaf, mae’n dychmygu ei hun wrth i’w fywyd truenus bron yn treio. A dyna fe wedi’i drywanu i farwolaeth â phensiliau ym mheli’r llygaid – a dyna’i ben yn ffrwydro – a dyna’i waed yn byrlymu ac yn tasgu – a dyna’i hoedl seithug yn bedyddio mangre dychweliad y Mab Darogan.And for some reason, having failed to complete the required sacrifice of two worthless lives in a van-collision the first time, when it was as if they were protected by a magical shield he could not penetrate at the time despite his strongest efforts. he imagines himself as his pitiful life almost ebbs away. And he’s pierced to death with pencils in his eyeballs – and his head’s exploding – and his blood’s bubbling and roiling – and his wasted life’s baptizing the site of the Foretold Son’s return.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 22

Pennod Chwech ar Hugain: Anturio (Lleisiau 22) / Venturing (Voices 22)

Lle poblogaidd yw Glyn Cysgod Angau, ymhlith pobl o bob math, yn cynnwys pererinion ar deithiau, ffotograffwyr rhyfel, a chaethweision yn chwedleua. Yn aml y byddant yn mentro trwyddo er mwyn cyfranogi o’i beryglon ac ennill y gwobrau y dônt o hyd iddynt yno, ac wedyn adrodd am eu hanturiaethau a’u profiadau. Mae’r cysyniad hwn wedi hoelio sylw cerddorion yn enwedig, megis bandiau pwnc, grwpiau metel trwm, ac ensembles o berfformwyr arloesol. Dwg eu gweithiau celfyddydol ddelwau eithriadol ar gof. Efallai eu bod yn cynrychioli trafferthion i’w profi ymhlith y dyffryn ei hun, ynteu ryfeddodau wedi’u cuddio ar ben yr hynt. Dychmyger ar y naill law ardd ragorol lle y bydd pob pleser daearol ar gael i’r dewis rai, ac ar y llaw arall, ystyrier poenydfa’n llawn offer arteithio lle y bydd madruddyn y dioddefwyr yn dychlamu mewn loes. Fodd bynnag, wedi dweud hynny oll, bydd wastad arnom angen cofio nad honni mai’r gair olaf fydd yn darogan ffawd anochel ydynt, y mae’r fath dywalltiadau celfyddydol. Felly, serch yr holl gymhlethdod a dryswch, rydym yn gorfod i holi: a fyddai’n bosibl mai man ddiogel yw’r cwm dirgel hwn yn llawn cysgodion byw, a’u bysedd duon yn denu, mewn gwirionedd, i’r rhai a gâr heb dinc o fariaeth? Ac a allai’r rhai pur o galon dreiddio i’w ddyfnderoedd mwyaf pruddaidd heb eu niweidio, ac efallai, hyd yn oed heb ofni drwg, oblegid eu diniweidrwydd?

The Valley of the Shadow of Death is a popular place amongst people of all kinds, including pilgrims on journeys, war photographers, and tale-telling slaves. Often, they venture through it in order to partake of its perils and win the rewards they will find there, and then report on their adventures and their experiences. This concept has caught the attention of musicians in particular, such as punk bands, heavy metal groups, and ensembles of avant-garde performers. Their artistic works bring exceptional images to mind. Perhaps they represent tribulations to be experienced in the midst of the vale itself, or wonders hidden at journey’s end. Imagine on the one hand an exceptional garden where every earthly pleasure is available to the chosen ones, and on the other hand, consider a dungeon full of torture-instruments where the victims’ gristle throbs in agony. However, having said all that, we always need to remember that such artistic outpourings do not claim that they are the last word which foretells an inevitable fate. So, despite all the complexity and confusion, we are forced to ask, would it be possible that this mysterious valley, full of living shadows, their black fingers beckoning, is a safe place, in truth, for those who love without a trace of desire? And could those pure of heart penetrate into the gloomiest depths without being harmed, without fearing evil, even, because of their innocence?

Rhyw seler guddiedig, sy’n oer a thywyll ond yn fyw o rithiau, o freuddwydion chwilfriw – neu, ‘falle, rhyw dŵr heulog, twym, sy’n agored led y pen – mae’r olygfa’n cael ei haildrefnu bob amser wrth i ddeunydd realiti dywynnu a dawnsio. Ond beth bynnag a fo, mangre heb ei thebyg ydy, mewn ffordd o siarad, wedi’i goleuo â chanhwyllau rhuddion. Dyna utganu offeryn pres, hynafol, ac mae’n swnio fel rhu bwystfil yn tynnu cnawd oddi wrth asgwrn. Ac wedyn, datganiad, o ble nad yw’n glir – ‘Pan ddaw’r amser, y delo’r gwŷr!’ – yn debycach i losgfynydd yn echdorri na llais bod byw. A ddywedodd dyn hynny, unwaith? Wel, pa wahaniaeth? Fe all dyn fod yn hollol siŵr o’r ffaith, sut bynnag, mai dewiniol dymp y nos ydy'n awr –– ac mai tri gŵr sy’n disgwyl eu hachubiaeth er nad ydynt yn sylweddoli’r manylion i gyd ar hyn o bryd. Ond nid trindod sanctaidd mohonynt, nid o bell ffordd. Nid yw’r tair Hen Dduwies, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – y forwyn, y fam, a’r wrach – y Syrthni Angheuol, y Ddrycin Anhydrin, a'r Afon Wylofus – yno ychwaith, eto. Ond mae llais o’r tu hwnt sydd yn perthyn i gennad y triawd anfad, wedi’i alw i sibrwd cyfrinachu celwyddog, yn chwythu trwy’r gofod rhwng y Bydoedd.Some hidden cellar, that’s cold and dark but alive with spectres, with shattered dreams – or, maybe, some warm, sunny tower, that’s wide open – the scenery is being rearranged all the time as the fabric of reality sparkles and dances. But whatever it is, it’s a place without equal, in a manner of speaking, illuminated with blood-red candles. Then an ancient, brass instrument blasts, and it sounds like the roar of a beast tearing flesh from bone. And then, a declaration, from where it is not clear – ‘Cometh the time, come the men!’ – more like a volcano erupting than the voice of a living being. Did a man say that, once? Well, what does it matter? One can be totally sure of the fact, however, that it is the witching hour of night – and that there are three men waiting their salvation although they don’t realise all the details at this time. But they are not a holy trinity, not by a long way. Nor are the three Old Goddesses, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – the maiden, the mother, and the hag -- the Deathly Malaise, the Intractable Storm, and the Tearful River – there either, yet. But a voice from beyond that belongs to the legate of the sinister trio, called up to whisper lying secrets, is blowing through the void between the Worlds.
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “F’annwyl fachgen! Os byddi di’n derbyn y neges hon, o’r tu hwnt, ynteu mi fyddaf wedi diflannu’n llwyr oddi ar wyneb ein Daear deg ni heb adael ôl, i gychwyn ar daith arallfydol i achub y Byd. Mi elli di ymddiried yn y ffaith hon yr un mor sicr ag y bydd rhaid i ddyn gyfaddef mai cymylau tywyll fydd wastad yn croesi a gorchuddio wyneb llachar y lleuad lawn, Mam dwyllodrus inni i gyd, gefn trymedd noson heb sêr.”[Voice from Beyond] “My dear boy! If you are receiving this message from beyond, then I shall have disappeared completely off the face of our fair Earth without leaving a trace, to begin an otherworldly journey to save the World. You can trust this fact just as surely as one must confess that dark clouds will always cross and hide the shining face of the full moon, the deceitful Mother of us all, in the dead of a starless night.”
Am chwech o’r gloch yn brydlon – ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep,’ yn ôl y rhifo anorfod gan y cloc aflafar yn ei ‘stafell wely, ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep’ – dyna ddihuno Dai o’i drwmgwsg. Dyw e ddim yn cael ateb gan ei Elen hyfryd wedi’i ffonio h’n syth ar ôl cwympo o’r gwely blêr, er iddi fod mor awyddus i ‘sgwrsio o ddifri am bethau’ dim ond ryw fis o’r blaen. Ac wedyn aeth hi mor oerllyd a ffroenuchel. Ond ‘sdim ots ‘da fe, wrth gwrs, achos bod gwaith pwysig i’w 'neud heno yn lle sisial cariad yn ei chlustiau perffaith, mor debyg i gregyn wystrys. Dyw e ddim eisiau ‘siarad,’ ‘chwaith, hyd yn oed gyda chryn ymdrech ar ran y dychymyg. Wedi’r cwbl, mae ganddo fe heyrn eraill yn y tân o ran cael hyd i nwyddau gwerthfawr iawn wedi’u cuddio yn y bwthyn.Punctually, at six o’clock -- ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep,’ according to the inevitable enumeration by the blaring clock in his bedroom, ‘ch-eeep, ch-eeep, ch-eeep’ – Dai awakes from his slumber. He gets no answer from his lovely Elen having phoned her straight after falling out of the messy bed, although she’d been so keen to ‘chat seriously about things’ just a month or so before. And then she went so cold and stuck-up. But he doesn’t care, of course, as there’s important work to be done tonight instead of whispering sweet nothings in her perfect ears, so like oysters. He doesn’t want to ‘talk,’ either, not even with a considerable stretch of the imagination. After all, he has other irons in the fire regarding finding very precious goods stashed in the cottage.
Felly gan anwybyddu cyngor yr Arglwyddes Macbeth ar sut i gyflawni’r cynllun cyfrwys, mae’n mynd draw i wylltio Stezza, fydd fel ci â’i gynffon yn ei ben ôl ar hyn o bryd ar ôl yr holl gastiau yn y digwyddiad diweddara’. Ac mae Dai’n edrych ‘mlaen at gythruddo’r dyn arall drwy gymryd arno dyw e’m yn gallu meddwl yn glir, o achos ei drafferthion. Yn wir, ‘sdim dwywaith amdani, achos fe fydd e’n cael hwyl ar draul y bwystfil chwerthinllyd bob tro. Ond cyn i’r Comando Trefol adael, dyna fe’n paratoi, gan wisgo lifrai milwrol, a hwpio dagr danheddog mewn gwain o ledr coch i lawr band gwasg ei drwser. Mae’n rhedeg draw i’r ysgubor fach ond taclus ar yr ochr arall i’r stad, lle bydd ei ffrind -- wel, yr hen horwth ‘na o ddyn mawr, cyhyrog, sy’n dwlu arno fe – wastad yn mynd i synfyfyrio ar ôl cyfnod hir o rafio fel rhywun o’i go’ mewn parti dawns, rhydd lle bydd miwsig marwhun yn swyno meddwl, corff, ac enaid pawb am oriau bwy gilydd.So, ignoring Lady Macbeth’s advice on how to complete the cunning plan, he goes over to annoy Stezza, who’ll be like a dog with its tail between its legs at the moment after all the carry-on in the latest event. And Dai’s looking forward to winding up the other man by pretending he can’t thing straight, because of his troubles. Indeed, there’s no two ways about it, because he has fun at the expense of the ridiculous beast every time. But before the Urban Commando leaves, he gets ready, donning military gear and shoving a serrated dagger in a red leather sheath down the waistband of his trousers. He runs over to the small but tidy barn on the other side of the estate, where his friend – well, that great big muscly lump of a man who dotes on him – always goes to meditate after a long period of raving like someone off his head in a free dance party where trance music enchants everyone’s mind, body, and soul for hours on end.
Mae’n cyrraedd yno tua chwarter awr wedi chwech, a’i wynt yn ei ddwrn. Ddim yr un peth o gwbl â chael amser da gyda merch yw cwmni Stevo, dyna’n amlwg, ddim o bell ffordd, er bod y twpsyn wastad yn barod i ‘neud rhywbeth o ran hwyl, ta be’ – ac mae Dai’n credu gallai’i ‘achan dwl fod o werth o achos ei nerth, os nad ei ymennydd ymarferol, ac er gwaetha’ diffyg ffraethineb pefriol. Wedi dweud ‘ny, Stevie-boi fydd yn cyfathrebu fel arfer gyda’r pwcaod seithben, a’u croen yn wyrdd, yn byw dan y madarch brithion, blasus iawn ar waelod yr ardd lysiau, a’r môr-ladron ar eu gwely hedegog sy wedi dianc o Wlad Hud. Ond heno, Dai ei hun sy’m yn medru cael gwared ar y geiriau’n rhedeg trwy’i ymennydd, sy’n swnio fel sgript mewn un o’r comics wedi’i ‘neud gan y dyn fydd yn gyd-gynllwynwr anfodlon, siŵr o fod, yn y gweithgareddau fydd yn digwydd yn nes ‘malen.He arrives there about quarter past six, all out of breath. Stevo’s company’s not the same thing at all as having a good time with a girl, that’s obvious, not by a long chalk, although the idiot’s always ready to do something for a laugh, anyway – and Dai considers his dumb buddy could be valuable because of his strength, if not his practical mind, and despite the lack of sparkling wit. Having said that, it’s Stevie-boy who usually communicates with the seven-headed, green-skinned goblins living under the really tasty speckled mushrooms at the bottom of the vegetable garden, and the pirates on their flying bed who’ve escaped from Wonderland. But tonight, it’s Dai himself who can’t get rid of the words running through his mind, that sound like a script in one of the comics made by the man who’ll be a reluctant co-conspirator, probably, in the activities that’ll be taking place taker on.
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Ond, eto i gyd, ni fyddai neb ac eithrio lloerig yn gwadu bod y lleuad yn bodoli pan â hi o’r golwg yn awr ac yn y man. Ond mae rhai a fyddai’n ceisio maentumio nad bodoli y mae’r gwyll ei hun, ynteu’n hytrach y bodau adwythig yn llechu ynddo, a fydd yn cychwyn symud yn annibynnol fel trobyllau o gysgod yn y tywyllwch llwyr pan fydd y Dewin wedi galw ar iddynt ymddangos ar y Ddaear wedi croesi’r gofod o’r Nw Yrth, naill ai’n wybodus neu ynteu’n anwybodus. Gan fy mod yn hollol sicr am y fath ffeithiau cyfrin, wedi gweld â’m llygaid fy hunan bethau na ddylai gŵr byw byth eu tystio. Ac felly yr wyf yn deisyf ar iti ohirio d’angoel wrth ddal sylw i’m llais digorff!”[Voice from Beyond] “But then again, no-one except a madman would deny that the moon exists when it goes out of sight now and then. But there are some who would try to maintain that the darkness itself does not exist, or rather, the malignant beings lurking in it, which begin to move independently like whirlpools of shadow in the utter darkness when the Wizard has called on them to appear on the Earth having crossed the void from the Nw Yrth, either knowingly or unknowingly. For I am totally sure about such esoteric facts, having seen with my own eyes things that a living man should never witness. And so, I implore you to postpone your disbelief whilst paying heed to my incorporeal voice!”
“Hei, shw mai, Dai, mêt, be’ sy ar y gweill heno, ‘te? Ti sy ‘ma ar fyr rybudd, ond wyt? Be’ am Elen? Ti’n chwilio am fodau allfydol, ‘to? Ma’r gwir mas fan ‘na, siŵr o fod, sbo!”“Hey, how’s it goin’, Dai mate, what’s on the cards this ev’nin’, then? You’re here on short notice, aren’t you? What about Elen? You looking for extra-terrestrials again? The truth’s out there, probably, s’pose!”
“Hei, yr hen frithgi, w! Ti ddylai w’bod – un o’r tylwyth teg sy ‘di crwydro bant i lan y goeden ffa i ymweld gyda’r cawr a’i saith corrach wyt ti! Ti ‘di bod yn chwarae ar dy ben dy hunan drwy’r dydd gwyn wyt ti, Stezz, ma’n edrych ‘lly, ta be’?”“Hey y’old mongrel you! You should know – you’re one of the fairies who’s wandered off up the beanstalk to visit the giant and his seven dwarfs! Been playing on your own the whole day long, have you, Stezz, looks like that, anyway?”
“Dyna hen ddigon, nawr – rho’r gorau iddi, w, a tyfa lan!”“That’s enough now – give over, mun, and grow up!”
“Wel, edrycha ‘ma, ‘achan. Wi ‘di bod yn meddwl. Wi ‘di cael ‘y ngollwng yn y cawl yn wir gan ‘rhen Procter ‘na dro ar ôl tro, laweroedd o weithiau, reit – mor ddefnyddiol â rhech mewn potel bop yw e. ‘Lly, wi ‘di penderfynu, fe fydda i’n mynd draw i dalu’r pwyth yn ôl iddo fe, gan ‘neud llanast ar ei guddfan yntau, mas o law’n hwyrach,” medd Dai, “reit, licet ti fynd am dro yn y fan enwog? Wi ‘di cael ei benthyg gan yr awdurdodau ffiaidd unwaith ‘to, ond so nhw’n gw’bod ‘to, wi’n ellyll bach, slei sy’n dda iawn o ran dod o hyd i allweddi, pethau fel ‘na. Wedi’i chuddio mae hi rownd cefn yr hen stablau. Ac fe fydda i angen dy help di, ‘yn ffrind.”“Well, look here, mate. I’ve been thinkin’. I’ve been really dropped in it by that old Procter time after time, so often, right – he’s about as useful as a fart in a pop bottle. So, I’ve decided, I’ll be going over to pay him back, messing up his hidey-hole when the time comes, later on,” says Dai, “right, would you like to go for a spin in the famous van? I’ve borrowed it from the vile powers-that-be again, but they don’t know yet, I’m a sly little devil who’s dead good when it comes to finding keys, things like that. I’ve hidden it round the back of the old stables. And I’ll be needing your help, my friend.
“O, w, cofia, ‘yn wncwl yw Procter, a nawr mae’n gorwedd ar farw, druan â fe. Dw i’n hongian yn llac, ‘sdim byd yn wahanol ‘da fi i’w wneud shwd bynnag, dere ‘mlaen ‘te, pam lai? Falle bydd rhywbeth diddorol yno – mae ‘da fe lawer o lyfrau hynafol, hyfryd o bob cwr o’r byd ta be’.” A dyna gilwenu Steff, wrth gerdded gyda’r llanc arall, am oriau cythryblus llawn smaldod diystyr, mae’n ymddangos, i gasglu’r fan o’i chuddfan.“Oh, man, remember, Procter’s my uncle, and now he’s lying dying, poor thing. I’m hangin’ loose, nothin’ different for me to do anyway, come on then, why not? P’rhaps there’ll be something interesting there – he’s got lots of ancient books from all over the world anyway.” And Steff smiles weakly, whilst walking with the other lad, for troubled hours full of meaningless banter, it seems, to collect the van for its hiding-place.
“Dere ‘mlaen, neidia i mewn! Iawn. ffŵl o ddyn yw e – meddwl gormod ohono’i hun ma’ e, rhwng ei athrylith alcemegol a’i ddamcaniaethau od am ieithoedd, a gwyddorau hudol pobl yr henfyd, a’r gweddill – wel – gwallgofddyn yw e’n bendant – ti’n gw’bod ble o’dd e’n arfer byw, on’d wyt? Wi’n mynd i benbleth, sa i’n siŵr ble yw ble ar hyn o bryd.”“Come on, jump in! Right, he’s a fool of a man – thinks so much of himself, he does, what with his alchemical genius, and his odd theories about languages and the magical alphabets of ancient peoples, and the rest – well, he’s definitely a madman – you know where he used to live, don’t you? I’m getting confused, I’m not sure where’s where right now.”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Mi ddof â rhybudd enbyd iti, o’r tu hwnt i’r lle yr ydym yn ei alw’n orwel naturiol i’r Pwll Diwaelod. Ac, os bydd popeth yr wyf fi’n ei gredu ynghylch y sefyllfa gyfredol yn gywir, wedyn bydd yr Angau’n arswyd sy’n llai i’w ofni nag y byddai Bodolaeth sy’n parhau yn wyneb ffieiddbeth mor llethol.”[Voice from Beyond] “I bring you a terrible warning, from beyond the place we call the natural horizon of the Bottomless Pit. And, if everything I believe concerning the current situation is correct, then Death shall be a horror less to be feared than would be Existence that persists in the face of such overwhelming abomination.”
“Wel, wrth gwrs ‘mod i’n nabod ei gartre’ e, y bwthyn, dyna ble oedd e’n arfer byw rai blynyddoedd yn ôl – ond ar ei ben ei hunan ma’ e nawr, ac maen nhw’n ei garco fe yn y plasty achos fod e mor sâl.” Dyna syllu Steff yn feddylgar i’r pellter drwy sgrin wynt frwnt y fan, “Bu’n sbel go lew ers – wel – ers bu farw’r wraig a’r ferch fach, y greadures ifanc – roedd ‘na ddamwain enbyd yno – nwy gwenwynig – carbon monocsid, yn fwy na thebyg. ‘Lly nawr dim ond llawn ysbrydion, cofion, cysgodion yw’r hen le. Well i ni fod yn garcus! Well ‘da fi beidio marw – ddim heddi’, ta be’!”“Well, of course I recognise his home, the cottage, that’s where he used to live some years ago – but he’s all alone now, and they’re looking after him in the mansion ‘cos he’s so ill.” Steff stares pensively into the distance through the van’s dirty windscreen. “Its’s been a while – well – since his wife and his little girl, the poor creature, died – there was a terrible accident there – poison gas -- carbon monoxide more than likely. So now the old place’s only full of spirits, memories, shadows. We’d better be careful, I’d prefer not to die – not today, anyway!”
“Sdim ots ‘da fi, w! Ti sy angen cymryd cyfrifoldeb am bethau nawr. Rhaid i ti esbonio wrtha i’n fanwl –ble oedd e’n arfer byw – yn nhwll tin byd, siŵr iawn? Am ryw reswm wi’n teimlo yn ‘y ‘nghalon fod y lle’n eitha’ tebyg i ble ro’n i’n arfer byw ‘da ‘Nhad, dramor, pan o’n i’n grwt, t’mod?”“Makes no difference to me, man! It’s you who needs to take responsibility for things now. You’ve got to explain to me in detail – where did he used to live – the back end of beyond, right enough. For some reason, I feel in my heart that the place was quite like where I used to live with my Dad, overseas, when I was a kid, y’know.”
“Hei, w, pam ti’n chwarae ‘da fi bob tro? Ti’n greulon wir iawn, t’mod. Ti’n gw’bod yn rhy dda am y llefydd i gyd rown’ fan ‘yn, a beth sy ‘di digwydd ynddyn nhw.” Dyma oedi Steff, cyn mynd ymlaen, “Yn y bwthyn oedd e’n arfer byw, nage’r plasty posh fel ar hyn o bryd, rhif un deg saith ydy, siŵr o fod, y dyddiau ‘ma, ‘rhen Dŷ Glas.”“Hey, man, why’re you playing with me all the time? You’re really cruel, y’know. You know only too well about the places round ‘ere. and what’s happened in ‘em.” Steff hesitates before going on, “It was in the cottage he used to live, not the posh mansion like right now, it’s number seventeen, probably, these days, the old Blue House.”
“Wel, sa i’n gallu peidio dychmygu bod yn grwt drewllyd, amser maith yn ôl, sbo. Falle bod y therapi’n gweithio. Wi’n cofio gwlad i’r dwyrain, dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd, ac yno ma’ tŷ heb fod ymhell oddi wrth y dre’, ar Ystâd y Pinwydd, wi’n credu, ar droed y Bryn Serth, ar lan yr hen Afon Domlyd. Wi’n tybio bod ni’n dlawd, a balch, a byw mewn gobaith. A dweud y gwir, licwn i ‘sen ni’n mynd i rywle gwahanol heno, heb yr holl atgofion gwael, ond, wel, ti sy ar fai am 'ny fel o’n i’n gweud, ond paid becso amdana i – ma’ gwaith i’w ‘neud!” “Well, I can’t stop imagining being a smelly kid, long, long ago, s’pose. P’rhaps the therapy’s working. I remember a land to the east, across the Great Grey Sea, and there there’s a house not too far from the town, on the Pines Estate, I think, at the foot of the Steep Hill, on the bank of the old Mucky River. I believe we were poor, and proud, and living in hope. To tell the truth, I’d like it if we were going somewhere different tonight without all the horrid memories, but, well, that’s your fault, like I was saying, but don’t worry ‘bout me – there’s work to be done!”
“Hmpphh, so ‘ny’n deg o gwbl, ‘achan. Dy syniad di yw hyn i gyd a dyna’r gwir. Ond, os ti’n meddwl bydd yn werth chweil —”“Hmpphh, that’s not fair at all, matie. This is all your idea, and no mistake. But if you think it’ll be worthwhile—“
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Ynghyd â’r neges hon, wedi’i darlledu tros amser a gofod, yr wyf fi’n gadael dogfennau o bob math ymhlith fy meddiannau eraill, yn gynnwys Hen Lyfrau Llên, fel y byddi’n gallu gwirio’r honiadau hyn â hwy, er iddynt ymddangos yn rhemp.”[Voice from Beyond] “Together with this message, broadcast across time and space, I am leaving documents of all sorts amongst my other possessions, including Old Books of Lore, so that you can substantiate these allegations with them, although they appear excessive.”
“Reit, cymera dy dro wrth y llyw, Stezza, w, fel arfer. Caea’r drws a gyrra di, gwboi! Ond sa i’n barod i fynd drwy’r Porth rhwng y Ddau Fyd y munud ‘ma, ha, ha! Rhaid i ni ladd amser am dipyn, ‘lly ‘nawn ni grwydro am dro. Gwylia rhag y llabystiau ‘na ar y chwith, a gwthia’r botwm i fi, iawn, i gloi’r drws. A dyna ni, bois bach, bant â ni!”“Right, take your turn at the wheel, Stezza, man, as usual. Shut the door and drive, cowboy! But I’m not ready to go through the Gate between the Two Worlds this minute, ha, ha! We gotta kill time for a while, so we’ll wander about for a bit. Watch out for the louts there on the left, and push the button for me, right, to lock the door. So, there we are, boys, off we go!”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Y mae f’ymchwil dros flynyddoedd maith, ar faterion dirgel a dirmygadwy sydd yn ymwneud â chyffuriau seicedelig, galluoedd annaearol, a defodau gwaharddedig, wedi f’arwain i at – amryw fathau o ganlyniad. Ond mae’n rhaid imi fynnu o’r cychwyn cyntaf mai dim ond ceisio gweithio er lles mwyaf y ddynolryw oll oeddwn i, trwy gydol fy nhaith mor ormesol i ddatgelu cyfrinachau’r Nw Yrth.”[Voice from Beyond] “My research over many a long year, on matters mysterious and despicable which are to do with psychedelic drugs, otherworldly powers, and forbidden rites, have lead me to – various kinds of conclusion. But I must insist from the very beginning that I was only every trying to act for the greater good of all humankind throughout my most exacting voyage to reveal the secrets of the Nw Yrth.”
Dyna’r fan yn tanio ac wedyn ymlusgo heibio’r haid o lanciau sy’n ymdrybaeddu yn y budreddi tu ôl i’r siop gornel dreuliedig ar bwys yr hen stablau lle mae Dai wedi parcio’r fan. Mae aelodau'r llwyth plorynnog yn llowcio caniau o seidr yn fwy byrbwyll na Noa, heclo a bocsio gan ffugio ymladd, rhegi’n farddol, a phoeri’n gystadleuol ar y pafin. Wrth i Steff sleifio drwy’r lonydd cefn, llwyd ar y ‘stad, a’r tai’n wael hyd at farw â chlefyd y concrit, dyw e ddim yn gallu peidio sylwi ar yr holl wepau didostur sy’n lygadu fe’n edliwgar o safleoedd bysiau a phreswylfeydd wedi dadfeilied. Mor ddiffygiol mewn pŵer ydy’r goleuadau stryd gwangalon fel na allan nhw dorri trwy’r tawch drycsawrus sy’n tewychu’n gawl asidig mor glou. A chwysu’n stecs mae Stevo wrth i’w ddwylo ddal yr olwyn yn dynn.The van starts and then crawls by the horde of lads who are wallowing in the squalor behind the tatty corner shop near the old stables where Dai’s parked the van. The members of the spotty tribe are quaffing cans of cider more rashly than Noah, heckling and boxing while pretending to fight, swearing poetically, and spitting competitively on the pavement. While Steff slinks through the washed-out back lanes on the estate, the houses deathly sick with concrete disease, he can’t stop staring at all the merciless faces that are eyeballing him reproachfully from bus-stops and decayed residences. So lacking in power are the dispirited street-lights that they can’t cut through the foul-smelling mist that’s so quickly thickening into an acidic soup. And Stevo’s sweating buckets while his hands grab on tight to the wheel.
Mynd rownd a rownd mae’r fan am oriau, gan gylchu’r ‘stad lawer gwaith heb gyrraedd ei chyrchfan ola’. A mynd fel y coblyn mae meddyliau’r llanciau hefyd, wrth iddynt rannu smôcs, a snisin sbesial, a chostrel o’r gwirod drud ofnadw’ o’r enw ‘Carma Gwael’ wedi’i thwgu oddi ar yr hen Ddafad Golledig. Ond yn y pen draw, mae’n hen bryd i’w sgwrs blentynnaidd ddod i ben – ond dyw’r ddau fabŵn noeth (wel, un ohonyn nhw o leiaf sy’n greadur blewog), ddim yn medru rhoi’r gorau i falu awyr. Ac yna, ymhlith y pinwydd, dan gysgodion ymlusgol, dyna ymrithio’r Sêl Ysgarlad o ddim ar un o’r coed, wrth i Lais Trallodus y pregethwr ymfflamychol ar y radio, y Peintiwr Coch, godi beil y llanciau. A dyna siffrwd y dail yn herllyd, ‘cheper – cheper – cheper.’ Canol haf ydy, ond mae ‘na ddrycin yn crynhoi. Wedi’r cyfan, mae defod i’w chyflawni. Yn y presennol beichiog, mae’r dyfodol diamynedd yn disgwyl y gorffennol hwyrfrydig. A dyma ein bachgen gwrol, Dai Baxter, yn dechrau parablu’n uchel ac yn gyflym —The van goes round and round for hours, encircling the estate many times without reaching its final destination. And the minds of the lads are turning over like crazy too, as they share smokes, and special snuff, and a flagon of the awfully pricey spirit called ‘Bad Karma,’ stolen from the old Lost Sheep. But in the end, it’s high time for their childish chat to come to an end – but the two naked baboons (well, one of them, at least, is a hairy creature), can’t give up talking nonsense. And then, amidst the pines, under creeping shadows, the Scarlet Seal materializes from nowhere on one of the trees, whilst the Vexatious Voice of the inflammatory preacher on the radio, the Red Painter, stirs the lads’ bile. And the leaves whisper, challengingly, ‘cheper – cheper – cheper.’ It’s Midsummer, but there’s a storm brewing. After all, there’s a ritual to complete. In the pregnant present, the impatient future awaits the tardy past. And our heroic boy, Dai Baxter, begins to chatter loud and quick —
“O’r gorau, bron yno, dyn ni, w? O leia’ so ni yng nghalon y dre’ felltigedig ‘na, diolch byth. ‘Sdim gormod yn digwydd rown’ ffordd ‘yn, reit, ‘lly fe ddylwn ni allu parcio rywle mas o’r ffordd ond o fewn golwg clir i’r bwthyn, chwedyn dyn ni’n gallu cadw llygaid ar agor am ddrwg, t’mod?““OK, almost there are we mun? At least we’re not in the heart of that accursed town, thank goodness. There’s not too much happening round ‘ere, right, so we should be able to park somewhere out of the way within clear view of the cottage, then we can keep an eye open for trouble, y’know?”
“Sa i’n siŵr am ‘yn o gwbl, Dai. Fe ddylwn ni fynd adre’. So’n teimlo’n reit.”“I’m not sure about this at all, Dai. We should go home. It doesn’t feel right.”
“O, cau dy geg, w! Mae hi’n un ar ddeg, a so’r hen dwpsyn drewllyd yn gallu symud o’i wely yn dy hen blasty mor posh, yn ôl pob sôn. Dim ond talu’r deyrnged ola’ dyn ni, fel ‘sai. Iawn, lanc, ‘naiff y lle ‘ma’r tro i barcio. Neidia mas! Ble ni’n anelu amdano fe ‘achan? Ti fydd yn cymryd yr awenau o hyn ‘mla’n.”“Oh, shut your gob, mun! It’s eleven, and the old stinkin’ idiot can’t move from his bed in your old oh-so-posh mansion, by all accounts. We’re just paying out last respects, like. Right, this place’ll do for parkin’. Jump out! Where’re we aiming for, matie? You’ll be taking the reins from here on.”
“Ww, pam bod mor dwp, w? Ti’n gwybod. Yn syth ‘mlaen. Y drws ‘na, rhif un deg saith, jyst fan ‘yn -- ‘Y Tŷ Glas’.”“Oooh, why be so stupid, man? You know. Straight on. That door, number seventeen, just by ‘ere – “The Blue House.”
“Grêt, mêt. Www, nawr wi’n dechrau cofio’n reit. Mae jyst fel ble o’dd Dad a fi yn arfer byw ‘slawer dydd. Wi’n gallu gweld y lle, bron, yn debyg iawn i’r tŷ bach, wedi mynd â’i ben iddo – rhif saith – lawr y stryd – draw fanna.”“Great, mate. Oooh, now I’m starting to remember right. It’s just like where Dad and me used to live ages ago. I can see the place, almost, really like the small house that’s on its last legs – number seven – down the street – over there.”
“O, Hmmm, dw i’n gweld, neis, ha, ond dw i’m yn siŵr be’ ti’n feddwl am dy Dad di.“Oh, Hmmm, I see, nice, ha, but I’m not sure what you mean about your Dad.”
“’Sdim ots. O’dd y ‘ffernol hyll ‘na, Procter, yn arfer dweud fod e’n lico fe – ‘dau ar bymtheg’ o’dd yn yr hen ddyddiau, pan o’dd e’n ddrewgi ifanc – sa i’n gw’bod be’ o’n nhw’n siarad amdano hanner yr amser yng ngwersi rhifoleg yr hen fwgan ffôl!”“Never mind. The ugly devil, Procter, used to say that he liked it – ‘two-on-fifteen’ it was in the ol’ days, when he was a young skunk – I don’t know what they were talking about half the time in the old fool of a hobgoblin’s numerology classes!”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Y mae rhai o’m darganfyddiadau’n cythryblu’r meddwl i’r fath raddau, o’r braidd y gallaf sôn amdanynt hwy. Serch hynny, yr wyf wedi ceisio gwneud nodyn ohonynt, er mwyn d’amddiffyn di, a’r Ddaear gron ar ben hynny, rhag y rhai sydd yn meddu ar y deallusrwydd mwyaf anfad yn y Ddau Fyd.”[Voice from Beyond] “Some of my discoveries disturb the mind to such a degree, that I can scarcely mention them. Despite that, I have tried to make a note of them, in order to defend you, and the whole Earth as well, from those who possess the most iniquitous intelligence in the Two Worlds.”
“O, dyw Procter ddim mor ddwg â ‘ny. A, wel, nifer diddorol iawn yw un deg saith, t’mod – y nifer lleia’ hap, yw e, yn ôl Ffeil Iaith Dechnegol yr Hacwyr; hefyd, rhif cysefin Eisenstein heb ran ddychmygol yw dau ar bymtheg. A dim ond un deg saith o grwpiau cymesuredd gwastad dau ddimensiwn sydd, felly dim ond un deg saith o batrymau unigryw i bapur wal sydd hefyd. A bydd rhaid wrth un deg saith o elfennau mewn pos Sudoku, os byddwch chi eisiau cael datrysiad unigryw – stwff fel ‘ny, ha!”“Oh, Procter’s not as bad at that. And, well, seventeen’s a very interesting number, y’know – it’s the least random number, according to the Hackers’ Technical Language File; also, seventeen is an Eisenstein prime number without imaginary part. And there are only seventeen two-dimensional plane symmetry groups, so there are only seventeen unique patterns for wallpaper, too. And seventeen elements are required in a Sudoku puzzle, if you want to have a unique solution – stuff like that, ha!”
“O, ‘Rhen Dduwiau Tawdd, w! Be’ sy’ di’ digwydd i’r drws? A beth am y nifer – dyw e ddim yn ‘un deg saith’ – ma’n edrych fel ‘se’n ‘saith,’ on’d ydy? Dyna, hmmm, gyd-ddigwyddiad od.”“Oh, the Old Molten Gods, mun! What’s happened to the door? And what about the number – it’s not ‘seventeen’ – it looks as if it’s ‘seven,’ doesn’t it? That’s a, hmmm, strange coincidence!”
“A beth am ‘yn, Davie? ‘Drycha! ‘Neno Wezir! Ma’n edrych yn ffres – gwlyb – coch – tipyn bach fel gwaed, iawn? Tàg, on’d ife? ‘Y’ â’i choesau i fyny a dwy linell ar ei chroes – ¥? Fel arwydd ‘yuán’ o’r Dwyrain Pell – Triadau – rhyfel rhwng gangiau – cyffuriau, falle? Cofio unrhyw beth o bwys am ‘yn. ‘achan? Ond dyma’r lle’n bendant!”“And what about this, Davie? Look! Name of Wezir! It looks fresh – wet – red – bit like blood, right? Tag, isn’t it? ‘Y’ with the legs up and two lines across it – ¥? Like the ‘yuán’ symbol from the Far East – Triads – gang warfare – drugs, p’rhaps? Remember anything important about this, mate? But this is the place, definite!”
O glywed hyn mae Dai’n dechrau poeni er gwaetha’r olwg cŵl arno. “Sa i’n gw’bod, w. Falle bo’r ‘un’ wedi cw’mpo bant. Ta be’, edrych. Y ffenestri. Ma’n nhw’n hollol dan orchudd tu fewn. Dyna bapur gloyw, on’d ife? Be’ yn y Ddau Fyd sy’n mynd ‘mlaen ‘ma?”On hearing this, Dai starts to worry despite his cool look. “I dunno, mun. Maybe the ‘one’ has fallen off. Anyway, look. The windows. They’re totally covered inside. That’s silver paper, isn’t it? What in the Two Worlds is going on here?
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Dyna ddychryn mor frawychus ac mor annealladwy, nes bod fy meddwl yn cilio rhag yr union syniad, wrth i’m hysgrifbin betruso cyn gwneud marciau ar y papur hwn er cof amdano. Fodd bynnag, â’r galon drymaf, yr wyf fi’n fy ngwthio fy hun i gyfansoddi’r neges hon y byddaf yn ei darlledu atat trwy wactod y gofod ar ffurf symbolau a delweddau, a fydd yn symbylu dy feddyliau’n ddisymwth pan ddaw’r amser priodol.”[Voice from Beyond] “There is a terror so fearful and so incomprehensible, that my mind retreats from the very ideas, as my quill wavers before making marks on this paper to commemorate it. However, with the heaviest of hearts, I am pushing myself to compose this message which I shall be broadcasting to you through the vacuum of space in the form of symbols and images, which will stimulate your thoughts abruptly when the appropriate time comes.”
Ond ni ddaw dim ateb defnyddiol gan Steffan, gan ei fod wedi’i rewi, ac yn rhy brysur yn meddwl am gyd-ddigwyddiadau ynghylch swyngyfaredd niferoedd —But no useful answer comes from Steffan, as he’s frozen, and too busy thinking about coincidences regarding the enchantment of numbers —
“Saith – rhif ffodus i gymaint o bobl – saith math sylfaenol o gatastroffe – rhif cysefin, sy’n ffactorol, lwcus, hapus, saff – y cyfanswm mwya’ tebygol gyda dau ddis – y Saith Salm Benyd – Saith Doethion Rhufain – y Saith yn erbyn Thebae – y Saith Cysgadur – y Saith Bechod Marwol – y Seithfed Nef – Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd…” Ond dyna Dai’n torri ar draws ei fyfyrio rhifolegol —“Seven – a lucky number for so many people – seven fundamental types of catastrophe – a prime number that’s factorial, lucky, happy, safe – the most common total with two dice – the Seven Penitential Psalms – Seven Sages of Rome – the Seven against Thebes – the Seven Sleepers – the Seven Deadly Sins – the Seventh Heaven – Seven Seraphic Sorcerers…” But Dai cuts across his numerological musing —
“Dere ‘mlaen, ‘achan gwirion! Gad i ni fynd i fewn yna, edrych os byddwn ni’n gallu achosi peth o ddifrod maleisus – rhoi gwers i’r hen gythraul cyn iddo ddweud ffarwél wrth ei fywyd galarus unwaith ac am byth – chwedyn dod mas mewn chwinciad chwannen. Paid bod mor dwp, w! Dim ond jocan am bopeth dw i.”“Come on, dozy boy! Let’s get in there, look if we can cause a bit of malicious damage – give the ol’ devil a lesson before he bids farewell to his woeful life once and for all – then get out as quick as quick can be. Don’t be so stupid, mun! I’m only jokin’ about everythin’.”
“O, wel – dw i’m yn deall be’ ti’n weud hanner yr amser, a’r hanner arall, fe fyddi di’n siarad dwli. Sut dyn ni i fod i fynd i mewn? Ma’ fel Cwch Dur Swtach yma!”“Oh, well – I don’t understand what you’re saying half the time, and the other half, you talk nonsense. How’re we supposed to get in? It’s like Swtach’s Steel Hive here!”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Wedi’i arddangos ei hun yn anfynych y mae drygioni o’r math hwn ar wyneb dihalog eich Planed ddihalog hyd yn hyn. Yr wyf fi’n credu’i fod e’n tarddu o’r gwagleoedd di-sêr ar ffin y bydysawd cyfarwydd. Ymhellach, na ellir ynganu’i wir enw trwy gyfrwng yr un iaith sydd yn bodoli a chael ei defnyddio ar hyn o bryd, nag sydd wedi cael ei chlywed gan glustiau dynol ar y Ddaear er pan ddechreuodd ein hynafiaid cynharaf lefaru.”[Voice from Beyond] “Infrequently has evil of this kind exhibited itself on the sacrosanct face of your Planet up to now. I believe it originates from the starless voids on the boundary of the familiar universe. Furthermore, its true name cannot be pronounced my means of any language which exists and is used at the present time, nor which has been heard by human ears on the Earth since when our earliest ancestors began to speak.”
“A, nawr ‘te, Stezza! ‘Nes i gipio’r allwedd sbâr oddi ar yr hoel ar y wal yn yr hen dŵr ‘na ar bwys cegin y plasty ble ma’n rhaid i ni gymryd arnon ni’n bod ni’n dysgu’r holl hen rwtsh ‘na, Ww, ryw fis yn ôl. ‘Naeth ddigwydd pan aeth yr Hen Filwr mas i gael pwl o besychu. Dim ond y ddau ohonon ni o’dd yno ar y pryd, pan o’n i ‘di cael ‘nghadw i mewn ar ôl y gwersi am ryw reswm. ‘Naeth y pethau lamu i‘n llaw – ‘megis trwy hudoliaeth’ t’wel’. Dim ond dwy allwedd dŷ o’r un fath oedd yno, a ‘nes i ddwyn un. ‘Lly, ‘sdim raid i ti fwrw’r drws i lawr, falle, w!”“Ah, now then, Stezza! I nicked the spare key off the nail in the wall in that old tower by the mansion’s kitchens where we have to pretend we’re learning all that old nonsense, Ooh, about a month back. It happened when the Old Soldier went out to have a coughing fit. There were only the two of us there at the time, when I’d been given detention after the lessons for some reason. The things jumped into my hand – ‘as if by magic’ y’see. There were only two house keys of the same kind there, and I took one. So, no need for you to bash the door down, p’rhaps, mun!”
“Hei, aros funud, Davo! Dyw’r allwedd ddim yn gweithio. Ma’r drws wedi mynd yn reit sownd. Yn wir. Gan bwyll mêt, paid torri’r peth. Fydd ‘yn yn dalcen caled, reit?”“Hey, wait a minute, Davie! The key’s not working. The door is stuck dead tight. Really. Steady on mate, don’t beak the thing. This’ll be hard going, right?”
“I’r Hen Dduwiau â fe, ‘te, w! Cer ‘mlaen, Stezz! Dal ati, iwsia d’ysgwydd – hwpa – neu rywbeth! Dyna ti – da iawn ti – Caer Procter, dyma ni’n mynd i mewn mewn chwinciad! Dos di yn dy flaen di, ‘te, ‘achan!”“To the Old Gods with it, then, man! Go on, Stezz! Stick at it, use your shoulder – shove – or something! That’s it – good on ya – Fortress Procter, we’re coming in in a flash! You go on first, then, matie!”
“Gan bwyll, y gwrol ryfelwr! Be’ ar y Nw Yrth sy’n digwydd yn fan’ma?”“Steady on, you brave warrior! What on the Nw Yrth’s going on by ‘ere?”
“Paid bod mor ofnus, y cachgi, w! Gad i ni edrych be’ sy’n bod, casglu’r ysbail, cynnau’r tân i guddio’n holau, chwedyn dos i’r diawl o’r lle ‘ma. Iawn? Myn Lushfé, ma’ gwynt traed y meirw’n chwythu ‘ma – ma’n ddigon oer i sythu brain!”“Don’t be so scared, you coward, mun! Let’s look what’s up, collect the spoils, light the fire to hide our tracks, then get the hell out of this place. OK? By Lushfé, the east wind’s blowin’ ‘ere – it’s cold enough to freeze brass monkeys!”
“Be’? Hei, aros di, mêt! Pa ysbail? Be’ sy’n mynd 'mla’n, Dai? ‘Sdim byd ‘ma, dim ond hen sothach dyw’m o werth i neb.”“Wha’? Hey, wait, mate! What spoils? What’s goin’ on, Dai? There’s nothin’ here, only tat that’s of no value to anyone.”
“‘Sdim ots, ‘achan, dim ond rhyw feddwl o’n i, taw falle byddai ‘ma rywbeth neis, rhyw fath o swfenîr bach i ‘nghofio fi am ‘yn hen ysgolfeistr caredig unwaith ei fod wedi marw. O’dd e wastad yn clebran am faint a dimensiynau’r pyramidiau, a wi’n siŵr iddo fe ddod â model i’r dosbarth sawl gwaith. Fe fyddai’n gweud fe ddylwn i fynd bant am byth i Anialdir y Dwyrain, ac fe fyddwn i gartre yno achos mod i mor glyfar â’r mwmis!”“No worries, mate, I was just thinkin’ that maybe there’s be something nice here, some kind of little souvenir to remind me of my kindly old schoolmaster once he’s died. He was always going on about the size and dimensions of the pyramids, and I’m sure he brought a model to the class a few times. He would say I should go off for ever to the Eastern Desert, and I’d be at home there because I’m as clever as the mummies!”
“Reit, iawn – ond, dim tân, y taniwr gwyrgam, fe fyddai hynny’n ofnadw', ac ma’ eisoes ddigon o graffiti yma, ‘fyd. A gyda llaw, mae’r mwmis yn fwy golygus na ti, ta be’!”“Right, OK – but, no fire, you twisted fire-starter, that’d be awful, and there’s already enough graffiti here, too. And by the way, the mummies are more good-lookin’ than you, anyway!”
“Ha, doniol iawn. Ti sy â gwep fel tarw, was. Dim problem, bydi. Dim ond jocan o’n i, cofia. Ond o’r braidd wi’n gallu gweld – ma’n hala ofn ofnadw' arna i – a bod yn hollol onest nawr!”“Ha, very funny. It’s you who’s got a face like a bull, m’lad! No problem, buddy. I was just jokin’, remember. But I can hardly see – it’s really givin’ me the jitters – totally honest, now!”
“O, pwy yw’r hen gachgi nawr, te, Dai-boi? Dyma ti, cydia yno i – fi fydd yn ledio’r ffordd – dim ond ffôl a red rhag ei gysgod, ha, ha!”“Oh, who’s the old coward now, then, Dai-boy? Here ya go, grab onto me – I’ll lead the way – only a fool runs from his shadow, ha ha!”
Ac yna mae’r drws derw, trwchus yn twyllo’r ddau fandal yn gydamserol, trwy agor ohono’i hun. Mewn agosrwydd annisgwyl at ei gilydd, maen nhw’n baglu i mewn i’r tŷ llychlyd, sydd â ffenestri cuchiog, heb olwg, ac iorwg arswydus ar ei dalcennau. Yma, mae tywyllwch cefnforol. Fe fyddai’n anghywir dweud bod y goleuni yn y fangre hon wedi lleihau nes iddo ddiflannu. Yn hytrach, mae golau wedi cael ei rwystro’n gyfan gwbl rhag dod i mewn. Ac o rywle, dyna’r Llais Trallodus yn siantio, ac mae’n swnio fel ryw fwystfil aberthol yn nadu’n hir ac yn uchel mewn poen —And the thick, oak door tricks the two vandals simultaneously, by opening on its own. In unexpected proximity to each other, they stumble into the dusty house, which has sightless, scowling, windows, and horrific ivy on its gables. Here, there is oceanic darkness. It would be incorrect to say that the illumination in this place has lessened until it disappeared. Rather, light has been prevented completely from entering. And from somewhere, there’s the Vexatious Voice chanting, and it sounds like some sacrificial beast whining long and loud in pain —
Gwrandewch, O Wylwyr!
Yn y fforest ddofn,
Poer coedwigwr ar ei lafn,
Chwap cân y fwyell --
O Wylwyr, dewch!		Listen. Oh Watchers!
In the deep forest,
A woodsman spits on his blade,
Swiftly sings the axe --
Oh Watchers, come!
Fan hyn, mae’r Fagddu’n heigio â gwyll corfforol, sy’n creu llif seimllyd ym mhob man. Yma, oerfel hynafol fel twndra byw, gyda dannedd gwenwynllyd ac ewinedd â gwaed du arnynt, sy’n hofran ar fin tynnu adeiladwaith y lle yn gareiau. A hefyd – rhywbeth – pa beth ydy? Sŵn? Mwmian? Canu? Alaw, efallai? Dyna fe, unwaith eto – yn gliriach erbyn hyn – dirgryniad, bron yn organig, sy’n curo’n rhythmig, ac mae’i frigau a’i bantiau’n galarnadu ac yn udo ym mherfeddion y düwch. Dyma gyfarth Steff, fel petai’n gi bach sy wedi’i ddamsgel yn anfwriadol, ac wedyn yn rhedeg i ffwrdd i guddio. Ond mae’r Llais yn parhau —In this place, the Blackness is teeming with physical gloom, which creates a slimy flow everywhere. Here, ancient coldness like living tundra, with poisoned teeth and talons with black blood on them, hovers on the point of tearing the structure of the place to ribbons. And also – something – what is it? Sound? Mumbling? Singing? A tune, perhaps? There it is, once again – clearer now – a vibration, almost organic, that’s beating rhythmically, and its peaks and troughs lament and howl in the depths of the darkness. Steff yelps, as if he were a puppy who’s been trodden on accidentally, and then runs off to hide. But the Voice continues —
Arhoswch, O Wezir!
O’r Fagddu sy’n cylchdroi gan weithio’n fathol,
Nas gwelir oddi mewn i’ch angerdd arteithiol,
Dewch chi, O Gysgod hunan-fyfyriol,
Sy’n cyson gyflawni gorchwylion affwysol,
Gan ddod â lledrith anhysbys, echryslon!
O Wezir, ufuddhewch!		Dally, Oh Wezir!
Oh, Dark revolving in roiling activity,
Unseen from within your torturous passions,
Come then, Oh self-regarding Shadow,
Which constantly satisfies labours abysmal,
Bringing unknown enchantment terrible!
Oh Wezir, obey!
Mae’r halogwyr yn treiddio’n bellach, trwy’r cyntedd ac i mewn i’r dramwyfa. A dyma’r gwynt, trwchus a thrwm, o thus myglyd, fel pinwydd yn llosgi, yn bygwth trechu’r ddau. Yn yr awyrgylch mwll hwn, dyma dafodau di-rif o dân yn arnofio’n wyllt, a dafnau fyrdd o waed byw – cyrbibion teimladol wedi’u wahanu o un cythraul adwythig, heb enw – ac maent i gyd yn disgwyl yr eiliad pan ddisgynnant ar y cnawd amharod fel haid o chwilod ysglyfaethus er mwyn deifio, a rhwygo, a difetha. Ond hyd yma maen nhw mewn dimensiwn arall, fel petai, wedi'u cuddio rhag synhwyrau'r llanciau sy'n gweithio'n rhy galed i ddadansoddi'r hyn sy'n digwydd o'u cwmpas. Ac mae’r Llais, wedi ymgolli yn ei drallod, yn dal ati o hyd —The defilers penetrate further, through the vestibule and into the passageway. And the smell, thick and heavy, of stifling incense, like burning pines, threatens to overcome the two. In this sultry atmosphere, numberless tongues of fire float wildly about, and myriad drops of living blood – sensate fragments separated from one nameless, baneful demon – and they are all awaiting the moment when they shall descend on the unprepared flesh like a swarm of rapacious beetles to scorch, and rend, and destroy. But so far they are in another dimension, as it were, cloaked from the senses of the lads which are working too hard to analyse what is happening around them. And the Voice, lost in its tribulation, continues still —
Mor landeg Tefnuth!
O Tefnuth, sy’n arwain yr ysbrydion,
Fe ddof â jin sych ac ynddo lysiau pêr!
Tefnuth, O, sy’n caru golud,
Agor y drysau, gad i fi gael sgwrs â nhw!
Braf Tefnuth, hyhi sy’n edrych ar ôl y meirwon oll,
O gei di ‘ngwella i?
Tefnuth biau pob hoen!		So good-looking is Tefnuth!
Oh Tefnuth, leader of the spirits,
I bring you dry gin with herbs in!
Tefnuth, Oh, who loves riches,
Open the doors, let me speak to them!
Fine Tefnuth, she who cares for all the dead,
Oh, will you heal me?
Tefnuth owns all joy!
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Nid marwolaeth sy’n dilyn yn ei gamau, y peth hwn heb enw, nage, fy machgen. Na chysgod y bedd ychwaith. Gan mai hanfod dioddefaint yw’r endid hwn a’i filoedd o lygaid dall yn hollol las yr awyr fel eiddo baban heb ei eni yn y bru, a’i grafangau o garreg cyn ddued â phechod y Ddau Fyd. Mae’r gwyll llechwrus hwn yn ansylweddol ond mae ganddo ddwsinau o adenydd o ledr cyn wyrdded â’r llys yn y Pwll Gresynus, cynffonau fel seirff gwrthun, a phluen cyn wynned â’r gwynt. Mae’n gallu blasu balchder ac ymffrost o bell i ffwrdd. Yn wir, y mae’n well ganddo ysglyfaeth ac yn ei brest galon yn curo’n gryf, gan ei fod yntau’n ymborthi ar ansicrwydd, braw, ac atgasedd y rhai byw…[Voice from Beyond] “It is not death that follows in its steps, this nameless thing, no, my boy. Nor the shadow of the grave, either. For this entity is the essence of suffering, with its thousands of blind eyes which are completely sky-blue like those of an unborn babe in the womb, and its stony claws as black as the sin of the Two Worlds. This furtive gloom is insubstantial but has dozens of wings as green as the slime in the Wretched Pool, tails like repugnant snakes, and feathers as white as the wind. It can taste pride and vainglory from afar. Indeed, it prefers prey with a heart beating strongly in its breast, as it feeds on the uncertainty, fear, and hatred of the living…
“…A phan fydd ef wedi dal dyn addas, un a fydd wedi dymuno gorchymyn yr Hen Feistri Enbyd, yna bydd ef yn cosbi’r creadur truenus y tu mewn i’w Gwch o Ddur, gan lapio corff y pechadur â thorchau rhewllyd, wrth feddiannau a threiddio i’w feddwl. Myfi a ddylai wybod, er imi gael fy nhemtio a’m camarwain gan yr Hen Filwr ar ffurf yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, a chwympo oddi wrth ras ar hap a damwain. Dim ond ychydig rai pur eu calon a all ddianc rhag ei aelodau hollgofleidiol, ac felly bydd rhaid iti roi'r pwys mwyaf ar ddysgu aberthu’r arall anfuddiol er mwyn achub dy hunan yn y pen draw rhag iti drengi’n llwyr, ynteu waeth!”“…And when it has caught a suitable man, one who has desired to command the Terrible Old Masters, then it will punish the pitiful creature within its Hive of Iron, wrapping the sinner’s body in freezing coils, whilst possessing and penetrating his mind. I should know, although I was tempted and misled by the Old Solider in the guise of the Old Holy Warrior, and fell from grace by accident. Only a few pure of heart can escape from its all-embracing limbs, and so you will have to put the greatest importance on learning to sacrifice the worthless other in order to save yourself, in the end, lest you perish entirely, or worse!”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 23

Pennod Saith ar Hugain: Twyllo (Lleisiau 23) / Deceiving (Voices 23)

Gyda golwg ar ffotograffiaeth draddodiadol, proses a ddefnyddir yn y bôn er mwyn recordio patrymau o olau, gwyll, a lliw, cysgodion yw rhannau tywyllaf y ddelwedd olaf, a goleubwyntiau yw’r rhai goleuaf. Yn anffodus, oblegid natur gemegol y ffilm, mae ganddi amrediad dynamig cyfyngedig yn unig, o ran y delweddau y gellir eu cynrychioli. Felly, pan ddatblygir ffotograffau, bydd angen defnyddio prosesau neilltuol (megis cymhwysiad, er enghraifft), er mwyn cynhyrchu delweddau fydd yn darlunio’r gwrthrych yn fanwl. Heb y fath dechnegau, mae dau ganlyniad yn bosibl: un ai bydd y llun yn cael ei wanhau’n llwyr, ynteu’r cysgodion yn troi’n flotiau duon nas gwahaniaethir. A allwn ni, felly, o’r safbwynt hwn, gymharu prosesau ffotograffig â rhai meddyliol megis cofio, dadansoddi, rhesymu, a dehongli, lle bydd natur y canlyniad a gynrychiolir yn dibynnu’n fanwl ar liaws o ffactorau o bob math sydd yn cyd-adweithio mewn modd cymhleth iawn? Efallai na honnem fod ffotograffau’n dweud celwyddau, er eu bod yn gallu twyllo’r gynulleidfa’n edrych arnynt. Ond yn achos prosesau meddyliol, sut y dylem geisio dod i’r casgliad cywir, neu gyrraedd barn briodol, am eu gallu i dwyllo neu fod yn anonest, hyd yn oed ar ôl ystyried yn rhesymegol am amser maith?

With a view to traditional photography, a process which is used, fundamentally, to record patterns of light, dark, and colour, shadows are the darkest parts of the final image, and highlights are the lightest ones. Unfortunately, because of the chemical nature of the film, it has only a restricted dynamic range, on the part of the images that can be represented. Thus, when photographs are developed, there is a need to use particular processes (such as adjustment, for example), in order to produce images that depict the object in detail. Without such techniques, two results are possible: either the picture will be completely washed-out, or the shadows will turn into black blotches that cannot be differentiated. Can we, therefore, from this point of view, compare photographic processes with mental ones such as remembering, analysing, reasoning, and interpreting, where the nature of the results produced depends in detail on a host of factors of all kinds which interact in a very complex way? Perhaps we would not allege that photographs tell lies, although they can trick the audience looking at them. But in the case of mental processes, how should be try to come to the correct conclusion, or arrive at an appropriate opinion, about their ability to deceive or be dishonest, even after considering logically for a long time?

Fel molysgiaid yw meddyliau, i raddau helaeth, meddaf fi, y cyn-filwr hwn wedi troi’n fasnachwr bywydau, gan eu bod yn fwystfilod meddal, morthwyliadwy, a llithrig, ar yr wyneb o leiaf, a chymryd popeth amdanynt at ei gilydd. Pethau dieithr a dychrynllyd yw’r angenfilod hyn, erbyn ystyried bellach, sydd wedi cymryd meddiant ohonom ni, goeliwch chi mi, er pan oeddem ni’n belenni o gelloedd yn ymffurfio yn y groth. Maent yn proffesu eu bod yn gyfeillgar, defnyddiol, a chariadus, ond yn lle hyn, y gelynion gwaethaf i weithredu’n effeithiol, penderfynu, cyrraedd nodau, ac ennill y gwobrau haeddiannol ydynt hyw.Thoughts are like molluscs, to a great extent, say I, this former soldier become a merchant of lives, as they are beasts which are soft, malleable, and slippery, on the surface at least, taking everything about them into consideration. These monsters are strange and terrifying beasts, when one thinks further, which have possessed us, believe you me, from when we were balls of cells forming themselves in the womb. They profess they are friendly, useful, and loving, but instead of this, they are the worst enemy to functioning effectively, to deciding, to achieving results, and to winning the prizes deserved.
Ni awgrymwn i y dylai dyn aflonyddu arnynt heb fod dirfawr angen, rhag iddo gychwyn ar daith tuag at wallgofrwydd ac anobaith. Cymhleth ac aruthrol o wasgaredig yn yr ymennydd yw’r mecanwaith moleciwlaidd sy’n cyfrif, amgodio, cyfuno, adwybod, ac argofio, meintiau enfawr o hysbysrwydd a all fod yn rhyfeddol o amrywiol. Endidau amryfal yw meddyliau, ac nid oes dim dal arnynt. Maent yn dod i’r golwg yn llechwraidd yn aml, ac ofer ceisio dweud wrthynt na ddylent ddeffro cysgodion cysglyd.I would not suggest that one should trouble them without there being extreme need, lest one begin on a journey towards madness and despair. Complex and immensely distributed in the brain is the molecular mechanism which calculates, encodes, unifies, recognises, and recalls enormous amounts of information which can be strangely varied. Thoughts are multifarious entities, and there is no holding them back. Often, they come into view furtively, and it is futile to try to tell them that they should not awaken sleepy shades.
Ac yma yn yr anialwch tanddwr, wedi’i foddio gan yr Afon Wylofus, lle, fel pelican unig ac ar goll, rwy’n crwydro ers cyn cof, nid yw’n bosibl gadael llonydd i’r trosiad ynghylch yr infertebratau. Dyfalir mai cragen allanol, led-dryloyw sydd â rhai meddyliau, fel petaent yn debyg i frennig, a bod hon yn eu hamddiffyn rhag ymyrraeth a diraddiad. Ond yn ogystal â honno, mae gan y rhan fwyaf ohonynt droed cyhyrog a all eu glynu wrth gysyniadau eraill, ac sydd yn eu hangori yn y sylweddau cemegol, chwyrlïol sy’n wrtaith cymhleth i’r meddwl, ac sy’n bwydo’r ymennydd.And here in the underwater desert, drowned by the Tearful River, where, like a pelican, lonely and lost, I have been wandering from time immemorial, it is not possible to leave the metaphor of the invertebrates alone. It is guessed that some thoughts have a partially-transparent outer shell, as if they were like limpets, and that this defends them against interference and degradation. But in addition to that, most of them have a muscular foot that can stick them to other concepts, and which anchors them in the swirling chemical substances which are the complex fertilizer of the mind, and which feed the brain.
Y rhain sydd biau tafod danheddog hefyd, ac maent yn crynhoi’n raddol ronynnau bychain o ymborthiant, gan ffynnu a thyfu i fod yn agregau anarferol. Camddehonglid yn hawdd fod y strwythurau estron hyn wedi’u gwneud o syniadau, coelion, delweddau a theimladau’n debyg i grochan hudol sydd wastad yn llawn. Dyma’r tawddlestr fydd yn rhyddhau ar hap a damwain senomorffiaid a chanddynt gennau anhreiddiadwy a miloedd o ddannedd gwaedlyd a rheibus a bair i ddyn frwydro’n ffyrnig yn eu herbyn, wrth wastraffu ei holl rym bywiol. Neu ar y llaw arall, efallai eu bod yn debycach i aelodau anataliadwy o’r tylwyth teg fydd yn dawnsio gyda dyn nes iddo bron â marw o orflinder, ac wedyn sugno ei enaid allan gan adael dim ond plisgyn lledfyw, gwag ar ôl.It is these that have a toothed tongue too, and they gradually accumulate tiny particles of nourishment, flourishing and growing to be unusual agglomerations. It could easily be misinterpreted that these strange structures made of ideas, beliefs, images, and feelings, are similar to a magical cauldron that is always full. It is this melting-pot which releases at random xenomorphs with impenetrable scales and thousands of bloody, rapacious fangs, that cause one to fight fiercely against them, whist wasting one’s vital force. Or on the other hand, perhaps they are more like irrepressible members of the fairy-folk who dance with one until one almost dies from exhaustion, and then suck out one's soul leaving only an empty, half-alive husk behind.
Mae meddyliau’n tueddu i grwydro a threiglo; i blethu eu rhannau cyfansoddol, i gydymdreiddio a chroesffrwythloni, gan newid a chael eu newid yn eu tro. Yn hyn o beth mae fel pe baent yn fwtantiaid o ryw fyd arall, yn bell iawn i ffwrdd oddi wrth yr eiddom ni. Maent yn gweithredu ac yn cael eu defnyddio mewn moddau sydd y tu hwnt i’n gallu i’w deall yn gywir, neu’n llawn o leiaf. Felly mae rhai’n honni bod meddyliau, a chofion yn enwedig, yn rhaffo hanner celwyddau’n gyffredinol, a dweud y lleiaf, gan mai anodd yw eu hoelio a’u hailddosbarthu heb eu llurgunio. Dyma am nad cynrychioli ffeithiau diamheuol y mae llawer o feddyliau, erbyn synfyfyrio’n ddwys amdanynt, er ein gobeithion gorau.Thoughts tend to wander and mutate, to plait their component parts, to interpenetrate and cross-fertilize, changing, and being changed in turn. In this matter, it is as if they were mutants from some other world, very far away from ours. They operate and are used in ways which are beyond our ability to understand correctly, or completely at least. Thus, some allege that thoughts, and memories in particular, in general string together a pack of half-lies, to say the least, since it is hard to nail them down and re-distribute them without mangling them. This is because many thoughts do not represent undisputed facts, when one meditates intently on them, despite our best hopes.
Felly, ni ddylem drafod ein clystyrau coffaol fel pe baent yn gywir neu’n anghywir, am mai nodweddion iaith yw gwirionedd ac anwiredd, nad ydynt yn perthyn i wrthrychau, ac yn enwedig nid rhai ansylweddol megis meddyliau. Lle na fydd yna fod cydwybodol yn llefaru, lle na fydd cywirdeb na chelwydd ychwaith. A sut bynnag, materion na allwn ni gyfeirio atynt yn fanwl glir, y dylem gadw’n ddistaw amdanynt, rhag inni gonsurio rhithiau grymus a ffrochus gyda’n geiriau rhy rydd, na fedrwn ni wedyn eu rheoli.Therefore, we should not discuss our memorial clusters as if they were correct or incorrect, for truth and untruth are characteristics of language, which do not belong to objects, and especially not insubstantial ones such as thoughts. Where there is no conscious being speaking, there is neither accuracy nor lie either. And in any case, matters we cannot refer to perfectly correctly, we should keep silent about, lest we conjure powerful and turbulent spectres with our too-free words, which we cannot control in the end.
Nid wedi’u naddu mewn marmor y mae meddyliau oll, na cherfir hwy mewn maen fel cofebion clasurol ychwaith, er yr ymddengys bod sawl wedi’u smentio mewn lle. Maent yn fwy cyffelyb i gwrelau caregog, sy’n gasgliadau o filiynau o anifeiliaid microsgopaidd, fydd yn ffynnu ac epilio, tyfu a threngi yn y môr, gan ffurfio riffiau enfawr heb rwystr. Eto i gyd, fe allant hwy fod fel sbyngau, wedi’u diffinio gan eu habsenoldebau, eu tyllau, cymaint â’u sylwedd soeglyd.Not hewn in marble are all thoughts; nor are they carved in stone like classical memorials either, although it appears that some are cemented in place. They are more like rocky corrals, which are collections of millions of microscopic animals, which flourish and breed, grow and perish in the sea, forming enormous reefs without restraint. Then again, they can be like sponges, defined by their absences, their holes, as much as by their soggy substance.
Ar y raddfa leiaf, gwneir meddyliau o flociau adeiladu sylfaenol y bydysawd. Mae yna atomau, sy’n lle gwag at ei gilydd. Ynddynt y gwasgerir gronynnau elfennol sef leptonau megis electronau, a gymhellir gan yr egwyddorion ystadegol sy’n disgrifio’u tonffwythiannau mathemategol i gylchdroi o amgylch niwclews. Yno y mae baryonau, hynny yw protonau a niwtronau a wneir o gwarciau, wedi’u clymu â glwonau. Ar y raddfa fwyaf, mae ein meddyliau’n ehangu i gwmpasu galaethau o sêr mewn clystyrau, ffilamentau, a haenau sy’n amgáu gwagleoedd helaeth.On the smallest scale thoughts are made of the fundamental building-blocks of the universe. There are atoms, which are empty space, on the whole. In them are scattered elementary particles namely leptons such as electrons, which are compelled by the statistical principles that describe their mathematical wave-functions to circulate about a nucleus. There, there are baryons, that is protons and neutrons which are made of quarks, bound with gluons. On the largest scale, our thoughts expand to encompass galaxies of stars in clusters, filaments, and layers that enclose extensive voids.
Mae’r meddyliau pwysicaf yn nofio ar ddyfnderoedd gwahanol yng nghawl biocemegol yr ymennydd, llawn amcanion, emosiynau, ac awyddau sydd wastad yn corddi wrth iddynt gyd-adweithio. Mae rhai’n bodoli ar lan môr ymwybod, yn drothwyol ond o fewn cyrraedd golau dealltwriaeth. Cleddir rhai eraill yn affwysau tywyllaf yr anymwybod. Gall cofion neilltuol oroesi drwy gydol oes dyn. Ystyrier melyster ysgytwol y cusan cyntaf, a beth am golled ac angau, llawn awydd hiraethus? Rywbryd, fel pe baent yn gameleonod, gellir adnewid brithgofion ac argraffion gan henaint, neu pan newidia amgylchiadau.The most important memories swim at different levels in the brain’s biochemical soup, full of intentions, emotions, and desires, which are always churning as they interact. Some exist on the shore of consciousness, liminal but within reach of the light of understanding. Some others are buried in the darkest depths of the unconscious. Particular memories can survive throughout one’s life. Consider the shocking sweetness of the first kiss, and what about loss and death, full of nostalgic desire? Sometimes, as if they were chameleons, faint memories and impressions can be modified by old-age, or when circumstances change.
Ac, O, mor odidog a rhyfedd yw lliwiau meddyliau! Ystyriwch drwch wyneb syniad, cyn felyned â gwair, a’r gwaetgochion sy’n troelli islaw, wedi’u gloywi gan wres byw. Mae’r lliwiau hyn yn cymysgu â lliwiau’r hydref fel browngoch ac oren, porffor a llwyd. Ac wedyn dyna’r du dwys, lliw euog yr Hen Lyfrau, yn nofio dros yr haen amddiffynnol, ddofn. Mae’r trwch hwn yn symudliw, ac yn adlewyrchu’r byd y tu allan, gan greu llewyrch metelaidd, syfrdanol ar yr wyneb, sydd yn cyfuno oren heulwen, lliwiad adenydd glöynnod byw, a gwyrdd crôm. Glasgoch yw lliw llygad ddu ar ffo, wedi’i gwella gan stêc, a goffeir yn hwyrach gan enfys rydlyd. Ond, fe fydd eiliw llachar meddyliau’n pylu bob tro, a lle bu ar y cychwyn brif liwiau, cryf a disglair, y bydd arlliwiau pastel, aneglur yn ymddangos o’r diwedd.And, Oh, how wonderful and strange are the colours of memories! Consider the surface-layer of an idea, as yellow as hay, and the blood-reds that whirl below, burnished by living heat. These colours mix with the colours of autumn, such as auburn and orange, purple and grey. And then there’s the intense black, the guilty colour of the Old Books, swimming above the deep, defensive layer. This coating is iridescent, and reflects the world outside, creating a surprising metallic glow on the surface, which unites the orange of sunshine, the colouration of butterfly wings, and chrome green. Violet is the colour of a disappearing black-eye, made better by steak, commemorated later by a rusty rainbow. But, the brilliant aspect of thoughts always fades, and where there were at the start primary colours, strong and vibrant, unclear pastel shades appear at last.
Mae gan feddyliau lygaid, ond ni allant eu gweld eu hunain ar ffurf lluniau. Yn hytrach, dim ond llecynnau o wahaniaeth sy’n bodoli yn gyferbyniad i rai eraill ydynt yn eu hanfod, a fyddant yn wynebu’r dyfodol i ragweld yr hyn fydd yn digwydd, ai edrych yn ôl tuag at y gorffennol i goffáu’r hyn sydd wedi mynd. Mewn modd tebyg, mae cofion yn galw am atgoffäwr i ddehongli drostynt hwy. Pan fyddant yn anfon eu teimlyddion allan i beri diddordeb, cyffroi’r teimladau, neu ogleisio’r dychymyg, bydd meddyliau’n hudo ein synnwyr realiti. Byddant yn ei ystumio’n gyfrwys, wrth droi a newid ein safbwynt ar y byd, gan ddihuno arwyddion fyrdd gwahanol, ar yr un amser. Ac fel hyn byddant yn eu cuddliwio eu hunain yn dda dan y gymysgfa o ddelweddau wedi’u cyflwyno.Thoughts have eyes, but they cannot see themselves in the form of pictures. Rather, they are essentially only patches of difference that exist in contrast to others, whether they are facing the future to foresee what will happen, or looking back towards the past to commemorate what has gone. In a similar way, memories call for a rememberer to interpret for them. When they send their feelers out to provoke interest, excite the emotions, or tickle the imagination, thoughts enchant our sense of reality. They distort it craftily, whilst turning and changing our viewpoint on the world, awakening myriad different symbols, at the same time. And in this way, they camouflage themselves well under the mixture of images presented.
Adlewyrchiadau lluosog oddi ar wyneb meddyliau sy’n achosi patrymau ymyrraeth. Bydd y fath ffenomen yn eu cymhlethu, gan ehangu neu deneuo rhai nodweddion yn fwy na chyneddfau eraill. Ceir, er enghraifft, yr haf hwnnw, hir a thwym, amser maith yn ôl, pan redai’r chwaer a’i brawd gwyn eu byd heb ofal drwy’r Ardd Gyntefig yng nghysgod y pinwydd yn y Byd Arall, yn rhywle draw dros y Gwagle Amhontiadwy. Ond hyd yn oed y profiad hwn a ddiddymwyd yn hwyrach gan gam-drin, gan dranc, a chan ddagr, boeth gan waed, arf a drafodwyd gan Dad, wedi drysu a chreulon.Multiple reflections from the surface of thoughts cause interference patterns. Such a phenomenon complicates them, enhancing or attenuating some characteristics more than other attributes. Take, for example, that summer, long and warm, a long time ago, when the blessed sister and her brother would run without a care through the Primal Garden in the shadow of the pines in the Other World, somewhere over the Unbridgeable Void. But even this experience was abolished later by mistreatment, by death, and by a dagger, hot with blood, a weapon that was wielded by a Father, confused and cruel.
Gall canolbwyntio ar feddwl newid y dirwedd oll yn perthyn i’r syniadau a holir; a gall fod llawer o ddallbwyntiau. Os bydd unrhyw un yn ymosod ar feddwl, wedyn bydd yn chwistrellu rhyw bigment rhyfedd allan – yn debyg i’r inc sepia sy’n ddihafal, hen ffasiwn, drudfawr, a ddefnyddid i staenio hen ffotograffau’n frown – gan gymylu’r awyrgylch eneidiol. Ac os bydd dyn yn ceisio dadansoddi neu ddifynio’r broses o feddwl yn rhy fanwl, fe gaiff hyd i waed, fel petai, sy’n anarferol o wyrddlas, â blas copr arno. A dyma fydd yn dwyn i’r gof ddelweddau wedi’u boddio o’r wybr asur a’r eigion glas tywyll, yn ogystal â rhithiau’r meirwon diedifar mewn sachlïain a lludw fydd yn ebychu wrth wasgu eu dwylo a disgyrnu eu dannedd – ‘Cofiwch eich pechodau’ch hun!’Concentrating on a thought can change the whole landscape belonging to the ideas which are being interrogated; and there can be many blind-spots. If anyone attacks a thought, then it will squirt out some strange pigment – like the sepia ink that is unequalled, old-fashioned, expensive, which was used to stain old photographs brown – clouding over the spiritual atmosphere. And if one tries to analyse or dissect the process of thinking in too much detail, one finds, as if were, blood, which is unusually turquoise, tasting of copper. And this brings to mind drowned images of the azure heavens and the dark-blue depths, as well as spectres of the other unrepentant dead in sackcloth and ashes who exclaim whilst wringing their hands and gnashing their teeth – ‘Remember your own sins!’
Mae’r syniadau o obaith a daioni’n meithrin a’n cynnal ni, ond, rywbryd, gall cronni atgofion gwenwynllyd arwain at lid, at anesmwythder dirdynnol, hyd yn oed at dranc. Ymhellach, bydd gwyrdroi meddyliau’n aml yn faleisus. Nid oes ond rhaid inni gofio’r rhai sydd wedi dioddef erledigaeth a lladdfa oherwydd cam resymeg y demagogiaid, a’r rhyfelgwn. ‘Gorffwysent hwy mewn hedd,’ yw’r weddi fud, wrth i ddyfeiswyr ffiaidd y trychinebau rewi ar eu pennau eu hunain, ym mangre las y Fall. Ac yno yr arteithir y gormeswyr gan eu meddyliau, fydd yn anochel a chynddeiriog o fachog, yn lle’r cyn-ddioddefwyr, am byth. Myfi a ddylai wybod, ond hyd yn oed yn waeth, fe’m trallodir gan y gobaith gwan a phoenus dros ben y medraf fi ddianc trwy aberthu’r ysglyfaeth briodol.The ideas of hope and goodness nourish and sustain us, but, sometimes, collecting poisonous recollections can lead to irritation, to excruciating discomfort, even to death. Furthermore, perverting thoughts will often be malicious. We need only remember those who have suffered persecution and slaughter because of the warped logic of the demagogues and the war-mongers. ‘May they rest in peace,’ is the mute prayer, whilst the hateful devisers of the disasters freeze alone, in Perdition’s blue place. And there the oppressors shall be tortured by their thoughts, which are unavoidable and rabidly barbed, in place of the former victims, for ever. I should know, but even worse, I am afflicted by the weak and extremely painful hope that I shall be able to escape by sacrificing the appropriate victim.
Moethau yw rhai meddyliau, Y rhain sydd yn dihuno ymdeimladau melysber a sain canu melodaidd. Dychmygwch arfordir wedi’i ysgeintio â heulwen, sy’n gyforiog o sawrau heilltion. Ac wedyn dyna wêr drewllyd a geir yn yr hen Leoedd Cwrdd i gyd. Gall rhai eraill, fodd bynnag, hyd yn oed wrth iddynt beri inni wylltio’n gaclwm, gynhyrchu perlau eithriadol o werthfawr o safbwynt trawsffurfio a thyfu. Dw i ddim yn gallu anghofio arogl cysegredig resin coed pin yn llosgi mewn thuser o electrwm i wahodd yr Hen Feistri Erchyll. Ond, eto i gyd, nid yw'n bosibl cyfaddef fy mod wedi dysgu dim byd o’r profiad hwn ond gloes ac ing. Mae gan gysyniadau neilltuol werthoedd amrywiol, ar wahanol adegau, mewn mannau diarffordd, ac i feddylwyr penodol. Felly, fe allwn ni drwco syniadau gyda’n gilydd mewn economi cyfnewidiol creadigaeth, hyd nes y daw arian cyfred myfyrio i ben.Some thoughts are luxuries. It is these that arouse most sweet feelings and the sound of melodious singing. Imagine a coast sprinkled with sunshine, teeming with salty smells. And then there’s stinking tallow to be found in all the old Meeting Places. Others, however, can, even as they cause us to get wild with rage, produce enormously valuable pearls from the viewpoint of transformation and growth. I can’t forget the sacred aroma of pine-tree resin burning in a thurible of electrum to invite the Terrible Old Masters. But then again, it is not possible to admit that I have learnt anything from this experience but pain and anguish. Particular concepts have variable values, on different occasions, in out-of-the-way places, and to definite thinkers. Thus, we can swap ideas with each other in an ever-changing economy of creativity, until the currency of contemplation comes to an end.
Arogleuon a theimladau yw angorau cryfion sy’n gadael inni gynnau meddyliau byw, wrth inni lunio straeon ein hoedlau’n hunain. Y digalondid llwyr ar dy ben dy hunan, ar ben y Tŵr Glas, o sylweddoli bod aberth plentyn wedi methu, ond bod colli cariad wedi llwyddo. Arogl siriol cnydau wedi’u cynaeafu un dydd twym adeg y Lleuad Fedi. Blas sur serch wedi’i chwalu yn gorwedd mewn cyrbibion ar waelod yr Afon Chwim. Sawr gwaed balch yn llifo fel rhyferthwy llithrig yn strydoedd Gwlad yr Addewid. Ias wefreiddiol buddugoliaeth yn aros i’w chipio ger Maes Brwyn. Mae’r rhain i gyd yn dal i ffrwydro yn f’ymwybod i‘m hatgoffa am ddigwyddiadau yn fy mywyd, am lawenydd neu erchyllterau.Smells and feelings are strong anchors which allow us to ignite living memories, as we fashion the stories of our own lives. The complete dejection, alone, atop the Blue Tower, from realising that the sacrifice of a child has failed, or that the loss of a lover has succeeded. The cheerful smell of harvested crops one warm day at the time of the September Moon. The sour taste of shattered love lying in fragments at the bottom of the Swift River. The odour of proud blood flowing like a slippery torrent in the streets of the Land of Promise. The electrifying thrill of victory waiting to be snatched by the Field of Rushes. All of these continue to explode in my consciousness to remind me about events in my life, about joy or atrocities.
Fel arfer, yn y fath atgofion, ymddengys y dylai sawrau atgas, fel drewdod sylffyraidd wyau drwg, rwystro gweithredu’n peiriannau recordio meddyliol – yn enwedig mewn achosion o anafiad a phoen. Ond nid o’m rhan i! I’r gwrthwyneb, cyn amled a chynddrwg y bydd y cymysgedd o gyffuriau a gymerwn i mor frwd er mwyn cysylltu â’r Bodau Arallfydol yn adlifo i losgi fy mol fel petai’n llawn asid organig. Cystal y gallaf fi gofio, neu ail-brofi, blas y lindys ar waelod yr ail botel o Decila Angheuol a yfwn i’n feunyddiol i ddileu’r ôl-fflachiau’n codi o’r llanastr wedi’i achosi trwy lyncu’r madarch hudol yn y lle cyntaf.Usually, in such memories, it appears that horrid smells, such as the sulphurous stench of bad eggs, should prevent the functioning of our mental recording machines – especially in cases of injury and pain. But not on my part! On the contrary, how often and how badly does the mixture of drugs I would take so keenly to consult with the Extra-terrestrial Beings, reflux to burn my belly as if it were full of organic acid! How well I can remember, or re-experience, the taste of the caterpillar at the bottom of the second bottle of Lethal Tequila which I would drink daily to obliterate the flash-backs arising from the mess caused by guzzling the magic mushrooms in the first place.
Bydd rhai meddyliau’n mynd yn sownd y tu hwnt i’w tiroedd prowlan arferol. Yn achos pobl yn dioddef o glefyd Alzheimer, yn anffodus, fe’u calcheiddir ar is-haenau soled o blaciau alwminiwm. Mewn achosion eraill, efallai y cânt eu golchi ymaith gan alcohol neu gyffuriau gwahanol. Ac wedyn, credir mai tueddu i gael eu dileu’n llwyr y bydd y rhain, yn amlach na heb, cyn cael cyfle i ymsefydlu, gan gael eu hamsugno drachefn yn y matrics o ddeunydd organig heb adael ôl. Ac felly y byddant yn ymadael â’r fuchedd hon heb yngan gair, mae’n ymddangos. Ond efallai mai hyd yn oed y meddyliau hyn a fydd yn darlledu eu cyfrinachau trwy’r gofod ar ffurf tonnau electromagnetig cyn marw, fodd bynnag.Some thoughts get stuck beyond their usual prowling-grounds. In the case of people suffering from Alzheimer's disease, unfortunately, they are calcified on solid sub-strata of aluminium plaques. In other cases, perhaps they get washed away by alcohol or different drugs. And then, it is believed that these tend to be deleted entirely, more often than not, before having a chance to establish themselves, being absorbed again in the matrix of organic material without leaving a trace. And so, they shall depart from existence without uttering a word, it appears. But maybe even these shall broadcast their secrets through space in the form of electromagnetic waves before dying, however.
Dyna braf yw’r fforwyr ar y saith môr seicig, wedi’u meddwi ar sylweddau a’u henwau yn rhedeg trwy’r wyddor i gyd o alffa i omega! Gwyliwch wrth iddynt ddiflannu’n llon o’r golwg i lawr tyllau mwydyn cosmig! Yno byddant yn chwilio mor frwd am bethau fydd yn dianc bob tro oblegid eu diffyg nodweddion diffiniol, sefydlog, megis serch, gwynfyd, a boddhad. Am ffodus ydynt er eu ffolineb! Ond nid hyn a ddigwydd yn f’achos i! Ni chaf fi anghofio, na diflannu. Ac fe fydd pob gweithred, boed yn dda neu’n ddrwg, yr wyf wedi’i chyflawni erioed, yn dod yn ôl i’m dirdynnu, ar y naill law oblegid diffyg haelioni, ar y llaw arall oherwydd y gormodedd o fileindra.How fine are the sailors on the seven psychic seas, intoxicated on substances whose names run through the whole alphabet from alpha to omega! Watch as they joyfully disappear from view down cosmic worm-holes! There they shall search so enthusiastically for things which always escape due to their lack of stable defining characteristics, such as love, bliss, and satisfaction. How fortunate are they despite their folly! But it is not this that shall happen in my case! I am not allowed to forget, nor to disappear. And every action, be it good or ill, I have ever done, shall come back to torment me, on the one hand because of the lack of generosity, on the other hand, due to the over-abundance of viciousness.
Nid yw’n bosibl i ni fodau dynol benderfynu a yw pob meddwl yn datblygu o’r un hynafiad cyffredin. Ond er hynny, yn aml, ni allwn ni lai na synnu at y patrymau cromatig cyfatebol a ymddengys yn yr amrywiadau di-rif ar y themâu mewnol mwyaf annhebygol. Efallai y sefydlir ein cofion cyntaf wrth inni nofio’n ddiogel yn y groth, pan boblogir lleoliad ein meddyliau â’r cymeriadau dychmygol o fythau ac â llwythau o ddelwau etifeddol. Nid ydym yn gweld y rhain gyda’n llygaid diniwed, wedi’u glynu ynghau trwy ddiogi, hurtrwydd, neu ofn. Yn hytrach y maent yn byw trwom, ynom, gyda ni. Ar hyd ein hoesau, byddant yn llithro eu tendriliau i bob agen o’n personoliaethau, gan reoli canfod a gweithredu. Hwynt-hwy fydd yn darparu’r templedi y’n rhaglennir ganddynt i hela a lladd, i fyw, a charu, a hilio, a marw.It is not possible for us human beings to decide whether every thought develops from the same common ancestor. But despite that, often, we cannot less than be amazed at the corresponding chromatic patterns that appear in the numberless variations on the most unlikely internal themes. Perhaps our earliest memories are laid down as we swim safely in the womb, when the locus of our thoughts is populated with imaginary characters from myths and tribes of inherited images. We do not see these with our innocent eyes, stuck shut through laziness, stupidity, or fear. Rather, they live through is, in us, with us. Throughout our lives, they slide their tendrils into every crevice of our personalities, controlling perception and action. It is they that provide the templates by which we are programmed to hunt and kill, to live, and love, and spawn, and die.
Yn y modd hwn, yr ydym yn bodoli mewn byd seicig sydd yn blastig ac afreal, llawn creaduriaid arallfydol, tentaclog a pharasitig. Dyma dirwedd wedi’i chreu â hud, ac wedi’i llenwi â serch folcanig, a wenwynir ond yn rhy hawdd gan sbeit, atgasedd, ac arswyd. Ac yn ddi-os, felly, pan fydd y waedd wbwb wedi dod a mynd eto, wel, hyd y gwn i, neu, am a gofiaf fi, o leiaf, molysgiaid yw meddyliau i gyd, yn wir.In this way, we exist in a psychic world which is plastic and unreal, full of otherworldly creatures, tentacled and parasitic. This is a landscape created by magic, and filled with volcanic love, poisoned only too easily by spite, hatred, and fear. And undoubtedly, therefore, when the hue-and-cry has come and gone again, well, as far as I know, or, as much as I remember, at least, all thoughts are molluscs, indeed.
O, sut rwy wedi canfod hyn oll – wedi deall yr holl ddirgelion hyn? ‘Dwn i’m, ‘does gen i’r un syniad o gwbl. Fe’m hanfonwyd yma i Limbo, i Burdan, i’r Isfyd, i’r Uffern, gan ffrwydrad dirfawr o ryw fath yn y Byd Cnawdol, oesoedd yn ôl, ond lle’n union rwyf fi, ni wiw imi ddyfalu. Ond dyma fi, ac yma yr ydwyf, bid sicr, a llecyn glas ystyried ydy’n wir. Yma, mae’r drain yn yr ystlys, y symbylau i’r meddwl, fel petai, yn ddi-ball mor ddygn ddolurus, gan mai yma y gorfodir dyn i arteithio’i hun yn rhagorol o dda gyda phob un o’i feddyliau, hyd yn oed y rhai lleiaf pwysig.Oh, how have I discerned all this – understood all these mysteries? I know not, I have not a single idea at all. I was sent here to Limbo, to Purgatory, to the Underworld, to Hell, by an enormous explosion in the Fleshy World, ages ago, but where exactly I am, I dare not guess. But this is me, and here am I, to be sure, and indeed it is the blue locus of considering. Here, the thorns in the side, the goads to the mind, as it were, are unfailingly so sorely painful, because it is here that one is forced to torture oneself exceptionally well with each of one’s thoughts even the least important ones.
Yma, ni fydd yr un gronyn o ryddhad trwy syrthio i gysgu ychwaith, am na fedr dyn gau ei lygaid, yn y siambr hon ym mhle mae amser yn sefyll yn ei unfan. A dyna heb sôn am fethu llwyddo am eiliad i lonyddu llif cyson seiniau, delweddau, a geiriau, a thrwy hyn cyrraedd difancoll melys. Dyma’r cartref i’r gwyll llechwrus heb enw, hanfod dioddefaint, sy’n waeth o lawer na marwolaeth, a chysgod y bedd. Clywodd yr endid hwn fy malchder a’m hymffrost wrth imi droedio’r Ddaear, gan fy nghipio gyda’i grafangau o garreg, wrth lapio fy nghorff ymhlith ei blu a’m llindagu â’i gynffonau fyrdd, cyn ysgwyd ei adenydd a’m cario ymaith i’r Pwll Gresynus. Yno yr oeddwn yn llesgáu, am faint o amser, ‘dwn i ddim.Here, there shall be not a single iota of release through falling asleep either, since one cannot close one’s eyes, in this chamber where time stands still. And that is without mentioning the failure to manage for an instant to stifle the constant flow of sounds, images, and words, and hence reach sweet oblivion. This is the home to the nameless, sneaking gloom, the essence of suffering, which is much worse than death, and the shadow of the grave. This entity sensed my pride and vainglory as I paced the Earth, snatching me with its stony talons, whilst wrapping my body amidst its feathers and throttling me with its myriad tails, before beating its wings and carrying me off to the Wretched Pool. There I languished, for how long, I know not.
Ond nid myfi oedd ar fai, gan mai dim ond gwas ffyddlon wyf fi. Gannoedd o filenia yn ôl, mae’n ymddangos imi erbyn hyn, yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr, roeddem yn chwifio fflag las y priod awdurdodau, y Swynwyr, wrth frwydro yn ôl yn erbyn lluman coch y gwrthryfelwyr bondigrybwyll, y disodlwyr yn ôl eu dymuniad, grymoedd anhrefn, diddymiad, a dihenydd, sef y Delw-addolwyr. Fel asynnod mewn dychryn oeddem, yn rhyfel y galluoedd, a demtid byth a hefyd i groesi drosodd at yr ochr arall, â geiriau teg a thameidiau amheuthun o fara angylion, o ambrosia. Roeddent yn arfer addo heddwch, a llewyrch, a’r gallu i fodloni pob chwant, pe baem ond yn cefnu ar yr Hen Feistri Llymion, gan adael ar ôl eu deddfau hardd, cyfiawn, a chreulon. Ond yn lle ufuddhau i'r rhain, fe fyddai arnom angen ymbleseru yn y mathau gwaethaf o anghyfraith, anghymedroldeb, ac anarchiaeth.But it is not I who am at fault, as I am but a faithful servant. Hundreds of millennia ago, it appears to me by now, during the Great Tumult, we were waving the blue flag of the proper authorities, the Sorcerers, whilst fighting back against the red standard of the so-called rebels, the would-be usurpers, the forces of disorder, dissolution, and death, the Idolaters. Like terrified donkeys were we, in the war of the powers, who were constantly tempted to cross over to the other side, with blandishments and mouth-watering titbits of angelic bread, of ambrosia. They were accustomed to promise peace, and prosperity, and the ability to satisfy every desire, if we were only to reject the Harsh Old Masters, leaving behind their cruel, just, and beautiful laws. But instead of obeying these, we would need to delight in the worst kinds of lawlessness, intemperance, and anarchy.
Fe gefais fy nghymell i gyflawni erchyllterau, yn cynnwys ceisio lladd fy mhlentyn fy hun, a chael gwared ar fy nghariad a chyfeilles orau. Cryf oedd yr hud a oedd yn gweithio yn f’erbyn, a gwan f’ewyllys, ac o ran un weithred erchyll fe lwyddais, tra methais o ran y llall. Ond dim ond gweithio er y lles mwyaf oeddwn drwy’r amser – rwy’n coelio hynny â’m holl galon ddu – fel y mae’r gwŷr grymusaf wedi’i wneud er y cychwyn cyntaf. Ond methu a wneuthum er imi ddilyn y cyfarwyddiadau i’r dim, am a wn i.I was incited to commit atrocities, including trying to kill my own child, and get rid of my lover and best friend. Strong was the magic which worked against me, and weak was my will, and on the part of one terrible action I succeeded, whilst I failed in the other. But I was only working for the greater good all the time – I believe that with the whole of my black heart – as the strongest men have done from the very outset. But I failed although I followed the directions to the letter, as far as I know.
A hynny oll er imi ennill pwerau anhygoel wrth ddysgu’r defodau a’u perfformio hwy i gyd drosodd a thro gan udo geiriau’r llafargan, a’m fflangellu fy hunan hyd nes y bu bron i’m llais ddiflannu’n llwyr, a’m cnawd doddi oddi wrth f’esgyrn. Yn wir fe ddeuthum o hyd i’r rhan fwyaf o’r hyn yr oeddwn wedi bod yn chwilio amdano. Ond delfrydwr diniwed oeddwn i, ac fe fyddai pris cêl i’w dalu am fargen o’r fath, fel sy'n digwydd gan amlaf, er imi gau llygaid ar y ffaith. Tra oeddwn yn ymdrechu i ddianc rhag fy ffawd, dyna oedd un peth na allwn ei wneud, er gwneud fy ngorau glas, gan wylo dagrau o waed, a chwysu asid, a thaenu distryw ac anobaith ar draws ac ar hyd yn fy sgil, fel cythraul grymus o dân o byllau dyfnaf yr Isfyd.And all that although I gained incredible powers whist learning the rites and performing them all over and over, howling the words of the chants, and flagellating myself until my voice almost completely disappeared, and my flesh melted from my bones. Indeed, I found most of that which I had been looking for. But I was an innocent idealist, and there would be a hidden price to be paid for such a bargain as happens most of the time, although I turned a blind eye to the fact. Whilst I was struggling to escape from my fate, that was one thing I could not do, despite doing my very best, crying tears of blood, and sweating acid, and spreading destruction and despair hither and thither in my wake, like a powerful fire-demon from the Underworld’s deepest pits.
Ac erbyn hyn, yn y cwch dirboenus hwn, Tywysog y Crwybr ydwyf fi – ‘sotakh’ a ‘saća,’ a defnyddio ieithoedd y Ddaear nad ydynt o bwys imi ynddynt eu hunain mwyach. A dyna am mai dim ond geiriau’r. Ddefod Amasus nad wy’n gallu eu cofio, fydd o gymorth imi bellach. Ac Arglwydd y Diffeithwch Dwyreiniol ydwyf, hefyd, Swtach, enw sydd yn golygu ‘gorfoleddu mewn afreolaeth.’ Bellach, yma, dim ond yr ellyll cryfaf ymhlith y llengoedd wyf fi, wedi fy nghyfyngu mewn sach grwt, fel petai, i ddisgwyl ergydion ffawd yn unol ag ewyllys y Saith Meistr. Ond er hynny, myfi yw duwdod dryswch, ceidwad caos, lledaenwr llanast, sisialwr sothach, aseswr aflendid, taniwr fflamau, gwadwr gwedduster, a churwr cryts. Yn y carchar hwn, dim ond anfon dringedyddion seicig allan i effeithio ar y Ddau Fyd a ganiateir imi, ond arfau mor bwerus ydynt serch hynny.And by now, in this tortured hive, I am Prince of the Honeycomb -- ‘sotakh’ a ‘saća’ to use languages of the Earth which are not important to me in themselves any more. And that is because only the words of the Amasus Ritual, which I cannot remember, will be of help to me now. And Lord of the Eastern Desert am I, too, Swtach, a name which means ‘rejoicing in disorder.’ Now, here, only the strongest devil amongst the hosts am I, constrained in a child-sack, as it were, to await the blows of fate according to the will of the Seven Masters. But despite that, it is I who am divinity of bewilderment, keeper of chaos, disperser of disorder, whisperer of rubbish, assessor of uncleanness, fanner of flames, denier of decency, and clobberer of kids. In this prison, it is permitted to me only to send out psychic creepers to affect the Two Worlds, but they are such powerful weapons despite that.
Ond cyn imi gael f’alltudio o’r Ddaear, o ganlyniad i’m harbrofi trychinebus, fe’m gorfodwyd gan deimladau tu hwnt i’m gallu i’w rheoli i geisio gadael neges ar gyfer yr un, cnawd o’m cnawd, a thad i’r Mab Darogan, fyddai’n fy ngheisio fi yn y dyfodol. Trwy gyfrwng hon, roeddwn i’n bwriadu fy nghyfiawnhau fy hun, a rhybuddio’r llanc a’i bersonoliaeth wedi’i chwalu oblegid fy methiannau, am y peryglon i ddod, gan esbonio pam a sut y daeth hynny oll i ddigwydd. Nid oeddwn ond yn dymuno gwneud y peth gorau dros y llwyth, y wlad, y dyfodol, dyna graidd y mater. Fe’m temtiwyd, ac ildiais i’r demtasiwn. Fodd bynnag, nid oes dim fel y mae’n ymddangos pan dwyllir dyn gan y Grymoedd Arallfydol. Fel rwyf wedi ceisio esbonio o’r llecyn gwyrgam hwn, yr oedd fy ngeiriau’n cael eu hystumio yn debyg i’m meddyliau i gyd, bob tro yr agorwn i fy ngheg i siarad, neu ddefnyddio f’ymennydd i feddwl.But before I was exiled from the Earth due to my tragic experimentation, I was forced by feelings beyond my ability to control them to try and leave a message for the one, flesh of my flesh, and father to the Son Foretold, who would be seeking me in the future. By means of this, I intended to justify myself, and warn the lad whose personality has been shattered due to my failures, about the perils to come, explaining why and how all this came to happen. I only desired to do the best thing for the tribe, the land, the future, that is the crux of the matter. I was tempted, and I yielded to the temptation. However, nothing is as it appears when one is tricked by the Otherworldly Powers. As I have tried to explain from this twisted locus, my words were being distorted just like all my thoughts, every time I opened my mouth to speak, or used my brain to think.
A ydwyf fi wedi’ch darbwyllo chi? Wel, peidiwch chi â’m camddehongli ‘nghyfeillion, am nad creadur daioni a goleuni mohonof fi bellach, beth bynnag a fûm unwaith. Fe ddechreuais golli rhannau o’m natur ddynol pan ddewisais offrymu’r plentyn i osgoi’r rhyfel. Wedyn parhau a wneuthum, a’r weithred fwyaf enbyd oedd pan yrrais yr un rwy’n ei charu yn anad neb o’i bywyd, er mwyn ennill buddugoliaeth ddrudfawr. Yn y pen draw, euthum yn sombi wedi’i lenwi â chywilydd a hunan-atgasedd, a oedd yn dymuno trywanu ei noddwr blaenorol er mwyn cipio ei nerth, a chan ei fod yn casáu’r hen gastiwr. Er hynny, ni laddais ef, ond yn lle, llwyddo i’m gwanu fy hunan. Yn fuan wedi hynny y deuthum yma.Have I persuaded you? Well, do not misunderstand me, my friends, for I am no creature of goodness and light by now, whatever I once was. I started to lose parts of my human nature when I chose to offer the child to avoid the war. Then I persisted, and the most terrible act was when I drove from her life, the one I love more than anyone, in order to win a most expensive victory. In the end, I became a zombie filled with shame and self-loathing, who desired to stab his former patron to seize his strength, and because he hated the old trickster. Despite that I did not kill him, but instead, succeeded in piercing myself. Soon after that, I came here.
Yn awr, yr wyf yn credu yr anfonir ataf fi un dyn, pur ond colledig, gan hud chwerthinllyd rhyw ffug-Ddewin oedd yn ffrind imi ar un adeg, ac arno eisiau byw am byth. Os gallaf ond perswadio’r dyn hwn i fradychu ei ffrind, asgwrn o'm hesgyrn, wedyn fe enillaf yr hyn rwy’n ei ddymuno o flaen bob dim yn y Ddau Fyd, sef cael fy rhyddhau o’m caethiwed i’r Saith, a chael dial ar yr Hen Filwr sydd wedi achosi hyn oll. Ond yn y cyfamser byddaf yn aros, gwynio, disgwyl, cynllwynio, wrth i’r trychfilod yn sgrialu ym mhobman durio i’m hymennydd gyda’u litani mor gythruddol – ‘chep-er, chep-er, chep-er’ – nes i’r dewis ddyn gyrraedd…Now, I believe that there will be sent to me one man, pure but lost, by the ridiculous magic of some fake-Wizard who was a friend of mine at one time, and who wants to live for ever. If I can but persuade this man to betray his friend, bone of my bones, then I shall gain that which I desire more than all else in the Two Worlds, namely to be released from my bondage to the Seven, and to have revenge on the Old Soldier who has caused all this. But in the meantime, I shall wait, and throb, and expect, and scheme, whilst the insects scrabbling everywhere burrow into my brain with their so-irritating litany -- chep-er, chep-er, chep-er’ – until the chosen man arrives…

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 24

Pennod Wyth ar Hugain: Darganfod (Lleisiau 24) / Discovering (Voices 24)

Dull hynafol o adrodd hanesion yw’r sioe gysgodion. Yn y fath berfformiadau, symudir pypedau cymalog, gwastad, wedi’u torri allan o gerdyn, y tu ôl i sgrin dryleu gan bypedwyr dawnus. Trwy wneud hyn yr ymddengys bod y ffigyrau, sydd yn cynrychioli lliaws o gymeriadau, yn cerdded, dawnsio, ymladd, chwerthin, caru, llefain, a marw. Ac felly, fe’u gorfodir i actio holl ddramâu bywyd er mwyn celf, adloniant, cyfarwyddyd, a rhybudd. Y fath hwyl a geir gan y gynulleidfa o wylio’r pypedau gwirion yn crychlamu o’u blaenau ar yr ysgrîn, o ddiogelwch eu seddi. Afraid dweud, wrth edrych ar y ddirprwy bobl yn methu a llwyddo, ni fydd rhaid i’r gwylwyr eu hunain ddioddef yr un ergydion ffawd. A fyddai’n deg dweud, felly, mai tebyg i dduwdodau yw’r bobl y tu hwnt i’r llenni’n tynnu’r llinynnau er mwyn symud y creaduriaid diymadferth? Efallai’n wir. Fodd bynnag, mae’r sefyllfa’n fwy cymhleth, o gofio’r ddihareb, ‘a dalo i’r pibydd a ddewis y dôn.’ A allem ni ofyn, felly – neu, a ydym yn cael ein gorfodi i holi – beth yw statws y rhai sy’n comisiynu, a thalu i rythu ar, olygfeydd ysblennydd fel y rheiny?

An ancient method of telling tales is the shadow show. In such performances, flat, jointed puppets, cut out of card, are moved behind a translucent screen by talented puppeteers. By doing this it appears that the figures, which represent a host of characters, are walking, dancing, fighting, laughing, loving, crying, and dying. And thus, they are forced to act out all of life’s dramas for the sake of art, entertainment, instruction, and warning. What fun is had by the audience from watching the silly puppets prancing in front of them on the screen, from the safety of their seats. Needless to say, whilst looking at the surrogate people failing and succeeding, there will be no need for the watchers to suffer the same blows of fate. Would it be fair to say, then, that the people behind the curtains pulling the strings to move the helpless creatures, are similar to divinities? Perhaps so. However, the situation is more complex, remembering the proverb, ‘he who pays the piper calls the tune.’ Could we ask, therefore – or, are we forced to enquire – what is the status of those who commission, and pay to stare at, splendid spectacles like these?

Erbyn hyn, yn y Tŷ Glas, mae amlinellau eglur a diamwys y byd go iawn yn meddalu, gan weddnewid i fod y math ar siapiau lliwgar ac ystwyth i’w cael mewn stribedi cartŵn. Ar ben y staer i’r seler yn y bwthyn sy’n cwympo i lawr yn nhiroedd y plasty posh – rhif dau ar bymtheg, neu saith, yn dibynnu ar fympwy rhifoleg – dyna ddwysáu dirgrynu’r awyr. Mae’r synnwyr bellach wedi mynd yn atsain gorfforol, yn ddigon i godi gwallt pennau’r tresbaswyr glewion ond gwirion – David a Steffan, Daud a Stjepan, Dai a Stezza – gan achosi rhincian eu dannedd hefyd. Hyd yn oed y cysgodion tewion, a wleddai fel arfer ar anobaith a gwylltineb, sy’n crynu gan ddisgwyliad, dan gilwenu. Ar yr un pryd yr ymddengys mor gyfrwys nifer enfawr o synau annatblygedig, fel gwichiadau bychain, chwerthin ysgeler, a murmur dwfn. Ac wedyn dyna nhw’n ymdoddi i lunio côr-gan, neu rywbeth tebyg, sy’n daer, ailadroddus, rhythmig, llesmeiriol – ‘khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.’By now, in the Blue House, the clear and unambiguous outlines of the real world are softening, transforming to the kind of colourful and flexible shapes to be found in cartoon strips. At the top of the stairs to the cellar in the cottage that’s falling down in the grounds of the posh mansion – number seventeen, or seven, depending on the vagaries of numerology – the vibration of the air intensifies. The feeling has by now become a physical reverberation, enough to make the hair on the heads of the brave but guileless trespassers -- David and Steffan, Daud and Stjepan, Dai and Stezza – stand on end, causing their teeth to chatter too. Even the fat shadows, which would usually feast on despair and rashness, are trembling with expectation, sneering. At the same time there appears so craftily an enormous number of undeveloped sounds, like tiny squeals, wicked laughter, and deep rumbling. And then they blend to fashion a chant, or something similar, which is earnest, repetitive, rhythmic, hypnotic – ‘khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.’
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Fy mab – Mewn onglau croes i natur y mae’n trigo, yr un heb enw, gan ei guddio’i hun yn y cysgodion sy’n dawnsio a rhedeg yn wyllt trwy’r lleoedd gwag. Fe’i darganfyddir ef yn awr ac yn y man yng nghornel dy lygaid, cyn iddo lithro i lawr rhyw lwybr tywyll, fel pe buasai’n cael ei chwythu ymaith gan wynt main yn hyrddio, gan godi croen gŵydd arnat ti.”[Voice from Beyond] “My son – In unnatural angles it resides, the one without name, hiding itself in the shadows that dance and run wild through the empty spaces. It will be discovered now and then in the corner of your eye, before it slips down some dark path, as if it had been blown away by a keen wind gusting, giving you goose-pimples.”
Ac o seler y bwthyn, fel petai o grombil y Ddaear ei hun, dyna’r Llais Trallodus yn mynd yn ei flaen i alw ar y Swynwr o’r enw Lushfé, yr un sydd yn dri —And from the cottage’s cellar, as if from the guts of the Earth itself, the Vexatious Voice proceeds to call on the Sorcerer called Lushfé, the one who is three —
Boed diolch mawr i Lushfé!
By·elzebub, dere! Du dy galon!
Tyrd di, Azazel! Coch dy friwiau!
O, Dduw Cylion sydd â thanbaid fflam,
Na llosg dy was yn y Tŷ Glas hwn!
I’r Seren Fore, rhoer pob clod!		Great thanks be to Lushfé!
By·elzebub, come! Your heart is black!
Come, Azazel! Your wounds are red!
O, Lord of Flies with fiery flame,
Burn not your slave in this Blue House!
To the Morning Star, all praise!
Dyma ddau lanc wedi’u llithio i droseddu. Sisial gwyllt y cysgodion yn ymbalfalu am ystyr. Calonnau’n curo’n ofnus. Cyrff yn drewi o chwys llawn adrenalin. Dyna bob symudiad wedi’i rwystro’n sydyn. O’u cwmpas mae’r gwawl glas yn dangos eu dychryn. Mae un o leia’n dymuno ymladd. Fe ddylai’r ddau ohonyn nhw ffoi. Ond mae’r Llais yn parhau —Here’s two lads tempted to transgress. The shadows’ wild whispering fumbles for meaning. Hearts beat fearfully. Bodies stink of sweat full of adrenaline. Then, every movement is suddenly hindered. About them the blue aura shows their fear. One at least wants to fight. Both of them should flee. But the Voice persists —
Edrycha, Nebesh!
O ddŵr yr Afon Fawr, yn y wlad honno
Lle nad edwyn mam ei baban,
Deffro Nebesh!
O ddŵr yr Afon Chwim, danddwr,
Lle na chofia brawd ei chwaer ef, O,
Gwysia Nebesh!
Dan y dŵr,
Ni châr gwraig hyd yn oed ei gŵr hi, O, felly
Tyrd â Nebesh!
O ddŵr yr Afon Wylofus,
Dan y Ddaear, yn ogof Afon Dagrau,
Gorfoda Nebesh i ymweld â fi!
Nebesh, ymrithia di!		Look, Nebesh!
Oh, water of the Great River, in that land
Where a mother knows not her child,
Awaken Nebesh!
Oh, water of the Swift River, underwater,
Where a brother remembers not his sister, Oh,
Summon Nebesh!
Under the water,
Even a wife loves not her husband, Oh, so
Bring Nebesh!
Oh, water of the Weeping River,
Beneath the Earth, in the cave of the River of Tears,
Compel Nebesh to visit me!
Nebesh, appear!
“O, Nebesh o’r Sowth, Stezza! Be’ yn y Ddau Fyd yw hyn oll? Wi’n gallu clywed lleisiau. Fel ‘sai dyn yn siantio. A rhywun arall yn sisial yn ‘yn nghlustiau. Llwythi o hen rwtsh yn llifo drwy’n meddwl, am ‘pethau nas gwelir’ a ‘cyfrinachau’r bydysawd.’ Sa i’n deall gair ohono. Rhaid bod rhywun yno – o achos y lleisiau ‘na. Dere ‘malen, ti’n gallu glywed e ‘fyd, on’d wyt?”“Oh, Nebesh of the South, Stezza! What in the Two Worlds is all this? I can hear voices. It’s like a man’s chanting. And someone else whispering in m’ears. Loads of old rubbish flowing through my mind, about ‘things not seen’ and ‘secrets of the universe.’ I don’t understand a word of it. There must be someone there – because of those voices. Come on, you can hear it too, can’t you?
“Hmm, wel, nagw, ‘achan, dw i’m yn gallu. Er taw teimlo’n reit rhyfedd dw i, erbyn meddwl. Ond Dai bach – ‘sneb ‘na o gwbl.”“Hmm, well, no, mate, I can’t. Although I do feel dead strange come to think about it. But, Dai man – there’s no-one there at all.”
“Reit – reit – ond – wi’n clywed lleisiau’n bendant – yn ‘mhen i – a teimlo – mae fel trydan neu rywbeth yn fan’ma. A mor oer. Sa i erio’d wedi deall yn iawn be’ sy’n mynd ‘mlaen ar y stad ‘ma, pam wi ‘ma, ond da gwn i taw dyma le’n llawn o bobl od iawn, pob math o gollwyr a segurwyr. Wedi’r cwbl, craig o arian yw’r hen deulu ‘ma. Ond paid di becso am yr holl gyfoeth, ma’ pob un ohonyn nhw o’i go’ a da-i-ddim. Sa i’n sôn am ti, nawr, ‘achan – na fi, wrth gwrs – nagw, ha, ha!”“Right – right – but – I’m definitely hearing voices – in my head – and feeling – it’s like electricity or something in here. And so cold. I’ve never understood right what’s going on this estate, why I’m here, but well do I know that this is a place full of really odd people, all kinds of losers and layabouts. After all, this old family’s minted. But never mind about all the wealth, every one of them’s mental and useless. I’m not talkin’ about you, now, mate – nor me, of course – no, ha, ha!
“Wel, ti’n iawn am y dosbarth canol – yn gyffredinol, reit – i’r pant y rhed y dŵr, sbo – ac wrth gwrs, fe fydd y crachach yn colli gafael ar y byd go iawn yn gyfan gwbl bob tro yn y pen draw. Ac wedyn byddan nhw’n cael eu disodli gan y gweithwyr yn eu tro fel bydd y cylchred yn parhau. Dyna natur dadryddfreinio a dialecteg wleidyddol, reit? Ond dyn nhw’m yn gyfoethog ‘ma, mêt. Dyn ni’n byw mewn tlodi a bod yn onest. Ti ‘di gweld y lle, on’d wyt ti?” “Well, you’re right about the bourgeoisie – in general, right – the rich get richer, s’pose – and of course the snobs’ll always lose touch with reality completely in the end. And then they’ll get displaced by the workers in their turn so that the cycle continues. That’s the nature of disenfranchisement and political dialectic, right? But they’re not wealthy here, mate. We live in poverty to be honest. You’ve seen the place, haven’t you?”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Mae ef wastad yn aros, ac yn disgwyl – am allan o hydion y mae wedi bod yn paratoi, am oesoedd. Gwiriondeb ei ysglyfaeth yw ei offeryn, ac effeithiau gorhyder sydd yn darparu’r heldir lle mae’n ystelcian. A thrwy lechu’n ddistaw ac yn lladradaidd, mi fydd ef yn cynnull ebyrth newydd ynghyd. Bydd yn sicr o hyn – mi fydd meddyliau dynol yn methu’n lân â’i ddeall ef bob tro. Ond pwysig iawn cofio un peth. Ni fedr ef groesi dros y gwagle ond pan fydd y Porth wedi’i agor.”[Voice from Beyond] “It is always waiting, and expecting – for ages it has been preparing, for aeons. The foolishness of its prey is its tool, and the effects of overconfidence provide the hunting-ground where it stalks. And by lurking silently and stealthily, it shall collect new sacrifices. Be sure of this – human minds shall always fail completely to understand it. But it is most important to remember one thing. It can cross over the void only when the Gate has been opened.”
“‘Sdim clem ‘da fi am ‘ny, Stevie-boi, nag am be’ sy’n bod ar y lle ‘ma. Ond wi’n teimlo’n od ofnadw’ nawr, a bod yn onest, dw i eisiau chwydu. Ond ni’n mynd i gael gw’bod y gwir, rhywsut neu’i gilydd. Rhaid i ni, iawn?”“No clue about that, Stevie-boi, nor ‘bout what’s up with this place. But I’m feelin’ real odd now too, to be honest I wanna throw up. But we’re going to get to know the truth, somehow or other. We got to, right?
“Edrych ‘ma nawr, Dai – dyma syniad i ti – ma’n swnio fel teledu – fel ‘sai rhywun wedi gadael y bocs ‘mlaen – i godi ofn ar dwpsod fel ni – Ffred yn fyw na thebyg, ‘rhen gadno! Ma’ e ‘di dod a mynd yma drwy’r amser, heb os. Hen ffilm ddu a gwyn, ‘Dawnsio gyda’r Meirwon Byw’ – gan Llwynlesg, t’mod – rhywbeth fel —”“Look ‘ere now, Dai – here’s an idea for you – it sounds like a telly – like someone’s left the box on – to scare idiots like us – Ffred more than likely, the old fox! He’s been comin’ and goin’ ‘ere all the time, no doubt. Old black-and-white film, ‘Dancing with the Living Dead; -- by Llwynlesg, y’know – somethin’ like —”
Nuthkí, ymysgwyd!
O Dad i ni oll,
Fe eilw dy was!
Frenhines yr ŷd
Sy’n camu trwy’r byd,
Gan roi i bawb hoedl,
Rho sylw i’m llef!
O Ddygwr ein tranc,
Nawr ataf fi tyrd!
Nuthkí, dos ati!		Nuthkí, bestir!
Father of all,
Your servant calls!
Queen of the corn
Who treads the world,
Giver of life,
Notice my voice!
Bringer of death,
Come to me now!
Nuthkí, set to!
“Siapia hi ‘te, Stezz, w. Rhoi hi iddo fe ‘nawn ni, reit, wel, gweld be’ sy ‘na ta be’. Chwedyn, baglu hi’n syth. Lawr y staer ‘da ni, te -- o’r badell ffrio i’r tân. Bydd yn barod gyda’r ysgwyd ‘to, ‘achan. Agor, Susama, ha, ha!”“Step on it, then, Stezz, mun. We’ll give ‘im what for, right, well, see what’s there, anyway. Then, leg it sharpish. Down the stairs we go, then – out of the fryin’ pan into the fire. Get ready with the shoulder again, mate. Open Susama, ha, ha!
Felly y mae. Haws dweud na ‘neud, medd yr hen briod-ddull. Ond dan yr amgylchiadau, mae bron yn berffaith anghywir. Dyna agor drws y seler. Mor hawdd â dim, fel mae’n digwydd. Cyn hawsed ag y gallai fod. Gyda hynny, wrth i David dynnu Steffan yn arw yn ei flaen, mae’i bysedd yn cydio yn nwrn y dyn arall. A dyna freichled ar ddwrn Steffan, yr hen hipi ‘na, yn torri, gan sarnu gleiniau gleision ar hyd y llawr. Felly, mae’r diwedd yn dechrau mewn ennyd o dragwyddoldeb. Dyna syrthio dwy ffurf ddynol, bitw, i gwmwl y diwybod, drwy’r cyntedd fferllyd rhwng dimensiynau, drwy’r Porth Galarus rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Ac mae’r Llais yn siantio eto —So it is. Easier said than done, says the old idiom. But under the circumstances, it’s almost perfectly incorrect. The cellar door opens. As easy as anything, as it happens. As easy as could be. At that moment, as David roughly pulls Steffan forward, his fingers grasp the other man’s wrist. And a bracelet on Steffan’s wrist, that old hippy, breaks, scattering blue beads all over the floor. So, then end begins in an instant of eternity. Two puny human forms fall into the cloud of unknowing, through the freezing entry-way between dimensions, through the Doleful Gate between the Two Worlds. And the Voice chants still —
Isheth a rwygodd y llen o’r blaen!
Chi sy’n tro’r gofod cyn hau holl hadau caos,
Chi yw’r Hen Ddihenydd, Arglwydd yr Hynafiaid;
Chi sy’n cynnwys sfferau llachar fyrdd,
Chi yw unwr amser o dan y Sêl Ysgarlad.
Chi sy’n llechu ar y trothwy gan adnabod y porth,
Chi yw’r ceidwad, y porth, yr allwedd o arian;
Chi sy’n sleifio’r enaid gyda’ch tentaclau seimllyd,
Chi yw’r fangre lle mae sylwedd yn toddi.
Treiddiwch Isheth y llen drachefn!		Isheth who rent the veil before!
You who turn the void before sowing seeds of chaos,
You are the Most Ancient, Lord of the Old Ones;
You who are composed of myriad glowing spheres,
You are time's uniter under the Scarlet Seal;
You who lurk on the threshold, knowing the gate,
You are the keeper, the gate, the silver key;
You who gobble souls with your slimy tentacles,
You are the place where reality melts.
Pierce, Isheth, the veil once more!
Dyma’r Siambr Wysio. Ynddi, mae papur gloyw ymhobman, dros bob wyneb. Ar y waliau i gyd, mae awrleisiau hen ffasiwn a swnllyd iawn. Mae pob un o’r rhain wedi’i osod yn y fath fodd fel taw’n hytrach na chadw amser caeth, y bydd yna dician di-dor yn fwy tebyg i hisian statig yn llenwi’r lle. Ac mae’n swnio fel petai sgrafellu taer argregyn trychfilaidd, ‘chep-chep-chep-er, chep-er, er-chep-er, chep’ yn cyfeilio i’r Llais —Here is the Summoning Chamber. In it, there’s silver paper everywhere, over every surface. On all the walls, there are old-fashioned and very noisy time-pieces. Every one of these has been set in such a way that rather than keeping strict time, there will be uninterrupted ticking more like static hissing filling the place. And it sounds as if the insistent scraping of insectile carapaces, ‘chep-chep-chep-er, chep-er, er-chep-er, chep’ is accompanying the Voice —
O Hebé Lwyd!
Wel dyma fi’n sefyll,
O gaseg esgyrnog,
Ysbryd mor gyfrwys,
Fradychwraig y byw,
A’r meirwon hefyd!
I fynnu fy hawl i,
Hen Feistres y Ddaear,
Yr hawl i’th orchymyn!
Hebé Lwyd, taw!		Oh, Hebé the Grey!
Well here I stand,
Oh, skeletal mare,
Spirit so guileful,
Betrayer of the living,
And of the dead too!
To demand my right,
The Earth's old Mistress,
My right to command you!
Grey Hebé, hush!
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Yr wyf wedi datgelu'r materion hyn i gyd, ond serch hynny, ynteu efallai o’i herwydd, mi wn i mai colledig ydwyf, hyd yn oed wrth gofnodi’r cyfrinachau hynafol hyn. Lle rwyf fi ar hyn o bryd, ni fedraf fi ddyfalu. Er fy mod yn credu, wrth fod mewn ofn llwyr o gael f’erlid gan yr un heb enw, nad wyf wedi mynd o fodolaeth gorfforol o ryw fath, ac na fyddaf fi’n gadael y fath fodolaeth ar ôl ychwaith – nid yn gyfan gwbl.”[Voice from Beyond] “I have uncovered all these matters, but despite that, or perhaps because of it, I know that I am lost, even whilst recording these ancient secrets. Where I am at present, I am not able to guess. Although I believe, whilst being in complete fear of being pursued by the nameless one, that I have not gone from corporeal existence of some sort, and that I shall not be leaving such an existence behind either – not completely.”
Mae’r fangre ddefodol yn llawn o arogleuon cryf a moethus fel camffor, coed sandal, a myrr. Ond trechu’r rhain mae gwynt ffres, sur, a siarp, fel tyrpant, sy’n dod o resin pin yn llosgi. Yng nghanol y seler, mae’n debyg i fod mewn drych sfferaidd o arian sy’n adlewyrchu’i hun oddi mewn. Dyma lygad y ddrycin. A hyd yn oed wrth i’r byd tu allan droi eto, poced o lonyddwch llwyr yw’r microcosm hwn. A dyma’r Llais yn cyrraedd anterth y litani —The ritual space is full of strong and luxurious aromas such as camphor, sandalwood, and myrrh. But overpowering these is a fresh, sour, and sharp smell, like turpentine, which comes from pine resin burning. In the middle of the cellar, it’s like being in a spherical mirror of silver which reflects itself internally. This is the eye of the storm. And even as the world outside still turns, this microcosm is a pocket of complete stillness. And the Voice reaches the peak of the litany —
Crynwch, O Rymoedd!
Glân yw enaid dyn,
Nid bywyd ond fflam hygryn,
Drenga wrth godi
O Rymoedd, cryn —!		Shudder, O Powers!
Pure is a man’s soul,
Life nought but a trembling flame,
Which dies as it rises,
O Powers, qu—!
Ac wedyn, unwaith bod y ddau anturiaethwr beiddgar wedi rhuthro i mewn i’r llecyn sanctaidd fel ffyliaid gwirion, dyna’r Llais Trallodus yn gwichian, gan ddefnyddio iaith nad yw gyda’r goetha’ obeithiech chi’i chlywed — “Pwy? Ti? – Ti! – Wwww! ‘Neno’r Un Dienw! Baxter – Baker – Pekar – y cenau bach gwirion! – Be’—?”And then, once the two daring adventurers have rushed into the sacred spot like stupid fools, the Vexatious Voice squeals, using language that’s not the most refined you’d hope to hear – “Who? You? – You! – Oooh! In the name of the Nameless One! Baxter – Baker – Pekar – you stupid little urchin! – Wha’—?”
Ar hyrddiau, crafangu yn yr awyr fyglyd mae’r Dewin hunanddysgedig yn gwisgo gŵn fflamgoch. Yr un lliw â’i ddillad yw’i wyneb gorffwyll. Yn ofer mae’r dyn ar farw yn chwifio’i freichiau esgyrnog, gan ystumio yn y gofod gwag o’i boptu fel petai’n ceisio casglu dernynnau diflanedig o’r drych hudol, toredig oedd yn arfer perthyn i Tefnuth Landeg.In fits and starts, the self-taught Wizard wearing a flame-red gown claws at the stifling air. His crazed face is the same colour as his clothes. In vain the dying man waves his bony arms, motioning in the empty space all around him as if he were trying to collect fleeting fragments of the broken magic mirror that used to belong to Tefnuth the Fair.
“Myn Nuthkí! – Procter – be’? Nefi bliw! Chi’n marw! – Shwd —?” Mae’r Comando Trefol yn dychryn am ei fywyd, er ei fod yn ‘neud ei orau glas i ymddangos mor ddidaro â dim. A dyna’r Hen Filwr yn dal i siarad, wrth iddo gyflym golli pob gronyn o nerth yn aros ynddo —“By Nuthkí! – Procter – wha’? Grief! You’re dyin’! – How —?” The Urban Commando is frightened for his life, although he’s trying to do his very best to appear as cool as a cucumber. And the Old Solider keeps on talking, as he quickly loses every iota of strength remaining to him —
“Lushfé Cu! – Gallet ti fod wedi ‘yn lladd i! – Dy ladd dy hun! – Ei ladd e! – Ein lladd ni i gyd – neu, neu waeth!”“Sweet Lushfé! You could’ve killed me! – Killed yourself! – Killed him! – Killed us all – or, or worse!”
“Syr – Mr Procter – W! Be’n enw’r Hen Dduwiau chi’n ‘neud ‘ma? Be’ ar y Ddaear sy’n digwydd? Fe ddylech chi fod yn y gwely, Syr, yn ôl y sôn, chi ar fin marw. Ma’n flin ‘da fi, Syr – dyna jyst beth oedd pawb yn weud pan ‘nethon ni ddod ‘nôl o’n gwyliau.”“Sir – Mr Procter – Man! What in the name of the Old Gods’re you doin’ ‘ere? What on Earth’s happenin’? You should be in bed, Sir, apparently, you’re about to croak it. I’m sorry, Sir – that’s just what everyone was sayin’ when we got back from our holidays.”
“’Rhen Feistri! Taw di, y mwnci baldorddus! Gad dy lap, y pwdryn, ‘neno’r Saith na ddylai ‘u henwi heb fod mewn seremoni briodol! Wel, rwyt ti’n deall yn iawn. Ar fin marw dw i, edrych arna i, ond rwy’n ceisio peidio! A be’ bynnag, fi a ddylai ofyn i ti – pam, er mwyn Swtach, rwyt ti yn y bwthyn hwn? A, myn Wezir, sut gyrhaeddaist ti’r lle cysegredig hwn? Y llabwst dreng – yn torri a mynd i mewn – ac yng nghwmni’r epa anferth ‘na ar ben hynny!”“The Old Masters! Be quiet, you chattering monkey! Shut your gob, you idiot, in the name of the Seven who should never be named except in an appropriate ceremony! Well, you understand correctly. I am on the verge of dying, look at me, but I’m trying not to! And anyway, it’s me who should ask you – why, for Swtach’s sake, are you in this cottage? And, by Wezir, how did you reach this holy place? You churlish lout – breaking and entering – and in the company of that enormous ape to top it all!”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Ac felly, yr wyf fi’n erfyn arnat – Gochela di rhag mentro allan yng ngolau profoclyd y Lleuad! Mi ddylet ti wrthod ei gweniaith ddengar! Osgoa, heb rithyn o amheuaeth, yr onglau aflan hynny fel y rhain a geir yn yr hen Dŷ Glas, lle mae’r gofod ei hun wedi’i ystumio, yn y fath fodd fel ei fod yn ffurfio siapau hyblyg nad ydynt yn perthyn i’n pedwar dimensiwn arferol ni!”[Voice from Beyond] “And thus, I implore you – Beware of venturing out in the Moon’s teasing light! You should refuse her tempting blandishments! Avoid, without a hint of a doubt, those unclean angles such as are found in the old Blue House, where space itself is warped in such a way that it forms flexible shapes that do not belong to our four normal dimensions!”
“‘Drychwch, Syr – ma’r holl therapi’n gweithio, falle, reit? Wi’n dechrau cofio pethau. Ma’ fel bro ‘mebyd ‘ma, ‘saith’ oedd rhif ein tŷ ni, yn ‘rhen ddyddiau, ond sa i ‘di mynd ‘nôl ‘na ers blynyddoedd. Tad-cu Stezza dych chi, hefyd, reit, wel, wncwl neu be’ bynnag – a chi mor sâl -- dim ond eisiau’ch gweld chi o’n ni. Twtian dipyn, falle. Wel, oedd popeth yn atgofio fi am yr hen dŷ ble o’n i’n byw o’r blaen. Dim ond eisiau chwilota o’n i -- ‘naethon ni benderfynu dod draw – i ymweld, ch’wel – a wi’n sylweddoli nawr – dyma rif ‘un deg saith’ – rhaid bod y nifer ‘un’ wedi syrthio oddi ar y drws ‘na – dyna’r peth – o’n ni’n drysu’n lân, rhywbeth fel ‘ny – chi sy ar fai, felly, Syr – nage ni – na!” Ond ‘does gan yr athro cythreulig ddim diddordeb yn esboniadau David, achos ei fod e’i hun eisiau rhegi a thaeru — “Look, Sir – all the therapy’s workin’, p’rhaps, right? I’m startin’ to remember things. It’s like my childhood place here, ‘seven’ was the number of our house in the old days, but I’ve not been back there for years. You’re Stezza’s grand-dad, right, well, uncle or whatever – and you’re so ill – we just wanted to see you. Tidy up a bit, maybe. Well, everything was reminding me of the old house where I lived before. I only wanted to poke about a bit – we decided to come over – to visit, like – and I realise now – this is number ‘seventeen’ – the number ‘one’ must’ve fallen off that door – that’s it – we were totally confused – something like that – so it’s your fault, Sir – not us – no!” But the devilish teacher has no interest in David’s explanations, as he wants to rant and rave himself —
“Sylwasoch chi ill dau ddim ar y ‘sigillum silentiī’ tu allan i’r cyntedd – fy ‘arwydd tawelwch’? Roedd y Porth Galarus wedi’i gau ar bawb sy’n anghymwys ac amharod. Fe ddylai’r ‘Sêl Ysgarlad’ fod wedi gwahardd popeth diwahoddiad a diangen rhag cyrraedd y seintwar lân hon! Dim ond yr elfennau’n briodol i’r ddefod a ganiateir fan hyn – dim ond y gwrthwynebau arwyddluniol, a’r delwau cyfatebol yn gweddu i’r hud…”“Did not you two notice the ‘sigillum silentiī’ outside the vestibule – my ‘sign of silence’? The Doleful Gate had been closed to all who are incompetent and unprepared. The ‘Scarlet Seal’ should have prohibited everything uninvited and unneeded from entering this holy sanctuary! Only the elements appropriate to the rite are permitted in here – only the symbolic oppositions, and the corresponding images fitting to the magic…”
— Mae’n dangos â’i fys y gath wen a’r ceiliog du (neu, efallai, o chwith; maen nhw’n deganau wedi'u stwffio beth bynnag) mewn caetsys wedi’u ‘neud o focsys cardbord, o flaen yr allor dros dro, ac arni gasgliad o gyllyll rhydlyd. Ar y pentwr o frics sy’n ‘neud y tro fel maen aberthol, dyna ddwy ddoli glwt. Brwnt a rhacsog ydyn nhw, ac mae rhyw stwff coch arnyn nhw. Tu ôl iddo, mae sach hesian, enfawr, fel gorchudd cwilt, yn gwingo’n ystyfnig. Mae’n cynnwys rhywbeth, ŵyr y llanciau ddim beth, er bod Steffan yn dyfalu mai neidr wasgu ydy, falle. Mae ganddo ddychymig ffrwythlon, dyna amlwg. Ac wedyn mae’r Dewin rhwystredig yn parhau bregliach yn wan —— He indicates with his finger the white cat and the black cockerel (or, perhaps, the other way around; they’re stuffed toys in any case) in cages made of cardboard boxes, in front of the temporary altar, on which there’s a collection of rusty knives. On the pile of bricks which is serving as sacrificial stone, there’s two rag-dolls. They’re dirty and ragged, and there’s some red stuff on them. Behind him, there’s an enormous hessian sack, like a quilt cover, writhing stubbornly. It contains something, the lads know not what, although Steffan guesses that it’s a boa constrictor, maybe. He has a fertile imagination, that’s obvious. And then the frustrated Wizard continues prattling weakly —
“… a ddylai fod wedi gallu treiddio’r cylch cysegr-lân – y cryf a’r gwan – y doeth a’r ynfyd – y cyfoethog a’r tlawd – y pwyllog a’r bywiog – y dihalog a’r halogedig. Ni allai neb fod wedi dod i mewn heb ‘y nghaniatâd pendant! Ac rwy wedi mynd i gryn drafferth i beidio â llurgunio’r iaith, gan mai’r pechod mwyaf a ellir ei ddychmygu fyddai hynny.”“… should’ve been able to penetrate the pure and holy circle – the strong and the weak – the learned and the idiotic – the wealthy and the poor – the prudent and the impetuous – the immaculate and the defiled. No-one could have come in without my express permission! And I have gone to considerable trouble not to garble the language, as that would be the greatest sin imaginable.”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Ymhellach, pan fydd sain argregyn trychfilaidd yn di-baid glicio’n ymosod ar dy glustiau di, na thâl di sylw iddi hi! Cer â thi ymaith, oddi wrth y creaduriaid atgas sy’n allyrru ofn a chwysu anobaith! Diogela dy hunan rhag i’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd estyn eu tentaclau aml-liwiog, gludiog, a’th daflu i lawr i’r Pydew Diwaelod hyd byth! Ond os bydd yn rhaid i ti gau’r Porth, defnyddia di eiriau’r Rhaib, a ddarganfuwyd gyntaf gan Amasus o’r Parth Coch yn y bymthegfed ganrif, y byddaf y ei dysgu i ti yn awr.”[Voice from Beyond] “Furthermore, when the sound of insectile carapaces ceaselessly clicking shall attack your ears, pay no attention to it! Take yourself off, away from the hateful creatures which exhale fear and sweat despair! Protect yourself lest the Indolent Idolaters reach out their sticky, multi-coloured tentacles, and throw you down in the Bottomless Well for ever! But if you must to close the Gate, use the words of the Spell, first discovered by Amasus of the Red Zone in the fifteenth century, which I shall teach to you now.”
“Ta be’, Syr, ma’ da’ Stevo hen allwedd sbâr, ch’mod, sa i’n gw’bod ble ddaeth e o hyd iddi hi – siâp od yw hi – rydlyd iawn – coch fel gwaed – boeth fel ‘sai ar dân. Chwedyn mor stiff o’dd y drws, w! Ac, O, ma’ hi mor rhynllyd o oer â’r Mynydd Gwydr yn y gaeaf fan’ma – a dyna’r siantio ‘na – ac mewn chwipyn, dyna o’n ni’n baglu i mewn ‘ma ar hap —““Anyway, Sir, Stevo’s got an old spare key, y’know, I dunno where he found it – it’s an odd shape –really rusty – red like blood – hot like it’s on fire. Then the door was so stiff, mun! And, Oh, it’s as nobblin’ cold as the Glass Mountain in the winter b‘ere – and there’s that chanting – and in a sec’ there we were stumblin' in ‘ere by accident —“
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Rhed di, meddaf fi, dianc! Ffoi di, ehed! Gwregysa dy lwynau â’r talismonau amddiffynnol a ddarparaf gyda’r llythyr hwn, a defnyddia di hwy er mwyn creu hudoliaeth gref. Cadw di’r dolis clwt hyn yn ddiogel. Efallai eu bod hwy’n ymddangos yn ddelwau diwerth. Ond llawn grym ydynt hwy. A gwaredwyr bywyd fyddant hwy hefyd. At hynny, er y byd a’r betws – osgoa’r pinwydd bob tro – ac yn enwedig ar amser gŵyl yng nghanol haf. A dyma ddechrau’r wers – ‘Oriel Serafim.’”[Voice from Beyond] “Run, I say! Flee, fly! Gird your loins with the defensive talismans which I shall provide along with this letter, and use them in order to create strong enchantment. Keep these rag-dolls safe. Perhaps they appear to be worthless effigies. But they are full of power. And they shall be defenders of life, too. In addition, in the name of all that is sacred and profane – avoid the pines always – and especially at festival time in the middle of summer. And here begins the lesson -- ‘Oriel Serafim.’”
“O, myn Mush-sang-ash, y Pwca Seithben Gwyrdd! Boed iddo fod wastad yn wyliadwrus ar fy rhan i, a’m hamddiffyn rhag y rhai heb eu hynydu! Y ffŵl iti, Baxter, ‘neno’r Byd Arall, dwyt ti’m yn amgyffred be’ ti ‘di ‘neud, wyt ti? Ac yn awr – O, Swtach a chwarddai o ennill y frwydr – mae ‘na endid ectoplasmig, fforchog ei ewin, wedi hanner ymrithio tu allanfuodd yn filwr unwaith, a’i dentaclau hyll yn rhydd…”“Oh, by Mush-sang-ash, the Green, Seven-headed Goblin! May he always be watchful on my behalf, and defend me from the uninitiated! You fool, Baxter, in the name of the Other World, you don’t comprehend what you’ve done, do you? And now – Oh, Swtach who laughed from winning the battle – there’s a cloven-hoofed, ectoplasmic entity, half-materialized outside, with his hideous tentacles free…”
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Mi ddylet wybod hyn. Nid brawd a all ddiogelu’i frawd. Nid dyna yw trefn y Nw Yrth. Mi fydd yn rhaid i ddyn aberthu’r arall ar allor yr hunan, pan ddaw’r amser, er mwyn ei achub ei hun. Ymhellach, cofia di mai’r proctor sy’n meddwl ei fod yn deall yr hud. Efe a honna mai Eneiniog yr Hen Feistri ydy. Efe a fydd yn coegio ei fod yn gwarchod y Llwybr Serennog, ac y bydd ef yn agor y Porth Galarus. Heb os, mi fydd ef yn dywedyd mai’r clo ydy, a’r allwedd, hefyd. Nac ymddirieda di, felly, mewn rhifoleg, nac ychwaith yng nghyfaredd a rhyfeddod niferoedd, gan goelio mai yno y bydd dirgelwch! Yn enwedig, paid di â rhoi dy ffydd yn y seithfed rhif cysefin, sy’n cynrychioli nifer gronynnau elfennol ym Model Safonol Ffiseg – ‘Eo Potesta.’”[Voice from Beyond] “You should know this. A brother cannot protect his brother. That not the order of the Nw Yrth. One will have to sacrifice the other on the altar of the self, when the time comes, in order to save oneself. Furthermore, remember that it is the proctor who thinks he understands the magic. It is he who will claim that he is the Old Master’s Anointed One. It is he who will pretend that he guards the Starry Way, and that he will open the Doleful Gate. Without a doubt, he will say that it is he who is the lock, and the key, also. Do not trust, therefore, in numerology, nor either in the charm and wonder of numbers, believing that there shall be safety! Especially, do not put faith in the seventh prime number, which represents that complement of elementary particles in the Standard Model of Physics -- ‘Eo Potesta.’”
“…Zuvnirathé ydy, Gafr Ddu'r Goedwig sydd â Miloedd o Epil – merch ddiffaith i Hebé ei hun – cythraul o dân! Arglwyddes Deddfau Natur ydy – mae hi ar y trothwy, a bu bron iddi orffen ymsolido – taer am groesi drosodd ydy hi, o flaen dim – fe wnaiff unrhyw beth bron i gymryd cnawd. Wedi clywed eich gwynt chi ill dau mae hi – fe all hi’ch blasu chi, ch’mod…?”“…It’s Zuvnirathé, The Black Goat of the Woods with Thousands of Young – wicked daughter to Hebé herself – a demon of fire! She is the Lady of the Laws of Nature – she’s on the threshold, and has almost finished solidifying – she’s desperate to cross over, more than all else – she’ll do almost anything to take flesh. She’s scented the both of you – she can taste you, you know…?
Yn y ‘stafell hynod, dyna ymdorchi ofn fel neidr wedi’i meddwi ar refru’r Hen Filwr. Mae’n ei lapio’i hun yn dynn am ei wddf, a llethu’i grawcian. Ond mae’n rhy hwyr, gan fod y Porth rhwng y Ddau Fyd eisoes wedi’i gilagor. Ac mae’r drindod unedig o’r enw Duw Culion, sef Lushfé, By·elzebub, ac Azazel, newydd ddod drwyddo. Cyrliog yw'i gynffon hir, a gwyrddlas yw’i lygaid craff, ac wedi’i losgi’n enbyd yw’i groen coch. Dyna’r Seren Fore’n trin ei gleddyf fflamllyd fel petai’n fugail milwrol yn gofalu am ei braidd gwamal. Mae’n bwriadu casglu enaid pob un o’r tri dyn yn aros amdano yn y capsiwl hudol, sydd wedi crwydro oddi ar lwybr cyfiawnder mor ddybryd.In the eccentric room, fear writhes like a snake, drunk on the Old Soldier’s ranting. It wraps itself tight about his throat, and stifles his squawking. But it’s too late, as the Gate between the Two Worlds has already been opened a chink. And the united trinity called the Lord of Flies, namely Lushfé, By·elzebub, ac Azazel has just come through. Curly is his long tail, and turquoise are his shrewd eyes, and terribly burnt is his red skin. The Morning-star wields his flaming sword as if he were a military shepherd caring for his wayward flock. He intends to collect the soul of each one of the three men waiting for him in the magical capsule, who have wandered off the path of righteousness so egregiously.
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Myfi fy hun fu'n filwr unwaith, a arferai frwydro yn erbyn grymoedd anhrefn, anghyfiawnder, ac ansicrwydd a oedd yn bygwth goresgyn y Ddaear. Ond, mi gefais f’arwain ar gyfeiliorn gan Hen Filwr a oedd yn cymryd arno ei fod yn was ffyddlon i rai grymoedd arallfydol. Trwy ufuddhau i’w annog, mi lwyddais i gyflawni llawer iawn o weithredoedd da dros ein gwlad, ein gwerin, ein dyfodol. Ond pechu mor ddifrifol yr oeddwn i ar yr un pryd, heb yn wybod imi. A chred di mi, yr oeddwn i’n dioddef yn enbyd oblegid y caledi oll. Ond yr oedd arnaf fi angen talu â'm bywyd am fy ffolineb o’r diwedd, a fe’m halltudiwyd o’n Planed ni i rywle arall. Ac yma, yr wyf fi’n filwr eto, sy’n ymladd yn erbyn grymoedd nas gwelir, gan geisio cyfantoli ofergoel a rhesymoledd, y celfyddydau a’r gwyddorau, mathemateg a cherddoriaeth. Ond nid tydi a fydd yn etifeddu’r baich hwn – Dai bach – ‘does dim rhaid i ti ddod yn sowldiwr! – ‘Zati, Zata.’”[Voice from Beyond] “I, myself was a soldier once, who was accustomed to fight against the forces of disorder, injustice, and uncertainty which were threatening to vanquish the World. But I was led astray by an Old Soldier who was pretending that he was a faithful servant of some otherworldly powers. By obeying his exhortation, I succeeded in accomplishing very many good deeds for our land, our folk, our future. But I was sinning so grievously at the same time, without knowing it. And believe you me, I suffered terribly due to all the hardship. But I needed to pay with my life for my folly at last, and I was exiled from our Planet to somewhere else. And here I am a soldier again, who is fighting against unseen forces, trying to balance superstition and reason, the arts and the sciences, mathematics and music. But you shall not inherit this burden – my little Dai – you do not have to become a soldier! – ‘Zati, Zata.’”
Dyma ddrws garw’r siambr wedi’i halogi yn cau ei hun mor hwyrfrydig ond yn dynn aruthrol – heb gymorth dynol, raid dweud, ond â si mwyn. Dyma’r Hen Filwr, yr Hen Ryfelwr Lwyd, y ffug-Ddewin, yn syrthio i lawr yn swp ar stôl deircoes edifeirwch, wedi ymlâdd ar ôl oriau o hudo. Mae ar ddarfod, ac mae’r haint yn ei fwyta’n peri gwewyr mor ddwys nes iddo ffrwtian, gwag-gyfogi, tagu, a phesychu. Wrth i’r gŵr musgrell fyseddu’i wyneb â dwylo’n bothelli i gyd, mae i'w weld yn debyg i sepelin fychain, ddrylliedig. Dyma ddianc arthio aneglur rhag ei wefusau gwaedlyd a dolurus. Dyma grefu deigryn arno am ryddhad, er bod yr apêl yn cael ei gwrthod.The rough door of the desecrated chamber closes itself so reluctantly but terribly tight – without human help, it must be said, but with a gentle sigh. The Old Soldier, the Old Holy Warrior, the fake-Wizard slumps down on the three-legged stool of repentance, exhausted after hours of conjuring. He is at death’s door, and the disease that’s eating him is causing such intense pain that he splutters, retches, chokes, and coughs. As the decrepit man fingers his face with fingers covered in blisters, he seems like a tiny, deflated zeppelin. An indistinct growl escapes his bloody and sore lips. A tear beseeches him for release, although the appeal is refused.
“… Wel, bois bach, fyddwn i byth wedi darogan hyn, falle bod fy mhwerau meddyliol yn cilio gyda’r nerth corfforol. Hmm. Peidiwch â chodi pais ar ôl piso, meddan nhw, ha. ‘Lly ‘drychwch – ‘steddwch! Fyddwch chi – fyddwn ni – ddim yn mynd i unman am gryn dipyn o amser i ddod. Fe fydd hi’n mynd yn helynt tu allan i’r ‘stafell ‘ma, tu hwnt i’r cyfareddau gwarcheidiol. Dyna resyn o beth, falle, ond ife? Fe fydd fel ‘sai’r Byd ar ben. Dyn a ŵyr be’ fydd yn digwydd. Fe fydd y drych sgrio’n dangos rhywbeth o ddiddordeb i ni, siŵr o fod, er fod e’n tueddu i ddweud celwyddau. Ond ‘sdim ots ‘da fi, be’ bynnag, mae f’amser i wedi dod a mynd ‘to, ac fe fydd yn rhy hwyr i fi nawr o’ch achos chi ill dau. Rwy eisoes wedi aros dros f’amser, ac fe fydda i bant maes o law, os Swtach a'i myn. Hmm. Wel, wrth i ni gwtsio ‘ma gyda’n gilydd mor gyfeillgar, fe alla i chwedleua wrthoch chi, cyn i be’ bynnag fydd yn mynd i ddigwydd, ddigwydd. Rwy’n meddwl fe ddylwn i ddechrau o’r dechrau. ‘Lly, Dai, Daud, David, gwranda di’n astud. A ti, Steffan, well i ti aros yn llonydd. Mae ‘na neges yma ar gyfer dy hanner frawd oddi wrth —”“… Well, boys, I’d never have predicted this, maybe my mental powers are waning along with the physical strength. Hmm. Don’t cry over spilt milk, they say, ha. So, look – si’down! You won’t – we won’t – be going anywhere for a considerable time to come. All hell’ll be breaking lose outside this room, beyond the protective charms. That’s a terrible pity, perhaps, isn’t it? It’ll be like the World’s ending. Who knows what’ll happen. The scrying mirror’ll show something of interest to us, probably. although it tends to lie. But I don’t care, anyway, my time’s come and gone again, and it’ll be too late for me now because of you two. I’ve already overstayed my time, and I'll be off in due course, Swtach willing. Hmm. Well, as we’re snuggling up here together so friendly, I can tell you stories, before whatever’s going to happen, happens. I think I should begin at the beginning. So, Dai, Daud, David, listen up. And you, Steffan, you’d better stay quiet. There’s a message here for your half-brother from —“
Fodd bynnag, nid hyn a fydd yn cael digwydd. Roedd Procter wedi dehongli’r testunau hynafol yn fwy manwl gywir nag y gallai fod wedi dychmygu, yn fwy llwyddiannus nag y bydd yn deall byth. O ganlyniad, o hyn ymlaen, bydd pethau’n datblygu yn unol ôl â phatrwm wedi’i drefnu miloedd o flynyddoedd o’r blaen, a ysgythrwyd i union adeiledd Tŷ Aileni’r Dewin, ar y cychwyn cyntaf. Ac unwaith y cychwynnir y gyfres o ddigwyddiadau – gan ddefod amhur yn hytrach na seremoni lân – fe fyddir ei chyflawni, doed a ddelo. Ac y tro hwn, mewn cyferbyniad eglur â’r amser o’r blaen, mae geiriau llafar-gân y sgarabiaid yn hollol gywir.However, it is not this that will be allowed to happen. Procter had interpreted the ancient texts more precisely than he could have imagined, more successfully that he’ll ever understand. As a result, from now on, things will develop according to a pattern organised thousands of years before, which was incised into the very structure of the Wizard’s House of Rebirth, in the first-times. And once the series of events is initiated – by an unclean rite rather than a pure ceremony – it shall be completed, come what may. And this time, in clear contrast with the time before, the words of the scarabs’ chant are totally correct.
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “O, f’annwylaf mab – er mwyn y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd – gostied a gostio – paid â chroesi’r trothwy rhwng einioes a thranc, sy’n waedlyd â’r Sêl Ysgarlad! Ac yr wyf yn erfyn arnat ti – paid, byth erioed, ag edrych yn ôl, tuag at ffurf ddychrynllyd Swtach yn y fflamau, sydd yn annaearol ac na ddylai ei weld! – ‘Galatim, Galatah.’”[Voice from Beyond] “Oh, my dearest son – for the sake of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers – cost what it may – do not cross the threshold between living and dying, which is bloody with the Scarlet Seal! And, I beseech you – never, ever, look back, towards the terrible form of Swtach in the flames, who is uncanny and should not be seen! -- ‘Galatim, Galatah.’”
Yn y seler, mae rhyw sain newydd i’w chlywed fel petai’n cyrraedd o bell iawn i ffwrdd. Dyma yrr o eifr aberthol yn galarnadu’u ffawd o ben y Prif Sigwrat ar gyfandir deheuol y Nw Yrth. A dilychwin, diniwed, dychrynedig ydyn nhw’n wir. Dyma rithiau pob offrwm a sabbat, defod a seremoni a fu erioed. Mae’u brefu truenus yn achosi i ddeisyfiadau niwlog gwareiddiadau fu farw amser maith yn ôl dolchennu’n ddisyfyd, nes eu bod yn slaesio fel chwipiau dur trwy’r awyr ferw. Mae’r waliau, sy eisoes yn simsanu a mygu, yn dechrau byrlymu, wrth i’r canhwyllau gwaedrudd ffrwydro mewn pelenni tanbaid o fraster tawdd.In the cellar, there’s some new sound to be heard, as if it was arriving from a long way away. A herd of sacrificial goats laments its fate from the top of the Main Ziggurat on the Nw Yrth’s southern continent. And immaculate, innocent, and terrified are they indeed. These are the spectres of every offering and sabbat, rite and ceremony that there has ever been. Their pitiful bleating causes the nebulous entreaties of civilizations that died ages ago to coagulate suddenly, so that they slash like iron whips through the boiling air. The walls, which are already wobbling and smoking, begin to bubble, while the blood-red candles explode in flaming balls of molten fat.
Mae’r pwysedd tu allan i’r adeilad yn aruthrol fawr; mae’n gwasgu oesau o wacter, anobaith, casineb a gofid tuag i mewn arnyn nhw’u hunain. Cymaint yw'r maes trydanol yn y seler fel bod yr awyr ei hun yn ïoneiddio’n blasma, gan dasgu gwreichion o fellten ar hyd ac ar draws. Ac, O, dyna gyrraedd y tân! Fflamau godidog a hoenus – mor rhagorol o dreisiol – sy’n saethu eu bysedd barus allan trwy ddefnydd sgrechlyd y lle.The pressure outside the building is terrifically great; it squeezes life-times of emptiness, despair, hatred, and distress inwards on themselves. So great is the electrical field in the cellar that the air itself ionizes into a plasma, spurting sparks of lightning all over the place. And, Oh, here comes the fire! Magnificent and lively flames – so exquisitely violent – that shoot their greedy fingers out through the screaming material of the place.
[Llais o’r Tu Hwnt] “Ffarwél, ‘machgen i! Rwyf wastad yn dy garu di, ‘dwi ddim wedi bwriadu d’anafu di erioed, rwy’n addo. Ble bynnag yr af fi yn y dyfodol anhysbys – fe’th ddygaf di yn fy nghalon. Mi ddymunaf yn awyddus na fyddi di’n fy nilyn i gysgodion y Nw Yrth! Ond os byddi di mewn cyfyngder mawr ar unrhyw achlysur – ac mi weddïaf na fyddi – mi fyddi di’n gorfod lladd d’elyn i oroesi. Felly os daw’r amser, gwna di hyn yn ddiegwyddor, er dy reddfau gorau. A chofia di bob tro eiriau’r Rhaib, fel y gelli di gau’r Porth rhwng y Ddau Fyd os bydd angen. Ac yn awr bydd yn rhaid imi fy nghelu fy hun eto rhag y rhai sy’n f’ymlid. Da bych di – Dy Dad bythol-gariadus.”[Voice from Beyond] “Farewell, my son! I always love you, I have never intended to harm you, I promise. Wherever I shall go in the unknown future – I shall carry you in my heart. I keenly desire that you shall not follow me into the shadows of the Nw Yrth! But if you are in dire straits on any occasion – and I pray that you shall not be – you shall be compelled to kill your enemy to survive. Thus, if the time comes, do this without compunction, despite your better instincts. And always remember the words of the Spell, so that you will be able to close the Gate between the Two Worlds if needs be. And now I must hide myself from those who are pursuing me. May you go well – Your ever-loving Father.”
Ac wedyn, gyda’i gilydd, dyna ddiflannu’r tri dyn mewn coelcerth ac ar y fflamau sawr pinwydd. Maen nhw’n smalio marw – falle er mwyn dod i fodolaeth unwaith yn rhagor yn rhywle arall. Ond ni waeth beth a fo am hynny, mae pob un o’r dynion yn croesi’r gwacter ar wahân i gyrraedd y Nw Yrth yn ei le, a’i amser, a’i ffordd ei hun.And then, all together, the three men disappear in a bonfire, whose flames smell of pines. They pretend to die – perhaps in order to come into existence once again somewhere else. But never mind about that, every one of the men crosses the void separately to reach the Nw Yrth in his own place, and time, and way.
O’i wreiddiau pwdr i’w ganghennau diffaith, dyna’r bwthyn yn llosgi fel eithin sych – gan gael ei ysu’n ulw – wrth i’r fflamau ddifa’n swnllyd bopeth y tu mewn. Tu mas i’r lle, yn unol â’u harfer, mae’r pinwydd yn rhoi croeso siriol i’r ffagl fywhaol, wel, cystal ag y medran nhw wrth reswm. Ym mhob man, maen nhw’n gollwng miloedd o gonau gwyrddion, yr un lliw â’r plancton yn y Môr Mawr Llwyd.From its rotting roots to its barren branches, the cottage burns like dry gorse – getting reduced to ash – as the flames noisily devour everything inside. Outside the place, according to their custom, the pines give a cheery welcome to the life-giving torch, well, as well as they can of course. Everywhere, they drop thousands of green pines, the same colour as the plankton in the Great Grey Sea.
A dyna ganiad corn, cyfuwch ag y dihuno’r meirw, heb sôn am y byw, a’r rhai heb eu geni eto, yn atseinio dros yr ystâd. Mewn croth, gynnes a thywyll, ryw gwpl o filltiroedd o’r bwthyn gwenfflam, lle bydd cysgodion yn cwrdd i drafod athroniaeth, llunio hunllefau, hau hadau dinistr, a rhwygo’r dyfodol, mae calon ddu’n curo’n gryf, ‘chep – er — chep – er — chep – er.’ A dyna faban balch yn ennill ei enw ei hun ar draul y tri dyn sydd wrthi’n cael eu hanfon i ebargofiant. Fe’i hadwaenir dan yr enw hwn pan ddaw e allan i’r Byd, a dyma’r enw fydd e’n ddefnyddio i drechu’r Ddaear, trwy gyfrwng castiau hudol o’r un fath a enynnwyd yn y seler. Wel, dyna’r bwriad, ta be’. Ond o ran pwy?And then a trumpet-blast, loud enough to wake the dead, let alone the living, and those not yet born, resounds across the estate. In a warm and dark womb, a couple of miles from the flaming cottage, where shadows meet to discuss philosophy, fashion nightmares, sow the seeds of destruction, and rend the future, a black heart beats strongly, ‘chep – er — chep – er — chep – er.’ And a proud baby wins his own name at the expense of the three men who are busy being sent to oblivion. He shall be known by this name when he emerges into the World, and this is the name he shall use to conquer the Earth, by means of magical tricks of the same kind as have been awoken in the cellar. Well, that’s the intention, anyway. But on whose part?

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 25

Pennod Naw ar Hugain: Edifarhau (Lleisiau 25) / Regretting (Voices 25)

Fel rheol, byddwn ni’n cysylltu cysgodion â phrinder golau, ond mewn gwirionedd, teflir y cysgodion egluraf gan y goleuad cryfaf. Felly, mae golau a chysgod yn bodoli fel rhannau cyflenwol yn yr un broses ddatblygu gaotig, lle bydd y ddau gyfranogwr yn mynd ar gynnydd ac ar gil, gan dyfu a lleihau’n gyson. Fel hyn yr ymddengys y bydd cysgodion yn ymhyfrydu mewn creu teyrnas hudol sydd yn amwys a chwareus. Pan deithiwn ni trwy’r fro hon o ddifrif, felly, mewn breuddwydion neu hunllefau, a fyddwn ni’n gweld y cysgodion eu hunain? Neu yn lle hynny, a fyddwn ni’n trosglwyddo iddynt emosiynau a drychfeddyliau, ofnau ac awyddau, gan eu llenwi â delweddau a symbolau o bob math? Yr ail sydd yn gywir, o ran y mwyafrif o bobl, yn ôl pob sôn. Ac wrth gwrs, y cynfas gwag, delfrydol yw’r fan ddamhegol hon. O’r herwydd, nid anghywir fyddai dweud mai gwlad y dychymyg yw’r lle hwn, wedi’i phoblogi, er enghraifft, â phortreadau yn dangos ein hunain yn rhyngweithio â hunain eraill; â lluniau hyblyg realiti; ac â gweledigaethau ynglŷn â phethau a allai fod, o bosibl. Ac yno y gallwn ni arbrofi, gan flasu profiadau newydd a rhyfedd, heb fod arnom angen ymrwymo i’r un ohonynt o reidrwydd.

As a rule, we connect shadows with a lack of light, but in truth, the clearest shadows are cast by the strongest light. Thus, light and shadow exist as complementary parts in the same chaotic development process, where the two participants, wax and wane, growing and shrinking constantly. In this way it appears that shadows delight in creating a magical kingdom which is ambiguous and playful. When we travel through this region in earnest, then, in dreams or nightmares, will we see the shadows themselves? Or, instead of that, will we transfer to them emotions and ideas, fears and desires, filling them with images and symbols of all kinds? The latter is true, for the majority of people, apparently. And of course, this allegorical place is the ideal blank canvas. As a result, it would not be incorrect to say that this place is the land of the imagination, populated, for example, with portraits showing our selves interacting with other selves; with flexible pictures of reality; and with visions of things that could possibly be. And there we can experiment, tasting new and strange experiences, without having to commit to any of them, necessarily.

‘Lly, lanciau a llancesau, dyma fi’n eistedd ar fy mhen fy hun, mewn hen fwthyn heb fywyd a simsan, ymhlith cysgodion swnllyd y gorffennol anhrugarog sy’n berwi fel cawl pys. A finnau’n ddim ond hen ysgolfeistr ar farw, oedd yn arfer bod yn filwr. Dim ond f’atgoffa i wnaiff y cysgodion ‘ma, ar y naill law o gariad colledig ac ar y llaw arall, o yrfa wedi’i gwenwyno gan drallod gweinyddiaeth, i’r Nw Yrth â nhw! Ac wedi ‘neud ‘ny, fe adawan nhw fi’n crogi rhwng byw a marw, mewn rhyw gyflwr od, bron yn anymwybodol. Ww, dim ond Rhisiart Rhuddygl ar y bocs sy’n cadw cwmni i fi! Mae’n clebran am lysiau amryliw’r gaeaf a’u nodweddion bywiocaol, oddi mewn i’w ‘fwthyn helaeth, gwledig, modern, hudol.’ Am lwyth o hen lol! Fe fyddai’n ‘neud i fi gyfogi, os do’n i’m yn ‘neud ‘ny eisoes. Y pwdryn!So, lads and lasses, here am I, sitting alone, in an old cottage, lifeless and rickety, amongst the merciless past’s noisy shadows which are chattering incessantly. And I’m just an old school-master about to die, who used to be a soldier. These shadows do nothing but remind me, on the one hand, about lost love, and on the other hand, of a career poisoned by the tribulation of administration, damn them to the Nw Yrth! And, having done that, they leave me hanging between living and dying, in some odd condition, almost unconscious. Ooh, there’s only Rhisiart Rhuddygl on the box, keeping me company! He’s prattling on about variegated winter vegetables and their invigorating characteristics, from inside his ‘spacious, enchanting, modern, countryside cottage.’ What a load of old nonsense. It would make me puke, if I wasn’t already. The puddin’!
Neu ydy’r difenwad ‘na’n annheg? Ddylai dyn gadw casineb o’r fath ar gyfer iachawdwyr hunanbenodedig gwareiddiad, fel yr un o’r enw Mr Iago Olew sy newydd ymddangos yn fy nrych sgrio, yn edrych yn dipyn bach fel morfil wedi mynd yn sownd ar y traeth? Yn ‘yn myfyrgell, ‘yn seler, ‘y nghroth, ‘y medd, dw i yn awr, yn ymlacio – ha, ha – cyn dechrau ar ran ola’r seremoni derfynol. Mae’n naw o’r gloch un noson braf o haf, nos Wener, a bod yn fanwl gywir. A dyma fi’n troi’r sain ar y radio i lan wrth ddiffodd y sain ar y teledu am y tro. A hynny’n lle ceisio rhoi ‘mysedd ar y bysellfwrdd i grynhoi ‘mhrofiadau mwya’ pwysig hyd yn hyn, i gyffesu, mewn ffordd – fel ‘swn i’m moyn dodi’n adroddiad ola' mewn ‘sgrifen.Or is that name-calling unfair? Should you keep hatred like that for self-appointed saviours of civilization, like the one called Mr Iago Olew who’s just appeared in my scrying-glass, looking a bit like a whale stranded on the beach? In my study, my cellar, my womb, my grave, am I now, relaxing – ha, ha – before starting on the last part of the final ceremony. It’s nine o’clock, one fine summer’s eve, Friday, to be perfectly correct. So, I turn the sound on the radio up whilst extinguishing the sound on the TV for the time being. And that’s instead of trying to put my fingers on the keyboard to crystallize my most important experiences up to now, to confess, in a way – as if I didn’t want to set down my last report in writing.
Pam yn y Ddau Fyd dyn nhw’n gadael i slebs falu awyr am bethau dyn nhw’m yn gwybod dim byd amdanyn nhw, fel gwleidyddiaeth ac addysg? Dyna ‘rhen J B Grossmann nawr ar ei sioe ‘Cyflwr y Genedl,’ o bob peth, yn sgwrsio fel petai fe eisiau rheoli’r wlad fel Gormeswr Caredig, neu rywbeth. Un da yw e’n siarad am foesau a sut i fihafio, wedi rhedeg bant gyda gwraig rhyw ffŵl truenus arall, oedd yn hen ffrind iddo ar un adeg, gan adael ei un ‘i hun ar ôl. Mae clywed ei enw e'n 'mhrifo i i'r byw, heb sôn am 'nabod ei lais yn gwag-siarad. Celwyddgi, a thwyllwr, ac ysbeiliwr, a chynffonnwr ydy, fel bob gwleidydd, pen parablus, a ffug-bersonoliaeth, fel yr holl dalent wnaed. Mae’n gas ‘da fi gyfadde’ hyn, ta be’, ond wy’n ‘nghael fy hun yn cytuno ‘da fe am lawer o bwyntiau, ar y rhaglen o leia’. Er mod i’n gasáu fe â chas perffaith, a bod yn hollol onest. Dyna i chi farw, sbo.Why in the Two Worlds do they let celebs talk nonsense about things they don’t know anything about, like politics and education? There’s the old J B Grossmann now on his show ‘State of the Nation,’ of all things, chatting on as if he wanted to rule the land as Benevolent Dictator, or something. He’s a good one to talk about morals and how to behave, having run off with the wife of some other poor fool who was an old friend of his at one time, leaving his own behind. Hearing his name cuts me to the quick, not to mention recognising his voice prattling. A liar, and trickster, and toady, that’s what he is, like every politician, talking-head, and fake-personality, like all the manufactured talent. I hate to admit this, though, but I find myself agreeing with him about lots of points, on the program at least. Although I hate him with a vengeance, to be perfectly honest. That’s dying for you, s’pose.
[Grossmann] “Dyma fi’n areithio ar ein rhan ni i gyd, y werin oll wedi’u darostwng, y rhai wedi’u dadryddfreinio sy dan draed. Yn ddisylw gan y bobl fawr, dyn ni i gyd yn byw o'r llaw i'r genau erbyn hyn, tu mewn i fyd llwfr, llechwraidd, a chwit-chwat, sy’n llawn trallod wedi’i achosi gan arholiadau afraid, tethi gormodol, offeiriaid trahaus, cymwysterau diystyr, a biwrocratiaeth anhygoel. Yma, adleisio bob tro ac ym mhob man wna’r hoff ymadrodd – Addysgwch! Dysgwch! Llwyddwch! Enillwch! Prynwch! Talwch! Ac felly bydd amwysedd diamheuol yn ffugio ei fod yn ddealltwriaeth lem. Ar yr un pryd, bydd babanod araf eu meddwl yn cael eu gorfodi i lyncu, heb brotestio, anghymedroldeb arteithiol. Dyna nhw’n slaffio i lawr lond platiau di-ben-draw o’r drychfeddyliau dua’, fwydwyd iddyn nhw, ran fwya’r amser, gan addysgwyr anystyriol ar gyflogau gwael.”[Grossmann] “Here am I speaking on behalf of us all, all the subjugated folk, the disenfranchised who are under heel. Unnoticed by the nobs, we all live from hand to mouth by now, in a fickle, furtive, pusillanimous world, which is full of tribulation caused by unnecessary exams, extortionate taxes, overbearing priests, meaningless qualifications, and unbelievable red-tape. Here, always and everywhere the catchphrase resounds – Educate! Learn! Succeed! Earn! Buy! Pay! And so, undoubted equivocation pretends to be rigorous understanding. At the same time, slow-witted babes are forced to swallow, without protest, torturous excess. They guzzle down endless plates of the blackest ideas, fed to them, most of the time, by uncaring educationalists on terrible pay.”
Rwy’n gwybod, wy’n deall – dw i ‘di’i gadael hi tan y funud olaf un, fel arfer, ond dyna’r lleia’ o ‘mhryderon erbyn hyn. A beth dw i wedi treulio’r ddwy flynedd ar bymtheg – O, dyna rif sbesial i chi – o’r blaen yn ‘neud? Wel gadewch i fi ddweud wrthoch chi. Rwy ‘di cael ‘nghorfodi i geisio gwthio un peth i bennau’r myfyrwyr twp, trwsgl a difater sy ‘di heidio drwy ddrws croesawgar ‘yn ‘stafell ddosbarth a bant ‘to, o’r naill flwyddyn i’r llall. A dyma’r siars i chi – ‘Peidiwch â gadael pethau nes bydd hi’n rhy hwyr!” – wedi’r cyfan, mae amser yn hanfodol, on’d yw e? Wrth gwrs mae ‘di syrthio ar glustiau byddar bob tro.I know, I understand – I’ve left it until the very last minute, as usual, but that’s the least of my worries by now. And what’ve I spent the last seventeen years – Oh, there’s a special number for you – doing? Well, let me tell you. I’ve been forced to try to push one thing into the heads of the apathetic, awkward, and obtuse students who’ve flocked in through the welcoming doors of my classroom and off out again, from one year to the next. And here’s the lesson for you – ‘Do not leave things until it’s too late!’ – after all, time is of the essence, isn’t it? Of course, it’s fallen on deaf ears every time.
[Grossmann] “A dyma’r rheiny – rhaglenwyr rhyddiaith ryfeddol, cyn falched â pheunod, pwyllog ond pryderus – sy ddim angen ateb i neb ac eithrio’r ddau hen dâl-feistr llethol, o’r enw llywodraeth a chyllid. Ymarferwyr y celfyddydau duon ydyn nhw, ac maen nhw’n honni’u bod nhw’n annibynnol, yn llawn unigoliaeth a dealltwriaeth, yn ddi-lwgr a heb eu llygru. Drwy ‘neud hyn fe fyddan nhw’n llunio lledrith annioddefol ar y gorau, ond yn achosi, ar y gwaetha’, dryblith llwyr ac anhrefn ofnadw’.”[Grossmann] “And then there’s those – the programmers of purple prose, as proud as peacocks, prudent but preoccupied – who need answer to no-one save the two old, oppressive pay-masters named government and finance. Practitioners of the black arts are they, and they allege they are independent, full of individuality and understanding, incorruptible and uncorrupted. By doing this they fashion insufferable illusion at the best, but cause, at the worst, complete confusion and awful anarchy.”
Be’ bynnag, rwy ‘di bod yn bwrw golwg yn ôl dros lawer o bynciau mewn modd amwys ac annatblygedig drwy’r wythnos oddi ar i fi osod yr un dasg ola’ ‘ma i fi’n hun. Yn y pen draw, yr un peth rwy ‘di bod yn holi’n hun amdano mwya' yw hyn, iawn? Rwy’n meddwl fe ddylwn i atodi ‘a bod yn berffaith onest’ yma, er mwyn mynd yn syth i’ch calonnau. O, mae’r boen mor ddwys, dyw’n meddwl ddim yn gweithio’n reit! Ond wrth i fi gofio tameidiach, bob yn dipyn, ar y funud ‘ma, raid dweud, rwy’n dirnad heb i fi ofyn, y metaffor, y trosiad, y gyffelybiaeth oedd yn blaguro i gludo’n ystyr. Ac yn sydyn dyma fi’n sylweddoli bod dim ond rhyw rywogaeth o fwncïod hwyliog ydyn ni. Crwydro drwy fywyd ‘nawn ni’n hollol ddibryder, achos fyddwn ni’m yn ystyried pethau. Ond drwy’r amser fe allen ni fod yn cynhyrchu’r domen fwya’ o achles ffrwythlon fel ‘naiff ein cefndyr blewog, yn well nag unrhyw gyffur, yn ein hachos ni, drwy ddefnyddio’r dychymig i’r eitha’. ‘Lly ryw’n gofyn, mewn gwirionedd, ydw i’n malio’r un daten am fod yn hollol gywir o ran iaith a mynegiant, am gynnwys y ffeithiau priodol i gyd? Neu, fyddai’n well ‘da fi ddim ond dweud ‘nweud, ac i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd gyda’r gweddill, y manylion gwrthun?Anyway, I’ve been casting a glance back over lots of topics in a vague and undeveloped way during the week since I set myself this one last task. In the end, the one thing I’ve been interrogating myself about most is this, right? I think I should append ‘to be perfectly honest’ here, to shoot straight at your hearts. Oh, the pain’s so intense, my mind’s not working right! But as I recall fragments, little by little, just this instant, I must say, I comprehend without asking the metaphor, the image, the simile, that was blossoming to carry my meaning. And suddenly I realise that we’re nothing but some species of cheeky monkeys. We wander through life without a care in the world, as we don’t reflect on things. But all the time we could be producing the biggest pile of fruitful manure, better than any drug, in our case, by using our imagination to max. So, I ask, in truth, do I give a damn about being completely correct about language and expression, about including all the appropriate facts? Or, would I prefer just to say my piece, and the rest, the ridiculous details, can go to the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers?
[Grossmann] “Dyma fyd ar farw, heb haul, llawn cysgodion lledrithiol, sy’n addo popeth ar sail dim byd o werth. Yma, awydd yw’r cyflog mae’r calcwlws gwrth-greadigol yn gynnig. Dyn ni’n byw mewn byd anesmwyth ac annheyrngar, sy ddim yn amlhau ond pesimistiaeth, gwaethygiad, a gwangalondid. Ac yma, dyn ni’n cael ein dal mewn magl fêl wedi’i chadw mewn lle gan ddyrnau dur yn gwisgo menig sidan, a drinnir gan wleidyddion gan amlaf. Mae’r rhain eisiau gorfodi arnom ffieiddbethau fel safonau gweithredu gorfodol, rheolaeth eithaf ar ansawdd, atebolrwydd ebrwydd perffaith, amlygrwydd clinigol o ran pob proses, gwrth-elitiaeth filwriaethus, cydraddoldeb annheg, ac anffafriaeth bositif yn ffafrio’r cyfenwadur lleia’. Maen nhw’n coegio bod gofyn am hyn oll i ddiogelu’r system sanctaidd, tra byddan nhw’n rheoli hi i'w dibenion eu hunain fyth a hefyd.”[Grossmann] “This is a dying world, sunless, full of illusory shadows, which promise everything based on nothing in particular. Here, desire is the wage that the anti-creative calculus offers. We live in a disloyal and discomforting world, which proliferates only pessimism, defeatism, and despair. And here, we are caught in a honey-trap kept in place by iron fists wearing silken gloves, wielded by politicians most often. These want to force upon us abominations like compulsory operating standards, ultimate quality control, perfect instantaneous accountability, clinical transparency for every process, militaristic anti-elitism, unfair equality, and positive discrimination favouring the lowest common denominator. They pretend that there is need for all this to safeguard the sacred system, whilst they govern it for their own end, now and forever.”
Wel, digon yw digon, ‘achan, a dyna’n wir os unrhyw beth ydy! Nage gwastraff ar amser fydd yr ymarfer ‘ma yn y pen draw, siŵr o fod, er dw i’m yn gallu dweud yn bendant. Falle fod datrys problemau o’r fath yn waith i’r darlledwr yn hytrach na’r awdur. Beth rwy’n olygu, yn y bôn, yw hyn. Ar yr un llaw, fe fydd y darlledwr ffyddlon yn gwneud yr holl wahaniaeth trwy feddwl yn glir, trwy ddehongli’n fanwl, trwy wrthod derbyn y celwyddau a gaiff eu lledu gan grëwr y darn ar yr olwg gynta’. Ac wrth reswm dyna waith fydd yn gofyn amser maith. Neu hwyrach taw tasg sydd orau gan borwr chwit-chwat ydy, fydd yn llowcio’n rheibus gan fwynhau gadael i’r cyfrinachau a’r ystyron cêl lifo drosto. Ac wedi treulio’r pryd o eiriau a syniadau, a mynd i gysgu fel petai, fe fydd yn cynhyrchu delweddau ffres trwy dalu sylw i bigiadau pin di-alw-andanyn-nhw o sythwelediad.Well, enough’s enough, mate, and that’s true if anything is! This exercise won’t be a waste of time in the end, probably, although I can’t say for certain. Maybe solving problems like that is work for the reader rather than the author. What I mean, basically, is this. On one hand, the faithful reader makes all the difference by thinking clearly, by interpreting in detail, by refusing to accept at first sight the lies spread by the piece’s creator. And of course, that’s work that takes a long time. Or perhaps it’s a task that’s preferable for a fickle browser, who gobbles rapaciously, enjoying letting the secrets and hidden meanings flow over him. And having digested the meal of words and ideas, and fallen asleep as it were, he’ll produce fresh images by paying attention to uncalled for pin-pricks of intuition.
[Grossmann] “Yn y fath system, mae’n rhaid i bawb a phopeth hercian mynd mewn cylchred gwastadol wedi’i lunio o ffolineb ac euogrwydd. Mae hyn oll yn cael ei ariannu gan daliadau uchel andwyol gan ddefnyddwyr y gwasanaethau, gan brynwyr y cynhyrchion, fydd yn cael eu cyplu â mynegrifau adborth a fesurwyd gan holiaduron ymwthiol, diddiwedd. Ac wedyn bydd yn rhaid wrth drio diwallu pob mympwy a ellid ei ddychmygu o ran y rhai sy’n yfed o’r caregl addysgol wedi’i wenwyno, drwy gyfrwng arolygon boddhad gwatwarus, mae’u canlyniadau dydyn nhw ddim yn gallu cael eu defnyddio’n ymarferol o achos eu cymhlethdod.”[Grossmann] “In such a system, everyone and everything must limp in a perpetual cycle fashioned from foolishness and guilt. All of this is financed by cripplingly high payments from users of the services, by consumers of the products, which become coupled with feedback indexes measured by interminable, intrusive questionnaires. And then it’s necessary to try and satisfy every whim imaginable on the part of those who sup from the poisoned educational chalice, by means of scornful satisfaction surveys, the results of which cannot be used practically due to their complexity.”
Ta be’, y peth mwya’ estron, fel ro’n i’n dweud, neu ‘sgrifennu, neu deipio’n hytrach – nawr ‘te, beth ro’n i’n sôn amdano – O, reit, dyna ni – dyna’r cysyniad ‘ma o’r enw ‘lais.’ Falle mod i’n teimlo – sut alla i ddweud hyn – mod i’n bod yn dwyllodrus pan fydda i’n cofnodi’r stwff ‘ma i gyd, gan goelio byddwn i’n mwynhau creu’r un mymryn o ‘nhraethawd gwasgarog. Ond rwy’n meddwl taw ‘mhroblem fwya’ yw mod i ofn alla i’m dibynnu arnoch chi oll i weithio’n ddigon dyfal. Sut fyddai’n dirwyn i ben ‘sech chi’n cael eich gadael yn llonydd i weithio’r holl gampau geiriol ‘ma i’w terfyn heb ‘nghymorth cyson i? A dyna achos taw hen fwnci ewn dw i, sy ‘di teithio o gwmpas y Byd sawl gwaith, gan daenu heddwch, cariad, a hud, fel petai, a dod yn Ddewin am ‘yn holl lafur.Anyway, the strangest thing, as I was saying, or writing, or typing, rather – now then, what was I talking about – Oh, right, there we are – that’s this concept of ‘voice.’ Perhaps I feel – how can I say this – that I’m being deceitful when I record all this stuff, believing that I’d enjoy creating one iota of my scattered essay. But I think that my biggest problem is that I’m frightened I can’t depend on you lot to work hard enough. How’d things wind up if you were left to your own devices to work all these verbal gymnastics though to their conclusion without my constant support? And that’s because I’m a cheeky old monkey who’s travelled around the Wold several times, spreading peace, and love, and magic, as it were, and becoming a Wizard for my troubles.
[Grossmann] “Dyma bob agwedd ar fywyd, meddwl, a bihafio wedi’i oruchwylio gan niferoedd anesboniadwy o swyddogion yn cynnwys gweision sifil a chadeiryddion pwyllgorau. Mae capteiniaid y cwangos, yr unbeniaid pot jam, yn orselog, ac wedi mynd yn chwerw a gwyrgam o ddiffyg llonder yn eu swyddi a’u bywydau. Nhw a fydd angen esgus bod nhw’n annibynnol i fodloni Cynrychiolydd y Werin bondigrybwyll, y pwysigion seneddol, celwyddog ‘na. Ac wedyn fe fydd yr aelodau parchedig yn esgyn y polyn llithrig drwy deg neu drwy hagr, falle ym mhob dull a modd. A’r Hen Dduwiau a’n gwaredo ni, Gwladweinydd Blaenorol fydd un ohonyn nhw ryw ddydd, wedi trywanu pob un o’r lleill yn ei gefn. Nhw fydd yn atebol mewn theori o leia’ i gasgliad aneffeithiol o adynod dirywiedig, anetholedig yn llechu yn Siambr Werdd Pencadlys hyglod ein cenedl, sy’n drewi o nawddogaeth niweidiol. Mae rhai o’r rhain yn frochus ond anfuddiol, tra mae rhai eraill yn athrist ond gweithgar. Yn gyffredinol, wrth gwrs, mae’r dosbarth gwleidyddol i gyd yn arnofio mewn acwariwm o alcohol, wedi’i leoli yng nghnewyllyn adwythig Tŷ’r Llywodraeth.”[Grossmann] “Every aspect of life, thinking, and behaving is overseen by inexplicable numbers of officials including civil servants and committee chairpersons. The captains of the quangos, the tin-pot dictators, are over-zealous, and have become bitter and twisted from a lack of joy in their jobs and their lives. They need to pretend to be independent to satisfy the so-called Representatives of the People, those deceitful parliamentary panjandrums. And then the respected members ascend the greasy pole by fair means or foul, perhaps by whatever means possible. And the Old Gods save us, one of them shall be Foremost Statesman some day, having stabbed every one of the others in the back. They are answerable in theory at least to an ineffective collection of unelected, degenerate reprobates lurking in the Green Chamber of our nation’s renowned Headquarters, which stinks of pestilent patronage. Some of these are blustering but useless, whilst others are sorrow-laden but hard-working. In general, of course, all the political class floats in an aquarium of alcohol, located in the baneful kernel of Government House.
Ond amser siarad o ddifri’ nawr, mae’r pwynt nesa’ ‘ma’n bwysig iawn. Yn wir, craidd, both, hanfod y mater ydy. Gyda threigl amser, mae hunanfynegiant o’r fath wedi dod yn fwy naturiol o lawer i fi, y dyn ‘ma o’r enw John Procter. Dyn dw i sy ‘di cael cryn lwyddiant i raddau. Fe fues i’n filwr, yn arwr, ddywedem ni, er fyddwn i’m defnyddio’r gair. Ond er i fi achub ffrind rhag llosgi mewn coelcerth, fe gollodd e arno’i hun yn ddiweddarach. Rwy ‘di llyncu ‘ngwala o gyffuriau o ganlyniad i’r hunllefau wy’n cael bob tro bellach. Ac eto i gyd, pan o’n i’n athro, ‘nes i estyn cymorth i lanc neilltuol oedd eisiau rhoi pen ar y cwbl. Rwy’n synnu ar y ffaith 'does dim ots ‘da fi’n wir, ‘sgrifennu popeth amdana i’n hun, a’i rannu fe, gan mwya’, gyda chi i gyd.But time to talk seriously now, this next point’s very important. Indeed, it’s the crux, the nub, the essence of the matter. As time passes, self-expression like this has become much more natural to me, this man called John Procter. I am a man who’s has some degree of success. I was a soldier, a hero, could we say, although I wouldn’t use the word. But although I saved a friend from burning in a conflagration, he lost control of himself later on. I’ve quaffed my share of drugs because of the nightmares I have all the time now. And then again, when I was a teacher, I gave help to a one particular lad who wanted to end it all. I’m surprised by the fact that I don’t care really, writing down everything about myself, and sharing it, mostly, with all you lot.
[Grossmann] “Mae’r lladd-dy cymdeithasol yn waeth nag unrhyw faes cad. Dyma’r allor aberthol ble bydd gobeithion a breuddwydion mwya’ gwerth chweil y dyfodol yn cael eu gosod mewn trefn a’u rheoli. Ac yma, dicter cyfiawn yw’r unig ymateb ymarferol ar gael. Mae’r byd ‘ma’n llawn sefydliadau ysglyfaethus, dan awdurdod penaethiaid canibalaidd, wedi’u rheoli gan ganlyniadau ystadegol gwrthrychol. Felly fe fydd gweision i’r delwau sydd ohoni hi yn dyfeisio’n ddichellgar fesurau medr sy ddim yn ystyrlon o gwbl. Ac wedyn fe fydd y rhain yn cael eu defnyddio i hybu bwlian a hunan-newid, argymell ing, ysgogi gofid gresynus, a dihuno teimladau o ofid dyfna’.”[Grossmann] “The societal slaughter-house is worse than any battle-field. This is the sacrificial altar where the future’s most worthwhile hopes and dreams are set in order and regulated. And here, righteous anger is the only practical response available This world is full of predatory institutions, under the authority of cannibalistic chiefs, governed by objective statistical outcomes. Thus, do servants to the idols of the age deceitfully devise measures of facility which are completely meaningless. And then these are used to promote bullying and self-harm, to inculcate angst, to stir up wretched worry, and to awake feelings of deepest distress.”
Dyma ni ‘te, bobol bach – dyn ni ‘di cyrraedd y gwirionedd erchyll. Dw i’m yn medru cael gwared ar y meddyliau ffiaidd ‘ny hyd yn oed nawr – ‘swn i ond yn gallu. Cymaint wy’n dymuno doedd e erioed wedi digwydd. Wel, falle bydd sôn amdano – amdani hithau – yn helpu. Yr oedd un ferch fach – fe ddysgwn i ei brawd hi – ro’n i’n arfer ei ‘nabod hi – fe fynnai hi fenthyg rhai pamffledi am hudoliaeth mewn patrymau ieithyddol o’n i ‘di’u ‘sgrifennu – o ran hwyl, meddai. ‘Neno Hebé – dyna daer yr oedd hi’n ‘nghanlyn i – roedd hi’n greadures hardd, ond, druan ohoni hi, enaid mor gythryblus oedd hi – dywedai hi gallai glywed ‘yn llais i pan ddarllenai hi’r geiriau – ac fe fyddai hi mewn gorawen. Ac wedyn deintiais i’r abwyd – er bod hi’n fyfyrwraig oedd yn astudio i fod Meistr yn y Gwyddorau mewn Astudiaethau Technegol ym Mholy-ysgol Aberdydd. Ges i ‘nghyfareddu ganddi hi, rwy’n tybio – mor falch o’n llais academaidd, didactig o’n i. Fe fedrai’n chwaer i weld mod i’n taflu llygad gafr ar y ferch, ac roedd hi’n anghymeradwyo, a dweud y lleia’. Yn wir, gaeth hi ffit binc, ond dw i ‘rioed wedi rhoi sylw i’w chyngor hi, gwaetha’r modd. Ges i ‘nhemtio. Fe flasais i’r ffrwyth gwaharddedig. Fe gwympais oddi wrth ras. A bellach, rwy wedi 'nghondemnio.Here we are then, people – we’ve reached the terrible truth. I can’t get rid of those hateful thoughts even now – if only I could. How much I wish it had never happened. Well, maybe talking about it – about her – will help. There was one little girl – I used to teach her brother – I used to know her – she insisted on borrowing some pamphlets about magic in linguistic patterns I’d written – for fun, she said. Name of Hebé – how insistently she pursued me – she was a beautiful creature, but, poor thing, she was such a troubled soul – she used to say she could hear my voice when she read the words – and that she would be in ecstasy. And then I took the bait – although she was a student studying to be Master of Science in Technical Studies in Aberdydd Poly-versity. I was enchanted by her, I suppose – so proud of my didactic, academic voice was I. My sister could see that I was gazing wantonly at the girl, and she disapproved, to say the least. Indeed, she screamed blue murder, but I’ve never paid her any heed, more’s the pity. I was tempted. I tasted the forbidden fruit. I fell from grace. And now I have been condemned.
Dyma fi'n colli ymwybod am sbel, greda i, ond am faint o amser 'dwn i'm, ac wedyn dod ata'n hunan 'to. Rhaid mod i'n meddwl ar y funud, ta be', os dw i'm yn synhwyrol a chall, sut allwn i fod yn cyfathrebu fel hyn fel arall? Ond eto i gyd, dw i'n amau dw i'm yn bodoli ar y Ddaear o gwbl o'r un eiliad i'r llall. A bod yn berffaith onest, o ran un syniad o leia', un cymeriad, un enaid, dw i'n cael 'yn rhwygo rhwng dau deimlad, wrth hongian yn y fantol yn pendilio o gasineb i gariad ffôl ac yn ôl.I lose consciousness for a while, I think, but for how long I don’t know, and then come to my senses again. I must be thinking at the moment, anyway, if I’m not completely with it, how could I be communicating like this otherwise? But then again, I doubt I exist on the Earth at all from one second to the next. To be perfectly honest, on the part of one idea at least, one character, one soul, I am torn between two feelings, whilst hanging in the balance, oscillating from hatred to infatuation and back.
Ro'n i'n hala amser maith dramor yn ceisio 'ngwraig, oedd wedi'i dwyn oddi wrtha i gan y dyn cythreulig 'na ar ôl iddi esgor ar ferch fach. Ac yn wir ro'n i'n crwydro o Diroedd y Gorllewin i Diriogaeth y Dwyrain., o Gestyll Iâ'r De i'r Coedwigoedd Llosg yn y Gogledd. Rhaid cofnodi'r canlynol yma: drwy gydol y cyfnod 'ma, ro'n i'n brwydro drwy’r amser yn erbyn drygioni'r Ddaear yn rhith yr Hen Filwr. O, dw i'n chwerthin eto o feddwl bod rhai'n dweud taw Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd o'n i! Roedd pawb gartre yn Aberdydd yn credu i 'nheulu farw mewn damwain drasig o achos 'yn arbrofion alcemegol, a do'n i'm yn dweud dim byd i'r gwrthwyneb. Ges i hyd iddyn nhw, y teulu ffug, yn y Wladwriaeth Ddwyreiniol Annibynnol, y dyffryn 'na o ble dyw neb yn dod yn ôl fel rheol. Er gwaetha'n holl ymdrechion, do'n i'm yn gallu dod yn agos at y rhai dw i'n caru'n fwy na bywyd ei hun. Ro'n i'n estyn dwylo at yr un a ddylai wedi bod yn ferch i fi, ond sy'n blentyn i ddyn arall, drwy freuddwydio amdani hi, canolbwyntio mor galed ag y gallwn i, a dychmyg beth allai fod wedi bod. Ar y pryd, lwyddais i ddim, roedd y rhagfuriau'n rhy gadarn. Wedi'n siomi'n enbyd, fe ddychwelais i i'r hen ‘stad deuluol ar ôl llawer o anturiaethau, i lyfu 'mriwiau ac edrych 'mlaen at fyw am byth.I was spending loads of time abroad seeking my wife, who’d been stolen from me by that devil of a man after she gave birth to a little girl. And truly I wandered from the West-lands to the Eastern Territory, from the Ice-castles of the South, to the Burning Forests in the North. We have to note the following here: throughout this period, I was always battling against the evils of the Earth in the guise of the Old Soldier. Oh, I laugh still to think that some say that I was an Old Holy Warrior! Everyone at home in Aberdydd believed my family’d died in a tragic accident due to my chemical experiments, and I said nothing to the contrary. I found them, the fake family, in the Independent Eastern Commonwealth, that vale from where no-one returns as a rule. Despite all my efforts, I couldn’t get close to those I love more than life itself. I reached out to the one who should have been my girl, but who’s another man’s child, through dreaming about her, concentrating as hard as I could, and imagining what could have been. At the time, I didn’t succeed, the ramparts were too strong. Terribly disappointed, I returned to the old family estate after many adventures, to lick my wounds and look forward to living for ever.
Ond erbyn hyn mae'r gorffennol wedi dal i fyny gyda fi. Mae hi wedi bod yn ymweld â fi yn ystod y nos, y ferch sy'n rhyw lun o berthyn i fi, er dw i'm yn hollol siŵr be’ fyddai’r enw ar ein perthynas. Fe fydda i'n dihuno a dyna fydd hi'n swatio troso i ar y gwely. Rwy'n sicr taw'r ymweliadau amhur 'ma gan yr ellylles ar ffurf Kiande Amedha sy wedi peri i'n iechyd i gyflym waethygu, wrth i'n meddwl i fethu hefyd. Dyma lances ifanc sy'n ymddangos yn brydferth eithriadol o bell, er mwyn eich denu, ond sy'n datgelu'i chnawd caled, ei chrafangau miniog, a'i chynffon fachog yn nes 'mlaen! Mae fel petai'r gythreules yn sugno'r holl fywyd ohono i. Ac wrth iddi ymosod arna i fel hyn, mae hi'n adrodd wrtha i fantrâu wedi'u hysgrifennu ar waliau palas tywod Etneksha, yn cynnwys yr un sy'n rhedeg, 'Gad i'th gorff ddod yn bridd; gad i'th waed ddod yn ddŵr; bydded i'th enaid yn ffordd iddyn nhw ddod yn ôl atom ni.' Dwi'n crynu wrth gofio Dendrah Leiddiad yn rheibio Sorakados Dywysog yn ogofâu'r corynnod gwydrfaen dan gastell y Brenin Melyn, yn ôl Llyfr Coch Rhwd a Gwaed.But now the past has caught up with me. She’s been visiting me during the night, the girl who’s related to me in some way, although I’m not completely sure what the name for our relationship would be. I awake and there she’ll be squatting over me on the bed. I’m sure that these impure visitations by the succubus in the form of Kiande Amedha have caused my health to deteriorate quickly, as my mind fails too. This is a young lass, who appears exceptionally beautiful from afar, to beguile you, but who reveals her hard flesh, her sharp talons, and her barbed tail later on! It’s as if the she-devil is sucking all the life out of me. And as she attacks me like this, she recites to me mantras written on the walls of the sand-palace of Etneksha, including the one that goes, ‘Let your body become soil; let your blood become water; may your soul be the way they return to us.’ I shudder whilst remembering Dendrah the Assassin enchanting Sorakados the Prince in the caves of the obsidian spiders under the Yellow King’s Castle, according to the Red Book of Rust and Blood.
Rhaid cyffesu taw arswydo ydw i, ei bod hi 'di uno grymoedd y tair Hen Dduwies, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – y ferch, y wraig, a’r fam-gu – y blinder sy'n lladd, y storm afreolus, a'r nant fwya' trist – i ymyrryd ym marwolaeth y Dewin a'i rwystro rhag cyflawni'r Gwaith Mawr. Dw i'n gallu gweld bod ei phwerau meddyliol yn gryf iawn, fel 'sai hi 'di dysgu nage dim ond sut i orchymyn y llengoedd o symbolau elfennol a threfnu'r heidiau o ddelweddau twyllodrus, ond hefyd sut fydd cysylltu â'r fro dra brawychus 'na sy'n corddi a byrlymu mor chwyrn dan wyneb y realiti fyddwn ni'n dirnad bob dydd heb yn wybod i bron pawb. Yn wir, mae fel 'sai hi 'di llwyddo i ddadansoddi'r ystyr wedi'i guddio yn yr enwau hyna', gan ennill awdurdod i orchymyn y byw a’r meirwon, ac felly mae'n canu caneuon croch, llawn miwsig cyn hawsed i'w deall, am fyw bywyd disglair, a charu â'th holl galon, a marw wrth frwydro dros d'egwyddorion.I must confess that I am terrified that she’s united the forces of the three Old Goddesses, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – the girl, the woman, the grandma – the killing tiredness, the unruly storm, and the saddest stream – to interfere in the death of the Wizard and prevent him from completing the Great Work. I can see that her mental powers are very strong, as if she’d learned not just how to command the legions of elemental symbols and organise the swarms of deceitful images, but also how to connect with that most terrifying realm which boils and bubbles so violently under the surface of the reality we perceive every day without almost anyone knowing. Really, it’s like she’s succeeded to analyse the meaning hidden in the oldest names, winning authority to command the living and the dead, and so she sings raucous songs, full of music so easy to understand, about living a lustrous life, and loving with your whole heart, and dying whilst fighting for your principles.
Mae hi'n gwau geiriau llawn tân a cheinder, mor fawreddog â Chân Tefnuth a ddygai Lushfé yn ôl i fywyd er gwaethaf ei friwiau enbyd. Drwy areithio fel hyn, mae wedi cyflawni gwyrthiau, gan annog pobl o bob math i deimlo’r naill ffordd neu'r llall drwy chwythu i'w clustiau ddim ond geiriau teg. Mae fel 'sai hi'n adrodd enwau bodau byw oll wrth i bŵer pob creadur o dan yr Haul yn datblygu yn ei chroth. Ond er hynny oll, dw i'n gobeithio ar 'ngwaetha' wrth erfyn ar y Saith dyw hi'm wedi cwympo mewn cariad gyda'r llanc gwirion 'na. Hwlcyn diwerth ydy, er nerthol ofnadw’! O diar! Fe fyddai 'ny'n 'neud cawl o 'nghynllun i esgyn i ogoniant, i sicrwydd.She weaves words full of fire and elegance, as majestic as the Song of Tefnuth that brought Lushfé back to life despite his terrible wounds. By holding forth like this, she has accomplished miracles, encouraging people of all kinds to feel this way of that by breathing into their ears nothing but fine words. It’s as if she’s reciting the names of all living things as the power of every creature under the Sun develops in her womb. But despite all that, I hope against hope, whilst entreating the Seven, that she’s not fallen in love with that stupid boy. He’s a useless lump, although he’s terribly powerful! Oh dear! That would mess up my plan to ascend to glory for sure.
O, myn Swtach! Rhaid oedd wrth ddarparu llestr ar gyfer enaid effeithiol y Dewin. Dw i 'di chwibanu ac mae hi wedi dod, heb os. Yn ddiweddar mae hi, y ferch fach a ddiflannodd cyhyd yn ôl, ond sydd mewn oed erbyn hyn, wedi dod yma i honni'r hawl i etifeddu popeth, er dyw fawr i'w gael rhagor. Mae'n dweud taw hi fydd yn dwyn baban a’i feddwl mor glir, o’i gymharu â gweddill dynolryw, sy mor ffôl â'r chwilod dall yn loetran dan y brwyn ar bwys Afon Dagrau. Dw i eisiau'i derbyn hi, wel ei mab hi o leia', fel cnawd o 'nghnawd i ar ryw olwg, achos fe fydd e'n chwarae rhan hollbwysig yn 'y modolaeth barhaol os bydd y cynllun yn llwyddo. Ond mae'n chwaer i, Mrs Grossmann, hynny yw Miss Procter a fu, yn dymuno gwrthwynebu'r ferch yn bendant. Mae hi'n teimlo dylech chi ennill eich tamaid ar eich liwt eich hunan.Oh, by Swtach! It was necessary to provide a vessel for the Wizard’s effective spirit. I’ve whistled and she’s come, without a doubt. Recently she, the little girl who disappeared so long ago, but who has come of age by now, has come here to claim her right to inherit everything, although there’s not much to be had any more. She says that she’s having a baby whose mind is so clear, compared with the rest of humankind, who are as stupid as the blind beetles loitering under the rushes by the River of Tears. I want to accept her, well her son at least, as flesh of my flesh in one sense, because he’ll be playing an all-important part in my continued existence if the plan succeeds. But my sister, Mrs Grossmann who used to be Miss Procter, desires to oppose the girl for definite. She feels you should earn your crust under your own steam.
Ac ar ben 'ny, Grossmann yw'r cyfenw gaeth y ferch gan ei Thad, a'r chwaer yn coelio dylai popeth aros gyda'r Procteriaid cig a gwaed. Fe all dyn deall ei theimladau, wedi’r cyfan, mae’i chnaf o gyn-ŵr yn Dad i’r ferch. Ond rwy'n rhy wan i ddadlau a brwydro mwyach! Felly fe adawaf iddi'r siârs ar gyfer y fferm foch 'nes i'u prynu flynyddoedd yn ôl. Fe fyddan nhw'n werth cryn dipyn bellach. Dyna ddylai roi taw arni hi be' bynnag. Ac fe fydd ei hanner brawd hi, Steffan (er dyw hi'm yn sylweddoli ar y ffaith ‘to) yn ymddiriedolwr dros y crwt, fydd yn cael popeth arall. Wrth gwrs, Lushfé a ŵyr beth fydd yn digwydd os bydd yr hud yn llwyddo yn ei amcan. Mae'n meddwl i'n dal i grwydro, dw i'm yn gallu canolbwyntio na chofio beth yw beth.And on top of that, Grossmann is the surname the girl had from her Father, and my sister believes that everything should stay with the flesh-and-blood Procters. One can understand her feelings, after all, her cad of an ex-husband’s father to the girl. But I’m too weak to argue and fight any more! So, I shall leave to her the shares for the pig farm I bought years ago. They’ll be worth a considerable bit now. That should shut her up anyway. And her half-brother, Steffan (although she doesn’t realise the fact yet) shall be trustee for the kid, who’ll get everything else. Of course, Lushfé knows what’ll happen if the magic succeeds in its aim. My mind’s still wandering, I can’t concentrate or remember what’s what.
Fydda i fyth yn deall y ferch unigryw 'ma'n hollol, mae hi fel rhyw fath o greadur gwyllt yn udo ar y lleuad wrth warchod ei chenau hi â ffyrnigrwydd glân. Ond yn ddi-os mae hi’n gwreiddio’n ara’ deg bellach, ac yma fe fydd hi'n aros fel gwinwydden fudr wedi'i lapio o gwmpas y lle, gan ddatgan pwrpas a ffawd popeth o fewn i'w chyrraedd gyda geiriau'r hen Swyn Triphlyg, 'Â halen mi rwy'n eich gwysio chi; â gwallt mi rwy'n eich cymell chi; â gwaed mi rwy'n eich rhwymo chi.' Ac wedi bwrw'r rwnau yn unol â Dilyniant Cudd Woodley, rwy'n credu taw hynny fydd yn digwydd beth bynnag fydd tynged y Byd y tu hwnt.I’ll never understand this unique girl completely, she’s like some kind of wild creature howling at the moon, whilst standing guard over her whelp with holy ferocity. But undoubtedly, she’s setting down roots now, slowly and surely, and here she’ll stay like a putrid vine wrapped around the place, declaring the purpose and the fate of everything within her reach with the words of the old Threefold Charm: ‘With salt, I summon you; with hair, I compel you; with blood, I bind you.’ And having cast the runes in accord with Woodley’s Occult Sequence, I believe that that will happen, whatever shall be the destiny of the World beyond.
Rhaid i fi fod yn gry' wrth gwtsio yma yn y Tŷ Glas, y cartre’ mawr 'ma i’r ymadawedigion blin, y carchar bychan wedi’i 'neud o garreg bur o Breseli, a adeiladwyd ar fynwent wedi'i sefydlu yn ystod y Cyfnos Celtaidd. Yma mae porth i'r Nw Yrth yn ôl yr hanesion hynafol. Wrth i bopeth ar y Ddaear ddod i ben mewn coelcerth fflamllyd, tra mae'r olau’r lleuad lem yn disgleirio tu allan, fe af fi i mewn i'r diriogaeth dawel, i deyrnas gwyll, lawn golud a phethau da dydyn nhw'm o werth i neb sy'n trigo yno. Ac yna yn y pen draw fe ennilla i'r briod wobr. Fe ga i 'nghroesawu gan Tefnuth, Duwies y Meirwon, yr hudoles hena' a mwya' glandeg, fydd yn gwisgo boned ddu, ‘sgidiau cochion, a ffrog o les wen. Fe fyddwn ni'n hedfan gyda'n gilydd ar adenydd y gwynt gwyllt o'r Ddaear i'r Byd Arall, ble bydd yr Arglwyddes a ymadawodd â'i gŵr wedi rhoi genedigaeth i'w plentyn nhw'n gwylio o'i chlwyd bob tro ofidiau'r byw, ac angladdau'r meirw 'fyd. Ac wedyn, heb rithyn o amheuaeth, fe ddaw ceffylau ffyrnig Tefnuth â 'ngwraig golledig ata i nes y byddwn ni'n rheoli fel Brenin a Brenhines y Ddau Fyd am byth.I must be strong whist crouching here in the Blue House, this great home for the fed-up deceased, the tiny prison made of pure Preseli stone, built on a cemetery established during the Celtic Twilight. Here, there’s a gate to the Nw Yrth according to the ancient histories. As everything on the Earth comes to an end in a flaming bonfire, with the light of the harsh moon glittering outside, I shall go into the quiet territory, to the kingdom of gloom, full of wealth and good things that are of no worth to anyone who dwells there. And then in the end I shall win the proper prize. I shall be welcomed by Tefnuth, Goddess of the Dead, the oldest and fairest enchantress, who shall be wearing a black bonnet, red shoes, and a dress of white lace. We shall fly together on the wings of the wild wind from the Earth to the Other World, where the Lady who left her husband after giving birth to their child always watches from her perch, the troubles of the living, and the funerals of the dead too. And then, without a mote of doubt, Tefnuth’s fierce horses shall bring my lost wife to me so that we shall rule as King and Queen of the Two Worlds for ever.
[Grossmann] “Nawr fe fydd yn rhaid i ni ganolbwyntio ar ein Hybarch Sefydliadau Addysg Uwch. Mae pawb, yn anffodus, yn gwybod taw dwy fath ohonyn nhw sy’n bodoli, hynny yw, y Poly-ysgolion a’r Prifdechnegau. Ond dyw neb yn deall beth yw pwrpas yr un gynta’, heb sôn am yr ail. Ynddyn nhw, fe ddylai hyfforddeion gael eu dysgu am bynciau hollbwysig fel rhifoleg ddinesig, egwyddorion cuddiedig natur, rheoli a disgyblu’r dorf, trin celwyddau crefyddol a chymdeithasol, ac iaith at amcanion gwleidyddol. Ond nage hyn a wnaiff ddigwydd, dim o gwbl. A dyna achos bod y meistri i gyd wastad yn rhy brysur gyda’u gorchwylion eraill, y rhai wedi’u pennu gan yr arolygyddion ariannol a’r gweithredwyr profiad staff amlddisgyblaethol. Dychmygwch yr amser fyddan nhw’n wario ar weinyddiaeth sefydliadol hanfodol, astudio gosod gorfodol i hybu disgyblaeth, a hunan-fflangelliad mewnsyllgar wythnosol. O ganlyniad fydd dim eiliad ar ôl i’r athrawon gwangalon ddilyn eu diddordebau personol. Fe fydd y fath weithgareddau mor chwerw â’r wermod pan fyddan nhw’n llwyddo, achos fydd y slafdod byth yn dod i ben. Fydd dim clod na bri i’w cael am eu holl lafur, ‘chwaith. Ond fe fydd yn waeth byth os fyddan nhw’m yn cyrraedd brig cyflawniad ac felly colli cyllid a nawdd, eu swyddi, a, dyn a ŵyr, hyd yn oed eu bywydau!”[Grossmann] “Now me must concentrate on out Venerable Institutes of Higher Education. Everyone, unfortunately, knows that two types of them exist, that is, the Poly-versities and the Unitechnics. But no-one understands what is the purpose of the first, not to mention the second. In them, trainees should be taught about crucial subjects like civic numerology, hidden principles of nature, governing and disciplining the masses, manipulating religious and societal lies, and language for political ends. But it is not this that happens, not at all. And that is because all the masters are always too busy at their other tasks, those determined by the financial superintendents and the multi-disciplinary staff-experience agents. Imagine the time they spend on essential institutional administration, compulsory directed study to further discipline, and weekly introspective self-flagellation. As a result, there is not a second left for the craven teachers to follow their personal interests. Such actions are as bitter as wormwood when they succeed, since the drudgery never ceases. There is no praise nor renown to be had for all their labour, either. But it is worse than ever if they do not reach the pinnacle of achievement and thus lose finance and patronage, their jobs, and, who knows, even their lives!”
O, i’r Saith â fe! Mae dod at ‘nghoed fel cael ‘ngeni mewn rhyw Fyd Braf Newydd. Ble o’n i? Rhag pob clwyf eli amser, meddan nhw, ond serch hynny, wedi ‘ngyrru gan ddiffyg cariad, ac yn ôl unwaith eto, rwy ‘di dod yn fwy o Ddewin na milwr, sy’n credu yn hudoliaeth geiriau, er dwi’m yn cytuno bydd yn rhaid i awdur fod yn eirwir oll drwy’r amser. Rwy ‘di taflu’n hun i’r pen dwfn, gan ‘sgrifennu i geisio osgoi y gofid achoswyd gan y sgandal a’r geiriau chwerwon. Rwy ‘di rhoi cynnig ar gyfrodeddu plot o wead cywrain, ac, O, am fydoedd rwy ‘di’u creu yn ‘nychymyg i. Rwy ‘di bod yn faban yn y bru, yn canu rhyw fath o weddi cyn genedigaeth, sydd hefyd yn fawlgan i gariadus blentyn na fydda i’n nabod fyth fel Tad.Oh, to the Seven with it! Coming to my senses is like being born in some Brave New World. Where was I? Time is the best healer, they say, but despite that, driven forward by lack of love, and back again, I’ve become more of a wizard than a soldier, who believes in the magic of words, although I don’t agree that a writer has to be completely truthful all the time. I've thrown myself in at the deep end, writing to try and avoid the distress caused by the scandal and the bitter words. I’ve had a stab at weaving a finely-textured plot, and, Oh, what worlds I’ve created in my imagination. I’ve been a baby in the womb, singing some kind of prayer before birth, which is also paean to a beloved child I’ll never know as Father.
[Grossmann] “Yn rhy hawdd dyn ni’n cael ein denu gan areitheg lawn geiriau teg. Yn rhy gyflym dyn ni’n ildio i hud iaith lithrig a llesmeiriol. Drwy ein dihidrwydd ni, felly, fe fyddwn ni’n mynd yn gaeth i’r peiriant gwleidyddol mor dreisgar at ddynoliaeth yng nghanol ein cymdeithas a’n diwylliant sydd â gofal dros greu’r dyfodol dryw ailysgrifennu’r gorffennol. Yng nghrombil y ddyfais ‘ma, fe fydd yn rhaid i bob un yn ddieithriad ennill wobrau addysgol. Ac fe fydd hyn yn troi allan ddim ond ymenyddiau eiddil sy heb eu maethu’n ddigon. Drwy hyn fe fyddwn ni oll yn gwystlo’r blynyddoedd i ddod, ac amddifadu’r to sy’n codi o’r etifeddiaeth wedi’i haddo a’i haeddu. Wedi dweud ‘ny, un peth yn y gyfundrefn ‘ma sy’n anochel wrth natur. Dim ond y rhai gaeth eu geni’n ddedwydd yn y lle cynta’, sy eisoes yn gyfoethog annaturiol, a breintiedig wyrthiol, all ddisgwyl bod yn fuddugol fel mater o ffaith, ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr.Ffawd y rhai diriaid fydd aros ar y domen o ble maen nhw’n hanu’n wreiddiol. Fe ganan nhw am eu bwyd beunydd beunos heb gael eu bwydo. Feddan nhw ddim ar y gân hyd yn oed, na ‘chwaith ar y tail ffrwythlon sy’n uffernol werthfawr.”[Grossmann] “All too easily we are tempted by rhetoric full of fine words. Only too quickly we yield to the magic of slippery and hypnotic oration. Through our heedlessness, then, we become enslaved to the political machine, so violent towards humanity, in the heart of our society and our culture, which is charged with creating the future through rewriting the past. In the guts of this device, all, without exception, must win educational prizes. And this will turn out only feeble brains which have not been nourished enough. Thus, we shall all pawn the years to come, and disenfranchise the younger generation from the inheritance which has been promised and deserved. Having said that, there is one thing in this system that’s unavoidable by nature. Only those born blessed in the first place, who are already preternaturally wealthy, and miraculously blessed, can expect to be successful as a matter of fact, in the long run. The fate of the have-nots will be to remain on the dung-heap whence they originally come. They’ll sing for their suppers day without end without being fed. They’ll not own the song even, nor the fruitful manure either, that’s hellish expensive.”
Ble fydda i’n mynd oddi yma? Dw i’m yn sicr, a dweud y gwir. Rwy eisiau chwifio hudlath, creu bywyd newydd fel yn y straeon, diddymu poen pawb. Ond ar y llaw arall, ‘does ‘na'm cynllun ‘da fi sy’n dal dŵr. Amser nad erys, mae’n mynd heibio mor gyflym. Yn awr alla i’m dysgu mwy am y manylion yn ymwneud â thraethiad, cymeriad, nac ymddygiad. A dyna’r peth gwarthus ‘na ynghylch y teulu Grossmann, a ‘ngwriag a redodd i ffwrdd gydag un ohonyn nhw. Wel, mae’r llanastr llwyr ‘na’n golygu bod rheswm a gobaith wedi diflannu ‘fyd, amser maith ‘nol. ‘Lly eistedd ‘ma dw i, a ‘ngobled o laeth lladron yn ‘nwylo. Fi sy bron â marw o eisiau ‘nhrawsffurfio’n hun, w! Fe wn i taw dim ond fi sy’n gallu ‘neud ‘ny. Falle fe ddylwn i dynnu’r ewinedd o’r blew a dechrau o ddifri’. Ond mae’n rhy hwyr o lawer. Cysgodion ar yr ysgyfaint, medden nhw yn yr ysbyty, mor drist ond mor derfynol. A bellach mae’r canser wedi tyfu ar chwâl. Mae’r dolur yn arteithiol.Where do I go from here? I’m not sure, to tell the truth. I want to wave a magic wand, create a new life like in the stories, abolish everyone’s pain. But on the other hand, I have no plan that holds water. Time doesn’t stand still, it’s going past so quick. Now I can’t learn more about the details to do with narrative, character, or behaviour. And there’s the shameful thing regarding the Grossmann family, and my wife who ran off with one of them. Well, that complete nightmare means that reason and hope have disappeared too, a long time ago. So I sit here, with my goblet of mother’s ruin in my hands. I’m almost dying of a need to transform myself, man! I know that it’s only me who can do that. Maybe I should get on with it and start in earnest. But it’s much too late. Shadows on the lungs, they said in the hospital, so sadly but with such finality. And now the cancer’s metastasized. The pain’s torturous.
[Grossmann] O, ddinasyddion ein gwlad deg ni, dyma fi’n gofyn i chi o waelod fy nghalon – Sut ar y Ddaear fawr allwn ni addysgu’n plant ni mor dda am gost pob dim, ond ar yr un pryd eu dysgu nhw fawr o ddim am werth dim byd? Pris y broses ‘ma fydd iddyn nhw gael serio eu hysbrydoedd gan Sêl ‘Sgarlad cieidd-dra. A dyna fydd yn ‘neud i’w stumogau gorddi, ac achosi loes calon na ellir ei gwella. Y rhai’n diodde’r fath artaith heddi’ sy’m yn gallu dwyn dim byd o werth, nage, dim oll, ddim yr un peth melltith. Yn y diwedd fyddan nhw’m yn gwybod ‘run peth o gwbl am werthoedd sy’n gywir, cyffredin, cynnes, na chariadus. A byddwch chi’n siŵr byddan nhw’n dod i ddeall y diffyg ‘ma’n ddiamwys, ac yn ddi-feth yn nes ‘mlaen. O, rhaid i ni garco’n ŵyn gwirion ni, drwy weiddi gyda’n gilydd, yn unfrydol, ac ag un llais – Na! Na, na, na, na, na!”[Grossmann] “Oh, citizens of our fair land, I ask you from the bottom of my heart – How on the great Earth can we educate our children so well about the cost of everything, but at the same time teaching them next to nothing about the value of anything? The price of this process is that their spirits will be seared with the Scarlet Seal of inhumanity. And that will make their stomachs churn, and cause heartache that cannot be cured. Those enduring such torture today cannot bring forth anything of worth, no, nothing at all, not a single damned thing. In the end, they shall not know anything at all about values that are true, ordinary, warm, or loving. And be sure they’ll come to understand this lack unambiguously, and unfailingly, later on. Oh, we must safeguard our silly lambs, shouting together, unanimously, and with one voice – No! No, no, no, no, no!
Wel, rwy ‘di cael llond bol ar Grossmann, heb sôn am fywyd, ac mae ‘di cwpla bellach ta be’ (Grossmann, diolch byth, fe fydd ‘mywyd yng nglyn y dagrau’n dod i ben maes o law). Dyma fi’n diffodd y radio drachefn, ‘lly, a rhoi clec ar ôl clec i’r hen fechingalw pell-reoli enfawr gyda bawd diog, wrth bori drwy ddegau o sianeli llawn rwtsh ar y bocs. Falle bydd yn rhaid i fi fodloni ar ‘rholl ffilmiau arswyd ‘na, llawn mymïod, neu sombis arallfydol yn ôl pob golwg, mewn straeon dydyn nhw'm yn taro deuddeg, nid o bell ffordd. Ond dwi ‘di bod yn gwylio nhw bob amser yn ‘yn ‘stafell wely’n ôl yn yr hen blasty, ta be’, fe alla i adrodd yr holl sgriptiau oddi ar ‘ngho’, bron. Wrth i’r lleisiau gwichlyd ar y teledu hen iawn ddal i rygnu arni, rwy’n dal i syllu ar y lluniau du a gwyn, sy’n fflachio ar y ‘sgrin o’ mlaen. A dyna sain ddi-baid y sgarabau, ‘chep – er – chep – er – chep – er,’ sy’n teimlo bod hi’n dod oddi mewn i fi’n hun. Mae’n eitha cysurus mewn ffordd, yr holl siantio, w!Well, I’ve had a gutful of Grossmann, not to mention life, and it’s finished now anyway (Grossmann, thank goodness, my life in this vale of tears will be coming to an end in due course). I put off the radio again, then, and give click after click on the old, enormous remote-control thingummy with a lazy thumb, whilst browsing through tens of channels full of rubbish on the box. P’rhaps I’ll have to be satisfied with all those horror films, full of mummies, or extra-terrestrial zombies apparently, in stories that doesn’t hit the mark, not by a long way. But I’ve been watching them all the time in my bedroom back in the old mansion, anyway, I could recite all the scripts off by heart, almost. Whilst the squeaky voices on the really old telly keep wittering on, I keep on staring at the black and white pictures that flash on the screen in front of me. And there’s the scarabs’ ceaseless sound, ‘chep – er – chep – er – chep – er,’ which feels like it’s coming from within me myself. It’s quite reassuring in a way, all the chanting, man!
O ganlyniad i hyn oll, dyma fi’n golchi ymaith bechod gyda galar. Dw i’n llyncu’r coctel o fils – y rhai ar gyfer pwysed gwaed, gwynegon, ac anhunedd – yn ogystal â’r amryw dabledi gwrthlidiol, y steroidau, y morffin, y dŵr tonig (mae'r cwinîn yn iachus iawn), y codwarth, ac yn y blaen. Rwy ‘di cymysgu popeth mewn gobled gyda joch enfawr o jin achos mod i’n dwlu ar flas meryw. Mae’r crafu diarbed yn tarddu’n undonog o’r bocs dieflig yng nghornel y ‘stafell fel cloc sy’n bygwth trechu curiad ‘nghalon. Dyma fi’n cofio taw amser a gollir byth nid enillir, ond dyna sŵn a gaiff ei ddiffodd yn y man, gyda phob un arall. Maes o law, fe fydd y switsh amser ar y bom dân dw i ‘di ‘neud i’r diben yn cynnau’r ffiws ynddo. A dyna fydd yn ysgubo ymaith bob ôl ‘ mywyd alaethus.As a result of all this, here I am, washing away sin with grief. I quaff the cocktail of pills – the ones for blood-pressure, arthritis, and insomnia – as well as the sundry anti-inflammatory tablets, the steroids, the morphine, the tonic water (the quinine’s very healthy), the deadly nightshade, and so on. I’ve mixed everything in a goblet with an enormous tot of gin, as I love the taste of junipers. The unrelenting scraping issuing monotonously from the devilish box in the corner of the room’s like a clock that threatens to overpower my heart-beat. I remember that time lost is never regained, but that’s a noise that’ll be extinguished in a while, along with every other one. In due course, the time-switch on the ad-hoc incendiary bomb I’ve made will light the fuse in it. And that’ll sweep away every trace of my abysmal life.
Dyma’n llythyr ffarwél i – y llawysgrif electronig ‘ma – pob llythyren ohoni – wedi’i wasgaru gyda chlic eironig y llygoden. Www, dyna drist yw ‘ny! Fel hyn, rwy’n dweud wrthoch chi drwy ‘ngeiriau ola’ am fywyd rwy’n teimlo mod i ‘di ddychmygu heb ei brofi’n llawn. Diolch i chi, ddarlledwyr mwya’ annwyl – a ydych chi’n aelodau o’r Baxteriaid (collwyr a bwlïod y dynion oll, er bod y gwragedd yn lân), y teulu Grossmann (ach a fi – tawed y calla'!), neu’n llwyth i’n hun, y Procteriaid ('Selastaluvavin liltesaesiví marambaban; Bilderarin ilentíeniví ivíval,' yw'n harwyddair ni, wrth gwrs -- 'Symbolau a reola bawb, Delweddau sy’n eu dal nhw,' dyna gall i chi) – am dalu sylw, a bwrw’ch bod ‘di ‘neud ‘lly. Mae’n flin ‘da fi, fedra i’m peidio ffwndro, dyna fel mae hi, esgusodwch chi fi. Ond serch ‘ny, nage traethydd hollol annibynadwy mo fi, er mod i’n ddweud celwyddau’n ddiarwybod i ryw raddau, fel pawb arall. Dim ond ymdrechu ymdrech deg ro’n i, ac mae’r amser yn cyflym gyrraedd pan fydda i’n pasio’r baton ymlaen at y to sy’n codi. Gobeithio bydd ‘yn enw i’n fyw am byth, falle, a ydych chi ‘di mwynhau ‘nhywalltiad, ai peidio – ac i ebargofiant â phob un ohonoch chi!This is my farewell missive– this electronic manuscript – every letter of it – disseminated with an ironic click of the mouse. Oooh, how sad is that! In this way, I’m telling you through my last words about a life I feel I’ve imagined without experiencing it fully. Thank you, dearest readers – whether you’re members of the Baxter clan (all the men are losers and bullies, though the women are decent), the Grossmann family (yuck – ‘nough said!), or my own tribe ('Selastaluvavin liltesaesiví marambaban; Bilderarin ilentíeniví ivíval' is our motto, of course -- 'While Symbols govern one and all; It’s Images that catch them,' how wise) – for paying attention, assuming you’ve done so. I’m sorry, I can’t help but moither on, that’s how it is, excuse me. But despite that, I’ve not a completely unreliable narrator, although I tell lies unawares, to some extent, like everyone else. I was only fighting the good fight, and the time’s quickly arriving when I’ll be passing on the baton to the next generation. I hope my name lives on forever, p’rhaps, whether you’ve enjoyed my outpourings or not – you can all go to oblivion!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 26

Pennod Tri Deg: Rhedeg (Lleisiau 26) / Running (Voices 26)

Yn gyffredinol y credir mai cysgodion yw prinder golau, ac mai celwyddau yw absenoldeb gwirionedd, y naill begwn wedi’i gyfrodeddu’n annatod â’r llall yn y ddau achos fel ei gilydd. Pa mor bell fyddai’n mynd i ofyn ai cysgodion sydd yn dwyn golau, ac o’r herwydd, yn dweud celwyddau? Felly, a allai fod fersiynau gwahanol o’r un bywyd, yn yr un modd ag y bydd cyfieithiadau amrywiol o’r un llyfr yn bodoli, a dehongliadau lluosog o’r un testun? Bid siŵr y bydd llawer o agweddau i’w hystyried, pob un sy’n anghyson â’i gilydd, wrth holi’r fath gwestiynau. Er enghraifft, o bryd i’w gilydd, bydd rhai heb brofiad yn meddwl mai arwydd cariad dwfn yw gair tirion, neu gyffwrdd tyner; o dro i dro bydd rhai eraill yn dychmygu mai ymbalfalu chwithig yw caru angerddol. Ond y broblem fydd yn codi yw mai wedyn y bydd yr unigolion hyn yn mynd yn eu blaenau i weithredu ar sail yr hyn a gredant, gan achosi’n aml o’r herwydd, ganlyniadau nas bwriadwyd neu ragweld. A ddylem ein cyhuddo’n hunain gymdeithas am y diffyg hwn o ddealltwriaeth, am y celwyddau niweidiol a hanner gwireddau gwatwarus wedi’u lledu dan din gyda gwên henffel? Ynteu’n lle hyn a allwn ni faddau i’n hunain am droseddau o’r fath, wrth fwrw’r bai ar gysgodion cywilydd, camhysbysrwydd, ac anlladrwydd?

In general it is believed that shadows are a lack of light, and that lies are the absence of truth, one pole entwined inextricably with the other in the two cases alike. How far would it be going to ask whether shadows steal light, and so, tell lies? So, could there be different versions of the same like, in the same wat that various translations of the same book exist, and multiple interpretations of the same text? You may be sure that there will be many aspects to be considered, all inconsistent with each other, when investigating such questions. For example, from time to time, some unexperienced people will think that a kind word or gentle touch is a sign of deep love; occasionally, others will imagine that awkward fumbling is passionate love-making. But the problem that arises is that these individuals then go on to act on what they believe, often, then, causing results that were neither intended nor foreseen. Should we, society, accuse ourselves for this lack of understanding, for the damaging lies and half-truths spread underhand with a knowing smile? Or instead of that, can we forgive ourselves for offences of this kind, whilst casting the blame on the shades of shame, misinformation, and prurience?

Wedyn, mae fel ‘set ti’n dihuno o drwmgwsg seicedelig a achoswyd gan y cyffuriau rhithbair gorau. Ti’n dy weld dy hun, yn edrych o’r tu mas, fel ‘set ti’n gwylio llanc dieithr sy’n swatio ar ei garrau. Ti’n hofran ar fin rhywbeth – beth? Teimlo’n debyg i gadwyn fetel wedi’i thynnu’n dra thyn, neu sbring a weindiwyd yn ormod. Crynu mae dy drwyn di, gan flasu’r awyr, wrth i’th synhwyrau di i gyd wichian o drio torri drwy’r lleithder trwm o boptu. Ti’n teimlo dy draed di’n pwyso’n ddwfn mewn cwilt o nodwyddau. Mae’r awyrgylch yn llwyn o – rywbeth, coed – be’ ti’n galw – ‘sdim clem ‘da ti – falle – coed bythwyrdd – pinwydd? Ti’m yn gallu meddwl na chofio dim byd. Heb rybudd mae dy gorff di’n plygu mewn ymateb i’r clymau gwythi, y brathiadau ‘na o boen a ddaw wrth i gyhyrau dy goesau a’th stumog dynhau yn sydyn. Ti’n clywed llais – rywle – yn dy wawdio di – cachgi fydd yn rhedeg rhag ei gysgod – ond ‘sdim cysgodion ‘ma, na golau go iawn ‘chwaith – ‘sdim awyr iach – fel ‘set ti danddwr – yn ara’ foddi, ond boddi’n bendant.Then, it’s as if you’re awakening from a hypnotic slumber caused by the best hallucinogenic drugs. You see yourself, looking from the outside, as if you’re watching a strange lad who’s squatting on his haunches. You hover on the brink of something – what? Feel like a metal chain pulled really tight, or an over-wound spring. Your nose quivers, tasting the air, as every sense squeals, trying to break through the heavy moistness all around. You feel your feel pressing deep into a quilt of pine-needles. The atmosphere’s full of – something, trees – wha-d’y-call-it – you’ve no clue – p’rhaps – evergreens – pines? You can’t think or remember anything. Without warning your body doubles over in response to the cramps, those gnashes of pain that come as the muscles of your legs and stomach tighten suddenly. You hear a voice – somewhere – mocking you – a coward who runs from his shadow – but there’s no shadows here, nor any real light, either – no fresh air – like you’re underwater – slowly drowning, but drowning for sure.
Pwy wyt ti? Be’ yw d’enw di ‘te, mêt? Mae’n lled debyg i – Ww – baster – bacsau – bacswr – batsler – Baxter? Myn – myn swbarch – swpach – swtrach – Swtach! Bocs cardbord soeglyd yn llawn cogiau wedi’u malu yw dy feddwl di. Fe ddylai fod rhywbeth – rhywun – yma – rhyw ddyn, falle – neu darw – enfawr, cryf, gwirion – o’r enw – sieff – seiffr – steiff – stwff? Ble mae e, ‘te? Be’ ar wyneb y Ddaear sy ‘di digwydd? A’n fwy pwysig, ble wyt ti, ta be’?Who are you? What’s your name, mate? It’s something like – Ooh – baster – bacsau – bacswr – batsler – Baxter? By – by swbarch – swpach – swtrach -- Swtach! Your mind’s a soggy cardboard box full of shattered cogs. There should be something – someone – here – some bloke, maybe – or bull – huge, strong, stupid – called -- sieff – seiffr – steiff – stwff? Where is he, then? What on Earth’s happened? And more to the point, where are you, anyway?
Mae dy ddwylo di’n wlyb gan hylif coch, poeth. Rywle, mae rhywun – neu rywbeth – wedi torri’r cysylltiad arferol rhwng yr amgylchedd a’i gyflenwad cyson o realiti. Mae’r lle i gyd wedi’i ‘sgeintio â phowdr gwyrddlwyd, tra mae’r awyr ei hun yn llwydaidd fel ‘sai’r hen Haul wedi celu’i wyneb haerllug dan sorri. Mae siapiau llarpiog yn gorwedd ym mhobman, ac o’r golwg yn y pellter, mae lleisiau gyddfol creaduriaid llechwraidd yn snwffian yn daer wrth iddyn nhw grwydro amgylch ogylch. Ond, rhywsut, hollol anghywir yw’r onglau i gyd yma yn y Tir Neb rhwng y Bydoedd, i’th lygaid blinedig ta waeth – David, Daud, Dai – ‘set ti’n nabod yr enw. Dyna liaws o bethau ansylweddol sydd i’w gweld fel swigod mawr, llachar a chrychdonnau symudliw drostyn nhw, yn symud o’r naill le i’r llall ar amrantiad, heb groesi’r bwlch yn gwahanu nhw, mae’n ymddangos. Mae fel ‘set ti wedi dy osod mewn hologram a deflir tu mewn i jeli’n dychlamu.Your hands are wet with a hot, red liquid. Somewhere, someone – or something – has broken the usual connection between the environment and its constant supply of reality. The whole place is sprinkled with a green-grey powder, whilst the sky itself is grizzled as if the old Sun had hidden his impudent face, sulking. Tattered shapes lie everywhere, and out of sight in the distance, there are guttural voices of furtive creatures, snuffling eagerly as they wander about. But, somehow, all the angles are totally wrong, here in the No-man’s Land between the Worlds, to your tired eyes, anyway – David, Daud, Dai – if you recognised the name. A horde of insubstantial things that seem like big, shining bubbles with iridescent ripples all over them, move from one place to another in an instant, without crossing the gap separating them, it appears. It’s like you’ve been placed in a hologram, cast inside vibrating jelly.
Mae pwysau, croes i natur, yn curo’n ddi-baid oddi mewn i’th benglog. Ble bynnag y byddi di wedi mynd, mae’r pwlsadu milwrol ‘ma’n cynrychioli’r naws drymllyd, ormesol yn treiddio’r fforest i’r dim. Ac mae’r dirwedd undonog yn ymestyn i ebargofiant tywyll ym mhob cyfeiriad. Dwyt ti’m yn gallu deall a ddaw’r sŵn yn dy glustiau o’r tu mewn neu’r tu fas. Dim ond rhai troedfeddi i ffwrdd, mae rhywbeth fel rhedynen fawr, gnodiog – ydy’r peth yn anifail, llysieuyn, neu ffwng? Mae cymaint â phlentyn mawr, wedi’i liwio fel clais, yn las a phorffor. Fel calon ar fin gael harten mae’n dyrnu, yn yr un ffordd â phopeth arall yng ngweddill y lle, wrth iddo fe ehangu sffincter. Ac wedyn, dan chwibanu’n fain, mae’n chwythu tarth o sborau drewllyd allan.An unnatural pressure beats ceaselessly within your skull. Wherever you’ve gone, this military pulsing represents the oppressive, muggy feel pervading the forest perfectly. And the monotonous landscape extends to dark oblivion in every direction. You can’t understand whether the noise in your ears is coming from inside or outside. Only a few feet off, there’s something like a giant fleshy fern – is the thing animal, vegetable, or fungus? It’s as big as a large child, coloured like a bruise, blue and purple. It beats like a heart on the verge of having a coronary, the same way as everything else in the rest of the place, as it expands a sphincter. And then, whistling shrilly, it blows out a mist of stinking spores.
Ti’n camu’n ôl gan ffrwydro tisian a thonnau o ffieidd-dra’n torri drosot ti. Ti ‘di bod yn rhedeg. Mae d’ysgyfaint di wedi’u deifio. Ti’n dyheu’n fas a chyflym ar ôl honcian ffusto dy ffordd drwy ryw laca gwaetgoch yn ôl bob golwg. Mae dy groen di wedi’i losgi’n gignoeth gan chwys hallt, llawn o gemegion yn dynodi straen ac ofn. Ti’n gallu gwyntio’r sawr ofnadw’n codi o’th gorff clwyfus ar ôl y dyddiau di-rif ti ‘di hala’n ffoi. Ond, o ble ti ‘di dianc, a sut, a ble ti’n bwrw hi, a pham, a sut le yw hyn ta be’?You step back, sneezing explosively, waves of revulsion breaking over you. You’ve been running. Your lungs are scorched. You’re panting shallow and fast after staggering, flailing your way through some blood-red sludge, by all accounts. Your skin’s been burned raw by the salty sweat full of chemicals indicative of stress and fear. You can smell the terrible stench coming off your wounded body after the endless days you’ve spent fleeing. But, where have you escaped from, and how, and where’re you heading for, and why, and what kind of place is this anyway?
Yn eitha agos, ymhlith y coed heb ddail a’u canghennau’n denau fel cribin, mae ‘na lwyth o dalpiau cochddu wedi’u ‘neud o ryw stwff meddal yn crawni ar ben rhai creigiau llysnafeddog, isel, a bytheirio'n uchel. Oddi mewn iddyn nhw mae gwynt siarp a llymsur yn cymysgu â’r sawr pwdr yn llifo allan o’r pethau brown, atgas, gan ‘neud i ti eisiau cyfogi, wrth achosi i ti deimlo mor gysglyd â diogyn tribys sy ‘di bwyta’n ara’ deg botel o dawelyddion. Ti’n cilio’n ôl ac ocheneidio. Curo’n gyflym mae dy galon di wrth i falwen wlith ffansïol ag adenydd chwyrlïol ysgubo heibio dy gefn noeth, sy’n archollion a chleisiau i gyd. Mae’i luosogrwydd o deimlyddion yn fflachio, a’i malwyr yn rhincian. Dyw’m yn bosibl dylai’r anghenfil chwyddedig ‘ma allu hedfan, ond hedfan y mae, dyna’r gwir cas. Ar bob ochr dyna’r trychfilod anghredadwy’n di-stop glecian a hisian – ‘chep-er, chep-er, chep-er’ – fel ‘sai ‘na ryw ellyll gwyllt yn trio hogi nifer fawr o siswrn pŵl, gan eu torri nhw’n glec bob tro.Quite close by, amongst the leafless trees, their branches thin as combs, there’s a load of russet chunks made of some soft stuff, festering on top of a few low, slimy rocks, belching noisily. From inside them a sharp and acrid smell is mixing with the rotten odour flowing out of the hateful, brown things, making you want to gag, whilst causing you to feel as sleepy as a three-toed sloth that’s eaten a bottle of tranquilizers, slow as anything. You reel back and groan. Your heart beats fast, as a chimerical slug with whirling wings sweeps past your bare back, which is covered in gashes and bruises. Its multitude of feelers flash, and its mandibles are chattering. It’s not possible that this beast should be able to fly, but fly it does, that’s the plain truth. All around the unbelievable insects click and hiss without let-up -- chep-er, chep-er, chep-er’ – as if there’s some wild imp trying to sharpen an enormous number of blunt scissors, snapping them each time.
Meddylia di, w, cofia! – Ti’n dal i weud wrthot ti dy hunan, ond mae d’ymennydd di’n mynd yn wyllt. Fel melyn wynt a’i hwyliau wedi’u torri, mae dy feddyliau’n mynd tu hwnt i reolaeth, wrth i fortecsau o ddychmygion hurt gynhyrfu a dechrau brwydro. Wedyn, mae’r dopoleg afreal yn dy fwrw di oddi ar d’echel, ac mae dy lygaid yn gwibio yn ôl a blaen, gan geisio dilyn trywydd y lluoedd o greaduriaid arallfydol. Mae dagrau dirybudd yn gwthio eu ffordd allan trwy d’amrannau llidus. Dyma ti’n cwympo ar dy bedwar, gan suddo i’r pridd sy’n croesawu di fel ‘sai hi’n garped pigog. Ti’n beichio wylo nes dy fod di bron â thorri dy galon, a’th ddwylo’n dal dy ben gwaedlyd di. Dyw rhan fwya’r bwystfilod yno ddim yn lico dy fwldagu, a dechrau ymosod ar dy gnawd diamddiffyn yn ffyrnig.Think, mun, remember! – You’re still telling yourself, but your brain’s running wild. Like a windmill with broken sails, your thoughts are getting out of control, as vortices of stupid imaginings rouse up and start to fight. Then, the unreal topology throws you off balance, and your eyes dart back and forth, trying to follow the trail of the hosts of otherworldly creatures. Unexpected tears force their way out through you enflamed eyelids. You fall on all fours, sinking into the soil that welcomes you like it was a prickly carpet. You bawl your eyes out until your heart almost breaks, your hands holding your bloody head. Most of the beasts there don’t care for your spluttering, and start to attack your defenceless flesh furiously.
Am ryw reswm ti’n rhoncian codi ar dy draed unwaith ‘to. Ond pan ti’n sylweddoli o’r diwedd fod di’m yn nabod hyd yn oed pwy wyt ti, mae’r ffaith yn dy fwrw di fel cyfres o ergydion i’r corff. Allai’r sefyllfa’m bod yn waeth ‘set ti’n fag dyrnu yn y gampfa ble bydd Arch Warchodwr Ymddygiad Cyhoeddus yn ymarfer. Ti’n gwegian yn dy flaen fel ‘set ti’n goeden a gymynwyd, wrth i’th freichiau bwno’r awyr fel bwgan brain gorffwyll ar yr un pryd. Erbyn hyn mae dy fol poenus o wag yn chwydu bustl poeth, tra mae dy feddyliau’n chwilio’n anobeithiol am fymryn o ystyr i afael ynddo fe. Ffrwydro ar yr un pryd mae’r miloedd o ddoluriau sy ‘di digwydd o ganlyniad i’r ffo dwyt ti’m yn gallu’i gofio. Mae dy gorff di’n crefu arnat ti i gysgu, neu farw.For some reason, you lurch to your feet once again. But when you realise at last that you don’t even know who you are, the fact hits you like a series of body-blows. The situation couldn’t have been worse if you were a punch-bag in the gym where the Arch-guardian of Public Behaviour works out. You reel forward like you’re a felled tree, as your arms beat the air like a crazed scarecrow at the same time. By now your painful empty belly’s bringing up hot bile, while your thoughts search hopelessly for a shred of meaning to grab onto. Simultaneously, the thousands of wounds that’ve happened because of the flight you can’t remember, are exploding. Your body’s begging you to sleep, or to die.
Ti’n cwympo’r holl ffordd i lawr i wagle o syrthni gofidus, ac mae’r tir yn dy gyfarch di gan gofleidiad chwerw wejen – o’r enw – elain – elëin – elin – Elen, falle? Yn dy gwsg aflonydd, ti’n troi a throsi, gan gofio cariad wedi’i droi’n ddagrau poeth. Ac yn nheyrnas breuddwyd, dyna ti’n chwarae gyda chyllell hudol, gan gofio rhyfeddodau heb fod rhaid eu dadansoddi nhw’n rhesymegol, a chynnau tân dial.You fall all the way down into a void of sorrowful lethargy, and the ground greets you with the bitter embrace of a girl-friend – called -- elain – elëin – elin – Elen, perhaps? In your troubled sleep, you toss and turn, remembering love turned to hot tears. And in the dream realm you play with a magical knife, remembering wonders without having to analyse them logically, and kindling the fire of revenge.
Ac wedyn, pam wyt ti ‘di dihuno? Dyma ysbryd merch yn chwerthin, ‘naeth dy adael di, neu ‘nest ti roi’r hwi iddi’n rhy sydyn o lawer amser maith yn ôl, siŵr o fod. Bu bron iddi hi farw o’th achos di, yn ôl y sôn, mewn rhyw ddamwain pan o't allan yn y fan, ti ‘di dileu’r manylion ohoni o’th feddwl. Nage ti oedd ar fai'n wir, ta be'. Ro’t ti ‘di gadael hi ym mynwent cofion heb os, ond hi sy ‘di cael ei chipio allan o’r bedd, er yn anobeithiol, gynnau fach, at ba ddiben, ti’m yn medru dyfalu.And then, why’ve you woken up? A girl’s spirit laughs, the one who left you, or who you jilted much too suddenly a long time ago, probably. She almost died because of you, apparently, in some accident when you were out in the van, you’ve deleted the details of from your mind. It wasn’t you who was at fault, definitely, anyway. You’d left her in the graveyard of memories for sure, but she’s been dragged out of the grave, although hopelessly, just now, to what end, you can’t guess.
Heb rybudd, fe ddaw mellten ar y chwith, gan lewyrchu hyd y dde. Ife dyma ddechrau’r prawf terfynol? Agor mae’r gwagle, gan dorri bwlch mewn gofod ac amser. Dyna fflach trydan, a chaniad daeargrynol gan utgorn o aur yn dryllio’r poethder gludiog. Tu ôl i ti, llais trallodus Swtach ei hun yn crynu o flasu’r aberth sy’n ail-adrodd geiriau’r ddefod, er dwyt ti’m meiddio edrych dros dy ysgwydd. Mae’r sain gwynfanllyd yn crafu gobaith ymaith yn achosi i’th glustiau waedu. A dyma fe’n gweiddi datgan, fel Ishakí Dad yn areithio dros gorff Adauvam Fab, ond ei fod yn sôn wrth rywun arall, fel ‘sai fe’n rhoi gorchymyn: “Mi leddi di’r bwystfil, ac mi ddifethi di’r corff, ac mi roddi di fe nes iddo losgi yn y fflamau fel poethoffrwm i Swtach, ac wedyn mi wleddwn ni ill dau ar gnawd blasus y Duwdodau i gyd am byth.”Without warning, lighting arrives on the left-hand side, flashing towards the right. Is this the beginning of the final test? The void opens, severing a gap in time and space. An electric flash, and earth-rending blast on a golden trumpet, shatter the gluey hotness. Behind you, the vexatious voice of Swtach himself, trembling from tasting the sacrifice, repeats the words of the ritual, although you don’t dare to look over your shoulder. The querulous voice scraping hope away causes your ears to bleed. And he declares, shouting, like Father Ishakí orating over the body of Adauvam the Son, but he’s talking to someone else, as if he’s giving orders: “You shall kill the beast, and you shall devour the body, and you shall put it to burn in the flames as a fire-offering to Swtach, and then the two of us shall feast on the tasty flesh of all the Divinities for ever.”
Yn agos iawn, ymhlith y coed marw yn Llwyn Rhwystredigaeth, mae’r Hen Filwr sy’n dymuno bod yn Ddewin wedi consurio tŵr gwyrgam o gyrff drylliedig, a ddiogelir gan y Sêl Ysgarlad arswydus. Yma roedd e ‘di bwriadu gorwedd am ei gyntun ola’ ar ffurf dyn marwol, mewn siambr helaethwych wedi’i haddurno fel Tŷ Aileni. Ond yn chwythu trwyddo mae corwynt o freuddwydion colledig yn dwyn cannoedd o hwiangerddi allan o diwn, yn ogystal â llengoedd o obeithion cynhiniog. Un funud, ti’n hedfan trwy’r awyr lawn gwreichion colynnog tuag at y strwythur byw wedi’i adeiladu o esgyrn, cnawd, cyhyrau, gewynnau, a chroen. Y peth nesa’, ti’n ymladd yn erbyn breichiau crafangog y coed cythreulig sy’n gwarchod y lle, a’u gwreiddiau’n torri drwy’r pridd i’th drywanu di fel seirff dreiniog wrth i ti faglu’n ddall drwy ardd y palas atgas, fel ‘naeth Sorakados Dywysog yn Llyfr Coch Rhwd a Gwaed.Very close, amongst the dead trees in the Grove of Frustration, the Old Soldier who desires to be a Wizard has conjured a crooked tower of mangled bodies, safeguarded by the terrible Scarlet Seal. Here he had intended to lie down for his last nap in the form of a mortal man, in a sumptuous chamber decorated like the House of Rebirth. But blowing through it is a hurricane of lost dreams, bearing hundreds of out-of-tune nursery-rhymes, as well as legions of shredded hopes. One minute, you’re flying through the air, full of stinging embers, towards the living structure built of bones, flesh, muscles, sinews, and skin. The next thing, you’re fighting against the taloned arms of the devilish trees which guard the place, their roots breaking though the soil to pierce you like thorny snakes, as you stumble blindly through the hateful palace’s garden as did Sorakados the Prince in the Red Book of Rust and Blood.
Nesa’, dyna ffrwydrad yn dy hyrddio i goelcerth o binwydd sy’n ffaglu fel afon o dân lle mae rhywun wedi ceisio diffodd fflamiau petrol â dŵr. Ti’m yn gallu atal dy hun rhag meddwl am y gwersi alcemeg, gan gofio brwmstan, yr elfen felen, frau sy’n llosgi â fflam las a mwg gwenwynig. Neu eto i gyd, dyna blwm, y metel glaslwyd ‘na sy’n drwm, meddal, a churadwy. Mae ‘na foroedd tawdd ohono ar y Nw Yrth yn cynnwys byddinoedd o eneidiau’n dawnsio i diwn eu chwantau blaenorol oll, fethon nhw eu bodloni pan o'n nhw'n fyw, ond maen nwh'n difaru heb frys serch 'ny. A bellach, hyd yn oed y gwynt ti’n anadlu sy’n dy losgi di’n fewnol. O boptu dyna endidau anweladwy’n ceisio dy rwystro gyda’u crafangau, a’u pigau, a’u carnau. Ac wrth i ti stryffaglio’n ofer, dyna be’ bynnag ydyn nhw’n gollwng o’u hystlys filoedd o blu mor wyn â’r awel rewllyd yn cosi’r blociau dirfawr o iâ yn waliau Castell May·nover. A’r unig be’ ti’n gallu ‘neud yw cwynfan, “Hebé a’m helpo fi!”Next, an explosion hurls you into a bonfire of pines which blazes like a river of fire where someone’s tried to put out petrol flames with water. You can’t stop yourself from thinking about the alchemy classes, remembering brimstone, the brittle, yellow element, which burns with a blue flame and toxic gas. Or then again, there’s lead, that blue-grey metal that’s heavy, soft, and malleable. There are molten seas of it on the Nw Yrth containing armies of souls, dancing to the tune of all their previous desires, which they failed to satisfy, but are regretting nevertheless. And now, even the wind you’re breathing is burning you inside. All around, unseen entities try to stop you with their claws, and beaks, and hooves. And as you struggle in vain, the whatever-they-are drop from their flanks thousands of feathers as white as the freezing breeze tickling the stupendous blocks of ice in the walls of the Castle Futility. And the only thing you can do is moan, “Hebé help me.”
Yna, ar y gair, ti’n cael dy daflu’n ôl, allan o ffordd y Seirff Asgellog, mewn union bryd i ymuno â’r rhan ‘na o’r hunllef arferol lle ti ‘di dy glymu draed a dwylo ar y maen aberthol. Y tro diwetha’ o’t ti ‘ma, do’t ti’m yn medru symud, na brwydro, na ‘neud dim byd. Ond bellach, y Comando Trefol wyt ti, sy’n gwisgo olion lifrai milwrol, ac yn dy ddwrn mae cyllell hela danheddog. A dyna ti’n darogan, neu deimlo, neu sythweld, oddi mewn i darth coch, pefriog, ryw lanc cyhyrog yn aros ar fin diben. Falle’i fod ar gwrt blaen garej, neu mewn seler bwthyn, neu ar lan afon ar bwys coedwig bin. Mae’n edrych mor drist, y crwt druan ar goll, mewn dychryn, heb ffrind yn y byd. Gyda sioc na chyhoeddwyd, ti’n sylweddoli fod e eisiau rhoi diwedd arno’i hunan. trwy fwrw ei hun i’r ffrwd fflamboeth. A dyna ti’n rhuthro tuag ato fe.Then, just at that moment, you’re flung back, out of the way of the Winged Serpents, just in time to join that part of the usual nightmare where you’re bound hand and feet on the sacrificial stone. The last time you were there, you couldn’t move, or fight, or do anything. But now, you’re the Urban Commando, wearing the remnants of a military uniform, and in your fist is a serrated hunting knife. And you foresee, or feel, or intuit, within a sparkling red mist, a muscular lad waiting, on the edge of a precipice. Maybe he’s on the front court of a garage, or in the cellar of a cottage, or on the bank of a river by a pine-forest. He looks so sad, the poor lost kid, terrified, without a friend in the world. With an unannounced shock, you realise that he wants to end it all, by throwing himself into the flaming stream. And you rush towards him.
A chwap – dyna ti’n cael cipolwg drwy gil dy lygad ar symudiad. Ti’n gweld, falle, gragen enfawr, ddwyfalf wedi’i dal i fyny gan lawer o barau o goesau hyblyg. Ynddi hi, dyna ryw siâp llwyd a gwelw’n tyfu a chrychu. Fel jeli asbig, braen mae’n crynu, wrth lewyrchu’n borffor. Gwthio allan o’r sylwedd mor ryberaidd â môr-lawes anferth ac yn llawn stribedi llyngyraidd, mae sawl aelod hyblyg ar ffurf tentaclau cyhyrog ac ar eu hyd sugnolion barus. Yng nghanol y cruglwyth plastig ‘ma, mae ‘na rywbeth fel wyneb bwystfilaidd, yn wallt cringoch, gwlyb i gyd, a’i lygaid ambr, gafraidd yn ddwfn yn y pen. Ac wrth i’r creadur fyrlymu, a thagu, a phesychu fel ‘sai mewn loes, dyna dalpiau ohono’n gostwng i lawr oddi arno a nadreddu i ffwrdd i ‘neud llanast o bethau yn rhywle arall, ar eu pennau’u hunain.And at once – you glimpse movement – through the corner of your eye. You see, perhaps, an enormous bivalve shell, held up on many pairs of flexible legs. In it, some shape, grey and sickly, grows and ripples. Like rotting aspic jelly it shakes, shining purple. Protruding from the substance as rubbery as a colossal squid and full of worm-like striations, are many flexible limbs in the form of muscular tentacles with greedy suckers all along them. In the middle of this plastic mass, there’s something like a bestial face, covered in wet, ginger hair, with the eyes sunk deep in its head. And as the creature burbles, and chokes, and coughs, as if in agony, chunks of it drop down from it, and slither off to wreak havoc elsewhere, all alone.
Dyna lais sebonllyd dy Dad yn dal i gyfiawnhau’i ddrygioni, a dweud y drefn wrthi di, wrth rygnu erfyn arnat ti i aberthu’r pwdryn ‘na i achub y ddau ohonoch chi Dad a Mab. Yn wir mae’r geiriau plentynnaidd ‘ma’n llifo allan o geg dyn mor anfad, yn enwedig pan fydd ar ffurf molwsg enfawr, yn dân ar dy groen di. A mwya’n y byd y cwyniff, mwya' y tyfiff dy ddiffyg amynedd, a’th ddig, yn ogystal â’th gasineb tuag ato fe. A dyna ti’n penderfynu’n bendant drosot dy hun y tro ‘ma, unwaith ac am byth. Falle fod yr holl lol yn y partïon rhydd dan ddylanwad y snisin sbesial, yr hedwch a’r cariad a’r gweddill, yn cyrraedd adre’, er taw cael a chael yw hi o ran ‘ny.Your Father’s unctuous voice is still justifying his evil, and telling you what’s what, whilst gratingly imploring you to sacrifice that idiot to save you both, Father and Son. Truly, these childish words flowing out of the gob of such a wicked man, especially when he’s in the form of a giant mollusc, make your skin crawl. And the more he complains, the more your impatience, and your anger, grow, as well as your hatred towards him. So, you make your mind up for yourself this time, definitively, once and for all. Perhaps all the old rubbish in the free parties under the influence of the special snuff, the peace and love, and the rest, has come home to roost, although its’s touch and go on that front.
Ond eto i gyd, mae llais y ferch ryfeddol ‘na, ti’n charu gyda’th holl enaid, mae’n debyg, ac sy’n magu esgyrn bychain, na ato’r Saith, yn torri ar draws ‘fyd i sôn yn blwmp ac yn blaen, heb geryddu na chocsio, am ffawd ei hanner brawd. Be’ mae’n feddwl dyw’m o bwys i ti, ond o glywed y llais ‘ma sy fel arfer yn glir, treiddgar, a phêr ei oslef, dyna dyfu brawdoliaeth yn lle dirmyg – ryfedd sut all pethau ddigwydd yn y gwir amgylchiadau – a thiriondeb hyd yn oed, yn lle gwawd. Yr un gair, ‘ithlon’ sy’n cael ei ailadrodd yn dy glustiau, er dwy ti’m deall ei arwyddocâd ‘to. ‘Lly ti’n paratoi i roi pob gewyn ar waith i lansio dy hunan drwy’r gwagle tuag at siâp truenus dy fêt gan weiddi nerth d’ysgyfaint – “‘Achan! Fi sy ‘ma frawd! Ti’n saff! Neidia! Neidia!” Ond diolch i drefn gableddus y Tir Neb rhwng y Bydoedd, wrth i ti anwadalu am yr eiliad leiaf cyn ‘neud yr hyn sydd ei eisiau, dyna hi’n mynd yn nos arnat ti unwaith yn rhagor, am faint o amser, ti’m yn gallu cyfri’.But then again, the voice of that wondrous girl, who you love with all your soul, probably, and who’s carrying a baby, Swtach forefend, cuts across too to speak plainly, without scolding or coaxing, about the fate of her half-brother. What she means is of no import to you, but on hearing this voice which as usual is clear, penetrating, and mellifluous, fraternity sprouts in place of contempt – strange how things can happen in the right circumstances – and tenderness, even, in place of mockery. The single word, ‘ithlon,’ is being repeated in your ears, although you don’t understand its significance yet. So, you get ready to put every ounce of strength into launching yourself through the void towards the pitiful shape of your mate, shouting at the top of your lungs – “Buddy! I’m here, bro! You’re safe! Jump, Jump!” But thanks to the profane order of the No-man’s Land between the Worlds, as you vacillate for the tiniest instant before doing what is required, you black out once more, for how long, you cannot calculate.
Mewn chwinciad, felly, neu ar ôl amser maith, ‘does wybod yn y fangre hon, mae’r olygfa’n newid fel ‘sai rhyw rywogaeth unigryw o ysbryd gwasanaethgar yn ‘smicio’i llygaid sanctaidd wrth oedi am eiliad rhag canu trallodion yr Hen Ddihenydd. A dyna’n hoff Hen Filwr ni, wedi’i ddrysu’n llwyr ac yn chwys i gyd yn pledio cyfiawnhad, fel pechadur yn ei sachlen a lludw. Pan ddaw ei dro mae’n gobeithio fe fydd yn ennill gwobr enfawr a boddhad tu hwnt i ormodedd, gan gael ei wahodd i fodolaeth fythol mewn bro yr aiff dyn i mewn iddi ond trwy droedio llwybr llym y Saith. Yno, Ffydd fydd Purdeb, a Phurdeb, Nerth. Yno y byddir yn datguddio pob dirgelwch a diddymu pob mefl. Yno, fe fydd y dewis ddisgyblion yn gwasanaethu’r Hen Feistri byth a hefyd dan drem deryll yr Haul Disglair. Yno, fe fydd yn yfed y gwir soma, a bwyta ffrwyth pren gwybodaeth da a drwg, a chynnyrch pren bywyd ar ben hynny.In a flash, therefore, or after a long time, there’s no knowing in this place, the scene changes as if some unique species of ministering spirit blinks her holy eye whilst pausing for a moment from singing the woes of the Ancient of Days. And there’s our favourite Old Soldier, completely confused and covered in sweat, pleading justification like a sinner in sack-cloth and ashes. When his time comes, he hopes he’ll gain an enormous prize and satisfaction beyond excess, being invited into eternal life in a region one can get into only through treading the strict path of the Seven. There, Faith shall be Purity, and Purity, Strength. There every secret shall be revealed and every blemish annulled. There, the chosen disciples shall serve the Old Masters forever under the piercing gaze of the Dazzling Sun. There, he shall drink the true soma, and eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and the produce of the tree of life on top of that.
Ac O, ymhellach, efe a drecha bob Duwdod arall. Fe fydd yn cael ei aileni ar ffurf Arglwydd Trefn fydd yn dofi’r anialwch coch i godi palas lle bydd lynnoedd o ddagrau a gerddi o gerrig yn udo, lle fe all wledda ar ddanteithfwydydd gwaharddedig, y deuir â nhw gan fwncïod sy’n hedfan. Trwy ddwy farwolaeth, gydag aberth dau enaid, fe fydd yn cael ei eni drachefn. Ac yno, gyda’i Wraig Golledig fe fydd yn profi bob mwynhad, a boddio pob chwant.And, Oh, furthermore, it is he who shall vanquish every other Divinity. He shall be reborn in the form of the Lord of Order who shall tame the red wilderness to raise a palace where there shall be lakes of tears and gardens of howling rocks, where he can feast on forbidden dainties, brought by flying monkeys. Through two deaths, with the sacrifice of two souls, he shall be born again. And there with his Lost Wife, he shall experience every delight and satisfy every desire.
Wel, dyna fu’r cynllun clyfar, ym meddwl yr Hen Filwr o leiaf. Ond yn lle hynny oll, roedd y ddau ffŵl wedi goroesi’r ddamwain fan. O, wrth i’w iechyd waethygu cynddrwg yn ddiweddar, roedd e ‘di gwingo ar ei orsedd gan grafu’i ben a meddwl yn galed. Yn y pen draw, roedd e wedi cysylltu â’r oracl ‘Emo he-Mekat’ mewn cyfres o weledigaethau oedd wedi datgelu llawer o gyfrinion y grefft fel petai. Ac o ganlyniad, roedd wedi penderfynu fe allai fynd â’r maen i’r wal drwy ddefnyddio set syfrdanol o gyfatebiaethau symbolaidd, hynafol o’r enw ‘Ver da-Imakh We.’Well, that had been the clever plan, in the Old Soldier’s mind at least. But instead of all that, the two fools had survived the van accident. Oh, as his health worsened so badly recently he had fidgeted on his throne scratching his head and racking his brains. In the end, he’d consulted the oracle ‘Emo he-Maket’ in a series of visions, which had revealed many tricks of the trade as it were. And so, he’d decided he could succeed in his aim by using a stupendous set of ancient symbolic correspondences called ‘Ver da-Imakh We.’
Swtach a ŵyr be’ oedd wedi digwydd pan o’n nhw wedi rhuthro i mewn i’r seler ar anterth y seremoni, achos taw yma maen nhw unwaith eto, ond heb eu paratoi ac aflan. A dyna pam mae’n bloeddio mewn rhwystredigaeth ac ing wrth ddychmygu boddi yn ymyl y lan. Ond wedi dod cyn belled â hyn, dwy e’m yn barod i roi’r ffidil yn y to, a bob yn dipyn mae’n dod at ei goed. Fe fydd arno angen gyrru’r Gwaith Mawr yn ei flaen. Wel, roedd e i fod i ddarparu dau enaid i gyflawni’r ddefod wedi’r cwbl, drwy deg neu drwy dwyll. A dyma dda lanc wedi ymddangos, erbyn meddwl amdano. Nage difancoll sy’n galw arno felly, hwyrach, ddim eto. Wrth fwrw’i hudlath deirgwaith ar y tir crynedig mae’n yngan y Gyfaredd Lanhau dan gilwenu: “Nok im on orken! Nokim onor ken! No ki mo no r’ken!”Swtach knows what’d happened when they’d rushed into the cellar at the zenith of the ceremony, as here they are again, but unprepared and filthy. And that’s why he’s bawling in frustration and angst whilst imagining failing on the verge of success. But having come as far as this, he’s not ready to give up yet, and little by little he comes to his senses. He needs to push the Great Work forward. Well, he was supposed to provide two souls to complete the rite after all, by hook or by crook. And now two lads have appeared, come to think about it. Perhaps perdition isn’t calling on him, then, not yet. Thrice striking his staff on the quaking ground, he utters the Charm of Cleansing, simpering: “Nok im on orken! Nokim onor ken! No ki mo no r’ken!”
Llawn bet tuag at y dyn crebachlyd wyt ti, ond o rythu ar ei wep sur wedi’i hystumio gan boen, ti’n clywed gwayw o dosturi ‘fyd, o ble yn dy gorff anafus mae’r teimlad yn dod, wyddost ti’m. Rhywbeth a wnelo â gwynt cnawd yn llosgi ydy, siŵr o fod, a dyna ddrewdod sy’n llenwi dy ffroenau a chodi pwys arnat ti. Ti’n hwylio i neidio arno fe, a’th arf yn barod. Ond yma yng nghanol cadarnle’r Hen Filwr mae symud fel oifad drwy driagl, ac ym mhob man mae ‘na ddwylo’n debyg i gyllyll yn dy slaesio di’n rhacs. Mae’r awyrgylch rhewllyd o boeth yn heigio â chegau ac ynddyn nhw ddannedd fyrdd mor finiog â weiren raser yn brathu a rhwygo.You’re full of hatred towards the wrinkled man, but staring at his sour face, distorted with pain, you sense a pang of pity too, from where in your injured body the feeling comes, you don’t know. It’s something to do with the smell of burning flesh, probably, and that’s a stink that’s filling your nostrils and making you feel sick. You shift yourself to jump on him, your weapon ready. But here in the middle of the Old Soldier’s stronghold, moving is like swimming through treacle, and everywhere there are hands like knifes slashing you to ribbons. The freezingly hot atmosphere teems with mouths with myriad teeth as sharp as razor-wire, biting and tearing.
Dyna gryndod enfawr yn rhedeg trwy dy ffrâm oll, wrth i ti ymlafnio tuag at y pigiad pin o olau yn y pellter uwch dy ben di. Y lleuad, heb os? Mae dy galon yn drymio’n wyllt a’th gyhyrau’n llosgi. Cyn i’r Hen Filwr allu sleifio ymaith i’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, ti’n cipio’r corff esgyrnog a’i lusgo i lan ac i lan. Ti eisiau gwaredu’r creadur anafwyd mewn steil, wedi ymryddhau o’r hen amheuon cydwybod yn ddiymdroi, wrth i’r boen ddwysáu. Ond dyna ddiwedd llawn y Ddefod Wysio’n atseinio’n dila trwy wefusau gwynion, tyn y ffug-Ddewin – “O Rymoedd, crynwch!”A huge tremor runs through your whole body, as you labour towards the pin-prick of light in the distance above you head. The moon, of course? Your heart drums wildly and your muscles are burning. Before the Old Soldier can slink off into the Cleft between the Worlds, you grab the skinny body and drag it up, and up. You want to put the injured animal out of its misery in style, having freed yourself of the former pangs of conscience with alacrity as the pain intensifies. But the full ending of the Summoning Ceremony echoes wanly through the fake-Wizard’s tight, white lips – “Oh, Powers, quake!”
Pan gaiff yr Hen Filwr ei halio o’i deyrnas ddychmygol gan ei elyn, y disodlwr ifanc, dyna’r ymosodwyr anfad yn ffrwydro gan sgrechian yn gyfoglyd, wrth i dalpiau dirifedi o ectoplasm cennog, gwynias ysgeintio waliau’r carchar afreal. Gyda’i anadl olaf, mwy neu lai, dyna fe’n gorffen Mantra Trawsffurfio – ‘kheper-i kheper kheperu kheper-kuy en kheperu em khepri kheperu em sep tepy’ – a'r tro hwn, hollol gywir yw’r geiriau.When the Old Soldier gets yanked from his imaginary kingdom by his enemy, the young usurper, the sinister attackers explode, screaming sickeningly, as chunks of white-hot, scaly ectoplasm splash the walls of the unreal prison. With his last breath, more or less, he finishes the Transformation Mantra -- ‘kheper-i kheper kheperu kheper-kuy en kheperu em khepri kheperu em sep tepy’ – and this time, the words are totally correct.
Mae ‘di llwyddo, ddichon, y ffug-Ddewin ‘ma, i ddod â’i gynllun i’w derfyn, ond pa fath o ffrwyth fydd yn ddwyn, allai fe’m bod wedi dyfalu ‘rioed. O ddim daw tanchwa fiolet a drewi osôn, y cyfeilir iddyn nhw gan gogor chwerthin anhydrin. A dyma’r ddau, y llanc a’r dyn, yn cael eu hysgubo oddi ar dirwedd gartwnaidd y Tir Neb rhwng y Bydoedd i gwrdd â’u ffawd ar y Nw Yrth. Dau ymadrodd hudol sy’n hongian yn yr awyr am sbel – “S’da Oryrt Nuok! Gid Elwg Dh’ryf!” Ac wedyn, tawelwch.He’s succeeded, perhaps, this fake-Wizard, in bringing his plan to fruition, but what kind of fruit it’ll bear, he could never have guessed. From nowhere comes a violet explosion and the pong of ozone, accompanied by uncontrollable cackling laughter. And the two, the lad and the man, are swept off the melting landscape of the No-man’s Land between the Worlds to meet their fate on the Nw Yrth. Two magical phrases hang in the air for a while -- “S’da Oryrt Nuok! Gid Elwg Dh’ryf!” And then, silence.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 27

Pennod Tri Deg Un: Dannod (Lleisiau 27) / Taunting (Voices 27)

Onid yw’n wir mai iaith yw cysgod dirwedd, sydd yn gadael inni ddal, disgrifio, a defnyddio popeth yn bodoli trwy gyfrwng geiriau a chysyniadau? Yn wir, byddai rhai’n dweud mai iaith sydd yn creu’r cosmos oll. Wedi’r cwbl – yn y Dechreuad yr oedd Cân yr Haul – fel yr ydym wedi clywed yn y chwedl. Felly beth fyddai’n digwyddpe na bai’r realiti yr ydym yn trigo ynddi ond yn ddyfais wedi’i ffurfio o symbolau llithrig, a delweddau rhithiol? Efallai, yn y fath groth ddisylwedd o bosibilrwydd, gallai’r rhai sydd yn ddigon creadigol ailysgrifennu’r gorffennol a chyfansoddi’r dyfodol fel pe baent ond yn chwibanu alaw lawen. Dan y fath amgylchiadau, os meiddiwn ni ddychmygu y medrent fodoli o gwbl, a fyddem ni’n achub y cyfle i lunio a thraethu’n hanesion ein hunain? Ynteu, erbyn meddwl, a adawem inni’n hunain ddal i gael ein hysgubo ymaith gan y llanw o ddisgwyliadau, gobeithion,  a syniadau, sydd yn perthyn i bawb eraill o’n cwmpas?

Is it not true that language is the shadow of reality, which allows us to capture, describe, and use everything existing by means of words and concepts? Indeed, some would say that language creates the whole cosmos. After all – in the Beginning was the Sun’s Song – as we have heard in the tale. So, what would happen if the reality we inhabit were to be but a device formed from slippery symbols, and spectral images? Maybe, in such an insubstantial womb of possibility, those who are creative enough could re-write the past and compose the future, as if they were just whistling a happy tune. Under such circumstances, if we dare to imagine that they could exist at all, would we seize the opportunity to fashion and recite our own histories? Or, come to think about it, would we allow ourselves to continue to be swept away by the tide of events, hopes, and ideas, which belong to everyone else around us?

Trwy’r diwrnod anochel hwnnw, roedd yr Haul yn ceisio gwenu ar fy milltir sgwâr werdd ond cysglyd. Ond, fel arfer, lwyddodd e’m, ac roedd yn ei thywallt hi, yn ysbeidiol, ym mro fy mebyd. Rwy’n cofio meddwl gallwn i ddeall pam mae pawb yn dweud bod y lle yn hyll yn ogystal â hyfryd, dim heb reswm yn fy marn ostyngedig. Dyna o’n i’n cerdded o gwmpas dan gwmwl du a drwm, ac a bod yn onest, ro’n i’n wlyb at y croen. Do’n i’m 'di cysgu ‘sdyddiau ‘chwaith. Roedd yn teimlo, ble bynnag y crwydrwn i, fel ‘sai’r holl dirwedd yn adlewyrchu fy hoedl lawn alaeth a phoen, O druan â fi! Roedd y Ddaear yn aros am rywbeth, gan ddal ei anadl, er wyddwn i’m am beth yn enwedig. Ro’n i’n teimlo ar goll, ac mor unig. Roedd yr un hen hanes yn cael ei ailadrodd gan lais gwatwarus fy Nhad yn fy mhen. Doedd gen i swydd, na chyfeillion, na phartner, na gobaith, na dyfodol. A pheidiwch chi hyd yn oed â sôn am y gorffennol, y diawliaid clyfar chi! Dyna gawlach dw i ‘di ‘neud o bopeth. Ro’n i ‘di dod i ben fy nhennyn.Throughout that inevitable day, the Sun was trying to smile on my green but sleepy back-yard. But, as usual, he didn’t succeed, and it was bucketing down, on and off, in my childhood patch. I remember thinking I could understand why everyone says that the place is ugly as well as lovely, not without reason, in my humble opinion. So, I was walking about under a black and heavy cloud, and to be honest, I was soaked to the skin. I hadn’t slept for days, either. It felt, wherever I wandered, as if the whole landscape reflected my lifetime full of grief and pain. Oh, poor me! The Earth was waiting for something, holding its breath, although I didn’t know for what in particular. I felt lost, and so lonely. The same old story was being repeated by the mocking voice of my absent Father in my head. I had no job, nor friends, no partner, no hope, no future. And don’t you even mention the past, you clever devils! What a dog's dinner I’d made of everything. I’d reached the end of my tether.
Wel, falle byddai pethau’n edrych yn wahanol i rywun doedd e’m yn yr un sefyllfa. Dai Baxter oedd fy nghyfaill bore oes, os ‘cyfaill’ oedd y gair cywir mewn gwirionedd wrth gwrs. Hmm, erbyn meddwl amdano, cyfeillion ddylai fod yn barod i gynorthwyo’i gilydd. Ond dim ond ‘tarw swmpus’ neu ‘horwth o ddyn mawr, cyhyrog’ o’n i yn nhyb fy ‘ffrind.’ Ac fe wyddwn i taw fi fyddai’n ei chael hi ‘sai unrhyw beth yn mynd o’i le ar un o’i gynlluniau clyfar. Roedd e’n gallu rhedeg yn gyflymach o lawer na fi, dyna pam fyddai fe’n dianc bob tro. O, am hwyl gaethon ni gyda’n gilydd, w, ro’n ni wastad yn mynd i helynt. Ro’n i mor swil, ro’n i’n arfer ofn ‘nghysgod fy hun, yn ôl y sôn, ac roedd e mor fentrus er fod e mor dwp ‘fyd. Dim ond fy nerth corfforol roedd e’n arfer edmygu, siŵr o fod.Well, perhaps things would look different to someone who wasn’t in the same situation. Dai Baxter was my life-long friend, if ‘friend’ was the correct word in truth of course. Hmm, come to think of it, friends should be ready to help each other out. But I was only ‘bulky bull’ or ‘great big lump of a muscle-man’ in my ‘friend’s’ opinion. And I knew that it was me who would get it if one of his clever plans went wrong. He could run much faster than me, which is why he always got away. Oh, what fun we had together, mun, we were always getting into scrapes. I was so shy, I was afraid of my own shadow, apparently, and he was so daring, although he was so stupid too. It was only my physical strength he used to admire, probably.
Wedi’r cyfan, ychydig a ŵyr yntau taw ‘sgolor i ryw Hybarch Sefydliad Addysg Uwch fues i, cyn i fi gael fy niswyddo o achos yr holl drafferthion personol. Dim ond eisiau cael hwyl drwy’r amser roedd e, wel, anodd tynnu dyn oddi ar ei dylwyth, meddan nhw. A falle bod nhw’n gywir. Ond er gwaetha’ hynny oll, ro’n i’n dwlu ar gwmni’r llanc anwar oedd yn blentynnaidd ond mor egnïol ar yr un pryd, yn fwy na dim byd arall ar wyneb y Blaned wirion, gron. Fyddwn i byth eisiau i’r llewpard newid ei frychni, er mod i’n gasáu fe ar adegau ‘fyd. Ond doedd e’m yn ddigon. Nage fe, hyd yn oed, allai fy achub i.After all, little did he know that I’d been a scholar in some Venerable Institute of Higher Learning, before I was dismissed due to all my personal problems. He only wanted to have fun all the time, well, it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks, they say. And maybe they were right. But despite all that, I loved the company of the uncouth lad who was childish but so energetic at the same time, more than anything else on the face of the entire stupid Planet. I would never want the leopard to change his spots, although I hated him on occasions, too. But he wasn’t enough. Not even he could save me.
“Falle bydd pethau’n gwella cyn hir – allan nhw’m mynd yn waeth,” o’n i’n dal i weud wrtha’n hunan. Ond, wedyn, “Www – paid breuddwydio, ‘achan – nerthol yw meddyliau, weithiau – ‘sdim ffordd mas o’r twll ‘ma, w. Mae hi ‘di canu arnat ti!”“Perhaps things’ll get better before long – they can’t get worse,” I kept on telling myself. but then, “Ooh – stop dreaming, mate – thoughts are powerful, sometimes – there’s no way out of this hole, mun. You’re done for!”
O ystyried popeth, dim ond hiraethu o’n i am blentyndod heulog sy ‘di diflannu flynyddoedd maith yn ôl. Ro’n i eisiau marw, a dweud y gwir, â’m holl galon. Roedd ‘mraich chwith yn gwaedu, ble o’n i wedi’i thorri gyda’r allweddi. Allwn i’m penderfynu beth i’w ‘neud. Dyw’m yn bosib esbonio, roedd fel ‘sai rhyw bwysau enfawr yn ‘ngwasgu i. Dyna sut o’n i wastad yn teimlo. Sut allwn i gael gwared ar yr ofn a’r boen? Roedd breichiau marw bywyd fel maen melin am 'ngwddf. Ro'n i'n dal i feddwl am erchyllterau oll y Byd, doedd e'm yn bosib 'neud yn wahanol. Roedd 'na ddelweddau o'r gwylliaid yn drewi o arian, y gwleidyddion anonest, yn torri gyddfau'r tlodion. A chwedyn dyna oedd y gwŷr mawrion a'r capteiniaid diwydiant yn llwyddo i wenwyno'r moroedd a llygru'r atmosffer. A sôn am fustl, be' am y ffeiradon rhagrithiol yn pregethu am hunanddinistr yn enwcariad arallfydol, a'r athrawon twp a'r rhieni unllygeidiog sy hefyd yn gwyro meddyliau ac andwyo'r dyfodol. 'Doedd dim syndod bod y Gweision Glân yn rhoi’u hunain ar dân i brotestio yn erbyn Diffygion y Byd, rhwng y byddinoedd o hurfilwyr yn cledro cryts a llosgi llanciau, a'r troseddwyr diedifar yn gwerthu cyffuriau wrth ffugio bod nhw'n cynnig profiadau fydd yn 'newid eich meddwl am byth.' Dim ond celwyddgi, a thwyllwyr, a chollwyr ydyn nhw oll, sy'n defnyddio a chreithio pobl arall cyn eu taflu nhw o'r neilltu.Taking everything into account, all I could do was long for a sunny childhood that’d disappeared many years ago. I wanted to die, truth be told, with all my heart. My left wrist was bleeding, where I’d cut it with the keys. I couldn’t decide what to do. it’s not possible to explain, it was like some huge weight was crushing me. That how I always felt. How could I get rid of the fear and the pain? Life's dead arms were like a millstone round my neck. I kept on thinking about all the World's horrors, it wasn't possible to do anything different. There were images of the stinking-rich brigands, the treacherous politicians, cutting the throats of the poor. And then there were the magnates and the captains of industry succeeding in poisoning the seas and polluting the atmosphere. And talking of bile, what about the hypocritical priests preaching self-destruction in the name of otherworldly love, and the stupid teachers and the blinkered parents who also warp minds and mar the future. It was no surprise that the Pure Servants set themselves on fire to protest against the World's Shortcomings, what with the armies of guerrillas bashing kids and burning lads, and the unrepentant crooks selling drugs whilst pretending they're offering experiences that'll 'change your mind forever.' They're all just liars, and cheats, and losers, who use and scar other people, before casting them aside.
Lushfé cu! Ro'n i'n dymuno â'm holl galon cael gwared ar yr arswydau i gyd, ro'n i'n siŵr mod i'n gyfrifol amdanyn nhw. Ond wyddwn i’m o gwbl sut i ddechrau dod â'r cawlach i ben! Roedd y gwacter chwerw tu fewni fi'n cyflym ehangu i gwmpasu a difetha'r Byd. Wel, ro’n i’n meddwl, mae popeth sy’n byw’n dod mas o’r Môr Mawr Llwyd yn wreiddiol, er bydd Cysawd yr Haul yn marw mewn poethoffrwm fflamboeth yn y dyfodol pell iawn, yn ôl y damcaniaethau diweddara’, ch’mod. Rhwng popeth, felly, dŵr fyddai orau. Es i’n syth i lan yr afon gegog, wacsaw. Ro’n i ar fin neidio i mewn, gredwch chi fi, i fynd yn ôl o’r diwedd i groth hallt ein Mam ddyfrllyd unwaith ‘to, cyn i fi gael ‘nharo i lawr gan fan wen yn sbidio, neu newid fy meddwl, neu gwympo drwy rwyg anweledig yn neunydd realiti i ryw ddimensiwn arall. Ac yno ar lan serth yr Afon Wylofus, eisteddais i i ystyried pa mor wag yw bywyd dyn, wrth gicio llawer o gerigos cyn ddued â phechod y Ddaear oll i’r dyfnderoedd brwnt islaw.Dear Lushfé! I desired with my whole heart to get rid of all the horrors I was sure I was responsible for. But I didn't at all know how to bring the mess to an end! The bitter emptiness inside me was rapidly expanding to encompass and destroy the World. Well, I thought, everything that lives comes out of the Great Grey Sea originally, even though the Solar System will die in a flaming holocaust in the very far future, according to the latest hypotheses, y’know. What with everything, then, water would be best. I went straight to the bank of the fickle, mouthy river. I was about to jump in, believe you me, to go back at last to the salty womb of our watery Mother once again, before I got knocked down by a speeding white van, or changed my mind, or fell through an invisible rent in the material of reality into some other dimension. And there on the steep bank of the Weeping River I sat down to consider how senseless is a man’s life, whilst kicking loads of pebbles as black as the sins of all the Earth into the grubby depths below.
Yr eiliad honno, pan o’n i o fewn dim i’n lansio’n hunan i donnau tragwyddoldeb, oedodd yr Haul yn y nefoedd. Agorodd y cymylau sorllyd. Ebychodd llais fel siocled a dwfn dwfn, yn fwy swnllyd na’r holl forthwylion o ddiemwnt, a’r injans sgrechlyd, a’r cogiau o foron carbid, ym mheiriannau diatal y Saith Swynwr wedi’u claddu gannoedd o filltiroedd dan gramen y Nw Yrth, yr un gair – “Arhosa!” Roedd hi ‘di oeri i‘r fath raddau nes i’r pryfed ffiaidd i gyd – y cynrhon moch gwrychog, a’r brithyllod pluog llinorog – syrthio i lawr o’r awyr, gan ddisgyn yn ddi-ffrwt ar wyneb yr iâ newydd ei ffurfio ar waelod y ceunant. Mor gochlas â chraith lidiog, ffres oedd cromen yr wybren.That very second, when I was just about to launch myself into the waves of eternity, the Sun paused in the heavens. The sullen clouds opened. A voice like chocolate and very, very deep, more noisy than all the diamond hammers, and the screaming engines, and the boron-carbide cogs, in the Seven Sorcerers’ unstoppable machines, buried hundreds of miles under the crust of the Nw Yrth, exclaimed the one word – “Stop!” It had become so cold that all the horrid insects – the bristly pig grubs, and the pustular feather-trout – had fallen down out of the air, dropping listlessly onto the surface of the newly-formed ice at the bottom of the canyon. As reddy-blue as a fresh, inflamed scar was the dome of the heavens.
“Myn Lushfé! Be’ ar y Ddaear?” fe lwyddais i ddweud gan gecian yn syn. Dim ond distawrwydd dieithr atebodd. Falle – falle, nodwch chi – taw’r dydd gwaetha’ ‘rioed oedd hwnnw. Y dydd pan dorrodd y Byd i gyd. Pan fu farw pob copa walltog ond fi, druan bach! Pan ddaeth y tywyllwch mawr. Pan ges i’n herwgipio gan Briodferch Anhrefn sy'n marchogaeth ar y Bwystfil Seithben yn yr Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd. Dyna oedd y stribed ffilm yn dangos bywyd Steffan yn toddi a rhwygo. Falle i’r gorchymyn ddod yn rhy hwyr. Hwyrach i’r sioc ‘ngwthio i dros yr ymyl. I lawr ac i lawr es i. Ac wrth i fi syrthio, arhosodd amser yn ei unfan. Do’n i’m yn unman, ond ro’n i’n mynd i bobman. Fe gollais i’n hunan.“By Lushfé! What on Earth?” I managed to stammer in amazement. Nought but strange silence answered. Perhaps – maybe, mark you – that was the worst day ever. The day when the whole World broke. When every last man-jack died but me, poor thing! When the great darkness came. When I was kidnapped by the Bride of Chaos who rides the Seven-headed Beast in the Cleft between the Worlds. The film-strip showing Steffan’s life melted and split. Perhaps the command came too late. Maybe the shock pushed me over the edge. Down and down I went. And as I fell, time stood stock still. I was nowhere, but I was going everywhere. I lost myself.
Dyma eistedd dau ddyn gefn wrth gefn â’i gilydd, mewn ystafell fach heb ffenestri, wedi’i pheintio’n las yr awyr. Mae’r lle’n boeth, sych, myglyd. Llenwir un mur gan ddrych enfawr a chain eithriadol. Efallai ei fod yn ysgrîn sgrio gan ei fod yn wyn ac afloyw, fel llygaid Lotké was i Nebesh ar ôl cael ei droi’n biler o sialc. ‘Does ‘na ddim ffordd i mewn, na ffordd allan, i’w chanfod. Mae un dyn yn ganol oed, ac mae ganddo ffluwch o wallt cringoch, barf wedi’i thorri’n daclus, aeliau ffraeth, a llygaid ambr, gafraidd. Delwedd swyn yw e, fel hoff ewythr sy’n ddifrifol, diddorol, diddanol, dwys, un ar ôl y llall. Mae’n gwisgo dyngarîs wedi’u lliwio’r un arlliw â’r ‘stafell, ac fe fyddai unrhyw un yn disgrifio bod ei wyneb mor ddisglair â'r pedwar pen ar bob un o’r Gennad Gudd yn yr Hen Lyfr. Mae’n aros yn ddigyffro ar stôl deircoes, hyd yn oed yn stoicaidd, gan syllu ar y drych rhyfedd.Two men sit back-to-back to each other, in a small, windowless room, painted sky-blue. The place is hot, dry, stifling. One wall is filled by an enormous and exceptionally fine mirror. Perhaps it’s a scrying-screen since it’s white and matt, like the eye of Lotké servant to Nebesh after being turned into a pillar of chalk. There is no way in, nor way out, to be discerned. One man is middle-aged, and he has a shock of ginger hair, a tidily-trimmed beard, witty eyebrows, and goat-like, amber eyes. He is the image of charm, like a favourite uncle who’s serious, interesting, entertaining, intense, one thing after the other. He wears dungarees coloured the same shade as the room, and anyone would describe that his face was as dazzling as the four heads of each of the Veiled Messengers in the Old Book. He waits unconcernedly on a three-legged stool, stoically, even, staring at the strange mirror.
Llanc yn ei ddauddegau hwyr, mwy neu lai, yw’r person arall. Mae’n flêr a gwlyb, ac yn gwisgo jîns brwnt a chrys-t wedi’i staenio gan hen chwys. Dyw e ddim wedi cysgu am sawl diwrnod, yn ôl pob golwg; neu hwyrach ei fod wedi huno’n rhy dawel o lawer am gyfnod hir dros ben, yn union fel ‘naeth Rwm bel-Shaftí. Ac wedyn fe fedrai’r coblyn cyfrwys ateb i’r dim bob cwestiwn y gofynnid iddo amdano, ond dim ond ar ffurf cwestiwn arall, nes iddo droi’n das wair euraid yn y pen draw, a suddodd i ganol y Nw Yrth, cymaint oedd ei ddigofaint. Dyna wibio’i lygaid coch gan waed yn awr ac eilwaith ar hyd a lled y wal wag gyferbyn â fe. Mae’i goesau’n gwingo’n annibynnol ar ei ymennydd fel ‘sen nhw’n greaduriaid byw. Yn ddisymwth, dyna ddechrau’r arholiad canlynol, ddim am y tro cynta’, a’r llanc yn gweryru trwy ei drwyn —The other person’s a lad in his late twenties, more or less. He’s unkempt and wet, and wearing dirty jeans and a t-shirt stained with old sweat. He’s not slept for several days, apparently, or perhaps he’s slept much too soundly for an extremely long period, just like Rwm bel-Shaftí did. And then the cunning imp could answer any question put to him perfectly, but only with another question, so that in the end, he turned into a golden hay-stack that sank to the centre of the Nw Yrth, so great was his indignation. Now and then his blood-shot eyes dart back and forth over the empty wall opposite him. His legs twitch independent of his brain, as if they were living creatures. Suddenly, the following examination begins, not for the first time, with the lad whinnying through his nose —
“Pam dyn ni ‘ma? Wel, pam dw i ‘ma ta be’? Sa i’n gw’bod ble dw i, na sut le yw e. Be’ sy’ ‘di digwydd? Ble ydyn ni? Be’ ar y Ddaear sy’n bod, er mwyn y Rhai Dioglyd?”“Why’re we ‘ere? Well, why’m I ‘ere. anyway? I dunno where I am, or what this place is. What’s ‘appened? Where are we? What on Earth’s up, for the sake of the Lazy Ones?”
“Wel, nawr ‘te, ‘achan. Mae hynny i fi wybod ac i ti ddarganfod, debyg ‘da fi. Rhaid canu am dy fwyd ‘ma, er na fydd dim angen bwyta nag yfed o gwbl, ddim yn y synnwyr arferol, wrth reswm. Ond, wel, fe fydd dyn yn cael moddion eraill i foddhau’i ddymuniadau, gad i ni ddweud. Gyda llaw, un awgrym bach, cyfeillgar i ddechrau, lanc. Paid galw ar yr Enwau ‘na, os gweli di’n dda. Fydd y fath – anfoesgarwch – ddim yn mynd i lawr yn dda gyda’r – y Goruchwylwyr.”“Well, now then, matie. That is for me to know and for you to find out, it seems to me. You have to sing for your supper here, although there’s no need to eat or drink at all, in the usual sense, of course. But, well, one finds other means to satisfy one’s needs, let us say. By the way, one friendly little suggestion to start, lad. Don’t call on those Names, if you please. Such – discourtesy – won’t go down well with the – the Overseers.”
“Www, peidiwch dweud pethau fel ‘ny, so fe’n deg! So chi’n deall pa mor frawychus yw hyn. Mae mor dwym lawr fan ’yn, mor boeth â ffwrn. Dw i’n llosgi. Prin mod i'n gallu anadlu. Sa i’n cofio’n enw i, pwy dw i. Helpwch fi, dewch ‘mlaen, dylech chi ‘neud rhywbeth i helpu fi!”“Ooh, stop saying things like that, it’s not fair! You don’t understand how frightening this is. It’s so warm down here, as hot as an oven. I’m burning up. I can hardly breathe. I don’t remember my name, who I am. Help me, come on, you should do something to help me!”
“Byddwn i – ‘swn i yn dy le di – yn gweithio’n galetach i gael hyd i’r syniadau priodol, er dy fwyn di dy hunan. Fe dalai i ti ‘neud ‘ny’n hwyr neu’n hwyrach. Cofia di, was! Wedi’r cyfan, rhaid wrth goelio’r pethau’n carlamu drwy dy feddwl cyn i ti allu honni fod di’n gwybod nhw. Ac o ran ‘ny, fedra i’m dy gynorthwyo di’n bellach.”“I would – if I were you – work harder to find the appropriate ideas, for your own sake. It would pay you to do that sooner or later. Remember, man! After all, it’s necessary to believe the things galloping through your mind before you can claim you know them. And on that front, I can’t help you further.”
“Be’ ‘neno Lushfé ma’ hynny i fod i olygu, ‘te? Peidiwch rhoi posau i fi. Jyst gwedwch wrtha i. Rhaid bod chi’n gw’bod. Be’ yn union ddylwn i ‘neud? Be’ alla i ‘neud? Be’ yw’r ateb? A pwy dw i, ‘fyd? Sa i’n nabod fy hunan. Gwedwch y gywir, w, os gwelwch chi’n dda!”“What in Lushfé’s name’s that supposed to mean, then? Don’t set me puzzles. Just tell me. You must know. What exactly should I do? What can I do? What’s the answer? And who am I, too? I don’t know myself. Tell the truth, mun, please!”
“O, fab, fe ddylet ti fod yn ofalus wrth ddefnyddio iaith fel rwyt ti’n ‘neud, unwaith ‘to. Pe tawn i yn dy le di, rwy’n feddwl – a bod yn falch iawn o ddweud nad ydw i – wel, ddim yng ngwir ystyr y geiriau, achos dy fod di draw fan’na, a dwi yma, wrth gwrs -- os byddi di’n maddau i fi am fy ffraethineb bach. Ta be’, bydd rhaid i ti aros yma. Wel, ni fydd fawr o ddewis gen ti, o fanwl ystyried y cefndir i’r sefyllfa sydd ohoni. Ac mae un drist ofnadw’ heb os. Rwyt ti i fod yn weinydd, yn gynorthwyydd, rhywun sy’n gweini. A bydd yr holl amser yn y Nw Yrth yn perthyn i ti, ar sawl cyfri’, er dyw’r gosodiad ‘na’n arbennig o berthnasol yn y fangre dragwyddol hon. Bydd rhaid i ti, ar dy liwt dy hunan, benderfynu sut, a pham, a pryd rwyt ti’n moyn gweithredu cynlluniau, a rheolau, a chyfundrefnau, a deddfau, a chosbau, a gwobrau, o hyn ‘mlaen. Ti’n unig. Alla i ddim dweud taw mater o fywyd a marwolaeth fydd y peth, o’th ran di, ddim rhagor, ond —”“Oh, son, you should be careful using language like you’re doing, once again. If I were you, I mean – and I’m very pleased to say that I am not – well, not in the true sense of the words, as you are over there, and I am here, of course – if you forgive me my little witticism. Anyway, you will have to stay here. Well, you won’t have much choice, after careful consideration of the background to the current situation. And it’s a terribly sad one, without a doubt. You are to be a waiter, an assistant, as it were, someone who serves. And all the time in the Nw Yrth shall be yours, on several accounts, although that statement’s not especially relevant in this eternal locus. You shall have to, on your own account, decide how, and why, and when you want to implement plans, and rules, and systems, and laws, and punishments, and rewards, from now on. I can’t say that it’ll a matter of life or death, on your part, not any more, but — “
“Be’ chi’n olygu, w! Lushfé a’m helpo! Dwi’n crefu arnoch chi, ‘neno Wezir!”“What you mean, mun? Lushfé help me! I’m beggin’ you, by Wezir!”
“Taw di, nawr, dw i ‘di esbonio sawl gwaith! Paid â chynhyrfu, ‘machgen i! ‘Does Neb o’r disgrifiad ‘na lawr fan hyn mwyach. Ni fuodd e yma ers achau hir, fe sy’n ateb i’r Enw Erchyll ‘na. ‘Sdim ots iddo fe ddod trwy’r cwch dirboenus hwn unwaith, wrth dderbyn cyffes gan y llengoedd o ellyllon wedi’u carcharu yn y lle gresynus hwn, ryw dragwyddoldeb yn ôl, fel yr ymddengys. A! Dyna boenus oedd y diwrnod ‘na, pan enillodd y naill drueni, a’r lleill, farwolaeth felys. Pawb a’m heithrio fi. Pam rwyt ti’n ‘neud i fi gofio; am ba reswm annynol? Paid, paid ar unwaith! Fydd e ddim yn bosib mynd yn ôl. Byth. O, fe fyddi di’n credu, a gobeithio, a dychmygu, a rhyfeddu, ac fe fydd hyn yn disodli popeth rwyt ti’n wybod am dy gofion. Dyw amser ddim yn llifo ‘ma. Mae pob eiliad ym mhob lle’n bodoli fan hyn ar yr un pryd, yn y ‘stafell las hon, yn y meddyliau gleision hyn, y dydd glas hwn. Ond fe beidia i, mae rhaid i fi beidio. Gwaharddedig yw’r fath ffwdan. Byddi di angen dysgu’r rheolau, a be’ bynnag, fyddi di byth yn gwybod pwy fydd yn clustfeinio…“Shush, now, I’ve explained several times! Don’t fuss, my boy! There’s no-one of that description down here anymore. He hasn’t been here for long ages, he who answers to that Terrible Name. No matter that he came through this agonizing hive once, hearing confession from the legions of fiends incarcerated in this wretched place, an eternity ago, as it appears. Ah! How painful that day was, when some gained pity, and the others, sweet oblivion. Everyone excepting me. Why do you make me remember; for what inhuman reason? Stop it, stop it at once! It’ll not be possible to go back. Never. Oh, you’ll believe, and hope, and imagine and wonder, and this will displace all that you know about your memories. Time doesn’t flow here. Every second in every place exists right here at the same time, in this blue room, in these blue thoughts, on this blue day. But I’ll stop, I mustn’t. Such blathering is prohibited. You’ll need to learn the rules and anyway, you never know who’s eavesdropping…
“…Fi fy hun, wrth gwrs – dwi ddim yn dy le di – er ein bod ni yn yr un ‘stafell, ha. Ond eto i gyd, t’mod, licwn i ddim cynhyrfu – yr Awdurdodau. Wedi mynd mae amser gofid. Yn bendant, yn derfynol, yn llwyr. Gad i fi ddweud ond un peth – bydda i’n isel fy llais fel na fydd teimlyddion buneslyd ddim yn ‘nghlywed i, a fi’n gollwng y gath o’r cwd. Na, na, mae’n flin ‘da fi, hyd yn oed meddwl am y peth oedd camgymeriad. Falle bydd e’n gwaethygu’r sefyllfa. Ie, wrth gwrs. Na.”“…I myself, of course – I’m not in your place – although we’re both in the same room, ha. But then again, y’know, I wouldn’t like to rouse – the Authorities. The time of distress has gone. Definitively, finally, completely. Let me say one thing – I’ll lower my voice so that prying feelers won’t hear me, as I let the cat out of the bag. No, no, I’m sorry, even thinking about it was a mistake. Perhaps it’ll make the situation worse. Yes, of course. No.”
“Chi’n gorfod helpu fi, ‘sna ddim byd chi’n gallu ‘neud? Ers faint dw i ‘di bod yn y carchar ‘ma, ‘sdim clem ‘da fi? ‘Newch chi weud wrtha i, am faint fydda i angen aros fan hyn? Rhoi’r gorau iddi hi dw i. Dw i eisiau sgrechian! Rhaid i fi ddianc o ‘ma – cael bod yn rhydd – mynd ‘nôl i sut oedd pethau o’r blaen – byw – bod ‘yn hunan ‘to. ‘Na i unrhyw beth fyddwch chi’n ofyn –”“You have to help me, is there nothing you can do? How long’ve I been in this prison, I’ve no clue? Will you tell me, how long will I need to stay ‘ere? I give up. I want to scream. Need to get out of ‘ere – to be free – to go back to how things were before -- to live – to be myself again. I’ll do anything you ask –”
“Felly! O, wel, ‘nei, dw i’n deall. Ond dyna’r peth, on’d ife – y craidd, yr hanfod yng nghalon y loes hon oll sydd ynot ti. Gwranda. Fe fydda i’n ceisio bod, O diar, yn dyner. ‘Neno’r Hen Feistri, mae hyn yn anodd i’w drin. Dere ‘mlaen, was, dywed y gwir. Mae’n gofyn mor daer ers achau. Dyma be' dw i’n olygu, fachgen: edrycha arnat ti dy hunan! Dwyt ti ddim yn gallu gweld yr arwydd wedi’i serio ar dy enaid, a sawru’r drewdod yn hongian drosot ti? O, mae’n ddrwg gen i, mae’r gêm ‘ma o chwarae cwato’n f'arteithio fi ‘fyd, ond dw i’n cael ‘ngorfodi i smalio. Fel dw i eisoes ‘di gweud, greda i, dwi ‘di colli bri ddim ychydig. Dw i ‘di cwympo oddi wrth ras. Fe ges i ‘nhaflu i lawr, ac yn awr dw i ‘di syrthio ar fy mai, er na fydd tosturi. Dim ond ufuddhau i orchmynion a ddaw oddi uchod dw i…“So! Oh, well, you will do, I understand. But that’s the thing, isn’t it – the crux, the essence in the heart of all that pain inside you. Listen. I’ll try to be, o Dear, tender. By the Old Masters, it’s hard to deal with. Come on, man, tell the truth. He’s been asking so insistently for ages. I mean this, boy: look at yourself! Can you not see the sign seared into your soul, and smell the stench hanging over you? Oh, I’m sorry, this game of peek-a-boo’s torturing me, too, but I am forced to pretend. As I’ve already said, I believe, I’ve lost my reputation to no small extent. I’ve fallen from grace. I was cast down, and now I have admitted my fault, although there shall be no mercy. I am but obeying orders that come from above...
“… Serch hynny, ie, sori, a bod yn fyr, ie, dyna ni – fy ‘mab annwyl i, sy ‘di ‘mrifo i cynddrwg, ond a fydd yn ‘mhlesio fi cymaint. O, pam wyt ti’n llusgo traed fel hyn? Hmm? Fe glywais i dy eiriau di, gynnau fach, ond dw i’m yn dy gredu di. Dim ond ofn a rhwystredigaeth oedd ‘ny. Yn ddwfn yn y dyfnderoedd dua’, rwyt ti’n gwybod be’ ti eisiau’n wir. Cofleidia’r achos. Os na fyddi di am fodoli rhagor ar wyneb y Ddaear, os byddi di eisiau dod i ben â byw dy fywyd dynol, mynd tu hwnt i’r rhwymyn marwol – wel, fe fydd yr ateb terfynol i’th broblemau i gyd yn dy ddwylo bellach. O, dw i’n sôn am – am beidio â bod – colli dy fywyd – darfod -- trengi -- hynny yw, Www – marw…“…Despite that, yes, sorry, to be brief, yes, there we are – my dear son, who has hurt me so badly, but who shall please me so greatly. Oh, why’re you dragging your heels like this? Hmm? I heard your words just now, but I don’t believe you. That was just fear and frustration. Deep down in the darkest depths, you know what you truly want. Embrace the cause. If you don’t wish to exist anymore on the face of the Earth, if you want to bring an end to living your human life, to go beyond the mortal coils – well, the ultimate solution to all your problems is in your hands now. Oh, I’m talking about – about ceasing to be – losing your life – expiring – perishing – that is, Oooh, dying…
“…Fel yr oedd yn y gorffennol, felly y mae ar hyn o bryd. Dyw’r dewis ddim wedi newid. Fydd byth yn newid. Dwyt ti’m yn deall? Sut y gallet ti fethu gwybod? Ddim y pethau chwerthinllyd, diflas, cyffredin sy ‘di digwydd yn ddiau – pa beth bynnag a wnaethpwyd, ni all neb ei ddadwneud. Er gwaetha’ ‘ny – y posibiliadau a all ddigwydd o hyn ymlaen? Gwŷr a choed – breichiau a gwreiddiau – dyrchafu a chondemnio – gwaed a dŵr – gollwng a rhwymo – y Ddaear ar y Nw Yrth. Pob eiliad yn bodoli ‘ma gyda’i gilydd. Ie, dyna’r peth, on’d yw mor olau â dydd oer ym Mhalas Grisial Kish? — Fe ddarfu hyn oll, Satharāfanu a fydd – Stharafan sydd – Sedaravanthí a fu – Steffan – fy hyfforddai ifanc – gan mai fi yw dy Dad di, O Dywysydd Medrus!”“…As it was in the past, so it is at the moment. The choice hasn’t changed. It never does. Don’t you understand? How could you fail to know? Not the mundane, boring, ridiculous things that’ve really happened – whatever has been done, cannot be undone. Despite that – the possibilities that can occur from here on? Men and trees – branches and roots – raising up and casting down – blood and water – loosing and binding – the Earth and the Nw Yrth? Every instant existing here together. Yes, that’s it, isn’t it as clear as a cold day in the Crystal Palace of Kish? All this has come about. Satharāfanu to be – Stharafan who is – Sedaravanthí who has been – Steffan – my young trainee – because I am your father, Oh Skilled Leader!”
Dyna oedd pan orfu i fi wledda ar iau chwerw’r gwir. Y dydd pan ddaeth y Byd i ben – fy Myd i, o leia’, fel mae’r meddylwyr mawr yn hoff o sylwi – er nad digwyddiad mewn bywyd yw tranc, gan na fydd dyn fyw ar y pryd i gael profiad ohono. Ta be’, dyna o’n i’n teimlo fel ‘sai’r greadigaeth oll fyddai wedi trengi ‘swn i ‘di marw – trwy foddi yng nghawl aflan yr afon -- neu gael fy mwrw ymaith mewn rhyw ddamwain fan, pwy all ddweud? ‘Nes i fynd ar ‘ngliniau’r eiliad ‘na o flaen y creadur rhyfedd, gan sylweddoli taw Arglwydd yr Anialwch oedd e, a fi’n hunan ‘fyd ar yr un pryd. Yr unig be’ fedrwn i grawcian dweud oedd, “Aaa! Dw i’n nabod pwy dw i! Swtach! Dw i am fyw!” Ond wedyn, fe dorrodd y Llais Trallodus ar ‘nhraws —That was when I was forced to feast on the truth’s bitter liver. The day when the World came to an end – my World, at least, as the great thinkers are fond of commenting – although demise is not an event in one’s life, as one is not alive at the time to experience it. Anyway, that was when I felt as if all creation would have perished if I had died – by drowning in the river’s foul soup – or being swept away in some van accident, who can say? I fell to my knees that second, in front of the strange creature, realising that he was the Lord of the Wilderness, and me myself too, at the same time. The only thing I could croak out was, “Aah! I know who I am! Swtach! I want to live!” But then, the Vexatious Voice cut across me —
“Edrycha, ‘machgen. Dim ond eisiau i ti eistedd a sgwrsio gyda fi am sbel dw i. Licwn i esbonio peth neu ddau. Amser i ti gael yr atebion, ha, ha. Ac wedyn byddi di’n gallu ‘neud y dewis doetha’, dw i’n sicr.” Roedd ei araith lefn yn ysgubo droso i fel tonnau cyfoglyd o fêl. “Agor di dy lygaid, fab, a syllu ar y wal ‘na. Rhaid i fi ddangos rhywbeth i ti.”“Look, my boy. All I want is for you to sit down and talk with me for a while. I’d like to explain a thing or two. Time for you to get some answers, ha, ha. And then you’ll be able to make the wisest choice, I’m sure.” His silky oration was sweeping over me like sickening waves of honey. “Open your eyes, son, and stare at that wall. I have to show you something.”
Ac ar unwaith dyna fi’n dechrau gweld delweddau mor olau â’r dydd ar y sgrin sgrio o ‘mlaen i. Roedd hanes ‘mywyd i gyd yno, pob meddwl, a theimlad, a digwyddiad, o’r crud i’r bedd. Ond doedd y lluniau’m wedi’u trefnu mewn llinell o ddechrau i ddiwedd. Yn hytrach, roedd popeth ar ben ei gilydd, ac yn corddi o gwmpas fel ‘sai mewn rhyw fôr byw. Wrth graffu ar ganol y dymestl ‘ma, sylweddolais i fe allwn i fynd i fewn i bob un o’r golygfeydd drwy ganolbwyntio arni hi. Er mawr syndod i fi, fe welais i nad gorffen ar lan yr afon ddrewllyd ‘naeth y stori, ac wrth i fi gyrcydu yno, roedd y Llais Trallodus yn ‘nghocsio a ‘ngheryddu i gofleidio’n ffawd a gweld be’ fyddai’n aros amdana i ar y Ddaear greulon ‘swn i’n mynd ‘nol. Ac yma fe fydda i’n disgrifio’n fanwl be’ ‘nes i brofi —And at once I begin to see images as bright as day on the scrying screen before me. The history of my whole life was there, every thought, and feeling, and event, from the cradle to the grave. But the pictures weren’t arranged in a line from start to finish. Rather, everything was on top of everything else, and churning around like in some living sea. Whilst peering at the middle of this tempest, I realised I could go into every one of the scenes by concentrating on it. To my great surprise, I saw that the story didn’t finish at the stinking river, and as I squatted there, the Vexatious Voice coaxed and chastised me to embrace my fate and see what would be waiting for me on the cruel Earth if I were to go back. And here I’ll describe in detail what I experienced —
[Sgrin Sgrio] ‘Does unman yn debyg i gartref, meddant. Myn Swtach nid oes! A myfi a ddylai wybod, gan mai hen gono trist sydd yn gaeth i’r tŷ wyf yn wir, os goddefir yr ymadrodd. Ond rwy’n bell iawn o fod yn llawen, wedi fy nal yn y bwthyn hynafol hwn Unig blentyn oeddwn i ddechrau, er i fi ddarganfod fy hanner chwaer ofnadwy’n nes ymlaen. A hen lanc unig wyf fi hyd yn oed yn awr. Wastad y bûm, a wastad y byddaf hefyd, er fy mod wedi dymuno mor aml, trwy nerth y sêr, y byddai’r sefyllfa’n wahanol ryw ddydd. Efallai mai dyna pam nad wyf erioed wedi cwympo mewn cariad, na dod o hyd i bartner, ychwaith. Dan felltith yr wyf fi. Ac yma arhosaf fi hyd ddiwedd fy oes, rhwng pedair wal laith a briwsionllyd, wedi’u difwyno â saim, a blew’r hen gi drewllyd, ac olion dwylo’r rhai a drengodd amser maith yn ôl.[Scrying Screen] There’s no place like home, they say. By Swtach there isn’t! And I should know, as I truly am a sad old fart, who’s housebound, if you forgive the expression. But I’m very far from being happy, trapped here in this ancient cottage. I was an only child to start with, although I discovered my awful half-sister later on. And a lonely old man am I, even now. I always have been, and I always shall be, too, although I have wished so often, upon the stars, that the situation would be different some day. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never fallen in love, nor found a partner, either. Cursed is what I am. And here I shall see out my days, between four damp and crumbling walls, soiled with grease, and the fur of the stinky old dog, and fingerprints of those who died ages ago.
Do’n i’m yn gallu wrthsefyll e, a bu bron i’n synnwyr newydd o hunaniaeth ddiflannu yn sgil y geiriau taer. Dw i angen dweud wrthoch chi. ‘lly, taw o ddim, roedd ‘na lais arall ‘fyd yn siarad â fi. Neu falle fod ‘na gôr o leisiau, yn fenywaidd y tro ‘ma – Mam-gu, a Mam, a Chwaer. Ro’n i’n teimlo fel ffieiddbeth o glywed eu geiriau’n ffrydio oddi mewn i fi. Ond ro’n nhw’n esbonio pethau mor synhwyrol a chall, gan gyflwyno gwrthbwynt i gwynfan y dyn, oedd yn orfelys, a llon o frwnt —I couldn’t resist it, and my new-found sense of identity almost disappeared in the wake of the insistent words. I need to tell you, then, that from nowhere, there was another voice talking to me, too. Or perhaps there was a choir of voices, female this time – Grandma, and Mum, and Sister. I felt like an abomination, hearing their words welling up from inside me. But they were explaining things so sensibly and wisely, presenting a counterpoint to the man’s moaning, which was saccharine, and cheerfully nasty —
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Mae'r gorffennol yn stordy meddyliol, yn llawn eiliadau creithiog sy'n dangos darostyngiad, esgeulustod, poen, a gwarth. Ac mae'r cofion 'ma wastad yn mynnu estyn eu tentaclau. i fwrw cysgod anochel y gorffennol, newid y presennol, a llywio'r dyfodol, drwy gydol ein bywydau. Dyn ni'n credu gan amla' taw gwir gofnodion o be' sy 'di digwydd yw'n cofion ni. Ond mae'r goel 'ma'i hunan yn newid sut fyddwn ni'n trin y pethau dyn ni'n meddwl ein bod ni'n gwybod i sicrwydd. Wrth gwrs, gydag amser, fe fydd pob co'n cael ei ystumio wrth i ni fyfyrio arno fe'n ymwybodol drosodd a throsodd. 'Does ond raid i ni ddychmygu caru, ac ymladd, a cholli, a chyplu, ac esgor, a marw.”[Female Voices] “The past is a mental store-house full of scarred instants depicting humiliation, neglect, pain, and shame. And these memories are always demanding to spread their tentacles to cast the inescapable shadow of the past, change the present, and steer the future, throughout our lives. We generally believe that our memories are true records of events. But this belief itself changes how we deal with what we think we know for certain. Of course, over time, all memories are distorted as we consciously mull on them over and over. Just imagine love, and war, and loss, and sex, and birth, and death.”
A dyna oedd y ddwy set o leisiau’n mynd yn eu blaen i ymryson â’i gilydd. Er mod i ‘di dangos y naill yn cael ei ddilyn gan y llall yn y darn bach ‘ma, fel dau ymson, roedd y ddwy araith yn digwydd ar yr un pryd a bod yn onest, yn ‘yn meddwl fel petai. Wedi dweud ‘ny, fe allwn i glywed y ddwy yn berffaith glir, fel alaw a harmoni. Roedd y seiniau’n creu rhythm cymhleth a swynol wrth gystadlu a chefnogi ei gilydd. Trwm, ac ara’, a cheintachlyd oedd yr un llais, tra oedd y llall yn befriol a siriol, ond awdurdodol. Danddwr, yno, yng nghroth las bywyd nas dechreuwyd, roedd fel ‘swn i’n edrych allan oddi mewn i lygaid enfawr ar fodolaeth oll. Tair Tynged oedd yn gwau edafedd dichonoldeb, methiant, a gobaith, wrth i Ofn geisio torri’r we cyn iddi gael ei sefydlu’n gadarn. Allwn i ddim ond disgyn yn rhydd â ‘ngheg ar agor, yn ddyfnach ddyfnach i’r pair o ddelweddau gwinglyd.And there were the two sets of voices going on to contend with each other. Although I have shown the one being followed by the other in this little piece, like two monologues, to be honest the two discourses were occurring at the same time, in my mind as it were. Having said that, I could hear the two perfectly clearly, like melody and harmony. The sounds created a complex and enchanting rhythm whilst competing and supporting one another. Heavy, and slow, and querulous was the one voice, whilst the other was sparkling and cheerful, but authoritative. Underwater, there, in the blue womb of an unbegun life, it was as if I was looking out from within an enormous eye on all existence. Three Fates were weaving the threads of potentiality, failure, and hope, whilst Fear tried to cut the web before it was firmly established. I could only fall freely with my mouth open, deeper and deeper into the cauldron of writhing images.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 28

Pennod Tri Deg Dau: Gobeithio (Lleisiau 28) / Hoping (Voices 28)

Onid tebyg i gysgodion yw cofion? Oblegid mai modd o guddio yw pob cysgod. Rhaid inni ond ystyried yr enghreifftiau canlynol. Mae cysgod glaw yn creu ardal sychder lle y gall dyn osgoi mynd yn wlyb. Mae cysgod acwstig yn creu parth tawelwch, lle y gallwn ni ddianc rhag stŵr y byd. Trwy gofio, hynny yw trwy fyw ym myd rhithiol a chysurol y dychymyg yn hytrach nag y byd cyffredin, creulon, rydym yn gobeithio yr awn ni y tu hwnt i’r gofidiau fydd yn aros yn y dyfodol, wrth ail-brofi llawenydd y gorffennol. Ond gall aml gof gydgyfeirio a chyd-adweithio ar yr un pryd ym meddyliau’r rhai sydd yn eu hystyried. Ac yno y byddant yn ffurfio drych-ddelweddau wedi’u haflunio o’r digwyddiadau gwreiddiol. Efallai mai dim ond yng ngwactod y gwagle y gallai fod cofion pur sydd yn hollol glir, ac yn bodoli yn annibynnol ar lanw meddyliau eraill, ac ar wahân i ddylanwad syniadau darfodedig. Ond wedyn, pwy a fyddai’n eu meddwl? O safbwynt arall, pellaf y golau, mwyaf y cysgod, nes y bydd y cofion hynaf yn eithriadol o aneglur. Os bydd y gwrthrych yn symud, bydd y cysgod yn tyfu yn ei dro. Felly trwy ganolbwyntio’n ddwys ar gof, gan ei ysgwyd yn feddyliol fel petai, byddwn ni’n ymyrryd ar y weithred o atgofio. A hefyd bydd ochrau fyrdd y cof yn tueddu i adlewyrchu’i gilydd gan ein dallu â phelydrau o olau twyllodrus. Mae cysgodion yn llenwi cyfeintiau, ond nad ydynt yn wrthrychau solet, ac ar adegau, nis gwelir nes y’u teflir ar gymylau o niwl neu lwch, ac wedyn byddant yn ymddangos yn ddieithr i wylwyr. Defnyddir effeithiau fel y rhain ar y llwyfan yn fynych er mwyn meithrin naws arswydus ac anesmwythol. Yn yr un modd, cofion sydd yn llenwi’r meddwl, a strwythurau’r ymennydd, ond na fedrwn ni olrhain eu llwybrau’n union o gwbl, ac yn aml y’n harweinir ar gyfeiliorn ganddynt. Eto i gyd, plygir cysgodion bob amser trwy gael eu taflu ar draws wahanol wynebau, fel y bydd cofion yn plygu yn hwyr neu’n hwyrach, gan gyfnewid eglurdeb am ddryswch, a rhosynnau am ddrain. Ai cofion, felly, sydd yn ein hatal rhag meddwl, rhag byw, rhag ffynnu? Dim ond cysgodion yw cofion, ond cysgodion tra chryf yn wir.

Are memories not similar to shadows? Because every shadow is a way to hide. We have only to consider the following examples. Rain-shadow creates an area of dryness where one can avoid getting wet. Acoustic shadow creates a silent zone, where we can escape from the world’s hubbub. By remembering, that is through living in the spectral and reassuring world of the imagination rather in the cruel, mundane world, we hope that we shall transcend the worries which await in the future, whilst re-experiencing the joy of the past. But many memories can converge and interact at the same time in the minds of these who consider them. And there they form distorted mirror-images of the original events. Perhaps it is only in the vacuum of space that there can be pure memories which are totally clear, and exist independently of the tide of other thoughts, and separate from the influence of transient ideas. But then, who would be thinking them? From another viewpoint, the further the light, the greater the shadow, so that the oldest memories will be exceptionally unclear. If the object moves, the shadow grows in its turn. Thus, by concentrating intensely on a memory, shaking it mentally as it were, we will be interfering with the act of recalling. And also, the memory’s myriad sides will tend to reflect each other, blinding us with rays of deceptive light. Shadows fill volumes, but are not solid objects, and on occasions, they will not be seen unless they are cast on clouds of fog or dust, and then they appear strange to viewers. Effects like these are frequently used on the stage to foster a terrifying and unsettling atmosphere. In the same way, it is memories that fill the mind, and the structures of the brain, but we are not able to trace their paths precisely at all, and often we will be led astray by them. Then again, shadows are bent all the time by being cast over different surfaces, as memories will be bent, sooner or later, exchanging clarity for confusion, and roses for thorns. Is it memories, therefore, that prevent us from thinking, from living, from flourishing? Nought but shadows are memories, but shadows most strong, indeed.

Y tu hwnt i’r Pwll Gresynus ar gyfandir gogleddol y Nw Yrth, mae gyrroedd o grebwyllion cnawdol yn dawnsio’n orfoleddus, neu o leiaf yn eithaf siriol, yn ôl eu dull eu hunain. Maen nhw’n dathlu’u llwyddiant ymhlith lluoedd o bethau eraill, gan mai er nad ydyn nhw eto wedi cyflawni’r nod, na chyrraedd y brig, pan fydd y stŵr wedi dod i ben, wedyn y daw’n amlwg y collwyd y frwydr, ond fe enillwyd y rhyfel serch hynny. A dyna wichian gorffwyll y creaduriaid cyfnewidiol yn atseinio o’r Bryniau Sigledig dros ddyfroedd hufennog y Llyn Cysglyd ac arnyn nhw’r blas o lemwn a leim, wrth i’r ffigyrau plastig yn prancio daflu cysgodion serennog cymaint â molysgiaid enfawr, llysnafeddog â channoedd o aelodau gafaelgar, ar y cymylau gwlanog, gwyrddion. A dyna nhw’n canu Huw, a’r alawon yn llawn egni, a hiraeth, a chlod, a hynny oll wedi’i gymysgu â phensynnu un o’u disgyblion gorau ar y Ddaear, er nad yw e’n sylweddoli'r y ffaith —Beyond the Wretched Pool on the Nw Yrth’s northern continent, flocks of fleshy fancies dance jubilantly, or at least quite cheerfully, after their own fashion. They are celebrating their success amongst hordes of other things, since although they have not yet achieved the objective, nor reached the peak, when all the palaver is over, then it will become obvious that the battle has been lost, but that the war has been won despite that. The delirious squealing of the ever-changing creatures resounds from the Wobbly Hills over the creamy waters of the Sleepy Lake, which tastes of lemon and lime, whilst the prancing plastic figures cast starry shadows as big as enormous slimy molluscs with hundreds of grasping appendages on the green, fluffy clouds. They sing lullabies, the tunes full of energy, and longing, and praise, and all of that mixed with the day-dreaming of one of their best disciples on the Earth, although he does not realise the fact —
Hei, yr hen frithgi di, w! Fi sy ‘ma, Dai, David, Daud, Taavi, Dewi, Rāwiri, Deton, uDavide – Pethma – yr un unig, be’ bynnag yw’n enw i! Helo ‘na, ‘achan! Gad dy lap, iawn – dyw e’m wedi ‘ngweld i’n ‘sgrifennu’r darn ‘ma – yr ôl-nodyn anwyddonol terfynol ‘ma, ha! O, paid becso am yr holl fwstwr yn fan’ma, yn ‘mhen i. Sa i’n gallu cael gwaed o’r lleisiau ‘na ‘to, ma’n nhw ‘na’n clebran bob tro. Ar hyn o bryd ma’r baban plagus ‘na’n rhygnu ‘mlaen am yr un hen lol. Wel, ma’ ‘di tyfu lan erbyn hyn, i fod yn rhocyn annioddefol, dyna’r gair, am wn i. Ma’ fe fel rhyw gi bach ewn sy ‘di llowcio hen ddigon o’r hen gonfennau anghyfreithlon, fedret ti weud. Wi’n synnu mod i’n ddigon clyfar i daro ar y fath syniadau, hyd yn oed, ond dyna ni. Ond wi ‘di bod yn gwrando’n ormod ar y storiâu gan y llanc od ‘na, Tapani, Steff, Stjepan, Stezz, Ixtebe, Stevo, Kepano, ta be’, yr un ddihangodd o’r Lladd-dy Addysgol yn Ninas Emrallt yn ddiweddar. Ac mae llawer i ateb drosto fe ‘da’r Doethur gorffwyll ‘na, ‘fyd.Gan bwyll, fe fyddi di’n dod i arfer â fe yn y pen draw.Hey, you stinky old mongrel, mun! Me here, Dai, David, Daud, Taavi, Dewi, Rāwiri, Deton, uDavide – Thingy – the one and only, whatever my name is! Hello there, matie! Shut your gob, right – he’s not seen me writing this bit – this final unscientific after-word, ha! Oh, don’t worry about all the racket in by ’ere, in my ‘ead. I can’t get rid of those voices still, they’re chattering on all the time. At the mo’ that annoying baby’s harping on about the same old nonsense. Well, he’s grown up by now, to be an insufferable lad, that’s the word, far as I know. He’s like some cheeky pup who’s swallowed more than enough of the old illegal condiments, you could say. I’m surprised I’m clever enough to come up with such ideas, even, but there we are. But I’ve been listening too much to the stories by that odd lad, Tapani, Steff, Stjepan, Stezz, Ixtebe, Stevo, Kepano, whatever, the one who escaped from the Educational Abattoir in Emerald Town recently. And that mad Doctor has a lot to answer for, too. Steady on, you’ll get used to it in the end.
Creda di fi, reit, mêt, alla i’m cofio na gweld bron dim byd o gwbl yn glir nawr o achos y cysgodion. Sa i’n siŵr hyd yn oed pwy dw i’n iawn. Ond wi’n gwybod pethau sa i’n gallu’u cofio. ‘Credu mae’r co’ cyn bod gwybod yn cofio. Coelio’n hwy nag mae'n atgofio, yn hwy nag mae gwybod yn synnu'n wir,’ neu rywbeth. Ac yn y blaen. Ac fe wn i heb os taw yma, ar y Ddaear, mae rhaid i ni wrthwynebu’r cysgodion sy eisiau bod yn deyrn arnon ni drwy’n rheibio ni gyda bara a chwaraeon nes byddwn ni’n cael ein hysgubo bant i Rywle Arall gan dswnami anorchfygol heb yn wybod i ni.Trust me, right, mate, I can’t remember or see almost anything at all clearly now because of the shadows. I’m not sure even who I am properly. But I know things I can’t remember. ‘Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than it recollects, longer than knowing truly wonders,’ or something. And so on. And I do know for sure that here, on the Earth, we have to resist the shadows who want to govern us, by enchanting us with bread and circuses so that we’ll be swept off to Somewhere Else by an irresistible tsunami without us realising.
“Y tro hwnnw, yn y seler, neu’r tŵr, achubwyd un bywyd gwerthfawr o leiaf, ac un Byd hefyd, neu ddau, efallai, pan ddaeth enaid cryf newydd yn gaethwas i’r Grymoedd Arallfydol. Rhaid i ddyn ofyn, wrth reswm, a oedd hwn, yn y diwedd, yn bris gwerth ei dalu? Pwy all ddweud, oblegid eu bod yn anchwiliadwy, yr Hen Feistri a’r Addolwyr Diog fel ei gilydd, ac mae’u harferion yn ddirgel. Ond megis mewn pob chwedl afaelgar, bydd tynged annisgwyl o flaen y cymeriadau ar ben y daith arwrol. Pwy, tybed, ar y dydd o brysur bwyso, fydd yr aberth glân? Rwy newydd ddysgu’r gwir dan warchodaeth fy ewythr Satharāfanu sydd yn creu bydoedd gyda’i gelf, a myfi fy hunan bron yn ddyn yn ei oed a’i amser. Rwy’n gofyn y cwestiwn hwn yn awr, felly, yn hollol ymwybodol o'r amgylchiadau a'r problemau ynghylch y rhai oedd yno ar y pryd, druan â hwy, am fod arnaf fi angen dadansoddi’n fanwl sut mae bodau dynol yn gweithredu yn y fath sefyllfaoedd.”“On that occasion, in the cellar, or the tower, one worthwhile life was saved, at least, and one World, too, or two, maybe, when a new strong soul became bond-servant to the Other-worldly Powers. One must ask, of course, was this, in the end, a price worth paying? Who can say, because they are inscrutable, the Old Masters and the Lazy Idol-worshippers alike, and their ways are mysterious. But like in every gripping legend, there shall be an unexpected fate before the characters at the end of the heroic journey. Who, I wonder, on the day of reckoning, will be the purified sacrifice? I have just learned the truth under the tutelage of my uncle Satharāfan who creates worlds with his art, now that I myself am almost a grown-up man. I ask this question now, therefore, completely conscious of the circumstances and problems concerning those who were there at the time, poor things, because I need to analyse in detail how human beings function in such situations.”
Nage fi fu farw, y twpsyn – na Bechingalw, Tew-ddyn, neu be’ bynnag yw’i enw – reit? Ma’ fel ‘sai popeth dan gwilt o gysgod iasoer, seimllyd, a dyna pam wi’n crynu ac mewn chwys oer drwy’r amser. Fe wn i fod pethau echrydus ‘di digwydd, ond wi’n dyfalu bydd popeth yn newid yn y pen draw. Manylion, y manylion pitw i gyd, dyna be’ wi’n ffaelu cael gafael arnyn nhw, ma’n achosi i fi gryn rwystredigaeth, w! Ond wi’n dod at ‘nghoed o dipyn i be’ Ond sa i ‘di weld e, y Tarw Hurt, ers ‘ny, y ddamwain, siŵr o fod, ond sa i’n siŵr am be’ sy’n mynd ‘mlaen na faint o amser sy ‘di mynd heibio ers ‘ny. Ond dyna freuddwydion rhyfedd! Tybed ydy’r hen goegyn peraroglus yn dal i jolihoetio o gwmpas ar dir y rhai byw. Neu falle fod e’n nheyrnas y cysgodion, a gwynt teg ar ei ôl e, medda i. Hmm, wel, ‘sdim ots ‘da fi, os na all drefferthu dod i ymweld â fi hyd yn oed, a finnau'n gorwedd ar fin marw. Licwn i gael cwpl o gomics a grawnswp, er 'ny, t'mod.It’s not me who died, you fool – nor Thingumy, Fat-man, or whatever ‘is name is – right? It’s like everything’s under a quilt of slimy, freezing shadow, and that’s why I’m shaking and in a cold sweat all the time. I know that horrid things have happened but I’m guessing that everything will change in the end. Details, all the footling details, that’s what I’m failing to get to grips with, it’s causing me considerable frustration! But I’m coming to my senses bit by bit. But I’ve not seen ‘im, the Dumb Bull, since then, the accident, probably, and I’m not sure about what’s going on or how much time’s gone by since then. But what strange dreams! Wonder whether the old perfumed dandy’s still gallivanting about on the land of the living. Or p’rhaps he’s in the kingdom of the shadows, and good riddance to ‘im, say I. Hmm, well, it’s no odds to me, if he can't even bother to come and visit me as I lie dying. I'd love to get a couple of comics and a bunch of grapes, though, y'know.
Wel, gwell ‘da fi fyddai’i gysgod e na’r llanc ei hunan, er taw pisyn yw’i chwaer e, o’r enw Aileen, falle, llances mor bert sy’n ‘neud i fi lyncu ‘ngeiriau ac anghofio pwy dw i bob tro bydda i’n gweld hi, sy’n beth da ran fwya’r amser. O, fe fydd hi’n ‘nghanlyn i dros bob man fel chwaer fusneslyd. Ond wedyn, pan fydda i’n agor dyfnderoedd ‘yn enaid iddi hi, fe aiff hi’n dawel ac oer, fel, fel Ariaid, Ariadau, Ariannau, Arianrhod -- Ari·adní -- yn ymryd arni hi’i bod hi'n gerflun jâd i ladd ei tharw o frawd gyda phelen o linyn ymhlith Llwybrau Drygioni’n ddwfn dan Ysgor y Llysfam Waetgar. Ond ma’ hi’n dwlu ar berchyll ciwt, ac yn gyfoethog, a hi sy biau siârs, ac ma’n ‘sgrifennu cerddi hir iawn, ac ma’ ‘da hi hen gastell sy’n mynd â’i ben iddo yn y Famwlad Aflonydd dros y Cefnfor Berw. Wi’n mynd i hudo hi ac ennill ei chalon hi!Well, I’d prefer ‘is shadow to the lad ‘imself, although his sister’s a bit of alright, she’s called Aileen, maybe, such a beautiful lass who makes me swallow my words and forget who I am every time I see her, which is a good thing most of the time. Oh, she pursues me all over the place like a nosy sister. But then, when I open the depths of my soul to ‘er, she goes silent and cold, like, like Ariaid, Ariadau, Ariannau, Arianrhod -- Ari·adní -- pretending that she’s a jade statue to kill her bull of a brother with a ball of string amidst the Paths of Wickedness deep under the Bloodthirsty Stepmother’s Citadel. But she loves cute little piglets, and she’s rich, and owns shares, and writes really long poems, and has a tumbling-down old castle in the Haunted Homeland across the Boiling Ocean. I’m going to enchant her and win her heart!
O, Elen, Helena, Eilidh, Jelena, Helen, Alyiona, neu rywbeth ‘lly! Nyrs yma yw hi, ta ‘be – wi’n gweud ‘y Meddyliaethydd dan Hyfforddiant,’ achos bod hi’n casáu ‘ny, ha, ha! Dyna ‘run peth â Mam, wi’n credu (cyn iddi hi ffoi gyda – gyda rhyw ddyn oedd yn arfer siarad pymtheg yn y dwsin – dyn tywod, neu gyflwynydd teledu, neu wleidydd, falle?). Yn aml iawn fe fydd hi’n adrodd chwedlau mor rhyfedd, am ryfela, goresgyn rhwystrau, ennill bri, caru, a threngi, neu rywbeth, yn llawn o waed a thân. O, ma’ hi wastad yn ‘neud pethau secsi ‘fyd,'nghythreules syrthiedig, fel edrych arna i â’i llygaid yn hanner cau, a siglo’i chlustiau perffaith. Cymaint wi’n edrych ‘mlaen at gwrdd â hi yn y bwthyn glas i orwedd ar ei hymyl hi, wrth iddi diclo’n ffansi gyda’i syniadau syfrdanol. Dwi byth eisiau gadael y Seilam ‘ma – wel, fe fydda i’n cymryd drosodd, dyna be’ fydd yn diwgydd, w!O, Elen, Helena, Eilidh, Jelena, Helen, Alyiona, of something like that! She’s a nurse here, anyway – I say ‘the Trainee Mentalist’ ‘cos she hates that, ha, ha! That’s the same thing as Mam, I think (before she fled with – with some man who used to talk fifteen to the dozen –weather-man, or telly presenter, or politician, maybe?). Very often she recites really odd tales, about war-making, overcoming obstacles, winning fame, love-making, and perishing, or something, full of blood and fire. Oh, she’s always doing sexy things too, my fallen demoness, like looking at me with her eyes half-closed, and wiggling her perfect ears. How much I look forward to meeting her in the blue cottage to lie beside her, as she tickles my fancy with her stupendous ideas. I never want to leave this Mad‘ouse – well, I’ll be taking over, that’s what’ll happen, mun!
Hei, nawr te, ‘achan, wi angen gweud taw dim ond jocan dw i, am ‘yn mêt. Ma’r llanc twp ‘na ‘di bod yn ffrind da i fi ers i fi gyrraedd ‘ma. Ma’ rhyw fath o waedlw rhyngon ni, wel dyna sut wi'n teimlo ta be’, ar ôl ein mordaith gyda’r nos i’r Wlad Byth Bythoedd. Rhyngot ti, a fi, a’r wal, w, wi’n dechrau cofio pan aethon ni o’n co’ ar ôl y parti rhydd gorau ‘rioed. O’n ni ‘di drysu am wythnos gron, achos bod ni ‘di bod yn gweithio mor galed. O’dd y Ficing yn fwy digalon nag fel arfer, ac o’n i, y Comando Trefol, yn cysgu ar ‘nhrwyn o ganlyniad i’r holl droelli disgiau, a’r dawnsio fel derfis, ac annog y werin i oresgyn y gorthrymwyr a goroesi beichiau bywyd. O’n i’n sgwrsio gyda’r Cenhadon Cudd a’u pedwar wyneb yn disgleirio fel yr Haul, am philosophi, a chariad, a newid y Byd. Ond be’ ‘naeth ein stopio ni rhag mynd oddi ar y cledrau’n llwyr, oedd bu bron i ni fwrw’r ferch ‘na i lawr. Hyd yn hyn 'doedd dim syniad 'da fi am y manylion. Ond wi 'di bod yn gwrando mor astud ar bawb yn esbonio popeth ers i fi ddihuno, neu cyn i 'ny ddigwydd, falle. Sa i'n cofio dim byd. Dyma'r doethineb derbyniedig, wi di gael gan bawb, 'lly. Www, o'dd yn sioc ofnadw’ darganfod y gwir noeth. Hey, now then, buddy, I need to say I’m just jokin’ about my mate. That silly lad’s been a good friend to me since I arrived here. There’s some kind of blood-oath between us, well that’s how I feel anyway, after our night-long voyage to Never-land. Between you, me, and the gatepost, mun, I’m starting to remember the time we went mental after the best free party ever. We were out of our tree for a full week, ‘cos we’d been working so hard. The Viking was more depressed than usual, and I, the Urban Commando, was dog-tired because of all the DJ-ing, and the dancing like a dervish. and encouraging the proletariat to overthrow the oppressors and overcome life’s burdens. I was chattin’ with the Veiled Messengers, whose four faces were shining like the Sun, about philosophy, and love, and changing the World. But what stopped us from going off the rails completely was that we almost knocked that girl down. Up till now I had no idea about the details. But I've been listening so keenly to everyone explaining everything since I woke up, or before that 'appened, maybe. I don't remember a thing. This is the received wisdom I've got off eneryone, then. Oooh, it was an awful shock to discover the naked truth.
O, nawr, wi’n gallu gweld, neu ddeall o leia'. Ma’ fel ‘sai’r lluniau’n rhuthro i mewn i ‘mhen i! Dyna ryfedd! O’n ni’n dod ‘nôl o’r digwyddiad, Gŵyl Gogoniannt a Gorfoledd, fel o’n i’n gweud. Canol haf, yn ôl y dyb, ond o’dd storm yn codi, a llais rhyw bregethwr ar y radio’n bygwth cosbau erchyll o bob math i’r rhai fyddai’m yn ufuddhau i’r Awdurdodau Uwch. Ymrithiodd ffigyrau brawychus o ddim. O'n nhw'n ymddangos fel ysbrydion bwganod gwallgo’ yn y tarth. O’dd yn edrych fel ‘sen nhw ‘di rhedeg dros y caeau o gyfeiriad yr hen fwthyn, ac o'dd eu breichiau’n llawn ysbail o ryw fath. Bellach wi 'di clywed bod chwaer y Ficing o'dd un ohonyn nhw. Mewn gwirionedd, o'dd hithau’n ffraeo gyda rhyw ŵr moel, hen iawn, yn hanner cant, falle. Byr, a hyll fel pechod o’dd e, ac yn gwisgo siwt ddrud ond ofnadw’n llaid i gyd. Sa i'n gw'bod, ond dyna be' oedd yn mynd 'mlaen, reit? Fe redodd y ferch yn syth i ganol y ffor’, wrth drio ffoi rhag y cythraul cynddeiriog. D’odd ‘na’m byd allem ni ‘neud, w, dyna be' ma' pawb yn weud! O'dd 'na rywbeth o'i le ar y brêcs ar ôl i'r Hen Filwr 'na drio rhoi mwy o gic i'r fan fis neu ddau'n ôl, dyna be' weddodd y Doethur dwll 'na, ta be'.Oh, now I can see, or understand at least. It’s as if the pictures are rushing into my ‘ead! How strange! We were coming back from the event, the Festival of Glory and Gladness, like I was sayin’. Middle of summer, supposedly, but a storm was rising, while the voice of some preacher on the radio was threatening all kinds of terrible punishments for those who wouldn’t obey the Higher Authorities. Frightening figures materialised from nowhere. They seemed the like spirits of crazed bogeys in the mist. It looked like they’d run over the fields from the direction of the old cottage, and their arms were full o’ loot of some kind. Now I've heard that one of 'em was the Viking's sister. In fact, she was fighting with some bald man, really old, fifty, maybe. He was short and ugly as sin, wearing an expensive but hideous suit, all muddy. I dunno, but that's what was going on, right? The girl ran straight into the middle of the road, trying to get away from the enraged devil. There was nothing we could do, mun, that's what eveyone says! There was somethin' wrong with the breaks after that Old Solider tried to soup up the van a month or so ago, that's what the dumb Doctor said, anyway.
A chwedyn -- chwap -- dyna o'dd y fan yn gwyro i osgoi gwrthdrawiad penben gyda choeden ac arni arwydd mewn paent coch. O'dd fel 'sai'r Byd i gyd yn troi ar ei dalcen drosodd a throsodd. Sêr. Poen. Dim byd. Düwch llwyr. Wel, dyna be' fyddwn i'n ddychmygu, o'r disgrifiadau wi 'di clywed ta be'. Www, o'dd y meteorolegydd, neu’r pen parablus, neu’r ymgeisydd i’r Blaid Nawddoglyd, neu be’ bynnag o’dd e, yn ymosod arnon ni’n ffyrnig wrth i ni farweiddio'n anymwybodol yn y fan. Ma'n nhw'n gweud i ‘Nhywysoges Ryfelgar i ymateb yn debyg i ryw sénomorff onglog ond cyhyrog, yn llysnafedd a gwaed i gyd, gan ei daflu yntau mas o’r ffor’ fel ‘sai fe’n un o’r Gweinidogion Arteithiol, canibalaidd, yn barod i ddisgyn yn rheibus ar ei ysglyfaeth. Ond o’dd popeth yn iawn, ta be’, ar ôl llawer o sgrechian, a brathu, a chrafu, a thynnu llygaid. Rywbryd yn hwyrach, fe gaethon ni'n hachub o'r hen fan hyfryd (a diolch byth bod hithau'n saff 'fyd), a'n cludo i'r Clinig, ac yma fe ddihunais i wythnos neu ddau ar ôl y digwyddiad i glywed y stori drist oll. Dyna oedd pan benderfynais i fe ddylen ni fod gyda’n gilydd am byth, finnau a hithau. Ta be’ dyna hen ddigon ar y malu awyr. Digon gweud taw cyn i'r sefyllfa ddatblygu, o'dd y Ficing ‘na’n brygowthan yn ddi-stop fel arfer, 'lly fe o'dd ar fai. A dyna pam sa i’n gallu peidio gwawdio’r clebryn ‘na o lipryn gor-addysgedig, dyna oll, ond dim ond achos bod ni fel brodyr.And then -- in a jiffy -- the van swerves to avoid a head-on colliison with a tree with a red sign on it. It was like the entrie world was turning upside down over and over. Stars, pain. Nothing. Complete blackness. Well, that's what I'd imagine from the descriptions I've heard, anyway. Oooh, the meteorologist, or talking head, or candidate for the Paternalistic Party or whatever he was, attacked us ferociously as we languished unconscious in the van. They say that my Warrior Princess responded like some bony but muscular xenomorph, all covered in snot and blood, flinging him out of the way like he was one of the cannibalistic Torturing Ministers, ready to descend rapaciously on his prey. But everything was OK, after a lot of shouting, and biting, and scramming, and eye-gouging. Sometime later, we were saved from the lovely old van (and thank goodness she was safe too), and transported to the Clinic, and here I woke up a week or two after the event to hear the whole sorry story. That was when I decided we should be together forever, me and her. Anyway, that’s more than enough of the Iip-flapping. 'Nuff said that before the situation developed, the Viking was ranting on, and on, and on as usual, so he was to blame. And that's why I can’t stop taking the micky out of that windbag of an over-educated pratt, that’s all, but only because we’re like brothers.
“O’m rhan i, pan oeddwn i’n blentyn yn cael fy ergydio y tu mewn i’r sach gnawdol honno oedd yn groth a charchar i mi cyn hired, o'n i'n debyg i ddoli clwt mewn sach hesian, yn greadur oedd yn resynus ac anneallus, na allai ond dychrynu. Pwy a wnaethai’n wahanol? Nid rhaid dweud yr arferwn i fod yn gyfan gwbl wan o’m cymharu â pha mor gryf wyf fi bellach. Ar ôl blynyddoedd maith o ymarfer, rwy’n dod i werthfawrogi fy ngalluoedd hynod fy hunan, sydd heb eu hail, ac rwy wedi dodi penderfyniad yn lle ofn.”“On my part, when I was a child being battered inside that fleshy sac which was womb and prison to me for so long, I was similar to a rag doll in a hessian sack, a creature that was pitiful and ignorant, who could not but be frightened. Who would have done differently? Needless to say that I used to be completely weak compared with how strong I am now. After many long years of practice, I am coming to appreciate my own remarkable abilities, which are peerless, and I have placed determination in place of fear.”
Wel, nawr te, dyna ni’r ddau lanc mentrus – fi a, a’r Rhifolegwr Colledig – yn clebran fel pwll y môr bob amser wrth gynllunio sut fyddwn ni’n concro’r Byd. A so’r lleisiau eraill oddi mewn byth yn rhoi pen ar y sibrwd ‘chwaith, ond ar wahân i ‘ny, wi’n hollol gall, yn ‘nhyb i, ta be’. Reit ‘te, rhaid i fi fynd i weld y pen-bandit pryfoclyd ‘na, Ww, Price, Pritchard, Probert, Probyn, falle, i sôn am yr un hen hanes, am ‘fy mhroblemau i gyd.’ Sa i’n gallu gweithio mas ydy e’n debyg i helgi llwglyd, neu ryw ddewin crebachlyd, neu hurfilwr wedi’i anafu’n wael amser maith yn ôl. Ond be’ bynnag yw e, fe fydd e’n gorwedd yno bob tro ar ei soffa’n chwarae gyda’r blwch snisin ffansi ‘na’n ddigon i’ch gwylltio. Ac fe fydda i’n eistedd ar hen gadair esmwyth, dreuliedig ond mor gyfforddus a chysurol, yng nghornel bella’r swyddfa, fel gweledydd ar ei orsedd. Ma’r breichiau’n llawn tyllau, ac fe fydda i’n dychmygu mod i'n Farchog dewr yn hedfan o gwmpas Bydoedd Eraill i ladd anghenfilod a rhyddhau'r werin o afael y terrn llym, wrth i fi wau’n straeon hudol.Well, now then, we, the two intrepid lads – me and the, the Mathemagician Manqué – are always chatting on, while we plan to conquer the World. And the other voices inside never stop their whispering either, but apart from that, I’m totally with-it, in my opinion at least. Right then, I’ve gotta go to see that annoying big-cheese, Ooh, Price, Pritchard, Probert, Probyn, p’rhaps, to talk about the same old story, about ‘all my problems.’ I can’t work out if he’s like a starving hound, or some wrinkly wizard, or a guerrilla who was terribly injured ages ago. But whatever he is, every time he’ll be lying down there on his couch, playing with that fancy snuff-box enough to drive you nuts. I’ll be sitting on an old, battered armchair, that’s still dead comfy, in the far corner of the office, like a prophet on his throne. The arms’re full of holes, and I imagine I'm a brave Knight, flying round Other Worlds to kill beasties and free the folk from the stern monarch's grasp, whilst I weave my magic tales.
A ‘naiff e’m byd ond syllu ar y nenfwd. a thylino bawd ei droed o achos y gowt, wrth riddfan fel arth sy ‘di ishte ar nyth cacwn. Hmm, wi’n ffansio cael gafael ar y bocs ‘na, ma’n edrych yn reit ddrud. Ac yna fe fydda i’n hollti bogail wrth smalio bwrw ‘mola perfedd am fywyd llawn trallod. Ww, mewn ffor’ wi’n dwlu arno fe, ’rhen sbeciwr, a wi’n mwynhau chwarae mig gyda fe, ‘fyd. Ble dwi’n terfynu, a ble ma’n cychwyn? I'r Swtan â fe, medda i (be' bynnag yw 'ny, ma'r gair yn dal i godi i lan yn 'yn meddwl i) – cyn yr holl sothach ‘na, fe fydda i’n mynd am dro yn y fan. Yn bendant. Ma’ ‘na bethau i ‘neud!And he’ll do nothin’ but stare at the ceiling, and massage his big toe ‘cos of the gout, while he groans like a bear that’s sat on a wasps’-nest. Hmm, I fancy getting me hands on that box, it looks right expensive. And then I’ll be busting a blood-vessel pretending to spill me guts about a life full of tribulation. Oh, in a way I love him, the old voyeur, and I enjoy playing hide-and-seek with ‘im too. Where do I end, and where does he begin? To the Whiting-pout with it, say I (whatever that is, the word keeps on popping up in my mind) – before all that nonsense, I’m going for a ride in the van. Deffo. There’s things to be done!
A sôn am fod yn brysur. Wi ‘di bod yn sgwrsio lawer gyda’r Arglwyddes Macbeth ‘na, sy’n rhedeg yr holl le. Www, ma’ hi’n wraig ffein! Fydd hi byth yn Fam i fi, fel y wraig druan ‘na, fy angyles wedi'i dirdynnu, bu bron iddi farw pan ges i ‘ngeni (a dyna pam wi’n felltigedig byth oddi ar ‘ny), ond ma’ hi’n dod yn agos. Ma’ hi ‘di bod yn awgrymu cymaint o bethau i fi’u ‘neud, fel casglu ffwng aml-liwiog yn y fforest binwydd yn oriau mân y bore, ac ymarfer bod yn ddyn tân (er bydd rhaid iddi hi gynnau’r fflamau gynta’). ‘Sdim ots ‘da hi am ‘nghastiau oll, ac ma’ hi’n caru ‘nghrwt mewnol. Mewn gwirionedd, wi’n was bach iddi, ac yn mwynhau ‘neud yr holl negesi, fel dod o hyd i bethau sbesial, a hyfryd, a gwerthfawr, a’u cadw nhw yn saff. Ac O,y cacennau ‘na ac ynddyn nhw’r perlysiau egsotig i gyd fyddwn ni’n rhannu nhw yn y gegin. Ma’n nhw mor flasus, y pethau gorau ar y Blaned. Ma’n nhw’n ‘neud i fi deimlo mod i’n gallu hedfan, a siarad gydag ysbrydion y meirwon aflonydd. Nawr, ble ma’ ‘mrawd hanner call a dwl i?And talking of being busy. I’ve been chatting lots with that Lady Macbeth who runs the whole place. Ooh, she’s a fine woman! She’ll never be my Mam, like that poor lady, my tortured angel, who almost died when I was born (and that’s why I’ve been cursed ever since), but she comes close. She’s been suggesting so many things for me to do, like collecting multi-coloured fungus in the pine forest in the wee hours, and practising being a fireman (although she has to light the fires first). She doesn’t care about all my quirks, and loves my inner child. Really, I fetch and carry for her, and enjoy doing all the chores, like finding special, and lovely, and, valuable things, and keeping them safe. And Oh, those cakes with all the exotic herbs in we share in the kitchen. They’re so tasty, the best things on the Planet. They make me feel like I can fly, and talk with the fidgety dead. Now, where’s my crazy bro?
Fyddet ti byth yn gredu fe, reit, ond ma'r Ficing yn Fab i'r Arglwyddes, ac ma'r Arglwyddes yn chwaer i'r Doethur! Ac ma'r Doethur Prosser, Prothero, be’ bynnag, y dyn sy’n gweithio yn y ‘stafell fach ‘na heb ffenestri – rhif 7, neu 17 – lle poeth, sych, myglyd, yn chwilod byw – ‘chep – chep – chep’ – wedi’i beintio’n las yr awyr – yn cymryd nodiadau, a recordio fi, hyd yn oed. Chwedyn fe fyddwn ni’n gwylio’r ffilmiau ar y sgrin enfawr. Myn y Gwesteiwr, y Gwesgi, grr, be’ bynnag – falle bydda i mewn llyfr ryw ddydd – wel, dyna be’ newydd. Fi fydd yn dysgu pethau i grachach fel ti. Ond er gwaetha’r holl sgwrsio lol ‘na gyda’r Dewin Ifanca’ (fi sy’n gweud ‘ny, nage fe), wi'n poeni’n enbyd am ymuno â'r Byd Go-iawn, yn llawn pobl mewn oed, be' bynnag ma' 'ny'n olygu. Ma' rhaid iddyn nhw gydymffurfio â'r holl reolau a bod yn gyson, a difrifol, a synhwyrol bob amser, yr oedolion. Ond fe fydd y pethau lleia' yn y Byd yn eu drysu nhw o'r crud i'r bedd. 'Lly ma'n nhw wastad yn profi, a mesur, a chalibro, a gwirio.You'd never believe it, right, but the Viking's the Lady's Son, and the Lady's the Doctor's Sister! And Doctor Prosser, Prothero, anyway, the man who works in that little windowless room – number 7, or 17 – a stifling, dry, hot place, crawling with beetles – ‘chep – chep – chep’ – painted sky-blue – takes notes, and records me, even. Then we watch films on the enormous screen. By the Host, the Squeegee, grrr, whatever – p’rhaps I’ll be in a book someday – well, wonders never cease. I’ll be teaching things to snobs like you. But despite all that talking nonsense with the Youngest Wizard (me who says that, not him), I’m terribly worried about joining the Real World, full of grown-up people, whatever that means. They have to conform with all the rules and be consistent, and serious, and sensible all the time, the adults. But the smallest things in the World confuse them from cradle to grave. So, they’re always testing and measuring and calibrating, and correcting.
“Rwy'n cofio'n aml fy Nhad, yr arwr aflwyddiannus, nad oeddwn i'n ei adnabod, er fy mawr siom. Roedd yn dyfalbarhau i ddioddef y driniaeth bondigrybwyll â chyffuriau oedd yn drysu’i feddwl, ac yn siarad a siarad â’r cynghorwyr diamgyffred. Eto i gyd, roedd e'n dal i fyw er iddo gael ei gosbi’n ysbrydol gan y Mentor Ceryddol cywilyddus, yn llawn bwriadau da, a fyddai’n mwynhau cam-drin a’i feddwl a'i gorff, cyn ei annog i gyffesu a maddau. Ac o’r herwydd, yr wyf wedi dod i’m casgliadau cyfrinachol fy hunan, wrth ystyried yn ddwys yn ystod nos dywyllaf yr enaid.”“I remember often my Father, the unsuccessful hero, whom I did not know, to my great disappointment. He persisted in undergoing the scarcely-mentionable drug-treatment which unsettled his mind, and talked and talked with the clueless counsellors. Then again, he carried on living although he was punished spiritually by the shameful Chastising Mentor, full of good intentions, who used to enjoy mistreating both his mind and his body, before encouraging him to confess and forgive. And as a result, I have reached my own, secret conclusions, whilst considering intently during the soul’s darkest night.”
A gweud y gwir, wi ofn bywyd pob dydd. Ma' fel 'sai pawb wedi'u dal mewn magl greulon o'r enw cymdeithas, fydd yn gwatwar nhw wrth iddi'u tagu. Dyma'r peth. Achos fe fyddan nhw'n canolbwyntio mor galed ar y peth afreal 'na o'r enw realiti, ond heb ddod o hyd iddo, fe fyddan nhw'n cael eu hysgubo bant ar donnau brawychus o ddychymig pan fydd y mymryn lleia' o ffantasi’n codi ei ben lletchwith. Dyn nhw'm yn gallu datglymu'r ddau beth, a byddan nhw'n diodde'n enbyd o ganlyniad. Ac yn waeth, wrth iddyn nhw drio osgoi'r trafferthion fyddan nhw'n cwrdd â nhw liw dydd, be' fydd yn digwydd? Dim ond agor tuniaid arall o gynrhon ‘nân nhw!To tell the truth, I’m frightened of everyday life. It’s as if everyone’s caught in a cruel trap called society, that mocks them whilst choking them. That’s the thing. ‘Cos they concentrate so hard on that unreal thing called reality, but without finding it, they get carried away on terrifying waves of imagination, when the least little bit of fantasy raises its awkward head. They can’t separate the two things, and they suffer terribly as a result. And worse, as they try to avoid the troubles they’ll meet by daylight, what happens? They just open another can of worms!
A dyna nhw'n agor cil y drws (cyn iddyn nhw daflu’r cynrhon mas, sbo) i griw brith o gysgodion ruthro i mewn i'w bywydau a dechrau’u llywio nhw, fesul tipyn, ond yn bendant. A dyna fydd yn waeth byth nag o'r blaen. Drwy geisio dofi rhannau cudd y meddwl, fe fydd pobl wâr yn cynhyrchu angenfilod newydd, rhyfedd. (Dyma lais y Dewin yn siarad ar ôl iddo fe ishte a phigo’i drwyn, a driblan am oriau). Ac i ddianc rhag y fath ddychryn di-os, dyna'r dorf yn ildio i reoli meddwl, a phwylltreisio, gan roi'r gorau i awtonomiaeth, a chael eu llyncu gan y peiriant cymdeithasol gor-real, wedi'i lywodraethu gan ddeddfau mecanistig ac annynol. Ma' popeth yn mynd yn waeth wrth i hanes ddechrau newid yn gyflymach gyflymach o achos technoleg, a chyfathrebu, a'r cyfryngau. Tra bydd ein golwg hollwybodol ar y Byd yn datblygu heb rwystr, fe aiff y delweddau cyfarwydd oll yn fwyfwy aneglur a sigledig.And so, they open the door a little (before they throw the worms out, s’pose) for a motley crew of shades to rush into their lives and start to steer them, little by little, but for sure. And that’ll be worse than before. By trying to tame the hidden parts of the mind, civilized people generate strange, new monsters. (Here’s the Wizard’s voice speaking, after he’s sat and picked his nose, and drooled for hours). And to escape such undoubted terror, the crowd gives in to mind-control, and brainwashing, giving up autonomy, and being swallowed by the hyper-real societal engine, governed by mechanistic and inhuman laws. Everything gets worse as history begins to change faster and faster because of technology, and communication, and the media. Whilst our all-knowing view on the World develops unimpeded, all the familiar images become more and more unclear and unstable.
“Ac fe gaf fy nial – trwy deg neu hagr – ar y Grymoedd Gorthrymus – naill ai yn hyn o fyd, neu ynteu’r tu hwnt i’r llen! Rwy wedi agor fy nghalon i leisiau’r cysgodion sy’n galw arnaf oddi mewn ac oddi allan. Ni fydd pardwn i'r troseddwyr – nid oes dim byd y mae’n werth ei faddau – ond difetha llwyr fydd. Ymwared na fydd, nid oes dim byd y mae’n werth ei arbed mewn bywydau'r arteithwyr, y dallbleidwyr anfad. Fe fydd yn rhaid i was wybod ei le, felly rwy wedi dysgu fy lle.”“And I shall have my revenge – by fair means or foul – on the Oppressive Forces – either in this world, or in the next! I have opened my heart to the voices of the shadows which call on me from within and without. There shall be no pardon for the transgressors – there is nothing worth forgiving – but there shall be utter destruction. There shall be no relief, there is nothing worth salvaging in the lives of the torturers, the unholy bigots. A servant must know his place; therefore, I have learnt my place.”
Wel, fi sy'n credu taw digon yw digon. Y Digrifwas Difrifol dw i, wedi'r cwbl, fel yn y comics, yn rhith tywysog swynol, er mod i 'di 'nghreithio mor boenus mod i'n edrych fel creadur o'r lagŵn du dan ‘nillad. Wi 'di deifio yng Ngheunant Anghofiedig Alathak, a chroesi dyfroedd cythryblus Afon Sed yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, wrth osgoi'r holl fampiriaid seicig wedi'u harwain gan Sonath Dieskrad. Yn ystod y daith hir ofnadw' 'ma, o'dd rhaid i fi guddio o'r golwg yn y dirwedd lygredig, liw dydd a liw nos. Yno fe ddysgais i gan y lleiafri' lloerig, a'r siamaniaid ysbrydoledig, a'r rhai difreintiedig yn byw ar ymylon cymdeithas. Wi ‘di darllen, a chlywed, a gwylio – a dysgu drwy brofiad, t’wel – a meistr mor galed yw bywyd, yn bendant. Ac mae cymaint o waed, a chwys, a dagrau wedi bod, ‘sdim dwywaith amdani. Ma’n hala di i feddwl on’d ydy – sut all dyn fyw, a thrais a throseddau ar gynnydd o hyd? Nage drwy fod yn dda bob amser, i sicrwydd, ac yn hyn o be’ dw i yn llygad ‘yn lle yn ‘marn, yn ôl pob tebyg.Well, I for one think that enough’s enough. I am the Grim Jester, after all, like in the comics, in the guise of a charming prince, although I’ve been scarred so painfully that I look like a creature from the black lagoon under my clothes. I’ve dived into the Forgotten Gorge of Alathak, and crossed the roiling waters of the River Sed in the Heart of the Continent, avoiding all the psychic vampires led by Sonath Dieskrad. During this awfully long journey, I had to hide from view in the polluted landscape, by day and by night. There I’ve learned from the lunatic fringe, and the inspired shamans, and the underprivileged living on the edges of society. I’ve read, and heard, and watched – and learned through experience, y’see – and life is such a hard master, for definite. And there’s been so much blood, and sweat, and tears, no two ways about it. It makes you think, doesn’t it – how can you live, with the violence and crime on the increase still? Not by being good all the time, that’s for sure, and there I’m completely right, in all likelihood.
A dyma fi'n ymryddhau ar ddamwain o afael dirwedd bydol, gyda'i arwyddion rhanedig a'i ddelweddau hynafol, drwy dderbyn afrealiti fel 'naiff crwt diniwed, dyw'm wedi'i lygru gan y deddfau atgas 'to. Yno, yn y cyfnos parhaol, geiriau melys chwedlau'n sôn am deganau byw, anifeiliaid sy'n siarad, a gwelyau hedegog yw'r pethau mwya' pwysig, yn ogystal â'r rhesymeg lithrig sy'n rheoli'r gefnwlad rithiol. Ac yno ma' cyrff mor hyblyg â molysgiaid plastig, a dych chi'n gallu ymestyn syniadau nes bod nhw bron â thorri.And so, I get free by accident from the grasp of mundane reality, with its shared signs and ancient images, by accepting unreality as does an innocent kid, who’s not been corrupted by the hateful laws yet. There, in the continuous twilight, the sweet words of tales telling of living toys, talking animals, and flying beds are the most important things, together with the slippery logic that rules the spectral hinterland. And there, bodies are as flexible as plastic molluscs, and you can stretch ideas until they almost shatter.
“Rwy wedi cael fy hyfforddi gan y rhai sydd yn deall y gwirionedd, ac yn awr rwy dan orchymyn. Ni fedr neb fy rhwystro i. Un gryfach nag ef, yr un a aeth yn gaeth i gyffuriau, ydwyf fi. Rwy’n ddeallus, wedi cael gormodedd o addysg. Rwy’n rhugl ac yn ddyfeisgar, tra oedd ef yn y pen draw yn enghraifft druenus o fod dynol, wedi’i dwyllo a’i dorri. Am hyn o dro yr arhosaf fy nghyfle, wrth ddisgwyl i’r Sêl Ysgarlad ymddangos.”“I have been trained by those who understand the truth, and now I am under orders. No-one can stop me. I am one who is stronger than him, the one who became addicted to drugs, I am intelligent, having had a surfeit of education. I am fluent and inventive, while he was in the end a pitiful example of a human being, deceived and broken. For the time being I bide my time, awaiting the appearance of the Scarlet Seal.”
Yno, ma' pob person yn creu rheolau newydd fydd yn gadael i unrhyw be' ddigwydd. Yn wir, ma'n nhw'n gweud, y bobl fydd byth yn gartrefol yn unman, taw ym myd y dychymyg, fe all emosiynau oresgyn lledu di-ball y gofod, rhywsut, a hyd yn oed llenwi, crochan diwaelod amser. Un ffaith wi’n siŵr amdani hi, ta be’ yw taw celwyddau, cysgodion, a chofion ill tri sy’n rhannu’r un hanfod, o’r enw hud, wedi’i greu gydag iaith – hud sy’n byw mewn rhyw ddimensiwn arall, ble ma’r hunan yn toddi, wrth i’r arall geulo, a’r ffordd arall rownd, jyst drwy rannu geiriau. ‘Lly dim ond cysgodion ieithyddol, lledrithiol dyn ni i gyd – wrth gwrs.There, every person creates new rules that allow anything to happen. Indeed, they say, the people who’ll never be at home anywhere, that in the world of the imagination, emotions can overcome, somehow, the ceaseless unfurling of space, and fill, even, the bottomless cauldron of time. One fact I’m sure of, anyway, is that lies, shadows, and memories, all three, share the same essence, called magic, created with language – magic that lives in some other dimension, where the self dissolves, as the other solidifies, and vice-versa, just through sharing words. So, we’re all nothing but illusory linguistic shadows – of course.
Fi sy 'di bod yn ceisio 'ngair hudol 'yn hunan, 'lly, ac yn ddiweddar wi 'di ddarganfod e – er dwi’m yn mynd i ‘sgrifennu fe ‘ma, na’i ddweud e. Ond ma'n air wedi'i greu drwy ddefnyddio llythrennau cynta’ enwau rhai Duwdodau Dieithr. Ac ma'n llawn doethineb a nerth, y gair 'ma, wi eisoes wedi darganfod 'ny. Wi’n mynd i ddefnyddio fe i ‘nhrawsffurfio'n hunan yn llwyr. Chwedyn fe alla i chwilio am y Graig Fythol ble bydda i'n cipio'r llucheden i newid culni'n dderbyniad, a chasineb yn gariad, unwaith ac am byth. Ar ôl 'ny, fe fydda i'n diflannu o'r Byd cyffredin, wrth 'yn atal 'yn hunan, diolch i ‘mhwerau hudol, rhag mynd yn gonfensiynol, a normal, a diflas. A 'lly, yn y Byd Braf, Newydd, sy'n bwydo fel parasit ar ein gobeithion a'n hofnau, ac sy'n tyfu'n gyson wrth aeddfedu a mynd yn fwy cymhleth o achos 'ny, fe fydda i’n byw gyda ‘Nhywysoges Brydferth. Ac fe fydd cyfeillgarwch, a gobaith yn ennill dros golled, galar, beirniadaeth, a dychryn, o'r diwedd.I’ve been seeking my own magic word, then, and recently I’ve found it – although I’m not going to write it here, nor say it. But it’s a word created by using the first letters of the names of some Strange Divinities. And it’s full of wisdom and strength, this word, I’ve already discovered that. I’m going to use it to transform myself completely. Then I’ll search for the Eternal Rock where I’ll grab the thunder-bolt to change bigotry for acceptance, and hatred for love, once and for all. After that, I’ll disappear from the ordinary world, stopping myself, thanks to my magical powers, from becoming conventional, and normal, and boring. And so, in the Brave New World, which feeds like a parasite on our hopes and fears, growing constantly, whilst maturing and getting more complex as a result, I shall live with my Beautiful Princess. And friendship, and hope, shall win out over loss, and mourning, and judgement, and terror, at last.
“Pan ddaw’r tro, myfi a ollynga’n rhydd nerthoedd na welwyd erioed o’r blaen ar wyneb y Ddaear gron, o gaeau seithliw’r Nw Yrth. Oblegid mai myfi oedd y baban a grëwyd trwy gastiau hudol, fydd yn cyflawni’r cyfamod a wnaethpwyd â’r Dewin cyntaf yn ystod y cyfnod cynharaf, yn Nhŷ Aileni oedd fy medd a’m bru hefyd. A dyma dywod amser yn diwrthdro ehedeg, ‘chep – er – chep – er – chep – er,’ o awrwydr chwilfriw bodolaeth fodern, hyd nes y disgyn y cysgod olaf. Felly yr wyf wedi llefaru. Ac felly y bydd hi!”“When the time comes, I shall set free forces that have not ever before been seen on the face of the round Earth, from the rainbow-coloured fields of the Nw Yrth. For I was the baby created through magical tricks, who shall fulfil the covenant made with the first Magus during the earliest era, in the House of Rebirth that was my grave and my womb also. And the sands of time fly irreversibly, chep – er – chep – er – chep – er,’ from the shattered hour-glass of modern existence, until the last shadow falls. So I have spoken. And so it shall be!”
Wi eisiau rhedeg bant a chuddio, nes bydd y cysgodion o’r tu hwnt yn cyrraedd, i ‘nghipio fi a’n llusgo fi i’r Byd Nesa’, pryd bynnag fydd ‘ny’n digwydd, ta be’.Ac ma' rhaid i fi gadw draw oddi wrth y tiwtor od 'na o'r enw'r ffug-Ddewin. Wel dyna’n enw i arno fe, ta be’. Ma’n atgoffa fi am ‘Nhad i, pwy bynnag o’dd e. Sa i’n cofio’n reit o gwbl, dyna be’ wi’n feddwl. Ma’ ‘nelo’r hen stompiwr â'r hen ŵr, rhywsut neu’i gilydd, a dyna pam wi ‘ma, wi’n credu. Fe fydd ‘nghroen i’n cosi’n enbyd bob tro bydda i’n weld e, neu feddwl amdano fe, yr hen athro di-glem ‘na. Ach a fi! Fe fydd e’n trio rhoi sbrag yn ‘yn olwyn bob dydd a ‘nghadw i rhag cael hwyl, drwy ddal i falu awyr am ei holl syniadau twp. Pa mor aml wi ‘di clywed am sut i berfformio’r Gelfyddyd Ddu, wrth droi llaca’n snisin, a phres yn electrwm, a’r gweddill o’r rwtsh? ‘Dwn i’m o gwbl, a ‘sdim ots ‘da fi ‘chwaith. Wi’n siŵr fod e eisiau dwyn ‘mhwerau i, a rhoi pen ar ‘nhrawsffurfio i. ‘Lly dw i angen diflannu bant am sbel, ma’i holl gastiau’n mynd yn ormod a wi’n cynllunio dial, ta be’, ac yn meddwl am sut i gael gafael ar ei sbeis a’r sigwrat ‘na wedi’i ‘neud o fetel gwerthfawr.I want to run off and hide, until the shadows from beyond arrive, to grab me and drag me to the Next World, whenever that’ll happen, anyway. And I’ve got to keep away from that odd tutor called the fake-Wizard. Well that’s my name for him, anyway. He reminds me of my Dad, whoever he was. I don’t remember right at all, that’s what I mean. The old bungler’s got something to do with me old man, somehow or other, and that’s why I’m here, I think. My skin itches terribly every time I see ‘im, or think about ‘im, that clueless old teacher. Yuck! He tries to put a spoke in my wheel every day, and to stop me having fun, by keeping on rabbiting on about all his silly ideas. How often’ve I heard about how to perform the Black Arts, turning muck into snuff, and brass into electrum, and the rest of the nonsense? I dunno at all, and I don’t care either. I’m sure he wants to steal my powers, and stop me transforming. So, I need to disappear for a while, all his tricks’re getting too much and I’m planning revenge, anyway, and thinking about how to get my hands on his spice and that ziggurat made of precious metal.
Yn y cyfamser, fe fydda i’n dal i fyfyrio ar bethau fel ‘yn. Ife coed coch, cadarn ydyn ni, â’n canghennau’n estyn i lan i’r nefoedd; neu gysgodion rhydlyd, ansylweddol, â’n gwreiddiau simsan yn turio i lawr i’r dyfnderoedd mewn dychryn? A be’ am drigolion y Niws Gyrth, y Swyddogion Sarffaidd a’r Doethion Diobaith? Ydy ‘ny’n reit? Allan nhw fodoli heb fod yn aelodau o’r naill lwyth na’r llall? Neu falle taw’r ddau ar yr un pryd dyn nhw ar y slei bach. Hmm, diddorol iawn. Wel, rhaid i fi’i heglu hi, ‘yn antur fwya’ sy o ‘mlaen, ‘achan, ma’n nhw’n galw arna i, y Lleisiau Trallodus. Ma’n nhw wastad yn begian, a bwgwth, a chocsio, ac addo pethau. Ond paid di poeni amdana i, sa i’n credu hanner o be’ wi’n ddarllen, a bron dim o be’ wi’n glywed. Sa i mor hurt â ‘ny, wedi’r cwbl, dw i? Ac ar ben ‘ny, fi’n tynnu ei goes yntau drwy’r amser, ‘fyd, y Dewin Ifanca’, on’d dw i, wel, rywbryd, wrth ffugio llawer o’r straeon ‘ma, ma’ e mor hoff ohonyn nhw. Falle, yn ei ôl e, fe fydda i’n dod i weld pobl eraill yn y diwedd nage dim ond fel cymysgedd haniaethol o elfennau sylfaenol ond fel gwrthrychau pedwar dimensiwn, cyfannol. Wwww, wi'n hoffi pethau fel 'ny'n fawr iawn, ma'n swnio mor gymhleth a hudol, bron, fel rhywbeth o stori ffug-wydd. 'Lly gwell i fi bydru arni hyd y diwedd un i orffen yr hanes, sbo. Wel, ta-ta tan toc, w – dyna gyffrous yw bywyd, on’d ife?In the meantime, I’ll keep on thinking about things like this. Are we strong, red trees, with our branches pointing upwards to the heavens; or insubstantial, rusty shadows, with our shaky roots burrowing down to the depths in terror? And what about the denizens of the News-Spurt, the Serpentine Supervisors, and the Hopeless Highbrows? Is that right? Can they exist without being members of one tribe or the other? Or perhaps they’re both at the same time, on the sly. Hmm, very interesting. Well, I gotta dash, my greatest adventure’s ahead, mate, they’re calling me on, the Vexatious Voices, They’re always beggin’, and threatenin’, and coaxin’, and promisin’ things. But don’t worry about me, I don’t believe half of what I read and almost nothin’ of what I hear. I’m not as dumb as that, after all, am I? And on top of that, I’m pullin’ his leg all the time, too, the Youngest Wizard, aren’t I, well, sometimes, faking lots of the stories he’s so fond of. Perhaps, according to him, I’ll come to see other people in the end not just as abstract mixtures of fundamental elements, but as integrated, four-dimensional objects. Oooh, I really, really like things like that, it sounds so complicated and magical, almost, like something from a sci-fi story. So, I'd better bash on with it to the bitter end and finish the tale, s'pose. Well, cheerio for now -- how exciting life is, isn't it?

Pennod Tri Deg Tri: Dewis (Lleisiau 29) / Choosing (Voices 29)

Byddid yn gallu dweud mai cysgodion gwirionedd yw hanesion, cysgodion a fydd yn cael eu hadrodd a’u darllen a’u gwylio o hyd, pan fydd y ffeithiau gwreiddiol y seilir arnynt wedi hen droi’n lluwch ac ulw. Y cysyniadau, yr archdeipiau, a’r cynlluniau ansylweddol sydd yn goroesi a ffynnu heb feddu ar ffurf gorfforol. Diddorol sylw mai er gwaethaf cael eu hystumio gyda threigl amser, y bydd y straeon pwysicaf wastad yn mynd yn ôl i’w ffurfiau cysefin yn y pen draw. Yn hyn o beth, felly, nid oes raid i bethau fodoli, ar ryw ystyr y gair, i gael eu hystyried yn real neu wir. Yn un peth, mae hyn yn dangos gallu’r dychymyg i drechu realiti ar un agwedd. Ond bydd rhaid inni gofio mai wrth ffurfio’n celf, bydd ein cynnyrch yn ein llunio ni ar yr un pryd. Gall y gwaith ein dileu ni hyd yn oed hefyd os, ynteu pan, fydd ein breuddwydion yn dod yn wir, cymryd bywyd, a dechrau effeithio ar y byd. Faint felly fydd y gost o ddweud y Chwedl Fawr? Anodd dweud, ond gall arllwys eich hunan, yn feddwl ac enaid, i’r fath waith rewi’r gwaed, a pheri ichi fynd yn ynysig iawn, nes y byddwch yn teimlo bod eich bywyd yn digwydd i rywun arall. Yn aml yn anffodus, bydd yr artist yn gweld dim ond y wobr ddrudfawr ar ben y broses greadigol, y bydd yn gweithio fel lladd nadredd i’w hennill. Ond, dan amgylchiadau o’r fath, pan gaiff hyd i’r hyn yr oedd yn ei ddymuno cymaint, bydd yn sylweddoli’i fod yn meddu ar rywbeth yr oedd yn farus amdano i ddechrau, ond sydd erbyn hynny wedi mynd yn ddim mwy na thomen o rwd, a naddion, a rhacs. Serch hynny, bydd y chwedleuwr wedi’i ysu’n llwyr yn ystod y consurio gorffwyll. Ymddengys bod llawer o ddyfeiswyr yn methu deall pris eithriadol breuddwyd anfarwoldeb. Ni all dyn ond gobeithio y bydd y gwaith yn parhau am amser maith ar ôl i’r awduron ddiflannu, er mwyn talu’u cysgodion yn ôl am eu hymdrechion rhagorol fel petai.

It could be said that histories are the shadows of truth, shadows that will be recited, and read, and watched still, when the original facts on which they are based have long turned to dust and ashes. It is the insubstantial concepts, archetypes, and plot-lines that survive and flourish without possessing a physical form. It is interesting to note that despite being distorted with the flow of time, the most important stories will always go back to their original forms in the end. In this respect, therefore, there is no need for things to exist, in some sense of the word, to be considered real or true. For one thing, this demonstrates the ability of the imagination to overcome reality in one respect. But we need to remember that whilst fashioning our art, our productions will be forming is at the same time. The work can undo us even, too, if, or when, our dreams come true, take on life, and begin to affect the world. What therefore is the cost of telling the Great Tale? It is hard to say, but pouring yourself, mind and soul, into such work, can freeze the blood, and cause you to become very isolated, so that you feel that your life is happening to someone else. Often, unfortunately, the artist sees only the valuable prize at the end of the creative process that he works with all his strength to win. But under circumstances of this kind, when he finds that which he desired so much, he realizes that he possesses something he coveted to start with, but which by then has become nothing but a pile of rust, and shavings, and rags. Despite that, the story-teller will have been completely consumed during the delirious conjuration. It appears that many inventors fail to understand the exceptional price of the dream of immortality. One can but hope that the work will persist for a long while after the authors disappear, in order to pay back their shadows for their exceptional efforts, as it were.

O fore gwyn tan nos y cwympodd ef, drwy wlithog ddydd o haf, hyd nes, ar fachlud haul, o'r anterth y disgynnodd megis seren wib ... A dyna o'n i'n syrthio i lawr ac i lawr, wrth i'r corws o leisiau'n cystadlu tu mewn i fi wau'u symffoni gythryblus a rhagorol i 'nysgu a 'ngwawdio fi, tra tyfodd a bu farw o 'nghwmpas i fydoedd llwyr o ddelweddau ar yr un pryd. Ac roedd un o’r lleisiau’n chwerthin llafarganu: Yr wyt yn byw ar ynys lonydd o anwybodaeth ymysg moroedd anfeidrol duon; nis bwriadwyd iti deithio'n bell. Gŵyr y rhai sydd â deall ehangach nad oes gwahaniaeth clir rhwng yr hyn sy'n real a'r hyn nad yw'n real. Ildia di felly dy feddyliau, dy synhwyrau, a'th emosiynau er mwyn dod o hyd i nerth a harddwch trwy gofleidio poen. A dyna o'n i'n boddi ym mhair Swtach.From morn’s first light he fell, through dewy summer’s day until, with setting sun, from heavens’ summit tumbled like a shooting star … And I fell down and down, as the chorus of voices competing inside me wove a turbulent and magnificent symphony to teach me and mock me, whilst all around me entire worlds of images grew up and died at the same time. And one of the voices was laughingly chanting: You live on a still isle of ignorance amidst infinite black seas; it was not intended that you travel far. Those who have wider understanding know that there is no clear difference between that which is real, and that which is not real. Yield, therefore, your thoughts, your senses, and your emotions in order to find strength and beauty by embracing pain. And I was drowning in Swtach’s cauldron.
[Sgrin Sgrio] A dyma fi’n eistedd yn llonydd dan hiraethu am y gorffennol colledig bob tro y clywaf suo-gân yn llifo fel triagl melyn llawn gwenwyn o’r hen flwch cerdd ar y seld lychlyd. Y ddau beth sydd yn fy nghofio am Fam ydy’r rhain, ymhlith y môr o anrhefn sy’n f’amgáu. Yma mae symbolau a delweddau o’r gorffennol yn cynllwynio i fflangellu fy meddwl cythryblus. Dyma‘r gŵn rhwygedig, a’r cap academaidd na adewir i fi’u gwisgo byth. Ac ar fwrdd yn y gornel, wedi’i orchuddio â gweoedd a chorynnod marw, dyna gloch gysegredig, llyfr llawn swyn-ganeuon, cannwyll waedrudd, a blwch snisin enfawr ar ffurf sigwrat yn cynnwys clec o sbeis drudfawr.[Scrying Screen] Here I am sitting still, longing for the lost past every time I hear a lullaby flowing like golden syrup full of poison from that old music-box on the dusty dresser. Those are the two things that remind me of Mother, amidst the sea of chaos that surrounds me. Here, symbols and images of the past conspire to scourge my troubled mind. There is the rent gown, and the mortar-board I shall never be allowed to wear. And on a table in the corner, covered with webs and dead spiders, there is a holy bell, a book full of incantations, a blood-red candle, and an enormous snuff-box in the form of a ziggurat containing a stash of priceless spice.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Felly, mae cofion yn dal credau allwn ni'u gwybod dim ond drwy sioe gysgodion yn y meddwl. Yma mae delweddau wedi'u hystumio o bethau mewn realiti rhy arswydus i'w ddisgrifio'n mynegi 'u hunain trwy symbolau rhyfedd yn yr isymwybod. Serch 'ny, nerthol iawn yw'r breuddwydion, y llithriadau, yr hunllefau, a'r gwingiadau. Mae'r profiad goddrychol o'r cysgodion 'ma, sy wastad yn llechu yn y cefndir, yn llawer mwy hirhoedlog ac arwyddocaol na disgrifiad gwrthrychol o'r digwyddiadau, p'un ai'n frawychus neu'n rhyfeddol. Yr olion 'ma yn y co', a be' sy'n gorwedd is eu llaw, wedi'u claddu o'r golwg am byth, sy'n creu'n personoliaethau, ac ysgogi'n hymddygiad.”[Female Voices] “So, memories hold beliefs we can know only through a shadow-play in the mind. Here, distorted images of things in a reality too terrible to be described express themselves through strange symbols in the subconscious. Despite that, the dreams, the slip-ups, the nightmares, and the ticks are extremely powerful. The subjective experience of these shadows which are always lurking in the background, is much longer-lasting and influential than an objective description of the actual events, whether they be fearful or wondrous. These memory-traces, and what lies buried below them, forever out of view, are what create our personalities and motivate our behaviour.”
[Sgrin Sgrio] Bydd y gwrthrychau hyn i gyd yn f’atgoffa am darddiad fy helyntion oll, f’ewythr, yr Hen Filwr. Yn wir, fe fyddaf yn poeri ar y llawr bob tro y meddyliaf amdano, gan fwrw melltith arno. Ni fedraf, sut bynnag, ddarbwyllo fy hun i roi trefn ar y lle, nid mwyaf. A chan nad wyf yn lluchio dim byd erioed, mae pentyrrau o bob math – hen bapurau newydd a sgorau sioe gerdd, caniau tun a photeli llaeth, cyfrolau o athroniaeth – yn tyfu o’m hamgylch. Ond nid arnaf fi y mae’r bai wrth reswm. Ni fu arnaf fi erioed.[Scrying Screen] All of these objects remind me of the source of all my woes, my uncle, the Old Soldier. indeed, I spit on the floor every time I think of him, cursing him. I am not able, however, to convince myself to put the place in order, not any longer. And as I never throw anything away, there are piles of all kind – old newspapers and the scores of musicals, tin cans and milk-bottles, volumes of philosophy – growing around me. But I am not at fault of course. I never was.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] "Falle bod 'ny oll yn wir. Chwarae teg. Ond o ganlyniad mae'r sefyllfa'n swnio'n anobeithiol, on'd ydy? 'Lly, be' yn y Byd yw dy bwrpas ym mywyd te? Beth yw'r opsiynau ar gael? Ymwrthod â'th hunaniaeth, a thoddi ym môr unffurfiaeth? Neu goelio bod gwroniaeth yn bodoli, a 'neud dy hunan yn arwr fydd yn brwydro hyd yn oed pan fydd y canlyniad wedi’i ragordeinio? Dyna ddoniol, reit? Ond be' yw'r ots? Dim ond un llwybr sy ar gael i ti. Gwranda ar y côr o leisiau estron sy'n byw ynot ti. Ystyria di sut fyddai 'set ti'n dwyn gwaywffon y marchog, sy'n dewis cynnen a siom, wrth lawn cydnabod bod hane ei fywyd wedi'i 'sgrifennu gan sgriblwr diystyrllyd. Fe fyddai'n rhaid i ti ddatblygu, a thyfu, a methu drosodd a throsodd, ac fe fyddet ti'n rhedeg, a syrthio, a chropian, a melltithio, a llosgi yng ngwres yr Haul wrth i ti anelu at Ddinas Golau. Ond fe fyddai'n bosib datgelu dy galon i gariad ac wedyn disgyn i ddyfnderoedd Llyn Nadredd a chodi unwaith 'to. Drwy 'neud hyn fe allet ti dorri drwy greigiau amheuaeth, a goresgyn rhwymau grëwyd gan brosesau undonog, ymddygiad sefydlog, a phatrymau ailadroddus, a dod â gwybodaeth gêl yn ôl i'r Byd."[Female Voices] “Perhaps all that’s true. Fair enough. But as a result, the situation sounds hopeless, doesn’t it? So, what in the World’s your purpose in life then? What options are available? Give up your identity and melt in the sea of sameness? Or believe that heroism exists, and make yourself into a hero who fights even when the outcome’s been preordained? That’s funny, right? But so what? There’s only one path open to you. Listen to the choir of foreign voices living in you. Consider what it’d be like if you took up the lance of the knight, who chooses strife and disappointment, fully knowing that his life story’s been written out by a disdainful scrivener. You’d have to develop, and grow, and fail over and over, and you’d run, and fall, and crawl, and curse, and burn in the heat of the Sun whilst aiming for the City of Light. But it’d be possible to reveal your heart to a lover, and then descend into the depths of the Serpentine Lake and rise up once again. By doing this you could cut through the rocks of doubt, and overcome the bonds created by monotonous processes, established behaviour, and repetitive patterns, and bring hidden knowledge back to the World.”
[Sgrin Sgrio] Nid wyf yn symud llawer o’m cadair y dyddiau hyn a dweud y gwir oherwydd y bawdwst, y bors, y glinwst, y clwyf traed, y llaw-wst, y podagr, y gwst mawr, y gymalwst, y gowt rwy’n dioddef ohono ers, Ww, rhyw ddeng mlynedd ar hugain erbyn hyn. Hyd rhyfel hynafol yw hwnnw, tri deg o flynyddoedd, yr hyn yr oeddent yn arfer ei alw’n einioes. Ond er gwaethaf y ffaith fy mod yn brwydro yn erbyn bywyd bob eilied o bob dydd, nid sowldiwr mohonof fi, nid o bell ffordd. Wedi deud hynny, pan ymlusgaf fi i’r tŷ bach ynteu’r gegin, sawl gwaith y dydd, o'r braidd y medraf faglu drwy’r llanastr wedi’i thaenu ym mhob man, fel petawn yn filwr gorfod yn cael ei fombardio gan ymosodiadau’r Meddyliaethwyr Mecanyddol yn y ffosydd lleidiog yng Nghalon y Cyfandir Gogleddol yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr.[Scrying Screen] I do not move much from my chair these days to tell the truth because of the raw, hot, inflamed, gnawing, excruciating, burning, clawing, devilish gout, I’ve been suffering from for, Ooh, some thirty years by now. The length of an ancient war is that, thirty years, what they used to call a lifetime. But even though I battle against life every second of every day, I am no soldier, not by a long chalk. Having said that, when I haul myself to the lavatory or the kitchen, several times a day, scarcely can I stumble through the mess spread everywhere, as if I were a conscript being bombarded by the attacks of the Mechanical Mentalists in the muddy trenches in the Heart of the Northern Continent during the Great Tribulation.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Sut allai 'ny oll fod yn bosib? Meddylia nawr. Mae pobl yn sôn y dyddiau ‘ma am y continwwm gofod-amser a phethau tebyg. Fe fyddan nhw’n taflu termau technegol o gwmpas, fel y Glec Fawr a Gwastadrwydd Gwres y Cosmos. Ac fe fydd yn ymddangos fel ‘sai hanes y bydysawd yn llif llinellol o ddigwyddiadau sydd â dechrau, canol, a diwedd. Dyn ni eisoes 'di bod yn sôn am orffennol, presennol, a dyfodol, 'fyd, wrth reswm. Ond dyna ddim ond sut mae'n teimlo os byddwch chi’n cael eich gorfodi i fyw mewn pedwar dimensiwn. Mae’r holl broblemau’n codi achos dyn ni’m yn deall gwir natur bodolaeth. Dyna fe. Creaduriaid tri dimensiwn ydyn ni, a dyn ni’m yn gallu gweld yn iawn.”[Female Voices] “How could all that be possible? Think now. People talk these days about the space-time continuum and similar things. They’ll be throwing technical terms about like the Big Bang and Cosmic Heat-death. And it’ll appear as if the history of the universe is a linear flow of events with a start, middle, and end. We’ve already been talking about past, present, and future, too, of course. But that’s only how it feels if you’re forced to live in four dimensions. All the problems arise because we can’t understand the true nature of existence. That’s it. We’re three-dimensional creatures, and we can’t see right.”
[Sgrin Sgrio] Eto i gyd nid yw’n bosibl i fi fynd allan yn aml iawn o gwbl ac am hynny rwy’n rhwym i’r tŷ mewn ffordd o siarad, fel carcharor mewn cell y grog, ynteu fel claf ar ei wely angau. Pam y dylai hynny fod? Wel, ofnaf yn fwy na dim byd arall y llanciau lleol, y bwystfilod ffiaidd, sy’n dod ynghyd ar gornel y stryd i regi, a phoeri, a chega arnaf fi. Fel aelodau o ryw fath o gynulleidfa gythreulig ydynt i gyd. “Wele’r hen rechwr hwnnw, gyfaill, yr hen gono drewllyd,” gweddant hwy (ynghyd â’r gweddill o’u hebychiadau gweigion). Ac rwy’n ysgwyd gan gasineb at y diawliaid hynny sydd â llygaid gwibiog, colonau duon, lleisiau breision, meinion, cyrff cyhyrog, tewion, a dwylo blewog, tra llusgaf fy ffrâm ddrylliedig heibio iddynt yn ddistaw unwaith y mis, mwy neu lai.[Scrying Screen] Then again, it’s not possible for me to go out very often at all and because of that I am house-bound in a manner of speaking, like a prisoner in the death-cell, or like a patient on his death-bed. Why should that be? Well, I fear more than anything else the local lads, the hateful beasts, who congregate at the corner of the street to swear, and spit, and insult me. They are all like members of some demonic congregation. “Look at that old fart, my friend, the stinking old reprobate,” they shout, (together with the rest of their empty exclamations). And I shake with hatred towards those devils with their darting eyes, black hearts, shrill, coarse voices, fat, muscular bodies, and thieving hands, whilst I drag my shattered frame past them in silence once a month, more or less.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Y neges bwysig yw hon, ‘lly. Dyw amser ddim yn llifo fel afon, o’r gorffennol, trwy’r presennol, i‘r dyfodol. Mae’n rhywbeth yn fwy tebyg i wrthrych tri dimensiwn fel sffêr, ddywed. Dwt ti’m wedi clywed am y ‘Wlad Wastad’? Weliff bodau dynol mo’r sffêr ei hun. Allwn ni’m mynd o’i chwmpas fel petai, na’r tu mewn iddi, ‘chwaith. Yn lle ‘ny fe fedrwn ni ganfod dim ond cysgod y sffêr wedi’i daflu ar wal. A dyna fel trio profi dyfnder pan fyddwn ni ‘di cau un llygad, neu gwtsio rhywun heb ddefnyddio’n breichiau. O ystyried popeth at ei gilydd, fodd bynnag, mae'n bosib dod i’r casgliad bod gwybodaeth ynglŷn â phob ffenomen yn y Byd tri dimensiwn yn cael ei chodio ar ffin ddau ddimensiwn -- ar arwyneb y sffêr -- fel mewn delwedd holograffig. Ac felly ar ryw ystyr, mae natur o iawn y Byd fel y tudalennau mewn llyfr comics.”[Female Voices] “The take-home message is this, then. Time doesn’t flow like a river, from the past, through the present, to the future. It’s something more like a three-dimensional object like a sphere, say. Haven’t you heard of ‘Flatland’? Human beings don’t see the sphere itself. We can’t go around it as it were, or inside it, either. Instead of that we can perceive only the shadow of the sphere, cast on a wall. And that’s like trying to experience depth when we’ve closed one eye, or hugging someone without using your arms. Taking everything into account, though, we can conclude that information about every phenomenon in the three-dimensional World is encoded on a two-dimensional boundary – on the sphere’s surface – like in a holographic image. And so, in some sense, the true nature of the World’s like the pages in a comic strip.
[Sgrin Sgrio] Er na fedrwn i gyflawni fy mhotensial trwy gydol fy oes trwy lwyddo i weithio i’r Eglwys Gywir oherwydd fy mhechodau, nid wyf wedi gwneud dim ond ceisio estyn cymorth i lanciau o’r fath – gan achub eu calonnau a’u meddyliau, fel petai – wrth guddio fy ngwir natur rhagddynt. Ac rwy wastad wedi cael fy ngwrthod a’m difrïo ganddynt. Nid myfi sut bynnag sydd anghenfil drygionus, ond pob un ohonynt hwy. Yn ddiweddar fe orfu i fi ddechrau defnyddio’r rhwyd electronig ryngwladol felltigaid er mwyn hwylio cludo’r nwyddau angenrheidiol. (Rwy wedi dod yn eithaf hoff o lwytho i lawr – a defnyddio’r term technegol priodol – ffilmiau, a llawer o adnoddau hanfodol eraill, gan ddefnyddio fy mheiriant cyfrifiadurol hynafol, hefyd. Ond dim ond at bwrpas goleuad ac ymchwil).[Scrying Screen] Although I could not fulfil my potential throughout my life by succeeding to work for the True Church because of my sins, I have done nothing but try to give succour to lads of that kind – saving their hearts and their minds, as it were – whilst hiding my true nature from them. And I have always been rejected and reviled by them. It is not I, however, who is the beast of iniquity, but every one of them. Lately I have been compelled to begin using the accursed international electronic network to arrange conveyance of the necessary supplies. (I have become quite fond of loading down – to use the proper technical term – films, and many other essential resources, using my antiquated computational engine, also. But only for the purpose of edification and research).
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Rwyt ti’n hoff iawn o nofelau graffig, on’d wyt ti? Wel, mewn comics dyn ni’n dwlu ar weld pethau llawn tyndra, cyffro, a hud, i 'neud ein bywydau'n ddiddorol, rhoi syniadau i ni, a'n difyrru ni. Ni sy’n chwarae Duwdodau dros y dihirod a’r arwyr fel ei gilydd. Wel, meddylia di dros hyn. Be’ am fywyd pob un ohonon ni yma, heddi’? Falle fod ‘na fodau ar ryw Nw Yrth sy’n gorgyffwrdd â’n Ddaear ni, rhywsut. Yn eu mysg nhw fe allai fod cabál o Swynwyr ystrywgar yn dyfeisio fersiwn o gomics arallfydol, gan ddefnyddio’n bywydau ni. A chwedyn fe fydd y gynulleidfa o fwystfilod tentaclog – yr Addolwyr sy’n dwlu ar y Delwau – yn llawenhau yn y gorchestion, cydymdeimlo am y trallodion – a gwledda ar y ffynhonnell egni seicig, syfrdanol, fydd yn eu cadw nhw’n fyw. O sylweddoli hyn, a’i dderbyn yn llwyr, fe fedri di droi sefyllfa ormesol yn elw na ellir ei orbrisio.”[Female Voices] “You’re really fond of graphic novels, aren’t you? Well, in comics we love seeing things full of tension, excitement, and magic, to make our lives interesting, give us ideas, and entertain us. It’s us who play the Divinities over the heroes and villains alike. Well, mull on this. What about the life of every one of us, today? Perhaps there’s beings on some Nw Yrth that overlaps with our Earth somehow. Amongst them there could be a cabal of crafty Sorcerers, devising a version of extra-terrestrial comics, using our lives. And then the audience of tentacled beasties – the Adorers who go silly for the Images – will rejoice in the exploits, commiserate on the tribulations – and feast on the source of stupendous psychic energy, which keeps them alive. Imagine that this is true. By realizing this, and accepting it completely, you’ll be able to turn an oppressive situation into a priceless gain.”
[Sgrin Sgrio] Fodd bynnag, mae fy meddwl yn dal i weithio, hyd yn oed os nad yw fy sach gnawdol yn gweithredu’n gywir, peth sy’n achosi i fi ragor o loes. Y rhan fwyaf o’r amser, byddaf yn pendwmpian o flaen y tân nwy (nad yw’n gweithio fel y dylai, er fy mawr siom, er nad fy syndod) y tu mewn i’m castell swynol, ha, ha! Ond yna y bydd f’ing yn toddi fel ciwb iâ ar ddydd braf o haf. Y pryd hynny y dihangaf i fangre uchel dros ben, y tu hwnt i’r cymylau uwchben y Ddaear gron, lle mae adar gleision yn hedfan tuag at fachlud haul bythgofiadwy. Ond wedyn, O, wedyn, bydd yn rhaid i fi ddihuno, ac wedyn y dof fi yn ôl i’r byd go iawn, bondigrybwyll, ym mha le mae byw’n unig, anfoddhaol, ciaidd, annymunol, ac yn rhy hir o lawer yn wir.[Scrying Screen] However, my mind still works, even if my fleshy sack does not function correctly, a thing which causes me more pain. Most of the time, I doze in front of the gas fire (which does not work as it should, to my great disappointment, although not to my surprise) inside my magical castle, ha ha! But then my anguish melts like an ice-cube on a fine summer’s day. Then I shall escape to an extremely high place, beyond the clouds above the round Earth, where blackbirds fly towards the unforgettable sunset. But then, Oh, then, I must awake, and then I come back to the so-called real world, where living is lonely, unfulfilling, brutal, unpleasant, and much, much too long.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Bydd y syniadau ‘ma’n newid yn llwyr sut dyn ni’n meddwl am pwy ydyn ni, a beth yw’r berthynas rhyngon ni â gweddill y Byd (neu’r Ddau Fyd). Dyn ni newydd fod yn sôn amdanom ni’r Daearolion a’r Yrthiaid, er mwyn esbonio. Ond allwn ni’m gweld y gwir sefyllfa os byddwn yn dal i feddwl yn nhermau ni a nhw, reit? Yr ateb cywir yw fod pawb a phopeth wedi’i gysylltu â’i gilydd. Un oruwchorganeb ryfedd yw’r Holl Fyd. Mae'n debyg i folwsg anferthol, yn ôl y gŵr doeth goleuedig sy wedi’i ynydu i’r dirgelion yn y Cyfnewid Kathmandu. Yn ddifeddwl fe ddatblygodd y creadur ac ynddo driliynau o gelloedd heddi’, o gemegion yn arnofio yn y cawl cychwynnol. Ond bellach, gyda sicrwydd perffaith, dyn ni’n gweud wrthot ti taw, yn ara' deg, ond heb os, mae'n dod yn fwyfwy cymhleth, a hunangydwybodol. Mae'r endid 'ma, dyn ni'm yn gallu'i ddiffinio gyda'n symbolau, na'i ddarlunio gyda'n delweddau, yn uno hunaniaeth ac arwahanrwydd ynddo’i hunan sy’n or-real a hollol frawychus. Ac mae ar fedr ymestyn ei dentaclau i ymyrryd ym mywyd pawb ar y Ddaear.”[Female Voices] “These ideas’ll completely change how we think about who we are, and what is the relationship between us and the rest of the World (or the Two Worlds). We’ve just been talking about us, the Earthlings, and the Yrthians, for the sake of example. But we can’t see the true situation if we keep on thinking about us and them, right? The correct answer is that everyone and everything is connected together. The All-World is one, strange super-organism. It’s like a massive mollusc, according to the enlightened sage who’s been initiated into the mysteries in the Kathmandu Conversion. Unthinking the creature developed, which has trillions of cells today, from the chemicals floating in the primordial ocean. But now, with perfect surety, we say to you that, very slowly, but without a doubt, it is becoming more and more complex and self-aware. This entity, which we cannot define with our symbols, nor depict without images, unites sameness and otherness in itself, which is hyper-real, and utterly terrifying. And it is on the verge of extending its tentacles to interfere in the lives of everyone on the Earth.”
[Sgrin Sgrio] Anodd dweud mai f’unig loches oedd y llecyn hwn, y lle hwn sydd wedi mynd yn garchar, siambr arswyd, a mangre aberth bellach. Yma, byddwn i’n dianc yn rheolaidd ar ôl i’r Tad roi curfa i fi bron hyd at angau – cyn i’r hen ffŵl redeg ymaith oddi cartref wrth gwrs, i gychwyn byw gyda rhyw nyrs, rwy’n credu. Cymaint rwy’n ei gasáu, yn enwedig gan mai flynyddoedd yn ôl, ei ferch yntau, y chwaer golledig nad oeddwn i wedi’i hadnabod erioed, fel petai, gyrhaeddodd heb air o rybudd, i ddifetha fy myd. Yn wir, yr un rwy wedi bod yn disgwyl amdani cyhyd, a dygodd bopeth oedd ar ôl i fi, a’m halltudiwyd ganddi o’m cartref cyfarwydd a gweddus i’r bwthyn tlawd hwn yn barhaol.[Scrying Screen] It is difficult to say that this spot was my only refuge, this place which has become a prison, chamber of horrors, and sacrificial locus by now. Here, I would regularly escape after my Father beat me almost to death – before the old fool ran away from home of course, to set up home with some nurse, I believe. How much I hate him, especially since years ago, his daughter, the lost sister I had never known, as it were, arrived without a word of warning, to destroy my world. Indeed, it was the one whom I had been expecting for so long, who stole everything remaining to me, and I was exiled by her from my familiar and fitting home to this meagre cottage in perpetuity.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Wel, fe wyddwn ni fod ‘na cymaint o stwff i’w dreulio ‘ma. Ond o waelod ein calon dyn ni eisiau i ti ddeall taw ti sy biau’r medr i sianelu’r hud cryfa’, sy’n tarddu o bellafoedd y Cosmos. Bydd yn ddewr, frawd, fab, ŵyr, achos bydd yn rhaid wrth ffaelu’n aml wrth ddysgu i lwyddo yn y tymor hir. Mae’r nerth yn gryf ynot ti. Fe fydd yn llifo drwot ti, dyn ni’n addo, os tafli di dy hunan i’r gwagle creadigol, i’w lenwi drwy arllwys dy enaid oll iddo. Dere di ‘mlaen ‘lly i lunio straeon, ‘sgrifennu geiriau, a thynnu lluniau. Dyma sut alli di atal treigl amser, rhodio’r bylchau rhwng yr eiliadau, a boddloni dy chwantau. Fe fyddi di angen gweithio mor galed â bydd yn bosib, ac yn fwy, i greu’r emosiynau’n fanwl. Wedyn, unwaith fod di wedi dysgu sut i reoli’r bagad o ddelweddau’n cyfarth am ryddhad, fe fyddi di’n trefnu’r geiriau priodol i’w canlyn a’u cynnal nhw. Fel hyn fe ddoi di’n feistr dros gonsurio a gorchymyn, fydd yn adeiladu’i fywyd ei hunan.”[Female Voices] “Well, we know that there’s so much stuff to digest here. But from the bottom of our heart we want you to understand that you have the talent to channel the strongest magic, which originates in the depths of the Cosmos. Be brave, brother, son, grandson, because it’ll be necessary to fail often to succeed in the long term. The force is strong in you. It’ll flow through you, we promise, if you throw yourself into the creative void, to fill it by pouring your whole soul into it. So, go on to fashion stories, write words, and make pictures. That’s how you’ll stop time’s flux, stride the gaps between the instants, and satisfy your desires. You’ll need to work as hard as possible, and more, to create the emotions in detail. Then, once you’ve learned how to govern the hordes of images baying for release, you’ll arrange the appropriate words to follow and support them. So, you’ll become a master of summoning and commanding, who’ll build his own life.
[Sgrin Sgrio] Ac yma roeddwn i’n byw wrth dendio ar y Fam wrth iddi farw’n araf o ganser. Yma y dewch o hyd i fi, hyd yn oed yn awr wrth i fi gyrraedd diwrnod olaf f’oes, gan ddisgwyl diwedd einioes wag. Fel corryn yn ei we wyf fi, sydd yn aros ac yn gwylio, ac yn bwydo ar ei gofion chwerwon. Ni allaf adael byth er gwaethaf mor galed y stryffagliaf, gan fod yr hen deimladau’n rhy gryf, am mai rhy drwm yw pwysau hanes, achos bod straeon i’w hadrodd i’r gwynt o hyd. A dyna lais y Rheibes Ryfeddol yn sibrwd y Swyn Triphlyg o’r Nw Yrth: 'Â halen mi rwy'n eich gwysio chi; â gwallt mi rwy'n eich cymell chi; â gwaed mi rwy'n eich rhwymo chi.' A, am boenus ydy.[Scrying Screen] And here I was living whilst tending to Mother as she died slowly of cancer. Here you shall find me, even now as I reach the last day of my life, awaiting the end of an empty existence. Like a spider in its web am I, who waits and watches, and feeds on its bitter memories. I shall never be able to leave despite how hard I struggle, as the old feelings are too strong, since the weight of history is too heavy, because there are stories to be recited to the wind still. And there’s the voice of the Exotic Enchantress whispering the Threefold Charm from the Nw Yrth ‘With salt, I summon you; with hair, I compel you; with blood, I bind you.’ Ah, how painful it is.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Yn nhermau’r sffêr amser, y dyddiau 'ma, y dydd ‘ma, wrth i'r molwsg cosmig esblygu, mae amser yn amdroi tuag at i'w ganol ei hun, ble bydd yn methu a dod i ben o’r diwedd. Mae fel y Dyn-darw'n encilio i'w ffau ymhlith Llwybrau Drygioni i farw. Rwyt ti 'di dechrau byw mor hwyr, a dyma'r Byd ar fin pallu. Ond dyn ni’n gweud wrthot ti am beidio rhoi’r gorau iddi. Rwyt ti’n gorfod osgoi mynd i mewn i’r golau, ble bydd popeth yn gorffen, achos fyddi di’m eisiau brwydro mwyach. Cer di i'r tywyllwch, i’r gad unwaith ‘to, achos taw yno fe ddoi di o hyd i ystyr a fyddi di’n byw ai’n marw cyhyd ag y byddi di’n ymdrechu yn ddewr."[Female Voices] “In terms of the time-sphere, these days, this day, as the cosmic mollusc evolves, time is coiling towards its own centre, where it will fail and come to an end at last. It’s like the Bull-Man retreating to his lair in the midst of the Paths of Wickedness to die. You’ve begun to live so late, and here’s the World about to cease. But we’re telling you not to give up. You must avoid going into the light, where everything finishes, because you don’t want to fight any more. Get into the darkness, into the battle once again, because it’s there that you’ll find meaning whether you live or die, if you fight bravely.”
[Sgrin Sgrio] A dyma lle mai dod i ben a wna fy mywyd yn y pen draw, er nad yn ddigon buan. Ac ar ôl hynny? Wel, creulon yw ffawd. Rwy wedi dirnad gan ryw weledigaeth fynych na fyddir yn gadael i fi fynd i mewn i’r golau yn y Byd Nesaf. Fe fyddaf yn byw yma am byth, felly, ar ffurf ysbryd aflonydd, am wn i. Croeso i'm cartref, felly, fy nghyfeillion tyner, mwyn. Croeso i anialdir rhewllyd y Tir Neb rhwng y Bydoedd, o ble mae Swtach, Arglwydd Anhrefn, hyd yn oed, wedi ffoi. Dewch yn llu i weld y gŵr wedi’i arteithio gan ei gofion ei hunan, nad yw’n byw, ond nad yw’n gallu marw ychwaith. Yn rhywle, draw dros yr enfys, lle daw breuddwydion yn wir, yno y gellwch chithau fod yn rhydd, y rhai ohonoch sydd wedi dewis yn ddoeth, fel y dywedir yn y gân honno. Pam, O pam, na allaf fi?[Scrying Screen] And this is where my life shall come to an end at last, although not soon enough. And after that? Well, cruel is fate. I have discerned through some recurrent vision that it shall not be permitted to me to go into the light in the Next World. I shall live here forever, therefore, in the form of a restless spirit, as far as I know. Welcome to my home, then, my gentle, tender friends. Welcome to the chilly wasteland of the No-man’s Land between the Worlds, from where even Swtach, Lord of Unrule, has fled. Roll up, and come to see the man tortured by his own memories, who dies not live, but who cannot die either. Somewhere, over the rainbow, where dreams come true, there you will be able to be free, those of you who have chosen wisely as it is said in that song. Why, Oh why, can’t I?
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] "Am i ti ddechrau mor hwyr, fe fydd yn rhaid i ti fynd yn dy flaen yn gyflym gyflym bellach i gael profiadau, a ‘neud camgymeriadau i ddysgu, newid, a thyfu. Ond trwy weithio’n galed fe alli di gyrraedd y cyfnod yn dy fywyd lle taw gofidiau'r ifainc fydd wedi dod yn gysgodion mae’r aeddfed yn breuddwydio amdanyn nhw. Ond i lwyddo, bydd arnat ti angen cael gwared ar y syniad taer ond cas ‘na taw bywyd dynol yn gyffredinol, a’th fywyd di’n enwedig dw’m yn werth ei fyw. Fe fydd yn boenus iawn i ddechrau, ond drwy agor dy galon di i bobl eraill, fe fyddi di’n dechrau gweld dyn nhw ddim ond yn beiriannau, ond yn fodau byw sy’n meddwl, a theimlo, a charu, a diodde’. Ac wedyn fe fyddi di’n ‘neud ffrindiau hyd yn oed!”[Female Voices] “Because you began so late, you’ll have to go forward really quickly now to have experiences, and make mistakes to learn, change, and grow. But by working hard you’ll be able to reach the period in your life when the fears of the young become shadows that mature people dream about. But to succeed, you need to get rid of the insistent but hateful idea that human life in general, and your life in particular, isn’t worth living. It’ll be dead painful to start, but by opening your heart to other people, you’ll start to see that they’re not just machines, but living beings who think, and feel, and love, and suffer. And then you’ll make friends, even!”
“Felly, ‘machgen, rwyt ti ‘di clywed fy llais yn dweud dy ffortiwn di. Ond mae’r ddau ohonon ni’n debyg iawn i’n gilydd. Rwy wedi bod yn diodde’ gyda ti drwy’r amser, gan mai fi, Swtach, na chwsg yr un winc yma yn yr ystafell glas. Fe’m llosga fy nillad i gyd, a’r meddyliau yn fy mhen, a’r awyr rwy’n ei hanadlu – am bleser mor boenus! A hynny oll, Steffan, fy hyfforddai ifanc, gan mai fi yw dy Dad d!”“So, m’boy, you’ve heard my voice telling your fortune. But the two of us are very similar to each other. I’ve been suffering with you all the time, as I, Swtach, do no not steep a single wink here in the blue room. All my clothes burn me, and the thoughts in my head, and the air I breathe – what painful pleasure! And all that, Steffan, my young apprentice, because I am your Father!”
Ysgethrin o oer oedd yr awyrgylch ysol, sur wrth i fi syrthio drwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, a chyn wynned â gwlân oen f’wyneb. Cegrwth o’n i.Bitterly cold was the sour, caustic atmosphere as I fell through the Cleft between the Worlds, and as white as lambs’ wool was my face. I was gobsmacked.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “Nawr ‘te. Dyma rywbeth diddorol i ti. Be’ fyddet ti’n feddwl os byddwn ni’n dweud wrthot ti taw tebyg i amffibiaidd yw aelodau o’r hil ddynol, mewn ffordd o siarad? Hmm, wel, dyn ni’n gallu clywed y cocos yn troi. Ond be’ dyn ni’n olygu yw hyn. Dyn ni’n byw mewn Dau Fyd ar yr un pryd, on’d dyn ni, reit? Dyna’r byd hysbys yn cynnwys stwff corfforol, mater ar y naill law, a’r byd hudol, ansylweddol, wedi’i ‘neud o feddyliau a syniadau ar y llaw arall. Nawr erbyn meddwl, fe ddylet ti weld taw dirfawr ac anhygoel o gymhleth yw’r deyrnas ddychmygol ‘ma. Gad i ni dy demtio di i fynd i mewn yno. Fe fyddi di’n gallu ‘neud unrhyw be’ ti eisiau. Paid â phoeni, fydd y cysyniadau ddim yn dy frifo di, ac fe fyddi di’n llwyddo i ddysgu llawer hyd yn oed pan fydd pethau wedi mynd o chwith.”[Female Voices] “Now then. Here’s something interesting for you. What’d you think if we tell you that members of the human race are like amphibians, after a fashion? Hmm, well, we can hear the cogs turning. But what we mean is this. We live in Two Worlds at the same time, don’t we, right? There’s the apparent world containing physical stuff, matter, on the one hand, and the insubstantial, magical world, made of thoughts and ideas on the other hand. Now come to think of it, you should see that this imaginary kingdom is immense and incredibly complex. Let us tempt you to go in there. You’ll be able to do anything you want. Don’t you worry, the concepts won’t hurt you, and you’ll manage to learn lots even when things go wrong.”
Ac yn sydyn, O, ro’n i’n dirnad yr holl beth, hynny yw ‘does dim endid o’r enw amser yn bodoli ynddo’i hunan. Mae amser yn broses, nage peth. Dim ond ni sy’n ymwybodol o’r newidiadau oll yn mynd yn eu blaenau’n gyson o’n cwmpas ni all ganfod y llif trefnus yn ein bywydau, wth i ddigwyddiadau codi, dilyn eu cwrs, llanw a threio, ymestyn a chilio. Ni yw amser, yr elfen fwya’ nerthol o frawychus, sy’n byw wrthon ni, ynon ni, drwyddon ni. A'r tu mewn i ni’n hunain fe fedrwn ni ddysgu rheoli amser, mewn ffordd.And suddenly, Oh, I understood the whole thing, that is, that no entity called time exists in itself. Time is a process, not a thing. It’s only us who are conscious of all the changes going on constantly around us who can discern the orderly flow in our lives, whilst events arise, follow their course, ebbs and flows, extend and retreat. We are time, the most powerfully frightening element, which lives with us, in us, through is. And inside ourselves we can learn to control time, in a way.
[Lleisiau Benywaidd] “A bod yn onest, fe fydd yn teimlo am sbel fel ‘set ti ‘di ‘neud naid enfawr pan fyddi di’n croesi drosodd rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Falle bydd yn codi pwys arnat ti. Ond gydag amser fe ddoi di i arfer â’r broses, ac yn y pen draw, fe fyddi di’n gogor chwerthin o sylweddoli fod di wedi dianc o'r fagl unwaith ac am byth. Fe fyddi di’n edrych ‘mlaen mor frwd at adael ar ôl y dŵr lleidiog sy’n llenwi byd mater, a theimlo mor falch o lanio ar ddaear gadarn ym myd syniadau a dychymyg. Bro'r Brenin Melyn a'i aderyn gwatwar yw hon, ble bydd cerfluniau wedi'u golchi â gwaed beirdd yn dod yn fodau byw gyda'r nos i neidio drwy’r Drych Sgrio i'r Byd Arall. Ac yno fyddi di’n gweld, a theimlo, a chredu dwyt ti’m yn gwastraffu dy fywyd di, yn dy lygaid dy hunan ta be', drwy ‘neud pethau drosot ti dy hun, yn dy ffordd dy hunan. Ti fydd wedi dod drwy'r methiant, a'r llanast’, a'r slafdod, a'r helbul, i gael hyd i ffordd helaeth i farw maes o law. Ond fe fyddi di wedi byw bywyd i’r eitha’ yn y cyfamser, o leia'.”[Female Voices] “To be honest, it’ll feel for a while like you’ve made an enormous jump when you cross over between the Two Worlds. Perhaps it’ll make you feel sick. But with time you’ll get used to the process, and in the end, you’ll cackle with laughter when you realize that you’ve escaped from the trap once and for all. You’ll look forward so keenly to leaving behind the muddy water that fills the material world, and feel so pleased to land on solid ground in the world of ideas and imagination. This is the Vale of the Yellow King and his mocking bird, where statues washed with poets’ blood become living beings at night-time to jump through the Scrying Glass to the Other World. And there you’ll see, and feel, and believe that you’re not wasting your life, in your own eyes anyway, by doing things for yourself, in your own way. You’ll have come through the failure, and the mess, and the drudgery, and the bother, to find an expansive way to die in due course. But you’ll have lived life to the limits in the meantime, at least.
“Dere, lanc, bydd wir fab i Swtach. Deall di hyn, mai un enaid a ddaeth i mewn i’r lle glas hwn, ac mai dim ond un enaid all adael unwaith eto. Ac rwyt ti wedi gweld y bywyd o anobaith a diflastod fydd yn aros amdanat o hyn ymlaen pe byddet yn dychwelyd. Una di â fi, felly, yn y siambr las, ymhlith y rhaeadrau o frwmstan. Ac wedyn fe fedraf fi gymryd dy le di, a mynd yn ôl i’r Ddaear i gyflawni’r Gwaith Mawr a threchu fy ngelyn hynafol yr Hen Filwr, wrth i ti lywio breuddwydion a dyheadau pawb yn y Ddau Fyd oddi mewn i’r gell ddiogel hon. Dim ond un peth y mae’i angen. Un peth y gwaherddir fi rhag ei wneud. Trwy un farwolaeth, fe gawn ni ill dau’n geni drachefn! Fe fydd ond yn rhaid i ti aberthu un dyn. Edrycha ar y sgrin! Canolbwyntia! Gwêl di d’archelyn, dy frawd, sydd hefyd yn gnawd o’m gnawd! Nawr bwria fe i mewn i’r goelcerth o binwydd – dim ond ti all ‘neud e – llosga fe!”“Come, lad, be a true son to Swtach. Understand this, that one soul came into this blue place, and that but one soul can leave once again. And you have seen the life of despair and misery that will be awaiting you from here on if you were to return. Unite with me, then, in the blue chamber, amongst the waterfalls of brimstone. And then I shall take your place, and go back to the Earth to complete the Great Work and defeat my ancient enemy the Old Soldier, whilst you steer the dreams and desires of everyone in the Two Worlds from within this secure cell. Only one thing is needed. One thing which I am prohibited from doing. Through one death, we shall both be born again! There shall be but need for you to sacrifice one man. Look at the screen! Concentrate! See your arch-enemy, your brother, who is also flesh of my flesh! Now throw him into the bonfire of pines – it is only you who can do it – burn him!”
Yna, o’m blaen i, fe welais i Daa·hweeth, David, Daud, Dai’n brwydro yn erbyn rhyw gythraul o dân, er mod i ‘di cau’n llygaid yn dynn. Fe fyddai’n nabod yr hen fwngrel, drewllyd ym mhig y frân. Ond y tro ‘ma, roedd ‘nghalon yn dychlamu yn ‘mrest, wrth i’r un gair estron hollti ‘nghlustiau droeon – ‘ithlon, ithlon, ithlon, ithlon’ – ‘bhrehtēr, brātīr, brawdr, brawd’ – gair yng nghalon iaith wedi’i dyfeisio nad oedd wedi newid trwy gydol ei hanes. Fe sylweddolais i taw hanner-frawd i fi oedd Dai, a taw Swtach, Ivan, Jack, John oedd ein Dad ni ill dau. Ac yn wir, y diwrnod gorau oedd hwnnw, achos taw, am y tro cynta’, fe ‘nes i ddewis, yn galed a chall, heb oedi am eiliad. Ebargofiant oedd yn ‘nhemtio fi. Agorodd llawr y ‘stafell las yn barod i’n llyncu fi – ac yno yng nghors anobaith roedd ‘na afon o waed a thân yn rhuthro, wrth i ffigur bychan hedfan drosti hi.Then, before me, I saw Daa·hweeth, David, Daud, Dai fighting against some fire-demon, although I’d closed my eyes tight. I’d know the old stinky mongrel anywhere. But this time, my heart was hammering in my chest, as the same foreign word split my ears over and over again – ‘ithlon, ithlon, ithlon, ithlon’ – ‘bhréhtēr, brōþēr, brōþor, brother’ – a word at the heart of an invented language that had not changed throughout its history. I realized that Dai was my half-brother, and that Swtach, Ivan, Jack, John was Dad to us both. And indeed, that was the best day, because, for the first time, I made a choice, hard and wise, without hesitating for a second. Oblivion tempted me. The floor of the blue room opened up ready to swallow me – and there in the despairing depths there was a river of blood and fire rushing, as a tiny figure flew over it.
“… Dere, yfa’r neithdar, bwyta ffrwyth pren gwybodaeth da a drwg ac fe fyddi fyw. Ymuna â fi, dy gymar mewn hunangasineb…”“…Come, drink the nectar, eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and you shall live. Join me, your companion in self-hatred…”
Roedd fel 'sai'r Gwarchodwyr Gwyliadwrus wedi datgan bod 'na wladfa o fwncïod ewn yn rhedeg fferm sbeis o dan y Mynydd Gwydr. Neu falle fod Cymdeithas Cydwybod Cyhoeddus wedi cyhoeddi taw llawcio caws lleuad fyddai'n helpu pobl i ddeall ystyron cêl yr Hen Lyfrau. Neu eto i gyd, y Meistri yn y Celfyddydau Duon allai fod wedi dweud fod e’n bosibl troi amser yn ôl trwy weiddi rhai geiriau od wrth hopian o gwmpas ar eich coes chwith mewn adeilad ar dân. It was as if the Watchful Warders had declared that there was a colony of cheeky monkeys running a spice-farm under the Glass Mountain. Or perhaps the Social Conscience Society had announced that gobbling moon-cheese would help people to understand the hidden meanings of the Old Books. Or then again, the Masters of the Black Arts could’ve said it was possible to turn back time by shouting some odd words whilst hopping about on your left leg in a burning building.
“…Codwn ni balas lle y bydd afonydd o ddagrau, tyrau ifori, ogofâu’n llawn corynnod gwydrfaen, a choedwig emog…” “…We shall raise up a palace wherein shall be rivers of tears, ivory towers, caves full of obsidian spiders, and a bejewelled forest!...”
A dyna oedd llais yn sibrwd wrtha i, o bellafoedd y gwagle, yn llai swnllyd na molwsg cryg – “‘Achan! Fi sy ‘ma frawd! Ti’n saff! Neidia! Neidia!”And there was the voice whispering to me, from the depths of space, less noisily than a hoarse mollusc – “Mate! It’s me here, bro! You’re safe! Jump!”
“…Yno gyda’n gilydd y profwn bob mwynhad, boddiwn bob gwŷd!”“…There together we shall experience every pleasure, indulge every whim!”
Ac er na allwn i weud y gwahaniaeth rhwng aderyn glas a chlip papurau erbyn ‘ny, ro’n i ‘di derbyn i fi gael ‘nhraed yn rhydd o'r diwedd. Nawr, paid ffwndro ‘na, ‘achan. Sa i’n gweud mod i’n ystyried popeth yn fanwl yno, ble bynnag o’n i. Do’n i’m yn cyfri’ fel rhifolegwr urddasol yn crafu ar y creiriau cysegredig yn y Gladdgell o Gorwndwm i bwyso a mesur canlyniadau tebygol cynllun ar y gweill gan yr Un Wir Eglwys. Nage’n wir, am unwaith, am y tro cynta’, siŵr o fod, ro’n i’n bihafio’n reddfol.And although I couldn’t tell the difference between a bluebird and a paper-clip by then, I’d accepted that I’d got free at last. Now, don’t get all confused, matie. I’m not saying’ I was considering everything in detail like a dignified numerologist poring over the sacred relics in the Corundum Catacomb to weigh up the likely outcomes of a plan in the pipeline for the One True Church. No indeed, for once, for the first time, probably, I was behaving on instinct.
Be’ ddigwyddodd? Sa i’n gwybod. Do’n i’m yn deall be’ oedd yn mynd ‘mlaen ar y pryd, ni wn i be’ oedd yn digwydd bellach. Ond gwybod a wna i, na fyddwn i’n ildio i’r bygythiadau gwag na’r addewidion chwerthinllyd gan ffrwyth ‘nychymyg ‘yn hunan. Ta be’, pa mor aml o’n i ‘di ailadrodd yr un hen senario o’r blaen? Roedd fel ‘swn i ‘di ‘sgrifennu’r sgript! Do’n i’m yn mynd i ddygymod â dim rhagor o’r bwlian ffiaidd gan yr hen wenci surbwch. Ar y llaw arall, on'd oedd llesiaiu’r menywod ‘na’n rhyfeddol o deniadol! Ro’n i’n ffansïo’n fawr iawn y syniad o fod yn ddewin artistig, dyna fyddai’n wych.What happened? I dunno. I didn’t understand what was going on at the time, I don’t know what was happening by now. But I do know that I wouldn’t give in to the empty threats and the ridiculous promises from a figment of my own imagination. Anyway, how often had I rehearsed the same old scenario before? It was as if I’d written the script! I wasn’t going to put up with any more of the hateful bullying from the old surly weasel! And, on the other hand, the women’s voices weren’t half tempting in a strange way. I really fancied the idea of being an artistic wizard, that would be ace!
Ar ôl y digwyddiad, pan o'n i 'di dod yn ôl i realiti, neu at 'yn hunan o leia', roedd yr ystrydebau oll yn rhedeg trwy'n meddwl. Ro'n i rhwng Isheth a'i dentaclau seimllyd. 'Nes i'r gorau o'r gwaetha'. Dewis y lleia' o ddau ddrwg. Neidio cyn cael 'ngwthio. O'r ffrimpan i'r tân. Cofleidio'n ochr fenywaidd. Derbyn posibiliadau brawychus mwy na diogelwch llethol. Arddel undeb a nerth y grŵp yn ogystal ag annibyniaeth ac unigrwydd. Digon dweud taw yn yr awr fwya’ tywyll ‘na, ‘naeth ‘mhen ffrwydro o ganfod mod i ‘di bod yn caru drwy’r amser, ond yn bur, heb ddisgwyl cael dim byd yn ôl. After the event, when I'd come back to reality, or to my senses at least, all the clichés were running through my mind. I was between Isheth and his slimy tentacles. I made the best of a bad job. Chose the lesser of two evils. Jumped before being pushed. Out of the frying-pan into the fire. Embraced my feminine side. Accepted terrifying possibilities rather than oppressive safety. Acknowledged unity and the strength of the group as well as independence and loneliness. Enough said that in that darkest hour, my head exploded when I perceived I’d been loving all the time, but purely, without expecting to get anything back.
Ro’n i ‘di cael llond bol ar redeg a chuddio. Os dyna oedd marw, fe fyddai’n well ‘da fi fyw yng ngwaetha’ dannedd y pwerau arallfydol. Ac fe fyddwn i’n arwr dewr yn gwisgo’i greithiau a’i boen fel bathodyn anrhydedd parhaol. Ac o rywle, fe ges i hyd i ryw nerth newydd o ran corff ac enaid. Roedd fel ‘sai geiriau hud creadigol yn eu canu’u hunain drwyddo i, er doedd dim clem ‘da fi be’ o’n nhw’n olygu, wrth iddyn nhw ddal i’w ffurfio a’u hail-ffurfio’u hunain fel sgarabau gwynias yn hisian yn erbyn yr awyr borffor, ffyrnig – “O’r i el-ser afim; E o’po te-sta; Za-ti za-ta; Ga la-tim, Ga la-tah!”I was sick to the stomach of running and hiding. If that was dying, I’d prefer to live in defiance of the other-worldly powers. I’d be a brave hero wearing his scars and his pain like a permanent badge of honour. And from somewhere, I found some new strength in body and spirit. It was as if creative magic words were singing themselves through me, although I had no clue what they meant, as they kept on forming and re-forming themselves like white-hot scarabs hissing against the fierce, purple sky – “O’r i el-ser afim; E o’po te-sta; Za-ti za-ta; Ga la-tim, Ga la-tah!”
Ac wrth i fi ddwyn geiriau Swtach o’i geg ei hunan, dyna oedd corff gwydn y dyn arabus yn toddi fel byddai delw ddefodol o wêr fydden nhw’n defnyddio yng nghyfarfodydd anfad y Tabernaclau Annibynnol dan wres glanhaol yr Haul. Ond heb oedi, fe gododd yn ei le pelen enfawr o gnawd cignoeth ar ffurf molwsg wedi’i fwtanu, a’i filoedd o dentaclau llymion yn gafael a thorri, a’i gannoedd o lygaid gleision yn llosgi, a’i bigau di-rif yn udo melltithion mewn pob iaith a dim o gael diddymu’i hud – am y tro, o leia’.And as I stole Swtach’s words form his very mouth, the witty man’s wiry body melted as would a ritual effigy of tallow they’d use in the unholy rituals of the Independent Tabernacles, under the cleansing heat of the Sun. But without delay, there arose in his place an enormous ball of raw flesh in the form of a mutated mollusc, its thousands of sharp tentacles grabbing and slicing, its hundreds of blue eyes burning, and its numberless beaks howling curses in every language and none from having its magic annulled – for the time being, at least.
Wedyn, heb faich edifeirwch -- cyn i’r breichiau cyhyrog, pigog lwyddo i’n llarpio i – fe lamais i – o lan y dyfroedd tymhestlog ar dân – fel Ichrus, mab Thethalu, yn hedfan i ffwrdd ar ei adenydd ffug – i gofleidiad gwaredwr annisgwyl. Dyna pan ‘nes i benderfynu byw, a chreu, a brwydro, a diodde’, a charu, a cholli, a chwerthin, a newid – ac, o’r diwedd, marw.Then without the burden of remorse – before the spiny, muscular arms managed to tear me to pieces – I leapt – from the bank of the tempestuous burning waters – like Ichrus, son of Thethalu, flying off on his fake wings – to embrace an unexpected saviour. That was when I decided to love, and create, and fight, and suffer, and love, and lose, and laugh, and change – and, at last, to die.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 30

Pennod Tri Deg Pedwar: Dewis (Lleisiau 30) / Choosing (Voices 30)

Y tu mewn i gysgod seicig unigolyn y cynhwysir pob agwedd anymwybodol y meddwl nas goleuir gan ffagl ymwybyddiaeth. Cartref greddf anifeilaidd yw’r cysgod anrhesymol, a chronfa gwyll a drwg ydy hefyd, ond ffynhonnell creadigrwydd ydy ar yr un pryd. Os bydd dyn yn gwrthod ei anghenion sylfaenol, a ffrwyno’i awyddau dyfnaf, fe’u hallanoli o’r diwedd ar y byd. Bydd hyn yn creu yn ei dro len lledrith rhwng yr unigolyn a’i amgylchedd fel na all weithredu’n briodol. Ymhellach, egni gwyllt y cysgod arswydus sy’n cynrychioli ysbryd cryf a chyfiawn, yn hytrach nag atalnwydau’r ysgolhaig analluog. Bydd y cyntaf yn gweithio tuag at dyfiant a rhyddhad yn y pendraw er yr afreolaeth, tra bydd yr ail yn arwain tuag at wrthgyhuddo a diddymiad ar ben einioes o rwystredigaeth. Felly gallwn ni gyfaddef nad yw dylanwad y cysgod yn hollol niweidiol, ond bod rhaid wrth ei drin yn ofalus iawn a chyda pharch eithriadol.

Within an individual’s psychic shadow is contained every unconscious aspect of the mind which is not illuminated by the torch of consciousness. The unreasoning shadow is the home of animal instinct, and it is a reservoir of darkness and evil too, but the source of creativity at the same time. If one denies one’s basic needs, and restrains one’s deepest desires, they will be projected at last on the world. In its turn this will create a veil of illusion between the individual and his environment so that he cannot function properly. Furthermore, it is the wild energy of the fearful shadow that represents a strong and upright spirit, rather than the repressed emotions of the impotent scholar. The first works towards growth and freedom in the end, despite the unruliness, whilst the second leads to recrimination and dissolution at the end of a lifetime of frustration. So we can admit that the influence of the shadow is not totally harmful, but that it is necessary to treat it very carefully and with exceptional respect.

Dewch ‘mlaen, ‘ta, dewch i’m parlwr, medd y corryn wrth y pryf. Nid mi sy’n gwau gwe o wead cywrain, yn llawn dichell ac ystryw, ynye? Fyddwn i fyth yn dweud celwyddau wrthych chi, fyddwn i? Helen Grossmann MSc dw i – enw ddylai’ch atgoffa chi am Selēnē, y Lleuad; am Elen Fannog, merch i Ddial, a’i henw yn dŵad o Helenē sy’n golygu 'ffagl’; ac am Wener, duwies cariad a harddwch. A, on’d ydym ni’n ymguddio tu ôl i eiriau, ac enwau, a theitlau eraill, fel ‘taen nhw’n fentyll hudol? Mam sengl lwyddiannus iawn dw i, fydd yn dŵad drwyddi, doed a ddelo, ni waeth beth fydd yn digwydd iddi. Ac mi fydda i’n Feddyliaethydd Blaenllaw sy'n adnabyddus ledled yr hen Fyd gorffwyll, maes o law, os bydd y cynllun yn llwyddo. Mi rwy eisoes wedi ennill gradd uwch mewn Astudiaethau Technegol o Boly-ysgol Aberdydd, fel y gwyddoch chi. Ond cynta’, mi fydd arnaf angen gwrando ar yr hen Ddoethur Procter ‘na er mwyn medru sgwennu fy nhraethawd ola’, a dŵad yn Aelod o’r Urdd, fel ‘tasa. Ac wedyn, wedi fy mhrofi fy hun o’r diwedd, mi fydda i’n dechrau ymddwyn fel y mynnaf fi, yn hytrach na chwarae’r gemau chwerthinllyd hyn i gyd.Come on, then, come into my parlour, says the spider to the fly. It’s not me who’s weaving a web of fine texture, full of guile and deceit, is it? I would never tell you lies, would I? I am Helen Grossmann MSc – a name that should remind you of Selēnē, y Moon; of Helen of Troy, daughter of Retribution, whose name comes from Helenē meaning ‘torch’; and of Venus Goddess of love and beauty. Ah, don’t we conceal ourselves behind words, and names, and other titles, as if they were magical cloaks? I am an extremely successful single mother, who will come through it, come what may, no matter what happens to her. And I’ll be a Leading Mentalist who’s renowned throughout the old, crazy World, in due course, if the plan succeeds. I’ve already gained a higher degree in Technical Studies from Aberdydd Poly-versity, as you know. But first, I’ll need to listen to that old Doctor Procter in order to be able to write my final essay, and become a Member of the Guild, as if were. And then, having proved myself at last, I’ll begin to behave as I wish, rather than playing all these ridiculous games.
“Sut allwn ni ddisgrifio’r berthynas rhwng bodau dynol a’r hyn sy’n bodoli tu hwnt iddyn nhw? Dyna gwestiwn yn wir! Wel, gad i fi ganolbwyntio ar sut rydym ni’n meddwl, ystyried, credu, dychmygu. Pan ddaw at y meddwl, rydym ni’n byw mewn dau fyd fel petai. Meddylia, i ddechrau, am yr holl symbolau sy’n diffinio a threfnu popeth, yn enwedig symbolau iaith. Maen nhw’n creu rhwyd annherfynol sy’n ein dal ni, hyd yn oed cyn i ni gael ein geni. Dyma enghraifft i ti. Dychmygwch Sorakados yn darganfod cyfrinachau’i etifeddiaeth fel ailymgnawdoliad rhyw hen sêr-ddewin, a bod ei enw’n golygu ‘Swynwr’ yn iaith gysefin rhyw Deyrnas Ddychmygol y bydd yn rhaid iddo ymweld â hi i gyflawni ei ffawd. Neu eto i gyd, beth am Swtach yn datgelu i ryw lanc colledig yn y ‘stafell las yn ddwfn islaw Afon Dagrau taw Stharafan oedd ei wir enw, gwreiddiol. Ac wrth gwrs, dyna enw sy’n golygu ‘Tywysydd Medrus,’ er doedd ‘na ddim clem ‘da’r dyn cyn hynny.”“How can we describe the relationship between human beings and what exists beyond them? That’s a question indeed! Well, let me concentrate on how we think, consider, believe, imagine. When it comes to the mind, we live in two worlds, as it were. Think, to start off with, about all the symbols that define and order everything, especially the symbols of language. They create an endless net which captures us, even before we’re born. Here’s an example for you. Imagine Sorakados discovering the secrets of his inheritance as reincarnation of some old astrologer, and that his name means ‘Sorcerer’ in the original language of some Imaginary Kingdom he’ll need to visit to meet his fate. Or then again, what about Swtach revealing to some lost lad in the blue room deep below the River of Tears that Stharafan was his real, original name. And of course, that’s a name that means ‘Skilled Leader,’ although the man had no clue before that.”
Mi sy wedi bod yn adrodd y straeon hyn i gyd, wel, eu recordio nhw beth bynnag. At bwrpas ymchwil, dyna’r hanes. Wel, dyna beth maen nhw’n ei feddwl, o leiaf, y gwesteion yn y lle hwn. Casglu’r egni seicig dw i, dyna’r peth. Pa beth yw dyn, maen nhw’n dal i ofyn drwy’r amser – neu’n bwysicach – pa fath o ddyn ydw i? Pa fath o ddyn, yn wir! Dyna lwyth o hen sothach drewllyd! Maen nhw’n traethu chwedlau’n llawn helbul a helynt, heb os, yr hen dlodion yma, straeon nad ydyn nhw’n dynodi dim byd. O, maen nhw’n gwirioni ar yr hen Cynhyrfwr-gwaywffon yn y lle ‘ma, ond mi yw’r farddes gynhyrchiol yma ar hyn o bryd, heb rithyn o amheuaeth. Felly dyma’r dadleniad ichi – hanes y llawforwyn, chwedl hwythau!It’s me who’s been reciting all these stories, well, recording them, anyway. For the purpose of research, that’s the tale. Well, that’s what they think, at least, the inmates in this place. I’m collecting the psychic energy, that’s the thing. What thing is a man, they keep on asking all the time – or more importantly – what kind of man am I? What kind of man, indeed! That’s a load of old stinky nonsense! They tell tales full of sound and fury without a doubt, the poor things here, stories that mean nothing. Oh, they’re mad for the old Cynhyrfwr-gwaywffon in this place, but it’s me who’s the productive poet here at the moment, without a shadow of a doubt. So, here’s the revelation for you – the handmaid’s tale, to coin a phrase!
“Ac felly, heb yn wybod i ni, ac allan o’n rheolaeth, llunnir strwythurau a phrosesau yn y meddwl â chadwyni o symbolau cysylltiedig. Er enghraifft, dyna enwau’n rhieni ni, eu swyddau, eu crefyddau, eu safle mewn cymdeithas, eu hieithoedd, eu breuddwydion a’u hunllefau, a’r cyflyrau meddygol maen nhw’n diodde’ ohonyn nhw, i enwi dim ond ychydig. Ond beth fydd yn digwydd os na fydd gennych chi rieni i gychwyn yr afalans o symbolau? Dw i ddim yn golygu bod y rhieni wedi marw, ond yn hytrach rwy’n ystyried y rhai sy wedi’u creu’u hunain, fel petai. Wel, o ystyried mytholeg, byddan nhw’n dod yn dduwdodau, fel y Saith Swynwr Erchyll, o’r enw Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, a Nebesh. Ac rwyt ti’n gwybod beth ddigwyddodd iddyn nhw.”“And so, unbeknownst to us, and out of our control, structures and processes in the mind are formed from chains of interconnected symbols. For example, there’s the names of our parents, their occupations, their faiths, their positions in society, their languages, their dreams and their nightmares, and the medical conditions they suffer from, to name but a few. But what happens if you don’t have parents to begin the avalanche of symbols? I don’t mean that the parents have died, but rather I’m considering those who’ve created themselves, as it were. Well, considering mythology, they become deities, like the Seven Terrible Sorcerers, named Lushfé, Tefnuth, Hebé, Nuthkí, Wezir, Isheth, and Nebesh. And you know what happened to them.”
A sôn am Mrs Grossmann, sy’n coelio mai’r Arglwyddes Macbeth ydi, mi sy 'di bod yn rhedeg y lle byth oddi ar pan gerddais i mewn drwy ddrws ffrynt y plasty brwnt, lle bu bron i'r hwch fynd trwy'r siop. A dyna er gwaetha'r hyn mae hithau’n honni. Mi fuodd hi wastad yn annog David i ‘neud drygau ‘fyd, ac arwain Stevie ar gyfeiliorn ar ben ‘ny. A pham mae hi'n mynnu fy mod yn siarad yn rhyfedd, ni wn i byth! Mi sy 'di teithio ledled y Byd wedi'r cwbl i gael hyd i ddulliau newydd o dramor i gynorthwyo'r rhai wedi'u cloi yn fan'ma. Mi rwy 'di dyfeisio llawer ohonyn nhw 'fyd, wedi'u seilio ar farddoniaeth arbrofol ac actio. Yn enwedig yn y ffosydd yng Nghalon y Cyfandir mi ddysgais i gyfrinachau gan y Meddyliaethwyr Mecanyddol, sydd heb eu hail yn y Ddaear gron. Wrth gwrs, mi rwy wedi dwyn cynlluniau a chysyniadau oddi ar y Goruchwylwyr Gormesol yn ddigywilydd, ‘fyd.And talking of Mrs Grossmann, who believes she’s Lady Macbeth, it’s me who’s been running the place ever since I walked in through the front door of the filthy mansion, where they’ve almost gone bust. And that’s despite what she claims. She was always encouraging David to get up to mischief, too, and lead Stevie astray on top of that. And why she insists I talk funny, I’ll never know! It’s me who’s travelled all over the World after all to discover new methods from overseas to help those locked up in here. I’ve invented lots of them too, based on experimental poetry and acting. Especially in the trenches in the Heart of the Continent I learnt secrets from the Mechanical Mentalists, which are second to none on the whole Earth. Of course, I’ve shamelessly stolen plans and concepts from the Oppressive Overseers, too.
“Ac mewn chwedlau unwaith eto, roedd rhai’n bodloni ar yr un rhiant yn unig. Dyna Zuvnirathé, er enghraifft, Gafr Ddu'r Goedwig sydd â Miloedd o Epil, grëwyd gan Hebé o’i chnawd ei hun, yn gythraul o dân sy’n rheoli deddfau natur. Ond, yn gyffredinol, bydd popeth yn ddifesur wael, os bydd bod dynol yn tyfu lan ac aeddfedu heb gael ei ddysgu o gwbl am y setiau cyfnewidiol o symbolau sy’n perthyn i’w gymdeithas gan ryw Dwm, Dic neu Harri. Fodd bynnag, nid holl hanfod a diben bywyd dynol yw’r rhwydwaith hwn sy’n datblygu a newid o’n cwmpas ni bob amser. Pan ddaw’r baban ar draws ei adlewyrchiad ei hun mewn drych am y tro cynta’ bydd y byd-olwg a oedd yn crisialu o’r toddiad ieithyddol yn torri yn yfflon.”“And in legends once again, some were satisfied with only one parent. There’s Zuvnirathé, for instance, The Black Goat of the Woods with Thousands of Offspring, created by Hebé from her own flesh, as a demon of fire who rules over the laws of nature. But, in general, everything is immeasurably worse, if a human being grows up and matures without being taught at all about the ever-changing sets of symbols which belong to his society, by some Tom, Dick, or Harry. However, this network, which develops and changes around us all the time, is not the be-all and end-all of human life. When the baby comes across his own reflection in a mirror for the first time, the world-view that was crystallizing from the linguistic solution shatters into fragments.”
‘Lly, beth am fy nghariad druan, David, mi ofynnwch chi nesa? Wel, cariad, dyna beth roedd o’n arfer ddeud. Ond wrth gwrs nad oeddem ni’n cael perthynas o unrhyw fath, ar wahân i’r math therapiwtig, cywir a fydd angen ei sefydlu rhwng clinigwr a chlaf. Dyna fuasa ‘di bod yn dra amhriodol, ac yntau’n eitha’ analluog. Mewn ffordd mi roeddwn i’n arfer ei hoffi o, a boddio ei fympwyon, dyna oll. Mi roedd o'n eitha’ diddorol a doniol ar adegau, ac mewn dognau bychain, fel ci bach swnllyd a chynhyrfawr, falla. Mi roedd o’n ddeniadol ond dwl, a diflas ar ôl hanner awr. Ond mi ‘naeth popeth newid i raddau helaeth pan aeth o’i go’ â ‘goruwch-fêr’ – cyffur campus o seicotropig os bu un erioed – ac mi roeddwn i’n cynhyrfu a mynd yn siomedig iawn i ddechrau. Mi roedd o’n gynhyrchu fo yn rhywle efo help Wncwl Jack, mae’n ymddangos rŵan, i’w werthu yn y digwyddiadau miwsig anghyfreithlon. Mi 'naeth o ddechrau rhedeg o gwmpas y cefn gwlad gan feddwl ei fod o’n cyfathrebu efo ysbryd cythryblus ei Dad neu endidau rhyfedd eraill. Mi roedd wedi’i ddarbwyllo’i hun mai Eneiniog yr Hen Dduwiau oedd o, ac felly ei fod o’n anarcholladwy, a bod angen arno fo achub y Byd. Er gwaetha ‘nheimladau gwreiddiol, sut bynnag, mi ddes i ataf fy hun ar fyrder, ac ailymafael yn fy nyletswyddau hanfodol yr un mor broffesiynol ag o’r blaen. Mi ddylwn i dderbyn medal yn fy nhyb i.So, what about my poor sweet-heart, David, you’ll be asking next? Well, lover, that’s what he used to say. But of course, we weren’t having a relationship of any kind, apart from the correct therapeutic sort that needs to be established between clinician and client. That would have been very inappropriate, what with him being rather incompetent. In a way, I used to like him, and indulge his whims, that’s all. He was quite interesting and funny on occasions, and in small doses, like an excitable and noisy puppy, perhaps. He was attractive but dumb, and boring after half an hour. But everything changed to a large extent when he lost his mind on ‘super-marrow’ – a spectacularly psychotropic drug if ever there was one – and I was upset and very disappointed to start with. He was producing it somewhere with Uncle Jack’s help, it now appears, to sell at the illegal musical events. He started to run about the countryside thinking he was communicating with his Father’s troubled spirit or other strange entities. He’d convinced himself he was the Old Gods’ Anointed One, and thus that he was invincible, and that he needed to save the World. Despite my initial feelings, though, I pulled myself together quickly, and resumed my essential duties just as professionally as before. I should get a medal, in my opinion.
“Bydd y plentyn bach yn dechrau cystadlu â’r ddelwedd wedi’i hallanoli o’i hunan. A dyna ddim ond dechrau’r proses. Ac felly y sefydlir cystadleuaeth barhaol o hynny ‘mlaen rhwng dwy ochr, sef yr hyn sy’n rhan o’i hunan, o’i gymharu â phopeth arall, y tu allan a‘r tu hwnt, lle o’r blaen roedd dim ond teimlo ac ymateb i anghenion y corff. Bydd hyn yn adeiladu dull hollol newydd o edrych ar y byd o ran y plentyn, fel lle’n llawn o ddelweddau sy’n anhysbys, aflywodraethus, a brawychus. Ond ar yr un pryd maen nhw’n boenus o ddeniadol, a chyffrous. Yn ei dro, bydd hyn yn arwain i gyflwr lle bydd e’n teimlo ei fod wedi’i hollti mewn sawl dryll na chân nhw’u hailgysylltu byth. Ond wedi dweud hynny, drwy ryngweithio gyda’r ddelwedd, ac wedyn gyda phobl eraill yn bodoli’n annibynnol iddo’i hunan, bydd y crwt yn dysgu ac ymarfer amrywiaeth fwy helaeth o lawer o opsiynau ar gyfer sut i ymddwyn. Wedi’r cwbl, pwy yn wir fyddai eisiau bodoli mewn byd hollol wag, rhyw ‘stafell las, heb yr un person arall ynddi?”“The little child begins to compete with the exteriorized image of himself. And that’s just the start of the process. And so, there is set in motion a continuing competition from then on, between two sides, namely that which is part of himself, compared with everything else, outside and beyond, where before there was only feeling and responding to the body’s needs. This builds a totally new way of looking at the world on the child’s part, as a place full of images that are unknown, uncontrollable, and terrifying. But at the same time, they’re painfully tempting, and exciting. In its time, this leads to a condition where he feels he’s been split into many fragments that will never be reconnected. But having said that, by interacting with the image, and then with other people who exist independently of himself, the kid will learn and practise a much more extensive variety of options for how to behave. After all, who would really want to exist in a totally empty world, some blue room, without a single other person in it?”
Er gwaetha’ popeth roeddwn i ‘di ddarganfod am ei gefndir, dyna oedd y diwedd i mi. A ‘doedd gen i wahaniaeth, 'chwaith, achos mai’r un ffunud â’i Dad hunanol fuodd erbyn hynny, yn ôl pob cyfri’, er gwaetha’r holl eiriau teg. Wel, yn ôl adrodd yr Hen Filwr, beth bynnag. Wrth gwrs mae popeth yn dyddio yn ôl at gyfnod y Cythrwfl Mawr. Mi roedd y gwallgofddyn John, hynny yw Baxter yr hyna’n walch bach i ddechrau, ond mi ddaeth yn fwli rhonc a dihiryn llwyr ar ôl ei brofiadau. Nid oedd o fyth yn ymladd, ni raid dweud, ac mewn gwirionedd mi roedd o’n manteisio ar y sefyllfa fel llwfrgi o smyglwr digywilydd a 'nâi ddwyn oddi ar yr un ochr i werthu i’r garfan arall. Ac wrth reswm, mi fydda fo’n defnyddio’r ffugenw ‘Ivan’ fel ‘tasa fo’n rhyw fath o grwsadwr o’r Famwlad Aflonydd flynyddoedd maith yn ôl. Mi ddôi â’r hogyn efo fo ar ei deithiau i gludo sylweddau anghyfreithlon, ac mi fydda fo’n ei orfodi’n aml i weld a chymryd rhan mewn gweithgareddau ofnadw’. ‘Sdim syndod o gwbl iddo yntau dyfu’n llanc wedi drysu a dig.Despite everything I had discovered about his background, that was the end for me. And it made no difference to me, either, as he was the spitting image of his selfish father by then, by all accounts, despite all the fair words. Well, according to the Old Soldier’s report, anyway. Of course, everything dates back to the time of the Great Tribulation. The madman, John, that is Baxter the elder, was a wide-boy to start with, but he became an out-and-out bully and complete villain after his experiences. He never fought, needless to say, and in truth he took advantage of the situation as a shameless, cowardly smuggler who would steal from one side to sell to the other faction. And of course, he would use the nom-de-guerre ‘Ivan’ as if he were some kind of crusader from the Haunted Homeland ages ago. He would bring the lad with him on his expeditions to transport illegal substances, and he’d often force him to see and take part in awful activities. It’s no surprise at all that he grew up to be a confused and angry young man.
“Unwaith ein bod ni wedi'n dal yn blant gan y ddelwedd yn y drych, ac wedi syrthio, fel petai, i fodolaeth lawn yn y Byd, allwn ni byth ddychwelyd i'n diniweidrwydd cysefin, na dianc rhag gafael y delweddau sy'n cropian ym mhob man. Mae’r delweddau'n gyfrwys. Maen nhw'n dod yn real, yn fyw. Dw i ddim yn golygu lluniau'n unig. Byddan nhw'n ymrithio mewn tirwedd dri dimensiwn ar ffurf pobl, er enghraifft. Ac felly byddan nhw'n sleifio i'n bywyd ni i'n lapio ni, gan ddatblygu i fod yn fwy pwysig na'r hyn fyddan nhw'n ddisodli. Dod yn rhan ohonon ni 'nân nhw, a'n hysgubo ni i ffwrdd, wrth i ni ddod yn rhannau ohonyn nhw, gan golli golwg ar beth a phwy fuodd yno yn y lle cynta'.”“Once we’ve been caught as children by the image in the mirror, and fallen, as it were, into full existence in the World, we will never be able to return to our original innocence, nor escape from the grip of the images that are crawling everywhere. The images are cunning. They become real, alive. I don’t mean just pictures. They materialize in three-dimensional reality in the form of people, for example. And so, they slink into our lives to enswathe us, developing to be more important than what they’re displacing. They become part of us, and sweep us away, as we become parts of them, losing view of what and who was there in the first place.”
Ond unwaith, ar hap a damwain, a thrwy frad, yn hytrach na dewrder, mi ‘naeth John yn rhith Ivan yr Ellyllyn Cryf achub bywyd Jack Procter, sefydlwr enwog y Clinig hwn, oedd yn uwch-sarsiant yng ngrymoedd y gwrthsafiad. Mi roedd wedi’i ddal, ac yn cael ei gadw mewn sach hesian i ddisgwyl ei ffawd, wedi’i rwymo’n dynn ac yn anymwybodol ar ôl cael ergyd ar ei ben (dyna sut mae’r stori’n rhedeg bob tro beth bynnag). Mi roedd Baxter yn darparu llaeth mwnci, diod gadarn anghyfreithlon, yn llawn hylifau glanhau, tynnwr farnais ewinedd, gwrthrewydd, methanol, a phlwm, i’r brawychwyr. Mi roedd eu pencadlys dros dro mewn bwthyn glas yr awyr (ac ar ei waliau ddwbiadau o arwyddion hynafol a sanctaidd yn ôl yr arbenigwyr), ar bwys gorsaf betrol ymhlith y pinwydd. Yno mi roedden nhw’n cadw’r storau’n cynnwys yr holl boteli o wisgi golau lleuad.But once, by happenstance, and through treachery, rather than bravery, John, in the guise of Ivan the Strong Little Devil saved the life of Jack Procter, famed founder of this Clinic, who was sergeant-major in the rebel forces. He’d been captured, and was being kept in a hessian sack to await his fate, bound tightly and unconscious after having a blow to the head (that’s how the story runs every time anyway). Baxter was supplying monkey-juice, an illegal spirit, full of cleaning fluids, nail-varnish remover, anti-freeze, methanol, and lead, to the terrorists. Their temporary headquarters was in a sky-blue cottage (with daubings on its walls of ancient and sacred symbols according to the experts), near a petrol station amongst the pines. There, they kept the stores including all the bottles of moonshine whiskey.
“Eto i gyd, dim ond crib y rhewfryn yw’r symbolau a’r delweddau, y goddrychau o’n canfod normal ni. Beth sy’n gorwedd y tu ôl, a’r tu hwnt, ac islaw i’r rhain? Mae ‘na ryw gyfrwng, rhyw stwff, rhyw ddull o fod ym mhle gosodir popeth rydym ni’n gwybod amdano. Y Nw Yrth yw fy enw arno fe, ac fe fues i yno unwaith, pan o’n i’n laslanc yn llawn nerth, ac er ei bod yn fangre hynod o hardd, ac eithriadol o arswydus, fe ddes i ‘nôl yn ddiniwed, mwy neu lai. Dw i ddim wedi gallu dilyn y trywydd i fynd yno eto er gwaetha’ mor galed dw i ‘di ceisio. Ond rwy wedi dod i’r casgliad dyw dim byd arall yn real o’i gymharu â’r fro honno sy’n anniffiniadwy ac ingol i’w phrofi. Yno roedd fy ngeiriau’n ofer, ond yn y pridd eithriadol i’w gael yno, fe fydd yr holl egni, a nerth, a phŵer yn ein Daear ni’n blaguro.”“Then again, the symbols and the images, the objects of our normal perception, are just the tip of the iceberg. What lies behind, and beyond, and below these? There’s some medium, some stuff, some mode of being in which is set everything we know about. The Nw Yrth is my name for it, and I have been there once, when I was a youth full of strength, and although it is a remarkably beautiful place, and exceptionally frightening, I came back unscathed, more or less. I’ve not been able to follow the trail to go there again, despite how hard I’ve tried. But I have come to the conclusion that nothing else is real compared with that region which is indefinable and agonizing to experience. There my words were futile, but in the exceptional soil to be had there, all energy, and strength, and power in our Earth, sprouts up.”
Ond mi ‘naeth damwain ofnadw’ ddigwydd pan ‘naeth y cono ostwng ei smôc o gneuen goco a banana gan beri i’r lle ffrwydro. Mi ‘naeth o lusgo’r sach ymaith gan feddwl ei bod yn llawn arian a chyffuriau, yr hen gribiniwr crebachlyd, a dianc efo hi yn y fan oedd ar dân oherwydd y ffrwydrad. O hynny ‘mlaen felly, mi roedd John yn cymryd arno ei fod o’n arwr rhyfel gan iddo lwyddo i achub bywyd Jack. Ond, fel mewn rhyw hen chwedl gan y Ficingiaid – yn llawn corachod crafangog, dinosoriaid ffurf-newidiol, adar siaradus, cribddeilwyr o dduwdodau sy’n torri’u llwon, ceffylau chwe choes, mynyddoedd fflamllyd, a llongau hedegog – er gwaetha’ lwc dda gyson yr oferwr, mi fydda ei nam sylfaenol yn achosi ei dranc wedi hir ddisgwyl yn y pen draw. Gwers hyn oll yw na all dyn ddianc rhag traethiad gormesol bywyd. Wel, nid heb gael cymorth gan feddyliaethydd arloesol fel mi, wrth reswm, fydd yn helpu ichi dorri drwy gadwyni’r gorffennol.But there was a terrible accident when the wide-boy dropped his coconut and banana ciggy causing the place to explode. He dragged the sack away thinking it was full of money and drugs, the old wrinkly miser, and escaped with it in the van that was on fire because of the explosion. From then on, then, John pretended he was a war hero because he’d managed to save Jack’s life. But, like in some old tale of the Vikings – full of clawed dwarfs, shape-shifting dinosaurs, talking birds, extorting divinities who break their oaths, six-legged horses, flaming mountains, and flying ships – despite the wastrel’s constant good luck, his fundamental flaw would cause his long-expected downfall in the end. And it all goes to show one can’t escape life’s overpowering narrative. Well, not without getting support from an innovative mentalist like me, of course, who’ll help you to cut through the chains of the past.
“Pan fyddwn ni’n meddwl neu ddisgrifio pethau fel arfer, bydd ein gweld, ein hamcanu, a’n cynllunio’n cael eu cyfyngu gan ein symbolau anaddas a’n delweddau truenus. Ar y Nw Yrth, ni cheir gwir nac anwiredd ac eithrio’r hyn fydd dyn yn creu ar ei gyfer ei hunan. Ac felly yno, mae dweud y ffordd yn amhosib, gan fod pob map yn chwalu yn chwilfriw cyn gynted â gwneir e. Ond yno fe allwch chi gael hyd i bob ateb a datrys pob problem. Serch ‘ny, mae hefyd yn lle llawn twyll ac ansicrwydd, a dyma leoliad syndod digyfryngiad, sy’n hollol aflonyddol.”“When we think, or describe things as usual, our seeing, our hypothesizing, and our planning are restricted by our unsuitable symbols and our pitiful images. On the Nw Yrth, there is neither truth nor falsehood, excepting that which one creates for oneself. And so there, telling the way is impossible, as every map shatters into smithereens as soon as it’s made. But there, you can find every answer and solve every problem. Despite that, it’s also a place full of deceit and uncertainty, and this is the locus of unmediated wonder, that’s totally disconcerting.”
Wrth iddyn nhw aros yn yr ysbyty dros dro efo’i gilydd, lle roedd gwraig John yn gweithio, i dderbyn triniaeth ar gyfer eu briwiau, mi ‘naeth Procter rannu ei syniadau od ynghylch yr ocwlt â’r dyn arall. Ei dyb oedd fod popeth ar y Ddaear oddi ar ei echel oherwydd dylanwad asiantau anweladwy ond eithriadol o rymus o’r Blaned, neu’r Bydysawd, neu’r Dimensiwn o’r enw y Nw Yrth. Mi roedden wedi’u gorchymyn gan y Peintiwr Coch, Swtach Arglwydd yr Anialwch, a fydda’n mynd o amgylch ein Byd ni ar ffurf cysgod pygddu gan ledu celwyddau, creu cynnen, canu clod trais, ac annog pawb i ymladd yn enw purdeb, ffydd, a nerth.As they stayed in the temporary hospital together, where John’s wife worked, to receive treatment from their wounds, Procter shared his odd ideas about the occult with the other man. His view was that everything on the Earth was out of joint because of the influence of unseen but extremely powerful agents from the Planet, or the Universe, or the Dimension, called the Nw Yrth. They were commanded by the Red Painter, Swtach, Lord of the Wilderness, who would go about our World in the form of a pitch-black shadow, spreading lies, sowing strife, extolling violence, and encouraging everyone to fight in the name of purity, faith, and strength.
“Bydd y rhai sy’n chwarae rhan rymus iawn mewn cymdeithas, (yn aml, Prif Gynrychiolwyr y Werin, Cudd-weithredwyr yr Arch Warchodwr Ymddygiad Cyhoeddus, Wardeniaid Gwyliadwrus Muriau Moesoldeb, y Meistri yn y Celfyddydau Duon yn Hybarch Sefydliadau Addysg Uwch, a Goruchwylwyr Gormesol yr Eglwys Filwriaethus. er enghraifft), ymuno’n hollol â theyrnas y symbolau, gan fewnoli eu harwyddion neilltuol eu hunain i ennill statws a phŵer mewn bywyd. Trwy ‘neud hyn fe ddôn nhw’n swynwyr symbolaidd, neu’n dechnolegwyr ieithyddol, fydd yn rheoli cyfathrebu, llunio synnwyr, a diffinio ystyr. Bydd y pleser enfawr wedi’i gysylltu â defnyddio’u hud yn ymgodi yn y saib o ohirio disgwylgar rhwng ysgogi’r meddwl, a’r gollwng dirybudd a ddaw o sylweddoli’r ystyr a rheoli a newid y Byd.”“Those who play a powerful role in society (often, the Chief Representatives of the People, the Secret Agents of the Arch-guardian of Public Behaviour, the Watchful Warders of the Walls of Morality, the Masters of the Black Arts in the Venerable Institutions of Higher Education, and the Oppressive Overseers of the Church Militant, for example), join completely with the kingdom of the symbols, internalizing their own particular signs to win status and power in life. By doing this, they become symbolic sorcerers or linguistic technologists, who rule communication, fashion sense, and define meaning. The enormous pleasure connected with using their magic rises up in the pause of expectant postponement between stimulating the mind, and the expected release which comes from realizing the meaning and ruling and changing the World.”
Mi roedd Swtach yn addo gwobrau enfawr i’r rhai fydda’n ufuddhau, a chosbau erchyll ar gyfer y rhai fydda’n gwrthsefyll. Mae’n swnio’n annhebygol, mi rwy’n cytuno. Ond falla fod y ffigwr ‘ma’n cynrychioli rhyw gyfuniad dychmygol, od o arweinyddion ysbrydol a bydol fel y Marsial Maleisus o Awdurdod Absoliwt y Cwm Ffrwython, a’r Gwas Gofidus oedd yn dymuno cipio grym yn yr Eglwys Filwriaethus ar y pryd. Ac o’r herwydd mi fydda trigolion y Byd oll ‘ma’n brwydro dros liw croen, crefydd, iaith, ethnigrwydd, a gwahaniaethau eraill o bob math. Felly mi fydda cymdogion yn tanio tai’i gilydd, merched yn poeri ar eu mamau, ffrindiau’n lladd hen gymrodyr, a thadau’n ymosod ar feibion.Swtach promised enormous prizes to those who would obey, and terrible penalties for those who would resist. It sounds unlikely, I agree. But perhaps this figure represented some odd, imagined combination of spiritual and worldly leaders like the Malicious Marshal from the Absolute Authority of the Fruitful Valley, and the Sorrowful Servant who desired to seize power in the Church Militant at the time. And as a result, the inhabitants of this whole World would fight over skin-colour, faith, language, ethnicity, and other differences of every kind. So, neighbours would set fine to each other’s houses, daughters spit on their mothers, friends kill old comrades, and fathers attack their sons.
“Bydd yn cymryd ymdrech enfawr i weithio gyda'r symbolau'n effeithiol gan greu cyfundrefnau newydd ohonyn nhw, eu rheoli, a'u darlledu. Roedd crefydd yn arfer 'neud hynny orau, ond dyw hi ddim wedi llwyddo i reoli'r Byd ar ei phen ei hunan. Bellach mae'r cynghrair anfad rhwng y Pwyllgor Rhyngwladol ar Ffydd a Moesau, yr Undeb Masnachol Milwrol, a'r Asiantaethau Darlledu Annibynnol yn cymryd ei lle i raddau helaeth. Dw i ddim wedi penderfynu am y rhwyd electronig ryngwladol felltigaid, gan ei bod yn gadael i'r werin bobl greu a rhannau'u syniadau'u hunain yn rhy hawdd.”“It takes an enormous effort to work with the symbols effectively, creating new systems of them, controlling them, and broadcasting them. Religion used to do that best, but it has not succeeded in governing the World on its own. Now, the unholy alliance between the International Committee on Faith and Morals, the Military Mercantile Union, and the Independent Broadcasting Agencies is taking its place to a large extent. I haven’t decided about the blasted international electronic net, as it lets ordinary people create and share their own ideas too freely.”
Mi roedd meddyliaethwyr yn gweithio dros yr unbeniaid yn ceisio rhwystro ymdrechion yr ymladdwyr dros ryddid trwy anfon hunllefau, a gweledigaethau, a chnudoedd o gŵn gwynion cynddeiriog, a’u clustiau’n gringoch, ynghyd â greoedd o geffylau fampiraidd, ffyrnig, a’u cyrff yn ysgerbydau, a’u llygaid yn fflamllyd. Nid anodd oedd argyhoeddi Baxter heb os, am ei fod yn barod i goeli bron dim byd ar ôl goroesi’r ddamwain. Daeth y ddau ddyn yn frodyr gwaed gan dyngu llw ar yr Hen Lyfr i waredu’r Ddaear o’r Grymoedd Gorthrymus. Ac wrth gwrs, mi fydda hyn oll yn dechrau cael dylanwad enfawr ar David druan yn ddigon buan, pan fydda’n rhaid iddo gymryd rhan mewn defodau ac yn y blaen. Ar un achlysur pan oedd o’n ifanc iawn, mi ‘naeth deimlo iddo fo gael ei anfon ar neges i ryw Blaned ryfedd, lle daeth o’n berson gwahanol, a ‘naeth o ddechrau ymddwyn yn ecsentrig iawn o ‘ny ‘mlaen yn ôl y cofnodion.Mentalists working for the overlords were trying to frustrate the efforts of the freedom-fighters by sending nightmares, and visions, and flocks of rabid white, ginger-eared dogs, together with herds of fierce, skeleton-bodied, flaming-eyed, vampire-horses. It was not difficult to convince Baxter without a doubt, as he was ready to believe almost anything after surviving the accident. The two became blood-brothers, swearing an oath on the Old Book to rid the Earth of the Oppressive Overseers. And of course, all this would begin have an enormous influence on poor David’s life soon enough, when he would have to take part in rituals and so on. On one occasion, he felt he’d been sent on a mission to some Planet, where he became a different person, and he started behaving very eccentrically from then on, according to the records.
“Fel rheol, bydd grym y symbolau’n mynd i lawr o swynwr i brentis, o dechegwr i hyfforddai, pan fydd y prentis yn cymryd le’i feistr yn yr Urdd. Ond nage heb frwydr. I ddechrau, fe fydd y prentis ifanc yn uniaethu â’r swynwr. Wedyn, bydd yr hyfforddai’n dymuno profi a meddu ar y gallu eithriadol y bydd hebddo. O’r herwydd bydd yn rhaid i’r prentis ddisodli’r swynwr hŷn, fel petai, i ddwyn y technegau cyfrinachol ac ymsefydlu fel meistr yn ei fraint ei hunan.”“As a rule, the power of the symbols goes down from sorcerer to apprentice, from technologist to trainee, when the apprentice takes the place of his master in the Guild. But not without a battle. To start with, the young apprentice identifies with the sorcerer. Then, the trainee desires to experience and possess the exceptional ability he lacks. As a result, the apprentice will have to displace the older sorcerer, as it were, to steal the secret techniques and establish himself in his own right.”
Mi roedden nhw’n coelio bydda’n rhaid iddyn nhw ddefnyddio ymarferion esoterig a galwai am ddisgyblaeth lem, i gyflenwi beth bynnag fydda angen ‘neud. Wedi hynny, fodd bynnag, tra cadwai Procter ei addewid, mi ‘naeth Baxter fanteisio ar y cyfle wedi’i ddarparu gan y castiau glogyn a chleddyf i ehangu’i fusnes gwerthu cyffuriau plwyfol. Aeth o’n rhy hoff o lawer o fwyta ffwng aml-liwiog er mwyn cyfathrebu â bodau allfydol yn ôl y sôn, a dyna oedd un rheswm eithriadol o dda mi fydda o’n clywed lleisiau.They believed that they would have to use esoteric practices which called for strict discipline, to accomplish whatever would be needed to be done. Thereafter, however, whilst Procter kept his promise, Baxter took the opportunity provided by the cloak-and-dagger antics to expand his parochial drug-selling business. He became too fond of eating multi-coloured fungus in order to communicate with extra-terrestrial beings apparently, and that was one really good reason he would hear voices.
“Bydd pob swynwr yn ofni Swtach, Arglwydd Anrhefn, a allai ddrysu’r symbolau a thynnu’i nerth yn ei ôl. O ganlyniad i hyn bydd technolegwyr mewn braw drwy’r amser. Bydd arnyn nhw angen defnyddio eu galluoedd yn gyson y tu hwnt i’r llenni, fel na ân nhw i’r gwynt. Gallwn ni weud hyn heb os, felly, taw unwaith i’r swynwr gipio’r pŵer symbolaidd, bydd arno fe angen gweithredu, a siarad, a charu, a brwydro, a bwrw hud, nage drwy ddewis, ond rhag ofn i’r nerth ei ysu a’i adael yn ddim ond plisgyn fel arall.”“Every sorcerer fears Swtach, the Lord of Misrule, who could confound the symbols and withdraw his strength. As a result of this, technologists are fearful all the time. They need to use their abilities constantly behind the scenes, so that they don’t evaporate. We could say this without a doubt, therefore, that once a sorcerer seizes the symbolic power, he’ll need to act, and speak, and love, and fight, and cast spells, not through choice, but in case the strength devours him, and leaves him as nothing but a husk otherwise.”
Wel, dyna oedd Baxter y Tad, ac mi fydda i’n sôn am Baxter y Mab rŵan. Wel, fel y crafa’r iâr y piga’r cyw, meddan nhw. Mewn gwirionedd, mi roedd y ddau ohonyn nhw’n gaeth i’r drefn gymdeithasol ddaethon nhw ohoni. O, mi ‘naeth David geisio dianc rhag y slym, a’r hen ŵr sadistaidd, a’r trais achlysurol, a’r sbeis mwnci. Ond nid posibl rhwystro ffawd, nac osgoi’r meini melin o fagwraeth ac amgylchiad. Yng nghyflawnder amser, felly, trywanwyd Tad David mewn deliad drygiau aflwyddiannus. Well, that was Baxter the Father, and I’ll be talking about Baxter the Son now. Well, like father like son, they say. In truth, both of them were prisoners of the social order they came from. Oh, David tried to escape from the slum, and his sadistic old man, and the casual violence, and the monkey-spice. But one can’t hold back fate, nor avoid the mill-stones of upbringing and circumstance. In the fullness of time, then, David’s Father was stabbed in a bungled drug-deal.
“Ar y llaw arall, mae’r gwynfyd wedi’i brofi gan yr ychydig rai sy’n llwyddo i sianelu pŵer o’r Nw Yrth heb ei gadw na chael eu hystumio ganddo fe, yn hollol wahanol, ac yn anodd iawn i’w drin. Mewn ffordd o siarad maen nhw fel crefftwyr sy’n gweithio gyda deunydd crai’r Byd. Dychmygwch y crochenydd yn mowldio’r clai hyblyg a chyfnewidiol, neu’r cerflunydd yn naddu’r garreg i ryddhau ffurf gêl. Fe allem ni weud taw real yw’r pŵer hwn, er ei fod y tu hwnt i’w ddisgrifio, yn hytrach nag y math sy’n cylchredeg yn ddi-baid ym myd afreal y technolegwyr wedi’i adeiladu o symbolau twyllodrus, a delweddau byrhoedlog. Nerth y crefftwr na ellir ei lefaru, nas rheolir gan gyfreithiau symbolaidd, a dim ond trwy brofiad y’i deellir.”“On the other hand, the joy experienced by the few who succeed in channelling the power of the Nw Yrth without keeping it nor being warped by it, is totally different, and very difficult to handle. In a manner of speaking, they’re like craftsmen who work with the raw material of the World. Imagine a potter moulding the flexible and ever-changing clay, or the sculptor chipping away at the rock to release a hidden form. We could say that this power is real, although it’s beyond description, rather than the kind which circulates ceaselessly in the unreal world of the technologists built of tricky symbols and transient images. The power of the craftsman cannot be spoken, cannot be controlled by symbolic laws, and is only understood through experience.”
Mi roedd yn drueni mawr bod David gartref pan ‘naeth wegio’i Dad yn ôl i’r tŷ, wedi’i anafu hyd at farw ac yn gafael yn y gyllell eto. Mi roedd y Tad yn melltithio’r Mab yn waeth nag fel arfer, gan ei orchymyn i ddod ag yntau i ffwrdd yn y fan. Mi roedd David isio lladd y dyn, oedd ar farw beth bynnag, ond allai o’m goresgyn y bwli anedifeiriol oedd yn sbeitlyd a ffyrnig er gwaetha’i anafiadau, ac felly mi ‘naeth o helpu fo. Beth arall fydda bachgen oed ysgol i fod i’w ‘neud? Mi roedd un tro ola’ ar fyd oedd mor drist ag oedd yn greulon. Bu farw’r Tad wrth ddilorni’i Fab efo’r geiriau na fydda o fyth yn ddyn.It was a great pity that Daud was home when his Father staggered back to the house, mortally wounded and clutching his knife still. The Father was cursing the Son worse than usual, commanding him to take him away in the van. David wanted to kill the man, who was at death’s door anyway, but he couldn’t overcome the unrepentant bully who was spiteful and furious despite his injuries, and so he helped him. What else would a school-aged boy be expected to do? There was one last twist of fate that was as sad as it was cruel. The Father died whilst disparaging his Son with the words that he would never be a man.
“Mae’r crefftwr hudol am orchuddio ei hun mewn pŵer fydd yn diflannu ar yr eiliad y profir e, hyd yn oed pan fydd dyn yn ceisio ei ddisgrifio, sy’n cynhyrchu llawenydd yn debyg i lesmair caru, fel blas gwin coch rhywiog, fel harddwch syfrdanol machlud haul. Ac yn hyn o beth fe fydd pob llond dwrn o glai’n ddihafal. Ni fodola’r darn cynddelwig ohono fe. Ond o allu teithio’n rhydd i’r Nw Yrth, byddai’n bosib i bawb gael eu bodloni’n llwyr ar y fath nerth unigryw, creadigol, a rhyddhaol.”“The magical craftsman wants to blanket himself in power which disappears in the instant it is experienced, even when one tries to describe it, which produces joy like the swoon of love-making, like the taste of strong red wine, like the striking beauty of a sunset. And in this, every handful of clay is unique. The prototypical piece of it doesn’t exist. But by being able to journey freely to the Nw Yrth, it would be possible for everyone to be satisfied entirely with such unique strength, which is creative and liberating.”
Â’i anadl ola’ mi ‘naeth John ddeud bu bron i David achosi i’w Fam farw pan gafodd o’i eni, ac iddyn nhw ill dau gasáu o fyth oddi ar hynny. Wel , mi roedd yr hogyn eisoes wedi colli’i Fam, ac yn sgil yr amlygiad anfad ‘ma, gan na fedrai David gael gwared ar ddelwedd ei Dad, fel ‘tasa, y Mab a ‘naeth etifeddu’r baich, y felltith, y diffyg llawenydd, a’r ansicrwydd parhaol, oedd wastad wedi plagio’r dyn hŷn. Ddaeth yr artaith ddim i ben yna, ‘chwaith, am wn i, ac mi gafodd David ei gam-drin gan ei Wncwl a ddaeth yn ofalwr iddo fo wedyn. Mi welai David fai arno ei hun o hynny ‘mlaen am beidio â bod yn ddigon dewr i ddianc rhag y sefyllfa dreisgar, gan beri i’r delweddau mewnol dyfu’n wyllt a chry’.With his last breath, John said that David had almost caused his Mother to die when he was born, and that they had both hated him ever since then. Well, the lad had already lost his Mother, and in the wake of this heinous disclosure, since David could not get rid of the image of his Father, as it were, the Son inherited the burden, the curse, the lack of joy, and the constant uncertainty that had always plagued the older man. The torture did not come to an end then, either, as far as I know, and David was abused by his Uncle who become his carer next. David blamed himself from then on for failing to be brave enough to escape from the violent situation, causing the internal images to grow wild and strong.
“Dyw pwerau’r swynwyr, hynny yw’r technolegwyr, ac eiddo’r crefftwr ddim yn gymesur â’i gilydd, nac ydyn nhw’n cwblhau’i gilydd ‘chwaith. Maen nhw’n wahanol yn y bôn. Yn y fagl mae’r technolegwyr, tra mae’r crefftwr yn rhydd. Mae’r swynwyr gresynus yn ymlafnio i greu a rheoli byd cyflawn a meidrol gan ddefnyddio geiriau, delweddau, a chysyniadau. Fodd bynnag, o ganlyniad i waredd a dyfalbarhad cariadus y crefftwr, bydd pob lwmp o glai’n datgelu ffurfiau gwahanol ac anhysbys fydd yn dod i’r golwg wrth i wrthrych ei grefft esblygu.”“The powers of the sorcerers, that is the technologists, and those of the craftsman are not symmetric to each other, nor are they complementary either. They are fundamentally different. The technologists are trapped, whilst the craftsman is free. The wretched sorcerers labour to create and control a complete, finite world using words, images, and concepts. However, as a result of the tenderness and loving persistence of the craftsman, every lump of clay reveals different and unknown forms which come to light as the object of his craft evolves.”
Hmm, wel, rŵan, mae’n amser troi yn ôl i ystyried fy ‘Ewythr’ Jack, oedd yn ddigon hen i fod fy nhaid, mewn gwirionedd. Nid oedd yr Hen Filwr yn perthyn i mi o waed coch cyfan, wrth reswm, diolch byth! Beth bynnag, er gwaetha’i oed a’i syniadau od ynghylch mantrâu tantrig a gorfodi Kundalini i gydymffurfio â’i ewyllys, mi roedd yr hen gi mor anllad a bod yn berffaith onest. Ww, mi fydda yntau’n dal i ensynio fy mod yn hoff iawn ohono fo mewn rhyw ffordd annaturiol, doedd o ddim yn ddoniol o gwbl yn y pen draw. Ach-a-fi, dychmygwch! Pa mor annymunol fydda hynny wedi bod? Mae’n codi croen gŵydd arna’ i! Edrychwn i’m arno fo drwy das wair, yr hen adyn, a llawn cystal, ‘fyd!Hmm, well, now, it’s time to turn back to considering my ‘Uncle’ Jack, who was old enough to be my grandfather, truth be told. The Old Solider wasn’t actually related to me by blood, of course, thank goodness! Anyway, despite his age and his odd ideas concerning tantric mantras and compelling Kundalini to comply with his will, the old goat was so lascivious to be perfectly honest. Ooh, he would keep on insinuating that I was very fond of him in some unnatural way, it wasn’t funny at all in the end. Yuck, imagine! How horrid would that have been? It gives me goose-bumps! I wouldn’t touch him with a barge-pole, the old reprobate, and just as well too!
“Gwaed a thân yw elfennau’r dirwedd hudol ar y Nu Yrth. Yma ar y Ddaear, gwragedd gan amla’ sy biau wrth natur hadau’r pŵer creadigol sylfaenol, fel maen nhw wastad wedi ‘neud, er dydyn nhw ddim yn sylweddoli’r ffaith. Yn wir, dim ond mewn cymdeithasau dan reolaeth Dilynwyr y Broffwydes byddan nhw’n cyrraedd fel rheol safleoedd o awdurdod gwir, lle gallan nhw drin pŵer a dylanwadu ar ddigwyddiadau. Ym mhob man arall, bydd gwŷr yn awchu am ddwyn eu nerth a’i feddiannu trwy drais a thrwy hoced. Ac O, rwy wedi dysgu cymaint gan fy annwyl chwaer i, er dyw hi byth yn defnyddio’i phwerau eithriadol. Ond mae’n amlwg nad blodau pert yn unig yw menywod, wrth reswm, ond hefyd bodau all ymddangos fel bwystfilod marwol ag adenydd a chrafangau pan fydd rhaid.”“Blood and fire are the elements of the magical reality on the Nw Yrth. Here on the Earth, it’s women for the most part who naturally possess the seeds of the fundamental creative power, as they always have done, although they don’t realise the fact. Indeed, only in societies under the control of the Followers of the Seeress will they reach as a rule positions of true authority where they can wield power and influence events. Everywhere else, men eagerly desire to steal their power and possess it through violence and deceit. And, Oh, I’ve learned so much from my dear sister, although she never uses her exceptional powers. But it’s obvious that women aren’t simply pretty flowers, of course, but also beings who can appear as deadly beasts with wings and claws when needs be.”
Ond ‘naeth o, Wncwl Jack, ddim rhoi cymaint â’i fys bach arna’ i, er ei fod yn meddwl iddo fo ‘neud drwg i mi pan es i i ofyn iddo am ei syniadau efo golwg ar batrymau mathemategol mewn barddoniaeth. ‘Dwn i’m o ble daeth y syniad ‘na. Breuddwyd gwrach wrth ei hewyllys o’i ran o, falla, pwy a ŵyr? A dweud y gwir mi roeddwn i isio cael cip ar yr holl drysorau roedd o’n cadw yn seler yr hen fwthyn hyll ‘na yn ogystal â’r casgliad o gyfrolau llwydion, diflas. ‘Doedd ganddo fo ddim byd o werth yno am welwn i, yr hen gnaf chwyslyd, er bod y drws derw’n arwain i lawr y grisiau’n debyg i un ddoech chi o hyd iddo mewn rhyw ddwnsiwn. Beth bynnag, un am y bechgyn oedd o, mi greda i, a siarad yn blwmp ac yn blaen, a mawr les fu hynny i’w wraig druan, gwaetha’r modd. Mi rwy’n amau nad oedden nhw wedi priodi yn y lle cynta’, sut bynnag.But he, Uncle Jack, didn’t so much as even touch me, although he thought he’d done me wrong when I went to ask him about his ideas regarding mathematical patterns in poetry. I don’t know where that idea came from. Wishful thinking on his part, perhaps, who knows? To be honest, I wanted to have a gander at all the treasures he was keeping in the cellar of that ugly old cottage, together with the collection of boring, musty volumes. He had nothing of worth there as far as I could see, the sweaty old rascal, although the door leading downstairs was like one you’d find in some dungeon. Anyway, he had an eye for the lads, I think, to speak plainly, and a lot of good that did his poor wife, more’s the pity. I doubt they’d married in the first place, in any case.
“Rhaid i chi ddilyn patrymau drama bywyd i lwyddo yn y gêm. Ond pwy sy'n 'sgrifennu'r rhain, gan greu cynddelw i feddwl ac ymddwyn? Trwy ddylanwadau ar systemau cred pobl mae'r rhai mewn grym yn gallu'u gorfodi nhw i 'neud unrhyw beth. Maen nhw'n deall sut mae'r meddwl grŵp yn gweithredu ac yn defnyddio hyn i reoli'r lluoedd yn unol â'u hewyllys, a heb iddyn nhw sylweddoli. Trwy ledu ideoleg byddan nhw'n perswadio'r boblogaeth i gredu mewn theorïau, cysyniadau, a straeon neilltuol, nes byddan nhw'n 'neud unrhyw beth.”“You have to follow the patterns of life’s drama to succeed in the game. But who writes these, creating the blueprint for thinking and behaving? By influencing people’s systems of belief, those in power can force them to do anything. They understand how the group mind works and use this to govern the masses according to their will, and without them realizing. By spreading ideology, they persuade the populace to believe in particular theories, concepts, and stories, until they’ll do anything.”
Mi ‘naeth y wraig ddiniwed, gwraig i’r Hen Filwr, ddiflannu yn y pen draw, a hithau’n dwyn baban bach, yng nghwmni rhyw ddeintydd neu fardd, neu gyflwynydd teledu, neu ddarpar wleidydd o Wlad yr Addewid, meddan nhw, megis cysgod yn y nos, byth i’w gweld gan ei chyn-ŵr eto. (Mi sy’n gwybod, fodd bynnag, beth a ‘naeth ddigwydd, pwy oedd y dyn, ac i ble aethon nhw, ond dw i’m yn mynd i ddeud wrthych chi yma). Mae popeth mor gymhleth a deud y lleia’. ‘Naeth Jack roi’r bai arno‘i hun, rhywsut, pan ‘nes i feichiogi wrth aros yma, yn yr hen fwthyn glas, a bod yn fanwl gwir. Ww, mi fydda fo’n drewi o osôn, dyna’r peth. ‘Dwn i’m pam, ond mi fydda’r alcemydd lloerig yn mynd yn gyffrous y tu hwnt bob tro mi awn i i ymweld â’r lle, a fydda fo yno neu beidio. Ac mi fydden nhw, y rhai sy'n meddwl eu bod mewn grym yma, yn gadael i mi aros yno ar fy mhen fy hun yn aml iawn, dyna’r gwir.The innocent woman, the Old Soldier’s wife, disappeared in the end, whilst she was expecting a little baby, in the company of some dentist, or poet, or television presenter, or would-be politician from the Promised Land, so they say, like a shadow in the night, never to be seen by her former-husband again. (I, however, know what happened, who the man was, and where they went, but I’m not going to tell you here). Everything’s so complicated, to say the least. Jack blamed himself, somehow, when I got with child whilst staying here, in the old blue cottage. to spill all the beans. Ooh, it used to stink of ozone, that’s the thing. I don’t know why, but the deranged alchemist would get exceptionally excited every time I’d go to visit the place, whether he was there or not. And they, the ones who think they’re in charge here, would let me stay there on my own very often, that’s the truth.
“Felly bydd y Grymoedd Bydol yn trefnu’r Byd, ac annog i bobl gysylltu â'r cysgod wedi'i atal y tu mewn iddyn nhw, gan ymateb i'w alwadau tywyll heb ei ddeall na'i barchu. Dyn ni'n cael ein symbylu i gynnau tân i gael gwared ar ofn dim ond i gael ein hysu ganddo. Dyna ffynhonnell yr holl helbul, a rhyfel, a chasineb sydd ohoni yn y Byd heddi'. Ac yn wir, mae hyn yn bwydo'r Duwdodau Anniwall yn y Byd Arall. Pan fydd pobl yn dechrau methu nabod y gwahaniaeth rhwng ffantasi a realiti, wedyn, bydd yr Hen Feistri yn dod yn ôl.”“Thus will the Temporal Powers organize the World, and encourage people to connect with the shadow repressed within them, answering its dark calls without understanding it or respecting it. We are prompted to ignite a fire to get rid of fear, only to be consumed by it. That is the font of all the tribulation, and war, and hatred, which pertains in the world today. And indeed, this feeds the Insatiable Divinities in the Other World. When people begin to fail to recognize the difference between fantasy and reality, then the Old Masters shall come back.”
Ar ôl clywed fy mod i’n dwyn baban, o’r braidd mi alla fo ymatal rhag dawnsio ar hyd y ‘stafell gan fwmial mantrâu neu fendithion bob tro bydda fo’n cwrdd â mi, er gwaetha’i salwch gwael. Ac mi fyddwn i’n tyngu llw yn enwau’r Saith Swynwr iddo fo addo popeth i mi ar ôl ei amser o. Mi rwy eisoes yn rhedeg y warchodfa lamaod i fyny yn y gogledd yn llwyddiannus iawn. Yn fuan mi fydda i'n rhoi fy nwylo ar y siârs ar gyfer y fferm foch ar y Cyfandir Deheuol, 'fyd. Ww, dyn od iawn oedd o. Mi roedd fel 'tasa fo wedi'i reibio gan wyneb cythreulig mewn rhyw ddrych hudol, syrthio trwyddo i mewn i Fyd Arall, a chael hyd i bwerau rhyfedd, neu lawer o syniadau estron o leia’. ‘Doedd ganddo ddim byd arall ar ei feddwl erbyn hynny ond chwarae’r arwr, cymryd arno ei fod yn achub y Ddaear, a dal yn ifanc hyd byth trwy hud Tŷ Aileni. Mi arferai fo wirioni ar anifeiliaid, sut bynnag, y cathod gwynion, a’r ceiliogod duon, a’r holl chwilod ffiaidd, ‘does dim dwywaith amdani.After hearing the news that I was carrying a baby, scarcely could he, the Old Soldier, restrain himself from dancing about the room, muttering mantras or blessings every time he met me, despite his terrible illness. And I’d swear an oath by Swtach that he promised everything to me after his time. I’m already running the lama sanctuary up in the north very successfully. Soon I’ll get my hands on the shares for the pig farm on the Southern Continent, too. Ooh, he was a very odd man. It was as if he’d been enchanted by a demonic face in some magic mirror, fallen through it into Another World, and found strange powers, or lots of alien ideas at least. He had nothing else on his mind by then but playing the hero, pretending he was saving the Earth, and staying young for ever through the magic of the House of Rebirth. He did use to love animals, though, the white cats, and the black roosters, and all the hateful beetles, there’s no two ways about it.
“Roedd ein hynafiaid yn wir o ran trin y gwreichion meddyliol, fydd yn gadael i ni agor llwybr i’r Nw Yrth. Wel, roedd gan y siamaniaid o leia'r syniad cywir, y rhai fyddai'n dwyn a llyncu medd cerddi gwyllt i ymweld â'r Isfyd yn anghyfreithlon ond yn ddilestair. Wedyn byddai raid iddyn nhw aberthu'u synhwyrau dynol i gerdded ffyrdd y mudion, dilyn strydoedd y byddair, a throedio llwybrau'r deillion. Ond o’r diwedd, wrth nofio yn llyn anfeidrol y dychymyg, fe fydden nhw’n cyffwrdd â’r caos cysefin sy’n dragwyddol ac anghyswllt, ac yn heigio o’r gwahaniaethau sydd wastad yn bresennol rhwng meddwl a phrofi, fydd yn cael eu dileu mor gyflym tu mewn i’r dryswch sy’n symud yn gyson. A thrwy hyn fe fydden nhw'n dysgu sut i lywio creu'r dyfodol fel petaen nhw'n taflu cerrig i gynhyrfu tonnau yn hylif gorffennol rhanedig dynolryw oll.”“Our ancestors were right about dealing with the mental sparks, which allow us to open a path to the Ne Yrth. Well, the shamans at least had the correct idea, those who would steal and gulp down the mead of wild poetry in order to visit the Underworld illegally but unhindered. Then they’d have to sacrifice their human senses to walk the ways of the mute, follow the streets of the deaf, and tread the paths of the blind. But at last, whilst swimming in the infinite lake of the imagination, they would touch the original chaos which is eternal and disconnected, and teeming with the differences that are always present between thinking an experiencing, which are extinguished so quickly within the every-moving confusion. And so they would learn how to steer the creation of the future as if they were throwing stones to stir up waves in the fluid of the shared past of all humanity.”
Wedi’i ddal mewn bro ddychmygol roedd yr hen ffŵl, wrth gwrs. Ond mi roedd ‘na oblygiadau i’w ymddygiad egsotig. Mi fyddwn i’n dyfalu’i fod o’n chwantu David, y bwgan mawr blewog, a bod yn onest. Yn wir mi roedd yr Hen Filwr wastad yn trio sgwrsio efo’r llanc am ei Dad, a’u hanturiaethau, yn ogystal â’r holl goelion gorffwyll, ac ati. Fydda o’m yn gadael llonydd iddo. Dyna pam daeth David i gasáu Procter yn y pen draw er ei fod yntau yma yn y Clinig oherwydd Jack. Ac ymhellach, er bod Stevie yn hoffi David cymaint, mi roedd ganddo fo broblemau o’i hun, alla i’m sôn amdanyn nhw ar hyn o bryd. Digon dweud ei fod o’n genfigennus dros ben o’r sylw roedd y bachgen arall yn dynnu. Felly mi roedd o’n edmygu David a’i ddirmygu ar yr un pryd.The old fool was caught in an imaginary realm, of course. But there were consequences to his exotic behaviour. I would guess that he desired David, the big hairy bogey-man, to be honest. Indeed, the Old Soldier was always trying to chat with the lad about his Father, and their adventures, as well as all the crazy beliefs, and so on. He wouldn’t leave him alone. That’s why David came to hate Procter in the end, although he was here in the Clinic because of Jack. And moreover, although Stevie liked David so much, he had problems of his own, which I can’t talk about at the present time. Enough to say that he was extremely jealous of the attention the other boy was attracting. So, he admired David and despised him at the same time.
“Dyma natur ddilys y Byd rwy wedi bod yn datguddio wrth ‘neud y swydd hon drwy gydol fy mywyd. Dyma’r wybodaeth ynghylch ymwybod dynol, rwy wedi bod yn ymdrechu i’w ledu drwy’r Byd i greu dull newydd o feddwl ac ymddwyn. Ac er mwyn gwneud hyn rwy wedi benthyca cymaint gan gynifer – geiriau, lleisiau, straeon, personoliaethau – drwy ddefnyddio’r radio, a’r teledu, papurau newydd, nofelau, a chleifion – dros y blynyddoedd! Dw i wedi ceisio dyfeisio’r dyfodol trwy swyno cysgodion y gorffennol.”“This is the genuine nature of the World I’ve been revealing whilst doing this job throughout my life. This is the knowledge about human consciousness I’ve been labouring to spread through the World to create a new way of thinking and behaving. And in order to do that I’ve borrowed so much from so many – words, voices, stories, personalities – using the radio, and the television, newspapers, novels, and patients – over the years! I have tried to devise the future by enchanting the shadows of the past.”
O, dyna ni, rhaid i fi beidio ag anghofio – f’athrylith penwan o lysfrawd Stevie, neu beth bynnag ydi o – sy’n blentyn serch i Mrs Grossmann, wrth gwrs. Ei damwain fach hi oedd o, dyna beth mae hi’n ddeud. Tydi’m yn syndod i mi mai rhywbeth fel hynny fydda wedi digwydd, a Mr G, hynny yw, fy Nhad, yn mynd i ffwrdd drwy’r amser i ffilmio systemau tywydd diddorol, recordio rhaglenni teledu, cyfweld â gwleidyddion twyllodrus, ac yn y blaen. Cyn rhedeg i ffwrdd gyda fy Mam i, hynny yw. Wel, chwarae teg fydda deud bod y llanc yn diodde’ o fwy na digon o gariad mam, ond mai ar y llaw arall, ‘doedd gen i ddim.O, there we are, I mustn’t forget – my empty-headed genius of a step-brother Stevie, or whatever he is – who’s Mrs Grossmann’s love-child, of course. He was her little accident, that’s what she says. It’s no surprise that something like that would have happened, with Mr G, that is, my Father, going off all the time to film interesting weather systems, record television programs, interview deceitful politicians, and so on. Before running off with my Mother, that is. Well, it’s fair to say that the lad suffered from more than enough of mother love, but that on the other hand, I had none.
“Dim ond yr erchyll Lyfr Drychau'n cynnwys technegau'n perthyn i Wezir, y newidiwr ffurf chwedlonol, a all adael i ddyn ddod yn feistr ar grefft trawsnewidio cyson. Ac wedi 'neud hynny fe fedr ddiflannu oddi mewn i'r trobwll swynol o luniau, personoliaethau, cymeriadau, mygydau, a rhithiau sy'n ein hamgylchynu a'n gwarchae ni bob eiliad o bob dydd.”“Only the terrible Book of Mirrors containing techniques belonging to Wezir, the legendary shape-shifter, can allow one to become a master of the craft of constant transformation. And having done that, one will be able to disappear from within the magic whirlpool of pictures, personalities, characters, masks, and illusions which surrounds us and besieges us every second of every day.”
Mi roedd y pwysau’n llethol yn y pen draw, ac mi aeth o oddi ar y cledrau, er ei fod yn dŵad yn wellwell erbyn hyn. Mae o’n byw yma yn y Clinig, ac yn fy helpu i ofalu am ein baban newydd ni, yn ogystal â’r holl gleifion eraill. Rhaid bod brân i frân yn rhywle, a falla mi fydd o mor llawen â’r gog ym mhen y rhawg pan ddaw o hyd i gariad ei hun, ond fydda i’m yn disgwyl mai hynny ‘naiff ddigwydd yn rhy fuan. Tatws newydd ar bren ‘fale, ac ati, reit? Hmmm, lle mae’r hogyn twp rŵan? Rhaid fod o wedi mynd am dro yn y fan – dyna un lemwr eurfrown egr i chi!The pressure was overwhelming in the end, and he went off the rails, although he’s getting better and better by now. He lives here in the Clinic, and is helping me to care for our new baby, and all the other patients. There must be someone for everyone somewhere, and maybe he’ll be as happy as the sand-boy in the long run, when he finds his own love, but I wouldn’t expect that that’ll happen too soon. Pigs might fly, and so on, right? Hmmm, where’s the silly lad now? He must’ve gone for a spin in the van – there’s one cheeky auburn lemur for you!
“O un safbwynt rwy wedi methu yn fy nhasg i ail-greu’r Byd ar fy liwt fy hunan, ond dw i ddim wedi bod yn ddiog. Yn lle hynny, rwy wedi llwyddo i greu drwy gastiau hudol y Mab Darogan, ac roedd yn angenrheidiol i fi ddefnyddio sawl person i gyflawni hyn. Mewn unrhyw brwydr bydd rhai’n gorfod marw, neu ddiodde’ o leia’, a’r rhyfel i orffen pob rhyfel sy’n aros. Fe fydd y llanc yn wir ffenics, yn fab i Ferch y Wawr a wrthododd fod yn hen ferchetan ar ôl colli’i chariad. Trwythwyd ei dad yr Arwr Aflwyddiannus mewn gwaed, a thranc, a cymysgwch, a phoen. Fodd bynnag, fe gaiff y baban bleser o ymdrochi yn nyfroedd dychmygol y Nw Yrth, y tu hwnt i dda a drwg, heb wir a geuedd.”“From one view-point I’ve failed in my task of re-creating the World under my own steam, but I’ve not been lazy. Instead, I’ve succeeded in creating through magical tricks, the Son Foretold, and it was essential for me to use several people to accomplish this. In any battle, some will have to die, or suffer at least and the war to end all wars awaits. The lad shall be a true phoenix, son to the Daughter of the Dawn who refused to be an old maid after losing her sweetheart. His father the Unsuccessful Hero was steeped in blood, and death, and confusion, and pain. However, the babe shall gain pleasure from bathing in the imaginary waters of the Nw Yrth, beyond good an evil, without truth and falsehood.”
Wrth gwrs, mi fuodd bron i mi farw mewn damwain fan hefyd. Dim ond ceisio helpu i fynd trwy bethau a threfnu popeth oeddwn i. A dyna oeddwn i’n cael gwared ar lawer o’r hen ‘sbwriel o’r bwthyn, pan ‘naeth yntau drio ‘mwrw i lawr, David, yr hurtyn llwyr, hynny yw. Wel dyna sut oedd o’n teimlo i mi, beth bynnag. Mi roedd o’n defnyddio’r ffugenw Daa·hweeth, neu Daud, neu Dai erbyn hynny, ac mi ddaeth o fewn y dim i farw hefyd. ‘Does neb yn gwybod sut ‘naeth o oroesi. Rhyw fath o wyrth, medden nhw. Mi ‘nes i ddeud wrtho fo am adael llonydd i mi ar ôl hynny, heb flewyn ar fy nhafod. Ond mi roedd o’n dal i'm dilyn ym mhob man fel cysgod drewllyd, neu frawd ieuengach, plagus, yn waeth na chynt a bod yn onest. Yn wir, mi roedd y sefyllfa’n od ofnadw’ pan ‘naethon ni gwrdd â’n gilydd yn yr hen fwthyn glas y tro hwnnw rywbryd ar ôl y ddamwain, a ‘nes i lewygu. Mi roedd problemau enfawr efo’r carthffosydd yno, mi roedd fel ‘tasa lleisiau aflednais yn browlan a gyddfol chwerthin drwy’r amser. Mor annymunol oedd yr arogl, ‘fyd, fel osôn, mi rwy’n coelio. Mi roedd yn union cyn i mi feichiogi, ac O, mi gefais i sioc ofnadwy oherwydd yr hyn ‘naeth ddigwydd. Alla i mo'i ddisgrifio neu esbonio beth aeth ‘ymlaen yno. Am unwaith, ‘dwn i’m beth i ddeud o gwbl, ond ‘naeth y Byd newid yn llwyr ar ôl ‘ny. Falla bydda i’n ceisio mynegu popeth ryw ddydd.Of course, I almost died in a van accident, too. I was only attempting to go through things and organize everything. And there I was getting rid of lots of the old rubbish from the cottage, when he tried to knock me down, David the complete fool, that is. Well, that’s how it felt to me, anyway. He was using the fake-name Daa·hweeth, or Daud, or Dai by then, and he almost died too. No-one knows how he survived. Some kind of miracle, they said. I told him to leave me alone after that, in no uncertain terms. But he kept on following me everywhere like a stinking shadow, or an annoying younger brother, worse than before, to be honest. Really, the situation was awfully odd when we met each other in that old blue cottage sometime after the accident, and I fainted. There were enormous problems with the sewers there, it was as if there were vulgar voices muttering and laughing gutturally all the time. The smell was so unpleasant, too, like ozone, I believe. It was directly before I became pregnant, and Oh, I had an awful shock because of what happened. I can’t describe it or explain what went on there. For once, I don’t know what to say at all, but the whole World changed completely from then on. Maybe I’ll try to express everything someday.
“O ganlyniad, falle ar ryw adeg dyngedfennol a chyfan gwbl erchyll, bydd y Mab Darogan yn dod â’r wybodaeth newydd yn ôl o’r Nw Yrth, neu hyd yn oed, wedi llithro trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd heb gael ei frifo, o ryw Ddimensiwn Anhysbys newydd. Ac wedyn bydd yn ein dangos ni sut mae’n bosib byw. Wedyn byddwn ni’n cydnabod a dechrau dathlu’r gwahaniaethau sylfaenol rhwng yr hunan a’r arall, y technolegwyr a’r crefftwr, yr arwyddion a’r clai, y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth, yn hytrach na cheisio gorfodi'r ddwy set o nodweddion anghyson i gytuno. Rwy wedi dysgu ein bod ni i gyd wedi’n maglu yng ngwe arwyddion. Ac fe fydd yn rhaid i ni oll ochel rhag y delweddau twyllodrus o hyd. Os gallwn ni ddianc, mi fydd y Nw Yrth yn aros amdanon ni, a dyna fydd yn deyrnas lawn gorfoledd, a dagrau, a gogoniant. Ac wedyn y gallwn ni oresgyn y rhwystrau rhwng gwŷr a gwragedd, meibion a merched, hysbysrwydd a dychymyg, ffaith a ffantasi, y werin dan ormes a’r arglwyddi bonheddig, anghenraid a phosibilrwydd, gan greu cyfan organig newydd. Dyna ‘ngobaith diymod, a’m gweddi galonnog.”“As a result, perhaps, at some fateful and completely terrifying time, the Son Foretold shall bring new information back from the Nw Yrth, or even, having slipped through the Cleft between the Worlds without being harmed, from some new Unknown Dimension. And then he’ll show us how it’s possible to live. Then, we’ll acknowledge and begin to celebrate the foundational differences between the self and the other, the technologists and the crafter, the signs and the clay, the Earth and the Nw Yrth, rather than trying to force the two sets of conflicting characteristics to agree. I’ve learned that we are all trapped in a web of signs. And we’ll all have to guard against the deceptive images, always. If we can escape, the Nw Yrth will be awaiting us, and that’ll be a kingdom full of joy, and tears, and glory. And then we can overcome the barriers between men and women, sons and daughters, information and imagination, fact and fantasy, the oppressed folk and the elevated lords, necessity and possibility, creating a new organic whole. That’s my steadfast hope, and my heart-felt prayer.”
Reit, ‘te! Wedi dweud hynny oll, wedi rhannu’r cyfrinachau budron oll, a rŵan bod y pregethu gan ein Doethur da ni wedi dod i ben – dyna hen ddigon o’r sothach ddrwm! Rhaid i mi gyfadde’ – cricsyn siriol go iawn sy’n hanner gwraig, o’r enw Jiminy dw i, ran fwya’r amser beth bynnag, un sy’n grillian “r-chep, r-chep, r-chep,” byth a hefyd. Ond, Www, un peth ola’ cyn i mi fynd i sôn efo trigolion y Seilam ‘ma am wlychu’r gwely, cyrff yn gynrhon byw, sachau ac ynddyn nhw blant, llythyrau oddi wrth feirwon, meddyliau drwg, fy agweddau i addysg, hudoliaeth o’i chymharu â gwyddoniaeth, dagrau gwaedlyd, manteision llosgi bwriadol o’i gymharu â gwenwyno, Neuadd y Dref, Sigwratau’r Nw Yrth, Saith Rhyfeddod y Ddaear, ac yn y blaen, ac ati – hyd syrffed a’r tu hwnt.

Dyma ni – cofiwch chi hyn – llais callineb a rhesymoldeb dw i. Dim ond mi sy’n gwybod beth yw beth, ac yn gallu cael ‘neud pethau yn fan ‘ma, ac mae gwaith gwraig yn ddiddiwedd, yntydi? Byddwch â llygad ar eich ysgwydd amdana i, mae gen i ddisgwyl mawr o ran y dyfodol. Ro i ‘mo’r ffidil yn y to, o ran rhoi trefn ar y lle gwallgo’ ‘ma, hyd yn oed os bydd yr holl Fyd ar dân! A’m mab i fydd yn etifeddu popeth maes o law, byddwch yn sicr o ‘ny, yn hollol yn unol ag addewid yr Hen Filwr! Ond cyn hir mi hoffwn innau fynd i ymweld â'r cenawon bach ar y fferm foch, Ww, maen nhw’n giwt ar y diawl, y creaduriaid pinc rhychiog ‘na, yntydyn nhw?		Right, then! Having said all that, having shared all the dirty secrets, and now that our good Doctor’s sermonizing has come to an end – that’s more than enough of the heavy nonsense. I have to admit – I’m a real cheery cricket who’s half woman, called Jiminy, most of the time anyway, one who’s forever chirruping “r-chep, r-chep, r-chep.” But, Ooh, one last thing before I go to talk with the inhabitants of this Mad’ouse about wetting the bed, bodies crawling with maggots, sacks with children in ‘em, letters from the dead, bad thoughts, my attitudes towards education, magic compared with science, bloody tears, the advantages of arson compared with poisoning, the Town Hall, the Ziggurats of the Nw Yrth, the Seven Wonders of the Wold, and so on, and so forth – to surfeit and beyond. Here we are – remember this – I am the voice of sense and reason. It’s only me who knows what’s what, and can get things done round here. Keep an eye out for me, I’ve great expectations for the future. I’ll not give up on putting this crazy place in order, even if the whole World’s on fire. And my son will inherit everything in due course, be sure of that, exactly in accordance with the Old Soldier’s promise! But before long I’d like to go and visit the little squealers on the pig farm, Ooh, they’re hellish cute, those wrinkly pink critters, aren’t they?

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 31

Pennod Tri Deg Pump: Enwi (Lleisiau 31) / Naming (Voices 31)

Seiliwyd y cymeriad llenyddol o’r enw Peter Pan’ hynny yw, y bachgen na thyfai’n ŵr, ar frawd yr awdur a’i creodd, a fu farw pan oedd yn fachgen ifanc. Pe buasai’n aeddfedu, gallasai’r Pan hwn fod yn dduwdod cryf a gwyllt yn prancio ymhlith y geifr wrth chwarae’n afreolus gyda grymoedd anorchfygol natur. Pa mor nerthol ac aruchel fyddai wedi bod, ond pa mor anystyriol o farwol ar yr un pryd? Ond yn lle hyn mae’n dewis, ynteu’n cael ei orfodi gan gyfuniad o amgylchoedd na all eu dirnad, i ddal yn blentyn anrhywiol yn gwisgo gweoedd a dail yr hydref, sy’n gwrthod dod i oed wrth ddyheu mor daer am fam. Mae’n parhau’n ifanc trwy osgoi cael ei addysgu, gwrthod cyfrifoldebau cymdeithasol, ac anghofio’r hyn y bydd yn ei ddysgu am y byd yn ystod ei anturiaethau. Mae’n rhannol yn fod dynol a rhannol yn anifail, a medru o ganlyniadwneud bron unrhyw beth, megis brwydro’n ddewr, hedfan, dynwared seiniau a lleisiau, a synhwyro peryglon nas gwelir, a thrwy ddychmygu, mae’n gallu dod â phethau i fod. O’r herwydd, broliwr dibryder, difeddwl, a hunanol yw Peter, y bachgen colledig parhaol. Mae’n honni ei fod yn fawr, a chredu mai ‘antur fawr’ fydd tranc, er na ddaw byth i ddeall byw. Mae’i gysgod drygionus, ysbryd mebyd myfïol, sydd yn gallu gweithredu’n annibynnol arno, yn cynrychioli’r holl agweddau a nodweddion hyn, ond dan ddylanwad y ferch, Wendy, ni all ddianc rhag y cysgod am byth.

The literary character called Peter Pan, the boy who would not grow into a man, was based on the brother of the author who created him, who died when he was a young boy. It he had matured, this Pan could have been a strong and wild deity, prancing amongst the goats whilst playing unrestrainedly with the unconquerable forces of nature. How powerful and majestic would he have been, but how inconsiderately deadly at the same time? But instead of this, he chooses, or is forced by a combination of circumstances he cannot comprehend, to remain a sexless child wearing vines and autumnal leaves, who refuses to come to age whilst longing so earnestly for a mother. He remains young by avoiding getting educated, refusing social responsibilities, and forgetting what he learns about the world during his adventures. He is part human being and part animal, and can, as a result, do almost anything, such as fight bravely, fly, imitate sounds and voices, and sense unseen dangers, and through imagination, he can bring things into existence. And so Peter, the permanently lost boy, is a carefree, thoughtless, and selfish boaster. He claims he is great, and believes that death will be a ‘great adventure’, although he never comes to understand living. His naughty shadow, which can operate independently of him, represents all these attitudes and characteristics, but under the influence of the girl, Wendy, he cannot escape from the shadow for ever.

Heia, shw mae! Stevie, Steffan, sy ‘ma. Dw i ‘di bod yn meddwl lawer, ar ôl popeth sy ‘di digwydd yn ddiweddar, ac wedi ‘sgrifennu rhai o’r syniadau yn y darn ‘ma. Wrth gwrs, dw i ‘di dysgu cymaint gan ‘yn Wncwl, y pŵr dab, oedd yn arbenigwr mewn sawl pwnc esoterig er do’n i byth yn darganfod beth yn union. Dw i ‘di dod i’r casgliad bod enwau’n arbennig, bron yn swynol, falle. Mae fel ‘sen nhw’n gysgodion disylwedd pobl, a symbolau annaearol gallu cudd. Nage dyna lot o hen rwtsh, ife? Wel, dyna beth oedd pobl yn y Deyrnas Hynafol yng nghanol Anialwch Coch yn gredu, amser maith yn ôl. Y rhai adeiladodd Dai Aileni, dw i’n golygu. O’n nhw’n arfer meddwl bod y cysgod yn rhan hanfodol y bersonoliaeth ddynol, yn ôl ‘y niweddar Wncwl. A dw i ‘di bod yn ‘sgrifennu llawer o straeon wedi’u seilio ar y fath syniadau, a thynnu lluniau ‘fyd. Ta be’, gadwech i fi esbonio. ‘Sgusodwch y gerddoriaeth sy’n chwarae yn y cefndir – dw i’n dwlu ar gysgodion o bob math, ch’wel, a theimlo bod ‘na gysgodion yn hedfan o boptu i fi dwy’r amser. ‘fyd.Hiya, how’s things! Stevie, Steffan, here. I’ve been thinking lots, after everything that’s happened recently, and have written some of the ideas in this piece. Of course, I’ve learned so much from my Uncle, the poor dab, who was an expert in several esoteric topics although I never discovered what exactly. I’ve come to the conclusion that names are special, almost magical, perhaps. It’s like they’re the insubstantial shadows of people, and unearthly symbols of hidden ability. That’s not a lot of old nonsense, is it? Well, that’s what people in the Ancient Kingdom in the middle of the Red Desert believed, ages ago. Those who built the Houses of Rebirth, I mean. They used to think that the shadow was an essential part of the human personality, according to my late Uncle. And I’ve been writing loads of stories based on these ideas, and drawing pictures too. Anyway, let me explain. Excuse the music that’s playing in the background – I love shadows of all kind, you see, and feel that shadows are flying all around me all the time, too.
Fi – dw i’n credu mod i’n cofio Mam yn gweud wrtha i amdani – oedd eisoes biau sawl enw, pan ges i ‘ngeni. Nage enwau o’n i ‘di dewis, yn ddigon naturiol, achos do’n i’m yn gallu siarad heb sôn am ddeall y fath gymhlethdod. Be’ bynnag fyddwch chi’n feddwl o’m dewision eraill o ran sut i fyw, dylech chi fod yn siŵr taw nad un ohonyn nhw oedd dewis yr enwau. Y seithfed o fis Gorffenna’ (y seithfed mis) oedd y dyddiad tynghedus pan ddes i mas i’r Byd – yr un dydd, mewn gwahanol flwyddyn, wrth gwrs, pan werthwyd bara tafellog am y tro cyntaf gan Gwmni Crasu Chillicothe – a’r peth gorau er cyn cof, dw i ‘fyd, medd Mam. (Dim ond bara gwenith cyflawn, croyw, fyddwn ni’n fwyta yn ein cartre’ ni, mae’n rhywbeth wedi’i gysylltu ag ymarferion crefyddol hynafol, yn ôl y sôn, ac mae ‘mherfeddion llid yn chwarae rhan bwysig, ‘fyd).I – I think I remember Mam telling me about it – already owned several names when I was born. Not names I’d chosen, naturally enough, since I couldn’t speak not to mention understand such complexity. Whatever you think of my other choices regarding how to live, you should be sure that choosing the names was not one of them. The seventh of July (the seventh month) was the fateful day when I emerged into the World – the same day, in a different year, of course, when sliced bread was sold for the first time by the Chillicothe Baking Company – and I’m the best thing ever, too, says Mam. (We only eat unleavened wholemeal bread in our household, it’s something connected with archaic religious practices, apparently, and my angry guts play an important part, too).
Ar ben ‘ny, dyna pan fu farw Willibald Fach, Archoffeiriad y Garwdiroedd , flwyddyn arall ‘to, raid gweud! Felly, yno o’n i, yn crawcian a sgrechian, a ‘neud popeth mae baban yn ‘neud, a finnau’n ddwy wythnos yn hwyr achos dw i'm wedi eisiau gadael y lle ‘na, y groth gysurus, gynnes, dywyll (er mod i’n gwybod yn well erbyn hyn, a cheisio bod i’r amser bob tro) wrth ddihoeni dan olau uwchfioled inciwbator yn yr ysbyty, gan drio cael gwared â’r clefyd melyn achoswyd gan aros ble na ddylwn i fod wedi bod am amser mor hir. Fi – Steffan Balrog Grossmann – sy ar fai achos mod i ‘di peri gwythiennau geni Mam, fy angyles i. Dw i’n crynu o ddychmygu sut arferai hi ddiodde’ o’r oriau mân tan nos (ond heb gwyno o gwbl) wedi colli’i gŵr i ryw fenyw arall o ben tlota’r dre’ (er iddi hi briodi arian, wrth gwrs) pan o’n i’n llanc plorynnog yn ei arddegau.As well as that, that’s when Willibald the Little, High-priest of the Badlands, died, in another year again, one must say! So, there was I, croaking and screaming, and doing everything a baby does, and me two weeks late as I hadn't wanted to leave that place, the dark, warm, reassuring womb (although I know better now, and try always to be on time), languishing under the ultraviolet light of an incubator in the hospital, trying to get rid of the jaundice caused by staying where I should not have been for such a long time. It’s me – Steffan, Balrog Grossmann – who’s to blame because I’ve caused Mam, my angel’s, birthing pangs. I shudder to imagine how she used to suffer from dawn till dusk (without complaining at all) having lost her husband to some other woman from the wrong side of the tracks (although she’d married into money, of course), when I was a spotty teen.
O ganlyniad i ddyddiad ‘ngeni, gallwn i fod wedi’n enwi’n Ralph, ar ôl dyn anllythrennog oedd wedi cael tröedigaeth at yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang; neu Ilidius, iachäwr ffyddlon a wellodd salwch merch yr Ymerawdwr Rhufeinig o’r enw Macsen Wledig. Yn ôl pob tebyg, ‘naeth Dad awgrymu enw Lladin, sef Consus, er cof am dduwdod ffrwythlondeb yr hen Rufain, a’i ddydd gŵyl wedi’i ddathlu ar ‘mhen-blwydd i, pan rôi’r cynhaea’ ŷd yng nghadw. Ond eto i gyd, ‘swn i wedi bod yn ferch, gallwn i fod ‘di bod yn Æthelburh, oedd yn blentyn siawns a thywysoges Eingl-Sacsonaidd ‘fyd. Dychmygwch ‘ny – diolch, ond na, dim diolch, yn fawr iawn!As a result of my birth-date, I could have been named Ralph, after an illiterate man who’d been converted to the World-Wide Church and became a famous author; or lidius, a faithful healer who cured the illness of the daughter of Macsen Wledig, the Roman Emperor. In all likelihood, Father suggested a Latin name, namely Consus, in memory of the fertility god of Ancient Rome, whose festival was celebrated on my birthday, when the corn harvest would be collected in. But then again, if I’d been a girl, I could’ve been Æthelburh, who was a love-child and an Anglo-Saxon princess too. Imagine that – thanks, but no, thank you very much!
Dw i’n dymuno gallwn i fod wedi protestio’n ffyrnig am yr enwau, ond o’n i’n rhy brysur yn cwyno am bopeth arall – yr unig be’ o’n i’n ‘neud oedd gwingo, llefain, ac oernadu fel cath. Ta p’un i, f’enw cynta’, Steffan, oedd dewis Mam yn bendant, a falle bod hyn yn golygu taw dewis fy Mam-gu oedd e ‘fyd, o nabod ‘nheulu i. Yn llythrennol, mae’r gair yn golygu ‘yr hyn sy’n amgylchynu neu’n cwmpasu,’ a daeth i ddynodi torch, neu goron, neu fri, neu wobr a roddwyd i enillwyr yn y Chwaraeon Dwyfol. Oedd Mam wastad yn mwydro byddai Stefan (neu Sven, neu Shtjefën, hyd yn oed, ‘nenw’r Saith), yn enw da yn iaith y Wlad-wen, syniad gaeth hi gan Dad, siŵr o fod, pan oedd e’n teithio yno gan gasglu llawysgrifau goliwiedig ar y farchnad ddu yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr.I wish I could’ve protested ferociously about the names, but I was too busy complaining about everything else – the only thing I did was squirm about, cry, and screech like a banshee. Anyway, my first name. Steffan, was Mam’s choice, definitely, and maybe this means that it was Gran’s choice too, knowing my family. Literally, the word means ‘that which surrounds or encompasses,’ and it came to denote a torque, or crown, or renown, or a prize given to winners in the Divine Games. Mam was always moithering that Stefan (or Sven, or Shtjefën, even, in the name of the Seven) would be a good name in the language of the White-land, an idea she got from Father, probably, when he was travelling there collecting illuminated manuscripts on the black market during the Great Tribulation.
Oedd y ddau hen goes yn edmygwyr go iawn Steffan Lân, a roddodd ei enw i’r catacwmau dan Dy’r Llywodraeth yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, ‘does angen dweud. Rhifolegwr ardderchog a foddwyd mewn cerwyn enfawr o fêl gan y paganiaid filenia yn ôl o achos ei doniau anghyffredin oedd e, ac felly, y merthyr cynta’ i berthyn i’r Eglwys Fyd-Eang. Gwyryf ‘fyd, gaeth ei gyffeithio’n berffaith gan y mêl, nes na fyddai fe byth yn heneiddio. Fe allwch chi ddal i’w weld e heddi’, ym Mhencadlys yr Eglwys Filwrol, yn disgleirio o ogoniant glân. ‘Naethon nhw erioed danto ar f’atgoffa i am y ffaith -- wedi’r cwbl, byddai trannoeth Gŵyl Alban Arthan, Dydd Steffan Lân, wastad yn llawer gwell na’r Ŵyl ei hunan, yn nhyb y teulu, o leia’.The two old girls were real admirers of Pure Stephen, who gave his name to the catacombs under Government House in the Big, Bad City, needless to say. He was an excellent numerologist who was drowned in a huge vat of honey by the heathens, millennia ago because of his extraordinary gifts, and so was the first martyr to belong to the World-Wide Church. A virgin, too, who was perfectly pickled by the honey, so that he never aged. You can still see him today, in the Headquarters of the Church Militant, shining in his pure glory. They never got tired of reminding me of the fact – after all, the day after the Midwinter Feast, Pure Stephen’s Day, would always be much better than the Feast itself, in the opinion of the family, at least.
Gweddill f’enwau personol yw bai fy nhad-cu i – wel, heb ei fai, heb ei eni, falle, ha, ha! Wedi gweud ‘ny, dw i’n tybio bod chi ddim yn gallu bwrw’r bai arno fe am ei gyfenw e. Oedd e’m wedi colli’i iaith, o leia’, wel, ddim yn llwyr, ta be’. Dyn o’r Fforestydd Gemog (neu’r Coedwigoedd Iâ) oedd e, yn rhywle yn y Gogledd Pellennig ar y Cyfandir, o’r enw Andrea Jakob Großmann. Fe gyfieithodd e’i enw i Saesneg yn hwyrach, neu’n hytrach i Gymraeg, a dod yn Andras Iago Grossmann, i fod yn llai arswydus i drigolion ein gwlad hyfryd ni rywbryd ar ôl iddo gael ei lusgo â nerth bôn braich yr awdurdodau oddi ar fad pysgota anghyfreithlon yng nghanol y Sianel. Ond dyna stori arall.The rest of my personal names are the fault of my Grandad – well, no sinless man’s ever been born, perhaps, ha, ha! Having said that, I don’t suppose you can blame him for his surname. He’d not lost his language, at least, well, not completely anyway. He was a man from the Bejewelled Forests (or the Ice Woods), somewhere in the Remote North on the Continent, called Andrea Jakob Großmann. He translated his name into English later, or perhaps into Welsh, and became Andras Iago Grossmann, to be less fearsome to the inhabitants of our lovely land sometime after he was manhandled by the authorities off an illegal fishing boat in the middle of the Channel. But that’s another story.
Oedd e’n perthyn o bell i Johannes Großmann, a fu yn yr un dosbarth ag Albertus Anstan yr ymchwiliwr i anianeg yn yr ysgol. O’n nhw (Johannes ac Albertus) yn ffrindiau gorau, a’r cyntaf helpodd yr ail i ddeall sut i oresgyn grym disgyrchiant gan ddefnyddio magnetau cryf iawn. Wel, wrth gwrs oedd y Barwn Ishakí o Drenewydd wedi sylwi fod e’n bosib symud afalau bach o haearn o gwmpas fel hyn gan ddefnyddio tynfaen ganrifoedd o’r blaen, ond gyflawni’r stori ‘naeth y ddau ffrind ysgol. Ta be’ – oedd Andrea yn ‘ddyn mawr’ yn wir, rhyw chwe throedfedd a thair modfedd o uchder pan ymsythai fe i’w lawn daldra yn nhraed ei ‘sanau. Yn anaml fyddai’r enw’n cael ei sillafu’n gywir, ac fe fyddai’n cael ei gam-ynganu lawn cyn amled â pheidio. Ac mae’r un peth yn dal i ddigwydd heddi’. Felly, o achos yr enw, mae pobl wedi bod yn galw enwau o bob math arna i, fel ‘boldew, boliog, cestog, bolfawr, tew-fel-hwch, braisg,’ ers i fi gychwyn ar ‘nhaith broblemus yn y Byd, fel petai. Oedd e’m yn ddechrau gobeithiol i fabi ar fraich ei Fam, dw i’n siŵr byddwch chi’n cytuno.He was distantly related to Johannes Großmann, who was in the same class as Albertus Anstan the researcher into natural philosophy, in school. They (Johannes ac Albertus) were best friends, and the former helped the later to understand how to overcome the force of gravity using very strong magnets. Well, of course the Baron Ishakí of Newtown had noticed that it’s possible to move small iron apples around using lodestone centuries before, but the two school friends finished off the story. Anyway, Andrea was a big man indeed, some six foot three inches tall when he stood upright in his stockinged feet. Infrequently would the name be spelled right, and it would be mispronounced just as often as not. And the same thing keeps on happening today. So, because of the name, people have been calling me all kinds of things, like ‘big-belly, fatso, gut-boy, tub-of-lard, roly-poly, pus-gut,’ since I began my problematic journey in the World, as it were. It wasn’t a promising start for a baby in his Mother’s arms, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Mae stori ‘Nhad-cu’n ddiddorol iawn, gyda llaw, yn enwedig achos iddo ddod yn fôr-leidr, mewn ffordd o siarad. Gaeth e’i eni yn y Famwlad Aflonydd, a gaeth e’i fagu ar fferm ar bwys Alathak Iasoer, prifddinas yr ardal, wedi’i lleoli ar bwys hen gastell ar lannau Afon Sed. Oedd deg brawd a chwaer ‘da fe – sa i’n credu ‘ny, ond dyna oedd y stori, ta be’. Oedd yn rhaid iddyn nhw i gyd godi am chwech o’r gloch bob bore i fwydo’r anifeiliaid, cyn iddyn nhw gerdded saith milltir i’r ysgol fyddai’n cael ei chynnal mewn un o’r Tabernaclau Annibynnol anfad – unwaith eto, fel oedd e’n arfer dweud. Oedd e’n tyibio’i fod e ar y ffordd i unlle, a bod yn hollol onest.My Grandad’s story is very interesting, by the way, especially as he became a pirate, in a manner of speaking. He was born in the Haunted Homeland, and was brought up on a farm near Chilly Alathak, capital of the region, located besides an old castle on the banks of the River Sed. He had ten brothers and sisters – I don’t believe that, but that was the story, anyway. They all had to get up at six o’clock every morning to feed the animals, before they walked seven miles to school, which would be held in one of the iniquitous Independent Tabernacles – once again, as he used to tell it. He supposed he was on the road to nowhere, to be completely honest.
‘Lly pan oedd e’n rhy ifanc i chwythu’i drwyn ei hunan, ‘naeth e redeg bant, ac ymuno â Chwmni Cludiant y Dywysogaeth Ysbeiliedig wedi’i sefydlu gan alltudion o’r Gymru oedd wedi gadael amser yr erledigaeth ddiwylliannol fawr gynta’ ganrifoedd yn ôl, ac sy’n siarad tafodiaith hynafol o’r Gymraeg hyd heddi’. Teithiodd e ledled y Byd mewn lorïau enfawr gwyn ac arnyn nhw Symbol ‘Sgarlad y genedl ‘na, wrth gludo pethau fel fodca mêl, rholiau jam ac ynddyn nhw smotiau o aur, a chaws tra-chaled, amhrisiadwy. Canlynodd anturiaethau, trafferthion, brwydrau, pechodau, maddeuant, ac ati, yn ôl y sôn. Diddorol sylwi byddai’r Cwmni ‘ma’n dod yn aelod sefydlol o’r Undeb Masnachol Milwrol maes o law.So, when he was too young to blow his own nose, he ran off, and joined the Plundered Principality’s Transport Company, set up by exiles from Wales who’d left at the time of the first great cultural persecution centuries ago, and who speak an ancient dialect of Welsh even today. He travelled throughout the World in enormous white lorries bearing the Scarlet Symbol of that nation, transporting things like honey-vodka, jam rolls with gold speckles in them, and priceless, very hard cheese. There followed adventures, tribulations, battles, sins, forgiveness, and so on, so it’s said. It’s interesting to note that this Company would become a founding member of the Military Mercantile Union in due course.
O ystyried y cefndir a geir uchod, ni ryfedd gweud taw’r Gymraeg (neu ryw fersiwn ar Hen Frythoneg o leia’) oedd iaith ddirgel y masnachwyr. Yn wir, mae llai o bobl yn medru iaith gysefin y Dywysogaeth Ysbeiliedig tu fewn i’r wlad ei hunan nag sy’n siarad y Gymraeg dros y Byd heddi’. Oedd y Tad-cu’n dal i fwynhau gyrfa lesol iawn (tan i rai Dug gael e saethu, dw i’n credu), gan ddarparu clociau cwcw, siocled anghyffredin o foethus, cyllyll poced, a watshis milwyr. Ond wedyn fe gaeth yr hen anffodusyn ei ddal wrth groesi’r Sianel (wel, glaslanc gwirion oedd e ar y pryd, ond fe fydda i’n parhau i ddefnyddio’i eiriau’i hunan). Oedd e ‘di bod yn teithio dros y Cyfandir heb y teithebau priodol, ac oedd y tusw o berlysiau wedi’i guddio lawr 'i drôns yn ddigon i beri pryder mewn unrhyw swyddog cwmws. Oedd y cŵn synhwyro’n mynd o’u co’ o ddod o fewn llathenni iddo fe. Gaeth e’i anfon i’r carchar yn Aberdydd, achos bod cyn lleied yn digwydd yn fan’na ar y pryd, ac fel mae’n digwydd, oedd fy Mam-gu’n yn helpu mas yno, am bod hithau’n arfer dwlu ar weini ar anghenion y carcharorion o ganlyniad i’w chrefydd gref ond od.Considering the background given above, it’s not strange to say that Welsh (or some version of Old Brythonic at least) was the merchants’ cant. Indeed, fewer people can speak the original language of the Plundered Principality within the land itself than can speak Welsh across the World today. Grandad continued to enjoy a very profitable career (until some Duke was shot, I believe), providing cuckoo clocks, uncommonly sumptuous chocolate, pocket knives, and soldiers’ watches. But then the old wretch got caught crossing the Channel (well, he was a stupid youth at the time, but I’ll carry on using his own words). He’d been travelling over the Continent without the proper visas, and the bunch of herbs hidden down his pants were enough to frighten any competent official. The sniffer dogs went mental coming within a few yards of him. He was sent to prison in Aberdydd, since so little was happening there at the time, and as it happens, my Grandma was helping out there, because she used to love ministering to the needs of the prisoners due to her strong but odd faith.
Oedd dim dewis ‘da fe ond bod yn hoff iawn ohoni, byddwch yn sicr am ‘ny, oedd hi’n fenyw rymus a phenderfynol iawn. O ffenest fechan ei gell, yn edrych dros gaeau’r ‘stad, fe fyddai fe’n gweld hi’n chwarae ymhlith y coed, wrth iddo sibrwd, dacw ‘nghariad i lawr yn y berllan. Ei hymyriad di-drai, stwrllyd, ac anfoesgar a adawodd iddo gael ei ryddhau’n gynnar. Priodon nhw ar ôl iddo syrthio lawr y staer droellog ddydd ola’ ei ddedfryd (gweithred gan yr Hen Dduwdodau, falle), cymaint oedd iaith cariad yn llosgi’i fron. Aeth e ‘rioed ‘nôl i’r Dywysogaeth Ysbeiliedig, heb sôn am y Famwlad Aflonydd, hen wlad ei dadau. Fyddai Mam-gu byth wedi gadael iddo ‘neud y fath be’. Ond eto i gyd, ‘nelai fe lawer o fusnes wrth fewnforio meddyginiaethau amgen a sylweddau anodd dod o hyd iddyn nhw yn ei wlad fabwysiedig.He had no choice but to be very fond of her, be sure of that, she was a very forceful and determined woman. From his tiny cell window looking over the estate’s fields, he’d see her playing amongst the trees, as he whispered, there’s my lovely down in the orchard. It was her noisy, incessant, and unmannerly interference that allowed him to be released early. They married after he fell down the spiral staircase on the last day of his sentence (an act of the Old Divinities, perhaps), so great was the language of love burning in his breast. He never went back to the Plundered Principality, not to mention the Haunted Homeland, old land of his fathers. Grandma would never have let him do such a thing anyway. But then again, he would do lots of business importing alternative medicines and substances hard to find in his adopted land.
Wel, dyna’r enw cynta’, Steffan, a’r cyfenw Grossmann i chi, a sa i’n mynd i gwyno am ‘ny mwyach. Ond, f’enw canol – y pla ‘na ar f’enaid i, y sgerbwd ‘na ar y bryn sy’n ‘neud i bawb ‘ngwawdio fi – gyda Thad-cu, yno mae’r cyfrifoldeb diamodol, ‘sdim amheuaeth amdani. Ond oedd y felltith ar ben ‘Nhad cyn i fi etifeddu’r baich. Pam ar wyneb y Ddaear ‘naeth Mam-gu hala’r hen smyglwr i Neuadd y Delweddau i gofrestru’r enedigaeth? Ta be’, pan gaeth fy Nhad ei eni, o’n nhw eisiau’i enwi’n ‘Baldrog,’ ar ôl ysbryd harddwch caotig ar y Nw Yrth, oedd â gwallt golau a llygaid glesni’r awyr. Yr un mwy llachar a theca’ o bryd oedd y duwdod hwn, a gaeth ei ladd ar ddamwain o fwriad gan saeth wedi'i 'neud o'i gwinwydd wedi'u caledu trwy hud y castiwr Swtach.Well, that’s the first name, Steffan, and the surname Grossmann for you, and I’m not going to complain about that any more. But, my middle name – that plague on my spirit, that scarecrow on the hill that makes everyone mock me – with Grandad, that’s where there the undoubted responsibility rests, no doubt about it. But the curse was on Father’s head before I inherited the burden. Why on Earth did Grandma sent the old smuggler to the Hall of the Images to register the birth? Anyway, when my Father was born, they wanted to call him ‘Baldrog,’ after the spirit of chaotic beauty of the Nw Yrth, who had blond hair and sky-blue eyes. This divinity was the most resplendent and the fairest-faced, and he was killed accidentally on purpose by a dart made of vines hardened by the trickster Swtach’s magic.
Mae’r enw ‘ma’n eitha’ cyffredin mewn gwledydd ar bwys y Coedwigoedd Iâ. Wel, dyna oedd stori’r hen fachgen, ac oedd yr hen goes wastad yn mynnu bod hi wedi dewis ‘Bealdric’ sy’n dod o’r geiriau Anglo-Sacsoneg ‘bald’ yn golygu ‘dewr,’ a ‘ric’ yn golygu ‘grym.’ Oedd hi wedi clywed llawer am yr enw ar y radio, yn ôl y sôn, mewn rhaglenni am Farchogion Teml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig, y Goncwest gan y Llu Du, a’r Seiri Rhyddion a Derbyniedig (poenus o eclectig oedd ei chwaethau), ac oedd hi’n ystyried fod e’n ‘bosh bosh,’ a byddai’n ‘agor drysau’ i’w fab.This name’s quite common in lands around the Ice Woods. Well, that was the old boy’s story, and the old stick always insisted she’d chosen ‘Bealdric’ which comes from the Anglo-Saxon words ‘bald’ meaning ‘brave’ and ‘ric’ meaning ‘strength.’ She’d heard lots about the name on the radio, allegedly, in programmes about the Knights of the Temple of the Hidden Glory, the Viking Conquest, and the Free and Accepted Masons (her tastes were painfully eclectic), and she considered that it was ‘very posh,’ and would open doors for her son.
‘Sdim ots am darddiad yr enw cythreulig (esgusodwch ‘yn jôc fach ‘ma!), ond, rhaid bod y cofrestrydd wedi bod yn ddrwm ei chlyw, a heb amheuaeth oedd hi’m wedi cyfarfod enw mor rhyfedd o’r blaen, siŵr o fod, na gallai hi ddeall be’ ‘naeth y ffŵl twp weud â’i lais cryd oedd ag arno acen gref ei famwlad hyd yn oed er iddo fe fynd o ‘na cyhyd yn ôl. Falle bod y swyddog yn meddwl am eiriau megis ‘balog,’ sef, ‘offeiriad, arweinydd,’ a ‘tafod bwcl,' neu, ‘baldog,’ sy’n golygu ‘clebrwr, person byr a thew,’ neu ‘barog,’ hynny yw, ‘llawn llid neu ddicter’, neu falle ‘barrig,’ sydd â’r ystyr ‘wedi ei amgáu â bariau neu reiliau,’ neu hyd yn oed ‘sbardun.’ Be’ bynnag, mae’n amlwg bod hi’n selogyn dros waith yr ysgolheigion ‘na sy’n dyfeisio Bydoedd ac Ieithoedd Eraill, achos iddi ‘sgrifennu ‘Balrog,’ o bob pethau, ar y dystysgrif geni yn y diwedd.No matter about the derivation of the devilish name (excuse my little joke here!), but the registrar must’ve been deaf, and without a doubt she hadn’t met such a strange name before, probably, nor could she understand what the silly fool said in his harsh voice that still had the strong accent of his homeland although he’d come away from there so long ago. Maybe the official thought about words like ‘balog,’ namely ‘priest, leader,’ and ‘tongue of a buckle,’ or ‘baldog,’ which means ‘gossip, short and fat person,’ or ‘barog,’ that is, ‘full of wrath or anger,’ or perhaps ‘barrig,’ which has the meaning ‘enclosed by bars or rails,’ or even ‘spur.’ Anyway, it’s obvious she was a fan of the work of that scholar who invents Worlds and Other Languages, since she wrote ‘Balrog,’ of all things, on the birth certificate in the end.
Enw canol unigryw felly oedd ‘da ‘Nhad – ‘Cythraul Grymus’ yw ei ystyr. Nawr am ryw reswm, byddai Tad yn mynd bant drwy’r amser rhwng yr holl waith academaidd, ‘neud rhaglenni teledu, ymchwilio i gyffuriau ddefnyddir gan lwythau siamanaidd, chwilio am nythod cwhwrw, a chyfweld â gwleidyddion ysbrydoledig. Ac yna fe fyddai’n gadael i Mam edrych ar ôl popeth, gyda help ei ffrind, y deintydd (dw i’n credu taw honno oedd ei alwedigaeth ta be’). Oedd yn rhyw surpréis pan gyrhaeddais i’n ddirybudd, a Thad i ffwrdd ar ochr arall y Byd, ac o’n i’n teimlo fod e ddim yn lico fe lawer achos byddai fe wastad yn ffafrio’r plant eraill ar y ‘stad pan ddeuai fe’n ôl. Falle fod e’n gas achos fod e ddim yno i ‘nghroesawu fi pan ges i ‘ngeni. Wedi gweud ‘ny, ‘naeth yr enw lynu wrtho i, ‘fyd, fel gwynt drwg, i gythraul ag enwau cyfandirol, melltigedig! Ond o leia' enw canol yw e, medda i, wrth gyfri’ ‘mendithion bychain i.So, my Father had an unique middle name – it means ‘Powerful Demon.’ Now, for some reason, Father would go off all the time what with all the academic work, making TV programmes, researching drugs used by shamanic tribes, chasing after wild geese, and interviewing inspiring politicians. And then he’d leave Mum to look after everything, with the help of her friend, the dentist (I believe that that was his calling anyway). It was some surprise when I arrived without warning, with Father away on the other side of the World, and I felt that he didn’t like me a lot as he always used to favour the other children on the estate when he came back. Perhaps he was angry ‘cos he wasn’t there to welcome me when I was born. Having said that, the name stuck to me, too, like a bad smell, to hell with blasted continental names! But at least it’s a middle name, say I, counting my meagre blessings.
Wel, dyna hen ddigon ar yr hen hanes am y tro. Rhaid wrth symud ‘mlaen nawr. Wel, nawr te, dyma awgrym da i chi: byddwch yn sicr taw athro neu athrawes yw un o’ch rhieni chi, achos gall hyn fod yn gyfleus iawn ar achlysuron, ch’mod O’m rhan i, fe ddechreuais i siarad a ‘sgrifennu’n eithriadol o gynnar, anrheg gan Mam a Mam-gu sy ‘di aros gyda fi hyd yn hyn (dw i’n dal i glebran yn ormod, drwy’r amser!). Ond, ‘nes i benderfynu camsillafu a cham-ynganu f’enw blaen i’n ddigri’, ac felly ges i ‘ngalw’n ‘Staffy’ gan y teulu, ac o ganlyniad, fe ddes i’n ‘Gi tarw’, a hefyd yn ‘Darw swmpus’ – ond peidiwch gweud wrth neb, gan fod e’n enw anwes maen nhw’n ddefnyddio hyd yn oed heddi’, os byddwch yn esgusodi fi am y gair mwys, ha ha! Dw i’m eisiau cael ‘ngalw’n ‘Gostowci’ ‘chwaith!Well, that’s more than enough about the ancient history for the time being. We’ve got to move on now. Well, now then, here’s a good suggestion for you: be sure that one of your parents is a teacher, since this can be very convenient on occasions, you know. For my part, I started to speak and write exceptionally early, a present from Mam and Grandma which stays with me even now (I keep on talking too much all the time!). But, I decided to mis-spell and mis-pronounce my forename in a humorous fashion, an so I got called ‘Staffy’ by the family, and as a result, I became ‘Bulldog’, and also ‘Bulky Bull’ – but don’t tell anyone, as it’s a pet-name they use even today, if you’ll excuse me the pun, ha, ha! I don’t want to be called ‘Guard-dog,’ either!
Ar ôl ‘ny, i’r ysgol â fi, gyda’r cryts eraill – ach a fi! Yno, des i’n Stevo, ynghyd â Davo, Paulo, Tomo, ac yn y blaen. O’n i wastad yn gweud straeon am ‘nheulu sbesial, am y Tad dewr o filwr a’r Fam brydferth sy’n brith perthyn i’r Brenin Melyn yn byw ym mhalas tywod Etneksha, ac am ein hanturiaethau mewn rhannau anghysbell o’r Byd o’r Wlad Werdd Newydd i Jyngloedd Anweledig y Gorllewin. O, o’n i’n dwlu ar chwedleua, hyd yn oed bryd ‘ny. Ym Mhrifdechneg Tref Emrallt, am ryw reswm, ges i gwpl o ‘z’ ffasiynol yn y llysenw a ddefnyddiwyd yn y neuadd breswyl – o ran cellwair, falle, sut yn y Byd gallwn i weud? O’n nhw’n honni taw ‘yn ‘enw hudol’ oedd e. Falle fe ddigwyddodd o achos yr holl siantio, a siglo ‘nôl a ‘mlaen, a bloeddio gweddïau, fyddwn i’n tueddu i ‘neud.After that, off to school I went, with the other kids – yuck! There, I became Stevo, together with Davo, Paulo, Tomo, and so on. I was always telling stories about my special family, about the intrepid soldier Father, and the beautiful Mother who’s distantly related to the Yellow King living in the sand palace of Etneksha, and about our adventures in far-flung parts of the World from the New Green Land to the Unseen Jungles of the West. Oh, I loved telling takes, even then. In Emerald Town Unitechnic, for some reason, I got a couple of fashionable ‘z’s’ in the nickname that was used in the hall of residence – to poke fun, maybe, how in the World can I say? They alleged that it was my ‘magical name.’ Perhaps it happened because of all the chanting, and rocking back and forth, and shouting prayers, I would tend to do.
Fe weden nhw mod i’n swnio fel ryw wenynen enfawr, unig yn carco’r stôr o fêl amhrisiadwy yn ei chwch. A gweud y gwir, wedi dyfeisio’n seremoni’n hunan o’n i, o’r enw y Ddefod Amasus, fyddwn i’n defnyddio i ddarganfod pethau am y myfyrwyr eraill, dod o hyd i gryn dipyn o arian, dianc o’r campws gyda’r nos, a chael llawer o hwyl, a dweud y lleia’! Y peth mwya' pwysig oedd dyfeisio iaith gyfrin ar gyfer y llafarganu. Do’n i’m yn aros yno am amser hir, wrth gwrs, yn y pen draw, o achos y, wel, yr amgylchiadau. Meddyliai'r rhifolegwyr dan hyfforddiant eraill fod hynny oll yn wych er gwaetha ‘nhrafferthion oll (wel, cyn belled ag rwy’n gallu cofio). Falle’u bod nhw’n chwerthin am ‘mhen i, ond, serch ‘ny ‘nes i ddim casáu’r enw, felly arhoswn i’n ‘Stezza’ am amser maith.They said I sounded like some enormous, lonely bee, guarding the stash of priceless honey in its hive. And to tell the truth, I had devised my own ceremony, called the Amasus Ritual, that I would use to find out things about the other students, acquire a considerable amount of money, escape from the campus at night, and have a great deal of fun, to say the least! The most important thing was finding a mystic language for the incantations. I didn’t stay there for a long time, of course, in the end, because of, well, the circumstances. The other trainee numerologists thought that all that was great, despite all my trials (well, as far as I can remember). Perhaps they were laughing at me, but, despite that, I didn’t hate the name, so I would stay as ‘Stezza” for a long time.
Nawr ‘te, yn y fan a’r lle, dan gysgodion y pinwydd, well i fi gyfadde’ taw fi sy ‘di bod yn ‘neud peth gwael wrth gael y sgwrs fach ‘ma gyda chi i gyd. Rhaid i fi weud y gwir wrthoch chi – y gwir, yr holl wir, a dim ond y gwir (wel, dim ond rhannau amheus y stori, ‘sdim amser ar gyfer popeth) – nes cocho Swtach. Y peth yw hyn – am bob math o resymau, a drwy’r amser hyd yn hyn – o’n i ‘di bod yn gwadu dylanwad negyddol diffyg Tad ar ‘nygiad i, ac anwybyddu prinder ei gyfraniad i ‘mywyd. Ond yn wir, o’n i am gael gwared ar y ‘Balrog’ wedi’i rannu rhyngon ni ill dau, ein cythraul cyffredin ni. O’n i ‘di ‘narbwyllo’n hunan fod ‘na gwmwl du’n hongian droso i, gan achosi i fi deimlo mor wael, a taw arwydd o hynny oedd yr enw. Yn ôl be’ dw i ‘di ddysgu yn y Clinig ‘ma, o’n i ‘di bod yn camu ‘nôl wrth gamu ‘mlaen yn y Byd o ganlyniad i’r fath batrymau o feddwl.Now then, right away, under the shadows of the pines, I’d better confess that I’ve been doing a terrible thing whilst having this little chat with you all. I have to tell you the truth – the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth (well, just the juicy parts of the story, there’s no time for everything) – to shame Swtach. The thing is this – for all kinds of reasons, and all the time till now – I’d been denying the negative influence of the lack of a Father on my upbringing, and ignoring the scarcity of his contribution to my life. But indeed, I wanted to get rid of the ‘Balrog’ we both shared, our common demon. I’d convinced myself that there was a black cloud hanging over me, causing me to feel so terrible, and that the name was a sign of that. According to what I’ve learned in this Clinic, I’d been taking two steps back for every one step forward in the World as a result of such patterns of thinking.
Wel, er gwaetha’ ‘ny, ‘nes i lwyddo i anghofio am ‘Nhad i’n llwyr, ar wahân i’r amser fe ges i fisa pan o’n i tua dau ar bymtheg, i ymweld â’r Dywysogaeth Orllewinol Deyrngar, ac wedyn oedd angen i fi gydnabod bodolaeth yr hen gythraul. Wrth gwrs oedd e’n byw yng Nghalon y Cyfandir gyda’i ail deulu erbyn ‘ny, mae’n ymddangos nawr. Ta be’, es i yno fel cenhadwr dros yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang i drio dod ag aelodau o’r preiddiau ar goll yn ôl i’r gorlan. Ac yno fe ddechreuodd yr helbul a’r helynt pan ‘nes i ymhél â David, gan achub e o ffrwydrad mewn garej ymosodwyd arno gan hurfilwyr. Ond sa i eisiau gweud mwy am ‘ny ar hyd o bryd.Well, despite that, I succeeded to forget about my Father completely, apart from the time I got a visa when I was bout seventeen, to visit the Faithful Western Principality, and then I needed to acknowledge the existence of the old devil. Of course, he was living in the Heart of the Continent with his second family by then, it now appears. Anyway, I went there as a missionary for the World-Wide Church to try to bring members of the lost flocks back into the fold. And there began all the hue and cry when I came upon David, saving him from an explosion in a garage that was being attacked by mercenaries. But I don’t want to saw more about that at this time.
Ar ôl i fi’i chawlio hi gymaint ar y ffordd i ddod i oed, yn Nhref Emrallt dw i’n feddwl, ‘nes i wynebu’r ellyllon ‘na, yn y pendraw, a bwrw nhw mas. Dw i’m yn gallu gweud celwydd, ond oedd dim dewis ‘da fi, dan yr amgylchiadau. Fe allwn i fyw, neu farw, dyna oll. Wrth gwrs, chwaraeodd y ‘ddamwain’ ddifrifol pan fu bron i fi farw – a’r chwalfa nerfol ‘naeth ddilyn – ran bwysig iawn yn y stori a ddatblygai. Nabod David ataliodd fi rhag mynd oddi ar y cledrau’n llwyr – wedi’r cwbl, bywyd pwy allai fod wedi bod yn waeth na’i un e?After I mucked things up so much on the way to growing up, in Emerald Town I mean, I faced those demons, in the end, and cast them out. I can’t lie, but I had no choice, under the circumstances. I could live, or die, that’s all. Of course, the serious ‘accident’ when I almost died – and the nervous breakdown that followed – played a very important part in the story that developed. Knowing David prevented me from going off the rails completely – after all, whose life could have been worse that his?
Des i ‘nôl ‘ma (ac fe ddaeth David ‘fyd) gyda help Jack Procter, a sefydlodd y Clinig cyn teithio ledled y Byd i godi arian a chyhoeddi’r gwaith arloesol maen nhw’n ‘neud ‘ma. Dyna sut darodd Jack, Andreas Grossmann, a John Baxter ar draws ei gilydd, siŵr o fod, yn ystod eu hanturiau. Falle bod nhw'n cymryd arnyn nhw taw môr-ladron o'n nhw, neu'u bod nhw'n chwarae rhan Lushfé, Wezir, ac Isheth o'r Hen Chwedleuon. Ond be' bynnag o'n nhw'n 'neud, fe fyddai'r chwaraeon yn eu newid nhw, fesul tipyn, nes i bob un ohonyn nhw ddatgelu, yn ei ffordd ei hunan, taw Swtach y twyllwr oedd e, yn y bôn.I came back here (and David came too) with the help of Jack Procter, who founded the Clinic before travelling all over the World to raise money and publicize the pioneering work they do here. That’s how Jack, Andreas Grossmann, and John Baxter hit upon each other, probably, during their adventures. Maybe they were pretending to be pirates, or that they were playing the parts of Lushfé, Wezir, ac Isheth from the Old Tales. But whatever they were doing, their games would change them, but by bit, until each one of them revealed, in his own way, that he was Swtach the trickster, deep down.
O, rhaid wrth grybwyll y Doethur David Procter yn fras 'ma 'fyd. 'Nelai'r brawd ifancach fawr o werth yma yn niogelwch y Clinig tra byddai'r llall bant ac yn gweithio mor galed er lles y Byd i gyd. Fel arfer, y gwragedd oedd yn gorfod 'neud yr holl waith rown' fan 'yn bob amser, a dyw llawer wedi newid heddi'. Ta be’, Jack a gymerodd i pan o’n i ar ben ‘nhennyn, ac achub fi, heb os. Cwrddon ni gyda’n gilydd mewn parti rhydd dan y pinwydd yn y cefn gwlad wedi’i drefnu gan David. Fe olygai’r therapi, ‘nes i ymgymryd â fe yn sgil y storm ‘na oedd yn bygwth ‘ninistrio i, gryn dipyn o bethau. Mae rhai ohonyn nhw gyda’r tasgau anhawsa’ – ond ar yr un pryd, y rheiny sy ‘di rhoi’r ddealltwriaeth fwya’ i fi – rwy ‘di dod ar eu traws erioed drwy gydol f’oes. Trwy chwarae rhan weithredol yn ‘nhriniaeth ‘yn hunan, dw i ‘di darganfod digonedd o wybodaeth amdana’n hunan, ac am hud enwau ac enwi.Oh, I’ve got to mention Doctor David Procter briefly here, too. The younger brother wasn’t doing much of any worth here in the safety of the Clinic whilst the other one was off and working so hard for the benefit of the whole World. As usual, it was the women who always had to do all the work round by ‘ere, and not a lot has changed today. Anyway, it’s Jack who took me when I was at the end of my tether, and saved me, without a doubt. We met each other in a free party under the pines in the countryside, organized by David. The therapy that I undertook in the wake of that storm that was threatening to destroy me, involved a considerable number of things. Some of them are amongst the most difficult tasks – but at the same time, those that’ve given me the most understanding – I’ve ever come across in the whole of my life. By playing an active part in my own treatment, I’ve discovered a wealth of information about myself, and about the magic of names and naming.
Ymhellach, wrth ddatblygu’r dewrder sydd ei angen i ‘sgrifennu am y syniadau ‘ma a’u rhannu nhw â phobl eraill, dw i ‘di bwrw’n seicolegol i ddyfroedd duon, dyfnion yr anymwybod, ac adennill i’n hunan yr hyder i fynd yn ‘mlaen a goresgyn cysgod ‘Nhad oedd yn hofran dros ‘mywyd i. (Ac wedi gweud ‘ny, dw i’n credu fod e ‘di cael rhyw ddylanwad ar sut fydda i’n tynnu ‘mlaen gyda Mam, ‘fyd). Ac eto i gyd, pan ‘naeth fy chwaer wedi’i mabwysiadu, Elen, ddwyn ei baban bach i’r Byd – a dyna oedd dim ond rhyw gwpl o fisoedd ar ôl i’w – wel, ei phartner, David – er, ar ôl iddo, wel, ddiflannu – ‘naeth yr holl Fyd newid ar gyfer pawb, yn ‘nghynnwys i.Furthermore, whilst developing the courage needed to write about these ideas and share them with other people, I’ve delved psychologically into the deep, dark waters of the unconscious, and recaptured for myself the confidence to go forward and overcome the shadow of my Father which was hovering over my life. (And having said that, I think it’s having some influence on how I’m getting on with Mam, too). And then again, when my adopted sister, Elen, brought her little baby into the World – and that was just a couple of months after her – well, her partner, David – er, after he, well, disappeared – the whole World changed for everyone, including me.
Pan aeth e bant, David, oedd fel ‘swn i wedi codi o farw’n fyw, rhywsut. ‘Nes i ddechrau gweld pethau o’r gorffennol yn wahanol, ac o ystyried popeth oedd wedi digwyddodd, rhaid i fi weud yma taw ‘ffrindiau gorau’ yw gair cry’ am ein perthynas ni – sa i eisiau honni taw hurtyn neu ddihiryn oedd e, ddylai dyn ddim lladd ar y meirw, sbo, ond oedd e’n dipyn o dderyn heb os. a llanc do’n i byth yn nabod yn dda iawn. Ta be’, fi a ddaeth yn ewythr, ac yn fuan bydd y bachgen yn ‘ngalw i’n ‘Wncwl Staffy,’ a dyma deitl dw i bron yn boenus o falch o’i ddwyn. O synfyfyrio dros ‘ny’n aml, dw i’n clywed llais o rywle anhysbys yn sibrwd rhywbeth mewn iaith sa i’n gallu deall, ‘Sedaravanthí a fu – Stharafan sydd – Satharāfanu a fydd,’ sy’n ‘neud i fi grynu. Wel, peidiwch â phoeni am ‘ny, dw i wrth fy modd o fod yn angel gwarcheidiol – yn dad maeth, adewch i ni weud – i’n nai fi, o’r enw Elfan Baldrog Bacster.When he went away, David, it was as if I had come back to life, somehow. I began to see things from the past differently, and considering everything that had happened, I have to say here that ‘best friends’ is a strong word for our relationship – I don’t want to claim that he was a fool or a rogue, one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I suppose, but he was a bit of a lad without a doubt, and a lad I never knew very well. Anyway, I became an uncle, and soon the boy’ll be calling me ‘Uncle Staffy,’ and that’s a title I’m almost painfully proud to bear. By musing on that often, I hear a voice from some unknown place whispering something in a language I can’t understand -- ‘Sedaravanthí who was -- Stharafan who is –Satharāfanu who shall be,’ which makes me shudder. Well. don’t worry about that, I’m delighted to be a guardian angel – a foster-father, let’s say – to my nephew, called Elfan Baldrog Bacster.
‘Bacster’ yw ffurf wedi’i Chymreigio ar gyfenw’r Tad, fel y gwelwch chi’n hawdd. Mae’r enw cynta’, ‘Elfan,’ i fod i ddwyn i’r co’r enwau Ieuan, Iefan, Ifan, Efan, a hefyd y gair 'elfen.' Yn Islandeg, mae’n golygu 'yr afon.’ A be’ am enw’i Fam, Elen, oedd yn ‘Mamaeth i Frenhines Elfan,’ hynny yw, Gwlad Hud a Lledrith? ‘Naethon ni ddewis yr enw i ‘neud coffa am yr Wncwl arall ‘fyd, yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, a arferai ddysgu’r Disgyblaethau Diflanedig – ac oedd yn arbenigwr ar Dai Aileni, ‘fyd. Dyn trist ac unig oedd e o achos y sgandal ‘naeth ddifetha’i fywyd yn y pen draw. Caru ar y slei oedd Mrs Procter (ei wraig) a ‘Nhad, dyna pan fyddai’n hala cymaint o amser oddi cartre’ (fyddai fe gyda hithau), a rhedon nhw i ffwrdd gyda’i gilydd, yn y diwedd, heb ddod yn ôl unwaith. Elen yw’u merch ordderch nhw, ch’wel, ac felly fy hanner chwaer ar yr un pryd, neu rywbeth tebyg, a bod yn onest. Mae hithau’n defnyddio’r cyfenw Grossmann, wrth reswm, ond so hi’n gweud wrth neb taw ‘Balrog’ yw’i henw canol ‘fyd, yr un peth â fi!‘Bacster’ is the Welshified form of his Dad’s surname, as you can easily see. The first name, ‘Elfan,’ is supposed to bring to mind the names Ieuan, Iefan, Ifan, Efan, and also the word ‘elfen’ or ‘element'. In Icelandic, it means ‘the river.’ And what about his Mum’s name, Elen, who was ‘Nurse to the Queen of Elfan,’ that is, Elf-land? We chose the name to commemorate the other Uncle, too, the Old Holy Warrior, who used to teach the Disappeared Disciplines – and who was an expert on Houses of Rebirth, too. He was a sad and lonely man due to the scandal that destroyed his life in the end. Mrs Procter (his wife) was having a bit on the side with my Father, that’s why he’d spend so much time away from home (he’d be with her), and they ran away together, in the end, without once coming back. Elen is their love-child, you see, and so my half-sister at the same time, or something similar, to be honest. She uses the surname Grossmann, of course, but she doesn’t tell anyone that ‘Balrog’ is her middle name too, the same as me!
O’n i’n arfer credu ei bod hi’n ferch i’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, a’i bod hi a’r Fam wedi marw mewn damwain drasig – o achos rhyw arbrawf wedi’i gysylltu â’r alcemeg – a dyna pam ddaeth yntau’n gysgod o be’ oedd e ‘di bod o’r blaen pan fuodd yn brwydro, ac yn arwr rhyfel, ‘fyd. Ond trasiedi o iawn ydy iddo fe farw ar ei ben ei hunan yn ddigon buan ar ôl goroesi’r tân a ysodd ei fwthyn hynafol a pheryglus e. Ac oedd digon o fflamau’n wir, achoswyd, i bob diben, gan fyrgleriaid ffaeledig – er gwaetha’r larwm cartre’ (bechingalw trydanol marwol os dw i’n onest), a’r arwyddion rhybudd rhyfedd wedi’u paentio â llaw ym mhob man (oedd yn edrych fel rhyw sgriblan dirgel o’r Nw Yrth, yn ‘marn i). A dyna pam mae ‘Baldrog’ yn ei ystyr o ‘enaid glân’ (yn hytrach na ‘chythraul o dân’) yn enw canol addas iawn ar gyfer ein baban newydd-anedig ni.I used to believe that she was the Old Holy Warrior’s daughter, and that she and her Mother had died in a tragic accident – due to some experiment connected to the alchemy – and that’s why he became a shadow of what he’d been before when he’d been fighting, and a war-hero, too. But it’s a real tragedy that he died on his own soon enough after surviving the fire that devoured his ancient and dangerous cottage. And there were indeed plenty of flames, caused, to all intents and purposes, by a bungled burglary – despite the home-made alarm (a deadly electrical contraption, if I’m honest), and the strange warning signs painted by hand everywhere (which looked like some secret scribbling from the Nw Yrth, in my opinion). And that’s why ‘Baldrog’ in its meaning of ‘pure spirit’ (rather than ‘fire-demon’) is a suitable middle name for our newly-born baby.
Felly, dyma ni i gyd yn dal ar dir y rhai byw. Wel, pawb ond am yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd – a David, y truan – ond oedd ei fywyd yntau wastad yn anodd, rhwng y cyffuriau, y ddiod, yr ansicrwydd am ei, wel, ynghylch ei ‘gyfeiriadedd,’ yr anallu i astudio, a’r gamdriniaeth pan oedd e’n blentyn. Cyw a fegir yn uffern, yn uffern y myn fod, sbo. Wrth fyw fe ganai drwy’r amser gân y seidr, a’r cwrw, a’r sbeis, a’r llaeth mwnci, fel petai. O’r braidd na fyddai dan ddylanwad y naill sylwedd na’r llall. Well iddo fe fod yn y bedd, yn ‘nhyb i, na dal i fyw a diodde’ gymaint. Rhaid i fi weud bod Elen wastad yn ceisio cadw mewn cysylltiad gyda’i theulu colledig, ond oedd cyfathrebu ddim yn hawdd yn y dyddiau ‘na. Fe ddaeth hi yn ôl i’r nyth yn ei harddegau canol cyn mynd i’r Boly-ysgol i astudio a dysgu gan bobl eraill, tra o’n i’n ‘neud popeth ar ‘yn liwt ‘yn hunan. Ond eto i gyd, doedd byth yr un doniau ‘da hi nag oedd ‘da fi, meddai Mam, yr Hen Dduwiau a’i bendithio!So, here’s all of us, still in the land of the living. Well, everyone but for the Old Holy Warrior – and David, the poor wretch – but his life was always difficult, what with the drugs, the drink, the uncertainty about his, well, regarding his ‘orientation’, the inability to study, and the abuse when he was a child. Those raised in hell will never want to leave, I s’pose. When he was alive, he always used to sing the song of the cider, and the beer, and the spice, and the moonshine, as it were. Scarcely would he be free of the influence of one substance or the other. It’s better that he’s in his grave, if you ask me, than for him to keep on living and suffer so much. I have to say that Elen always tried to keep in contact with her long-lost family, but communication wasn’t easy in those days. She returned to the nest in her mid-teens before going to the Poly-versity to study and learn from other people, whilst I was doing everything under my own steam. But then again, she never had the same talents as I did, said Mam, may the Old Gods bless ‘er!
Wel, dyna oedd hi’n cyrraedd yn hollol annisgwyl, a honni’r hawl i aros yma fel ‘sai hi’n rhedeg y lle, a gweud fe ddylai hi etifeddu popeth ar ôl i Wncwl farw. Dw i’n synnu o hyd ar y ffaith ‘naeth y Procteriaid ill dau’i chymryd hi dan eu hadain i’r fath raddau, fel ‘sai hi’n rhyw dywysoges arallfydol, neu rywun gyda pwerau sbesial. Nage Miss Procter, wrth gwrs, hynny yw Mrs Grossmann ‘yn Mam, ‘naeth dderbyn y fath ystrywiau. Oedd yn anodd iawn iddi, chi’n gallu dychmygu, a Thad wedi ffoi mor gywilyddus, a’i ferch e’n ymddangos mor sydyn i ‘neud difrod i’r byd bach delfrydol oedd hi wedi’i greu yn fan’ma.Well there she was, arriving totally unexpectedly, and claiming the right to stay here as if she ran the place, and saying she should inherit everything after Uncle died. I’m still surprised at the fact that both the Procters took her under their wing to such an extent, as if she was some kind of princess, or someone with special powers. Miss Procter, that is Mrs Grossmann my Mam, did not, of course, accept such shenanigans. it was very hard for her, you can imagine, with Father having fled so shamefully, and his daughter appearing so suddenly to wreak havoc on the ideal little world she’d created here.
Ond menyw lew ydy, a dwi’n gallu gweud yn hyderus iddi hi ymladd nerth deng ewin yn nannedd anfanteision i ddal ei thir. Ar y llaw arall, nage’r Arglwyddes Macbeth mo hi, a’i dwylo coch gan waed, nac Arianrhod, na Blodeuwedd, ‘chwaith. Ac felly fyddai hi byth wedi bod yn delio gyda rhyw gyn-filwr, dros y blynyddoedd, gan adael pwysi ar bwysi o bupur egsotig mewn sachau hesian iddo fe’u gwerthu’n gyfnewid am arian parod, a – a phleserau eraill – fyddai hi? Dych chi’m yn disgwyl i fi gredu ‘ny? Does bosib!But she’s a brave woman, and I can confidently say that she fought with all her might in the face of adversity to hold her ground. On the other hand, she’s not the Lady Macbeth, her hands red with blood, nor Arianrhod, nor Blodeuwedd, either. And so, she’d never have done deals with some ex-soldier, over the years, leaving pound upon pound of exotic pepper in hessian sacks for him to sell in exchange for cash, and – and other pleasures – would she? You don’t expect me to believe that? Surely not?
P’un bynnag, oedd pethau ddim ‘run fath ar ôl i Elen gymryd drosodd – dim ond i helpu ni i wella’r sefyllfa, dyna’r peth. Ond be’n y Byd oedd yr angyles angau brydferth ‘na, y weddw ddu mewn croen menyw, yn feddwl pan ddechreuodd ganlyn David, y llanc cwrs ‘na, ‘sgen i ddim clem o gwbl! Falle bod hi’n cael ei rheibio gan yr agwedd ewn a haerllug oedd e ‘di datblygu wrth gael ei hel o bant i dalar. Dyn a ŵyr. Ond hyd y gwelwn i, oedd e’m yn gwerthfawrogi’r gofal cyson ond di-ofyn-amdano gaeth ganddi hi. Ddim o gwbl. Oedd yntau’n dangos llawer mwy o ddiddordeb yn yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, ac yn wir, ymddangosai ei fod yn addoli olion traed y dyn hŷn. Fyddai fe byth yn gadael llonydd iddo. O, mor boenus byddai’r tad maeth damweiniol yn rholio’i lygaid gwaetgoch a rhincian ei ddannedd melyn o gael 'i orfodi i gadw ar ddihun ar hyd y nos unwaith ‘to wrth wrando ar y llanc colledig yn parablu. Fe gaeth yr Arwr Anhysbys ‘na’i eni i ddiodde’, a ‘naeth e ‘ny i raddau helaeth heb rithyn o amheuaeth.Anyway, things just weren’t the same after Elen took over – only to help us to improve the situation, that’s the thing. But what in the World that beautiful angel of death, that black widow in woman’s clothing, was doing when she started courting David, that coarse lad, I don’t have the least clue! Maybe she was beguiled by the cheeky and arrogant manner he’d developed whilst being dragged from pillar to post. Goodness knows. But as far as I could see, he didn’t appreciate the constant but unasked-for care he got from her. Not at all. He showed a lot more interest in the Old Holy Warrior, and indeed, it would appear that he worshipped the older man’s footsteps. He would never leave him alone. Oh, how painfully the accidental foster-father would roll his blood-shot eyes and grind his yellow teeth from being forced to stay awake all night once again listening to the lost lad rambling on. That Unknown Hero was born to suffer, and he did that in spades without a shadow of a doubt.
O'n i'n arfer barchu fe, yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, gymaint, o hala oriau yn ei ŵydd gyda gweddill y Dynion Sed, yn dysgu Amddiffyn rhag y Celfyddydau Duon. Y fath feistr oedd e, fe allai fod wedi bod yn gweithio i'r ochr arall drwy'r amser. Ac O, dyma sut fyddai fe’n sôn wrthon ni, pan oedd e’n gry’ a llawn nerth wrth gwrs, cyn iddo fynd rhwng y cŵn a’r brain —I used to respect him, the Old Holy Warrior, so much, from spending hours in his presence with the rest of the Z-Men, learning Defence against the Black Arts. He was such a master, he could’ve been working for the other side all the time. And Oh, this is how he’d talk to us, when he was strong and full of vigour of course, before he went to the dogs —
“Mae'n Ddaear ni dan fygythiad mawr gan rymoedd anweladwy ac anhysbys y dyddiau yma, a dyna pam mae'r Byd yn llawn peryglon, megis rhyfel, pla, newyn, a thrychinebau naturiol. Yn y gorffennol, byddai'r Angau'n ein disgwyl ni i gyd ar ben taith bywyd, ond yn awr mae pethau wedi newid, a pwy a ŵyr yr hyn fydd yn digwydd yn y dyfodol? Er bod ychydig iawn yn deall y ffaith, dyw’r dimensiwn o'r enw amser ddim yn hollol sad, ac ar adegau prin, bydd dyn yn rhwygo'r llen a syrthio trwyddo gan greu Byd Arall ar ei gyfer ei hunan sy'n eithriadol o ansad, ac a fydd yn methu yn y pen draw gan ddileu'r greadigaeth ddychmygol. Ac wedyn fe all y siocdonnau foddi’n Cosmos ni hefyd gan achosi canlyniadau erchyll. Dŵr yw'r elfen fydd wastad yn ffurfio'r ffin rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Rhaid wrth drin taclau o fetel i droedio trwy'r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd os na fydd y daith yn ffaelu…“Our Earth is under great threat by unseen and unknown forces these days, and that is why the World is full of dangers, like war, plague, famine, and natural disasters. In the past, Death would be awaiting us all at the end of life’s journey, but now things have changed, and who knows what will happen in the future? Although very few understand the fact, the dimension called time is not completely stable, and on rare occasions, someone will tear the veil and fall through it creating Another World for himself which is exceptionally unstable, and which will fail in the end, destroying the imaginary creation. And then the shock-waves can swamp our Cosmos too, with terrible consequences. Water is the element that always forms the boundary between the Two Worlds. It is necessary to wield tools of metal to step through the Cleft between the Worlds if the journey is not to fail…
“Ar ôl i’r Cyndadau Hynafol ddiflannu oddi ar wyneb y Ddaear, filenia yn ôl, a neb yn medru esbonio pam y digwyddodd hyn mor sydyn, doedd dim ond ychydig yn arfer deall pam a sut y crëir yr Un Etholedig, fydd yn perthyn ar bwerau arbennig ac yn neidio ymhlith y sêr maes o law, ond yn cael ei ddirdynnu gan hunllefau gwael nes i’r amser ddod. Ond fi sy’n gwybod, a fi sy wedi trefnu popeth fel y bydd yn cyrraedd mewn pryd i ysgubo’r gwehilion ymaith a thrawsffurfio’r Byd galarus. Ond rwy’n dweud wrthych: fe fydd y rhai o'i gwmpas yn ceisio'i ddinistrio wrth ymlafnio atal eu hunain rhag mynd i Ebargofiant oherwydd ei weithgareddau fydd mor ddifrodol ond mor greadigol ar yr un pryd…“After the Ancient Forebears disappeared from the face of the Earth, millennia ago, with no-one being able to explain what this happened so suddenly, only a few used to understand why and how the Chosen One is created, who shall possess special powers and leap amongst the stars in due course, but who shall be tormented by terrible nightmares until the time comes. But I know, and I have arranged everything so that he shall arrive in time to sweep the dregs away and transform the woeful World. But I tell you: those around him will seek to destroy him whilst striving to prevent themselves from going to Oblivion because of his actions which will be so destructive but so creative at the same time…
“Byddan nhw'n ymddwyn o ganlyniad yn afresymol, yn rhyfedd, ac yn dreisiol, gan achosi trafferth ddigynnig. Yn ddiweddarach, fodd bynnag, poenydir nhw am amser maith gan freuddwydion ynghylch pethau dryslyd a brawychus heb ddirnad yr achos. Serch hynny, bydd y Bydysawd yn dal i fynd rhagddo os bydd yr Un Etholedig yn llwyddo, ac yn awr mae Amser Cystudd wedi cyrraedd. Mae arnom ni angen cofio y dywedir wrthym ni fod popeth a ddigwydd yn digwydd am ryw reswm yn ôl y Drefn Fawr. Fi sy wedi deall hyn, ac o bawb yn byw heddiw, fi sydd wedi bod yn gweithio nerth fy mhen i sicrhau dyfodol i’r ffyddloniaid. Gadewch i ni obeithio bod hyn oll yn gywir.”“They shall behave, therefore, unreasonably, strangely, and violently, causing exceptional trouble. Later, however, they shall be tortured for a very long time by dreams about confusing and terrifying things without discerning the cause. Despite that, the Universe will still move on its course if the Chosen One succeeds, and now the Time of Tribulation has arrived. We must remember we are told that everything that happens, happens for some reason, according to the Universal Order. I have understood this, and of everyone who lives today, it is I who have been working with all my strength to secure a future for the faithful. Let us hope that all this is correct.”
Yn anaml fe fyddai'n sôn am ei bwerau rhyfedd, gan sibrwd am swynion erchyll a pheryglus iawn i'w trin. Dyw'r pŵer 'ma ddim yn naturiol, dw i'n golygu fod e’m yn ymlynu wrth strwythur y Byd tu hwnt i ddynolryw. Ar y llaw arall, mae'n tarddu o wareiddiad a'i foddau cymhleth o weithredu, a'r mwya' bydd cymdeithas yn datblygu, y cryfa' tyfiff e. Mae'n amhosib ei rwystro fe, fel 'sai'n fehemoth sy’n cuddio mewn ffos ar y gwaelod môr gan fwydo ar egni oll y Byd wrth iddo ddisgwyl ac esblygu'n ddiatal. Fe fydd y rhai gwaetha' ymhlith y teyrnedd yn gweithio nes iddyn nhw bron â marw i gael eu trwytho â'r grym eithriadol. Ond trwy 'neud felly, os llwyddan nhw, fe ân nhw'n greaduriaid nerthol dros ben, ond dirmygus, nad ydynt yn fodau dynol mwyach. Fe wedodd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd wrtha i'n gwmpasog ac ar y slei bach i'w frawd geisio harneisio'r pwerau hyn yn y Clinig trwy'i arbrofion gyda'r cleifion. Ychwanegodd yn dywyll gallai'r dyn anfad fod wedi cyrraedd ei nod (trwy ddefnyddio a rheoli meddyliau a gweithrediadau cwpl – Tefnuth a Lushfé, meddai fe), o greu ffurf newydd ar fywyd.Infrequently would he mention his strange powers, whispering about terrible and very dangerous-to-use charms. This power isn't natural, I mean it isn’t inherent in the structure of the World beyond humanity. On the other hand, it arises from civilization and its complex modes of operation, and the more society develops, the stronger it grows. It’s impossible to restrain it, as if it’s a behemoth that hides in a trench on the sea-bed, feeding on all the World’s energy while it waits and evolves ceaselessly. The worst amongst the despots will work until they almost die to become steeped in the exceptional power. But by doing this, if they succeed, they become extremely strong but contemptible creatures, that are not human beings any more. The Old Holy Warrior told me in a round-about way and on the sly that his brother had tried to harness these powers in the Clinic through his experiments with the patients. He added darkly that the sinister man could’ve achieved his goal (by using and controlling the minds and actions of a couple -- Tefnuth and Lushfé, he said), of creating a new form of life.
Fe symudodd e'n gyflym yn ei flaen i esbonio taw, eto i gyd, hud arall sy'n bodoli ar wahân i bob confensiwn cymdeithasol. Fe ddaw o eni a marw, o ddŵr a thân, o annibyniaeth lwyr a chysylltiad hollol. Dyw'm yn bosib perchen arno na'i reoli. Ceisio hyn fyddai'n arwain at dranc. Y rhai ar ymylon cymdeithas, dyn nhw ddim yn meddu ar awdurdod, y werin bobl gan amla', sy'n ei deimlo'n rhuthro heibio iddyn nhw. Mae'n ddangos ei hunan i bobl dyn nhw'm gyda'r mwya', yr artistiaid, yr alltudiaid, y siamaniaid, y rhai wedi'u taflu ymaith, sy 'di cwympo trwy'r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd. Yr isa' byddwch chi wedi disgyn, y tebyca' byddwch chi o'i glywed yn corddi. Ac er na all dyn afael ynddo, fe ellir ei sianeli a'i lywio i drawsffurfio dirwedd. Ond esboniai fe’m sut allai hyn ddigwydd.He moved swiftly on to explain that, then again, another magic exists separate from every social convention. It comes from birth and death, from complete independence and total connection. It’s not possible to own it or control it. Attempting this would lead to death. It’s those on the fringes of society, who have no authority, the common folk for the most part, who feel it rushing by them. It shows itself to people who aren’t amongst the greatest, the artists, the exiles, the shamans, those who’ve been cast aside, who’ve fallen through the Cleft between the Worlds. The lower you fall, the more likely you’ll be of feeling it churning. And though you can’t grab onto it, it can be channelled and steered to transform reality. But he would not explain how this could happen.
Fodd bynnag, oedd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd wedi dysgu wrth lafurio drwy gydol ei oes, a rhoi'r gorau i'w anghenion ei hunan, sut i 'neud y fath be'. Oedd ganddo'r ddawn o droi'r gofod tu chwith mas o gwmpas y Clinig, i greu drysfa, nes bod amser yn eich gadael chi yn ôl yma ar y 'stad. Dych chi wedi sylwi erioed, er enghraifft, ar y ffaith fod y lle'n llawn sbiralau'n cylchdroi byth a hefyd i ddal y rhai byrbwyll, esgeulus, a difeddwl? Ac fel y meddai fe, mae nerth y crochenydd yn codi o ffurf gyfnewidiol y sbiral, sy'n gadael iddo fowldio sylwedd crai bodolaeth dros dro i ddyfeisio bydoedd newydd a chael profiadau sy ddim ar gael fel arfer.However, the Old Holy Warrior had learned whilst labouring through the whole of his life, and forsaking his own needs, how to do such a thing. He had the knack of turning space inside-out around the Clinic, to create a maze, so that time leaves you behind here on the estate. Have you ever noticed, for example, the fact that the place is full of spirals, rotating eternally to catch the rash, the careless, and the unthinking? And as he said, the potter’s power arises from the spiral’s ever-changing form, which allows him to mould the raw material of existence temporarily to devise new worlds and have experiences which aren’t usually available.
Fel hyn, awgrymai fe, fe fydd yn bosib encilio i'r cyflwr llawn cysgodion cyn genedigaeth, a chyrraedd y deyrnas rithiol cyn cenhedliad, hyd yn oed, sy'n ymylu mor frawychus ar fro anhraethol y meirwon. Ond dyw hynny oll ddim yn golygu dim byd o'i gymharu â'r cipolygon ar bethau ddylai'n amhosib eu dychmygu, fel y lliwiau'n chwerthin, yr heidiau o ymadroddion ffrwydrol, a'r sêr byw'n canu clod y greadigaeth. Felly, drwy dalentau'r Hen Feistri fedr dyn fyth ddianc oddi 'ma unwaith fe fydd wedi'i rwydo gan y we ludiog o gyd-ddigwyddiadau fydd yn tueddu i ddamweinio arno'n ddi-ffael. A ble bynnag yr ewch chi yn fan'ma, fe ddewch chi'n ôl i'r un man cychwyn, ymhlith adfeilion hynafol y gorffennol anghofiedig ble bydd cysgodion hir y coed pin yn denu bob tro fel bysedd duon. In this way, he suggested, it’s possible to retreat to the shadow-filled condition before birth, and even reach the spectral kingdom before conception, which borders so terrifyingly on the unspeakable region of the dead. But all that means nothing compared with the glimpses of things that should be impossible to imagine, like the laughing colours, the flocks of explosive phrases, and the living stars singing creation’s praises. So, through the talents of the Old Master, you’ll never be able to escape from here once one you’ve been ensnared by the sticky web of coincidences which will, without fail, tend to befall you. And wherever you go in this place, you’ll come back to the same starting-place, amongst the ancient ruins of the forgotten past, where the long shadows of the pines are always beckoning like black fingers.
Yno'n cyrcydu ar ei orsedd fe welais i fe o'r diwedd y dydd terfynol 'na (wel, dydd y farn oedd e ar gyfer un o leia'), ar y gadair esmwyth a'i breichiau'n dyllau dwfn i gyd. Oedd e'n gwisgo gŵn hir oedd wedi bod yn ‘sgarlad unwaith, ond oedd yn llwyd, hendraul erbyn ‘ny, ac yn wylo dagrau tewion o waed fel Dewin wedi'i glwyfo'n ddifrifol. A bod yn hollol onest, oedd e’n edrych fel sombi arallfydol o hen ffilm arswyd neu lyfr graffig oedd wedi ailgyfodi i weiddi sennau mewn iaith amhosib ei hynganu. Fe ailadroddai’n orffwyll fantra drosodd a thro i drio talu iawn am y ddamwain ofnadw' oedd yn bygwth ei atal rhag byw am sbel hwy wrth iddo gyflawni'i dasg ddyngarol – a hefyd i ddial ar y rhai fyddai'n rwystro fe.There, squatting on his throne I saw him at last that final day (well, it was the day of judgement for one at least), on the comfy chair whose arms were covered in deep holes. He was wearing a long gown that had once been scarlet, but which was grey and threadbare by then, and crying fat tears of blood like a Wizard who’d been seriously injured. To be completely honest, he looked like an extra-terrestrial zombie from an old horror film or graphic novel that’d risen from the dead to scream insults in an impossible-to-pronounce language. He was wildly repeating a mantra over and over to try and make recompense for the terrible accident that was threatening to stop him from living for a while longer as he completed his humanitarian task – and also to get revenge on those who would prevent him.
Fe ges i'n hyrddio i rywle arall, i ryw Ddimensiwn Amgen, mae'n ymddangos, sa i'n moyn cofio ble, nag am faint o amser fues i yno. Ond pan ddes i'n ôl, wedi achub dau fywyd, peidiwch â gofyn i fi sut, rhy arswydus yw cofio, pan ddihunais i o 'nhrwmgwsg, dyna oedd pan sylweddolais i fe fyddai'n hanfodol i fi fyw a chael hyd i ffordd o ymgymryd â'r Gwaith Mawr i amddiffyn y Ddaear rhag Llengoedd Llachar yr Isfyd. O’n i’n gwybod yn nwfn ‘nghalon fod ‘na ryw bŵer creadigol wedi’i guddio oddi mewn i fi, oedd yn rhaid i fi ddefnyddio, ond o’n i ‘di mynd ar gyfeiliorn pan o’n i’n ifanc ac wedi afradu ‘ngallu wrth ennill dim ond tlysau diwerth, ac fe addawais i'n hunan taw dyn oedd wedi newid yn llwyr fyddwn i o 'ny 'mlaen. Ac am fod yr Un Wir Eglwys wedi ‘nghyfradael i, fe dyngais i lw difrifol taw fi fyddai’n penderfynu droso’n hunan byth oddi ar ‘ny, ‘fyd.I was hurled somewhere else, to some Alternative Dimension, it appears, I can’t remember where, nor for how long I was there. But when I came back, having saved two lives, don’t ask me how, it’s too fearful to imagine, when I awoke from my deep slumber, that’s when I realised it would be essential for me to live and find a way to undertake the Great Work of defending the Earth from the Underworld’s Shining Legions. I knew in my heart of hearts that I had some hidden creative power that I must use, but I was lost when I was young and squandered my ability in gaining but worthless trinkets, and I promised myself that I would be a completely changed man from then on. And since the One True Church had abandoned me, I swore a solemn oath that I would be my own man for ever after then, too.
Ac yn wir, dw i’n dal i synnu ar y newid i’w weld yno i’n hunan, ta be’, mae fel ‘sai rhywun wedi bwrw hud drosta i, a’r holl le. Hyd yn hyn dw i’n arbrofi, gan drio llawer o enwau, teitlau, personoliaethau, a ffyrdd o fihafio i weld a chlywed sut fyddai'n teimlo bod yn rhywun arall. ‘Dwn i’m pwy dw i ‘to. Sa i’n gallu peidio meddwl am y geiriau ‘Tywysydd Medrus’ am ryw reswm, er dw i’m yn deall be’ yw’r ystyr, ond mae’n swnio’n ffein, ond ydy, fel rhywbeth o un o’r comics ‘na dw i ‘di bod yn cynhyrchu i ddifyrru’r nai bach sy’n glyfar ofnadw’. O’m rhan i, dw i’n cael awydd dod yn arbenigwr, yn feddyliaethydd enwog fel Elen, er bydd yn rhaid i fi lwyddo ar ‘nhelerau’n hunan. Mae hi’n defnyddio dulliau arbrofol, newydd sbon sy’n golygu actio, ac esgus, a ffeindio’ch llais chi. O ganlyniad mae ‘na gymaint o weiddi, rhedeg o gwmpas, a rhegi’n mynd ‘mlaen ledled y ‘stad i gyd bob dydd.And indeed, I’m still surprised at the change to be seen in myself, anyway, it’s like someone’s cast a spell on me, and the whole place. Up to now I’ve been experimenting, trying out lots of names, titles, personalities, and ways of behaving to see and feel how being someone else would feel. I still don’t know who I am yet. I can’t help thinking of the words ‘Skilled Leader’ for some reason, although I dunno what the meaning is, but it sounds fine, doesn’t it, like something from one of those comics I’ve been producing to entertain the little nephew who’s terribly clever. For my part, I’m keen to be an expert, a famous mentalist like Elen, although I’ll have to make it on my own terms. She’s using brand-new experimental methods which involve acting, and pretending, and finding your voice. As a result, there’s so much shouting, running about, and swearing going on throughout the whole estate every day.
Fi sy’n chwarae rhan bwysig iawn ‘fyd, achos mod i’n ‘sgrifennu sgriptiau cyffrous i’r cymeriadau i weud wrthon nhw be’ i ‘neud. Dychmygwch os bydda i’n dod yn gyfoethog ac enwog, a phrynu teitl, ‘Yr Anrhydeddus Steffan,’ nage unrhyw hen rifolegwr, ch’mod – ond, nes i fi gael swydd, dw i’m yn siŵr alla i fforddio ‘neud yr hyfforddiant – mae pris bywyd yn uchel iawn, wedi’r cwbl, on’d yw e? Ond na, Mam, ddim deintydd fydda i, a sa i’n malu’r un ffeuen am yr hen rwtsh ti’n sôn amdano bob amser. Yn wir, sa i’n hidio’r un daten am helpu pobl yn y Wlad Wen i edrych ar ôl eu dannedd, pam ddylwn i? Sa i eisiau bod yn gynghorwr i bobl sy’n profi problemau personol yn y Ffatrïoedd Graddau bondibrybwyll, na’r rhai sy ‘di goroesi addysg grefyddol, ‘chwaith! O, ac un peth arall, ‘sdim diddordeb ‘da fi mewn barddoniaeth o gwbl!I’m playing a very important part too, ‘cos I write exciting scripts for the characters to tell them what to do. Imagine if I become rich and famous, and buy a title, ‘The Worshipful Steffan,’ not any old numerologist, you know – but, until I get a job, I’m not sure I can afford to do the training – the price of life is very high, after all, isn’t it? But no, Mam, I will not be a dentist, and I don’t give a fig about the old nonsense you go on about all the time. Really, I don’t give a damn about helping people in the White-land to look after their teeth, why should I? I don’t want to be a counsellor for people who’re experiencing personal problems in the scarcely-mentionable Diploma Mills, nor for those who’ve survived religious education, either! Oh, and one other thing, I’ve got no interest in poetry at all!
Wel, mae rhod ffawd yn troi, a dw i angen ateb y cwestiwn o sut ddylwn i fod yn ffyddlon i’r hyn addawais i’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd o ran dyfodol y Byd. Ond, gan bwyll, nawr, 'achan, mae'n flin 'da fi, dw i'n gweld mod i'n colli arna i'n hunan a bod 'nychymig yn mynd yn drech na fi. Ac fe wyddwn ni beth ddigwyddodd i David pan ddechreuodd e gredu yn ei ffantasïau'i hunan. Rhy hawdd o lawer ydy yn y lle 'ma, 'sdim gwadu'r ffaith. 'Lly be' am fod yn arlunydd, neu sgrifennwr, neu’r ddau, sy’n datgelu’r gwir trwy’i waith mewn modd cuddiedig? Fe fyddwn i’n ffansïo ‘ny, ac mae ‘da fi ddigonedd o syniadau rhagorol, medda i, a thrio peidio swnio’n rhy falch o’n hunan! Wele’r Blaned Yrth, ble mae golau’r lleuad lem yn ffrio pelenni’r llygaid, a ble mae dau lwyth o angenfilod yn lladd ei gilydd mewn rhaeadrau o fustl berwedig. Yno, mae Tywysog Golygus o’r naill ochr yn cwympo dros ei ben a’i glustiau mewn cariad â Thywysoges Brydferth o’r llall a gedwir dan glo mewn tŵr o ifori ar ystâd foethus.Well, the wheel of fate turns, and I need to answer the question of how should I be faithful to what I promised to the Old Holy Warrior for the future of the World, and to me myself on top of that. But, steady on, now, mate, I'm sorry, I see I'm losing it and that my imagination's running away with me. And we know what happened to David when he began to belive in his own fantasies. It's all too easy in this place, there's no denying the fact. So what about being an illustrator, or writer, or both, who reveals the truth through his work in a concealed way? I’d fancy that, and I’ve got plenty of excellent ideas, I tell you, trying not to sound too proud of myself! Behold the Dread Planet, where the light of the harsh moon fries your eyeballs, and where two tribes of beasts kill each other in rivers of boiling bile. There, a Prince Charming from one side falls head over heels in love with a Beautiful Princess from the other who is kept under lock and key in an ivory tower on a sumptuous estate.
Ystyriwch yr uniad cyfriniol rhwng y ddau! Fe fyddai’n ennill mawredd y tu hwnt i’w freuddwydion mwyaf gwyllt ond all e’m lladd; hithau fyddai’n rhyddhau daioni enfawr ond fedr hi’m caru. Wedi brwydro yn erbyn galluoedd cryfach bydd e’n llwyddo i’w chipio, a’i dwyn hi ymaith. Ar ôl llawer o anturiaethau, fe fyddan nhw, Merch y Wawr a’r Arwr Aflwyddiannus, yn cael babi, y Mab Darogan. Ond dyna’r Grymoedd Gorthrymus yn dal i’w ceisio nhw, i’w cosbi ac fel y gallan nhw feddu ar y plentyn rhyfeddol i’w ddefnyddio i'w dibenion anfad eu hunain.Consider the mystical union between the two! He would win greatness beyond his wildest dreams, but he cannot kill, she would release enormous goodness but she is not able to love. Having fought against all the odds he’ll succeed in seizing her, and bear her away. After many adventures, they, Daughter of the Dawn, and the Unsuccessful Hero, shall have a baby, the Son Foretold. But the Oppressive Forces are still seeking them, to punish them and so that they can take possession of the wondrous child to use him for their own sinister ends.
Er gwaetha’ pob disgwyl, mae’r Teulu Hapus yn llwyddo i guddio, ond dyna’r Tad yn marw wrth ddanfon y crwt i fyw yn ein plith ni ar y Ddaear. Wedyn, ar ôl treulio cryn amser ar ddarganfod i ble yn union mae’r plentyn wedi dianc, a chysegru’u hegnïon oll i fwrw’r hud priodol, dyna’r bodau allfydol yn cyfathrebu ag urdd o fynachod ar y Ddaear, o’r enw Y Frawdoliaeth Gwflog, dan awdurdod pregethwr dychrynllyd, Yr Offeiriad Coch, sy’n herwgipio’r llanc sy bellach wedi dod yn filwr tâl. Fe fyddan nhw’n defnyddio hunllefau, cyffuriau, a hud i ddylanwadu ar bawb fydd yn dod ar eu traws nhw, a dyna fydd yn achosi canlyniadau annisgwyl a chyrhaeddgar, fydd yn plethu bywydau’r trigolion ar y Ddau Fyd, wrth i’r Daearolion dewhau’u hunain ar gyfer aberth. Mae’n ymddangos taw dim ond difodi Etholedig yr Hen Feistri fydd yn atal Diwedd y Cyfanfyd, a dim ond Satharāfanu, Tywysydd Medrus Undeb yr Archarwyr all rhwystro hyn…Against all expectations, the Happy Family succeed in hiding, but then the Dad dies whilst ending the kid to live amongst us on the Earth. Then after spending considerable time discovering where exactly the child has escaped, and devoting all their energies to casting the appropriate magic, the otherworldly beings communicate with an order of monks on the Earth called the Cowled Brotherhood, under the authority of a dread preacher, The Red Priest, who kidnap the lad who by now has become a mercenary. They use nightmares, drugs, and magic to influence everyone who comes across them, and that causes unforeseen and far-reaching consequences, which will entwine the lives of the inhabitants on the Two Worlds, whilst the Earthlings fatten themselves for sacrifice. It appears that only exterminating the Old Masters’ Chosen One will prevent the End of the Universe, and only Satharāfanu, the Skilled Leader of the Superheroes’ Union can stop this…
Wel, dyna ni, ffrindiau, dyna ble mae’r stori wedi’n dilyn ni hyd yn hyn. Ac fel y dywedan nhw, mae’r gwir yn rhyfeddach na ffuglen, on’d ydy? Felly, ar sail yr holl hen ddwli ‘ma – ac o dderbyn dw i’m yn gohebu’n fanwl gywir drwy’r amser yn anffodus, achos taw dim ond dyn meidrol dw i, er mod i’n ‘neud ‘ngorau glas, a dyna ddigon am y tro – tybed sut fydd yr hanes hynod ‘ma’n datblygu nesa’?Well, there we are, friends, that’s where the story’s led us so far. And like they say, truth is stranger than fiction, isn’t it? So, on the basis of all this old nonsense – and accepting I don’t report absolutely correctly all the time, unfortunately, as I’m only human, although I do my very best, and that’s enough for the time being – I wonder how this tall tale will develop next?

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 32

Pennod Tri Deg Chwech: Ystyried (Lleisiau 32) / Pondering (Voices 32)

Mi fedrwn i ‘ngweld fy hun yn cydio mewn baban bach, yn rhyw bedwar dydd oed, a ‘nghalon yn llawn cariad a thrwm o ofn. Yr oedd ei gorff o’n gryf, a’i anadl yn llawn egni, tra oedd ei wedd lachar yn adlewyrchu’r enaid glân yn byw o’i fewn. Yr oedd arno ffurf fydda’n datblygu i fod fel bwystfil gwyllt pan ddeua’n ddyn. Mi fydda’i gof dwfn, dywyll yn gladdfa i hanes bydoedd, a’i feddwl chwilgar fel peiriant rhyfeddach na dim byd a brofasid gan ddynolryw hyd yn hyn. Mi deimlwn i fod o’n orlawn o hud, ac y bydda’i lwc o’n eithriadol o dda, oherwydd yr oedd ganddo warchodwr ar ffurf mwnci eofn, oedd yn taenu’i gyfaredd berlewygol ym mhob man o’i gwmpas.

Yn ddisymwth, mi ddaru i Frenhines Ysblennydd ymddangos o’m blaen i. Yr oedd hi mor bert, ac yn gwisgo sgert hir yn flodau i gyd, het wellt hafaidd, sandalau, a chardigan wedi’i chrosio. Ar ei hochr chwith roedd coblyn a’i wyneb wedi’i liwio’n las a melyn, oedd yn prancio, a chwerthin, a chlebran drwy’r amser. Ac mi wyddwn i mai Tefnuth oedd hi, yr hudoles hynaf, a’r un fwyaf nerthol, a oedd wedi’i gadael gan ei dyweddi pan oedd hi ar fin rhoi genedigaeth i’w baban nhw, yn ôl yr hanes gan Twm Rigymwr. Ac mi fedrwn i weld ei bod yn feichiog iawn. A Rwm bel-Shaftí oedd y pwca ystrywgar na fedra roi’r gorau i ofyn cwestiwn ar ôl cwestiwn yn ei lais uchel, main. Mi ddaeth o’n wreiddiol o dras hir o gigyddion ardderchog ond gyfnod y Cythrwfl Mawr Cyntaf, mi drodd o’i law at fod yn grydd a wnâi’r ‘sgidiau cadarnaf yn y Nw Yrth o groen y fadfall ganibalaidd, nes iddo ddod dan ddylanwad Swtach. Ac wedyn, wedi colli cyngwystl ag Arglwydd yr Anialwch ynghylch pwy sy’n sgrechian waethaf yn y Pwll Diwaelod, p’un ai’r rhai cyfiawn neu’r pechaduriaid, mi aeth o’n was iddo, ac yn greadur llysnafeddog, a fyddai’n gweithio o hynny ymlaen i achosi helynt a pheri penbleth ymhlith y Swynwyr. Ni allent, fodd bynnag, wrthsefyll ei eiriau deniadol o gymhleth, na’r ffaith y deua ag anrhegion helaethwych iddynt bob amser.

Wrth edrych ym myw fy llygad, mi ‘naeth y Dduwies ofyn heb yngan gair a fyddwn i’n cytuno i ddŵad i nyrsio’i baban. Mi fu bron i mi farw gan fraw, ond mi fedra’r Foneddiges Arallfydol ddarllen y cyfrinachau wedi’u sgwennu ar fy nghalon. Mi ‘naeth hi addo felly ‘taswn i’n ildio i’w galw mi allwn i ddychwelyd maes o law i’r Ddaear, gan ychwanegu dan wenu y bendithid mi’n helaeth o hynny ymlaen. Wrth ystyried y geiriau oedd yn swynol o ddeniadol ond llawn ing, mi ddes i’r casgliad na fedrwn i wrthod. Mi ‘nes i weld hefyd sut bynnag fod creadur peryglus iawn oedd Rwm bel-Shaftí gan ei fod o’n afreolus tu hwnt ac yn byrlymu o egni fydda’n ymhyfrydu yn anrheithio gwledydd ac andwyo eneidiau’n ddilyffethair. O glywed ei haraith deg a rhythu ar ei hwyneb disglair, ni fedrwn i ond mynd efo hi, ac aethon ni fraich ym mraich ar y ffordd tuag at ei theyrnas, nad yw yn y nef, nac yn yr uffern ‘chwaith, ond yn Elfan ar Gyfandir Deheuol y Nw Yrth. Ac yno, ar ôl iddi ddwyn ei phlentyn i’r Byd Pendraphen ‘na, mi ‘nes i fel y mynnodd hi, gan ofalu am yr un grymus, fydda’n etifeddu popeth yn ei bryd.

Yr oedd Rwm bel-Shaftí yn ffyrnig genfigennus. Bob bore mi fydda fo’n dod ataf fi yn y feithrinfa, ac am ganol dydd, a bob nos hefyd, gan biffian, a chrychlamu, a chynnig anrhegion. Ond yr oeddwn i’n deall nad oedd o’n dymuno dim byd ond drygu’r baban diniwed. Nawr ‘te, ni fedra fo groesi’r trothwy heb fy nghaniatâd ar orchymyn Mam y Meirwon. Ac yntau’n dŵad i ffusto ar y drws trwchus o dderw drosodd a throsodd, dyna fyddwn i’n gofyn iddo beth oedd o isio. Ac mi ateba fo bob tro efo cwestiwn arall, megis – Hoffech chi berlau? – neu, Oes arnoch chi angen gemau? – neu, A ydych chi am berchen ar ragor o arian? Ac wedyn mi fydda fo’n rhoi i mi’r anrheg roedd o’n sôn amdani. Mi fyddwn i wastad yn ei derbyn hi efo’r cwrteisi mwyaf, gan esbonio y byddwn i’n ei chyflwyno i’m Meistres, oedd yn Feistres iddo fo hefyd, yn hytrach na’i chadw hi i mi fy hun. Ac o glywed hynny mi ruthra fo ymaith gan ruo, a stampio, a ‘stumio’n wyllt.

Yr oedd y castiau hyn yn parhau ddydd ar ôl dydd, noson ar ôl noson, y naill fis ar ôl y llall, am flynyddoedd bwygilydd. Ond fesul tipyn yr oedd y bachgen yn tyfu i fyny a dechrau aeddfedu, a’r gwas bach yn mynd yn fwyfwy dig, nes ei fod o bron â ffrwydro o sylweddoli bod cyfnod ei ddylanwad yn dod i ben. Ddydd olaf fy ngwasanaeth mi ‘naeth o gyrraedd fel arfer, gan ofyn a’i ddannedd wedi’u gwasgu – A fyddech chi’n derbyn, Fenyw o’r Ddaear, bopeth sydd gennyf i’w gynnig? Mi ‘nes i sylweddoli ar unwaith mai trap oedd hwnna, gan na fedrwn i ateb byddwn ‘ta na fyddwn. A dyna lle roeddwn i’n deud yn unionsyth, wrth sôn yn enwedig yr un modd ag y ‘naeth o, gan ateb un cwestiwn efo un arall – Oes ‘na unrhyw holiad na allwch chi’i ateb? Gyda hynny, mi ‘naeth y dynan golli’i bwyll yn llwyr, gan neidio i fyny ac i lawr, bwrw tin-dros-ben, a sgrechian melltithion mewn lleisiau ac ieithoedd fyrdd, am na fedra fo ateb. Ac yn y pen draw, cymaint oedd ei fariaeth a’i rwystredigaeth, y ‘naeth o droi’n das o wair euraidd, enfawr, yn cynrychioli popeth roedd ganddo i’w gynnig. Ac yr oedd mor drwm y ‘naeth suddo i lawr drwy’r llawr tuag at ganol y Nw Yrth, gan adael dim ond adlais ei eiriau olaf, ffiaidd ar ôl.

Yr oedd y Dduwies Lân mor hapus efo ‘ngwaith, wedi imi waredu’r Deyrnas Anfarwol rhag yr ysglyfaethwr digywilydd, a chynhaliwyd gwledd enfawr i ddathlu pen-blwydd y Mab Darogan oedd wedi dod i oed erbyn hynny, ac i’m diolch i hefyd. Ac wedyn ymhlith gorfoledd mawr a gymysgwyd â chryn dristwch, fe’m hanfonwyd trwy’r gofod ac amser tuag adref drachefn. Ac yn wir fe’m breintiwyd yn ddirfawr pan ddes i yn ôl o’r diwedd i’r Ddaear, gan imi gael rysáit yn y Nw Yrth ynghylch sut i dyfu’r ffa mwyaf sbeislyd yn y Ddau Fyd, a chanddynt bwerau hudol, a ddeffroid dim ond trwy eu llosgi mewn coelcerth. Ond am hynny yr wyf wedi addo cadw’n ddistaw. Rhyfedd sôn, yr oedd un flwyddyn ar bymtheg wedi mynd heibio ar y Nw Yrth, ond dim ond un dydd crwn oedd wedi pasio ar ein Byd ni. Ac yn rhyfeddach, yn fuan mi ‘nes i ddarganfod mai myfi fy hun oedd yn disgwyl baban, er mai morwyn oeddwn innau. Ac yr oeddwn i’n sicr y gelwid ei enw o’n Baldrog, yr un peth â Mab Brenhines Elfan. – “Hanes Nyrs Brenhines Elfan” o “Gwir Chwedlau Gwerin o Galon y Cyfandir,” gan Pjetër Mamrick (casglwr), wedi’i gyfieithu gan Daud Pekar, ac yn cynnwys darluniau gan Steffan Baldrog Grossmann.

I could see myself clutching a small baby, some four days old, and my heart was full of love, and heavy with fear. His body was strong, and his breath full of energy, whilst his shining visage reflected the pure spirit living within him. He had a form that would develop to be like a wild beast when he became a man. His deep, dark memory would be a graveyard for the history of worlds, and his inquisitive mind like an engine more wondrous than anything experienced by humanity up to now. I felt he was overflowing with magic, and that his luck would be exceptionally good, since he had a guardian in the form of a cheeky monkey, who was spreading his rapturous charm everywhere about him.

From nowhere, a Splendid Queen appeared before me. She was so pretty, wearing a long flowery skirt, a summery straw hat, sandals, and crocheted cardigan. On her left side was a goblin whose face was coloured blue and yellow, who was prancing, and laughing, and chattering constantly. And I knew that she was Tefnuth, the oldest sorceress, and the most powerful, who had been left by her fiancé when she was about to give birth to their baby, according to the tale by Tom the Rhymester. And I could see that she was heavily pregnant. And Rwm bel-Shaftí was the crafty imp who could not stop asking question after question in his loud, shrill voice. He came originally from a long line of excellent butchers but at the time of the First Great Tribulation, he turned his hand to being a cobbler who made the stoutest shoes in the Nw Yrth from the pelt of the cannibal lizard, until he came under the influence of Swtach. And then, having lost a wager with the Lord of the Wilderness regarding who screams worst in the Bottomless Pit, the justified or the sinners, he became his servant, and a slimy creature, who would work from then on to cause havoc and perplex the Sorcerers. They could not, however, withstand his temptingly complex words, nor the fact that he would bring them sumptuous presents all the time.

Looking into the whites of my eyes, the Goddess asked without pronouncing a word whether I would agree to come to nurse her baby. I almost died of fright, but the Otherworldly Noble-woman could read the secrets written on my heart. She promised therefore that if I were to yield to her demand, I could return in due course to the Earth, adding with a smile that I would be extensively blessed from then on. Whist considering the words which were charmingly tempting, but full of anguish. I came to the conclusion that I could not refuse. I saw, too, however, that Rwm bel-Shaftí was a most dangerous creature, as he was exceptionally unruly and bubbling with energy that would delight in ransacking lands and maiming souls without compunction. From hearing her fair oration and staring into her shining face, I could not but go with her, and we went arm in arm on the road towards her kingdom, which is not in heaven, nor in hell either, but in Elfan on the Nw Yrth’s Southern Continent. And there, after she brought her child into this Topsy-Turvy World, I did as she demanded, caring for the powerful one, who would inherit everything in his time.

Rwm bel-Shaftí was fiercely jealous. Every morning he would come to me in the nursery, and at midday, and every night as well, giggling, and prancing, and offering presents. But I understood that he desired nothing but to harm the innocent baby. Now then, he could not cross the threshold without my permission on the command of the Mother of the Dead. And he would come to hammer on the door of thick oak over and over, and I would ask him what he wanted. And he would answer every time with another question, such as – Would you like pearls? – or, Do you need gems? – or, Do you wish to own more money? And then he would give me the present he was talking about. I would always accept it with the greatest courtesy, explaining that I would present it to my Mistress, who was his Mistress also, rather than keeping it for myself. And on hearing that he would rush off roaring, and stamping, and gesticulating wildly.

These tricks continued day after day, night after night, the one month after the other, for years on end. But little by little the boy was growing up and beginning to mature, and the today was getting more and more angry, so that he was almost exploding from the realisation that the period of his influence was coming to an end. On the final day of my service he arrived as usual, asking through clenched teeth – Would you accept, Woman from the Earth, everything which I have to offer? I realised at once that that was a trap, as I could not answer yes or no. And so I said immediately, speaking in just the same way as he did, and answering one question with another – Is there any inquiry you cannot answer? Thereupon, the gnome lost his composure completely, jumping up and down, turning somersaults, and screeching curses in tongues and myriad languages, as he could not answer. And in the end, so great was his wrath and his frustration, that he turned into an enormous golden hay-stack which represented everything that he had to offer. And it was so heavy that it sank down through the floor towards the centre of the Nw Yrth, leaving only the echo of his last, odious words, behind.

The Holy Goddess was so happy with my work, after I had rid the Immortal Kingdom of the shameless predator, and an enormous feast was held to celebrate the birthday of the Son Foretold who had come of age by then, and to thank me too. And then amongst great joy, mixed with considerable sadness, I was sent homewards through space and time once again. And indeed, I was greatly favoured when I al last returned to the Earth, as I had got a recipe in the Nw Yrth regarding how to grow the spiciest beans in the Two Worlds, which had magical powers, that would be awoken only by burning them in a conflagration. But about that I have promised to keep silent. Strange to say, sixteen years had gone by on the Nw Yrth, but only one whole day had passed on our Earth. And stranger, soon I discovered that I myself was expecting a baby, although I was a maiden. And I was sure that his name would be called Baldrog, the same as the Son of the Queen of Elfan. – “The Tale of the Queen of Elfan’s Nurse” from “True Folk Tales from the Heart of the Continent,” by Pjetër Mamrick (collector), translated by Daud Pekar, and with illustrations by Steffan Baldrog Grossmann.

Unwaith, amser maith yn ôl mae’n ymddangos, blentyndod mab yn ôl, ella, dw i’m yn gallu cyfrif mwyach, roeddwn i’n feddyliaethydd uchelgeisiol dan hyfforddiant ar y ffordd i ennill clod a bri. Ond bellach dim ond llongwr ar goll ydw i, neu’n hytrach môr-leidr, sy’n byw o’r llaw i’r genau. A dyna mi’n hwylio ar foroedd aflonydd y Ddaear greulon, gan nofio efo’r llif mewn bad bach â chriw un fenyw, ar ‘mhen fy hun bob amser, mwy neu lai. A'r pryd hyn, er nad wy’n sicr amdano, dim ond y lleisiau’n sisial yn ddi-baid oddi mewn imi’n dawelach dawelach efo treigl amser sy’n cynnig angor a phorthladd noddfa. Ond offeryn fy ngormes, fy ngharreg rwystr, a’m cerydd ydyn nhw ar yr un pryd. O, am beth poenus eithriadol yw ôl-ddoethineb!Once, a long time ago it appears, a son’s childhood ago, I cannot count any more, I was an ambitious mentalist in training on the way to winning fame and renown. But now I am but a lost sailor, or rather a pirate, who’s living from hand to mouth. And so I sail the troubled waters of the cruel Earth, going with the flow in a one-woman boat, always on my own, more or less. And now, although I am not sure of it, it is only the voices whispering ceaselessly within me, quieter and quieter as time goes on, which offer me an anchor and a sanctuary. But they are my torture instrument, my stumbling block, and my chastisement at the same time. Oh, what an exceptionally painful thing is hindsight!
Roedd yr haf pan gefais fy – rhwydo – a’r dyddiau’n hir ac euraidd, wedi’u britho â gwaed, ac ar yr awyr drom, flas india-corn ar y cobyn wedi’i grilio, ac arogl efydd llathredig, hefyd. Tymor Edifeirwch Hir oedd o, yr amser ‘na pan fydd dyn yn rhoi halen ar hen friwiau. Rwy’n gwybod, mi fues i yno. Wrth gwrs, dyma mi’n parablu’n huawdl, a dyna ddiflas ichi, ond – wel, rhaid imi ddeud fy meddwl ar ôl fy mhrofiadau ysgytwol, ‘does dim y gallaf fi’i ‘neud yn ei gylch, a dyna’r cwbl. Gobeithio bod chi’n gallu maddau imi am falu awyr fel hyn – ella mai am nad wy’n perthyn i unrhyw grefydd rwy’n ’neud o – ond o ystyried popeth sy wedi digwydd, rwy wedi casglu bod cyffesu’n angenrheidiol, rhywsut, os na fedraf fi anghofio’n llwyr.It was the summer when I was – ensnared – the days long and golden, speckled with blood, and in the heavy air the taste of grilled corn on the cob, and the smell of polished bronze, too. It was the Season of the Long Repentance, that time when one puts salt on old wounds. I know, I was there. Of course, here I am holding forth eloquently, and that is boring for you, but – well, I have to speak my mind after my shocking experiences, there is nothing I can do about it, and that’s that. I hope you can forgive me for going on like this – perhaps it’s because I don’t belong to any faith that I’m doing it – but considering everything that has happened, I’ve concluded that confession is necessary, somehow, if I cannot forget completely.
Roedd y Doethur John Procter wedi mynnu y dylwn i fynd i lawr i’r hen fwthyn glas, wel, ar ôl imi ddod at fy nghoed yn sgil y ddamwain, i adfywio. Mae dyn yn medru dychmygu sut ŵr yw o. Pan fydd o wedi penderfynu, ni all neb ei wadu! Roedd yn rhaid imi ddianc, beth bynnag, i glirio lle imi fy hunan, fel y meddan nhw, ac roedd y Doethur Da wedi addo na fyddai’r Hen Filwr yno’n llechu a glaswenu. Ac roeddwn i â’m holl fryd ar fy nhraethawd olaf ynghylch y berthynas rhwng dulliau meddyliaethol a chwedleuon hynafol, neu rywbeth o’r fath, ac wedi bod yn canolbwyntio mor astud nes bu bron imi syrthio i mewn i’r Bydoedd Amgen roeddwn i’n darllen amdanyn nhw. Felly, y penwythnos ‘na, mi gefais i lifft yn yr hen fan wen o’r plasty i’r lle ‘na ym mhen draw’r ‘stad, a’r cerbyd yn llawn dop o lawysgrifau wedi’u llun-gopïo, a blychau ffeilio o nodiadau. Roedd tameidiau o ryw gân yn fy mhlagio i wrth i’r Doethur ein hyrddio ni’n beryglus o gyflym trwy’r lonydd troellog. Ac rwy’n fy nghofio fy hun yn meddwl yn glir mod i’n encilio rhag gwareiddiad. Byddar i donau ydw i, raid imi ddeud (er gwaethaf fy medr eithriadol mewn barddoniaeth fodern), ond yn groes i’m hewyllys, fel ‘tasai, ‘nes i ddechrau mwmian yn uchel ryw hen fantra i Nuthkí, a ddarparith i bawb y manna sy'n bwydo a lladd – "Mi chwarddwn efo'r Haul, ac wylo hefo'r Lleuad, wrth hau had ffrwythlon bywyd, cyn huno yn y Ddaear." Er gwaethaf gwres llethol y prynhawn, ‘naeth cryndod annisgwyl ymwthio trwy fy nghorff, ac er nad credwr mewn unrhyw lol ofergoelus mo fi, ‘nes i dynnu’r Arwydd Melyn yn reddfol â’m llaw chwith dan yr het oedd yn gorwedd ar fy arffed, wrth adrodd yn ddistaw weiddi oesol i Swtach Arglwydd yr Anialwch.Doctor John Procter had insisted that I should go down to the old blue cottage, well, after I came to my senses in the wake of the accident, to recover. One can imagine what kind of a man he is. When he’s decided, no-one can deny him! I had to escape, anyway, to give myself some space, as they say, and the Good Doctor had promised that the Old Soldier would not be there, skulking and simpering. And I was preoccupied with my final essay on the relationship between mentalist methods and ancient tales, or something like that, and had been concentrating so assiduously that I had almost fallen into the Alternate Worlds I was reading about. So, that weekend, I had a lift in the old white van from the mansion to that place in the far end of the estate, with the vehicle packed full of photo-copied manuscripts, and box-files of notes. Snippets of some song pestered me as the Doctor hurled us dangerously fast through the winding lanes. And I remember myself thinking clearly that I was retreating from civilization. I am tone-deaf, I must say (despite my exceptional talent in modern poetry), but against my will, as it were, I began mumbling out loud some old mantra to Nuthkí, who provides everyone with the manna which feeds and kills – “We laugh with the Sun, and weep with the Moon, sowing life’s strong seed, then sleeping in the Ground.” Despite the oppressive afternoon heat, an unexpected shiver thrust itself through my body, and although I am not a believer in any superstitious nonsense, I instinctively made the Yellow Sign with my left hand under the hat that was lying on my lap, silently reciting an age-old prayer to Swtach Lord of the Wilderness.
Pan ‘naethon ni gyrraedd y bwthyn, ni ‘naeth y Doethur Da wastraffu dim amser yn canu’n iach â mi. A bod yn berffaith onest, ‘naeth o droi ar ei sawdl cyn gynted ag roeddwn i wedi mynd at ddrws y ffrynt, oedd mewn cyflwr gwael am ryw reswm, er nad o’n i’n synnu yn y lleiaf. “Peidiwch ofni’r cysgodion,” meddai fo, a’i lygaid yn pefrio, “Dyn nhw ddim yn brathu!” Ac wedyn i ffwrdd â fo. Y tu mewn i’r lle, roedd y sefyllfa’r un peth, yn fwy neu lai, ag roeddwn i ‘di chofio, er nad oeddwn wedi bod yno ers pan oeddwn i wedi dod i ymweld â’r Hen Filwr, cyn iddo waethygu gymaint, hwyrach chwe mis o’r blaen. Nage fy hoff le oedd o o gwbl. Ond ‘does dim rhaid imi boeni am hynny mwyach.When we arrived at the cottage, the Good Doctor wasted no time in bidding me farewell. To be perfectly honest, he turned on his heel as soon as I had got to the front door, which was in a terrible state for some reason, although I wasn’t in the least surprised. “Don’t be frightened of the shadows,” said he, his eyes sparkling, “They don’t bite!” And then off he went. Inside the place, the situation was the same, more or less, as I had remembered, although I’d not been there since I’d come to visit the Old Soldier, before he got so much worse, perhaps six months before. It was not my favourite place at all. But there’s no need for me to worry about that any more.
Roedd y goriad mor stiff yn y clo, a dim ond trwy nerth bôn braich ‘nes i agor y drws – ond nage dyna rywbeth anarferol nac annymunol imi, rwy’n sicr y cytunech chi. Tra o’n i’n gwthio fy ffordd i mewn, ‘naeth y rhifau ar y drws syrthio i’r llawr, ‘fyd, dim syndod yno, ‘te! Wrth imi feddwl yn gliriach bellach, ella mai argoeli – y datblygiadau, y digwyddiadau i ddod – roedd yr ennyd gyntaf hon o amheuaeth, o betruster. Pwy a ŵyr? Mae’n hawdd gweld beth a fydd, neu ddeall yr hyn a ddigwyddith, debyg gen i, ar ôl iddo ddyrnu’ch penglog, a dyna chi’n llanastr llwyr, yn gorwedd yn anymwybodol ar y lawr, ac yn waed coch, poeth i gyd.The key was so stiff in the lock, and only by using all my might did I open the door – but that’s not something unusual or disagreeable to me, I’m sure you’d agree. Whilst I was pushing my way in, the numbers on the door fell to the ground, too, no surprise there, then! As I think more clearly now, perhaps this first instant of doubt, of hesitancy, augured – the developments, the events to come. Who knows? It’s easy to see what will be, or understand what will happen, it seems to me, after it cracks open your skull, and there you are, a complete shambles, lying unconscious on the floor, covered in hot, red blood.
Beth bynnag, nid cartref â phob cyfleuster oedd y bwthyn mewn unrhyw ystyr o’r geiriau; roedd yn fwy tebyg i ryw dŷ fferm wedi mynd ar ei waeth, ac wrth gwrs mae wedi’i ddistrywio’n llwyr erbyn hyn. Roedd ‘na fan enfawr, drafftiog, yn chwarae rhan y gegin a’r lolfa ar yr un pryd, i ryw raddau. A dyna heb sôn am y tŷ bach, oedd yn sefyll yng nghefn yr annedd, rhwng y ddwy ‘stafell wely fach iawn. Roedd popeth yno yn f’atgoffa i’n annifyr am yr Hen Filwr, a’i ddull neilltuol o ‘neud pethau. Wrth gwrs, roedd hefyd y drws derw trwchus yn arwain i lawr y grisiau i’r seler, ond mi wyddwn i eisoes fod hwn wedi’i gloi mor dynn â’r porthcwlis yn nwnsiwn Swtach.Anyway, the cottage was not a home with every mod-con, not in any sense of the words; it was more like some dilapidated farmhouse, and of course it’s been utterly destroyed by now. There was an enormous, draughty space playing the part of kitchen and lounge at the same time, to a certain extent. And that’s not to mention the toilet, that stood in the back of the dwelling, between the two very small bedrooms. Everything there reminded me disagreeably of the Old Soldier, and his particular way of doing things. Of course, there was also the thick oaken door leading down the stairs to the cellar, but I already knew that this was locked as tight as the portcullis in Swtach’s dungeon.
O, edrychwch ar yr antimacasarau ar y cadeiriau breichiau creithiog, y trugareddau coegwych, gwrthun fel y pyramid enfawr melyn, a’r papur wal casnach, â phatrwm sgwarog coch a gwyrdd arno, oedd yn glynu wrth y muriau am ei fywyd! Mi ddefnyddia fo'r gair ‘bywiog’ i ddisgrifio’r lle pan oeddwn i yma y tro diwethaf – O Lushfé cu! Wel, roedden nhw’n arfer ‘neud pethau’n hollol wahanol yn yr hen ddyddiau, nac oedden, a dydy dim byd ohono’n ymddangos yn naturiol erbyn hyn, coeliwch chi mi! Yn wir, roedd yr holl olygfa fochaidd yn codi cyfog arnaf fi, ac mi ‘nes i benderfynu yn y fan a’r lle gael gwared ar yr hen sothach maes o law.Oh, behold the antimacassars on the scarred arm-chairs, the repugnant, gaudy bric-à-brac like the enormous yellow pyramid, and the flock wallpaper with the red and green square pattern on it, which was clinging to the walls for its life! He used the word ‘lively’ to describe the place when I was here the last time – Oh, dear Lushfé! Well, they used to do things totally differently in the old days, didn’t they, and none of it looks natural now, believe you me! Indeed, the whole filthy vista was making me sick, and I decided on the spot to get rid of all the old rubbish in due course.
Ac eto i gyd, y drewdod! Roedd mor drwchus â braster morfil, yn ddigon i glymu’r tafod – myn Tefnuth – roedd arogl rhywbeth mawr o’i le. Sawr cyfoglyd lilïau pydredig, wedi’i gymysgu â gwynt trwm thus myglyd, fel pinwydd ar dân. Ond offeryn chwit-chwat yw’r trwyn, ac unwaith iddo ddygymod â’r amgylchedd, ‘nes i ddechrau sylwi ar sawr arall. Gwynt llymsur, siarp osôn, yn llosgi fy ffroenau, a ‘neud i’m llygaid ddyfrio. Dyna oedd dechrau’r digwyddiadau sydd wedi arwain i’r – amgylchiadau – sydd ohoni hi bellach.And then again, the stench! It was as thick as whale-fat, enough to make your tongue cleave to the roof of your mouth – by Tefnuth – it was the smell of something very wrong. The gut-wrenching odour of rotting lilies, mixed with the heavy smell of stifling incense, like pines on fire. But the nose is a fickle instrument, and once it got accustomed to the environment, I began to notice another smell. The sharp, pungent smell of ozone, burning my nostrils, and making my eyes water. That was the beginning of the events that have led to the – circumstances – which pertain now.
Ond, ty’d ‘mlaen, ferch, paid di â chynhyrfu – rhaid iti ddod atat dy hun! Nawr ‘te, yn wir, diwedd y Byd – y closed! Pan es i i gael fy nghorff i lawr (fel y bydd ar ddynes angen ei ‘neud o bryd i’w gilydd), neu’n fwy manwl gywir, wedyn, ar ôl hynny, pan ‘nes i dynnu’r gadwyn er mwyn golchi’r ysgarthiad i lawr y draen, ‘nes i gwrdd â sefyllfa fwyaf anghyffredin. Wel, ni ollyngai’r toiled uffernol ‘na ddim dŵr, i sicrwydd. Ar y llaw arall, roedd i’w clywed ddim ond grwgnach wedi’i dagu, a chloncian gwyllt gan y pibelli. Mi allwn i fod wedi tyngu bod y tŷ bach yn chwerthin ar fy mhen i, gan regi’n giaidd mewn iaith na allwn ei deall o gwbl!But, come on, girl, don’t get agitated – you must pull yourself together! Now then, indeed, the end of the World – the closet! When I went to do my business (as a woman has to do from time to time), or more correctly, thereafter, after that, when I pulled the chain in order to wash the sewage down the drain, I met with a most unusual situation. Well, that hellish toilet would not release any water, to be sure. On the other hand, there was to be heard only a choked grumbling, and a wild clanking from the pipes. I could have sworn that the toilet was laughing at me, swearing brutally in a language I could not understand at all!
Ac am lais mor ffiaidd, mor frwnt, oedd yn byrlymu wrth iddo fy ngwatwar i! Ond, trwy’r amser, er gwaethaf yr iaith fras oedd yn llifo fel lafa trwy fy nychymig ffrwythlon, ni allwn i feddwl ond am un peth, ac ohoni’i hun, ‘naeth delw o’r un hogyn ‘na (ai 'ngwaredwr ynteu ‘ninistriwr ydy o, ’dwn i’m) ffurfio yn llygad fy meddwl, ac roedd i’w weld yn union fel roedd o wedi ymddangos y tro cyntaf gwelais i fo, hynny yw, yn fachgen colledig, trist, a golwg gwalch arno.And what a hateful, nasty voice, that was burbling as it mocked me! But, all the time, despite the choice language that was flowing like lava through my fertile imagination, I could think of but one thing, and of its own accord, an image of that one lad (whether he is my deliverer or my destroyer, I know not), formed in my mind’s eye, and he looked exactly as he had appeared the first time I saw him, that is, as a sad, lost boy, with a roguish look about him.
Mi fyddwch chi’n deall, rwy’n sicr, roeddwn i dan straen aruthrol o ganlyniad i dostrwydd fy Mam, ond mae ei hymadawiad hi wedi gadael ei ôl arnaf fi hefyd. Wrth gwrs, pan fuodd hithau farw o’r diwedd, dyna oedd pan ‘nes i ddewis dianc o Dad a dod i Aberdydd i ymweld â’r teulu wedi ymddieithrio yn y lle cyntaf. Dim ond wedyn ‘nes i ystyried mi fedrwn i honni fy etifeddiaeth a chymryd y lle drosodd, wrth ‘neud pethau’n well na nhw ar yr un pryd. Fodd bynnag, roedd y sŵn gyddfol yn codi o’r tŷ bach mor fwriadol, a hefyd, rhywsut, mor fwystfilaidd. Ar sail glanweithdra’n unig, ‘lly, roedd ar y fenyw ‘ma angen ‘neud rhywbeth difrifol yn ei gylch. Heb oedi!You’ll understand, I’m sure, I was under incredible strain as a result of my Mother’s illness, but her departure had left its mark on me too. Of course, when she died at last, that was when I chose to escape from Father and come to Aberdydd to visit the estranged family in the first place. Only then did I consider that I would claim my birth-right and take the place over, doing things better than them at the same time. However, the guttural sound arising from the bathroom was so purposeful, and also, somehow, so bestial. On the basis of cleanliness alone, then, this woman needed to do something serious about it. Without delay!
Ac mi wyddwn lle mi allwn i gael hyd i’r union ddyn i ‘neud y swydd – hyd yn oed ‘tasa’n digwydd bod yn waith budr. Felly, o fewn awr a hanner i’m cyrraedd, roeddwn wedi cychwyn cerdded draw i ochr arall y ‘stad er mwyn gofyn cymorth gan fy ngŵr ifanc, fy hanner brawd, Steffan, a dyna oedd taith o hanner awr dda. Nid fy mod i’n cerdded yn ling-di-long, wyddoch chi, ond roedd fy nghymalau’n gwynegu’n ofnadwy. Doedd teleffon yno yn y bwthyn, wrth reswm, a dyna oedd f’unig ddewis. Roedd tua pump o’r gloch, ac yn dwymach nag roedd hi wedi bod trwy gydol yr haf. Ww, rwy’n teimlo fel ‘tasa’r digwyddiadau tynghedus yn datblygu o flaen fy llygaid hyd yn oed yn awr. Dyma sut y darfu hi, felly.And I knew where I could get hold of the exact man to do the job – even if it happened to be dirty work. So, within an hour and a half of my arriving, I had begun walking over to the other side of the estate in order to seek support from my young man, my half-brother, Steffan, and that was a good half hour’s journey. Not that I was dawdling along, you know, but my joints were aching awfully. There was no telephone there in the cottage of course, and that was my only choice. It was about five o’clock, and warmer than it had been through all the summer. Ooh, I feel as if the fateful events were developing before my eyes even now. This is how it happened, then.
‘Nes i gyrraedd y ‘sgubor hynafol ond glanwaith (neu beth bynnag oedd hi) yn rhan fwyaf bawlyd y ‘stad, lle roedd Steffan yn arfer loetran fel rheol (ella na all dyn ddeud ei fod o’n byw yno), a sleifio i mewn. Roedd y lle’n dywyll a myglyd, wedi’i oleuo’n wael gan gwpl o ganhwyllau ar ben pellaf y ‘stafell, ac yn gwynto o rwber yn llosgi, ‘stafelloedd newid chwyslyd, a sosej, bîns a tsips. Ni allwn i weld yn dda iawn, ond cyn gynted ag imi fynd i mewn roeddwn i’n teimlo mor boeth ac mor ofnus, ac yn sicr bod ‘na sarff enfawr, gyhyrog yn gorwedd yn dorch yno, yn hyderus yr ymdaflai’r ysglyfaeth i’w afael, p’un ai’n fwriadol neu beidio. ‘Nes i fagu gwroldeb, gan fy ngwthio fy hun yn fy mlaen i’r diriogaeth anhysbys, ac yn sydyn, roedd fel ‘taswn i wedi treiddio i galon y dirgelion yn digwydd mewn teml baganaidd, yn orlawn o ogoniant cuddiedig.I reached the ancient but neat barn (or whatever it was) in the dirtiest part of the estate, where Steffan used to loiter as a rule (perhaps one cannot say that he lived there), and slunk inside. The place was dark and stifling, badly lit by a couple of candles at the farthest end of the room, and smelling of burning rubber, sweaty changing rooms, and sausage, beans and chips. I could not see very well, but as soon as I had gone in I felt so hot and so fearful, and sure that there an enormous, muscled snake coiled up there, confident that the prey would fling itself into its grip, intentionally or not. I mustered up courage, thrusting myself forward into the unknow territory, and suddenly, it was as if I had penetrated into the heart of the mysteries taking place in a pagan temple, replete with hidden glory.
Ymhlith y cysgodion wedi’u taflu gan y golau crynedig, o’r braidd y gallwn i ganfod bod ‘na ddwy ffurf ddynol yn symud o gwmpas fel ‘tasen nhw’n brwydro. Neu ella mai gwell fydda deud dawnsio. Neu ryw gyfuniad o’r ddau. Ac roedd ‘na ddau lais yn cystadlu efo’i gilydd, y naill yn cyflym adrodd ac ailadrodd, yn wâr ond taer, swynion alcemegol ar gyfer rhwymo a gollwng, wrth i’r llall ganu crwth, a gwyllt ruo, bob yn ail, gan ddatgan goruchafiaeth yr anialwch. Roeddwn i’n cymryd mai Steffan a David oedden nhw, ond allwn i’m coeli hyn am fod y giamocs oll mor annynol ac annymunol. Ond dyna lle roedd cyfundrefnau rheolaidd cymdeithas yn brwydro’n ffyrnig yn erbyn grymoedd caotig natur. Fel rheol mi fydda wedi bod y gyntaf i chwerthin am eu pennau, ac wedyn rhoi pryd o dafod iddyn nhw. Ond ni feiddiwn i ddynesu at y cyrff yn gwingo, mor annaturiol oedd yr ystumiau a’r udo. Felly, mi ‘nes i aros fy nghyfle, a’m calon yn fy ngwddf. O, mewn gwirionedd, roeddwn i’n sefyll wedi fy hoelio i'r fan mewn cyflwr o bryder dirfawr, ond, o ystyried popeth yn fwy manwl bellach, roedd yr ing wedi’i gymysgu efo gwreichion o gasineb mai dynion ddylai allu gorchymyn y fath bŵer, neu chwarae’r fath gemau o leiaf. Mi fu bron i mi ddymuno mai Dilynwraig y Broffwydes o’n i, ac Offeiriades Aberthol ar bwn hynny, a ‘naeth ias o gyffro a dychryn redeg trwy fy mêr.Amongst the shadows cast by the quivering light, I could barely discern that there were two human forms moving about as if they were fighting. Or maybe it would be better to say dancing. Or some combination of the two. And there were two voices competing with each other, the one rapidly reciting and reiterating, courteously but insistently, alchemical charms for binding and releasing, as the other purred, and roared wildly, one after the other, declaring the dominion of the desert. I took it that they were Steffan and David, but I could not believe this as all the tomfoolery was so inhuman and unpleasant. But there were the regular systems of society fighting fiercely against the chaotic forces of nature. As a rule, I would have been the first to laugh at them, and then give them a good tongue-lashing. But I dared not draw close to the squirming bodies, so unnatural were the gesticulations and the howling. So, I awaited my chance, with my heart in my throat. Oh, in truth, I was standing nailed to the spot in a condition of abject terror, but, considering everything in more detail now, the distress was mixed with sparks of hatred that men should be able to command such power, or play such games at least. I almost wished I was a Follower of the Prophetess, and a Sacrificial Priestess as well, and a shiver of excitement and fear ran through my marrow.
O, dyna lle roeddwn i bron â threngi o fraw, pan ‘naeth y ddefod astrus ddibennu’n gwbl ddisymwth, efo sgrech fain gan un o’r lleisiau, dw i’m yn gallu deud p’un, ond roedd yn ddigon uchel i fferru'r gwaed. Ac wedyn, wedi’i foddi gan olau calonogol y cyfnos roedd y lle, a David wedi ymddangos o rywle y tu ôl imi heb ei ddisgwyl, hyd yn oed er iddo fo fod yn prancio y tu blaen imi ond eiliadau cyn hynny. Y person olaf ro’n i isio’i weld, ac eto, i ble roedd Steffan wedi diflannu mor sydyn? Bron na wyddwn i beth i'w ddeud, ac o'r braidd y gallwn i siarad, p’run bynnag.Oh, there was I, almost dying of fear, when the perplexing ritual terminated completely unexpectedly, with a high-pitched scream from one of the voices, I cannot say which one, but it was loud enough to freeze the blood. And then the place was flooded with the dusk’s heartening light, and David had appeared out of the blue from somewhere behind me, even though he had been prancing in front of me just seconds before that. The last person I wanted to see, and then again, where had Steffan disappeared so suddenly? I scarcely know what to say, and in any case I could barely speak.
Ar ôl ebychu’n gynddeiriog yn enw’r Saith, dyna oedden i’n llyncu fy ngeiriau wrth esbonio’r problemau efo’r gwaith dŵr yn y bwthyn. Nage un am lewygu dw i, wedi’r cwbl! ‘Doedd yr un gair o ymddiheuriad o’i enau, ni ryfedd deud. Ond roedd o’n cwyno ei fod wedi bod mewn helynt go iawn efo’r awdurdodau byth oddi ar y parti dan y pinwydd, a bod rhaid iddo ddianc, felly unrhyw arian parod fyddai’n ddefnyddiol iawn. Dim ond meddwl amdano fo’i hun, fel arfer, yr alpaca hunanol, bawlyd! Ond o’m rhan i, mi ddaethwn i’r casgliad y byddwn i’n falch iawn o gael ei gefn, y naill ffordd na'r llall. Rwy’n gwybod erbyn hyn mai dim ond fy sugno i mewn ymhellach fel traeth byw roedd o efo’i dafod melys (neu rywbeth tebyg, geiriau ballant!). Ond o leiaf mi ‘naeth o fynegi’i allu, a’i barodrwydd, i roi cymorth. A dyna oedden ni ill dau’n penderfynu ar amser i gyfarfod y dydd nesaf.After exclaiming rabidly in the name of the Seven, there was I, tongue-tied, explaining the problems with the water-works in the cottage. I’m not one for swooning, after all! Not one word of apology escaped his lips, not surprising to relate. But he was complaining that he had been in real trouble with the authorities ever since the party under the pines, and that he had to escape, so any cash would be most useful. Only thinking about himself, as usual, the dirty, selfish alpaca! But for my part, I had come to the conclusion that I would be really pleased to see the back of him, one way or the other. I know by now that he was only sucking me in further like quicksand, with his silver tongue (or something like that, words fail me!). But at least he expressed his ability, and his readiness, to give help. And so the two of us decided on a time to meet the next day.
Roedd y gollyngdod a dwimlwn gan fy mod i 'di cymryd y cam cyntaf yn cymysgu’n gydradd efo ‘nghywilydd. Heb air o gelwydd, roeddwn i wedi ymlâdd. Felly, mi ‘nes i bwrw hi’n syth am Y Ddafad Golledig ar gyrion y ‘stad. Am dwll drewllyd, tywyll yw’r lle uffernol ‘na! Ac yno ‘nes i eistedd dan bwdu am oriau di-ben-draw wrth synfyfyrio’n biwis dros annhegwch y Drefn Fawr, a melltithio Steffan, y Tarw Swmpus ‘na am fy ngadael i ar y clwt ar awr gyfyng. Dw i’m yn cofio be’n union ‘nes i yfed yno, ond roedd yn cynnwys potel o wisgi cartref o’r enw ‘Meddwl Mall.’ ‘Neno Wezir, roedd yn gryf, fel ‘tasa wedi’i ‘neud o dynnwr paent, cegiden, hoelion rhydlyd, a soda costig! A ‘naeth y ddiod effeithio arnaf fi’n od iawn, oherwydd po fwyaf a yfwn i, mwyaf y bydda f’ofn blaenorol yn troi’n llid aflywodraethus tuag at bawb a phopeth. A minnau wastad mor ddymunol, a pharod fy nghymwynas, ac isio o waelod fy nghalon wella’r Byd toredig a’i drigolion drylliedig. Ar ôl gwegian yn ôl i’r bwthyn, siŵr o fod, mi ‘nes i syrthio i gwsg anesmwyth, darfwyd arno gan freuddwyd ro’n i’n sicr fy mod yn rhannu efo Mrs Grossmann, gan mi allwn glywed ei llais yn adrodd, fel ‘taswn i yng nghegin y plasty, wedi llyncu ambell un o’i theisennau tra arbennig —The release I was feeling because I had taken the first step was mixing equally with my shame. Without a word of a lie, I was exhausted. So, I headed straight for The Lost Sheep on the outskirts of the estate. What a dark, stinking hole that hellish place is! And there, I sat pouting for endless hours, meditating peevishly on the unfairness of the Cosmic Order, and cursing Steffan, that Bulky Bull, for leaving me in the lurch in my hour of need. I don’t remember what exactly I drank there, but it included a bottle of home-made whiskey called ‘Blasted Brains.’ In Wezir’s name, it was strong, as if it were made from paint-stripper, hemlock, rusty nails, and caustic soda! And the drink affected me very oddly, as the more I drank, the more my former fear turned into uncontrollable ire towards everyone and everything. And me usually so agreeable, and ready to do a favour, and wanting from the bottom of my heart to change the broken world and its shattered inhabitants for the better. After staggering back to the cottage, probably, I fell into a troubled sleep, interrupted by a dream I am sure I was sharing with Mrs Grossmann, as I could hear her voice reciting, as if I was in the kitchen of the mansion-house, having eaten some of her very special cakes —
“Ers achau rwy’n teithio tuag at lan y môr sy wastad yn encilio rhagof fi; am filltiroedd undonog dros anialdir dirmygus a thrwy feysydd iâ creulon, i ddysgu gan yr hylif hallt, ac i gael hyd i ateb i’r cwestiwn a ofynnwyd gan ddynolryw o’r cychwyn cyntaf. Hen groth y Byd i gyd yw’n Mam ni’r môr, meddant, ac mae’n Dad i bawb at hynny. Gŵyr y dyfnderau affwysol gyfrinachau wedi’u cuddio er pan ddaeth y Blaned â’i chraidd o haearn i fod ar ffurf glôb o graig danbaid. Nid gosodiad ofer yw hwn, er mai ffaith i synnu ati ydy heb os nac oni bai, gan mai o donnau corddol y cawl cychwynnol y daw pob peth byw sydd wedi bodoli hyd hyn…“For ages I have travelled towards the shore of the sea, which is always retreating from me, for monotonous miles over scornful wilderness and through cruel ice-fields, to learn from the salty liquid, and to find an answer to the question asked by humanity from the very beginning. The old womb of the whole World is our Mother the sea, they say, and it is Father to all as well. The abyssal depths know secrets hidden since the Planet with its core of iron came to be in the form of a globe of fiery rock. This is not an empty statement, although it is a fact to be surprised at without a doubt, since from the churning waves of the primordial soup comes everything that has existed to date…
“Pwy felly a all ddeall yr holl wybodaeth hon sydd wedi’i cholli cyhyd? Rhy’r môr, ac fe ddwg ef ymaith unwaith eto gyda threigl amser. Y mae fel petai’n caru nes ei fod yn ymlâdd, gan esgor yr un pryd y cladd. Eto i gyd, myfi yw’r person olaf sy’n dal i fyw, ymddengys, ar ôl y drychineb ddirfawr a ysgubodd ymaith y taleithiau i gyd, gan ddileu pob cymdeithas a chrefydd a fu unwaith ar wyneb y Ddaear. Gyda hwythau aeth ein dicter, ein creadigaeth, ein gwyddoniaeth, ein rhyfyg, a phob agwedd arall ar fodolaeth ddynol. Ond fy hawl i, fel y pererin olaf a’r unig chwilyswr, yw dirnad beth yw ystyr bywyd. Yn gryndod byw fe waeddaf fy nghwestiwn o benrhyn yn uchel uwchben y dŵr diarbed…“Who therefore could understand all this information which has been lost so long? The sea gives and it takes away again in the fullness of time. It is as if it makes love until exhausted, bringing forth at the same time as it buries. Then again, I am the last person who remains alive, it appears, after the immense disaster that swept away all states, deleting every society and faith which once was on the face of the Earth. With them went our anger, our creativity, our science, our arrogance, and every other aspect of human existence. But it is my right, as the last pilgrim and the only inquisitor, to discern what is the meaning of life. Quaking in fear I shout my question from a promontory high above the unrelenting water…
“Ni ddychmygais erioed y byddai darganfod yn hawdd. Ceisiaswn wirionedd, ond fe’m syfrdanir gan y tawelwch llwyr. Sibrwd y gwynt, a wincia llygad gwaetgoch yr Haul hocedus yn yr awyr lwyd, leidiog, tra llyf y môr ei wefusau sychedig, tewion. Ond yn sydyn chwelir fy nghalon pan wyf yn syth-weld y ffeithiau moel rwy wedi bod yn chwilio amdanynt trwy gydol fy mywyd unig. Ni ddaw tân na daeargryn, na chorn yn canu, dim ond fy llais distaw main fy hun yn diasbedain yn fy mhen i —“I never imagined that discovery would be easy. I had sought truth, but I am astonished by the complete silence. The wind whispers, and the deceitful Sun’s bloodshot eye winks in the muddy, grey sky, while the sea licks its fat, parched lips. But suddenly my heart is shattered when I intuit the bald facts I have been searching for throughout my lonely life. There comes no fire nor earthquake, no trumpet blast, only my own still small voice resounding in my head —
“’Wele! Yr ydym yn byw ac yn marw, dyna i gyd. Gwir sylfaenol nad yw’n bod. Rhaid i ni wneud ein gorau glas gan ymddwyn yn ôl moesoldeb cyffredin hyd eithaf ein gallu, gan warchod ein gilydd, y Blaned, a phob creadur sydd arni, gan fod popeth wedi’i gysylltu gan we eithriadol gymhleth. Dysgu, a charu, a newid, a thranc yw natur bodolaeth. Dim byd sydd ar y Bydysawd inni, heb sôn am fywyd. Nid oes dim arwyddocâd gwaelodol i’w gael yn y fuchedd hon dan y Lleuad anystyriol. Hollol rydd ydym ni, ond o’r herwydd fe’n gorfodir i ddyfeisio’n hystyron ein hunain, i greu’n hanesion ein hunain.’…“’Behold! We live and we die, that is all. Foundational truth does not exist. We must do our very best, behaving according to common morality to the best of our ability, caring for each other, the Planet, and every creature that is on it, since everything is connected by an exceptionally complex web. Learning, and loving, and changing, and dying is the nature of existence. The Universe owes us nothing, not to mention life. There is no fundamental significance to be found in this life under the uncaring Moon. We are completely free, but as a result, we are forced to invent our own meanings, to create our own tales.’…
“Ond ni sylweddolasai ein rhywogaeth ddim o hyn oll trwy filenia o brofiad, ac mae’n rhy hwyr o lawer bellach. Dyma fi’n aros yn llonydd felly ar lan y môr aflonydd, gan alaru dros beth a fu, am bethau sydd, ac am yr hyn a allasai fod. A dyma’r neges chwerw i’r oesoedd, a adawaf mewn potel wedi’i thaflu i’r ewyn o’r traeth mud. Maes o law fe ddiflannaf ar fy nhaith ddarganfod derfynol i ymuno â’n cyndeidiau mewn cysgod tragwyddol. Yno ni fydd mwyaf na da na drwg, na meddwl na chlywed, na serch na chas, na difetha nac esgor. Ac yn y cyflwr hwnnw – weddïaf – yr adferir pob cam.”“But our species had not realised any of all this through millennia of experience, and it is much too late now. So, I wait peacefully on the shore of the restless sea, mourning for what has been, for things which are, and for what could have been. And this is the bitter message to the ages, which I leave in a bottle thrown into the foam from the mute beach. In due course I shall disappear on my final journey of discovery to join with our forebears in eternal shadow. There, there shall no more be either good or evil, neither thinking nor feeling, no love nor hate, neither destroying nor birthing. And in that condition – I pray – every wrong shall be made right.”
Pan ‘nes i ddihuno o’r diwedd y diwrnod wedyn, ro’n i’n teimlo yn ddi-hwyl ar y naw. Roedd fel ‘tasa torllwyth o foch wedi ymgartrefu yn fy mhen, a’r bore’n cuchio arnaf fi’n fygythiol, fel paffiwr â dyrnau noeth, oedd wedi ennill gornest anodd, wrth gael dau lygad du a thorri’i drwyn ar yr un pryd. Ac yng nghefn fy meddwl, am ryw reswm, atseinio yr oedd llais Steffan wrth iddo adrodd geiriau Swyn yr Un Bwystfil ar Ddeg, o Dabled Tynghedau chwedleuol —When I awoke at last the next day, I was feeling extremely out of sorts. It was as if a litter of pigs had set up home in my head, with the morning scowling at me threateningly, like a bare-knuckle fighter, who’d won a difficult contest, getting two black eyes and a broken nose in the process. And in the back of my mind, for some reason, Steffan’s voice was echoing, while he recited the words of the Charm of the Eleven Beasts from the fabled Tablet of the Fates —
“Boed i'r neidr wenwynllyd, y sarff ogoneddus,
A'r wiber gynddeiriog ymrithio;
Boed i'r sgorpion angheuol, y llysywen drydanol,
A'r tarw cyhyrog f'amddiffyn…”
“Let the poisonous snake, the glorious serpent,
And the raving viper materialise;
May the deadly scorpion, the electric eel,
And the muscular bull defend me...”
Roedd yn amlwg fy mod i wedi bod yn treulio gormod o amser yn gwrando ar refru’r Hen Filwr wrth fopio’i dalcen dryslyd, ac eto, roedd y Doethur Da wastad yn parablu am nerth hen eiriau, ond pam y byddai Steffan yn eu siantio,‘doedd gen i ddim syniad. Dw i’m yn sicr erbyn hyn a ‘naeth yr hud weithio neu beidio, ac wrth reswm, nid oes gennyf ffydd mewn pethau o’r fath. Sut bynnag am unwaith, ‘naeth yr hogyn anwadal arall ‘na gadw ei addewid, am iddo rodio draw i’r bwthyn am hanner dydd, mwy neu lai, efo sach hesian wedi’i llenwi ag arfau. Cyn gynted ag i’r llabwst gerdded drwy’r drws, mi ‘naeth o ddechrau breblian pymtheg y dwsin am ei broblemau personol, a’i gorchestion beiddgar – neu’n hytrach, ei dramgwyddau troseddol – wrth imi dwt-twtian a tharo ‘nhroed yn ddiamynedd mewn angoel lwyr, gan ddisgwyl iddo fo gau’i geg. ‘Do’n i byth yn un am wastraffu amser, ac artaith oedd gorfod clywed am yr anturiaethau dychmygol yng nghwmni’r Dynion Sed yn y Famwlad Aflonydd (a chael f’atgoffa o’i goncwestau rhywiol oedd waeth byth). Wel, curo tra bo’r haearn yn boeth oedd f’arwyddair i, ac roedd wastad cymaint o bethau imi eu ‘neud, er bod hynny wedi newid i raddau helaeth erbyn hyn.It was obvious that I had been spending too much time listening to the Old Soldier’s raving whilst mopping his addled brow, and then again, the Good Doctor was always prattling on about the power of old words, but why Steffan would be chanting them, I had no idea. I am not sure now whether the magic worked or not, and of course, I have no faith in such things. However, for once, that other wayward lad kept his promise, because he strolled over to the cottage at midday, more or less, with a hessian sack filled with tools. As soon as the lout walked through the door, he started chattering on nineteen to the dozen about his personal problems, and his daring exploits – or rather, his criminal offences – as I tut-tutted and tapped my foot impatiently in complete disbelief, waiting for him to shut his mouth. I was never one for wasting time, and it was torture having to hear about the imagined adventures in the company of the Z-Men in the Hunted Homeland (and being reminded of his sexual conquests was even worse). Well, strike while the iron’s hot is my watch-word, and there were always so many things for me to do, although that’s changed to a great extent by now.
Wel, ar ôl beth welwyd i mi fel tragwyddoldeb, ‘naeth David dorchi’i lewys a throi at ei waith ar y system waredu carthion â chryn frwdfrydedd. Cuddio ro’n i, gan esgus dyfrio’r tafod mam yng nghyfraith ym mhen draw’r lolfa ddi-chwaeth. Wedyn, ‘dwn i’m beth ddaeth dros fy mhen i, ond ‘naeth yr hen sug gwyrdd yn codi’n ddisyfyd; prin y gallwn i’n rheoli fy hun; pa mor chwerthinllyd ro’n i’n smalio bod yn lladradaidd wrth imi fynd yn nes at ddrws cilagored y tŷ bach, o le dôi’r sŵn ofnadwy ‘na’n byrlymu.Well, after what seemed to me like an eternity, David rolled up his sleeves and turned to his work on the sewage-disposal system with considerable enthusiasm. I was hiding, pretending to water the mother-in-law’s-tongue at the far end of the tasteless lounge. Then, I don’t know what came over me, but the old green sap rose up unexpectedly; I could scarcely control myself; how laughably did I pretend to be furtive, as I got closer to the half-open door of the toilet, from where that awful sound came bubbling out.
Ro’n i’n teimlo mor fyrbwyll – neno’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd – fe’m llethwyd gan emosiynau anghyson! Do’n i ddim yn gallu fy rhwystro fy hun rhag ceisio cael cip arno fo’n ddichellgar, wel rhag syllu, a bod yn onest. O, gadewch imi adrodd fy ngofidiau oll! Ro’n i’n llygadu’r hogyn drwg wrth iddo lafurio dros ei waith, hyd at ei gesail yn y bibell bedol, ymddangosai. Roedd o’n gwisgo dim ond fest wen wedi’i baeddu â Hebé-a-ŵyr-beth erbyn hynny, ddylwn i ddeud, ac yn chwysu chwartiau!I was feeling so rash – in the name of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers – I was overcome by conflicting emotions! I could not prevent myself from trying to have a crafty peek at him, well, from staring, to be honest. Oh, let me recite all my failings! I was getting an eyeful of the bad lad as he laboured over his work, up to his armpits in u-bend, it appeared. He was wearing only a white vest stained with Hebé-knows-what by then, I should say, and sweating buckets!
Dros fy nghrogi na allaf fi ddweud wrthoch chi am y weithred ddirmygus mi demtiwyd i i’w chyflawni, wrth imi sefyll, wedi fy huno gan y creithiau ar groen y bachgen, oedd yn dawnsio dros ei gefn a’i frest, ac i lawr ei freichiau fel rwnau cochion, cyntefig. Ac ar ei frest chwith, fel 'tasa wedi’i serio â haearn poeth, roedd siâp ‘sgarlad – ar ffurf symbol echrydus o ryw Fyd Arall. Ac wedyn,‘nes i weithredu, ond nid yn fwriadol, gan mai symud ar eu hunain ‘naeth fy nwylo, mi honnwn i. Wedi’r cwbl, roedd yr Arglwyddes Macbeth yn ffoli arno fo, a’r Doethur Da’n ei gael o’n greadur diddorol iawn, a Steffan yn ei garu, a’r Hen Filwr wastad yn ei ganlyn o, ‘doedd yn deg o gwbl! Ac wedi f’annog gan genfigen a chasineb, ‘nes i gyflawni’r ystumiau hudol cymhleth ro’n i wedi’u dwyn gan yr Hen Filwr, fyddai’n ei rwymo wrthof fi am byth yn y lle ‘na, gan fwmial geiriau’r swyn deirgwaith ar yr un pryd. Yr unig beth oedd na allwn i’u dwyn nhw i gof i sicrwydd, ac felly dyna o’n i’n llafarganu: “Yn enw’r tair Hen Dduwies, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – y forwyn, y fam, a’r wrach – y Syrthni Angheuol, y Ddrycin Anhydrin, a'r Afon Wylofus – Efo dur dwi’n dy wysio di; efo dŵr dw i’n dy gymell di; efo gwaed dw i’n dy rwymo di.”I’ll be hanged if I can tell you about the contemptuous act I was tempted to perform, as I stood, beguiled by the scars on the boy’s skin, which were dancing over his back and chest, and down his arms like primitive red runes. And on his left chest, as if seared with hot iron, there was a scarlet shape – in the form of a shocking symbol from some Other World. And then, I acted, but not intentionally, as my hands moved on their own, I would claim. After all, Lady Macbeth doted on him, and the Good Doctor found him to be a very interesting specimen, and Steffan loved him, and the Old Soldier was always courting him, it wasn’t fair at all! And egged on by jealousy and hate, I completed the complex magical passes I’d stolen from the Old Solider, which would bind him to me forever in that place, mumbling the charm thrice at the same time. The only thing was that I could not bring them to memory with certainty, and so there was I, intoning: “In the name of the three Old Goddesses, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – the maid, the mother, and the crone – the Deathly Malaise, the Intractable Storm, and the Tearful River – With steel I summon thee; with water I compel thee; with blood I bind thee.”
Mewn chwinciad, dyna lle ro’n i’n llithro ymaith i’r gegin o dan gwmwl o gywilydd llwyr, i gael paned o de cryf (ac ynddi joch enfawr o ‘Meddwl Mall’) a cheisio peidio â chynhyrfu cymaint. Yn y pendraw, mi ddaeth y Comando Trefol hunanhonedig allan yn drechwr dros y plymwaith ystyfnig. Mi fuodd yna ryw berfformiad chwithig, wrth imi ysgwyd ei law, gan bwmpio ei fraich lan a lawr, drosodd a throsodd, ac esgus bod yn hapus, ac yntau’n gofyn yn ddyrys, “Chi’n hoffi – y – gwaith mawr – Miss?”In a flash, I slipped away to the kitchen under a cloud of complete shame, to have a cup of strong tea (containing a huge slug of ‘Blasted Brains’) and try to quell my excessive agitation. In the end, the self-declared Urban Commando came out victorious over the stubborn plumbing. Then there was some awkward performance, as I shook his hand, pumping his arm up and down, over and over, and pretending to be happy, while he asked, perplexingly, “You like – the – great work – Miss?”
“Ydw, diolch yn fawr iawn, David, wel, yn wir, rwy’n ddiolchgar iawn am eich cymorth,” oedd yr unig beth y gallwn ei ddeud mewn ymateb, wrth imi ymbalfalu ym mhoced fy nhrowsus am bapur ugain punt cyn ei wthio tuag ato fo. Roeddwn i’n sicr iddo sylwi, rhywsut, ar fy sbecian o’r blaen, ac yn teimlo ychydig yn wanllyd o fod yn ei ŵydd, gan fod ‘na – wel, Lushfé cu – rywbeth anifeilaidd yn ei gylch. Mi allwn i – glywed ei oglau!“Yes, thank you very much, David, well, indeed, I am very grateful for your support,” was the only thing I could say in answer, as I fumbled in my trouser pocket for a twenty pound note before thrusting it towards him. I was sure he had noticed, somehow, my previous peeking, and was feeling a little frail from being in his presence, as there was – well, sweet Lushfé – something bestial about him. I could – smell him!
Am eiliad ‘nes i ddal ei lygaid o dan yr aeliau cochlyd, trwchus – a phelenni asur, meinion o’n nhw, yn perthyn i ryw fath o greadur direswm, annynol, hynafol! O, annwyl Nebesh, achuba mi, roeddwn i’n deisyf ar y Dduwies, a minnau’n feddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant ‘fyd, ddylai wybod yn well. Roedd fel ‘tawn i’n syllu i lygaid gafr! Tra oedd llaw afaelgar David yn gwawdio f’un i’n gyhyrog eto, mi ‘naeth yr un arall estyn – rhywbeth – o boced gefn ei jîns, a’i wthio ataf fi. Roedd mwsg llesmeiriol y p’nhawn yn dychlamu hongian rhyngom ni. Wedyn, mi ‘naeth wyneb yr hogyn hanner gwyllt hollti mewn crechwen watwarus, wrth iddo ddeud, “Awchu a chael, a geni, a lladd, a marw, drosodd a throsodd, dyna sut y mae hi, yn y Byd ‘ma, on’d ife, Miss? Dyna natur pethau, reit? Does dim byd yn gallu atal y cylch, sbo?”For a second I held his eyes under the thick, reddish brows – and they were piercing, azure orbs, belonging to some kind of ancient, inhuman, unreasoning creature! Oh, dear Nebesh, save me, I pleaded with the Goddess, even though I was a trainee mentalist, who should know better. It was as if I was staring into the eyes of a goat! While David’s tenacious hand still muscularly mocked mine, the other one reached out – something – from the back pocket of his jeans, and thrust it towards me. The afternoon’s entrancing musk hung throbbing between us. Then, the face of the half-wild lad split in a mocking grin, as he said, “Wanting, and having, and birthing, and dying, over and over, that’s how it is, in this World, isn’t it, Miss? That’s the nature of things, right? Nothing can break the cycle, I s’pose?”
Roedd fy meddwl yn rasio’n wyllt, wrth i’m corff simsanu. A minnau ar fin syrthio, mi ‘naeth o ‘nal i gan ysgubo mi oddi ar fy nhraed, fel petai. Ond, O, y peth – hwnnw – ‘naeth o’i wthio i ‘ngafael esgeulus! Dim ond chwe modfedd o daldra oedd o, ond eto i gyd – mor gyntefig – mor oren tywyll ag ocsid fferrig, yn waedlyd a fflawiog, ond wedi’i lyfnhau gan ddwylo llawn parch ac ofn drwy’r oesau. Cerfddelw fach oedd hi, ar lun angor, neu goeden, neu symbol arallfydol, neu fwystfil wedi’i goroni â thorch o ddrain. ‘Doedd o ddim y naill beth na’r llall, ond yn lle ‘ny, roedd yn dal i newid yn gyson. Ac, er ei bychander, yr oedd yn hynod nerthol, yn chwyddedig â’i bodolaeth ei hun.My mind was racing wildly, as my body reeled. As I was on the verge of falling, he caught me, sweeping me off my feet as it were. But, Oh, the thing – that thing – that he pushed into my careless grasp! It was only six inches tall, but then again – so primal – as dark orange as ferric oxide, bloody and flaky, but smoothed by hands full of respect and fear over the ages. It was a small graven image, in the shape of an anchor, or tree, or other-worldly symbol, or beast crowned with a thorny crown. it was neither one thing nor another, but instead, it kept on changing constantly. And, despite its smallness, it was remarkably powerful, swollen with its own existence.
O, Nuthkí! Mi fyddwn i’n tyngu i’r eicon anfad fy llosgi i wrth i David ei wthio i gledr fy llaw, dan lyfu’i wefusau. Roedd o’n gwenu’n goeglyd, ac mi ‘nawn i ddeud – ‘tawn i’n credu’r fath bethau – fod ei lygaid creulon yn treiddio’n uniongyrchol i’m henaid. Roedd ‘na rywbeth yn fy ngorfodi i rythu arno, ond ‘naeth y braw cyntaf y cawn i fy llyncu’n llwyr ildio i lonyddwch dyfnach, ac ar ôl hynny, i bendro chwyrlïol. Roedd y peth erchyll yn arnofio o flaen fy llygaid, ac yna, ‘naeth yr olygfa ffrwydro’n wyrddlas ddwys, gan ddod yn oer, oer, cyn oered â’r gwagle.Oh, Nuthkí! I would swear that the heinous icon burned me as David pushed it into the palm of my hand, liking his lips. He was smiling sarcastically, and I would say – if I believed such things – that his cruel eyes were penetrating directly into my soul. There was something forcing me to stare at him, but the initial fear that I would be swallowed up completely yielded to a deeper peace, and after that, to swirling dizziness. The hideous thing was floating before my eyes, and then, the scene exploded into intense sea-green, becoming very cold, as cold as the void.
‘Dwn i’m beth ddigwyddodd yr eiliad ‘na, ond rhaid mod i wedi sgrechian, gan ollwng y ffiguryn atgas. Mi ddes i at fy nghoed, ar lawr y gegin, ar fy mhen fy hun, a David wedi diflannu, yn ôl pob tebyg. Roedd y peth ‘na’n cyrcydu’n fileinig ar y ford, a’r ‘stafell yn curo o’i amgylch, wrth i’m pen strobio’n gyfun. Mi ‘nes i lwyddo i beidio â chrio, a chodi oddi ar y llawr. Yr unig beth ro’n i’n gallu meddwl amdano oedd mi ddylwn i gael gwared ar y gwrthrych cythreulig yn syth. Ond, dyma wreiddyn y mater – yr oedd o’n fy nhaflu yn f’ôl, wrth fy nenu ymlaen yn gydamserol.I do not know what happened that instant, but I must have screamed, dropping the hateful figurine. I came to my senses, on the kitchen floor, alone, with David having disappeared, in all likelihood. That thing was squatting savagely on the table, with the room beating about it, as my head strobed in unison. I managed not to cry, and got up off the floor. The only thing I could think about was that I should get rid of the demonic object immediately. But, here’s the crux of the matter – it was thrusting me back, whilst simultaneously enticing me onwards.
Roedd arnaf eisiau chwydu wrth ddychmygu cyffwrdd â’r Eilun Eirias, roedd ganddo erbyn hynny wyneb brawychus diddorol, a’r llygaid yn fawr anferth, ac ar y gwefusau trwchus wên greulon ond deniadol. Ond, serch ‘ny, alla i’m esbonio pam, ‘naeth fy nghorff weithredu’n groes i’m hewyllys – ac mi ‘nes i ymestyn i’w gyrraedd. O Isheth! Dyna o’n i’n byseddu’r ffurf gyfnewidiol, gan ei mwytho, a’i thylino. Ac yn union, myfi oedd yn teimlo’n hollol luddedig, yn hen hen, yn wag.I wanted to be sick when I imagined touching the Incandescent Idol, which had, by then, a frighteningly interesting face, its eyes enormously big, and on its thick lips a cruel but tempting smile. But, despite that, I cannot explain why, my body acted against my will – and I reached out to get it. Oh, Isheth! There was I, fingering the ever-changing form, caressing it, and massaging it. And straight away, it was I who was feeling completely exhausted, very, very old, empty.
Ond pan ‘nes i gyffwrdd â’r gwaith llaw annynol ‘na, ac wedyn cofio cnawd creithiog yr hogyn – mi gefais fy ngwthio dros y dibyn. O na bawn i wedi mynd i mewn i deyrnas nos dragwyddol – rwy’n gallu gweld ‘ny’n glir rŵan! Ond, na, na, chwareus ydy’r Hen Feistri, a chreulon, hefyd. Mi ‘nân nhw roi bywyd, cyn llymed ag ellyn, pan ‘nawn ni chwennych marwolaeth yn ei le, a mynd â fo ymaith dan chwerthin dros bob man, pan ymbil am ragor o fodolaeth ‘naiff dyn. Ymdroelli’n ddryslyd roedd y meddyliau ‘ma, wrth imi bendilio ar y ffin rhwng Dau Fyd, fel gwystl wedi’i rwymo draed a dwylo. Pan ‘nes i ddihuno o’r freuddwyd ddieflig hon, neu’n hytrach, pan o’n i’n meddwl imi ddeffro, rwy’n gwybod i mi weiddi unwaith ‘to —But when I touched that inhuman piece of handiwork, and then remembered the lad’s scarred flesh – I was pushed over the edge. Oh, if only I could had gone into the kingdom of eternal night – I can see that clearly now! But no, no, playful are the Old Masters, and cruel, too. They give life, as sharp as a razor, when we long for death in its place, and take it away, guffawing, when one pleads for more existence. These thoughts were spinning about confusedly, as I oscillated on the border between Two Worlds, like a hostage bound hand and foot. When I awoke from this devilish dream, when I thought I had woken up, I know that I screamed once again —
Oherwydd, tra oedd amlinellau’r bwthyn yn ganfyddadwy o hyd, yr oedd fel 'tasa sylwedd yr adeilad wedi cael ei ddileu oddi ar gynfas y Byd gan ryw grefftwr maleisus. Roedd popeth yn ymddangos yn ysgafn, a thryloyw. Yr oedd yno, ond eto, nid oedd yno o gwbl. Dan orchudd o wellt gwyrdd, disglair roedd y fangre – y tu mewn a’r tu fas – oedd yn frith o foncyffion anferth, ceinciog, bonion rhedyn, ella, oedd wedi bod yno ers hydoedd. Ond, er pwysau gludiog y gwres llaith, ni ellid gweld yr Haul Llachar.Because, whilst the outlines of the cottage were discernible still, it was as if the building’s substance had been deleted from the World’s canvas by some malicious craftsman. Everything appeared lightweight, and transparent. It was there, but then again, it was not there at all. The location was under a covering of shining green grass – inside and out – which was spotted with enormous, knotted stumps, fern-boles, perhaps, which had been there for aeons. But, despite the glutinous pressure of the moist heat, the Resplendent Sun could not be seen.
Ond – er mwyn Swtach! Dyna oedd y golau cyfoglyd yn fflachio mewn tafodau gwyrddion a chochion; y gwawl llithrig yn ffrydio’n symudliw o’r ddelw warthus ‘na. Ac erbyn hynny roedd wedi tyfu cymaint â dyn neu’n fwy; ac roedd y plentyn demonig yn gweddnewid yn gyson, wrth sugno’r grym bywiol o’i groth, ein Byd arferol ni.But – for Swtach’s sake! The nauseating light flashed out in green and red tongues; the slippery radiance streaming iridescently from that disgraceful image. And by then it had grown as big as a man or bigger, and the demonic child was constantly transmogrifying, whilst sucking the life-force from its womb, our usual World.
Ni allwn i weld y creaduriaid yr adeg honno, ond er hynny, mi allwn eu synhwyro. Roedd deunydd y Ddaear o’m hamgylch yn tonni – a dyna lle roedd ‘na straenio, chwyddo, rhwygo, ymwthio, dychlamu, a churo adenydd. Ro’n nhw’n gweini arnaf fi, pa angenfilod bynnag o’n nhw; ond roedd ganddyn nhw – anghenion, awyddau – dw i ddim yn gallu’u hamgyffred hyd yn oed yn awr. Ro’n i’n wlyb diferu, crynu, ac ar feichio llefain. Ac wedyn, ‘naeth utganiad croch ddryllio’r goedwig danddwr, ac ar unwaith, mi aeth pethau dros ben llestri! Tra ffaglai’r golau llwyd gan losgi ‘nhrwyn, mi ganfûm ffurf, wedi’i phlethu o gwmpas yr Eilun Eirias. A llun fel corff marw, gwelwlas oedd o, ond pryfoclyd a gwancus, hefyd; gŵr nychlyd iawn yn marchogaeth sarff asgellog a nesáu ataf fi ar ruthr gwyllt. Mi ‘nes i sylweddoli mai gwewyr geni oedd y dirgryniadau o’m cwmpas. Yn wir, wedi’i gwallgofi gan yr egni creadigol roedd yr holl dirwedd ddychrynllyd hon; ac roedd y creaduriaid o garn, a chorn, a chroen, a blew, a chen – pob dim – yn rhedeg yn wyllt o ganlyniad i hyn. Ac mi gefais fy narostwng yn gyfan gwbl.I could not see the creatures at that time, but despite that, I could sense them. The fabric of the Earth about me was billowing – and then there was straining, swelling, tearing, intrusion, fluttering, and beating of wings. They were attending upon me, whatever kind of beasts they were, but they had – needs, desires – I cannot comprehend even now. I was absolutely soaked, trembling, and about to weep uncontrollably. And then, a strident trumpet-blast shattered the under-water forest, and at once, all hell broke loose! Whilst the grey light flamed, burning my nose, I discerned a form, wound around the Incandescent Idol. And it was a shape like a pallid dead body, but provocative and greedy, too; a very sick man riding a winged serpent and bearing down on me in a wild rush. I realised that the tremors around me were birthing-pangs. Indeed, this whole dreadful landscape had been driven mad by the creative energy; and the creatures of hoof, and horn, and skin, and fur, and scale – absolutely everything – was running wild as a result of this. And I was completely humbled.
O, Wezir Fawr – myfi oedd yn nofio ymhlith yr haid ‘na o fwystfilod anweledig oedd yn cyffwrdd, a brwsio, a chosi, heb eu gwahodd. Ac eto i gyd, roedd ‘na gicio, a chwipio, a chrafu, a brathu, a serio. Ac wrth i’r niwl goleuol glecian yn fflamgoch, ‘nes i geisio troi fy llygaid heibio rhag eiddo’r cerflun, ond mi awn i ar fy llw mi gefais fy ngorfodi i edrych. Ro’n i wedi cynnau Kundalini, yr Hen Sarff nes iddi ymrithio yn gnawd, ac yn syllu i safnau rhwth y Nw Yrth. Ac ym mhob man roedd sgrechian i’w glywed, gan y damnedig a’r dedwydd fel ei gilydd, wrth i’r awyr yn llawn sawr osôn hisian a sïo â mellt gleision.Oh, Great Wezir – I was swimming amongst that horde of unseen beasts which were touching, and brushing, and tickling, without being bidden. And then again, there was kicking, and whipping, and scratching, and biting, and searing. And as the luminous fog crackled flame-red, I tried to turn my eyes away from those of the sculpture, but I would go on my oath that I was forced to look. I had kindled Kundalini, the Old Serpent, so that she had taken on flesh, and was staring into the Nw Yrth’s gaping maw. And everywhere there was screaming to be heard, from the damned and the blessed alike, as the air, full of the smell of ozone, fizzed and hummed with blue lightning.
Ond yno roedd yr Hen Filwr yn hofran uwchlaw’i wely angau, fel bwgan brain esgyrnog, gan ddisgwyl pa dynged ffiaidd bynnag oedd o’i flaen, a minnau’n sbio ar ei wyneb ysgeler o, wrth ei glywed yn ‘neud sbort am ben David, a’i ddirmygu fo’n enbyd. Mi ‘nes i sylweddoli yn y fan a’r lle i’r fadfall ffiaidd fod yn ceisio fy rheoli a’m defnyddio ers imi gyrraedd y lle, ac na fydda’n gorffwys nes iddo feddu arnaf yn gorff ac enaid. Ac wedyn, roedd fel ‘tasa’i gnawd pwdr yn toddi, a berwi, a byrlymu, ac yn lle’r dyn ar farw, roedd yr hogyn gorffwyll yn brwydro am ei einioes yn erbyn cythraul o dân, oedd yr Hen Filwr ar yr un pryd. Ac wedyn ‘naeth yntau newid unwaith eto, gan ddod yn gelain ar ffurf mynach cwflog arswydus, a’i ben yn gynrhon byw. Ond am ryw reswm roeddwn i’n teimlo fel bwystfil gwyllt yn byw mewn fforest binwydd mewn gwlad hirbell, fel bleiddast yn gwarchod ei chenau wrth oernadu dan olau’r lleuad lem. Ac yna, ar f’union, y munud hwnnw – ro’n i’n gorfod i'w ’neud – yr oedd yn rhaid imi – ‘neud diwedd ar y dinistr oll – a dyna o’n i’n gorffen y swyn wedi’i dechrau gan Steffan —But there was the Old Soldier hovering above his death-bed, like a skeletal scarecrow, awaiting whatever hateful fate was before him, while I looked at his villainous face, whilst hearing him making fun of David, and disparaging him atrociously. I realised then and there that the hateful lizard had been trying to govern me and use me since I arrived at the place, and that he would not rest until he possessed me body and soul. And then, it was as if his rotten flesh was melting, and boiling, and bubbling, and in place of the dying man, there was a mad lad fighting for his life against a demon of fire, who was the Old Soldier at the same time. And then he changed once again, becoming a corpse in the form of a terrible cowled monk, his head crawling with maggots. But for some reason I felt like a wild beast living in a pine-forest in a far-away land, like a she-wolf guarding her cub whilst howling under the light of the harsh moon. And then, immediately, that very minute – I had to do it – I needed to – make an end to all the destruction – and there was I finishing the charm begun by Steffan —
“…Boed i'r ddraig anferth, y bwgan blewog,
A'r llew gwallgof ffromi o'm cwmpas;
Boed i fwystfil mawr y tywydd ddod â storom ffyrnig
O Fynyddoedd Duon Kharsag,
I ddifa f'arteithwyr yn llwyr!”		“…Let the enormous dragon, the hairy phantom,
And the mad lion rage around me;
May the great weather-beast bring a fierce storm,
From the Black Mountains of Kharsag,
To destroy my tormentors outright!”
A dyna o’n troi yn belen enfawr o ectoplasm curuadol a aeth yn geffalopod a chanddo lawer iawn o freichiau’n chwyrlïo ym mhob man, ac ro’n i’n edrych ym myw llygaid fy Wncwl wrth ei chwythu fo’n deilchion efo ‘mhŵer newydd, ac yntau’n crefu, a llefain – a diflannu – wrth i hen ryfelgri gan yr herwfilwyr yng Nghalon y Cyfandir adleisio trwy’r lle – “Ni orfodant hwy ni, Methant hwy’n diraddio ni, Ni reolant hwy ni, Nyni fydd yn drech na hwy!” Mi fuodd wedyn ddistawrwydd trydanol am funud cyfan wrth i’r Dywysoges Brydferth rythu ar ei Thywysog Golygus. A dyna lle roedd David, Daud, Dai hyd yn oed, yr arwr rhyfel, yn gorwedd yn f’ochr i ar fryncyn gwyrdd gloyw, oedd hefyd yn garped brwnt, wrth fy nhal i’n gariadus ond yn ddiwair, cyn syrthio i gysgu fel baban ym mreichiau’i Fam, neu frawd yn cofleidio ei chwaer. Toc wedyn, sut bynnag, yntau, ‘fyd, ‘naeth ddiflannu.And then I turned into an enormous ball of pulsing ectoplasm which became a cephalopod with very many arms writhing everywhere, and I was looking into the whites of my Uncle’s eyes as I blew him to smithereens with my new power, while he pleaded, and cried – and disappeared – and an old war-cry of the guerrillas in the Heart of the Continent echoed through the place – “They shall not force us; Nor shall they degrade us; They shall not control us; We shall overcome them!” Then there was electrical silence for a whole minute, as the Beautiful Princess stared at her Handsome Prince. And there was David, Daud, Dai even, the war-hero, lying beside me on a hillock that was also a dirty carpet, holding me lovingly but chastely, before falling asleep like a baby in his Mother’s arms, or a brother embracing his sister. Soon afterwards, however, he, too, disappeared.
Rhaid cyffesu mai arswydo’n arw ro’n i, wedi uno ar hap a damwain rymoedd y tair Hen Dduwies, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – yr eneth, y ddynes, a’r nain – y lludded sy'n lladd, y dymestl wyllt, a'r dyfroedd dagreuol – i ymyrryd yng Ngwaith Mawr y Dewin. Ac roedd ‘na lais arallfydol yn perthyn i was y Drindod Odidog, wedi’i alw i ddatgelu dirgelion bodolaeth, yn saethu trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd. Roedd yn canu emyn llawn gwaed a harddwch, mor arswydus â Chân Tefnuth a ddaeth â Lushfé yn ôl i fywyd trwy'i haberthu’i hun a mynd i lawr i’r Isfyd. A chyda hynny mi wyddwn i mai myfi sydd wedi etifeddu’i gogoniant a’i baich. Ac yna, mi ddes i’n Alcestis, Aphrodite, Geshtinanna, Inanna, Miaoshan, Proserpina, Psyche, Semele, Ushas. Myfi fuodd yno pan na fu nac amser na’r gwagle – myfi oedd y grym sylfaenol unedig, ac oddi mewn i’m sylwedd ewynnog y saethodd ffrondiau ffrwythlon bodolaeth oll. Dim byd, creu, difrod, popeth. Ac wrth i hanfod pob bod byw o dan yr Haul grynhoi yn fy nghroth, yr oedd fel ‘tasa enwau creaduriaid oll yn llifo drwof fi, a myfi yng nghanol trobwll di-hidio, diarbed, di-baid creadigaeth sydd yn hunangynhyrfiol a hunanbarhaol. Yn sydyn, a'm calon yn llawn gorfoledd ac ofn, 'nes i sylweddoli nage dynion yn unig sy'n medru bwrw'r hud cryfaf.I must confess that I was terribly frightened, having united completely by accident the powers of the three Old Goddesses, Tefnuth, Hebé, a Nebesh – the girl, the woman, the dame – the killing fatigue, the wild tempest, and teary waters – to interfere in the Great Work of the Wizard. And there was an otherworldly voice belonging to the servant of the Wondrous Trinity, called to reveal the secrets of existence, shooting through the Cleft between the Worlds. It was singing a hymn full of blood and beauty, as fearful as the Song of Tefnuth, who brought Lushfé back to life by sacrificing herself and going down to the Underworld. And thereupon I knew that I had inherited her glory and her burden. And then, I became Alcestis, Aphrodite, Geshtinanna, Inanna, Miaoshan, Proserpina, Psyche, Semele, Ushas. It was I who was there when there was neither time nor space – it was I who was the united fundamental force, and within my foamy substance shot out the fruitful fronds of all existence. Nothing, creation, destruction, everything. And as the essence of every living being under the Sun crystallized in my womb, it was as if the names of all the creatures were flowing through me, and I was in the middle of the ceaseless, unrelenting, heedless whirlpool of creation, which is self-initiating, and self-sustaining. Suddenly, my heart full of jubilation and fear, I realised that it is not only men who are able to cast the strongest spells.
Felly yr oedd. Pan 'nes i ddihuno o'r diwedd, roedd fel 'tasa rhyw bŵer wedi mynd oddi mewn i mi, ro'n i'n teimlo mai rhyw nerth a ddygasid oddi wrthyf fi gan gysgod tragwyddol. ‘Nes i feichiogi, a maes o law, esgor ar y Mab Darogan. Llawn gorfoledd fues i oherwydd y fath wyrth, a gweithio mor galed i’w fagu’n briodol wrth gyflawni ‘nyletswyddau eraill i gyd. Cymaint oedd fy ngobeithion, a ‘nymuniadau! Yr unig beth o’i le oedd fy mod yn afiach o awyddus i lyncu ffa sbeislyd tu hwnt drwy’r amser wrth ddisgwyl, a’r rheini wedi’u llosgi’n ulw. Roedd yn rhaid imi eu plannu nhw ym mhob man ar yr ystâd, y math sy’n ffynnu ar lannau Afon Sed, roedd ‘na ddigon o le beth bynnag, ac nid mi’n unig oedd yn ffoli arnyn nhw, roedden nhw’n eithaf hudol, wel, mewn ffordd o siarad.Thus it was. When I awoke at last, it was as if some power had gone from within me, I felt that some strength had been stolen from me by an eternal shadow. I became pregnant, and in due course, gave birth to the Son Foretold. I was filled with jubilation at this miracle, and worked so hard to raise him appropriately whilst completing all my other duties. So great were my hopes and my desires! The only thing wrong was that I was unhealthily keen on chowing down on extremely spicy beans all the time whilst expecting, and then they had to be burned to a crisp. I had to plant them everywhere on the estate, the kind that flourish on the banks of the River Sed, there was enough space in any case, and it was not just me who absolutely loved them, they were quite magical, well, in a manner of speaking.
Y peth cyntaf ‘nes i ar ôl gipio grym pan fu farw’r Hen Filwr oedd cael gwared ar yr Arglwyddes Macbeth ddichellgar ‘na i dalu’r pwyth ‘nol iddi am ei chasineb tuag ataf fi. Ac ar y dechrau mi ‘nes i lwyddo, a’m seren yn disgleirio mor llachar yn entrych y nef. Ond yr oedd yr hen waed mor gryf ynddo, fy mab – a’r nerth hudol, myn Swtach, roedd o’n ei ddefnyddio i gael iddo’i hun beth bynnag a fynnai hyd yn oed yn faban! Mor ddeallus, ond mor afreolus ac ystyfnig ar yr un pryd! Roedd fy ngwichiwr bychan yn cynnau tanau bob amser, hyd yn oed yn y bru, a rŵan mae o’n mynnu rhoi'r Bydysawd oll ar dân!The first thing I did after seizing power when the Old Solider died was get rid of that deceitful Lady Macbeth to pay her back for her hatred towards me. And at the start I succeeded, my star shining so brightly in the heavens. But the old blood was so strong in him, my son – and the magical strength – by Swtach, he was using it to get for himself whatever he wanted even when he was a baby! So intelligent, but so unruly and stubborn at the same time! My little squealer was lighting fires all the time, even in the womb. and now he intends to set the whole Universe ablaze!
Ni allem ni ddianc rhag dylanwad y Teulu Anfad yng Ngwersyll Hwyl a Sbri, ‘chwaith, a bellach Steffan, Satharāfanu y Tywysydd Medrus, ydy’r llaw dde, sy’n llywio’i ddatblygiad. Rwy'n gofyn i’m hun ai myfi a achosodd ei dröedigaeth i'r ochr dywyll, fel iddo fynd yn herwr sy'n barod i ddefnyddio pawb a phopeth i'w ddibenion ei hun. A rŵan mae’r bachgen wedi dod i oed, a ‘ngwaith wedi’i gwpla, mae o wedi f’alltudio i’r arfordir, i gwblhau fy – nhrawsffurfiad – f’ailenedigaeth – yn y dyfroedd glanhaol. Ni fedra hyd yn oed y Fam wrthsefyll nerth gormesol y Plentyn Annaearol. Oedd o'n fy nghosbi, neu 'naeth o weithredu ar fympwy? Ella fod y sefyllfa'n wobr, mewn ffordd, sy'n fy 'nghadw i oddi wrth ei erchyllterau. Dyma mi, felly, wedi fy rhwbio fy hun yn lân efo mwsogl suddlon, ac addurno ‘ngwallt blêr efo garlantau o wymon, yn ceisio cael y ddau ben llinyn ynghyd ymhlith y moch gwyllt, wrth arteithio wrthyn nhw am farddoni a bywyd, ond dyn nhw'm yn gwrando arnaf. Ac ar ôl ymlwybro dros y clogwyni ar bwys y tonnau didrugaredd, rwy’n crwydro trwy adfeilion gwareiddiad ar chwâl, gan gyhoeddi gwynfydau i ddiffeithwch diglywed, cyn gorwedd yn unig ar y twyni tywod. Ni ‘na i byth ddianc, dw i wedi fy nal yn y tir ‘ma gan ryw swyn nerthol.We couldn’t escape the influence of the Sinister Family in Camp Fun-and-Games, either, and now Steffan, Satharāfanu the Skilled Leader, is his right-hand man, who’s steering his development. I ask myself whether it’s me who caused his conversion to the dark side, so that he became an outlaw who’s prepared to use everyone and everything to his own ends. And now the boy had come of age, and my work finished, he has exiled me to the coast, to complete my – transformation – my rebirth – in the purifying waters. Not even the Mother could withstand the oppressive strength of the Unearthly Child. Was he punishing me, or did hi act on a whim? Perhaps the situation is a reward, in a way, which keeps me away from his atrocities. So here I am, then, having rubbed myself clean with most moss, ac adorned my dirty hair with garlands of seaweed, trying to make ends meet amongst the wild pigs, whilst orating to them about poetry-making and living, but they don’t listen to me. And after labouring over the cliffs by the merciless waves, I wander through the ruins of a shattered civilization, proclaiming beatitudes to an unhearing wilderness, before lying, lonely, on the sand-dunes. I shall never escape, I have been trapped in this land by some powerful charm.
O bryd i'w gilydd mae Ffred o'r ystâd, y pwca od iawn 'na, yn dŵad i gwrdd â mi, wel, dw i'n ei weld o be' bynnag, wrth iddo 'neud ei ymarfer corff ar y traeth. Y peth ola' glywais i, roedd f'annwyl lamaod i gyd wedi dianc o'r warchodfa ac erbyn hyn, siŵr o fod, mi fyddan nhw'n rhedeg yn wyllt ledled gwastatiroedd y gogledd. Chwarae teg iddyn nhw, creaduriaid call ydyn nhw, ac yn haeddu'u rhyddid, y moch druain, ar y llaw arall, dyna'r rhai dw i'n poeni amdanyn nhw!From time to time Ffred from the estate, that really odd goblin, comes to meet me, well, I see him anyway, as he does his physical jerks on the beach. The last thing I heard, all my dear llamas had escaped from the sanctuary and by now, probably, they’ll be running wild all over the northern plains. Fair play to them, they’re wise creatures, and deserve their freedom, the poor pigs, on the other hand, they’re the ones I’m worried about!
Mi ddof fi’n aml i lan y môr rhagrithiol, lle, drwy’r amser, mae adlewyrchiadau’r gorffennol yn golchi dros y presennol. Ni fedraf fi byth anghofio breuddwyd Mrs Grossmann, ‘chwaith, oedd fy hunllef ‘fyd. Yma, rwy’n eistedd gan dorri gair efo’r coed, ac wrth imi fyfyrio, mi ddiddymir y mwyafrif o ‘ngwaeau gan y gwynt yn chwythu drwy’r planhigion garw sy’n brychu’r llethrau tywodlyd. A dyma’r tonnau’n torri’r traeth, wrth imi ail-lunio f’uchelgais anghofiedig. Yn araf deg, rwy’n mynd yn lloerig, debyg iawn, wrth dystio, ymhlith y cysgodion digalon, i seithuctod gobaith. Neu ella mod i'n dod yn synhwyrol a chall o'r diwedd. Rwy'n deall mai dŵr yw'r elfen a metel yw'r 'goriad ar gyfer dianc i'r Byd Arall, a dyna pam rwy'n aros yma a 'nhraed yn y môr ac yn fy nwylo ddagr hynafol o haearn rhydlyd.I come often to the shore of the hypocritical sea, where, all the time, reflections of the past wash over the present. I cannot ever forget Mrs Grossmann’s dream, either, which was my nightmare, too. Here I sit, having a word with the trees, and as I cogitate, the majority of my woes are annulled by the wind blowing through the rough plants which fleck the sandy slopes. The waves break the beach, whilst I refashion my forgotten ambition. Very slowly, I’m going mad, more than likely, whilst I testify, amongst the heartless shadows, to the futility of hope. Or perhaps I am becoming sane and sensible at last. I understand that water is the element and metal is the key for escaping to the Other World, and that’s why I wait here with my feet in the sea and an ancient dagger of rusty iron in my hands.
Falla mi ddaliaf i fodoli fel hyn am flynyddoedd. Nid fy musnes fydd, wrth reswm, a geith neb hyd i ‘nghorff, ai peidio, a pham rwy’n sgwennu’r neges ‘ma, Lushfé’n unig a ŵyr. Ond er hynny, ymhen y rhawg, pan fyddaf wedi cael fy nhroi yn ôl yn lluwch sêr, mi glywir eto lais anorchfygol y llanw a thrai cosmig, crechwenu gwallgof Rwm bel-Shaftí, yn yr awel yn siffrwd trwy’r isdyfiant, ym mhoeri anwadal distrych y don, yn symudiad anhrefnus y tywod – ac yn y tswnami fydd yn fuan yn dechrau ffrydio trwy’r gwagle rhwng y galaethau, cyn ddued â drych sgrio afloyw, achosir gan fy Mab, wrth iddo ganu’i gân gellweirus o greadigaeth ac anobaith, fel y mae wastad wedi ‘neud, ac fel y ‘naiff o hyd.Perhaps I shall continue to exist like this for years. It will not be my business, of course, whether anyone finds my body or not, and why I am writing this message, Lushfé only knows. But despite that, at the very end of things, when I shall have turned back into star-dust, there will still be heard the invincible voice of the cosmic ebb and flow, Rwm bel-Shaftí’s mad guffawing, in the breeze rustling through the undergrowth, in the fickle spitting of the surf, in the unruly movement of the sand – and in the tsunami which will soon begin to gush through the void between the galaxies, as black as a matt scrying-glass, caused by my Son, as he sings his mischievous song of creation and despair, as he always has done, and as he always will.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 33

Pennod Tri Deg Saith: Ymrithio (Lleisiau 33) / Materialising (Voices 33)

Mae i raddfa gerddorol saith nodyn, ac fe ellid dweud y crëwyd popeth gan gerddoriaeth, neu o gerddoriaeth neu’n hytrach ar ffurf osgiladiadau sylfaenol. A Saith Swynwr sydd hefyd, ac mae i bob un ohonynt blaned neilltuol yn y gyfundrefn heulog, sef Mawrth, Iau, Gwener, Sadwrn, Mercher, y Lleuad, a’r Haul. Rhoddasant hwy i ddynolryw y metelau hynafol oedd arnynt eu hangen i lunio gwareiddiad, hynny yw, aur, arian, copr, tun, plwm, haearn, a mercwri, y cafodd y byd modern ei ofannu ganddynt. Ac eto i gyd mae saith uned sylfaenol yn y system ryngwladol wedi’i defnyddio i fesur priodoleddau ffisegol, sef medr, cilogram, eiliad, amper, kelvin, môl, a chandela. Mae’r Swynwyr yn rheoli dros y saith celf freiniol, hynny yw, gramadeg, rhesymeg, rhethreg, rhifyddeg, geometreg, cerddoriaeth, a seryddiaeth, a hwynt-hwy sydd yn feistri ar y saith math sylfaenol o gatastroffeau. Maent wedi dysgu dynolryw na all yr heptagon rheolaidd gael ei dynnu gan ddefnyddio cwmpas ac ymyl syth yn unig, a’i fod yn bosibl diffinio trawsluoswm mewn saith dimensiwn yn ogystal ag yn y tri dimensiwn arferol. Ond trwy wneud hyn oll, mae’r Swynwyr hefyd wedi rhoddi i drigolion y Ddaear y pŵer i gyflawni’r saith pechod fydd yn arwain at drais, sef: meddu ar gyfoeth heb waith, syrffedu ar bleser heb wewyr cydwybod, ceisio gwybodaeth heb gadernid cymeriad, cyflawni masnach heb foesoldeb, defnyddio gwyddoniaeth heb ddyngarwch, dathlu crefydd heb aberth, a chwarae gwleidyddiaeth heb egwyddorion. Ac felly y byddant yn dal y rhai anwyliadwrus, a llygru’r rhai cryf, fel y gallant fwydo ar eneidiau’r rhai mawrion a’r rhai bychain fel ei gilydd yn y pendraw.

A musical scale has seven notes, and it could be said that everything was created by music, or from music, or rather in the form of fundamental oscillations. And there are Seven Sorcerers, too, and each one of them has a particular planet in the solar system, namely Mars, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, Mercury, the Moon, and the Sun. They gave to humankind the ancient metals which they needed to fashion civilization, that is, gold, copper, tin, lead, iron, and mercury, that the modern world was forged with. And then again there are seven basic units in the international system used to measure physical attributes, namely metre, kilogram, second, ampère, kelvin, mole, and candela. The Sorcerers rule over the seven liberal arts, that is, grammar, logic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astrology, and it is they who are the masters of the seven basic types of catastrophe. They have taught humankind that the regular heptagon cannot be drawn using a compass and straight-edge only, and that it is possible to define a cross-product in seven dimensions as well as in the three usual dimensions. But by doing all this, the Sorcerers have also given to the inhabitants of the Earth the power to commit the seven deadly sins, namely possessing wealth without work, over-indulging in pleasure without pangs of conscience, seeking knowledge without strength of character, conducting business without morality, using science without fellow-feeling, celebrating faith without sacrifice, and playing politics without principles. And thus they catch the unwary, and corrupt the strong, so that they can feed on the souls of the great and the small alike in the end.

Dyma’r glaslanc rhacsog a hanner dall yn brwydro’n ddewr yn erbyn pwysedd ffawd, a gwneud ei orau glas i sefyll yn stond gan na all fynd yn ei flaen, ond mae’n boddi yn llif amser, gan fynd yn flinedig ofnadwy. Mae gan y llanc lygaid meinion fel pelenni asur, o dan yr aeliau cochlyd, trwchus, y fath o lygaid sy’n perthyn i greadur direswm, annynol, hynafol, creadur fel gafr. Mae wedi dod at ei goed yng nghanol gwastatir enfawr, ble mae’r tir yn deilchion gwydr danheddog i gyd. Hyd y gwêl llygad, mae miliynau o goed creigiog ar ffurf cyrff gwyrgam yn crafangu’r awyr felen, gyfoglyd. Yng nghanol union Cae Galar, mae darn enfawr crwn o garreg ddu, lithrig, yn rhyw dri medr o uchder, ac ar ei ganol dyna arwydd arswydus y Swynwyr, wedi’i baentio mewn hylif coch, fel tân byw. Am eiliad mae’n cyrcydu’n ddistaw, a’r creithiau fel llythrennau rwnig, coch dros ei gorff i gyd yn brifo’n wael.Here’s the ragged and half-blind youth fighting bravely against the pressure of fate, and doing his very best to stand still as he cannot go on, but he’s drowning in time’s flow, getting terribly tired. The lad has penetrating eyes like azure balls under the thick reddish brows, the kind of brows that belong to an ancient, inhuman, unreasoning creature, a creature like a goat. He’s come to his senses in the middle of an enormous plain, where the ground is covered in serrated glass shards. As far as the eye can see, there are millions of rocky trees in the shape of distorted bodies clawing the sickly yellow sky. In the exact centre of the Sorrowful Field, there is an enormous piece of slippery black stone, some three metres in height, and in its centre, there is the terrible symbol of the Sorcerers, painted in red liquid like living fire. For a second he crouches silently, with the scars like red runic letters covering his body hurting him dreadfully.
Byth oddi ar ei enedigaeth (neu ddichon cyn hynny), mae’r llanc aflêr, drewllyd wedi bod yn chwarae gyda chysgodion, gan gonsurio delweddau rhyfedd o’r dychymyg i ddianc rhag ei ddiffyg hunaniaeth bersonol, a phrinder gwir ffrindiau. Ond erbyn hyn mae’r symbolau a’r cysyniadau wedi’u llunio o ddeunydd ffrwythlon iaith a breuddwyd wedi dod yn fyw. Ac yn awr ar ffurf angenfilod o hunllef, maen nhw wedi’i ymlid nes iddo’i hun ffoi i’r Nw Yrth. Ac yno, mae gofid rhewllyd a chwant rheibus yn ymgodi ac ymollwng yn gyson. Mae wedi’i lusgo trwy ddrych sgrio purddu a wnaed o gyrbibion fyrdd, gan lafar-gân yr Hen Filwr crebachlyd, oedd cyn wired y tro hwn â honno a bennir yn ‘Llyfr Drychau.’ Er hynny, fel y mae’n digwydd, nid y geiriau’n unig sydd o bwys yn y fath sefyllfa, ond bwriad y llefarwr, ac roedd dyhead yng nghalon y ffug-Ddewin yn groes i’r hyn a ddywedai.Ever since his birth (or maybe before then), the stinking, unkempt lad has been playing with shadows conjuring strange images from the imagination to escape from his lack of personal identity, and the scarcity of real friends. But by now the symbols and the concepts formed from the fruitful material of language and dream have come alive. And now in the form nightmarish monsters, they’ve pursued him until he fled to the Nw Yrth. And there, freezing worry and voracious desire are rearing up and falling back down constantly. He has been dragged through a jet-black scrying-glass made from myriad fragments, by the wrinkled Old Soldier’s chanting, which was as correct this time as that specified in the ‘Book of Mirrors.’ Despite that, as it happens, it is not the words alone that are important in such a situation, but the intention of the utterer, and the desire in the heart of the fake-Wizard was contrary to that which he was saying.
Bellach, felly, o ran yr athro a’r disgybl o leiaf (neu’r hurfilwr a’r crwt mewn sach, efallai – y smyglwr a’i ysbail – yr offeiriad a’r aberth – y tad a’i fab), mae’r llanw wedi troi, a’r tro hwn yr un hynaf sydd yn gorwedd ar yr aberthfaen. Am y tro, o leiaf. Er nad yw’r llanc yn deall o ble mae’r argyhoeddiad yn tarddu, mae’n gwybod heb amheuaeth fod rhaid iddo dwrio drwy ymennydd y carcharor i ddarganfod ffordd allan. Ac yn wir mae’n mynd ati gyda sêl i ddadwneud swynion y caethwas o’r ochr arall sydd yn strancio’n wan, er ei anfodd cyntaf a’i lletchwithdod parhaus. Ond, er ei fawr ffieidd-dod, yn fuan mae’n dechrau mwynhau profiad arteithio’r hen ddyn drylliedig. Ac wrth wneud hyn, heb yn ‘nabod ffynhonnell y gallu, mae’r llanc yn cofio, neu ddatgelu, y chwedl sy’n esbonio pam roedd trigolion oll y Nw Yrth wedi bod yn brwydro mor ffyrnig am filenia.Now, therefore, on the part of the teacher and the pupil (or the mercenary and the kid in the sack, perhaps – the smuggler and his booty – the priest and the sacrifice – the father and his son), the tide has turned, and this time it’s the older one who’s lying on the sacrificial stone. For the time being at least. Although the lad doesn’t understand where the conviction stems from, he knows without a doubt that he has to rummage through the mind of the prisoner to discover a way out. And indeed, he goes to it with zeal to undo the magic of the slave from the other side who’s struggling weakly, despite his initial unwillingness and his constant clumsiness. But, to his great disgust, he soon begins to enjoy the experience of torturing the old wreck. And as he does this, without knowing the source of the ability, the lad remembers, or reveals, the tale which explains why all the inhabitants of the Nw Yrth had been battling so fiercely for millennia.
Yn ei ben, mae symbolau a syniadau’n hedfan o gwmpas a ffraeo. Maen nhw’n dweud bod bywyd dyn yn fflachio o flaen ei lygaid cyn iddo farw. Ond efallai nad eich bywyd chi’n unig sy’n ymrithio i’ch bendithio neu’ch arteithio, ond yr holl gofion digymell ond swnllyd wedi’u cronni oddi mewn i chi. A heb os mae hynny’n wir yn yr achos ‘ma. Ac ymhlith yr holl ddelweddau, dyna godi geiriau swyn hynaf creu a rhwymo, ac felly mae’r bachgen yn dechrau siantio gan adrodd ei lafar-gân drosodd a throsodd er mwyn gweu gwe hudol dros y Byd Arall tu hwnt i’r drych dychlamol, fydd yn atal bodolaeth yn y Ddau Fyd rhag toddi’n llwyr – “‘Dalatha’ yw’r gwningen, y gath yw ‘belvalo,’ y broch yw ‘lendrina,’ a’r pryf yw ‘burla'.”In his head, symbols and ideas fly about and fight. The say that one’s life flashes before one’s eyes before he dies. But maybe it’s not just your life that materializes to bless you or curse you, but all the unprompted but noisy memories dammed up within you. And without a doubt, that is true in this case. And amongst all the images, there rises up the oldest charm of creation and binding, and so the boy begins to chant, repeating his litany over and over in order to weave a magical web over the Other World beyond the throbbing mirror, which will stop existence in the Two Worlds from melting completely – “‘Dalatha’ is the rabbit, the cat is ‘belvalo,’ the badger is ‘lendrina,’ and the insect is ‘burla’.”
Ac yn awr mae’n dechrau gweld, neu gofio, neu sylweddoli, pethau anghofiedig, neu ffeithiau a guddiwyd rhagddo hyd yn hyn. Roedd meddwl Tad y llanc wastad yn gythryblus, ac roedd ‘da fe lygaid a welai bethau rhyfedd na allai neb arall eu canfod. Hyd yn oed yn grwt, roedd e’n ystyfnig, a ffyrnig, a chry’. O ganlyniad roedd e’n peri penbleth i’w rieni drwy’r amser. A dyna oedd pam, yn ei dyb e, fe gaeth ei wrthod ganddyn nhw, a pham gorfodwyd e i fyw fel bwystfil gwyllt a grwydrai ar lannau Afon Sed yn y Famwlad Aflonydd. Fel y tyfai lan, fe ddrifftiai trwy fywyd yn fwnci eofn ond lwcus, ond yn fuan ar strydoedd yr Uchelgaer Rosliw daeth dan ddylanwad plant hŷn oedd yn fwlïod creulon a’i defnyddiai fe a’i frifo fe’n enbyd. Roedd yn rhaid iddo fe dwyllo, ac ymladd, a lladd hyd yn oed, i oroesi, a’r lleisiau’n sibrwd yn ei feddwl a’i helpai fe i ‘neud hynny oll.And now he begins to see, or remember, or realise, forgotten things, or facts which have been hidden from him so far. The lad’s Father’s mind was always troubled, and he had eyes that saw strange things that no-one else could discern. Even as a child, he was stubborn, and fierce, and strong. As a result, he was always causing a headache to his parents. And that was why, in his opinion, he was rejected by them, and why he had to live as a wild best that wandered on the banks of the River Sed in the Haunted Homeland. As he grew up, he drifted through life like a cheeky but lucky monkey, but soon on the streets of the Rosy Fortress he came under the influence of older children who were cruel bullies who used him and hurt him terribly. He had to deceive, and fight, and kill even, to survive, and the voices whispering in his mind helped him to do all that.
Trwy gydol ei oes, mae’r llanc wastad wedi teimlo'i fod wedi’i dorri, ac wedi bod yn trio’i ddeall ei hunan, gan geisio iechyd a chyfanrwydd wrth obeithio osgoi’r ceryntau tywyll. Mae e eisiau cael ei lenwi â golau, rhyddid, heddwch, serch, a harmoni, gan helpu i ddiwygio troseddwyr ifainc, adennill cymdeithas o'r dosbarthiadau llywodraethol, a thrawsffurfio'r Byd. Ond mae'n gwybod bod casineb a chystudd yn llechu dan wyneb y ddelfrydiaeth chwerthinllyd, ac yn medru torri trwyddo'n hawdd, ac wrth iddo ddyheu am atgyweiriad, mae ‘na ran ohono’n gweiddi am ddial ar yr un pryd. O'i gyfuno â'r nerth meddyliaethol rhyfedd yn perthyn iddo, mae hyn oll yn golygu y gallai fod yn arf peryglus – ond defnyddiol – iawn, yn y dwylo cywir, os caiff ei drin yn iawn. Ac yn anffodus iddo fe, mae e'n eithriadol chwannog i ddylanwad adeiladwyr bydoedd a masnachwyr syniadau'n pedlera cynlluniau cymhleth a llesmeiriol – gorau po ddyrysaf, a bod yn berffaith onest. Falle taw’r holl sefyllfa druenus ‘ma yw’r prawf terfynol wedi mynd o chwith.Throughout his life, the lad’s always felt that he’s broken, and has been trying do understand himself, seeking health and wholeness, whilst hoping to avoid the dark currents. He wants to be filled with light, freedom, peace, love, and harmony, helping to reform young offenders, reclaim society from the ruling classes, and transforming the World. But he knows that hatred and affliction lurk under the surface of the laughable idealism, and can break through easily, and as he yearns for reparation, there’s a part of him praying for revenge at the same time. Combined with the strange mentalist power belonging to him, all this means he could be dangerous – but very useful – weapon, in the right hands, if he’s treated right. And unfortunately for him, he’s exceptionally susceptible to the influence of world-builders and idea-merchants who peddle complex and captivating plans – the more abstruse the better, to be perfectly honest. Perhaps this whole sorry situation is the final test gone wrong.
Ond wrth chwilota am achosion, mae wedi ffoi rhag canlyniadau. Mae wedi’i ddarbwyllo'i hunan fe fydd tranc a dinistr yn dilyn yn ei sgil ble bynnag yr aiff. Ond y dyfna’n y Byd mae'n palu, y mwya’n y Byd mae'r lleisiau mewnol yn ei feddiannu. A dyma’i hanes cuddiedig ei hunan yn mynd rhagddo yn ei ben. Dyw e’m yn siŵr be’ i’w gredu, am taw rywbryd maen nhw wedi dweud y gwir, ond maen nhw’n dweud celwyddau'n aml ‘fyd, gan ei wawdio pan fydd e’n syrthio i'w trapiau gan frifo'i hunan a dod â phoen i rai eraill. A dyma leisiau’n cynnwys eiddo ffeiriad wedi meddwi, ysgolfeistr treisiol, a smyglwr wedi drysu. Ond o ryw bwll lleidiog yn ei feddwl dyna swnio lleisiau benywaidd, gweinion eraill i ymuno â’r côr, gan rybuddio’r ffoadur amddifad a difreintiedig am ffeithiau hanner gwir a thybiau twyllodrus ynghylch y Blaned Aruthrol – “A beth allai fod wedi achosi’r holl stŵr anfad? Wel, ar y Nw Yrth, mae’r trigolion yn brwydro’n ddiorffwys ryfel y galluoedd. Ar hyn o bryd, Saith Swynwr Seraffiaid Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid, y gorthrymwyr, sy’n llywodraethu oddi mewn i’r prif sigwrat ar Gyfandir Deheuol y Blaned, wrth chwifio eu baner las, ysblennydd. Ac maent yn rheoli trwy ddeddfau llymion a disgyblaeth dduraidd…” – Ac mae’r llanc yn parhau: “‘Silpistí,’ yw’r wenynen, ‘nildiru’ yw’r fwyalch, yr ewig yw ‘marilé,’ a’r corryn yw ‘zileví’.”But whilst looking for causes, whilst fleeing from consequences. He’s convinced himself that death and destruction will follow in his wake wherever he goes. But the deeper he digs, the more the internal voices possess him. And here’s his own hidden history unfolding in his head. He doesn’t know what to believe, because sometimes they tell the truth, but they tell lies often, too, mocking him when he falls into their traps, hurting himself and causing pain to others. And these are voices including that of a drunken priest, a violent school-master, and a deranged smuggler. But from some murky pool in his mind, other weak, female voices are sounding, to join in with the choir, warning the orphaned and underprivileged refugee of half-true facts and deceptive suppositions regarding the Stupendous Planet – “And what could have caused the whole terrible commotion? Well, on the Nw Yrth, the inhabitants are ceaselessly fighting the war of the powers. At present, the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers of the Yrthians’ Extremely Elevated Empire, the oppressors, are governing from within the chief ziggurat on the Planet’s Southern Continent, waving their splendid blue banner. And they rule through strict laws and steely discipline…” And the lad continues: “‘Silpistí,’ is the bee, ‘nildiru’ is the blackbird, the doe is ‘marilé,’ and the spider is ‘zileví’.”
Arweinydd y garfan wyllt oedd glaslanc carismatig ond chwiwgar o rywle pell dramor o’r enw y Milwr Ifanc. Fe ‘nâi bregethu neges o waredigaeth trwy waseidd-dra llwyr i rymoedd arallfydol, gan addo gwobrau tu hwnt i’r dychymyg os dilynwyd yr ymarferion priodol, a chyflawnwyd y defodau dyrys. Y Ffeiriad Coch oedd enw arall arno o achos ei areithiau’n gyforiog o waed, a dagrau, a thân. Arswydus dweud bod yn rhaid i aelodau’r criw ‘neud pethau gwael i gryts eraill, ac er ei fawr ddychryn, roedd y Tad yn mwynhau hyn gymaint, fe ddyfeisiodd ffyrdd newydd i hela ofn ac achosi poen. Ac felly enillodd e’r ffugenw ‘Ivan’ er cof am y Tywysog Dybryd oedd wedi arwain crwsâd i waredu’r wlad rhag anghredinwyr ganrifoedd o’r blaen. (Yn hwyrach, fe fyddai’n defnyddio’i hyfforddiant ofnadw’ i ddatblygu’n un o wŷr mawrion y farchnad ddu, a ddygai o'r naill law i dalu'r llall, gan golli’i elw bob tro). Dyna pan ‘naeth Ivan ddarganfod cyffuriau, a mynd yn hollol hurt.The leader of the wild party was a charismatic but capricious youth from somewhere far overseas called the Young Soldier. He preached a message of salvation through complete subservience to otherworldly forces, promising prizes beyond imagining if the proper practices were followed, and the perplexing rites completed. The Red Priest was another name for him, because of his orations dripping with blood, and tears, and fire. It is horrendous to relate that the members of the crew had to do reprehensible things to other children, and to his great terror, the Father enjoyed this so much that he invented new ways to induce fear and cause pain. And so he won the name ‘Ivan’ in memory of the Atrocious Prince who had led a crusade to rid the land of unbelievers centuries ago. (Later, he would use his awful training to develop into one of the great men of the black market, who stole from Peter to pay Paul, losing his profits every time). That’s when Ivan discovered drugs, and went completely crazy.
“…Yn y De, y Swynwyr Seraffaidd y gwasanaethir arnynt gan eu llengoedd o weision, dan lygaid barcut cysgodion rhewllyd ar ffurf seirff asgellog, ac o dan lach fflamllyd minteioedd o epaod ehedog, tra nad yw neb yn gaeth i’r Delw-addolwyr yn y Gogledd. Dros y milenia, wrth i’r Blaned weddnewid o’u cwmpas, mae’r Swynwyr wedi gwneud popeth yr oedd arnynt angen ei wneud i wrthsefyll y datblygu, ac atal y tyfu. Y rheswm dros hyn yw eu bod yn brawychu y bydd unrhyw newid yn eu difa. Nid ffrindiau gwirionedd ydynt, felly, ac fe wnânt unrhyw beth yn y Ddau Fyd i’w hamddiffyn eu hunain a goroesi. Maent wedi dysgu harneisio’r pŵer chwilboeth dirfawr yng nghalon y Nw Yrth, sy’n debyg iawn i nerth gwynias yr Haul. A chan defnyddio’r grym hwn, maent wedi llunio peiriannau eithriadol o gywrain, er mwyn rhesymu, rhagfynegi, gorfodi natur, a gormesu. Hysbysrwydd yw eu gwaed gwyrdd, a rheolaeth yw diben eu bodolaeth. Oddi mewn i’w sigwratau o greigrisial, y gorchmynnant a sicrwydd diwyro, gan arfer hawl melltithio a bendithio, gan fynnu hawl gollwng a dienyddio. Mae’r mecanweithiau, yr ymarferion, a’r sylweddau a ddefnyddir yn Nhai Aileni ymhellach yn golygu y byddant yn byw’n drwgwyddol…”“…In the South, the Seraphic Sorcerers are waited upon by their legions of servants, under the eagle eye of freezing shadows in the form of winged serpents, and under the flaming lash of troops of flying apes, whilst none is enslaved to the Idolaters in the North. Over the millennia, as the Planet transformed around them, the Sorcerers have done everything they needed to do to withstand the development, and stop the growth. The reason for this is that they are terrified that any change will destroy them. They are not friends of truth, therefore, and will go to any lengths to protect themselves and survive. They have learned to harness the immense red-hot power in the heart of the Nw Yrth, which is very like the white-hot power of the Sun. And using this force, they have fashioned exceptionally ingenious machines, in order to reason, predict, compel nature, and oppress. Information is their green life-blood, and control is their raison-d’être. From within their ziggurats of quartz, they command with unswerving surety, exercising the right to curse and bless, and wielding the power of life and death. The mechanisms, the practices, and the substances, used in the Hoses of Rebirth mean that they will have eternal life…”
Unwaith, yn llawn goruwch-fêr ac atgno, fe driodd y Tad ei ladd ei hunan a’r Milwr Ifanc mewn tân, ond methodd, ac fe laniodd y ddau yn y sanatoriwm ble roedd llances annwyl a chariadus yn gwirfoddoli. Ryfedd dweud, fe’i darbwyllodd y Ffeiriad Coch ef iddyn nhw gael eu hachub gan y Grymoedd Anhraethadwy i beri i’r Byd blygu i’w hewyllys hwythau. Celwyddgi oedd Ivan a’r ferch yn enaid santaidd, a ‘naeth e’i hysgubo oddi ar ei thraed â’i gyfaredd wyllt – neu dyna oedd ei syniad e ta beth. Fe briodon nhw’n rhy ifanc o lawer ac yn fuan gaethon nhw ddau o blant i foddhau, yn ei dyb e, ei angen brwnt bod yn batriarch i lwyth ofnus ac ymostyngar. Ddaeth anrheg bywyd ddim â heddwch, felly, a ddihangodd y Fam ‘rioed rhag ei reolaeth orfodol, oedd yn gynnil a llechwraidd i ddechrau, ac yn hawdd i'w chuddio oddi wrth pobl eraill. Ond o dipyn i beth, aeth e’n waeth waeth, gan dueddu i ffrwydro ar y pryfociad lleia’. A bod yn onest, roedd hithau’n hollol siŵr na allai hi byth adael Ivan, achos ei fod yn bygwth y byddai'n handwyo hi a lladd y plant 'sai hi'n 'neud unrhyw beth, neu'n methu ufuddhau iddo'n llwyr. Roedd e’n ail-fyw erchyllterau’i orffennol, meddai fe, wel, dyna oedd y stori dorcalonnus a’r esgus parod bob tro. Er iddi gael ei cham-drin yn gyson, fodd bynnag, ni addawai hi byth iddi’i hun gael ei thorri gan ei ŵr. A’i chariad, hiwmor, creugarwch, a direidi oedd yn darian eithriadol er gyfer y plant, oedd wedi etifeddu cryn nerth rhyfedd ganddi.Once, full of super-marrow and remorse, the Father tried to kill himself and the Young Soldier in a fire, but he failed, and the two landed up in the sanatorium where a dear and loving young woman was volunteering. Strange to say, the Red Priest convinced him they’d been saved by the Ineffable Forces to make the World bend to their will. Ivan was a compulsive liar, and the girl a saintly soul, and he swept her off her feet with his wild charm – or so he thought. They married much too young and soon had two children to satisfy, in his view, his brutish need to be patriarch to a fearful and submissive tribe. The gift of life did not bring peace, therefore, and the Mother never escaped from his compulsive control, which was subtle and sneaky to start with, and easy to hide from others. But little by little, he became worse and worse, tending to explode at the least provocation. To be honest, she was totally sure she could never leave Ivan, as he threatened that he would maim her and kill the children if she did anything, or failed to obey him completely. He was re-living the atrocities of his past, he said, well, that was the heart-breaking story and the ready excuse every time. Although she was constantly abused, however, she never let herself be broken by her husband. And her love, humour, creativity, and mischievousness were an exceptional shield for the children, who had inherited considerable strange strength from her.
“…Y Delw-addolwyr, ar y llaw arall, fodd bynnag, nad ydynt yn gweithio’n galed; yn hytrach, ni wnânt ddim byd ond gwledda, a chydyfed, a chanu, a charu, a chwarae. Maent yn byw bob tro ar lan y môr, neu ar orlifdiroedd toreithiog ger traethellau afonydd, wrth ochel y cloddfeydd a’r meindyrau’n annwyl gan y Swynwyr trychfilaidd. Ac yno yn eu cadarnleoedd mwsoglyd, dawnsio’n wallgof mae’r Eilunaddolwyr Afluniaidd o dan olau’r Lloer Las, sydd yn treio a llenwi, yn codi a gostwng, wrth i rhai eraill droi a throsi’n amwys yn eu soffas sidan, gan gael eu taflu yma a thraw ar donnau bodolaeth ysgafala. Gyflawnant gymaint trwy wneud cyn lleied yn ôl pob golwg, er nad ydynt hwy, na llawer iawn o’r Yrthiaid, yn deall pa mor bwysig ydy hyn oll i lunio ffawd y Ddaear werdd a glas cyn belled i ffwrdd…”“…The Idolaters, on the other hand, however, do not work hard; rather they do nothing but feast, and carouse, and sing, and make love, and play. They always live on the sea-shore, or on the teeming flood-plains near the strands of rivers, whilst avoiding the mines and the spires dear to the insectile Sorcerers. And there in their mossy strongholds, the Unformed Idol-worshippers dance madly under the light of the Blue Moon, which ebbs and flows, rises and falls, as others toss and turn on their silken sofas, being thrown hither and thither on waves of careless existence. They achieve so much by doing so little by all accounts, although neither they, nor very many of the Yrthians, understand how important this all is in fashioning the fate of the blue and green Earth so far away…”
Er gwaetha’i greulondeb, roedd ‘na rywbeth yng nghylch Ivan oedd yn ddeniadol, bron yn hudol, fyddai’n rhwymo pobl ato a’u cymell nhw i ufuddhau iddo. Serch hynny, cachgi yn y bôn oedd e, ond wrth i bethau dros y Ddaear fynd o ddrwg i waeth, fe fanteisiai ar y sefyllfa, gan gasglu o’i gwmpas gnud fawr o wylliaid a hurfilwyr i fod yn gŵn bach iddo. Pan ddisgynnodd y Cythrwfl Mawr, fe fyddent yn rhodio’r cefn gwlad ledled y Cyfandir gan ysbeilio a lladd, yn enw purdeb, ffydd, a nerth. Roedd yn rhaid i’r crwt deithio gyda’r dynion, ac ymuno â’r erchyllterau – i adeiladu’i gymeriad yn ôl Ivan. Cyn hynny roedd y gamdriniaeth gartre’ wedi bod yn ddi-baid, i'r fath raddau, ei fod yn rhyddhad bendigedig i'r Fam a'r Chwaer, pan âi'r Tad a'r Mab i ffwrdd. O'r safbwynt hwn, y Mab oedd achubwr ei deulu, er gwaetha’, neu o achos, ei ddioddefaint ei hunan. Fyddai’r Chwaer byth yn anghofio’i Brawd, er na sylweddolai fe’r ffaith, falle. Un o’r gweithredoedd mwya’ anfad ddigwyddodd yn ystod cyfarfod mewn Tabernacl Annibynnol pan orfodwyd pob copa walltog yno i wisgo sachliain a lludw. Ac wedyn, fe ddodwyd tar a phlu arnyn nhw i gyd, yn ddyn, gwraig, a phlentyn. Ac wedyn, rhowyd y lle ar dân, a hwythau yno fe, i buro’r tir, ac achub eneidiau’r pechaduriaid. Bob tro fe fyddai’r Mab yn gwrthod cymryd rhan yn y gweithredoedd treisiol, a bob tro’n ddi-feth fe fyddai’r Tad yn wawdio fe, a’i guro fe, gan adael casgliad o greithiau dros ei gorff. Ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, rhywsut, arferai'r Tad ryw ddylanwad magnetig drosto fe, fel yr edmygai’r Mab yr hen ddiawl wrth ei gasáu ar yr un pryd.Despite his cruelty, there was something about Ivan which was attractive, almost magical, which would bind people to him and compel them to obey him. Despite that, he was basically a coward, but as things across the Earth went from bad to worse, he took advantage of the situation, collecting around him a large band of bandits and mercenaries to be his lapdogs. When the Great Tribulation descended, they would roam the countryside throughout the Continent, looting and killing, in the name of purity, faith, and strength. The kid had to travel with the men, and join in with the atrocities – to build his character, according to Ivan. Before that, the abuse at home had been ceaseless, to such an extent that it was a blessed release to the Sister and the Mother when the Father and the Son went off. From that point of view, the Son was his family’s saviour, despite, or because of, his own suffering. The Sister would never forget her Brother, although he did not realise this, perhaps. One of the most heinous acts occurred during a meeting in an Independent Tabernacle, when every single person there was forced to wear sack-cloth and ashes. And then they were all tarred and feathered, men, women and children. And then the place was set on fire with them in it, to purify the ground, and save the sinners’ souls. Every time the son would refuse to take part in the acts of violence, and every time, unfailingly, the Father would mock him and beat him, leaving a collection of scars over his body. But despite that, somehow, the Father exercised some magnetic influence over him, so that the Son admired the old devil, whilst hating him at the same time.
“… Fe fynna’r Saith Swynwr Seraffiaid wrogaeth ddi-syfl; ni ddarparant ddim byd ond caethiwed a phoenedigaeth yn y pen draw…” – Ac yn awr mae’r llanc yn gallu clywed sŵn argregyn pryfed yn di-baid siffrwd, ac mae’n ymosod yn enbyd ar ei glustiau. Er y cyfyngder, mae’n dal i wrando ar y geiriau sy’n atseinio, mae’n ymddangos, o’r gorffennol pell. Ar yr un pryd, mae'n ceisio peidio rhoi sylw i sain adenydd yn curo, dannedd yn brathu, a chennau’n rhygnu. Ac mae’n brwydro nerth ei ben i ddod â fe’i hun ymaith, oddi wrth yr angenfilod ffiaidd, sydd yn taenu anobaith a pheri ofn ofnadwy. A dyma fe’n ceisio'i ddiogelu’i hunan wrth iddynt ddechrau estyn eu tentaclau pigog, barus, i’w amgáu yn y Pydew Diwaelod tros byth – neu waeth. Ac eto mae’n siantio: “Y ceiliog yw ‘turikikihí,’ y cricsyn yw ‘thirularop,’ y ci yw ‘bahuakah,’ y ffured yw ‘vielsha’.”“... The Seven Seraphic Sorcerers insist on unflinching allegiance; they provide nothing but enslavement and torment in the end...” – And now the lad can hear the sound of the insects’ carapaces ceaselessly rustling, and it’s assaulting his ears terribly. Despite the distress, he’s still listening to the words that are resounding, it appears, from the distant past. At the same time, he's trying not to pay attention to the sound of wings beating. teeth gnashing, and scales rasping. And he’s fighting with all his strength to take himself off, away from the vile monsters, which spread despair and cause terrible fear. And so, he tries to protect himself as they begin to extend their greedy, spiny tentacles, to envelop him in the Bottomless Pit for ever – or worse. And still he chants -- “The cockerel is ‘turikikihí,’ the cricket is ‘thirularop,’ the dog is ‘bahuakah,’ the ferret is ‘vielsha’.”
Eto i gyd, dyna’r Chwaer golledig oedd yn arfer bod mor ddibryder, mor llawn hwyl pan o’n nhw’n tyfu lan gyda’i gilydd, er gwaetha’r amgylchiadau uffernol. Wel, dyna sut oedd e’n arfer ymddangos i’r llanc ta be’, pan fyddai hi’n ei lonni fe, dweud hanesion hynod wrtho fe, llenwi’i ddychymyg â delweddau rhyfedd, a ‘neud iddo fe chwerthin nes iddo bron â marw. Ac fe fyddai hi’n ei garco fe, a’i ddiogelu, a sefyll yn gefn iddo. Hyd yn oed pan fyddai’n cael ei chloi yn y seler arswydus am ddyddiau bwygilydd heb fwyd na dŵr o ganlyniad. Heb amheuaeth o fath yn y Byd, roedd hi’n trio cymryd rhan Mam ar ôl iddi hithau ymadael, gan leddfu ofnau’r llanc a hybu’i freuddwydion wrth i dywallt gwaed ac arswyd ddiffeithi’r wlad, a difodi’r werin o’u cwmpas nhw. Pan oedd e yn ei chwmni, fyddai’i fet yn newid yn llawenydd. Ond ‘naeth popeth newid pan gwrddodd hi â’r llanc arall ‘na yn ei harddegau, achos fod e’n amlwg doedd hi’m yn gallu rheoli’i theimladau, heb sôn am eu cuddio nhw. Yn wir, roedd hi ‘di cwympo dros ei phen a'i chlustiau mewn cariad gyda fe. Mopio’i phen arno fe roedd hi, fel ‘doedd dim synnwyr cyffredin ar ôl iddi. Ac yn waeth byth, roedd ei deulu’n perthyn i’r ochr arall, ‘fyd.Then again, there’s the lost Sister who used to be so carefree, so full of fun when they were growing up together, despite the hellish circumstances. Well, that’s how it used to appear to the lad, anyway, when she would cheer him up, tell him tall tales, fill his imagination with strange images, and make him laugh till he almost died. And she used to look after him, and protect him, and stand up for him, too, even when she got locked in the terrifying cellar for days on end without food or water as a result. Without a single doubt, she tried to take the part of Mother after she departed, soothing the lad’s fears and encouraging his dreams as bloodshed and terror laid waste to the land and annihilated the folk around them. When he was in her company, his anger would change into joy. But everything changed when she met that other lad when she was a teenager, as it was obvious that she couldn’t control her feelings, not to mention hide them. Indeed, she’d fallen head over heels in love with him. She doted on him, like she had no common sense left. And worse than ever, his family belonged to the other side, too.
“…Fel anifeiliaid gwaith yw’r creaduriaid llai i gyd, yn rhyfel y galluoedd. Rywbryd, ar y Blaned bitw honno, o’r enw y Ddaear, mae’r Swynwyr yn dod i’r golwg ar ffurf cysgodion cycyllog, aruthrol, mewn breuddwydion neu hunllefau, i gasglu eneidiau meidrol. Ond yn gyntaf, rhaid ennill meddyliau’r bobl. Maent yn galw dynion a gwragedd nerthol ynghyd, boed nhw’n bregethwyr, diddanwyr, meistri’r wasg, neu wleidyddion, i enwi ond ychydig, fel y gallant reoli’r rhai sy’n creu realiti cydsyniol, synnwyr cyffredin, a safonau ymddwyn, gan roi rhagor o rym bydol iddynt a pheri iddynt gryfhau. Ond wedyn, wedi iddyn nhw gyrraedd y brig, fe fydd arnynt angen ymddarostwng, a moesymgrymu gerbron yr Hen Feistri Arallfydol. Nid y rhai grymus yn unig a demtir ychwaith, ond y gweinion a’r rhai mewn angen hefyd, ar adegau. Iddynt hwy y cynigir addewidion bywyd gwell, yn llawn enwogrwydd, digonedd, a moethusrwydd.. A phan y’u rhwydwyd yn deg fel na allant byth ddianc, fe dynnir yr holl gysur ffug yn ei ôl. Ac wedyn bydd arnynt i gyd angen sibrwd y mantra: Sisial santeiddiedig i Saith Swynwr Seraffiaid Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid, wrth wasanaethu anghenion Arglwyddi Anwiredd am byth…” – Ac mae’r llanc yn mynd ymlaen gyda’r corganu, gan geisio eto atal y Ddau Fyd rhag chwalu: “Y broga yw ‘endilda,’ yr afr ‘andíshish,’ yr iâr ‘lilivalis,’ y ceffyl ‘kestala’.”“…Like beasts of burden are all the lesser creatures, in the war of the powers. Sometimes, on that puny Planet called the Earth, the Sorcerers come into view in the form of terrible, cowled shadows, in dreams or nightmares, to collect mortal souls. But first, they must win the minds of the people. They call together powerful men and women, be they preachers, entertainers, press magnates, or politicians, to name but a few, so that they can control those who create consensual reality, common sense, and standards of behaviour, giving them more worldly power and causing them to become stronger. But then, after they reach the top, they have to humble themselves, and bow down before the Otherworldly Old Masters. It is not the powerful alone who are tempted either, but the weak and those in need, too, on occasions. To them are offered promises of a better life, full of fame, and plenty, and luxury. And when they have been truly entrapped so they cannot escape, all the fake reassurance is withdrawn. And then they will all need to whisper the mantra: Sanctified susurration to the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers of the Extremely Exalted Empire of the Yrthians, whilst serving the needs of the Lords of Untruth for ever...” – And the lad goes on with the chanting, still trying to stop the Two Worlds from fragmenting: “Y frog is ‘endilda.’ the goat, ‘andíshish,’ the hen, ‘lilivalis,’ the horse, ‘kestala’.”
Doedd y Chwaer byth yn peidio meddwl am ei chariad newydd, ac fe fyddai’n sôn am y llanc fel pwll y môr. Aeth hi mor synhwyrol a chall, gan ddechrau darllen barddoniaeth am garu a threngi, a ‘sgrifennu caneuon serch, drist. Ac am ryw reswm fe fyddai hi’n gwisgo amdani â gŵn hir du, a chrwydro dros bob man, hyd yn oed pan fyddai bomiau’n ffrwydro, gan ganu clodydd byd natur a galaru erchyllterau dynolryw, a’i hwyneb difrifol cyn wynned â’r galchen, heblaw am y minlliw du. A gweud y gwir, roedd hithau i’w gweld yn eitha brawychus, a falle’i bod hi’n ymarfer bod yn wrach a allai drawsffurfio’n sénomorff mileinig, llysnafeddog ac yn ddannedd i gyd, i achub ei Brawd rhag gafael ysglyfaethwr gwancus, cyn ffoi’r nyth gwaedlyd. Y geiriau ola’ mae’n gallu’u cofio ganddi hi cyn iddi’i gyfradael yw’r pennill rhyfedd ‘na wedi’i chyfieithu gan Mamrick o’r Famwlad Aflonydd yn y Wlad Wen: “Popeth byrhoedlog anfonir yn arwydd; Diffyg y Ddaear sy’n tyfu o herwydd; Heb ei ddisgrifio, yn y fan ‘ma y’i cwplir; Hanfod menywod a’n harwain o anwir.” Ac yn wir, fe ddeuai hi’n farddes enwog, a sefydlu’r Ysgol Feddyliaethol, a gâi ddylanwad anferth ar wareiddiad, mewn sawl ffordd na allai hi fod wedi’u rhagweld. Ond pan adawodd hi heb air, wedi ‘neud yr un ffafr ola' ‘na, a’r Fam wedi marw ‘fyd, fe dorrodd ei galon. Fe ‘naeth e dyngu llw y dihangai fe ‘fyd o’i gartre’ fel na fyddai fe fyth yn cael ei frifo eto. A dyna arweiniai yn y pen draw at y sefyllfa sydd ohoni bellach, ble gorfodir ef i ymladd yn erbyn ei gysgod ar Faes Posibiliadau, i goncro neu ddarfod.The Sister never stopped thinking about her new boyfriend, and she would talk about the lad incessantly. She became so sane and sensible, beginning to read poetry about loving and perishing, and writing sad love songs. And for some reason she would dress in a long black gown, and wander all over the place, even when there were bombs exploding, singing the praises of the natural world, and mourning the atrocities of humankind, her face as white as chalk, apart from the black lipstick. To tell the truth she looked rather terrifying, and perhaps she was practising being a witch who could transform into a xenomorph, slimy, murderous, and full of teeth, to save her Brother from the grasp of a rapacious predator, before fleeing the blood-stained nest. The last words he can remember from her before she abandons him is that strange verse translated by Mamrick of the Haunted Homeland in the White-land: “All things that wither are sent but as guidelines; The Earth’s Lack of lustre thus outstrips its confines; Escaping description here all lies completed; By feminine soul untruths’ wiles are defeated.” And indeed, she would become a famous poet, and founder of the Mentalist School, which would have an enormous influence on society in several ways she could not have foreseen. But when she left without a word, having done that one last favour, and the Mother having died as well, his heart broke. He swore an oath that he too would escape from his home so that he would never be hurt again. And that led in the end to the situation that pertains now, where he is forced to fight against his shadow on the Field of Possibilities, to conquer or perish.
“…Yma, ar y Nw Yrth, bydd rhaid i bob copa walltog sy’n brwydro yn erbyn y Synnwyr wynebu’i ofnau er mwyn cael gwared arnynt, fel na chaiff ei chwalu’n chwilfriw gan y gyfundrefn orthrymus. Dim ond trwy wneud hyn gall unigolyn go iawn ddod yn grefftwr ei hanes ei hunan: ar hunanddinistr, o bosibl. Ond, o leiaf y bydd yn dianc o gadwyni culni, a thwylliad, a chywilydd, ac wedyn, trwy wrthryfela, a dioddef, a datblygu, fe fydd yn bosibl iddi feddwl, a chreu, a charu, a byw ar ei liwt ei hun...” – Ac yna mae’r siantio’n dwysáu, wrth i donnau o orflinder olchi dros y llanc: “Yr arth yw ‘brubumbu,’ y wadd yw ‘elentlova,’ ‘kualuru’ yw’r dylluan, ‘tithihenta’ yw’r llygoden.”“…Here, on the Nw Yrth, every man-jack who fights against the Sorcerers must face his fears to get rid of them, so that he shall not be shattered asunder by the oppressive system. Only by doing this can a real individual become the crafter of her own history: on peril of self-destruction, possibly. But at least she’ll escape from the chains of intolerance, and deception, and shame, and then, by fighting back, and suffering, and developing, it’ll be possible for her to think, and create, and live just for herself…” – And then the chanting intensifies, as waves of exhaustion wash over the lad: “The bear is ‘brubumbu,’ the mole is ‘elentlova,’ ‘kualuru’ is the owl; ‘tithihenta’ is the mouse.”
Yng nghanol y goedwig yn y Byd Arall, ar bwys yr afon ddrewllyd, wedi poeri ar ei fwyell mae’r fforestwr, cyn i’r arf miniog ddisgyn am y tro olaf, wrth i’r cabál o endidau disgwylgar wylio’n astud, gan lechu mor chwannog ar y trothwy crynedig. Ac yna, o’r tywyllwch berwedig, llwyr, daw Wezir, y rhith sy wastad yn gweithio’n eithafol frwd, wrth dalu sylw manwl i’w dasgau hollbwysig. A ble bynnag mae’n mynd, yn ei sgil mae’n gadael trywydd yn llawn hudoliaeth ddienw ac erchyll, i demtio’r gweinion, llygru’r cryfion, ac felly goroesi’r Ddaear.In the middle of the forest in the Other World, near the stinking river, the forester has spat on his axe, before the sharp tool descends for the last time, as the cabal of expectant entities watch astutely, lurking so eagerly on the trembling doorstep. And then, from the utter, boiling darkness, comes Wezir, the spectre who is always working exceptionally keenly, paying detailed attention to his all-important tasks. And where ever he goes, in his wake he leaves a trail full of terrible and nameless enchantment, to tempt the weak, corrupt the strong, and so overcome the Earth.
“…Wedi dweud hyn oll, gweithio yn erbyn yr Unbeniaid Unig y mae’r ymladdwyr dros ryddid, hynny yw cymrodyr Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd Dirifedi, Arolygwyr Anawdurdodol Anochel y Nw Yrth, sydd yn gweithredu (pan welant yn ddoeth wneud y fath beth) o dan y fflag goch, garpiog. Maent yn byw ymhlith y fforestydd pin yr ochr draw i’r Pwll Gresynus ar Gyfandir Gogleddol y Blaned. Er nad ydynt yn malio’r un ffeuen hudol am ddim byd dan yr Haul Disglair fel rheol, maent yn teimlo y dylent roi sbrag yn olwyn y Swynwyr pa bryd bynnag bydd yn bosibl, i lesteirio’u cynlluniau o ran goruchafiaeth ddihafal, trefniadaeth haearnaidd, a rheolaeth lem, gan mai’r rhain fydd yn rhwystro esblygu ac arwain at dranc yn hwyr neu’n hwyrach. Ond ni wnânt hyn trwy frwydro’n uniongyrchol, yn hytrach, byddant yn dewis gwrthwynebiad di-drais, ymyrraeth gyson, a gweithredoedd anuniongyrchol, gan chwarae castiau, lledaenu agwedd chwilfrydig anniwall, difetha pethau cysegredig o bob math (fel petai), hau hadau cynnen, a thaenu anhrefn…”“…Having said all this, working against the Lonely Despots are the freedom-fighters, that is comrades of the Innumerable Indolent Idolaters, the Ineluctable Unauthoritative Overseers of the Nw Yrth, who operate (when they see fit to do such a thing) under the ragged, red flag. They live amongst the pine forests on the other side of the Wretched Pool, on the Planet’s Northern Continent. Although they do not give a single magical bean about anything under the Resplendent Sun as a rule, they feel that they should put a spoke in the Sorcerers’ wheel whenever that is possible, to impede their plans for untrammelled dominion, iron organization, and harsh control, as these will obstruct evolution and lead to death, sooner or later. But they do not do this by fighting directly, rather, they choose non-violent opposition, constant interference, and indirect actions, playing tricks, disseminating an attitude of insatiable curiosity, killing holy cows of all kinds (as it were), sowing discord, and spreading disorder...”
Er gwaetha’r argoelion enbyd gan y lliaws o leisiau yn cynnal cynhadledd yng nghefn ei feddwl, dyw’r llanc ofnus ond herllyd ddim yn gallu’i atal ei hunan rhag trio cael cip ar y ffurfiau ofnadwy sy’n caledu’n fud o’r niwl melyn, sarrug yn hongian yn drwm o amgylch y llwyfan ddu. Ac wedyn dyna’r Llais Trallodus yn galw ar yr angenfilod gwlyb diferol sy’n ymddangos mor araf o’r tes myglyd gan ddod i’r golwg fesul aelod, gan glicio’u pinsiyrnau miniog yn fygythiol, a disgyrnu’r ysgithrau yn eu cegau dirifedi.Despite the fearsome prognoses from the host of voices holding a conference in the back of his mind, the fearful but defiant lad cannot stop himself from trying to get an eyeful of the awful forms which are solidifying mutely from the sullen, yellow mist hanging heavily about the black stage. And then, the Vexatious Voice summons the soaking wet monsters who are appearing so slowly from the stifling heat-haze, coming into view limb-by-limb, while clicking their sharp pincers threateningly, and gnashing the tusks in their numberless mouths.
“…Ni hawliant deyrnged nac ymhyfrydu yn nysgedigaeth, ac nid oes ganddynt daeogion nac ar y Nw Yrth nac ar y Ddaear, ar wahân i nifer anhysbus o ddilynwyr hunan-ddewisedig. Fe gaiff y rhain – y dewiniaid, yr artistiaid, y beirdd, y gwallgofddyn, a’r siamaniaid – eu gwawdio a’u diarddel ar y gorau. Ond ar y gwaethaf, fe gânt eu difodi a’u puro, ymhlith afonydd o waed, a rhaeadrau o ddagrau, a moroedd o dân, oherwydd eu hymdrechion i’w creu eu hunain a thrawsffurfio’r Byd. Y rhain sydd yn dawnsio a chanu gydag afiaith gan ledu caos creadigol ac anhrefn adeiladol heb rwystr. I raddau helaeth, nid ydynt yn talu sylw ar eu ffawd ar y Ddaear, am mai creadigrwydd, a rhyddid, ac unigoliaeth yw gwobrau ynddynt eu hunain. Ac efallai y bydd yr Hen Dduwiau rhyfedd yn coroni’u cofion â phlethdorchau o lawryf yn yr Isfyd o’r diwedd, os gallant drafferthu yn ei gylch.” – Ac er ei fod yn diffygio’n wael erbyn hyn, dyma’r Siaman Anfodlonaf yn dal ati gyda’r swyngan: “‘Anvisashé’ yw’r mochyn; y gigfran yw ‘kouroakrí,’ y ddafad ‘ankelrerek,’ yr hen sarff ‘shezesista’.”“...They do not claim tribute nor delight in doctrine, and they do not have vassals either on the Nw Yrth nor on the Earth, apart from an unknown number of self-chosen followers. These -- the wizards, the artists, the poets, the mad-men, and the shamans – shall be mocked and ostracized at best. But at the worst they shall be exterminated and purified amongst rivers of blood, and waterfalls of tears, and seas of fire, because of their efforts to create themselves and transform the World. It is these who dance and sing with wild abandon, unrestrainedly spreading creative chaos and constructive disorder. And to a great extent, they pay no attention to their fate on the Earth, as creativity, and freedom, and individuality are rewards in themselves. And perhaps the strange Old Gods shall crown their heads with wreaths of laurel in the Underworld at last, if they can be bothered about it.” – And although he’s losing heart terribly by now, the Unwillingest Shaman keeps on with the incantation: “‘Anvisashé,’ is the pig, the crow is ‘kouroakrí,’ the sheep is ‘ankelrerek,’ the old serpent, ‘shezesista'."
Dyma wyll chwerw yn disgyn wrth i’r golau byw oll ddiflannu o’r awyr gan adael dim ond tywyn haearnlas ar ôl. O dan bwys hudoliaeth y Swynwyr, y rhai sy’n casáu pob gwahaniaeth, ceisio meistroli pob cyfrinach, a gwastrodi pob afreoleidd-dra, dyna wead bodolaeth yn ystumio hyd nes iddo bron â hollti. Ond gan ymdrechu nerth ei enaid mae’r bachgen yn llwyddo i fwngial: “‘Vilizda’ yw’r alarch, y mwydyn ‘huiklé.’ ‘vildarsí’ yw’r byfflo, a’n henw ni yw ‘deklo’.”A bitter gloom descends as all the living light disappears from the sky leaving nothing but a steely-blue glow behind. Under the weight of the Sorcerers’ enchantment, those who hate all difference, aim to master every secret, and master every irregularity, the texture of existence distorts until it almost splits. But labouring with all his soul, the boy succeeds in mumbling: “‘Vilizda’ is the swan, the worm ‘huiklé.’ ‘vildarsí’ is the buffalo, and our name is ‘deklo’.”
Ac mae’r llanc yn gofio ei hun ymhlith y coed pinwydd, yn wylo dagrau o waed, heb ffrind gwerth sôn amdano. O ble yn y Ddau Fyd roedd y syniad o drawsffurfio’r Ddaear ttrwy ledu'r neges gyfeiliornus a hunanddinistriol am heddwch, trugaredd, gweithio gyda’ch gilydd, a rhannu cynnyrch eich llafur a’ch adnoddau wedi dod? Mae e mewn trafferth uffernol eto achos ei fod wedi bod yn trefnu partïon rhydd i ddathlu bywyd a datgan ei neges o gariad rhydd wrth bawb. Mae’r ffŵl o Ficing wedi cwympo oddi ar ei fotor-beic a dyw e dda i ddim fel arfer. Mae awdurdodau’r Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg wedi bod yn ei wylio bob amser, a bellach maen nhw’n gyhuddo fe o werthu cyffuriau, neu’u cludo nhw ta be’. Mae’r llanc, sy wedi llowcio llond bol o fwyd y barcud ac yn hedfan, yn poeni’n ofnadw’. Ac i goroni popeth, dyna’r Blodeuwedd ‘na yn mynnu bod ei Chomando Trefol yn ‘neud neges bwysig iawn ar ei chyfer hi ar unwaith, er gwaetha’i drafferthon eraill oll i gyd.And the lad remembers himself amongst the pine trees, crying tears of blood, without a friend worth mentioning. From where in the Two Worlds had come the idea of transforming the Earth, by spreading the mistaken and self-destructive idea of peace, mercy, working together, and sharing the fruits of your labour and your resources? He’s in hellish trouble again because he’s been organizing free parties to celebrate life and declare his message of free love to everyone. The fool of a Viking’s fallen off his motorbike, and is good for nothing as usual. The authorities of the Big, Bad City have been watching him all the time, and now they’re accusing him of selling drugs, or transporting them anyway. The lad, who’s slurped a gutful of magical fungus and is flying, is terribly distressed. And to top everything off, there’s that Blodeuwedd insisting that her Urban Commando do a very important errand for her, immediately, despite all his other troubles.
Mae Tefnuth, mor brydferth, arweinydd hoenus a gofalwr y meirwon oll, sy’n dwlu ar gyfoeth, yn ymddangos nesaf, wedi’i themtio gan flas diod gadarn yn cynnwys bob math o berlysiau. Mae’n ysu i agor y Porth rhwng y Ddau Fyd fel y gall yr ysbrydion sgwrsio a dawnsio â’r bywion gan eu brifo neu’u hiacháu nhw fel y bydd yn briodol. Ac unwaith eu bod wedi’u blino’n lân gan Ddawns yr Angau, fe fydd hi’n eu hebrwng nhw i gyd i Feysydd Cilgain y Nw Yrth, i Elfan, lle na fydd y darantela erchyll yn gaeth i’r Hen Feistri, byth yn dod i ben.Tefnuth, so beautiful, vivacious leader and carer for all the dead, who loves wealth, appears next, tempted by the taste of strong drink containing all kinds of herbs. She’s itching to open the Gate between the Two Worlds so that the spirits can chat and dance with the living, hurting them or healing them, as appropriate. And once they’re totally exhausted by the Dance of Death, she shall conduct them all to the Nw Yrth’s Asphodel Fields, to Elfan, where the terrifying tarantella, enslaved to the Old Masters, shall never cease.
Y tro hwn mae’r llanc wedi penderfynu cwrdd â nhw, y grymoedd gormesol, er iddo fe o’i go’, i drio’u perswadio nhw i wrando o leia’ ar ei gynlluniau am serch brawdol a chwaerol, ac am y posibiliadau ynglŷn â sefydlu cymuned wedi’i seilio ar y fath egwyddorion yng Nghwm-ran, os nad i’w derbyn nhw. Eto i gyd mae llawr o fanylion i’w dyfalu o hyd. Ond yn lle aelodau’r Pwyllgor Gwaith, swyddogion arfog sy’n cyrraedd, ac mae’n rhaid iddo fe ddianc ar frys yn y fan wen wedi’i benthyca o’r Clinig. Ond dyma’r Ficing yn ei dryllio yn erbyn pinwydden achos taw rhyw ferch yn gleisiau i gyd ac yn gwisgo sachliain a minlliw du yn ôl pob golwg, sy wedi rhedeg i’r ffordd o rywle heb ei disgwyl. Gwaed ym mhob man. Cyfergyd. Gwyll. Ango’. Cysgu am achau. Marw, bron.This time, the lad’s decided to meet them, the oppressive forces, although he’s out of his tree, to try and persuade them to listen at least to his plans about brotherly and sisterly love, and about the possibilities regarding establishing a community based on such principles in Cwm-ran, if not to accept them. Then again, there are lots of details to be worked out still. But instead of members of the Works Committee, it’s armed officers who turn up, and he must escape in a hurry in the white van borrowed from the Clinic. But the Viking smashes it against a pine tree ‘cos some girl, all bruised up, and wearing sack-cloth and black lipstick to all accounts, has run into the road from nowhere. Blood everywhere, Concussion. Darkness. Forgetting. Sleeping for ages. Dead, almost.
A dyna’r llances mor rhyfedd, mor brydferth, mor ddeallus, mor ffroenuchel, mae’n ei charu o waelod ei galon ddu. Ydy hi’n ei garu fe, dydy hi ddim yn ei lico fe? Ydy hi’n hoff ohono, neu ydy hi’n gasáu fe? O, mae hi’n dwlu ar chwarae gemau! Mae hi’n ei atgoffa fe cymaint am Chwaer, falle, mewn hanes hynafol am wlad hud a lledrith, a gyfradawodd ei brawd pan redodd hi bant i ennill clod a golud. Wel, be’ bynnag, pan gyrhaeddodd e roedd hi’n arfer cega fel mamiar neu chwaer henach bryderus, y naill ddiwrnod ar ôl y llall. Ar y llaw arall, dyna fyddai hi’n ymddangos yn oriau mân y bore i falu awyr am ei anturiaethau dewr yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, a’i gynlluniau i drawsffurfio’r Hen Fyd Cythryblus. Rywbryd fe fyddai fel ‘sai hi’n mynd trwy holiadur, gan sgriblan nodiadau. Ac o glywed yr atebion, fe fyddai hi’n chwerthin nes bu bron iddi hi feichio crio.And there’s the lass who’s so strange, so beautiful, so intelligent, so stuck-up, he loves from the bottom of his black heart. Does she love him, does she not like him? Is she fond of him, or does she hate him? Oh, she loves playing games! She reminds him so much of a Sister, perhaps, in an ancient tale about never-land, who abandoned her brother when she ran off to win fame and fortune. Well, anyway, when he arrived she used to mouth on like broody hen or an anxious older sister, day after day. On the other hand, she would appear in the early hours of the morning to gab on about his brave adventures in the Heart of the Continent, and his plans to transform the Old Troubled Word. Sometimes, it would be as if she was going through a questionnaire, scribbling notes. And hearing the answers she would laugh till she almost sobbed her eyes out.
Yn y fro ‘na’n ddwfn dan y pridd, ble dyw babi ddim yn nabod ei fam ei hunan, ble ‘does chwaer sy’n cofio’i brawd, ble dyw dyn ddim yn caru’i wraig mwyach, yno yn ogo’r Afon Ddagreuol, y ffrwd enfawr ‘na sy’n llifo mor gyflym a thrist, mae gwynt chwilysol, sur yn codi. A dyna Nebesh, sy fel arfer yn cysgu’n dawel, bellach yn dihuno i ymweld â’i theulu galarus. Ac yn ei gŵydd hi, ac yn sgil ei llefain di-baid, fe fydd y Ddaear i gyd yn gollwng dagrau gwaed hefyd.In that region, deep below the ground, where a baby doesn’t know his own mother, where no sister remembers her brother, where a husband no longer loves his wife, there, in the cave of the Teary River, that enormous stream that flows so quick and sad, a sour, inquisitorial wind is picking up. And there Nebesh, who usually sleeps peacefully, awakes, to visit her grieving family. And in her presence, and in the wake of her ceaseless weeping, the whole Earth will drop blood-tears as well.
Ond, ryfedd dweud, dim ond ryw flwyddyn a hanner wedyn, fe fyddai hi’n colli’i thymer a rhuthro bant bob tro byddai fe’n trio sgwrsio â hi’n farddonol am ei deimladau ynghylch eu dyfodol gyda’i gilydd. O, roedd ‘na gymaint yn pwyso ar ei meddwl rhwng popeth, erbyn hynny, ond allai fe byth roi’r gorau i syllu arni mor gariadus. ‘Sai fe ond yn gallu gweithio mas be’ oedd ei phroblem fawr, roedd yn siŵr fe fyddai’n gallu’i helpu hi. Ond nage rhifolegwr mo fe, gwaetha’r modd a allai ddehongli’r rwnau yn unol â chyfarwyddiadau’r Doethur Du (er ei fod yn falch o’r ffaith ‘fyd, mewn ffordd, ac yntau’n medru deall teimladau pobl i ryw raddau erbyn ‘ny), ac roedd hi fel llyfr caeedig iddo. Wyddai fe ddim oll am fenywod, siŵr Lushfé, wedi colli ei Fam, druan â hi, a’i unig, annwyl Chwaer. Ond, wedi dweud ‘ny, roedd ‘na un achlysur (neu ddau) pan oedd e wedi’i rheibio hi. A dyna pan o’n nhw wedi cwtsio mor agos at ei gilydd ar y carped gwyrdd blewog, yn ei hoff le, yr hen fwthyn glas, oedd fel cnwc mwsoglyd ar bwys Afon Sed. A bryd ‘ny roedd hi ‘di datgan taw fe oedd ei Thywysog Golygus. A dyna olygai taw hithau fyddai ei Dywysoges Brydferth hyd byth. Wel, dyna’r llun yn ei ben, ta be’.But, strange to say, only some year and a half later, she’d lose her temper and rush off, every time he tries to chat with her poetically about his feelings about their future together. Oh, there was so much on her mind, what with everything, by then, but he could never stop staring at her so lovingly. If he could only work out what her big problem was, he was sure he could help her. But he was no numerologist, more’s the pity, who could interpret the runes according to the Black Doctor’s instructions (although he was proud of the fact too, in a way, him being able to understand people’s feelings to some extent by then), and she was like a closed book to him. He knew nothing at all about women, sure to Lushfé, having lost his Mother, poor thing, and his only, dear Sister. But, having said that, there was one occasion (or two), when he’d beguiled her. And that’s when they’d cuddled up so closely together on the hairy green carpet, in his favourite place, the old blue cottage, that was like a mossy knoll beside the River Sed. And at that time, she’d declared that he was her Handsome Prince. And that meant that she would be his Beautiful Princess forever. Well, that’s the picture in his head, anyway.
Beth am Fam y llanc, te? Mae hi’n dilyn llwybr ysbrydoliaeth greadigol, gan dderbyn cyngor ei chalon yn hytrach na defnyddio’i meddwl, ac mor deimladwy, cariadus, cysurus. a dychmygus yw hi. Dyma’r wraig sy wastad eisiau cefnogi ei Mab, er gwaetha’ popeth. Mae’n gwingo wrth feddwl amdani, am bopeth a ddigwyddodd iddi yn ystod ei bywyd. Yn y lle cynta’, bu bron iddi farw pan gaeth e’i eni, mewn ffordd mae’r llanc yn credu na ddylai fe fod yn fyw, taw fe a’i lladdodd hi yn y pen draw trwy oroesi. Ac wrth gwrs hyd yn oed cyn ‘ny, roedd hi angen ymgodymu â’r Tad, a hithau wedi’i achub e rhag ei hunan pan oedd e ar farw. Er ei bod hi mor flinedig drwy’r amser ar ôl i’w Mab gyrraedd, mae hi’n dal i weithio mor galed yn yr ysbyty, ac yn y tŷ, ac yn y warchodfa i’r caethion i gyffuriau. Ac wrth gwrs dyna’i Dad yn casáu’r llanc o ganlyniad, gan ei fwlian, a’i orfodi i ‘neud pethau dychrynllyd ac od ynglŷn â defodau hudol.What about the lad’s Mother, then? She follows the path of creative inspiration, taking the council of hear heart rather than using her mind, and she’s so sensitive, loving, reassuring, and imaginative. This is the woman who always wants to support her Son, despite everything. He squirms when he thinks about her, about everything that happened to her during her life. In the first place, she almost died when he was born, in a way the lad believes he shouldn’t be alive, that it’s him who killed her in the end by surviving. And of course, even before that, she had to put up with the Father, even though she’d saved him from himself when he was on death’s door. Although she’s so tired all the time after their Son arrived, she keeps on working so hard in the hospital, and in the house, and in the refuge for drug addicts. And of course, his Father hates the lad as a result, bullying him, and forcing him to do terrifying and odd things connected with with magical rituals.
Drydydd daw Lushfé, By·elzebub, Azazel, y drindod unedig sy’n dwyn y teitl Duw Cylion a Seren Fore, gan ei fod yn arwain yr Haul a dilyn y Lleuad, gan hedfan heb adenydd ar weddïau’r rhai byw a sgrechau’r meirwon. Efe yw’r Duwdod a fu farw a chafodd ei eni drachefn trwy nerth ei chwaer. Ganddo fe y rhwymwyd Swtach sy biau tentaclau seimllyd fyrdd, yn y cwch glas, dirboenus. Ac mae canhwyllau’i lygaid yn llorwedd, a’i flew’n goch, a’i gyrn yn finiog, ac mae’n trin ei gledd o fflam tanbaid i selio’r rhai sy’n haeddu gwobr neilltuol, gan eu hanfon i’r Pwll Diwaelod, boed nhw’n gyfiawn neu’n bechaduriaid.Third comes Lushfé, By·elzebub, Azazel, the united trinity who bears the title Lord of the Files and the Morning Star, as he leads the Sun and follows the Moon, flying without wings on the prayers of the living and the screams of the dead. He is the Divinity who died and was reborn through the strength of his sister. By him was bound Swtach who possesses myriad slimy tentacles, in the excruciating blue hive. And the pupils of his eyes are horizontal, and his fur is red, and his horns are sharp, and he wields his sword of incandescent flame to seal those who deserve a particular prize, sending them to the Bottomless Pit, be they justified or sinners.
Ac wedyn mae Mam ei hunan yn yr ysbyty, ac mor sâl yw hi, wedi’i stwffio â chyffuriau o bob math, ac yn colli pwys nes iddi ddod yn hen sgerbwd, a dechrau pesychu gwaed, wrth fynd yn wannach wannach. Ond mae’r Tad dryslyd a gwyllt yn trio bwrw hud i’w chadw hi yn nhir y byw, gan gryfhau ar ddamwain y llwybr rhwng y Ddau Fyd. ‘Lly mae hi’n llusgo byw am amser maith cyn rhoddi’r ysbryd i fynu wedi diodde’n enbyd, ac yn waeth o lawer, ac yn hirach o lawer, nag y dylai hi fod wedi ‘neud. O’r diwedd dim ond ei llygaid sydd ar ôl, mwy neu lai, a’r rheiny’n ymbil am ganiatâd i gau am byth. a dyna hi’n sibrwd yng nghlust y Mab: "Paid â phylu; paid â gwywo; paid heneiddio," wrth drosglwyddo rhyw egni ffrwythlon iddo, ac wedyn ymadael. ‘Sdim gweddïo na siantio all ddod â hi’n ôl wedyn, dim cyfuniad o halen, a dagrau, a thân. A dyna heb sôn am ddefodau hirfeithion y Tad-Eglwys Goruchaf, a seremonïau byrfyfyr, gwaedlyd ei Mab. Ond dyna’i chyw bach da’n ‘neud beth mae hi ‘di ofyn, yn ei ddychymyg o leia’, gan lithio’r lleisiau a meithrin yr hud yn byrlymu ynddo fe, fel taw oddi mewn i gysgod nos dragwyddol y bydd golau creu’n ymdarddu. A dyna’r llanc yn penderfynu bod yn ddraen yn ystlys ei Dad o hynny‘mlaen, fydd yn difetha’i obeithion gwag, a llethu’i ymdrechion ofer i gyd o ran cymryd y Byd drosodd.And then, Mother herself is in the hospital, and she’s so ill, stuffed with drugs of all kinds and losing weight until she becomes an old scarecrow, and begins coughing blood, whilst getting weaker and weaker. But the confused and wild Father tries to cast magic spells to keep her in the land of the living, strengthening by accident the path between the Two Worlds. So, she lingers on for a very long time before giving up the ghost having suffered terribly, and much worse, and much longer, than she should have done. Eventually, only her eyes are left, more or less, and those plead for permission to close for ever, and she whispers in the Son’s ear: “Do not fade; do not wither; do not grow old,” as she transfers some fertile energy to him, and then departs. There’s no praying not chanting that can bring her back then, no combination of salt, and tears, and fire. And that’s not to mention the long-drawn-out rites of the Supreme Father-Church, and her Son’s improvised gory ceremonies. But her good little chick does what she’s asked, in his imagination at least, nourishing the voices and fostering the magic bubbling in him, so that from within the shadow of eternal night the light of creation shall spring forth. And the lad decides to be a thorn in the side of his Father from then on, who shall spoil his empty hopes, and swamp all his futile efforts to take the World over.
Mae Nuthkí hefyd yn gwrando ac ufuddhau. A dyma’r un sydd yn Fam ac yn Dad i bawb sy’n byw ac sy wedi marw, Brenhines yr ŷd a Brenin y cefnfor, sy’n rhodio trwy’r gerddi cysefin gan ddosbarthu bodolaeth a thranc, lluniaeth a newyn, deall a dryswch, bodlondeb ac anobaith, cyfoeth a thlodi, wrth beri i’r naill flodeuo tra gwywo’r lleill. Oherwydd bod Nuthkí yn cynrychioli grym cydbwysedd cosmig, gan mai hyd yn oed y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd sy’n ddarostyngedig i ddeddfau natur, yn wir dyna pam maen nhw’n ysu, yn eu hofn a’u seithuctod, am reoli pob agwedd ar fodolaeth mor llym. Ond a dderbyn y wobr felly a dderbyn y gosb yn ei dro yn unol â’r Drefn Fawr, a thrwy waith Nuthkí, fe fydd pawb, o fodd neu o anfodd, yn cyrraedd teyrnas anhygoel y Saith yn y pendraw.Nuthkí also is listening and obeys. And here's the one who is Mother and Father to everyone living and dead, Queen of the corn and King of the ocean, strolling through the primal gardens distributing existence and death, sustenance and famine, understanding and confusion, contentment and despair, wealth and poverty, causing some to flourish whilst others wither. For Nuthkí represents the power of cosmic balance, as even the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers are subject to the laws of nature, indeed that is why they itch, in their fear and their frustration, to govern every aspect of existence so strictly. But whoever receives the prize will also therefore receive the punishment in his turn, in accordance with the Great Order, and through Nuthkí’s work, everyone, willing or unwilling, will reach the incredible kingdom of the Seven in the end.
Mae ‘da’r llanc un ffrind, ta be’, er fod e ddim yn siŵr am y gair cywir i’w ddisgrifio. Beth fyddai’n ffitio? Cydymaith, cymrawd, brawd hŷn ffug, cydbechadur, tarw aberthol, testun sbort? P’un ohonon nhw sydd wedi cael mwy o broblemau? Erbyn meddwl amdano fe, mae’n dod o deulu posh iawn, mae wedi cael addysg dra drud yn yr ysgolion orau o leia’, ‘sdim trafferth pan mae e’n datgan fod e eisiau gweithio’n tynnu cartŵns am weddill ei oes (wel, bod yn nofelydd graffig fel mae’n gweud). Ond mae rhywbeth yn y bôn o’i le ‘da fe. So fe’n gyfforddus o gwmpas pobl, mae’n well ‘da fe rifau, a geiriau, a lluniau. Ac wrth gwrs, dyna’r holl broblemau gyda’r llanciau eraill … a’r merched … a’r dryswch ynglŷn â’i gwir … bersonoliaeth … gyda … pwy yw e … a be’ sy’n mynd ‘mlaen yn y Byd o’i gwmpas.The lad has one friend, anyway, although he’s not sure about the correct word to describe him. What would fit? Companion, comrade, fake older brother, co-offender, sacrificial bull, object of ridicule? Which one of them has had more problems? Come to think about it, he comes from a really posh family, he’s had a very expensive education in the best schools at least, there’s been no trouble when he declares he wants to work drawing cartoons for the rest of his life (well, to be a graphic novelist as he says). But there’s something fundamentally wrong with him. He’s not comfortable around people, he prefers numbers, and words, and pictures. And of course, there’s all the problems with the other lads … and the girls … and the confusion about his true … personality … with … who he is … and what’s going on in the World around him.
A dyma ryw ysbryd cyfrwys iawn ar ffurf caseg o groen ac esgyrn yn cyrraedd, gan brancio’n wyllt ond yn ddistaw ar gorwynt o Ffynnon Eneidiau. Hebé ydy, hen Feistres y Ddaear, a fydd yn carlamu’n aflywodraethus trwy’r Ddau Fyd maes o law, gan fradychu a’r rhai marw a’r rhai byw i afael y Saith gyda’i hanner gwirioneddau, a’i hanudonau, a’i chelwyddau’n cynnwys talp o gywirdeb. Ond yn aml, hefyd, fe fydd Asiant y Fagddu yn dweud yr holl wir am bethau dibwys, i ennill ffydd, annog gweithrediadau byrbwyll ac anystyriol, ac wedyn achosi newid difrifol. Wedyn fe fydd y rhai a faglwyd i gyd yn cael eu herlid gan yr Helfa Wyllt nes i’w cnawd doddi a’u gwaed ferwi, er na fyddan nhw byth yn gorffwys mewn heddwch. Ond hyd yn oed hyhi sy’n tawelu ar hyn o bryd oherwydd gorchymyn y ffug-Ddewin.Then some really cunning spirit in the form of a mare that’s skin and bone arrives, prancing wildly but silently on a hurricane from the Well of Souls. It is Hebé, the Earth’s Old Mistress, who shall be galloping uncontrollably through the Two Worlds in due course, betraying both the living and the dead into the grip of the Seven with her half-truths, and her broken oaths, and her lies containing a chunk of truth. But, also, too, the Agent of Utter Darkness will tell the whole truth about trivial things, to gain trust, prompt rash and ill-considered actions, and then cause serious damage. Then those who have been ensnared shall all be pursued by the Wild Hunt until their flesh melts and their blood boils, although they shall never rest in peace. But even she has been silenced at the moment because of the fake-Wizard’s command.
Mae e wastad yn cario ‘mlaen gymaint heb angen, yn chwarae brenhines y ddrama. Beth yw’r gân neu beth bynnag o’r sioe gerdd ‘na mae’n hadrodd o gil y foch drwy’r amser? "Rhai pryfed a elwir yn Ddynoliaeth, Sy’n cropian dros wyneb y Blaned alaeth, Ar goll yn y Gofod ers amser helaeth, Heb ystyr o gwbl. Heb ystyr." Dyna’r fath o hen lol sy’n crynhoi’i agwedd at fywyd, a dyw hi’m yn bositif iawn a dweud y lleia’! Ww, yr hen ffŵl, mae’n sgwrsio gyda bodau arallfydol ran fwya’r amser, er doedd ‘ny fawr o werth iddo pan ddaeth i ben ei dennyn!He’s always carrying on so much without any need for it, playing the drama queen. What’s that song or whatever from that musical he recites through the corner of his mouth all the time? “And crawling on the Planet’s face, Some insects called the human race, Lost in time, and lost in space, And meaning.” That’s the kind of old nonsense that summarizes his attitude to life, and it’s not very positive to say the least! Ooh, the old fool, he’s chatting with extra-terrestrials most of the time, although that wasn’t a lot of use to him when he got to the end of his tether!
Eto i gyd, yn y lle ‘ma, ble mae realiti’n toddi, wele Isheth sy ‘di rhwygo’r llen o’r blaen, yn treiddio’r llen unwaith eto. A dyma’r Hen Ddihenydd, Arglwydd yr Hynafiaid, sy’n arddu’r gwagle cyn plannu had anhrefn oll; sy’n cynnwys miliynau o gronellau disglair; sy’n cyfannu pob eiliad drwy gyfrwng y Sêl ‘Sgarlad; sy bob tro’n aros ar y rhiniog gan mai fe sy’n gwarchod y drws, ac mai fe yw’r porthor, y glwyd, a’r ‘goriad arian. Ac o’r braidd y gall e’i ffrwyno ei hunan bellach cyn ei arllwys ei hunan ar draws y Ddaear ddi-feddwl-ddrwg i gipio eneidiau pawb gyda’i dentaclau llysnafeddog, aneirif. Ac wedyn bydd e’n llyncu’u hanfod, a threulio’u chwantau fel y medr dyfu, a lluosogi, a’i ehangu ei hunan. Ac O, dyma fe’n ymrithio!Then again, in this place, where reality melts, behold Isheth who has torn the veil before, breaking through the veil once more. And here’s the Ancient of Days, Lord of the Ancestors; who ploughs the void before planting all the seeds of disorder; who is composed of millions of brilliant globes; who unites every instant by means of the Scarlet Seal; who’s always waiting on the threshold since it is he who guards the door, and he who is the porter, the gate, and the silver key. And he can scarcely restrain himself now before pouring himself across the unsuspecting Earth to grab everyone’s souls with his uncountable mucoid tentacles. And then he’ll devour their essence, and digest their desires so that he can grow, and multiply, and expand himself. And Oh, here he is materializing!
Sawl tro mae’r hurtyn o gyfaill ‘na (neu be’ bynnag yw e) wedi cwympo oddi ar ei fotor-beic, fel bod ei warchodwr wedi’i orfodi i fynd â fe i’r ysbyty? Mae’r twpsyn wedi bod yno cymaint o weithiau, gan achosi penbleth i’r staff, a gwthio’i big i mewn i’r ciwbiclau, a rasio lan a lawr yn y cadeiriau olwyn, a helpu'i hunan i gyffuriau – fe ddylai fe fod yn nyrs neu rywbeth! Ac wedyn dyna fe’n chwarae gyda’r taniwr ffags diffygiol oedd yn arfer perthyn i Dad, yn yr orsa’ betrol ‘na, gan bron ag achosi ffrwydrad. Wel, dim ond mân losgiadau gaeth e, diolch i Swtach! Ond nage tân oedd y peth gwaetha’ iddo fe, achos bod dŵr yn waeth, ac roedd e wedi dod yn agos at ladd ei hunan yn yr afon sawl gwaith. Ddim ar bwrpas, mae’n debyg, ond pan fydd rhywun yn mynnu neidio i mewn heb fedru oefad i afael yn rhyw fochyn gwyllt wedi’i ddal mewn hen droli siopa, beth mae’r ‘achan sy’n ei achub rhag boddi i fod i feddwl? Gweud a ‘naeth e taw rhywun o’r enw yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd wedodd wrtho fe am ei ‘neud, achos taw Capten y Dynion Sed oedd yntau (neu ryw deitl mwy crand fel yn ei lyfrau comics). Gwallgo’! Ond o flaen dim, mae’r llanc yn cofio’u bod nhw ‘di mynd drwy’r tew a'r tenau gyda’i gilydd, a’u bod nhw ‘di glynu at ei gilydd doed a ddelo, y naill yn dilyn y llall yn ddi-droi'n ôl. Ac mae eisiau o waelod ei galon i’r hen Darw Swmpus fyw i oedran teg. Siŵr o fod.How many times has that fool of a friend (or whatever he is) fallen off his motorbike, so that his minder has been forced to take him to the hospital? The silly boy has been there so often, causing the staff a headache, and sticking his nose into the cubicles, and racing up and down on the wheelchairs, and helping himself to drugs – he should be a nurse or something! And then, there he is playing with the broken cigarette-lighter that used to belong to Father, in that petrol station, almost causing an explosion. Well, he only had minor burns, thank Swtach! But fire wasn’t the worst thing for him, ‘cos water was worse, and he’d come close to killing himself in the river several times. Not on purpose, probably, but when someone insists on jumping in without being able to swim, to grab some wild pig caught in an old shopping trolley, what’s the mate who saves him supposed to think? Said that someone called the Old Holy Warrior told him to do it, ‘cos he was Captain of the Z-Men (or some grander title like in his comic-books). Crazy! But more than anything, the lad remembers that they’ve been through thick and thin together, and that they’ve stuck together no matter what, one following the other unswervingly. And he wants with all his heart for the old Bulky Bull to live to a ripe old age. Probably.
Ac mae grymoedd hynafol y Nw Yrth, y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd i gyd wedi’u casglu at ei gilydd, yn crynu o glywed yr alwad. Maent yn ddeall nad bodolaeth ddynol ond fflach grynedig, fydd yn trengi wrth iddi godi o’r allor, ond mai llawn egni ysbrydol yw’r enaid pur, fydd yn eu cadw’n fyw am hydoedd. A chysegrwyd un o’r hanfodion hyn iddynt ers cyn cof, a phan fydd yr aberth wedi’i gyflawni, pan ymadawa’r cysgod, wedyn rhyddheir cymaint o bŵer nes y dihangant o’u halltudiaeth yn y Dimensiwn Niwlog unwaith ac am byth.And the ancient powers of the Nw Yrth, all the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, have gathered together, trembling from hearing the summons. They understand that human existence is nothing nut a trembling flash, which perishes as it rises from the altar, but that the pure soul is full of spiritual energy, that will keep them alive for ages. And one of these essences has been consecrated to them since time immemorial, and when the sacrifice has been completed, when the shadow departs, then so much power will be released that they shall escape from their exile in the Hazy Dimension once and for all.
A dyma’i Wncwl dychrynllyd a deallus, ffraeth ei dafod, a’i lygaid yn waetgoch, a’i ewinedd yn grafangau brwnt, sydd wedi dioddef o flynyddoedd lawer o addysg, o ormod ym marn y rhan fwya’ o bobl. Mewn ffordd mae’n efell a gwrthwyneb i’r Tad sy’n ddwl a byrbwyll. Mae fel petasen nhw wedi bod yn elynion yn y groth, yn cystadlu am faeth eu Mam. Mae gan yr Ewythr ffiaidd synnwyr digrifwch sych, meddan nhw, er ei bod yn rhoi croen gŵydd iddyn nhw pan fydd yn siarad, ac mae’n chwerthin wrth iddo fe frifo’r bachgen ifanc i ddysgu gwers iddo fe. Ond waeth beth fo’r cyhuddiadau, crefydd yw ei darian ffug achos taw dyn duwiol iawn yw e yn ôl pob sôn. Mae’n pwyso a mesur ei eiriau, gan eu defnyddio fel arfau’r milwr cymaint ag eiddo’r athronydd, i greu cywilydd ac euogrwydd. Mae’n honni ei fod yn addoli cyfiawnder dall ac felly mae’n tueddu i fod yn oer a didostur, ac mae’n ymddwyn mor ddauwynebog â Tefnuth pan gwrddodd â Sorakados yn y Castell Cymylog amser maith yn ôl. A dweud y gwir, mae’r offeiriad coch yn llyffetheirio’i emosiynau i feistroli’i ddealltwriaeth. Mae’n ffroenuchel, ac yn gwerthfawrogi annibyniaeth yn fwy na dim byd arall, ac yn wir mae’n fwli sadistaidd mae arno angen rheoli pawb a phopeth o’i gwmpas, sy’n hau dannedd y ddraig er mwyn digrifwch, gan fwynhau achosi ofn a gofid. Mae wastad yn gweld bai ar bawb eraill, gan ofyn sut allai fe’i hunan fod yn bechadur tra mae gweddill y Byd mor ddrwg.And here’s his dreadful and intelligent Uncle, sharp-tongued and with bloodshot eyes, his nails dirty talons, who’s suffered from many a long year of education, from too much in the opinion of the majority of people. In a way, he’s a twin and opposite to the Father who’s dull and rash. It’s as if they’d been enemies in the womb, competing for their Mother’s nourishment. The vile Uncle has a dry sense of humour, they say, although he gives them goose-bumps when he speaks, and he laughs as he hurts the young boy to teach him a lesson. But never mind the accusations, faith is his fake shield because he’s a very pious man by all accounts. He weighs and measures his words, using them like the weapons of the solider as much as those of the philosopher, to create shame and guilt. He claims he worships blind justice and so he tends to be cold and merciless, and he behaves as hypocritically as Tefnuth when she met Sorakados in the Cloudy Castle ages ago. To tell the truth, the red priest fetters his emotions to master his understanding. He’s stuck up, valuing independence more than anything else, and indeed he’s a sadistic bully who needs to control everyone and everything around him, who sows seeds of contention for entertainment, enjoying causing fear and distress. He always blames other people, asking how could he himself be a sinner while the rest of the World is so evil.
Y fath bleserau chwantus y gall y Swynwyr eu rhannu â’u gelyn, epil anhysbys y Delw-addolwyr, y gwrthgiliwr ifanc hwnnw! Wrth i’r bachgen grychu ei lygaid mor dynn nes bod nhw’n ei frifo, i geisio atal y braw, mae’r endidau ectoplasmig yn dechrau neidio ato, i’w fynwesu, ei gymryd e’n ôl, a’i geryddu fe mor drylwyr. A dyna’r ffurfiau amryliw’n diferu o hylif drewllyd, trwchus, fydd yn hurtio unrhyw fod dynol yn llwyr os bydd yn cyffwrdd â’r mymryn lleia’ ohono. Yna, â hi’n banics llwyr, pan ddiffoddir y canhwyllau i gyd mewn seler yn y Byd Arall, gan ysgwyd adenydd lledraidd y bwystfilod rhithiol. Ac ar ôl hyn, wel, dichon mai taw piau hi, rywbryd, gan fod yn awr, mae tawelwch llethol y canrifoedd yn disgyn, wrth i’r troseddwr ifanc lyncu ei eiriau. Ac ymddengys y Saith Swynwr yn y cnawd.Such desirous pleasures can the Sorcerers share with their enemy, unknown spawn of the Idolaters, that young apostate! As the boy scrunches his eyes so tight that they hurt, to try and stop the fear, the ectoplasmic entities begin to jump at him, to embrace him, take him back, and chastise him so thoroughly. And the multi-coloured forms are dripping with thick, stinking fluid, that will completely fry the brain of any human being if he touches the tiniest bit of it. Then, all hell breaks loose, when all the candles are extinguished in a cellar in the Other World, by a shake of the spectral beasts’ leathery wings. And after this, well, perhaps silence is golden, sometimes, since now, the centuries’ oppressive quiet descends, as the young offender swallows his words. And the Seven Sorcerers appear in the flesh.
Fe fydd yr Wncwl yno bryd bynnag bydd y felan ar y llanc, a bydd yntau angen derbyn cymorth proffesiynol, cwnsela yw’r gair priodol, ac yn hyn o beth, yr un fath un union â gwaetha’r camdrinwyr eraill yw’r Brawd Cycyllog. O, cymaint mae’r bachgen yn casáu’r nosweithiau di-ben-draw i gyd pan fydd rhaid iddo fe aros ar ei ben ei hunan gyda’r troseddwr, i weddïo, a marwhau chwantau’r cnawd, a darostwng yr enaid, a thalu iawn am bechodau nad ydynt yn bod eto. A diodde’ – ‘neno Lushfé wedi’i ddiaelodi – diodde’ a brifo! A pha mor aml mae hyn yn digwydd, achos dyw’r mynach, er mor llawn doethineb bydol ac ysbrydol, ddim yn gyfforddus o gwbl mewn sefyllfaoedd cymdeithasol. Dim ond eisiau hala amser gyda’r llanc druan mae e, i ddysgu iddo weld ei gamgymeriadau fyrdd, a’i hyfforddi am lwybrau cyfiawnder. Wel, fel gyda phob un arall, dyna’i ystrydebau troëdig a’i eiriau teg, ta be’. Yn wir, mae’n haeddu cael ei fathru’n gyrbibion dan garnau’r ceffylau fampiraidd sy’n crisialu o’r awyr chwyslyd, wrth i’w lygaid gael eu trywanu â phensiliau ar dân. Ac yna bydd y Byd yn ffrwydro. Er taw prin na all y bachgen lluddedig gyfadde’r ffaith wrtho’i hunan, dyna’r ffawd roedd e’n dymuno ar gyfer ei Dad hefyd. Ac mae gan eiriau – a meddyliau – y llanc, bŵer digynnig o ran effeithio ar y Drefn Fawr. Ond yr hyn mae’n awchu arno, yn ei gyfyngder a’i boen, ni raid dweud, dyw’r peth gorau bob gafael.The Uncle will be there whenever the lad’s depressed, and needs to receive professional support, counselling is the appropriate word, and in this matter the Cowled Brother is exactly the same as the worst of all the other abusers. Oh, how much the boy hates all the endless nights when he must stay on his own with the criminal, to pray, and mortify the flesh’s desires, and humble the soul, and make amends for sins that don’t exist yet. And suffer – in the name of Lushfé dismembered – suffer and hurt! And how often this happens, as the monk, although so full of worldly and spiritual wisdom, isn’t comfortable at all in social situations. He only wants to spend time with the poor lad, to teach him to see his multitudinous errors, and tutor him in the ways of righteousness. Well, as with everybody else, those are his gut-churning platitudes, and his vile euphemisms, anyway. Indeed, he deserves to be torn to pieces under the hooves of the vampiric horses that are crystallizing from the sweaty air, as his eyes get stuck through with burning pencils. And then the World will explode. Although the exhausted boy can scarcely admit the fact to himself, that’s the fate he desired for his Father, too. And the lad’s words – and thoughts – have exceptional power to influence the Order of Things. But what he desires, in his anguish and his pain, needless to say, is not the best thing on every occasion.
A dyna aelod lleiaf arwyddocaol llwyth y Delw-addolwyr (ond, wrth reswm, yr un pwysica’ ‘fyd) yn sgrechian nerth ei ysgyfaint, wrth geisio’n daer agor y Porth rhwng y Bydoedd, (neu’i gloi, falle, ni ŵyr e), ond be’ bynnag, rhaid iddo fe ddianc i rywle arall; fe wna unrhyw le y tro. Ond erbyn hyn, mae wedi colli cysylltiad â meddwl yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, bondigrybwyll, sy’n gorwedd yn llesg ar y maen du, a’i gorff yn eiriasu’n ymbelydrol wrth iddo blygio’n ysbeidiol. Mae’r llanc hefyd wedi anghofio geiriau hen swyn enwi a chlymu fu’n echdynnu mor ddyfal o boenus o ymennydd y dyn arall. Deall mae e, ei fod wedi’i gyfansoddi yn yr iaith hynafol, sy’n draddodiadol, hen fasiwn, marw, ac sy’n perthyn i’r gelynion. A dyma’r pedwerydd tro mae’r Swynwyr i gyd wedi ymgasglu yn yr un fan, gan grynhoi’u pŵer, ar ôl teithiau Lugal-mach, Sorakados, ac wedyn ymweliad y Dewin Ieuengaf.And the least significant member (but of course, also the most important) of the Idolaters’ tribe screams at the top of his lungs, as he tries insistently to open the Gate between the Worlds, (or to close it, perhaps, he knows not), but anyway he has to escape to somewhere else; anywhere will do. But by now, he’s lost contact with the mind of the so-called Old Holy Warrior who is lying on the black stone, his body glowing radioactively as it twitches. The lad’s also forgotten the words of the old charm of naming and binding that he was extracting so diligently painfully from the brain of the other man. He does understand that it’s in the ancient language that is traditional, old-fashioned, dead, and which belongs to the enemies. And this is the fourth time all the Sorcerers have assembled in the same place, mustering their power, after the journeys of Lugal-Mach, Sorakados, and then the visit of the Youngest Wizard.
Nid ydynt wedi dysgu fawr gan y rhain, ‘chwaith, er eu nerth anferthol, coeliwch neu beidio, gan eu bod yn bwrw’n enwedig yr un hud. (Dyna beth fydd yn digwydd pan fyddwch chi'n llwyddo i osgoi pob newid, fe ddewch yn geidwadol iawn eich ffyrdd, gan fynd yn gyndyn ac anhyblyg). Ac er mai tân a metel yw’u helfennau nhw, y Delw-addolwyr biau’r dŵr a’r pridd sydd yn y fangre hon (mae’r ddwy garfan yn rhannu’r awyr, y bumed elfen na all yr un o’r pleidiau ei rheoli’n foddhaol). Felly gallant hwythau wyrdroi’r hud gorfodol i ryw fesur, heb fynd yn chwys i gyd, gan ddal y dilyw o lid cronedig yn ôl, am fyr o dro o leia’, wrth i’r Frwydr dros y Ddau Fyd fynd yn ei blaen. Tan iddynt ddiflasu, wrth gwrs.They’ve not learned much from these, either, despite their prodigious strength, believe it or not, for they are casting exactly the same spells. (That’s what happens when you manage to avoid all change, you become set in your ways, getting stubborn and inflexible). And although fire and metal are their elements, the Idolaters own the water and the soil which are in this place (the two factions share the air, the fifth element which neither party can control satisfactorily). So, they can subvert the coercive magic to some extent, without getting all hot and bothered, holding back the deluge of pent-up wrath for a little while, at least, as the Battle for the Two Worlds goes on. Until they get bored, of course.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 34

Pennod Tri Deg Wyth: Brwydro (Lleisiau 34) / Battling (Voices 34)

Y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd sydd yn rhoi saith mlynedd pan fydd y gwartheg yn edrych yn dda ac wedi’u pesgi, a bydd y tywys yn iach, wedi’u dilyn gan saith mlynedd pan fydd y tywys gwag wedi’u crino gan wynt y de, ac wedyn gwael a thenau fydd y gwartheg. Ac o ganlyniad, bydd angen ar reolwyr y Ddaear dalu teyrnged i Hen Feistri’r Nw Yrth gan golli gwaed rhai diniwed saith gwaith wrth i’r cleddyf ganu’n uchel i wneud iawn am eu gwendidau, ac am bechodau’r blaned oll. O’u plegid hwy mae saith piler i Dŷ Doethineb, saith Dydd Galar ar ôl marwolaeth, saith Porth sy’n arwain at y Nw Yrth. A hwynt-hwy sydd biau’r saith agorfa ar y penglog dynol, sef y llygaid, y ffroenau, y clustiau, a’r geg, a’r saith chakra, a thrwyddynt, yn honni’r hawl i reoli meddyliau, synhwyrau, ac emosiynau eu gweinyddion, gan ddefnyddio saith cannwyll. Ond yr asiad talcennol, yr wythfed agorfa ar y pen, sydd yn perthyn i’r Un Anenwadwy.

It’s the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers who give seven years when the cattle look healthy and well-fed, and the grain healthy, followed by seven years when the thin grain shall be scorched by the south wind, and then the cattle shall be ugly and gaunt. And as a result, the rulers of the Earth shall have to pay tribute to the Old Masters of the Nw Yrth, shedding the blood of innocents seven times as the sword sings loudly in recompense for their weaknesses, and for the sins of all the planet. Because of them there are seven pillars to the House of Wisdom, seven Days of Mourning after death, seven Gates which lead to the Nw Yrth. And it is they who own the seven orifices of the human skull, namely the eyes, the nostrils, the ears, and the mouth, and the seven chakras, and through them, claim the right to control the thoughts, feelings, and emotions of their ministers, using seven candles. But the frontal suture, the eighth orifice on the head, belongs to the Unnameable One.

Ac wedyn mae ar y llanc colledig ofn ofnadwy pan gyrhaedda’r creaduriaid dychrynllyd a enir o’i ddychymig ei hun, sy’n cynrychioli, wrth reswm, agweddau yntau’i hunan. Er taw rywbryd Daud ydy, weithiau eraill David, neu Dai. A be’ am Daa·hweeth, a’r Comando Trefol, hyd yn oed, a llawer o bethau gwaeth byth? Sawl cymeriad a phersonoliaeth mae wedi’u creu? Faint o enwau mae wedi’u dwyn neu’u hennill? Pa mor aml mae wedi benthyca straeon gan bobl eraill a’u defnyddio nhw at ei ddibenion ei hunan? A bellach mae’n sefyll ar y ffin rhwng byw a marw, ar y trothwy toddedig rhwng y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth, gan fantoli bod ac anfod. Ac o’i flaen e, mae wyneb y maen aberthu sydd hefyd yn ddrych sgrio purddu yn dechrau hisian a chynhyrfu. Mae’i gorff yn troi a throsi mewn loes wrth i ryw sylwedd seimllyd gael ei ddwyn oddi mewn iddo, i wingo gyferbyn â fe. Dyw’r swp ectoplasmig ddim y naill beth na’r llall, yn debyg i’r llanc. Yn lle ‘ny, mae’n parhau i drawsffurfio drwy’r amser o un ffurf i’r llall – bwystfil unigrwydd, cythraul iselder, rhith ynfydrwydd, anghenfil adawiad, coblyn colled, cysgod gwarth.And then the lost lad becomes terribly afraid when the dread creatures arrive, that are born from his own imagination, which represent, of course, aspects of himself. Although sometimes he’s Daud, and other times David, or Dai. And what about Daa·hweeth, and the Urban Commando, even, and lots of things worse still? How many characters and personalities has he created? How many names has he stolen, or won? How often has he borrowed stories from other people, and used them for his own ends? He’s standing on the border between living and dying, on the melting threshold between the Earth and the Nw Yrth, balancing being and non-being. And before him, the surface of the sacrificial stone which is also a jet-black scrying-glass is beginning to hiss and become disturbed. His body tosses and turns in agony as some slimy substance is drawn from within him, to writhe opposite him. The ectoplasmic heap isn’t one thing or the other, like the lad. Instead of that, it continues to change all the time, from one form to another – the beast of loneliness, the demon of depression, the spectre of madness, the monster of abandonment, the imp of loss, the shadow of shame.
Ar ben hynny mae’i faint yn dal i newid, o fodfeddi i lathenni o ran taldra a lled, ac mae’n rymus tu hwnt, fel hanfod bod ei hunan. Mae’r peth yn llesmeiriol ddeniadol, ond mae’n deall yn reddfol ei fod yn farwol, ac eisiau’i amsugno a’i dreulio. Ymladd neu ffoi, dyna’r dewis arferol. Ac mae wedi bod yn ymladd am ei fywyd drwy gydol ei oes, wel, a rhedeg bant rywbryd, a dianc, unwaith neu ddwy, ‘fyd. A drwy’r amser, mae wedi bod yn adeiladu Bydoedd ar ei gyfer ei hunan, a’u llenwi nhw gyda chymeriadau, ac ieithoedd, a llefydd, a hanesion, a hud, i gadw cwmni iddo, a’i ddiogelu, a’i helpu i anghofio, a’i achub rhag dinistr. Ond y tro ‘ma, mae’r dewis wedi’i ‘neud drosto fe, awdur arall sy ‘di ‘sgrifennu’r sgript, ac mae yng nghanol stori ble na ŵyr e mo’r diwedd o gwbl. A’r un pryd bod Daud, David, Dai yn brwydro i oroesi yn y fan a’r lle, mae fel ‘sai fe’n gwylio ffilm gartŵn wedi'i seilio ar ei Fydoedd Amgen, er yn wahanol iddyn nhw 'fyd, sy’n cael ei dangos yn ei ben —On top of that its size keeps on changing, from inches to yards in height and width, and it’s extremely powerful, like the essence of being itself. The thing is mesmerizingly tempting, but he understands instinctively that it’s deadly, and wants to absorb him and digest him. Fight or flee, that’s the usual choice. And he’s been fighting for his life all through his life, well and running off, sometimes, and escaping, once or twice. And all the time, he’s been building Worlds for himself, and filling them with characters, and languages, and places, and histories, and magic, to keep him company, and protect him, and help forget, and save him from destruction. But this time, the choice has been made for him, another author’s written the script, and he’s in the middle of a story where he doesn’t know then end at all. And the same time that Daud, David, Dai is battling to survive right here and now, it’s like he’s watching a carton-film based on his Alternate Worlds, although different from them, too, being shown inside his head —
“Unwaith, ar y Blaned Yrth, amser maith yn ôl pan oedd y Lleuad Las a'r Haul Disglair yn ifanc, roedd yna ddau lwyth, neu ddwy garfan yn brwydro yn erbyn ei gilydd. Roedd yr un ochr yn geidwadol, disgybledig, a milwrol, ac yn ymfalchïo yn eu purdeb, eu hanhrugaredd, a’u nerth. Siaradai deiliaid y deyrnas hon hen iaith gysefin y Blaned, a honnai pob un o’r saith teulu mawr iddo fe hanu o un o’r grŵp o reolwyr hynafol. A dyma’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd y dywedwyd amdanyn nhw iddyn nhw sefydlu’r llwyth a rhoi iddyn nhw gyfreithiau a threfn. Roedden nhw’n arddel athrawiaeth ac awdurdod y bodau hyn, er na wyddai neb a oedden nhw wedi bodoli mewn gwirionedd, neu wedi cael eu dyfeisio gan y llwyth filenia yn ôl i gryfhau eu coelion, a chyfiawnhau eu gweithrediadau. A gwaedlyd a gormesol oedd y rhain i gyd yn wir….”“Once, on the Harsh Planet, a long time ago when the Blue Moon and the Resplendent Sun were young, there were two tribes, or two factions, fighting against each other. One side was conservative, disciplined, and militaristic, and rejoiced in their purity, their ruthlessness, and their strength. The subjects of this kingdom spoke the original language of the Planet, and each one of the seven great families claimed that it descended from one of the group of ancient rulers. And these are the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers who were said to have founded the tribe, and given them laws, and order. They acknowledged the teaching and authority of these beings, although no-one knew whether they had existed in reality, or had been invented by the tribe millennia ago to strengthen their beliefs, and justify their actions. And all of these were bloody and oppressive indeed...”
Nawr mae 'na ddelwedd led ddynol sydd â gweflau tenau, a llygaid treiddiol, yn hofran uwchben y maen, ac mae’n bloeddio chwerthin wrth estyn ei thafod mas a dyhefod yn frawychus. Mae ‘na olau porffor, gludiog yn llithro ohoni wrth iddi lowcio’r holl egni o’r awyr o’i chwmpas, sy’n llawn creaduriaid anfad yn stampio a gweryru. A dyma fe’n cael ei godi gan gorwynt, ac wrth gael ei daflu yma ac acw gan y gwynt gorffwyll, fe orfodir iddo ymladd yn ffyrnig yn erbyn haid o fleiddiaid llwglyd yn candryll gyfarth, wedi’u hymuno â phraidd o eifr sombi, a’u cyrff pydredig yn wyrdd, a’u llygaid marw ar dân. Wedi’i frathu a’i sathru nes fod e bron â marw, mae’n cael ei ollwng, yn gleisiau a gwaed i gyd, ac yn hanner noeth. A dyna fe’n rhuthro i lawr, ac i lawr, yn syrthio’n drwm, a bwrw’r llawr â chlep gyfoglyd.Now there's a semi-human figure which has thin lips, and piercing eyes, hovering above the stone, and bawling with laughter whilst sticking out its tongue and panting terrifyingly. There’s a sticky, purple light slithering from it as it slurps all the energy from the air around it, which is full of sinister creatures grunting, and stamping, and whinnying. And the lad gets lifted up by a tornado, and as he’s thrown left and right by the wild currents, he’s forced to fight ferociously against a pack of starving wolves, baying insanely, as well as a herd of zombie-goats, their rotting bodies green, and great eyes aflame. Bitten and trampled till he’s almost dead, he’s dropped, all bruised and bloody, and half-naked. And he’s rushing down, and down, falling heavily, and hitting the floor with a sickening bang.
“…Blaengar, agored, a chyfartal oedd y gymdeithas arall, ble roedd pawb, yn wragedd a dynion, yn henoed a phlant, yn dramorwyr a brodorion, yn byw mewn cytgord â’r Byd a’i gilydd, gan amlaf beth bynnag. Yno, roedd amrywiaeth helaeth o bobloedd, a siaradwyd llawer iawn o ieithoedd, ac roedd pethau wastad yn newid, yn cynnwys yr iaith fywiog. Fe gyfathrebai cryn nifer o’r dinasyddion yn aml â grymoedd natur, gan dderbyn ysbrydoliaeth, rhannu syniadau, ac amsugno agweddau cyfnewidiol. A’u henw nhw ar yr hanfodion hyn, neu’r byd-olwg hwn, oedd y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd, a gynrychiolid ar ffurf cerfluniau a lluniau fyrdd, yn cyfuno nodweddion anifeiliaid, a phobl, a gwrthrychau. Arweinyddion yr Amaethwyr oedd y Gŵr Hysbys a’r Wraig Fawr a gafodd eu hetholi bob yn bum mlynedd o blith yr hynafiaid i lywiai’r cyngor yn cynnwys aelod o bob teulu oedd yn byw yn y wlad ers dwy flynedd, wrth drin y tir, ac edrych ar ôl yr anifeiliaid…”“…Progressive, open, and equitable was the other society, where everyone, women and men, old and young, foreigners and natives, lived in harmony with the World and each other, mostly anyway. There, there was a great variety of peoples, and very many languages were spoken, and things were always changing, including the lively language. A considerable number of the citizens would communicate often with the forces of nature, receiving inspiration, sharing ideas, and absorbing ever-changing attitudes. And their name for these entities, or this world-view, was the Indolent Idolaters, who were represented in the form of myriad carvings and pictures, combining the characteristics of animals, and people, and objects. The leaders of the Farmers were the Wise Man and the Great Woman, who were elected every five years from amongst the elders to steer the council containing one member of each family that had lived in the land for two years, tending the ground, and looking after the animals…”
Ymhlith y storom drydanol sy’n dechrau trystio o’i amgylch, prin mae’r llanc yn gallu gweld bod ‘na ddwy ffurf yn dawnsio brwydro, wrth gael eu hergydio gan y gwynt fel dau fwgan brain. A dyna’u lleisiau’n ceisio ymryson er bod eu cegau’n dal darn o arian i dalu am eu taith dros yr Afon Wylofus. A dyna ddyn i’w weld yn llosgi, wrth i fachgen neidio tuag ato fe i’w gipio. Ac ar lan Nant Dagrau mae’n gweld asyn yn gyrru gŵr sy’n cropion ar ei bedwar, gan grymu dan faich ei eiddo a’i arian, wrth i dair menyw lunio ffawd yr hil ddynol ar wŷdd o haearn. Dyma systemau trefnus diwylliant yn ymosod yn anorfod ar rymoedd annynol, gwyllt natur. Mae’r naill lais yn bugunad a chanu grwndi, y naill ar ôl y llall, gan haeru nerth y diffeithwch, wrth i’r llall glou ddweud ac ail-ddweud, yn daer ond gwâr, gyfareddau hudol i rwymo a gollwng.Amidst the electrical storm that’s beginning to rage around him, scarcely can the land see that there are two forms dance-fighting, getting buffeted by the wind like two scarecrows. And their voices are trying to contend although their mouths are holding a coin to pay for their journey over the Tearful River. And then a burning man can be seen, as a lad jumps towards him to grab him. And on the bank of the Stream of Tears he sees an ass driving a man who’s crawling on all fours, laden down with his property and his money, as three women fashion the fate of the human race on an iron loom. Here are the organized systems of culture ineluctably attacking nature’s wild, inhuman forces. The one voice bellows and purrs in turn, insisting on the strength of the wilderness, as the other rapidly states and restates, earnestly but courteously, magical charms to bind and release.
“…Fflag y naill grŵp, etifeddion y Swynwyr, sef y Rhyfelwyr, oedd tryfer yn anelu at yr Haul ar gefndir glas, ac eiddo'r lleill, plant y Delw-addolwyr, hynny yw, yr Amaethwyr, oedd picfforch wedi’i phlannu yn y ddaear ar gefndir coch. Roedd y Rhyfelwyr yn hoff iawn o ddyfeisiadau a bydden nhw’n treulio cryn amser yn gwneud a dadansoddi peiriannau o bob math, tra byddai’r Amaethwyr yn canu, a cherfio, a chwedleua ar ôl cwpla’u gwaith. Fe dybiai’r grŵp cyntaf eu bod nhw'n wâr, a chyfiawn, a chywir, ond bod yr ail ochr yn anwar, annatblygedig, a dirywiedig. O'r herwydd, llawn bustl berwedig oedd y Rhyfelwyr fel petai, ac am ddinistrio’r Amaethwyr yn llwyr. Nid oedd tybiad o’r fath gan eu gelynion, fodd bynnag, oedd yn heddychlon, rhyddfrydol, a chroesawgar…”“…The flag of one group, the inheritors of the Sorcerers, namely the Warriors, was a trident aimed at the Sun on a blue background, and that of the others, the children of the Idolaters, that is, the Agriculturalists, was a pitchfork planted in the earth on a red ground. The Warriors were very fond of inventions and would spend considerable time making and analysing machines of all kinds, whilst the Farmers would sing, and carve, and tell tales after finishing their work. The former group considered that they were civilized, and upright, and correct, but that the other side was uncivilized, backwards, and degenerate. Therefore, the Warriors were full of boiling bile, as it were, and wanted to destroy the Cultivators entirely. Their enemies, however, had no such ideas, and they were peaceful, democratic, and welcoming…”
Ac i ddechrau, dyna galedu o’r sylwedd dychlamol ffurf dra afiach bachgen, yn debyg i gelain lwydlas sy hefyd yn farus, herllyd, a chegog, ar gefn draig driphen. Ac wrth iddo ruthro’n syth at y llanc, dyna yntau’n newid i fod yr Hen Filwr yn cwato ar ei gadair front, fel doli clwt enfawr, rhacsog, a’i wyneb piwis yn biws. A dyna’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd bron â ffrwydro gan gynnwrf wrth iddo ystumio’n wyllt gan ‘neud ymdrech enfawr i osgoi’r ffawd sy’n ei aros. Ond hefyd mae’n chwerthin am ben y llanc, a rhegi’n giaidd, gan addo cosb ac artaith iddo yn yr Isfyd am byth. Ac wedyn dyna’r fadfall ysgeler yn siantio’n ddi-baid wrth geisio goresgyn a rheoli’r llanc mae eisiau meddu arno yn gorff ac enaid i achub ei fywyd ei hunan.And to start with, out of the vibrating substance congeals the very unwholesome form of a boy, similar to a glaucous corpse, which is also greedy, defiant, and mouthy, on the back of a three-headed dragon. And as he rushes straight at the lad, he changes into the Old Soldier, squatting on his dirty chair, like an enormous, tattered rag-doll, his face peevishly purple. And the Old Holy Warrior’s almost exploding with agitation, as he gesticulates wildly, making an enormous effort to avoid the fate that awaits him. But he’s also laughing at the lad, and swearing, promising him punishment and torture in the Underworld for ever. and then the villainous lizard’s chanting ceaselessly, trying to overcome and control the lad he wants to possess, body and soul, to save his own life.
“…Unig reolwr dros y Rhyfelwyr oedd y Teyrn, oedd yn byw yn yr Uchelgaer Rosliw uwchben Llwybrau Drygioni, rhwydwaith enfawr o dwneli, a chynteddau, a siambrau’n gweu drwy’i gilydd roedd yn dra anodd (os nad amhosibl) cael hyd i’r ffordd allan ohono. Fe honnai’r Teyrn taw disgynnydd Swtach, a alltudiasid o lwyth y Swynwyr, oedd e. Ac fe fyddai’n ennill goruchafiaeth trwy dwyll a llofruddiaeth gan mwyaf, yn hytrach na thrwy enedigaeth-fraint, fel yr oedd Swtach wedi ceisio’i wneud o’i flaen. May·nover oedd enw’r Uwchben presennol, gan ei fod yn credu taw ofer oedd bywyd oni bai am y frwydr barhaol i oroesi a gormesu. A byw gyda fe ar y dechrau roedd y Frenhines o’r enw Oal·layt, am fod ei hwyneb pur yn disgleirio â golau’r sêr i gyd, er na adawyd iddi feddu ar ddylanwad neilltuol mewn materion gwladol. Roedd ganddyn nhw ferch hefyd, y Dywysoges Ari·adní, a’i henw yn golygu taw Meistres y Seirff oedd hi…”“…Sole ruler over the Warriors was the Tyrant, who lived in the Rosy Citadel above the Paths of Wickedness, an enormous network of tunnels, and passages, and chambers weaving through one another which was mighty difficult (if not impossible) to find the way out of. The Despot alleged that he was a descendant of Swtach, who had been exiled from the Sorcerers’ tribe. And he would gain supremacy through deceit and murder most often, rather than through birth-right, as Swtach had tried to do before him. May·nover was the name of the current Tyrant, as he believed that life was futile were it not for the constant fight to survive and oppress. And living with him at the start was the Queen called Oal·layt, as her pure face shone with the light of all the stars, although she was not permitted to exercise particular influence in political affairs. They had a daughter, too, the Princess Ari·adní, whose name meant that she was Mistress of Snakes…”
A dyma ornest ystrywiau’n mynd yn ei blaen rhwng y dyn a’r llanc, i weld p’un fydd yn aberthu’r arall ar allor yr hunan, ar yr aberthfaen du, llithrig. Achos bod y dyn eisiau esgyn i ogoniant, gan gael gwared ar y Ddaear doredig, fel bydd bodolaeth newydd sbon yn blaguro ymhlith llwch gwyn difrod, i greu Byd disglair, newydd. Dim ond un peth sydd ei angen i gyfuno ewyllys y ffug-Ddewin â’i awydd, fel gall y difethwr ddechrau creu o’r newydd, gan sylweddoli’i ddychmygion oll. A dyna gyfnewid un enaid am yr holl gread. Ond mae bywyd a nerth yr Hen Filwr yn llifo ymaith, wrth i’w feddwl fethu a’i ewyllys dorri. A chyda hyn, dyna’r olygfa’n trawsnewid unwaith eto.And a contest of wits is going on between the man and the lad, to see which one’ll sacrifice the other on the altar of the self, on the slippery, black sacrifice-block. For the man wants to ascend to glory, getting rid of the broken Earth, so that a brand-new existence shall sprout forth amongst the white dust of destruction, to create a new, glittering World. Only one thing’s needed to unite the will of the fake-Wizard with his desire, so that the destroyer can begin creating afresh, realising all his imaginings. And that’s the exchange of one soul for all of creation. But the Old Soldier’s life and strength are flowing away, as his mid fails and his will breaks. And with that, the scene changes once again.
“…Ar ôl i’r Frenhines farw, roedd y Teyrn wedi cymryd menyw arall yn wraig, i fod yn gymar iddo yntau, ac yn llysfam i’w ferch. Arferai’r fenyw hon fod Boneddiges y Siambr Wely i’r ddiweddar Frenhines, a rhai a ddywedai iddi hi ladd ei meistres i gael priodi’r Teyrn, a chymryd y deyrnas drosodd. Cyn pen dim, roedd yr Arglwyddes wedi dwyn mab, y Dyn-darw (hynny yw, Man·toru i’r Rhyfelwyr, a Nanathuru i’r Amaethwyr). Fel yr awgryma'r enw, roedd e’n rhannol dyn a'n rhannol tarw, a sibrydai rhai iddi ei greu trwy ddewiniaeth ddrwg y byddem yn ei galw'n beirianneg genetig y dyddiau hyn. Pan gaeth e ei eni, roedd ei groen cyn wynned â wyneb Lotké was i Nebesh a drawsffurfiwyd yn biler o sialc. Nid syndod dweud nad oedd e'n cael modd i fyw o ganlyniad i'w gyflwr…”“…After the Queen died, the Despot had taken another woman as wife, to be a companion for himself, and a stepmother for his daughter. This woman used to be Lady of the Bedchamber to the late Queen, and some would say that she killed her mistress to be able to marry the Tyrant, and take the kingdom over. In no time, the Lady had borne a son, the Bull-man (that is, Man·toru to the Warriors, and Nanathuru to the Husbanders). As the name suggests, he was part man and part bull, and some would whisper that she had created him through evil magic that we could call genetic engineering these days. When he was born, his skin was as white as the face of Lotké servant to Nebesh who was transformed into a pillar of chalk. It’s no surprise to say that he wasn’t jumping with joy as a result of his condition…”
Ac yn awr, wele’r llanc colledig! Llawn casineb a phoen ydy, wrth iddo sefyll dros ei elyn a rwymwyd ar y maen aberth, gan drin y gyllell angheuol. Dim ond un symudiad sydd ei angen i roi pen ar y mwdwl. Mae’i gorff a’i feddwl ill dau eisiau rhoi’r gorau i frwydro yn ôl, wrth iddo gofio’i Mam a’i Dad, a phawb eraill sydd wedi mynd yn dod yn ystod ei fywyd, mae wedi ceisio cysylltu â nhw i ryw raddau, heb lwyddo gan amla’, ac eithrio’r labwst ‘na o ffrind gorau a’r gariad fyrhoedlog mae’n lico gymaint. A dyna’r llanc yn codi’r gyllell hela i gyflawni’r dasg.And now, behold the lost lad! He’s full of hatred and pain, as he stands over his enemy who’s bound on the sacrificial stone, wielding the deadly knife. Only one movement’s needed to finish everything off. Both his mind and his body want to give up fighting back, as he remembers his Mother and his Father, and everyone else who’s come and gone during his life, that he’s tried to connect with to some extent, without success for the most part, except that lout of a best friend and the short-lived girl-friend he likes so much. And so the lad raises the hunting knife to complete the task.
“…Menyw drahaus, ac uchelgeisiol, a chreulon oedd y Llysfam, ac ni chymerai ei gwrthod, er gwaethaf arferion y Rhyfelwyr. Ar ôl iddi hithau gymryd yr awenau yn yr Uchelgaer, fe orchmynnodd i’r Dywysoges gael ei chadw dan glo mewn tŵr gwyrdd o jâd ar ystâd foethus yng nghalon y cadarnle. Dyma oedd er ei lles ei hun, meddai’r Llysfam, am ei bod mor brydferth, ac roedd rhaid wrth ei chadw’n ddiogel. Fe darodd y Llysfam ar syniad ardderchog arall, hefyd. Bob blwyddyn, awgrymodd hithau, fe ddylai glaslanciau o lwyth yr Amaethwyr ddod i ymweld â'r Ysgor dan y faner wen, a chwrdd â'r Dywysoges wrth iddi edrych i lawr arnyn nhw o arwahanrwydd gogoneddus ei thŵr uchel…”“…A haughty, and ambitious, and cruel woman was the Stepmother, and she would not be gainsaid, despite the customs of the Warriors. After she took up the reigns in the Fortress, she commanded that the Princess be kept under lock and key in a green tower of jade on a sumptuous estate in the heart of the stronghold. This was for her own benefit, said the Stepmother, as she was so beautiful, and it was necessary to keep her safe. The Stepmother hit upon another excellent idea, too. Every year, she suggested, youths from the Growers’ tribe should come to visit the Stronghold under the white flag, and meet the Princess as she looked down at them from the splendid isolation of her high tower...”
Ond cyn i’r gyllell ddisgyn, dyna’r cnawd pwdr yn toddi, a berwi, a byrlymu, ac yn lle’r ysgolfeistr ar farw, dyna gelain ei Wncwl ffiaidd yn dawnsio ar ffurf mynach cwflog arswydus, a’i ben yn gynrhon byw. Ac wedyn dyna yntau’n newid unwaith eto, gan ddod yn gythreules o dân, ysbryd rheibus rhyfela na ellir byth ei ddiwallu, sy’n lledu dinistr uffernol, gan ymosod yn ffyrnig ar bawb mae’r llanc wedi’u nabod erioed, wrth dorri, a slaesio, a rhwygo, a lladd. Dyna’r llanc yn gorffwyll ymlafnio i frwydro am ei einioes yn ei herbyn er mwyn atal y lladdedigaeth yng nghanol y tywyllwch byw. Ond mae’n stryffaglio’n waglaw ar ôl iddi gnocio’r arf o’i law llithrig gyda’i chynffon hir, afaelgar o ddurblat, wrth bron â’i dorri’n ddau hanner. Ac yn wir mae’n codi cyfog arno fe gael ei ysgeintio â’r holl berfeddion, a’r gwaed, wrth i’r greadures anhrugarog ddistrywio’r cyrff ymhlith y gwyll drewllyd. A dyna bawb yn marw o’i gwmpas, wrth iddi drio dilyn y trywydd tuag ato, gan snwffian ei ffordd ar hyd llwybr wedi’i ‘neud o dyndra, petruster, gwacter, dicter, a gloes.But before the knife descends, the corrupt flesh melts, and boils, and bubbles, and in place of the dying schoolmaster, there’s the corpse of his vile Uncle dancing in the form of a terrifying cowled monk, his head crawling with maggots. And then he too changes once again, becoming a fiery demoness, the voracious, utterly insatiable spirit of warfare, who’s spreading hellish destruction, ferociously attacking everyone that lad’s ever known, cutting, and slicing, and tearing, and killing. The lad’s madly labouring to fight for his life against her, to prevent the slaughter in the middle of the living darkness. But he’s struggling empty-handed after she knocks the weapon from his slippery hand with her long, steel-plated, prehensile tail, almost slicing him in half. And it really does make him want to puke getting slathered with all the guts, and the blood, as the merciless she-creature despoils the bodies amongst the stinking gloom. And so, everyone dies around him, as she tries to follow the trail towards him, sniffing her way along a path made of stress, hesitancy, emptiness, anger, and pain.
“…Ac ar ôl hynny, byddai'n bosibl i’r ymgeiswyr am law’r Dywysoges ofyn i’r Teyrn am ganiatâd i’w phriodi hi os oedden nhw'n meddwl eu bod yn ddigon da iddi. Fe fyddai hithau’n rhoi gorchwylion iddyn nhw i'w cyflawni wedyn i brofi eu bod yn deilwng. Ac fe fyddai'r rhain bob tro'n cynnwys cael eu hanfon i lawr i Lwybrau Drygioni i gyfarfod â'r Dyn-darw, a'u tranc. Fe fyddai’r Teyrn yn cymryd arno iddyn nhw farw wrth geisio cyflawni ymchwil, i gyrchu, er enghraifft, wrthrychau anhygoel fel Pair Dadeni, Cleddyf Sorakados, y Siaced Fraith, y Greal Sanctaidd, Carreg yr Athronwyr, neu Hudlath y Dewin Llwyd. Fel hyn, o'r naill flwyddyn i'r llall, fe fyddai’r Teyrn diog a’r Llysfam gyfrwys yn cael gwared ar lanciau ifanc, cry’ a dewr o’r garfan groes. Ac am y deuai’r llanciau â theyrnged bob tro, fe greden nhw y bydden nhw’n dod yn graig o arian ar yr un pryd, hefyd. Neu felly y meddylient. A dyna pam roedd pawb yn dweud taw'r Llysfam Waedlyd oedd yr Arglwyddes o hynny ymlaen…”“…And after that, it would be possible for the Princess’s suitors to ask the Despot for permission to marry her, if they thought they were good enough for her. She would give them tasks to complete then to prove that they were worthy. And these would always involve being sent down to the Paths of Wickedness to meet the Man-bull, and their destruction. The Tyrant would pretend that they had died trying to accomplish a quest in search, for example, of the Cauldron of Rebirth, Sorakados’ Sword, the Multi-coloured Coat, the Holy Grail, the Philosophers’ Stone, or the Grey Wizard’s Staff. In this way, year after year, the lazy Despot and the scheming Stepmother would get rid of the brave and strong young men from the rival faction. And as the lads would bring tribute every time, they believed they would get rich beyond their wildest dreams at same time, too. Or so they thought. And that’s why everyone said that the Lady was the Bloody Stepmother from then on…”
Dim ond un fodd sydd i ddianc rhag y sénomorff ar lamu ar ei hysglyfaeth wedi sythu gan ofn. A dyna’r llanc yn paratoi i ymdaflu i’r drych sgrio fu’n ddidaro gynt, sy newydd droi’n bair o blwm berw. Ond eto i gyd, bydd rhaid i’r plentyn sy wedi tramgwyddo dderbyn ei benyd yn wrol. Ac os na fydd e, os bydd yn gwrthod, neu’n strancio, gan gicio, a gweiddi, a bwrw, a llefain – wel, dyna fydd e’n cael eu cystuddio milwaith gwaeth. Beth fydd y gosb, felly? Gymaint mae’r llanc yn chwys a dagrau i gyd eisiau edrych yn ei ôl. O’r braidd gall e beidio, mor ysgethrin ddeniadol ydy hi, fel y peiriant marwol perffaith. Ond mae’n cofio chwedlau’r Yrthiaid, y stori am Lotké was i Nebesh wedi’i droi’n biler o sialc wrth ffoi rhag Swtach yn ei Gwch Dirboenus. Ac mae’n orfodi’i hunan i fynd yn ei flaen, fel dyn euog yn trio colli Gwasanaeth Sagrafen Marwhad Cymunedol yn y Tŷ Edifeirwch lleol. A dyna fe wedi’i daflu yma a thraw, yn llithro i lawr â chamau hwyrfrydig, i lawr. Ac mae’n gwybod taw hithau sy’n dilyn wrth ei sodlau. A’r peth gwaetha’ oll yw ei fod e’n hollol siŵr taw’r Swynwyr eu hunain sy’n llechu ar wraidd y ddisgwylfa bendraphen. Ac maen nhw’n bwriadu garu fe mor greulon.There’s only one way to escape from the xenomorph about to leap on her prey, frozen with fear. And so the lad’s preparing to fling himself into the scrying-glass that was unperturbed before, but has just turned into a cauldron of boiling lead. But then again, the child who has transgressed must receive his penance bravely. And if he will not, if he refuses, kicking, and shouting, and hitting, and crying – well, then he’ll be chastised a thousand times worse. What shall be the penalty, then? How much the lad covered in sweat and tears wants to look back. He can hardly stop himself, so harshly tempting is she, like the perfect killing machine. But he remembers the legends of the Yrthians, the story about Lotké servant to Nebesh turned to a pillar of chalk whilst fleeing from Swtach in his Excruciating Hive. And he makes himself go forward, like a guilty man trying to miss a Service of the Sacrament of Communal Mortification in the local House of Repentance. And he’s thrown all over the place, slipping down with reluctant steps, down and down. And he knows that she’s following at his heels. And the worst thing of all is that he’s totally sure that it’s the Sorcerers themselves who are lurking at the root of the inverted watchtower. And they intend to love him so cruelly.
“…A dweud y gwir, erbyn iddo aeddfedu, a’i groen cyn goched â’r tywyn yn yr anialwch o gwmpas y Tai Aileni, roedd y Dyn-darw wedi cael llond bol ar ei alltudiaeth fel y truan lawr staer yn y seler fel petai, ymhlith y llwch, y tywyllwch, a'r oerni. Creadur enfawr, cyhyrog oedd e, ac wrth gwrs, fe allai fod wedi ymosod â’r ymwelwyr anfodlon, a’u tynnu nhw’n bedwar aelod a phen yn hawdd, fesul un neu ddau o leiaf. Ond roedd e’n ysu am ymgom siriol, trafodaeth ddeallusol, ac ysgogiad meddyliol. Felly yn hytrach na lladd ei gymrodyr mewn ebargofiant, fe'u hanogai nhw i ymuno â fe, gan awgrymu y gallen nhw hyfforddi, cadw’n heini, a dysgu rhyfela, i greu byddin a dymchwel y Teyrn a’r Llysfam Waedlyd. O bryd i’w gilydd roedd yn rhaid iddo fe ruo, a ffromi, a stampio’r llawr â’i garnau fforchog i’w darbwyllo nhw. Doedd dim syndod mawr iddo felly, pan gytunen nhw i beidio â ffraeo, dod yn frodyr gwaed, a thyngu llw i ymdrechu ymdrech deg ysgwydd wrth ysgwydd â’i gilydd, gan drechu, neu farw ar y cynnig…”“…To tell the truth, by the time he had matured, his skin as red as the sand in the desert around the Houses of Rebirth, the Bull-man had had a gut-full of his exile as the wretch downstairs in the cellar as it were, amongst the dust, the darkness, and the cold. He was an enormous, muscular creature, and of course, he could have attacked his unwilling visitors, and torn them limb from limb easily, one or two at a time, at least. But he craved light-hearted chat, and intellectual discussion, and mental stimulation. Thus, rather than killing his comrades in oblivion, he would encourage them to join him, suggesting that they could train, keep fit, and learn the art of warfare, to create an army and overthrow the Tyrant and the Bloody Stepmother. From time to time he had to roar, and rage, and stamp his forked hooves to persuade them. It was no great surprise to him, then, when they would agree not to fight, become blood brothers, and swear an oath to fight the good fight shoulder to shoulder with each other, prevailing or perishing in the attempt…”
Wedyn, wrth i’r llanc godymu tuag at y fortecs troellog yn deillio o’r pwll o fetel tawdd, i osgoi’r gythreules, dyna Tefnush yn hwylio i mewn i’r tes crychdonnol mor urddasol. Mae hi’n gwisgo ffrog fin nos o sidan gwyrdd, a choron euraid, a menig hir, du. A dyna’r llanc yn dawnsio tarantela gyda Meistres y Meirwon, a rownd a rownd maen nhw’n mynd, wrth i’r swynwraig brydferthaf fflyrtian yn ddigywilydd, er ei bod hi newydd gael ei chyfradael gan ei darpar ŵr, a hithau ar fin dwyn plentyn. Ac wrth iddyn nhw hedfan a chwyrlïo o gwmpas, dyma’i meirch anhywaith yn llusgo ysbryd Mam farw’r llanc sy’n edrych fel ‘sai hi’n byw, a diodde’ tu hwnt i bob disgrifiad o hyd. A dyna hithau’n ymddangos yn y cnawd, wedi’i hysu gan ganser, a’i llais arteithiedig yn begian arno fe i blygu drosodd i sythu i’w llygaid am y tro ola’ – ac ynddyn nhw dranc.Then, as the lad tumbles towards the spinning vortex emanating from the pool of molten metal, to avoid the demoness, there’s Tefnush sailing into the rippling haze so majestically. She’s wearing an evening-gown of green silk, and a golden crown, and long, black gloves. And the lad’s dancing a tarantella with the Mistress of the Dead, and round and round they go, as the most beautiful sorceress flirts shamelessly, although she’s just been deserted by her husband-to-be, whilst on the verge of having a child. And as they fly and whirl about, here’s her restive stallions dragging the spirit of the lad’s dead Mother, who looks like she’s living, and suffering beyond all description still. And there she is appearing in the flesh, eaten up by cancer, her tortured voice begging him to bend over and stare into her eyes for the last time – and in them there is death.
“…Yn y cyfamser, roedd y sefyllfa’n datblygu’n ddiddorol lan staer. Roedd y Dywysoges Ari·adní, yn gaeth i’w thŵr, wedi mynd yn genawes fwythlyd ar ôl i'w Mam ymadael, cymaint oedd ei thristwch nad oedd hithau'i hun wedi lladd y wraig fendigedig. Gwastraffid hanner adnoddau’r deyrnas oll ar gyflenwi ei hanghenion a bodloni ei mympwyon. Ac er gwaethaf pa mor brysur oedd hi gyda’r llif cyson o ymgeiswyr am ei llaw, roedd ganddi bob tro ddigon o amser i chwerthin am ben y Llysfam Waedlyd gan ddefnyddio megaffon. Ymhellach, fe fyddai’n hau dannedd y ddraig trwy gyfrwng cysgodion dychanol wedi’u taflu ar waliau’r gorthwr. Ac i goroni popeth, fe fyddai hefyd yn bygwth gwneud pethau hollol dwp fel cyflwyno hawliau dinesydd i’r taeogion, yn enwedig yr hawl i bleidleisio, rhyddhau'r caethweision i gyd, a chreu cymdeithas lle gallai pawb gymryd rhan yn llawn fel aelodau cyfartal…”“...In the meantime, the situation was developing very interestingly upstairs. The Princess Ari·adní, trapped in her tower, had become a pampered vixen after her Mother departed, so great was her sadness that she herself had not killed the blessed woman. She was wasting half the resources of the whole kingdom on fulfilling her needs and satisfying her whims. And despite how busy she was with the constant stream of suitors for her hand, she always had plenty of time to laugh at the Bloody Stepmother using a megaphone. Furthermore, she would sow the seeds of discord my means of satirical shadows cast on the walls of the keep. And to crown it all, she would also threaten to do totally silly things like giving the serfs the citizens’ rights, especially the right to vote, freeing all the slaves, and creating a society where all could participate as equal members…”
Ac mae’r bachgen yn erfyn: “Peidiwch â ‘ngorfodi fi i edrych! O’r hen Feistri Bendigedig, chi yw’r unig rai o hyd – helpwch fi! Mae’n flin iawn ‘da fi mod i ‘di ‘neud yr holl bethau drwg ‘na. Fyddwn i’m yn gallu peidio mewn ffordd. Ro’n i’n galw arnoch chi. Ond ro’ch chi’n rhy brysur chwarae a chanu i glywed.” Ac wedyn, pan dyw e’m yn gallu atal ei hunan rhagor – ac mae’n troi, neu’n cael ei droi, rownd a rownd – a dyna fe’n cael ei ‘neud i blygu drosodd nes iddo’n ei ddyblau, bron – ac mae’i lygaid yn agor, neu’n cael eu gorfodi i agor – a dyna wyneb – wyneb drychiolaethol – wyneb arteithir gan boen, a phryder, ac edifeirwch, a serch. Ac ynddo – dyna lygaid byw ei Fam farw'n begian arno fe oddi dan ddyfroedd Afon Dagrau i ‘neud beth bynnag fo angen i adael iddi fynd yn rhydd. Fel rhyw gythreules chwedlonol, mae’n bwydo ar holl egni gorffwyll y llanc, sy’n brwydro i ddianc rhag ei gafael crafangog. A dyna’r weddi sy’n udo diasbedain trwy balas tywod Etneksha’n ei hyrddio fe tuag ati hi: ‘Bydd eich corff yn bridd; Bydd eich gwaed yn ddŵr; Bydd ei henaid hi’n hedfan yn rhydd!’And the boy ‘s begging: “Don’t make me look! Oh, the Old Blessed Masters, you are the only ones still – help me! I’m very sorry I’ve done all those bad things. I couldn’t stop myself in a way. I was calling on you. But you were too busy playing and singing to hear.” And then, when he can’t prevent himself any more – and he’s turning, or being turned, round and round – and there he is being made to bend over until he’s almost doubled up -- and his eyes are opening, or being forced to open – and there’s a face – a phantasmal face – a face tortured by pain, and worry, and regret, and love. And in it – there’s the living eyes of his dead Mother begging him from under the River of Tears to do whatever’s needed to let her go free. Like some fabled demoness, she’s feeding on all the lad’s mad energy, who’s fighting to escape from her clawing grip. And then the prayer that reverberates, howling, through the sand-palace of Etneksha is hurling him towards her: ‘Your body shall be soil; Your blood shall be water; Her spirit shall fly free!”
“…Wel, dyna fyddai’n neis, on’ fyddai? Am ryfelwraig dros gyfiawnder cymdeithasol! A sôn am gael caws o fola ci! Ond un flwyddyn, ymunodd Llabwst o’r ochr arall â thîm yr ymwelwyr o feysydd ffrwythlon yr Amaethwyr ar y slei bach, gan ymhonni bod yn Arglwydd Golygus. Dewisodd e’r enw Kuv·ínoor (neu Hufanoru yn iaith ei lwyth ei hunan), gan taw ynddo fe yr unwyd llawer o nodweddion anghyson: roedd e’n hyll ond swynol, yn ofnus ond dewr, yn arw ond yn gariadus. A dyna lle roedd e’n moesymgrymu gerbron y Dywysoges yn ei huchelfan maes o law. O'r foment gyntaf iddo glywed ei llais cryg yn ebychu o dop y tŵr, fe benderfynodd e gwympo dros ei ben a’i glustiau mewn cariad â hi. Efallai mai am fod eu statws cymdeithasol mor wahanol, roedd hithau mor deniadol iddo, ac yntau'n disgyn o linach wych o fwtsieriaid. A dyna olygai ei fod yn dra pharchedig ymhlith ei gymuned, gan mai er eu bod nhw’n gallu lladd, cyndyn o wneud felly oedd y mwyafrif. Erbyn meddwl amdani, fe fyddai'n briodas ymarferol iawn, ac yntau heb fynegi cariad rhamantus o'r blaen, a hithau heb ymarfer ei greddfau marwol eto. Ond eto i gyd doedd y cariadon ifainc ddim yn meddwl yn rhesymegol, gan fod y ddau ohonyn nhw’n dioddef yn enbyd o wewyr serch o gael eu cadw ar wahân ers cyhyd. Fe fedren nhw goncro'r Cosmos gyda'i gilydd, nid fel Rhyfelwraig ac Amaethwr, ond fel Tywyswyr Mentrus ar ôl uno'i angerdd yn mudlosgi â'i hunllefau creadigol hi!…”“…Well, that would be nice, wouldn’t it? What a social-justice warrior-woman! And talk of doing the impossible! But one year, a Bumpkin from the other side joined the visiting team from the Country-folks’ fruitful fields on the sly, pretending that he was a Handsome Lord. He chose the name Kuv·ínoor (or Hufanoru in the language of his own tribe), as in him were united many conflicting characteristics: he was ugly but charming, fearful but brave, rough but loving. And there he was bowing before the Princess in her eyrie in due course. From the first moment he heard her harsh voice ejaculating from the top of the tower, he decided to fall head over heels in love with her. Perhaps it was because their social status was so different that she was so attractive to him, with him having descended from an excellent line of butchers. And that meant that he was highly respected amongst his community, as although they could kill, the majority were reluctant to do so. Come to think of it, it would be a very practical marriage, as he’d not expressed romantic love before, and she’d not yet exercised her deadly instincts. But then again, the young lovers weren’t thinking logically, as the two of them were suffering terribly from love-sickness from being kept apart for so long. They could conquer the Cosmos together, not as Warrior-woman and Agronomist, but as Skilled Leaders, after uniting his smouldering passion with her creative nightmares!...”
Sgrechian wnâi’r bachgen. Ac yn yr eiliad ‘na o wendid, pan allai fod wedi gwaedu’i Fam rhag ei marwolaeth byw, a’i achub ei hunan, mae’r llwyfan yn newid ‘to. Dyna fe’n cael ei daflu drwy’r awyr ar dân, yn llawn gwreichion colynnog, tua’r gaer byw yng nghanol fforest enfawr o binwydd, ble mae’r to wedi’i ‘neud o groen a gewynnau, ac esgyn yw’r pileri, y waliau gnawd, a’r lloriau gyhyr. Ac mae’n syrthio i mewn i gromgell y sgorpionau alabastr dan y castell, a dyna Dendrah Leiddiad yn neidio arno fe gan drin ei dagr fflint sy’n canu, wrth i’r haid o greaduriaid arallfydol yn ei hebrwng ymosod arno’n enbyd. A dyma’r llanc yn pesychu, a thuchan, ac wylo, wrth alw ar y Delw-addolwr Dioglyd i ‘nued – rhywbeth – ‘nâi unrhyw beth y tro. Ond gyda’i fod e’n agor ei geg i siarad, mewn chwinciad chwannen, mae’r frwydr wedi symud i diroedd plasty yn llawn tyfiant. A dyna’r llanc yn dall heglu wrth drio osgoi gwreiddiau’r pinwydd uffernol sy’n torri trwy’r ddaear i’w drywanu fel nadredd pigog, a’u breichiau ymosodol yn gafael ynddo fel chwipiau dur i’w dagu a’i larpio.The boy screams. And in that instant of weakness, when he could’ve delivered his Mother from her living death, and saved himself, the stage changes again. There he is being thrown through the burning air, full of stinging sparks, towards the living fort in the middle of the enormous pine forest, where the roof’s made of skin and sinew, and the pillars are bones, the walls flesh, and the floors muscle. And he’s falling into the alabaster scorpions’ vault under the castle, and there’s Dendrah the Assassin jumping on him, wielding her singing flint dagger, as the pack of otherworldly creatures accompanying her set about him fearsomely. And the lad’s coughing, and groaning, and crying, whilst calling on the Indolent Idolaters to do – something – anything would do. But as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, in a trice, the battle’s moved to the overgrown grounds of a mansion. And the lad’s blindly blundering, trying to avoid the roots of the hellish pines that’re cutting through the ground to pierce him like spiky snakes, while their intrusive arms grab him like steel whips to choke him and tear him apart.
“…Ond er taw mab i Arweinyddion yr Amaethwyr, y Gŵr Hysbys a’r Wraig Fawr, oedd y Llabwst (roedd hi wedi cael gwybod amdano fe gan y ddau aderyn siaradus, colomen wen a chigfran ddu, roedd e’n defnyddio i hala negeseuon yn ôl i’r llwyth yn y Gefnwlad), fe gredai'r Dywysoges taw syniad da fyddai ei roi fe ar brawf. Felly fe drefnodd iddo ddioddef diheurbrawf fel yn Llyfr Coch Gwaed a Rhwyd. Ac yn wir, roedd yn rhaid iddo gyrcydu mewn dwnsiwn a beintiwyd yn las yr awyr am ddyddiau maith heb fwyd na dŵr, gan syllu ar ddrych sgrio du, afloyw ac ar ei wyneb haen drwchus o olew symudliw, i alw ar i'r Delw-addolwyr rannu rhagor o’u pŵer cyfrin. Ac ar ôl hynny, roedd arno angen dawnsio o amgylch coelcerth ar ben meindwr nes iddo syrthio o orflinder, gan geisio gorfodi’r Swynwyr i ddatgelu mymryn bach o’u gwybodaeth gêl. Ond wrth iddo gyflawni'r gorchwylion, fe ddaeth ar hap a damwain i gysylltiad meddyliol â gweledydd ymhlith byddin guddiedig y rebeliaid yn ddwfn islaw'r Uchelgaer. Roedden nhw wedi bod yn ymarfer ers talwm dan awdurdod y Dyn-darw, ac yn barod i redeg yn benwyllt erbyn hynny. Pan glywodd y Dywysoges hyn oll, fe benderfynodd y byddai raid iddyn nhw’i mentro hi ar eu hunion, a dyfeisio cynllwyn beiddgar. Wedyn fe ddywedodd y Llabwst wrth y rebeliaid am ymosod ar y gorthwr oddi isod trwy'r carthffosydd, noson Gŵyl Gogoniant a Gorfoledd, ddau ddiwrnod wedyn (yntau fyddai’n atgoffa’r rhai’n byw heb yr Haul am yr amseru)…”“…But although the Bumpkin was son to the Leaders of the Growers-and-Breeders, the Wise Man and the Great Woman (she’d got to know about him from the two talkative birds, a white dove and a black crow, that he was using to send messages back to the tribe in the Hinterland), the Princess believed that it would be a good idea to put him to the test. So, she arranged for him to undergo trial by ordeal like in the Red Book of Blood and Rust. And indeed, he had to squat in a dungeon painted sky-blue for many a long day without food or water, staring at a matt-black scrying-glass, with a thick layer of iridescent oil on its surface, to call on the Idolaters to share more of their mystic power. And after that, he had to dance around a bonfire on the top of a minaret until he collapsed of exhaustion, trying to force the Sorcerers to reveal a tiny morsel of their hidden knowledge. But as he completed the tasks, he came by complete accident into mental contact with a seer amongst the rebels’ hidden army deep below the Citadel. They had been practising for ages under the authority of the Bull-man, and were ready to run amok by then. When the Princess heard all this, she decided that they needed to take the opportunity immediately, and hatched a daring plan. Then the Bumpkin told the rebels to attack the keep from below through the sewers, on the night of the Festival of Glory and Gladness, that is, two days thence (he would remind those living without the Sun about the timing) …”
Y tro hwn, fodd bynnag, mae’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd wedi diflasu, wedi cael hen ddigon ar gŵynion pobl, fel bydd eu harfer o bryd i’w gilydd. A dyna os oedden nhw wedi malu’r un daten erioed beth bynnag am y trychfilod o’r enw bodau dynol, sy’n ymlusgo ar wyneb y Blaned Yrth, mor bell i ffwrdd yn y gwagle, ac ar goll ar foroedd amser. Ac oherwydd hyn, neu’n hytrach ar fympwy, dim ond gan taw dyna beth maen nhw’n ddymuno, ‘does dim fflach o fellten, na llewych fiolet, na drycsawr osôn. Does dim bloeddio chwerthin aflywodraethus yn cythryblu’r lle ‘chwaith, ble bynnag mae’n digwydd bod, neu os gall dyn ei alw’n lle o gwbl. Hefyd, er mwyn croesi’r ffin rhwng, wel, rhwng Yma ac Acw, heb niwed, mae rhaid i’r teithiwr ddefnyddio pedwar tocyn cyn dilyn y trywydd yn ôl (neu ymlaen) i’r Byd Arall. Dyna Reolau'r Gêm ar gyfer cymeriadu mewn ffuglen yn chwilio am awdur. Y Swynwyr ‘naeth nhw, ddim y Delw-addolwyr, a nage’r ail rai sydd ar fai. Ac wrth gwrs, dyw’r llanc ddim wedi dod â dim byd i’w helpu i wynebu’r heriau ar y siwrnai, ddim drwy wybod iddo, ta be’.This time, however, the Indolent Idolaters have got bored, have had more than enough of people’s complaints, as shall be their wont from time to time. And that’s if they’ve ever given a bean anyway about the insects called the human race, who crawl about on the face of the Fierce Planet, so far away in space, and lost on the seas of time. And because of this, or maybe on a whim, only since that’s what they wish, there’s no flash of lightning, no violet glow, no stench of ozone. There’s no irrepressible belly laughter disturbing the place, either, wherever it happens to be, or if one can call it a place at all. Also, in order to cross the border between, well, between Here and There, without harm, the traveller must use four tokens before following the trail backwards (or forwards) to the Other World. That’s the Rules of the Game for fictional characters in search of an author. It’s the Sorcerers who made them, not the Idolaters, and it’s not the latter who are to blame. And of course, the lad hasn’t brought anything to help him face the challenges on the journey, not knowingly, anyway.
“…Fe weithredodd grymoedd y Dyn-darw’n ddibetrus, gan ddilyn cyfarwyddiadau meddyliaethol cyson gan y Llabwst, a’r Unben a’i ddilynwyr wedi meddwi'n gaib ar fedd yn ystod y parti blynyddol i ddathlu pen-blwydd priodas y Cwpl Brenhinol. Roedd holl Arglwyddi ac Arglwyddesau’r deyrnas yno, ac nid am ddim cafodd yr achlysur ei enwi fel y Wledd Goch ym Mlwyddnod y Blaned Yrth o hynny ymlaen, ond o leiaf daeth y brwydro i ben yn gyflym, gan fod y milwyr wedi treulio cymaint o amser yn paratoi, a bod y gwesteion i gyd yn chwil ulw. Yn weddus, fe driniai’r ymladdwyr dros ryddid (neu’r terfysgwyr, yn dibynnu ar eich safbwynt) dryferi oedd yn debyg iawn i bicweirch. Wedi dweud hynny, doedd y Dyn-darw ddim yn teimlo’n rhy dda y dydd hwnnw, am iddo slaffio gormod o fadarch wedi’u preserfio mewn mêl i frecwast, ac fe arhosodd yn ei ffau ym mherfeddion y labyrinth dan bwdu. Beth bynnag, doedd dim rhaid i'r ddarpar Unben frwydro yn rhy galed yn erbyn galluoedd cryfach (fel petai) er mwyn llwyddo i gipio'i gariad wedi’r cwbl. Doedd arno angen ei dwyn hi ymaith, 'chwaith, gan iddi’i thaflu’i hunan i’w freichiau blewog e (er nad oddi ar dop y tŵr gwyrdd, diolch byth!). A ’naethon nhw ill dau gymryd y llyw gyda’i gilydd yn yr Ysgor Rosliw ar unwaith…”“…The forces of the Man-bull acted decisively, following constant mentalist instructions from the Bumpkin, while the Despot and his followers were blind drunk on mead during the yearly party to celebrate the wedding of the Royal Couple. All the Lords and Ladies of the kingdom were there, and not for nothing was the occasion called the Red Feast in the Annals of the Harsh Planet from the on, but at least the fighting came to an end quickly, since the soldiers had spent so much time preparing, and all the guests were blotto. Fittingly, the freedom-fighters (or the terrorists, depending on your point of view), wielded tridents that were very similar to pitchforks. Having said that, the Bull-man wasn’t feeling too well that day, as he’d gobbled down too many mushrooms-in-honey for breakfast, and he stayed in his lair in the guts of the labyrinth sulking. Anyway, the prospective Dictator did not need to fight too hard against the odds (as it were) to succeed in snatching his lover after all. He did not need to steal her away, either, as she flung herself into his hairy arms (although not from the top of the green tower, thank goodness!). And they both took control together in the Rosy Citadel immediately…”
Cellweirus yw’r Hen Feistri, ond maent yn gallu ymddangos yn ddienaid, hefyd. Ac yn wir mae hyn oll i gyd wedi digwydd dim ond gan fod yr Eilunaddolwyr Afluniaidd yn hoff iawn o chwarae, ac felly maent wedi dyfeisio, neu ddod o hyd i’r pos sy’n rhedeg, ‘Trwy golli mae ennill, a’r sawl a ennill a gyll.’ Bodolaeth fyddan nhw’n hymestyn, ar adegau, gan wenu’n ddoeth, fel gall dyn orffen rhyw dasg angenrheidiol i’w ddatblygiad, hyd yn oed pan fydd yn crawcian am roi’r ffidil yn y to, o achos ei anesmwythder. Eto, byddan nhw’n fodlon gadael i dywod bywyd lithro ymaith cyn pryd, os bydd rhywun diegwyddor yn trio prynu, neu ddwyn, mwy o amser i ‘neud drwg. Ond, raid cofio, anghyson ydynt, a gwacsaw, ac maent yn dueddol o newid eu meddwl, a dyfnderoedd anchwiliadwy yw eu holl ffyrdd hyd yn oed iddyn nhwythau eu hunain.Mischievous are the Old Masters, but they can appear callous, too. And indeed, all this has happened merely because the Unformed Idol-worshippers are very fond of playing, and so they have devised, or found, the riddle that runs, ‘By losing one wins, and whoever wins shall lose.’ They extend existence, on occasions, smiling sagely, so that one can finish some task essential to one’s development, even when one squawks about throwing in the towel due to one’s discomfort. Then again, they are willing to allow the sands of life slip away prematurely, if someone unprincipled tries to buy, or steal, more time to do evil. But, we must remember, they are inconsistent, and fickle, and prone to change their minds, and their ways are unutterably mysterious, even to themselves.
“…Ar ôl i'r Chwildro Chwim gan drigolion y ddrysfa lwyddo, roedd rhaid wrth gosbi’r hen Deyrn a’r Llysfam Waedlyd, nad oedd wedi cael eu lladd erbyn hynny. Caenwyd hithau â haen drwchus o saim twrw, a chlowyd mewn siambr fechan, las, yn llawn llau tân, pigog, a’i heigiodd hi, a gwledda arni nes iddi fynd yn gelain fyw. Gorfodwyd yntau i yfed ei dognau gwenwynllyd oll, fel y chwyddodd ei gorff yn belen enfawr o ectoplasm, oedd yn bytheirio a byrlymu’n gyson. Ac ar ôl arbrofi arnyn nhw ill dau am amser maith, fe laddodd y Tywysydd Medrus y Teyrn a’r Llysfam Waedlyd ac fe ddangoswyd eu pennau ar fylchfuriau’r Amddiffynfa yn rhybudd i neb fyddai’n ceisio gwrthwynebu’r Unbeniaid newydd. Roedd un peth pwysig yn aros i’w wneud, fodd bynnag, a dyna oedd i’r Dywysoges gael gwared â’r Dyn-darw, oedd yn gystadleuydd am yr Orsedd Ddur, ac atgoffäwr cyson am y Llysfam Waedlyd. Fe wnaeth Ari·adní sleifio i mewn i Lwybrau Drygioni felly, gyda whilber yn cario pelen fawr o linyn gwenwynig, mor finiog â rasel…”“…After the Rapid Revolution by the inhabitants of the maze succeeded, it was necessary to punish the old Tyrant and the Bloody Stepmother, who had not been killed by then. She was covered with a thick layer of bull-fat, and locked in a small, blue chamber, full of prickly fire-lice, which infested her, and feasted on her until she became a living corpse. He was forced to drink all her toxic potions, so that his body swelled up into an enormous ball of ectoplasm, which constantly belched and bubbled. And after experimenting on them both for a long time, the Skilled Leader killed the Tyrant and the Bloody Stepmother and their heads were displayed on the ramparts of the Stronghold, as a warning to anyone who would attempt to oppose the new Despots. There was one important thing waiting to be done, however, and that was for the Princess to get rid of the Man-bull, who was competition for the Steel Throne, and a constant reminder of the Bloody Stepmother. So, Ari·adní slipped into the Paths of Wickedness, with a wheelbarrow carrying a large ball of poisoned thread, as sharp as a razor…”
Unwaith, bryd arall, yn rhywle arall, mewn seremoni wahanol, pan ddylai rhywun fod wedi marw, ‘naeth y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd ymyrryd â’r Drefn Fawr (neu, ymddangosai iddyn nhw ‘neud hyn) i roi mwy o fywyd, ond ar draul cilagor y Porth rhwng y Bydoedd. Ond i’r Hen Feistri, mae amser i gyd yn un bloc di-dor, y gallan nhw nofio drwyddo yn eu meddyliau anhreiddiadwy i flasu hanes yn mynd rhagddo, a theimlo’r gofod yn esblygu. O’u safbwynt nhw, felly, y bodau uwch dimensiynol ‘ma, mae ‘na lawer o bethau’n dechrau a dod i ben, yn cael eu geni a marw, yn cuddio a chael eu datgelu, ar yr un pryd, yn yr un lle. A dyw’r Nw Yrth ond yn un llecyn ymhlith nifer aruthrol o Fydoedd ble maen nhw’n cyfeirio’u sylw, a sylweddoli’u hanfod.Once, on another occasion, somewhere else, in a different ceremony, when someone should have died, the Indolent Idolaters interfered in the Order of Things (or, it would appear that they’d done this) to give more life, but at the expense of opening the Gate between the Worlds. But to the Old Masters, all time is one seamless block, that they can swim through in their inscrutable minds to taste history unfolding, and feel space evolving. From their viewpoint, then, these higher-dimensional beings, there are many things starting and coming to an end, being born and dying, hiding and being revealed, at the same time, in the same place. And the Nw Yrth is but one locus amidst an incredible number of Worlds where they direct their attention, and realise their essence.
“…Roedd Ari·adní wedi cael yr anrheg angheuol hon (y llinyn rasel gwenwynig, nage'r whilber) gan Ichrus, mab i Thethalu, oedd yn gampwr ar ysbio, dyfeisiwr cywrain, a lleiddiad cyfrwys i unrhyw un o’r teuluoedd mawr a fyddai’n ei thalu hi. Roedden nhw ill dau dan amheuaeth fawr erbyn hynny, ac wedi cynllunio i ddianc rhag y lluoedd anfad trwy hedfan i ffwrdd ar adenydd ffug. Ond i wneud hyn roedd yn rhaid iddyn nhw gael hyd i'r geriach priodol, fel llawer iawn o bapur llwyd, cryn dipyn o gwyr selio, a llathenni o gareiau lledr, yn ogystal â'r elfen bwysicaf, sef maint mawr o'r memrwn gorau. Tra gallen nhw brynu popeth arall yn y farchnad, roedd yn rhaid iddyn nhw droi at y Dywysoges i ddarparu'r croen o ysgrifendy'r palas. Fel mae’n digwydd, fe lwyddon nhw i ffoi, ond p'run ai am fod y deunyddiau wedi'u prynu o'r masnachwyr yn ddiffygiol, neu gan i'r Dywysoges eu twyllo nhw i brofi rhyw ddamcaniaeth ddyrys, rhywsut neu’i gilydd, pan wnaethon nhw hedfan cyfuwch nes iddyn nhw nesáu at yr Haul, agorodd Hollt yn y nefoedd y syrthion nhw trwyddo, i ble, ni wyddai neb…“…Ari·adní had got this deadly present (the toxic razor-string, not the wheelbarrow) from Ichrus, son to Thethalu, who was an accomplished spy, an ingenious inventor, and a sly assassin for any one of the great families who would pay her. They were both under great suspicion by then, and had plotted to escape from the iniquitous hosts by flying away on fake wings. But to do this they had to get hold of the appropriate bits-‘n’-bobs, like an awful lot of wrapping paper, a considerable amount of sealing-wax, and yards of leather laces, as well as the most important element, namely an enormous quantity of the best parchment. Whilst they could buy everything else in the market, they had to turn to the Princess to provide the hide from the palace scriptorium. As it happens, they succeeded in fleeing, but whether because the materials bought from the merchants were lacking, or because the Princess had tricked them, to test some abstruse hypothesis, somehow other, when they flew so high that they approached the Sun, a Cleft opened in the heavens which they fell through, whence, no-one knew…
“…Ond roedd y Dywysoges yn rhy brysur i hidio taten amdanyn nhw beth bynnag erbyn hynny. Dyna oedd hi'n sefyll yn stond yng nghalon Llwybrau Drygioni i ddisgwyl ei tharw o hanner brawd mwtant, gan gymryd arni ei bod hi'n gerflun marmor o faint naturiol (ac fel hyn, yn ysbrydoli gormod o berfformwyr stryd heddiw). Cyn wynned â’r angau oedd hi, ac yn gwisgo mantell hir, ddu oedd yn arfer perthyn i’r Llysfam, i’w chuddio hi yn y cysgodion, ac ar ei gwefusau arswydus roedd minlliw purddu. Yn wir roedd hi i'w gweld yn eithaf tebyg i Lotké was i Nebesh ar ôl cael ei droi’n biler o sialc wrth drio dwyn dagrau Lushfé oddi wrth Swtach yn ei Gwch Dirboenus…”“…But the Princess was too busy to give a fig about them anyway by then. So, she was standing stock-still in the heart of the Paths of Wickedness to wait for her bull of a mutant half-brother, pretending that she’s a life-size marble statue (and so inspiring too many street performers today). She was white as death, wearing a long, black cloak that used to belong to the Stepmother, to hide her in the shadows, and on her terrifying lips was jet-black lipstick. truly she looked quite similar to Lotké servant to Nebesh after being turned into a pillar or chalk whilst trying to steal Lushfé’s tears from Swtach in his Excruciating Hive…”
Mewn ffordd, efallai, maen nhw’n ddiolchgar i’r llanc, y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd, ac yn gwerthfawrogi rhodd bod a ddarparwyd ganddo ar y Ddaear, ellid dweud, trwy’i gred a’i ddychymig. Wedi’r cwbl, fe a’u creodd nhw; y nhw a’i hachubodd e, ac fel hyn mae’r olwyn wedi dal i droi, tra oedd y trefniad yn ymarferol, yn ddefnyddiol, ac yn bosibl. Cân di bennill mwyn i’th nain, fe gân dy nain i tithau, fel y meddan nhw ar y Blaned Yrth honno. Ond wrth gwrs nad yw’r fath beth â symudiad diddiwedd yn bodoli yn y Byd go iawn, a bydd holl egni’r system yn cael ei wasgaru yn y pendraw, trwy ffrithiant rhwng y rhannau amryfal. Ac felly fe wneir ewyllys yr Hen Dduwiau, ac a fynnan nhw a fydd, er na wyddan nhw i sicrwydd beth yw hwnnw, na phoeni ormod am y canlyniadau, ‘chwaith.In a way, perhaps, they’re thankful to the lad, the Indolent Idolaters, and appreciate the gift of being provided by him on the Earth, one could say, through his belief and his imagination. After all, he created them, they saved him, and so the wheel has kept on turning, whilst the arrangement was practical, useful, possible. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours, as they say on that Harsh Planet. But, of course, this kind of perpetual motion does not exist in the real World, and all the energy of the system gets dissipated in the end, through friction between the multitudinous parts. And thus shall the will of the Old Deities be done, and what they wish shall be, although they do not know for sure what that is, nor worry too much about the results, either.
“…A chan i Lotké fethu cyflawni’r neges hollbwysig hon, ni pheidiai’r Afon Wylofus byth â ffrydio. Ni fyddai Nebesh yn rhoi’r gorau i wylo yn ei drwmgwsg ysbeidiol, ‘chwaith, cyn dod i’r Ddaear, a throi’r moroedd oll yno’n ddagrau o waed. Ond Roedd y Dywysoges wedi penderfynu’n gadarn na fyddai’n ffaelu yn ei thasg. Felly, wrth i’r Dyn-darw ruthro heibio Ari·adní yn llechu yn y cysgodion cachgïaidd, wedi'i falu'n chwilfriw gan ei bagl oedd bron yn anweladwy, ond yn dra pheryglus, dyna hi'n drywanu fe unwaith eto, gan felltithio'i enaid. A dyna'r Dyn-darw'n encilio i'w ffau i farw, ym mherfeddion dyfnaf Llwybrau Drygioni o dan yr Ysgor Rosliw. A phan fu farw, roedd ei groen cyn ddued ag adenydd ffug yr awyrenwyr cyntaf wrth iddyn nhw ddiflannu trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, heb yn wybod iddyn nhw.”“… And because Lotké failed to complete this all-important task, the Tearful River would never stop flowing. Nebesh would never give up weeping in her fitful sleep, either, before coming to the Earth, and turning all the seas there to tears of blood. But the Princess had firmly decided that she would not fail in her task. So, as the Man-bull rushed by Ari·adní lurking in the cowardly shadows, cut to shreds by her trap which was almost invisible, but extremely dangerous, she pierces him once again, cursing his soul. And the Bull-man retreats to his lair to die, in the deepest depths of the Paths of Wickedness below the Rosy Citadel. And when he died, his skin was as black as the fake-wings of the first aviators when they disappeared through the Cleft between the Words, unbeknownst to them.”

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 35

Pennod Tri Deg Naw: Blogio (Lleisiau 35) / Blogging (Voices 35)

Heia! Croeso i ‘myd gwallgo’, ac i ‘mywyd hudol, lanciau a llancesau ! Fi sy ‘ma, “Y Balrog”. Nage’n enw go iawn yw hwnna, wrth gwrs, cyfrinach yw hwnna, ond, ma’ “Balrog” yn swnio’n reit Gymraeg on’d ydy? Ma’n dod o’r geiriau “bal” (“marc gwyn, seren wen, neu streipen wen ar dalcen rhwun”), a “rog” (“person anonest neu ddiegwyddor, cnaf, gwalch, dihiryn”). ‘Lly ma’ “Balrog” yn golygu “dihiryn a seren uwchben yr aeliau” yn debyg i Lushfé yn y straeon am y Nw Yrth gan yr Athro Jelena Pekar. ‘Yn arwr yw hwnnw, yr hen Lushfé ofnadw’, sy hefyd Azazel a By·elzebub, greda i. W i’n dwlu ar yr hen Pekar ‘na a’i phwcaod, a’i thraedflewogiaid, a’i phigmiaid, a’i dinosoriaid siaradus, a’i dewiniaid da a drwg, a’r lleill, on’d ych chi? “Blog y Balrog” – ardderchog! Ond ma’ “Ffau’r Balrog” yn swnio’n well, siŵr o fod, fel “ffau Man·toru” yn ddwfn yn Llwybrau Drygioni yn Hanes y Dywysoges a’r Llabwst. “Ffau’r Balrog” amdani te!

Hiya! Welcome to my crazy world, and to my magical life, lads and lasses! Me here, “The Balrog.” That’s not my real name, of course, that’s a secret, but “Balrog” sounds right Welsh, doesn’t it? It comes from the words “bal” (“white mark, white star, or white stripe on someone’s forehead”), and “rog” (“dishonest or unprincipled person, knave, rogue, villain”). So, “Balrog” means “hooligan with a star above the brows” like Lushfé in the stories about the Nw Yrth by Professor Jelena Pekar. He’s my hero, the old awful Lushfé, who’s also Azazel and By·elzebub, I believe. I love that old Pekar, and her imps, and her hairy-foots, and her pigmies, and her talkative dinosaurs, and her good and bad wizards, and the rest, don’t you? “The Balrog’s Blog” – excellent! But “The Balrog’s Lair” sounds better, probably, like “Man·toru’s Lair” deep in the Paths of Wickedness in the Tale of the Princess and the Lout. “The Balrog’s Lair” it is then!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 35 Balrog Cymraeg2Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 35 Balrog Saesneg2
DYDD MERCHER (ar ôl yr ysgol / y carchar): Wel, tipyn bach amdana i nawr. Llanc annwyl dwy ar bymtheg dwi, bron (un deg saith a siarad yn gall, a nifer hudol yw hynny, ‘fyd), wel, w i ar fin dathlu ‘mhen-blwydd, ac ôn i lordio hi yng nghroth ‘yn Mam am naw mis, cyn ymddangos yn y Byd Gwaedlyd ‘ma wrth gwrs, ha, ha! Wel, mwnci bach ewn dw i, yn ôl ‘yn Wncwl sy’n llaw dde i fi, ac Ellyllyn Cry’, yn ôl yr Hen Ddoethur Da! Peidiwch edrych mor syn, ym mlodau ‘nyddiau dwi, oni bai am y TGAUau w i’n gorfod sefyll yn fuan yn y carchar atgas 'na o ysgol bondigrybwyll. Wel, , yn y Seilam Seicig (ddim ‘i enw go iawn, dyna’n enwi i arni hi) – ma’n nhw wedi dweud wrthon ni am ‘neud Blog i ymarfer yn sgiliau trosglwyddadwy yn y Gymraeg ne’ rwbeth. Wrth fynd heibio – fe ddâth y syniad twp ‘ma o’r wefan gan “CILT” (sy’n swnio tipyn bach fel rhwbeth arall), ond ma’n nhw wedi câl gwared ohoni hi erbyn hyn (y wefan, ddim y syniad!), pam ‘dwn i’m. Ôn nhw’n gweud (yr athrawon ffiaidd, ddim y Scotsmyn hyfryd!) bod ‘na raid i ni ‘sgrifennu am deithio, teulu, chwaraeon, gwleidyddiaeth, ac ati, ac yn y blaen, hyd at gyfogi.WEDNESDAY (after school / gaol): Well, a bit about me now. I’m a lovely lad of two-and-fifteen, almost (seventeen, talking sensibly, and that’s a magic number, too), well, I’m about to celebrate my birthday, and I was swanning about in my Mum’s womb for nine months before appearing in this Bloody World, of course, ha, ha! Well, I’m a cheeky little monkey according to my Uncle, who’s my right-hand man, and a Strong Little Devil, according to the old Good Doctor! Don’t look so surprised, I’m in the prime of my life, if it weren’t for the GCSEs I’ve got to sit soon in that hateful prison of a scarcely-mentionable school. Well, in the Psychic Asylum (not its real name, that’s my name for it) – they’ve told us to make a Blog to practise our transferable skills in Welsh or something. In passing – this stupid idea came from the “CILT” website (which sounds a bit like something else), although they’ve got rid of it now (the website, not the idea), why I don’t know. They were saying (the hateful teachers, not the lovely Scotsmen) that we had to write about travelling, family, sports, politics, and so on, and so forth, ad nauseam.
Wel nawr te, w i’n casáu popeth fel ‘na, a dyna ôn i’n eistedd yn ddiflas tu flân i’r cyfrifiadur, ond yn sydyn ges i syniad ardderchog. Fi fydd yn rhoi cipolwg ar grŵp eitha sbesial, Cymuned Ieuenctid Amgen Cymru. Fe fydda i’n taro dros ryddid wrth lefaru heb flewyn ar ‘nhafod i ar ran bawb gyda galluoedd arbennig, sy’n hoff iawn o fiwsig seico-pync, yn tueddu i wisgo dillad aml-liwiog, ac yn câl ‘u bwlian ledled y wlad ‘ma ddydd ar ôl dydd ar hyn o bryd. Dyna fydd ‘nhasg neilltuol fi ar y we fel llefarydd dros bob plentyn yn ‘i arddegau ag wyneb fel y galchen, a minlliw ac ewinedd du. Yr Adar Dieithr. Y Bobl Ryfedd. Y Lliprynnod. Y Misffitiaid. Y Bobol Sed. Fe fydd hynna'n wers i’r twpsod i gyd yn y Madws Mileinig ‘na.Well, now then, I hate everything like that, and there was I sitting miserably in front of the computer, but suddenly I had an excellent idea. I’ll give you a glimpse of a quite special group. The Welsh Community of Alternative Youth. I shall strike a blow for freedom whilst speaking out loud and proud on behalf of everyone with special abilities, who loves psycho-punk music, tends to wear multi-coloured clothes, and gets bullied all across this land day after day at the moment. That shall be my particular task on the web as the spokesperson for every teenager with a chalk-white face, and black lipstick and nails. The Outsiders, The Weirdos. The Weaklings. The Misfits. The Z-People. That’ll be a lesson for all the fools in that Malicious Madhouse.
‘Lly w i’n mynd i sgwrsio am elfen o fywyd cyfoes w i’n gyfarwydd iawn gyda hi, w i’n golygu bod yn llanc Cymraeg ‘i iaith yn ‘i arddegau gyda doniau sbesial iawn (nage fi sy’n gweud ‘ny, ond y Doethur Da). Ond nage rhw fath o hen “Drain-vole” drewllyd ‘mo fi, ‘chwaith, cofiwch! Babi swci mami gwirion ôdd e, ta be’, yn ‘sgrifennu dyddiadur cyfrinachol yn rhwbeth a thri chwarter oed dim ond i fod ar y teledu! Wel yn ‘marn i, bydd pobl sbesial, a phobl yn ‘u harddegau, a Chymry Cymraeg (edrychwch ar y treigladau ‘na!) i gyd yn câl ‘u gormesu fel ‘i gilydd! Ma’ angen i bawb wedi’u gorthrymu dan sawdl y drefn lethol godi yn erbyn grymoedd yr hen foch cyfalafol! Fe fydda i’n dechrau gyda’r Blog ‘ma. O gyda llaw, ddarlledwyr, gymrodyr, gyd-siamaniaid, achos mod i’n câl ‘ngorfodi i ‘neud hyn, fe fydda i’n gadael i fi’n hunan fynd, gan ‘sgrifennu fel w i’n siarad. Llif yr ymwybod, te, a defnyddio’r term llenyddol priodol! Ond cyn ‘ny, w i ishe câl disgled o lâth pôth cyn mynd i’r gwely. ‘Lly nos da, bawb!So, I’m going to chat about an element of contemporary life I’m really familiar with, I mean being a Welsh-speaking lad in his teens with extra-special talents (it’s not me who says that, but the Good Doctor). But I’m not some kind of stinkin’ old “Drain-vole”, either, remember! He was a stupid mummy’s boy, anyway, writing a secret diary at something and three-quarters years old just to get on the telly! Well, in my opinion, special people, and teenagers, and Welsh-speaking Welsh folk (look at the mutations there!) all get oppressed alike! Everyone trodden under heel by the oppressive system needs to rise up against the forces of the old capitalist pigs! I’ll be starting with this Blog. Oh, by the way, readers, comrades, fellow-shamans, since I’ve been forced to do this, I’ll be letting myself go, writing how I speak. Stream of Consciousness, then, to use the appropriate literary term. But before that, I want to have a cup of warm milk before going to bed. So, night-night, all!
DYDD IAU: W i’n ddewin gyda geiriau, yn ôl pob sôn, yn enwedig fel y Wilhelm Cynhyrfwr-waywffon ‘na. W i’n dwlu ar ‘i ddrama “M ac E Beth?” yn y cyfieithiad Cymraeg gan yr athrylith Daud Pekar (‘Nhad druan wrth gwrs). Ma’ cerddi Pjetër Mamrick o’r Wlad-wen yn wych ‘fyd. Www, w i’n dwlu ar y Gymraeg, a bod yn onest, falle taw achos i ‘Nhad ‘i dysgu hi mor dda pan ddâth e yma. On’d yw’r iaith yn wych? Dyna beth ôdd yr hen Brychan Bach yn clebran amdano fe, ond w i ‘di câl lond bol o farddoniaeth erbyn ‘yn o achos Mam a’i holl gerddi meddyliaethol. Ma’n well ‘da fiwsig gan fandiau seico-pync o'r mileniwm newydd, fel ‘yn hoff un, “Cythreuliaid mewn Croen.” W i’n dwlu ar ‘u halbymau cysyniadol, ma’n nhw’n eithriadol o hir, a chymhleth, ac mor wych! Ma’n nhw bron â ‘neud i’ch pen ffrwydro, wrth ych cludo chi i Fydoedd Eraill, yn enwedig os chi ‘di llowcio cwpl o bowleidiau o gyri ffa sbeislyd wedi’u deifio. W i’n lico mwya’r un o’r enw “Nadau Estron o Seren Bell” – saith awr o dwrw uffernol, melys, yn cynnwys traciau fel “Ing Ari·adní”, “Mynyddoedd Gwallgofrwydd,” ac “Yng Nghwch Dirboenus Swtach.”THURSDAY: I’m a wizard with words, apparently, just like that Wilhelm Shake-Shaft. I really love his play “Em and Ec What?” in the Welsh translation by the genius Daud Pekar (My poor Dad, of course). Pjetër Mamrick’s poems from the White-land are great too. Oooh, I love the Welsh language, to be honest, perhaps ‘cos my Dad learned it so well when he came here. Isn’t the language great? That was what the old Brychan Bach was chattering on about, but I’ve had my fill of poetry now because of Mum and all her mentalist poems. I prefer music by psycho-punk bands from the noughties, like my fave one, “Devils in the Flesh.” I love their concept albums, they’re exceptionally long, and complicated, and so great! They almost make your head explode, whilst transporting you to Other Worlds, especially if you’ve wolfed down a couple of bowlfuls of scorched spicy-bean curry. I like most the one called “Strange Screams from a Distant Star” – seven hours of sweet hellish noise, including tracks like “Ari·adní’s Anguish,” “The Mountains of Madness,” and “In Swtach’s Excruciating Hive.”
Nawr te, fe fyddwch chi’n bown’ o ofyn – sut ddâth bachgen neis fel fi i gâl ‘i garcharu'n y fath le? Wel, tua thri deg saith o flynyddoedd yn ôl, fe gâth bachgen bach 'i eni ymhlith bomiau fyrdd, a rhaeadrau o waed, mewn rhw wlad ddistadl yng Nghalon y Cyfandir. Yno, ble ma'r Lleuad Oriog yn effeithio ar bobol mwy nag arfer, ôdd 'na ddau lwyth yn trio lladd 'i gilydd, gan ddefnyddio hunllefau seicedelig a dewiniaeth ddu (rhyfel seicolegol, ch'mod) yn ogystal â'r dulliau arferol. 'Nhad i ôdd y babi, a ddâth yn filwr yn ifanc iawn, wrth drio carco'i deulu. Fe âi'i Dad yntau bant drwy'r amser i deithio o gwmpas a 'neud 'i fusnes bondigrybwyll. Ôdd 'i Fam yn sâl, ac ôdd y Chwaer henach yn hyfforddi i fod yn farddes. Fe enillodd y llanc glod a bri trwy lwyddo i achub bywydau heb ladd neb. Gyda help Sefydlwr y Clinig 'ma, ôdd wedi bod yn chwilota am gryts gyda galluoedd sbesial, fe drion nhw ddianc.Now then, you’ll be bound to ask – how did a nice boy like me get imprisoned in such a place? Well, about thirty-seven years ago, a little boy was born amongst tons of bombs, and rivers of blood, in some insignificant land in the Heart of the Continent. There, where the Fickle Moon affects people more than usual, there were two tribes trying to kill each other, using mind-bending nightmares and black magic (psychological warfare, you know) as well as the usual methods. My Dad was the baby, who became a soldier very young, trying to look after his family. His own Father would go off all the time to travel about and do his so-called business. His mother was ill, and the older Sister was training to be a poetess. The lad won fame and renown by succeeding to save lives without killing anyone. With the help of the Founder of this Clinic, who’d been scouting for kids with special talents, they tried to escape.
A bod yn onest, ôdd 'Nhad-cu a'n Mam-gu'n bobl reit sbesial 'fyd, ac yntau'n ysbïwr bob ochr, a hithau'n barafeddyg anymladdol ar flaen y gad. Rhaid bod y cyfanswm genynnol yn neilltuol gry' yno. Ond ôdd y naill yn rhy annisgybledig, tra ôdd y llall yn rhy gariadus i gyflawni fawr ddim er y lles mwya'. Fe geisiai’r hen ddyn ddefnyddio'i bwerau er 'i elw'i hunan, ond ôdd e wastad yn un am y merched, 'fyd. Tra ôdd 'i wraig yn diodde' o ganser, fe ddechreuodd ddal perthynas â llances o'r ochr arall, a’i bradychodd e, gan achosi'i farwolaeth mewn ffrwydrad. Yn anffodus, ôdd y plant wedyn dan ofal Wncwl a'u cam-driniai nhw, cyn iddo gael strôc a marw, pan redodd y Chwaer bant i fod yn gerddor pen stryd. Ar ôl llawer o anturiaethau, fe gyrhaeddodd 'Nhad y Clinig ble ôdd e i fod i hyfforddi, ond ôdd e'n ddiog ac anhrefnus. Ar ben 'ny ôdd gelynion 'i Dad o'r Famwlad Aflwyddiannus yn ymosod arno fe wrth ishe'i lusgo fe yn ôl i'w bwylltreisio fe, a'i ddarbwyllo i ddefnyddio'i bwerau eithriadol i wîtho iddyn nhw. Dim ond sgiliau'n Mam i a ataliai'r fath ganlyniad.To be honest, my Grand-pa and Grand-ma were dead special people too, with him a double-agent, and her a non-combatant paramedic on the front-line. The gene-pool must be particularly strong there! But the one was too undisciplined, whilst the other was too loving to get much done at all for the greater good. The old man tried to use his powers for his own benefit, but he was always one for the ladies, too. Whilst his wife was suffering from cancer, he started to have a relationship with a girl from the other side, who betrayed him, causing his death in an explosion. Unfortunately, the children were then under the case of an Uncle, who abused them, before he had a stroke and died, when the Sister ran off to be a busker. After lots of adventures, my Dad reached the Clinic where he was supposed to train, but he was lazy and disorganized. On top of that enemies of his Father from the Haunted Homeland were attacking him, desiring to drag him back to brain-wash him, and persuade him to use his exceptional powers to work for them. it was only my Mum’s skills that prevented such an outcome.
Ryfedd gweud, ôdd hi 'di dod o'r Cyfandir 'fyd. A hithau'n hynod ymroddedig i'w gwaith hi, ôdd hi ‘riôd wedi caru neb, ond, wrth ddysgu ‘Nhad sut i'w amddiffyn 'i hunan rhag y grymoedd duon, fe doddodd 'i chalon gre'. Wel, fe lwyddodd 'Nhad i rw raddau i ledu neges am osgoi rhwymau cymdeithas gonfensiynol, ehangu gorwelion y meddwl, a nofio'n ddilyffethair ym môr creadigaeth frawychus. Fe wrthsafai fe'r awdurdodau gorthrymus 'fyd, ôdd yn geisio fe i'w gosbi a'i wyrdroi, ond nage fawr o arwr ôdd e. Ar ôl carwriaeth fer, stormus rhwng y ddau, ddylem ni weud, fe âth 'yn Mam yn feichiog. Wedyn, er i 'nheulu 'neud 'u gorau glas i guddio a chadw'n saff, ôdd 'Nhad ddim yn gallu reoli’i hunan. Yn ogystal â’r Hen Ysgolfeistr ac Wncwl – y Drindod Ansanctaidd ‘na – ôdd e’n trio galw ar bum grym natur, sef awyr, tân a metel, dŵr a phridd, i’w huno nhw mewn un ffurf, cythraul o’r Lleuad o’r enw Pafunethu gyda chyrff menyw a phen gafr, ac ar ei dalcen seren. Strange to say, she’d come from the Continent too. She was so committed to her work that she’d never loved anyone, but, whilst teaching my Dad how to defend himself against the dark arts, her strong heart melted. Well, my Dad succeeded to some extent to spread a message about avoiding the constraints of conventional society, expanding the mind’s horizons, and swimming unrestrainedly in the sea of terrifying creativity. He thwarted the oppressive authorities too, which were seeking him out to punish him and suborn him, but he wasn’t much of a hero. After a short, tempestuous courtship, should we say, my Mum became pregnant, Then, although my family did their best to hide and keep safe, in the end my Dad couldn’t control himself. Together with the Old School-master and Uncle – that Unholy Trinity – he was trying to call on the five forces of nature, namely air, fire and metal, water and soil, to unite them in one form, a demon from the Moon called Pafunethu with the body of a woman and the head of a goat, and a star on his forehead.
Fe fydde’r endid ‘ma wedi cynnwys cyfanswm y Bydysawd, a chyfuno pob gwrthwyneb, ac fe alle fod wedi’u helpu nhw i greu Trefn Fydol Berffaith, ond ôdd yn rhy glyfar a chry’ iddyn nhw, mwy na thebyg. Hyd y gwn i, fe ryddhawyd y Golau Serol, a ‘nâth 'Nhad ddiflannu oddi ar wyneb y Ddaear, yn arwr o'r diwedd, wrth achub bywyd yr un dyn ôdd e ‘di ymddiried ynddo’n llwyr, a bywyd ei gyfaill cu, fyd. A hynny oll ddigwyddodd cyn i fi ddod ar y llwyfan – Etholedig yr Hen Feistri, ha, ha, ha! Ond w i’n siŵr fe alla i glywed llais llanc yn gweud wrtha i – “adnebydd dy hunan” – o bryd i’w gilydd yn ystod y nosweithiau hir ac unig, os w i’n gadael i’n meddwl grwydro.That entity would have contained the sum-total of the Universe, combining all opposites, and it could’ve helped them to create a Perfect World Order, but it was too clever and strong for them, more than likely. As far as I know, the Astral Light was unleashed, and my Dad disappeared off the face of the Earth, a hero at last, whilst saving the life of the one man he’d completely trusted, and the life of his bosom buddy, too. And that all happened before I came on the scene -- the Old Masters’ Chosen One, ha, ha, ha! But I’m sure I can hear a lad’s voice telling me – “know thyself” – from time to time during the long lonely nights, if I let my mind wander.
DYDD GWENER: Falle taw ychydig yn ormod sy ‘di bod yn pwyso ar ‘yn meddwl i’n ddiweddar. Smo fi’n gallu cysgu dros ‘nghrogi. Ma’ Wncwl wedi dweud bydd rhw fath ar seremoni dderbyn yn digwydd nos Wener, wthnos i heddi’, yn y tyddyn glas newydd sbon ar lan Dyfroedd y Gynnen, dan y pinwydd. Fydd e’m yn gweud llawer amdani o gwbl, ond bydd yr holl Bobol Sed yno, ac fe fydda i angen gwisgo’r holl ddilladau ffurfiol, ‘llyrhaid bod hi’n achlysur arbennig iawn. Fe fyddan nhw, y Madfallod Gwenwynig, yn gadael i ni gael parti wedyn yn y tŵr dur, troellog ar bwys ffreutur y Canolfan Hyfforddi ble ma’r gweddill o’r Criw Misffit yn byw.FRIDAY: Perhaps there’s been a bit too much on my mind lately. I can’t sleep for the life of me! Uncle’s said that there’ll be some kind of initiation ceremony taking place Friday night, a week today, in the brand-new blue dwelling on the bank of the Waters of Strife, under the pines. He won’t say much about it at all, but all the Z-People will be there, and I’ll need to wear all the formal gear, so it must be a dead special occasion. They, the Poisonous Lizards, will let us have a party then in the spiral steel tower besides the Training Centre refectory where the rest of the Misfit Crew live.
W i ‘di bod yn trio datrys pos bach ma’r Doethur Da wedi’i osod i fi wthnos ne’ ddwy’n ôl. “Adlais o’r Dyfodol” ôdd ‘i enw arno. Ôdd ‘da fe rw chwilen yn ‘i ben ynglŷn â'r peth. Fe wedodd e taw pan fydden i wedi dod o hyd i’r ateb, fe fydden i’n barod i symud ‘mlaen i’r lefel nesa’ (ma’n swnio fel gêm gonsol, on’d yw e?), ond smo fi ‘di llwyddo o gwbl, ma’n eithriadol anodd. W i’n siŵr taw rwbeth a wnelo â ‘Nhad colledig, druan, yr Arwr Anffodus, yw e. Ma’na lawer o sgwiglau, fel hieroglyffau, ne’ rwnau, ne’ rwbeth, ac w i ‘di bod yn trio gwîtho mas be’ yw’r ystyr. Ma’r rhan fwya' ohonyn nhw’n goch, ac ma’n nhw ar hen femrwn o rw fath. Ma’n ‘yn atgoffa i am groen – ach a fi! Dyma lun.I’ve been trying to solve a little puzzle the Good Doctor’s set for me a week or so ago. A “Future Echo” he called it. He had a real bee in his bonnet about it. He said that when I’d found the answer, I’d be ready to move on to the next level (it sounds like a console game doesn’t it?), but I’ve not succeeded at all, it’s exceptionally hard. I’m sure it’s got something to do with my poor, lost Dad, the Unfortunate Hero. There’s lots of squiggles, like hieroglyphs, or runes, or something, and I’ve been trying to work out what the meaning is. Most of them are red, and they’re on an old parchment of some kind. It reminds me of skin – yuck! Here’s a picture.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 35 Iaith
Wrth gwrs, nage arwyddluniau go iawn o’r Anialdir Coch ydyn nhw, w i’n deall ‘ny, na gwir lythrennau rwnig ‘chwaith. Wedi’r cwbl, fi ôdd wedi meistroli ‘r hen swyn ‘na’n perthyn i Khepri sy’n swnio fel y chwilod yn gweud y sŵn “chep – chep – chep,” drosodd a throsodd, hyd yn oed yn grwt! Ac w i’n gwbod llawer am seiðr y Ficingiaid, er taw menywod ôdd yn arfer canu’r swynion gan amla’. W i wedi ‘nrysu’n llwyr a bod yn onest. ‘Lly gadewch i fi feddwl dros y peth dros nos, falle bydda i’n câl ‘yn ysbrydoli gan y dyfyn-ysbrydion. Ta ta tan toc, te!Of course, they’re not real hieroglyphs from the Red Desert, I understand that, nor true runic letters either. After all, it was me who mastered that old charm belonging to Khepri which sounds like the beetles making the sound “chep – chep – chep” over and over, even when I was a kid. And I know lots about the Vikings’ seiðr, although it’s women who used to sing the spells most often. I'm completely confused to be honest. So, let me sleep on it, maybe I’ll get some inspiration from the familiar spirits. Ta-ta till later, then!
DYDD SADWRN (rhy gynnar o lawer): Ma’ hi’n tresio bwrw, fel arfer. Ôn i ishe gweud rwbeth arall, ond w i’n trio osgoi gormod o iaith fras – wedi’r cwbl, ma’ iaith mor rymus, on’d ydy? Dim ond sothach sy ar y teledu ar hyn o bryd. Chwaraeon, coginio, ailadeiladu tai. Wel fi sy ar fai, ‘nes i ddihuno cyn 11 o’r gloch. Ma’n lwcus mod i’m yn gwylio llawer o deledu, w i’n rhy brysur, wel, yn ‘niddanu ‘yn hunan y naill ffordd neu'r llall. Fydd gwaith y siaman dan hyfforddiant byth yn gorffen! Ma’ popeth mor ddiflas ar y teledu fel arfer ‘fyd a bod yn onest. O leia’ ma’ rhai pethau ychydig yn fwy diddorol i’w gweld yn y gyfres arswyd “Oddi mewn i’r Cysgodion” ar yr ADAG. Ma’r Man·toru ‘na’n ‘achan cŵl ‘sdim dwywaith amdani. Ficing yw e, siŵr o fod, o’r Meysydd Iâ Undonog. Ma’ fe ‘di câl cymaint o broblemau, y pŵer dab, achos fod e’n ddarpar uwch-arwyr sy’m yn gallu meistroli’i bwerau enfawr – yr un peth yn union â fi, wel, mwy ne’ lai. Dwlu ar ‘i holl gastiau dw i, yr hen frithgi drewllyd ‘na!SATURDAY (much too early): It’s pouring down, as usual. I wanted to say something else, but I’m trying to avoid too much bad language – after all, language is so powerful, isn’t it? There’s only rubbish on the telly at the moment. Sports, cooking, doing up houses. Well, it’s my fault, I woke up before 11 o’clock. It’s lucky that I don’t watch lots of TV, I’m too busy, well, entertaining myself in one way or another. The trainee shaman’s work will never cease! Everything’s so boring on the telly usually, to be honest. At least there’s some stuff a bit more interesting to be seen in the horror series, “Out of the Shadows” on the NIBA. That Man·toru’s a cool lad no two ways about it. He’s a Viking, probably, from the Monotonous Ice-fields. He’s had so many problems, the poor dab, as he’s a prospective super-hero who can’t master his enormous powers – exactly the same as me, well, more or less. I love all his tricks, that old smelly mongrel!
Www, a be’ am y gweledigaethau, a siantio, a thelepathi, a throi’n anifeiliaid, ac allanoli serol, a thelekinesis, a chanfyddiad allsynhwyraidd? Ond fi sy’n gallu rheoli ‘mhwerau, bron yn berffaith, erbyn ‘yn. Dyna be’ ma’ Wncwl Staffy yn weud ta be’, ac ma’ fe ‘di’n helpu fi gymaint, ers pan âth Mum bant ar wyliau am sbel hir yn y gwesty drud ‘na ar lan y môr. Fe fydden i ‘di ishe iddi aros, ond ymyrryd â ‘natblygiad i a ‘nâi hi, ym marn y Dyn Hysbys a’r Wraig Fawr sy’n rhedeg y lle ‘ma (y Doethur Da, a Blodeuwedd), ‘lly ôdd yn rhaid iddi fynd. Ma’ mor drist, mewn ffordd, ôdd hi ‘di bod yn gwîtho’n rhy galed o lawer, ac ôdd hi’m yn gallu ymdopi gyda fi a’n holl ystrywiau bach, a hithau ar ‘i phen ‘i hunan achos ‘'dôs dim Dad ‘da fi, ond dewch ‘mlaen, nage fi sy ar fai am ‘ny. Ma’n wir, ta be’, taw ffordd unigryw o ‘neud pethau sy ‘da fi. Ond smo fi’n defnyddio’n sgiliau ychwanegol i gâl be’ bynnag dw i ishe mwya’, wel ddim drwy’r amser. A nawr smo fi’n rhoi pethau ar dân ar ddamwain, ‘chwaith, achos dyna ôdd problem go iawn i ddechrau.Oooh, and what about the visions, and chanting, and telepathy, and turning into animals, and astral projection, and telekinesis, and extra-sensory perception? But I can control my powers, almost perfectly, by now. That’s what Uncle Staffy says anyway, and he’s helped me so much, since when Mum went off on holiday for a long spell in that expensive hotel at the seaside. I’d have wanted her to stay, but she would be interfering with my development, in the opinion of the Wise Man and the Great Woman (the Good Doctor and Blodeuwedd) who run this place, so she had to go. It’s so sad, in a way, she’d been working much too hard, and she couldn’t cope with me and all my little ways, and her on her own as I don’t have a Dad, but come on, it’s not me who’s to blame for that. It’s true, anyway, that I do have a unique way of doing things. But I don’t use my extra skills to get whatever I want any more, well, not all the time. And now I don’t set fire to things by accident, either, because that was a real problem to start with.
Ww, w i’n dwlu ar ‘neud y Blog ‘ma. Chi’n gallu gweud unrhw be’ chi’n lico ar wefan a bydd y rhai sy ishe’n dewis ddarllen e, ond fydd neb arall yn malu’r un ffeuen amdano! A hei, ddim cywirdeb gwleidyddol yma, yr hen hurtyn chi! Pan ma’ cryts eraill yn galw enwau arnat ti, dyna’n rong, on’d yw e? W i’n gallu defnyddio geiriau fel “misffit” achos fi yw un ohonyn nhw. Llanciau a Llancesau “Z” ydyn ni achos taw genyn ychwanegol sy ‘da ni ne’ rwbeth fel ‘ny, yn ogystal â’r rhai “X” a “Y” arferol. Ma’n nhw’n tarddu o Galon y Cyfandir, w i’n credu, o gwmpas Afon Sed, a’n gadael i ni ‘neud pethau rhyfedd. Dyna pam fyddwn ni angen ‘neud yr holl hyfforddiant yma (smo fi’n gallu gweud ble, wrth gwrs). A fi yw’r gorau ohonyn nhw. “Y blaenaf ymhlith cydraddolion,” dyna be’ ma’r Doethur Da yn weud, ond ma’ Wncwl yn gweud “Pennaeth Undeb yr Archarwyr.” Gyda llaw, w i’n mynd i fod yn hollol onest yma ar ‘Mlog (sylwch ar y treiglad!), ond, smo fi’n medru defnyddio ‘yn enw iawn, reit? O, ma’n flin iawn ‘da fi, rhaid i fi’i baglu hi am fod yr hen hen Flodeuwedd ‘na (Mrs G, unwaith ‘to, smo fi’n gallu defnyddio’i henw iawn) angen i fi helpu hi i ‘neud y siopa, ne’ rw neges hollbwysig arall, falle!Ooh, I love doing this Blog. You can say anything like on a website and those who want to will choose to read it, but no-one else will give a hoot about it. And hey, no political correctness here, you old fools! When other kids call you names, that’s wrong, isn’t it? But I can use words like “misfit” because I’m one of them. We’re Z-Lads and Z-Lasses, ‘cos we’ve got an extra gene or something like that, as well as the usual “X” and “Y” ones. They come derive from the Heart of the Continent, I believe, around the River Sed, and allow us to do strange things. That’s why we need to do all the training here (I can’t say where, of course). And I’m the best of them. “The first amongst equals,” that’s what the Good Doctor says, but Uncle says “Chief of the Superheroes’ Union.” By the way, I’m going to be totally honest here on my Blog (look at the mutation!), but I can’t use my real name, right? Oh, I’m dead sorry, I’ve got to scarper as that really old Blodeuwedd (Mrs G, once again, I can’t use her real name) needs me to help her to do the shopping, or some other all-important errand, maybe!
DYDD SUL (diwrnod gorffwys – hwrê!): Www, Tommo sy ar y teledu nawr yn ôl y sôn, yn chwarae pêl rwyd yn y Wlad-wen ‘da’r amddifaid yno, ac wedyn casglu llau tân, pigog yn y Diriogaeth Werdd Newydd, ac anturio drwy Jyngloedd Anweledig y Gorllewin ‘da milwyr wedi’u brifo mewn brwydr, ‘fyd. Arwr llwyr yw e, on’ ti’n meddwl? Grŵp-gapten Tomos Tesbyro-Llwynlesg w i’n olygu. Dyn go iawn yw e, a be bynnag sy’n bod, fe yw'r dyn ar gyfer y swydd. Cymro ‘fyd. Posh iawn. Gwallt golau. Cyhyrau enfawr ar y cyhyrau. Prifdechneg yn Nhref Emrallt. Tystysgrif mewn Rhyfela Ymarferol gydag anrhydedd. Uwchben ‘i ddigon pan fydd yn brwydro a lladd. Wedi lladd cannoedd o elynion ‘da dim ond picfforch ddur. Ma’n lwcus fod e’m i’w weld yn debyg i’w dad o gwbl, yr hen ynfytyn penfoel, tew ‘na. Wel, eto i gyd, miliwnydd sawl gwaith drosodd yw’r teicŵn, yr Anrhydeddus Piers, ac ma’n sefydlu archfarchnadoedd ffiaidd ym mhob man nawr, o’r enw Uwch-siopau, i ddwyn cwsmeriaid y masnachwyr lleol oll, a gyrru hwch trwy’u siop nhw. Fe fydde ‘Nhad i’n enwedig yr un oedran â Tommo nawr. Wel, ‘tase fe’n fyw. Ond wrth gwrs, smo fe’n.SUNDAY (day of rest – hurrah!): Oooh, Tommo’s on the telly now, apparently, playing netball in the White-land with the orphans there, and then collecting prickly fire-lice in the New Green Territory, and adventuring through the Unseen Jungles of the West with war-wounded soldiers, too. He’s a complete hero isn’t he, don’t you think? Group-Captain Tomos Tesbyro-Llwynlesg I mean. He’s a real man, and whatever’s up, he’s the man for the job. Welshman too. Dead posh. Blond hair. Enormous muscles on the muscles. Unitechnic in Emerald Town. Certificate in Practical Warfare with honours. Like a pig in clover when he’s fighting and killing. Killed hundreds of enemies with just a steel pitchfork. It’s lucky he doesn’t look like his father at all, that fat old fool. Well, then again, the tycoon, the Honourable Piers, is a millionaire several times over, and he’s setting up hateful supermarkets everywhere now, called Super-shops to steal the customers from all the local merchants, and drive them out of business. My Dad would be exactly the same age as Tommo now. Well, it he was alive. But of course, he’s not.
Smo fi’n gallu peidio meddwl am y seremoni a’r parti. Fe fydd y r holl griw’n mynd i gadw ar ddihun tan oriau mân y bore’n gwylio ffilmiau ac yfed peintiau o frag a chaniau o lagyr lemonwellt – dan lygaid barcut y Doctor Da, wrth gwrs! Wel, fe fydd e’n defnyddio’r sgrin sgrio i edrych arnon ni o bell, os bydd e’n clywed unrhyw beth anffawd yn digwydd. Smo fi ‘di câl mynd i lot o bartïon hyd yn ‘yn, rhag ofn i fi achosi – wel, pan fydde pethau’n mynd o chwith, fydden i’m ‘di gwbod be’ i ‘neud o’r blaen, ond nawr ma’ pethau’n lot gwell, sbo – a dyma’r tro cynta’ fe fydda i’n ymuno â nhw. W i’n credu byddan nhw’n chwarae gyda’r Bwrdd Ysbryd ‘fyd, ‘lly fe fydda i’n gallu’u rhoi nhw ar ben ffordd ynglŷn â galw a rhwymo grymoedd arallfydol. Www, w i’n teimlo mor gyffrous drwy’r amser nawr!I can’t help thinking about the ceremony and the party. The whole crew’s going to stay awake until the wee small hours, watching films and drinking pints of malt liquor and cans of lemon-grass lager – under the eagle eye of the Good Doctor of course! Well, he’ll be using the scrying screen to look at us from afar, if he hears anything unfortunate happening. I’ve not been allowed to go to lots of parties up till now, in case I cause – well, when things would go wrong, I wouldn’t have known what to do before, but now things are a lot better, I suppose – and this is the first time I’ll be joining them I think they’ll be playing with the Spirit Board too, so I’ll be able to show them a thing or two about calling and binding otherworldly powers. Oooh, I’m feeling so excited all the time, now!
O gyda llaw, pan ôdd y Tommo ‘na’n brwydro fel un o Ryfelwyr y Gwrthsafiad (dan y fflag goch), yn erbyn y Grymoedd Gormesol (yn chwifio’r faner las) yn rhwle yn yr anialwch, ‘nes i glywed e’n sgwrsio am yr agwedd o “ddwyn bywyd i achub bywyd.” Fe ddywedodd e bydde’n gwneud hyn er ‘i fawr lawenydd, am ‘i fod e’n hoff iawn o chwarae gemau consol, ac yn gwbod sut i ddefnyddio ‘i fodiau’n dda iawn. Pan fydde rhwun o’r tîm arall yn ceisio gwneud drwg i un o’r bois da, galle Tommo ddileu fe o’r êm (dyna dreiglad i chi, w!). Am wrol ryfelwr! W i’n dwlu ar emau fideo ‘fyd. Ma’ Wncwl yn gweud bod ‘u chwarae nhw’n ffordd dda o ddefnyddio rhith-wirionedd i hogi’n sgiliau meddyliaethol. Gobeithio fe alla i achub bywydau rw ddydd, gan ysgubo rhwrai oddi ar ‘u traed nhw. Fydda i'm yn lladd neb, cofiwch! Nawr well i chi adael llonydd i fi, w i ishe ymarfer ‘nhechnegau cyfrifiadurol!Oh by the way, when that Tommo was fighting as one of the Resistance Warriors (under the red flag), against the Oppressive Forces (waving the blue banner) somewhere in the desert, I heard him chatting about the attitude of “taking life to save life.” He said he’d delight in doing this as he was very fond of playing console games, and knew how to use his thumbs very well! When someone from the other team would try and harm one of the good guys, Tommo could delete him from the game (there’s a mutation for you, mun!). What a brave warrior! I love video games too. Uncle says that playing them’s a good way of using virtual reality to hone my mentalist skills. I hope I can save lives someday, sweeping some people off their feet. I won’t be killing anyone, mind! Now you’d better leave me in peace, I want to practice my computational techniques!
DYDD LLUN (dydd gwaetha’r wythnos): ‘Sdim byd i adrodd heddi’, ‘y nghymrodyr yn y frwydr i oroesi. Cadw ‘nhrwyn ar y maen yn y ffatri addysg dywyll a dieflig ôn i drwy’r dydd, gan bydru ymlaen â'r Gwaith Mawr a chadw ‘mhen i i lawr. W i’n siŵr bod Barry (ddim ‘i enw go iawn, pwy sy’n câl ‘i alw Barry ddyddiau ‘ma ta be?) yn dal i drio dangos i fi taw rhw bwerau ychwanegol sy ’da fe yn y wers “Trawsffurfio’r Ddaear” y bore ‘ma. Pan ôdd y Meistr Llygadrwth ddim yn edrych (ddim ‘i enw go iawn, bla, bla, smo fe’n talu sylw i be’ sy’n mynd ‘mlaen ran fwya’r amser ‘chwaith), ôedd e (Barry) yn parhau i adael ‘i daclau fe ollwng i’r llawr dan y tabl ar ochr arall y ‘stafell ddosbarth, ac wedyn ôdd e’n plygu drosodd gan dynnu gwep a chrynu, a myngial. Chwarae teg iddo, ‘nâth e lwyddo i ‘neud i’r pethau saethu ata i heb gyffwrdd â nhw, ond er ‘i fod e’n ‘u hanelu nhw at ‘mhen i, nâth e methu'r nod bob tro, a ‘nâth pob un ohonyn nhw yn hedfan trwy’r ffenest tu ôl i fi. Hmm, wel, o’i gymharu gyda fi, ma’r boi ‘na’n amatur llwyr.MONDAY (worst day of the week): Nothin’ to report today, my comrades in the fight to survive. I was keeping my nose to the grindstone in the dark and devilish education factory all day, pushing on with the Great Work, and keeping my head down. I’m sure that Barry (not his real name, who’s called Barry these days anyway?) was still trying to show me that he’s got some extra powers in the “Earth-Transformation” class this morning. When the Bug-eyed Master wasn’t looking (not his real name, blah, blah, he doesn’t pay attention to what’s going on most of the time either). He (Barry) kept on letting his kit drop on the floor under the table on the other side of the class-room, and then he was bending over, pulling faces and quivering, and muttering. Fair play to ‘im, he managed to make the things shoot towards me without touching them, but although he was aiming them at me ‘ead, he missed the mark every time, and every one of them sailed through the window behind me. Hmm, well, compared to me, that boy’s a rank amateur.
‘Sdim rhaid i fi symud o gwbl i ‘neud i bethau ddigwydd. A bod yn onest y broblem fwya’ i fi yw taw pethau fydd yn digwydd dwi’n ’u hishe, heb i fi hyd yn oed feddwl amdanyn nhw, mewn ffordd. Www, dyna ôdd yn achosi penbleth ofnadw’ cyn i fi ddysgu sut i – wel, sut i fynd gyda’r “llif.” Y peth gwaetha’ allwch chi ‘neud yw trio gorfodi ‘r pŵer pan fydd yn mynnu ffrydio fel tân gwyllt trwoch chi. Ar y llaw arall, os dych chi’m deall be’ sy’n ‘mynd ‘mlaen, dyna all arwain at ganlyniadau gresynus ‘fyd, i chi’ch hunan, ac i bobol ddiniwed eraill yn ych cyfyl chi. Ond dyna hen ddigon ar y malu awyr am un diwrnod. Bant â fi i’r stafell wely. Gwaith cartre’. Rhaid i fi ‘sgrifennu adroddiad am “Bwystfilod Cêl y Saith Mor.” Dyna lawenydd i chi! Ta ta tan toc!There’s no need for me to move at all to make things happen. To be honest the biggest problem for me is that things happen that I want, without me even thinking about them, in a way. Oooh, that caused a huge headache before I learned how to – well, how to go with the “flow.” The worst thing you can do is try to force the power when it’s insisting on streaming like wild-fire through you. On the other hand, if you don’t understand what’s going on, that can lead to terrible consequences too, for yourself, and for other innocent bystanders in your vicinity. But that’s more than enough of the lip-flapping for one day. I’m off to the bedroom, then. Homework. I’ve got to write a report on “Secret Beasts of the Seven Seas.” What joy! Bye-bye for now!
DYDD MAWRTH (fe fydd gwaeth i ddod): Ma’r arteithwyr yn y carthbwll ‘na’n gorfodi i ni ‘neud ymarfer corff bob bore Mawrth, ch’mod. Ofnadw’ ydy, pob eiliad. W i’n siŵr bod nhw’n sadwyr, yr athrawon YC i gyd ledled y Byd crwn, ac yn enwedig yr un yn y Gwallgofdy Gresynus ‘ma sy’n llechu yn y gampfa dan wenu'n goeglyd ar yn poen bob amser. Pam fydde fe’n gorfodi ni i wisgo tracwisgoedd gwyrdd leim llachar fel arall? Ac wedyn dyna’r holl ddringo, a neidio, a rhedeg, a llofneidio, a thaflu a dal. Heb sôn am orfod chwarae’r gemau ‘na i gyd hyd yn oed pan fydd hi’n ddigon oer i sythu brain. ‘Neno’r Mawredd! Smo fi’n Hufanoru yn Llwybrau Drygioni, ydw i? Wedi gweud ‘ny, ma’r actor ‘na (o Wlad y Mil Ynysoedd ac Un, greda i) yn y ffilm “Galanas ar y Blaned Yrth” yn was handi o’i oed (tri deg o leia', siŵr o fod), ac ma’ pac chwech gwych ‘da fe ‘fyd.TUESDAY (there’ll be worse to come): The torturers in that sewer force us to do Phys. Ed. every Tuesday Morning, you know. It’s awful, every second. I’m sure that their sadists, all the PE teachers throughout the whole World, and especially the one in this Lamentable Looney-bin who lurks in the gym smirking at our pain all the time. Why would he force us to wear a shiny lime-green tracksuit otherwise? And then there’s all the climbing, and jumping, and running, and vaulting, and throwing and catching. Not to mention having to play all those games even when it’s cold enough to freeze the crows. Good Heavens! I’m not Hufanoru in the Paths of Wickedness, am I? Having said that, that actor (from the Land of the Thousand and One Islands, I believe) in the film “Slaughter on the Harsh Planet” is a tidy boy for his age (thirty at least, probably), and he’s got a great six-pack too.
Ôn i’n darllen cyfweliad gyda’r Tommo ‘na, ac ôdd e’n gweud taw “dyn cysefin” ydy, sy’n “anifeilaidd” yn ôl pob tebyg. Mor glyfar ag angel ydy e’n wir, ond tipyn o rog, ‘fyd, chi’n gallu gweld, ma’i lygaid e’n disgleirio fel ‘na. Fe fetien i fod e’n boblogaidd iawn gyda’r marched! Yr hen filwr lwcus! W i’n casáu ‘nghorff i, ‘sdim digon o gyhyrau ‘da fi. Ww, w i’n teimlo mor genfigennus o bryd i’w gilydd, fel gŵr ifanc dicllon sy ishe llosgi’r Byd i gyd yn ulw. Ond weithiau arall, fe fydda i fel y gog. Ma’n rhaid taw’n hormonau sy’n chwarae lan. Ma’na rai sbesial ‘da fi, o achos y cromosom ychwanegol ne’ be’ bynnag, ac ma’n oedran anodd ‘fyd. Dyna be’ ma’r Doethur Da’n weud pan ma’n trafod canlyniadau’r profion gwaed a rhoi’r moddion sbesial i fi bob wythnos.I was reading an interview with that Tommo, and he was saying that he’s a “primal man” who’s “animalistic” apparently. He’s really as clever as an angel, but a bit of a rogue, too, you can see it, his eyes sparkle like that. I’d bet that he’s real popular with the ladies! The lucky old solider! I hate my body, I don’t have enough muscles. Oooh, I feel so jealous from time to time, like an angry young man who wants to burn the World to a cinder. But other times, I’m happy as Larry. Must be my hormones that are playing up. I’ve got special ones, because of the extra chromosome or whatever, and it’s a difficult age too. That’s what the Good Doctor says when he’s discussing the results of the blood tests and giving me the special medicine every week.
Ma’n gwîtho, o leia', yr hen stwff cyfoglyd ‘na, wedi’i ‘neud o gingroen, w i’n credu (dyna lysieuyn drewllyd yn debyg i gaws llyffant sy’n tyfu mewn fforestydd ac yn enwedig ble ma’na lystyfiant yn pydru). Www, ma’na flas hollol ofnadw’ arno, ch’mod! Ta be’ – yr holl redeg lan a lawr, nôl a ‘mlaen, a dringo lan rhaffau, a neidio dros bethau, dyna’r peth gwaetha’n y Ddaear gron! Ac eto ma’r ‘stafell newid yn drewi o draed chwyslyd. Ach a fi! Ac yno, bydd y bois sborti i gyd yn chwarae bili-ffŵl a rhedeg o gwmpas, a rhegi fel tincer bob yn ail air. Ond w i’n llawer smartach na nhw, fe fydden i’n gallu ‘u prynu nhw a’u gwerthu nhw o dan ‘u drwyn ‘u hunain. Ta be’, dw i’m angen chwysu’n stêcs fel ‘na, w i’n gallu symud o’r naill le i’r llall heb symud cyhyr, ch’mod? Dim ond rhaid i fi ffocysu’n meddwl – canolbwyntio – delweddu ma’n nhw’n weud – ac wedyn rhoi rhw fath ar hwb i’n hunan, a dyna fi bant! Wel, fe wn i dych chi’m yn deall, ond dyna’r gwir! Ma’r un peth gyda ‘neud y triciau eraill ‘fyd. Ma’r geiriau cyfrinachol yn yr hen ieithoedd, a’r ‘stumiau fel mewn rhw grefft ymladd, i fod i’ch helpu chi i gael yr union ganlyniad chi ishe, dyna i gyd.It works, at least; that old sickly stuff, made from stink-horn, I think (that’s a smelly vegetable like toadstool that grows in forests and especially where there’s decaying undergrowth). Oooh, it’s tastes totally awful, y’know! Anyway – all the running up and down, back and forth, and climbing up ropes, and jumping over things, that’s the worst thing in the whole World! And then again, the changing room stinks of sweaty feet. Yuck! And there, all the sporty boys play the fool and run about, and swear like tinkers every other word. But I’m lots smarter than them, I could buy them and sell them under their own noses. Anyway, I don’t need to sweat buckets like that, I can move from one place to another without moving a muscle, y’know? I just need to focus my mind – concentrate – visualize, they say – and then kind of push myself, and there I am, off! Well, I know that you don’t understand, but that’s the truth! It’s the same thing with doing the other tricks, too. The secret words in the old languages, and the movements like in some martial art, are supposed to help you get exactly the result you want, that’s all.
DYDD MERCHER (4 o’r gloch y bore): Www, ma’n meddwl i’n rhedeg yn wyllt ar ôl y dosbarth ddoe ar “Rheoli’r Byd.” Ma’na bethau ar grwydr yn y Byd heddi’, ac ma’ popeth wedi newid gymaint dros y blynyddoedd diweddar – yn ystod ‘yn einioes mewn gwirionedd. A sôn am wres gwynias technoleg! Rhwng yr holl beirianneg genetig, a’r nanobotau, a’r sawl deallusrwydd amgen, a’r peiriannau rhannu ymwybyddiaeth, ma’n anodd gwbod be’ sy’n digwydd o ddydd i ddydd. Ac ma’n nhw’n trawsblannu ymenyddiau, a thyfu organau a chyrff, a throi’r anialwch yn wyrdd, a chreu rhwogaethau hybrid, newydd. Yr Ail Chwildro Gwyddonol, ma’n nhw’n weud, a ‘dôs neb yn deall o ble ma’r gallu i sylweddoli’r holl syniadau daeargrynol ‘ma wedi dod mor sydyn. Ma’ popeth yn edrych yn wych o un safbwynt, ond yn anffodus, ma’na lawer o ganlyniadau annisgwyl – “Cyfnewid mae'r hen drefn, a'r newydd ddaw, Dwg gwŷr eu gwaith i ben mewn llawer ffordd.” Wel, smo’r bobol gyffredin yn gwbod be’ sy’n mynd ‘mlân, ond dyn ni’r Bobol Sed yn gwbod taw’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd sy’n torsythu o gwmpas y Byd gan geisio distrywio pawb a phopeth.WEDNESDAY (4:00 am): Oooh, my mind’s reeling after the class yesterday on “Ruling the World.” There’s things afoot in the World today, and everything’s changed so much over the recent years – during my lifetime to be truthful. Talk about the white heat of technology! What with all the genetic engineering, and the nanobots, and the various artificial intelligences, and the consciousness-sharing machines, it’s hard to know what’s happening from day to day. And they’re transplanting brains, and growing organs and bodies, and turning the deserts green, and creating new, hybrid species. The Second Scientific Revolution, they say, and no-one understands where the ability to realize all these earth-shattering ideas has come from so suddenly. Everything looks great from one point of view, but unfortunately, there are lots of unexpected consequences – “The old order changes, making way for the new, Mankind fulfils itself in sundry ways.” Well, the common folk don’t know what’s going on, but we, the Z-People, know that it’s the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers who are stalking the World, trying to destroy everyone and everything.
(Hanner awr yn hwyrach): Wel, yn ôl i ‘mhroblem ieithyddol. Darn o saith llinell yw’r peth. Ma’ cyfanswm o 49 o eiriau, ac ma’na 36 o eiriau gwahanol, ac ma’r rhan fwya' o’r “geiriau” yn fyr. Ar gyfartaledd, ma’ saith gair ym mhob llinell. Eto i gyd, mae’ cyfanswm o 86 o symbolau gwahanol. Ma’r Ffred ‘na ‘di bod yn rhoi help llaw i fi, ac ma’n ymddangos fod e’n gwbod ‘i bethau. Ma’ wedi ‘neud llawer o gyfieithu o’r blaen. Ma’r gair mwya’ cyffredin (“tha”) yn ymddangos chwe gwaith, ma’r un mwya’ cyffredin ond un (“la”) yno bum gwaith, ma’r trydydd mwyaf cyffredin (“thi”) i’w weld bedair gwaith, ac ma’r geiriau mwya’ cyffredin ond tri (“ha” a “ra”) yno ddwywaith. Ma Ffred yn gweud bod y geiriau ‘ma’n golygu “bod,” “llawer,” “ddim,” “gwneud,” a “cael” – "rhywsut ne’i gilydd” – ond smo pethau mor syml â ‘ny oll, nage o bell ffordd, gadewch i fi ddweud wrthoch chi! Smo fi’n siŵr am y gramadeg o gwbl. A’r broblem fwya’ yw fod y "geiriau" eraill i gyd yn wahanol i’w gilydd.(Half an hour later): Well, back to my linguistic problem. The thing’s a piece of seven lines. There’s a total of 49 “words,” and there’s 36 different words, and the majority of the “words” are short. On average, there’s seven “words” in each of the lines. Then again, there’s a total of 86 different symbols. That Ffred’s been giving me a helping hand, and it seems he knows his stuff. He’s done lots of translating before. The most common word (“tha”) appears six times, the next most common (“la”) is there five times, the third most common (“thi”) can be seen four times, and the fourth most common words (“ha” and “ra”) are there twice. Ffred says that these words mean “be,” “lots,” “not,” “do,” and “have” – “somehow or other” – but things aren’t as simple as all that, not by a long way, let me tell you. I’m not sure about the grammar at all. And the biggest problem is that all the other "words" are different from each other.
(Awr yn hwyrach eto): Wel dyna ôn i’n syrffio’r we, yn oriau mân y bore ‘ma, ac fe ges i hyd i lawer o stwff ar wefan o’r enw “Yr Ysgor Rosliw.” Ma’n nhw’n sôn am bopeth i’w ‘neud â chodau a seiffrau yno, ac ôn nhw’n gallu hala llawer iawn o stwff ata i, yn cynnwys ffeiliau ac ynddyn nhw Lyfr Coch Gwaed a Rhwyd, a Sefer ha-Marot. Fel ma’n digwydd, sillwyddor ydy ym mhroblem y Doethur Da, ble “S = sa, Y = ze, O = ni, Q = na, C = ra,” ac yn y blaen, ac ma’na lawer o symbolau diddorol eraill ‘fyd. Rhwng pawb ohonon ni, dyn ni ‘di medru troi’r symbolau’n llythrennau Cymraeg (ne’ rai Saesneg, ne’ rai Rhufeinig, ne’ be’ bynnag). Diolch yn fawr iawn, meddaf fi, i’r bois ‘na, sydd â gormod o amser hamdden yn bendant. Dyma’n canlyniadau hyd yn hyn, y geiriau. Ond, wn i’m be’ yw’r ystyr eto – ‘sdim clem ‘da fi, a smo’r bobol ddefnyddiol (ond eithriadol o ddiflas) yn gwbod dim byd ‘chwaith amdano. Ond O, 'neno’r Mawredd, rhaid i fi frysio!(An hour later again): Well, there was I, surfing the web, in the early hours of this morning, and I found lots of stuff on a website called “The Rosy Fortress.” They talk about everything to do with codes and ciphers there, and they were able to send loads of stuff to me, including files with the Red Book of Blood and Rust, and the Book of Mirrors in them. As it happens, it’s a syllabary in the Good Doctor’s problem, where “S = sa, Y = ze, O = ni, Q = na, C = ra,” and so on, and there’s loads of other interesting symbols too. Between all of us, we’ve been able to turn the symbols into Welsh letters (or English ones, or Roman ones, or whatever). Thank you very much, say I, to those boys, who’ve got too much leisure time, definitely. Here’s the results up no now, the words. But, I still don’t know what the meaning is – I’ve no clue, and those helpful (but exceptionally boring) people don’t know anything about it either. But Oh, Good Grief, I’ve got to get my skates on!
Tha la safe fahe tha furulu;
Sizeni la ra nara la sifi;
Thuri the thi ropupaha hapi lisapa;
E thi tha a thi sali la lenithe;
Poru punu ele tha ua la thia aha;
Afi ra seho uro uhufi life sesiha;
Filisi tha hui hafa tha leri thehe lo.		Tha la safe fahe tha furulu;
Sizeni la ra nara la sifi;
Thuri the thi ropupaha hapi lisapa;
E thi tha a thi sali la lenithe;
Poru punu ele tha ua la thia aha;
Afi ra seho uro uhufi life sesiha;
Filisi tha hui hafa tha leri thehe lo.
Wrth i noson y seremoni nesáu, w i ‘di bod yn meddwl lot am bethau o bob math. Ac w i ‘di dod i’r casgliad taw wrth i bobol ymrwymo’n llwyr i’r dechnoleg newydd, a’u hasio’u hunain wrth y dyfeisiadau, a thrawsffurfio’u cyrff a’u meddylia gyda’r cyffuriau, dyna nhw’n newid o fod yn fodau dynol, i fod yn – wel, smo fi’n gwbod, ond rwbeth sy’n gymysgedd o’r organig a’r artiffisial, yn rhannol ddynol, a rhannol fecanyddol, ac yn dra arswydus. Cêl-swoleg medd y gwefannau newydd, ond 'dôs neb yn hollol weld be’ sy’n digwydd ledled y Byd. A dyna pam ma’r Cyngor Technocratig Rhyngwladol yn cryfhau gymaint, a dod yn fwyfwy pwysig – a chyfoethocach byth ‘fyd.As the night of the ceremony approaches, I’ve been thinking a lot about all kinds of things. And I’ve concluded that as people commit themselves completely to the new technology, and splice themselves to the devices, and transform their bodies and minds with the drugs, they’re changing from being human beings, to being – well, I dunno, but something that’s a mixture of the organic and the artificial, partly human, and partly mechanical, and very frightening. Crypto-zoology say the news-sites, but no-one fully sees what’s happening throughout the World. And that’s why the International Technocratic Council is becoming so strong, and getting more and more important – and richer than ever, too.
DYDD IAU: Edrychwch nawr, fel ôn i’n weud, ‘sdim syniad ‘da fi be’ yw ystyr y geiriau. Ar yr olwg gynta’, ma’n ymddangos bod hi’n rhestr o anifeiliaid o bob math, ond dyn ni ill dau, Ffred a fi, mewn penbleth a bod yn hollol onest. Fe fydda i’n hala cryn amser ar fynd trwy destunau hynafol fel “Llawysgrif Voynich,” “De Invocationibus Enoch” (“Parthed Arddeisyfiadau Enoch”), ac “Unaussprechliche Kulte” (“Cyltiau Anhraethadwy”). O, beth na rown i am gael gafael ar gopi o “Felltithion Fyrdd y Cenhedloedd Cableddus.” Unwaith, fe ‘nes i sleifio i mewn yn feddyliol i’r Gladdgell Amhosib yn ddwfn ddwfn o dan Athrofa’r Disgyblwyr Llymaf a llwyddo i gael cip ar glawr y llyfr, yn groen dynol i gyd, er allen i’m treiddio i mewn i weld ‘i gynnwys. Ond wrth gwrs, ma’r Tad-Eglwys Goruchaf wedi chwalu’n yfflon bellach, fel petai, dim ond i greu dwsinau o enwadau, a phob un yn brwydro’n fyw ffyrnig nag o’r blaen i ddisgyblu’n meddyliau ystyfnig, rheoli’n cyrff cythryblus, ac achub yn heneidiau duon. ‘Lly ma’r rhyfela’n parhau ym mhedwar ban y Byd fel arfer. ond 'dôs neb yn gallu gwîtho mas pam yn enwedig, ne’ dros be’, a’r ochrau’n dal i newid drwy’r amser. Ma’r hil ddynol (ne’ be’ bynnag ydyn nhw erbyn ‘yn) mor ddifrodol, fe allen nhw ddileu bywyd oll oddi ar wyneb y Blaned. A dyna pam dw i, a’r Bobol Sed eraill, yma!THURSDAY: Look, now, like I was saying, I’ve no idea what the meaning of the words is. At the first glance, it appears that it’s a list of animals of all kinds, but we’re both, Ffred and me, in a quandary to be totally honest. I’ll be spending considerable time going through ancient texts like “The Voynich Manuscript,” “De Invocationibus Enoch” (“Concerning the Enochian Invocations”), and “Unaussprechliche Kulte” (“Unspeakable Cults”). Oh, what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on a copy of “Countless Curses of the Profane Peoples.” Once, I sneaked mentally into the Impossible Crypt very deep beneath the Seminary of the Strictest Disciplinarians and managed to get a glimpse of the book’s cover, covered in human skin, although I couldn’t penetrate inside to see its contents. But of course, the Supreme Father-Church has now splintered into fragments as it were, only to create dozens of denominations, each one fighting more fiercely than before to discipline our stubborn minds, control our troublesome bodies, and save our black souls. So the war-mongering goes on in the four corners of the World as usual, but no-one can work out why exactly, or over what, and the sides keep changing all the time. The human race (or whatever they are by now) is so destructive, they could wipe all life off the face of the Planet. And that’s why I, and the other Z-People, are here!
(Hanner dydd): Wel, dyna ni, w i ‘di câl y maen i'r wal o’r diwedd. W i ‘di bod yn mitsio a bod yn onest, w i ‘di cael llond bol ar yr holl artaith addysgol. Ôdd yn rhaid i fi gael hyd i ryw stwff gyfieithodd ‘Nhad yma yn Aberdydd, ac w i ‘di gwîtho’r cod mas i’r dim, siŵr o fod. Diolch byth am y rhyngrwyd a’r holl fisffitiaid ar y gwefannau od yno – “Plant y Wawr Ddu” y tro ‘ma! Nage dim ond y system ysgrifennu w i’n ddeall nawr, ond yr iaith ‘i hunan ‘fyd, mwy ne’ lai. Ma’n diddorol sbo, ond yn rhyfedd iawn, os w i’n darllen popeth yn reit yn y darn bach sy ‘da fi. Ma’ rhw fath o swyn ne’ weddi. Tybed o ble ddâth e?(Midday): Well, there we are, I’ve succeeded at last. I’ve been mitching to be honest, I’ve had enough of the educational torture. I had to find some stuff my Dad translated here in Aberdydd, and I’ve worked the code out perfectly, probably. Thank goodness for the internet and all the misfits on the odd websites there – “Children of the Black Dawn” this time! I don’t just understand the writing system now, but the language itself, too, more or less. It’s interesting I suppose, but very strange, if I’m reading everything right in the little piece I have. It’s some kind of charm or prayer. I wonder where it came from?
(Amser cinio): Un peth sy’n siŵr a dyna fod yr iaith 'ma'n llithrig iawn a dweud y lleia'! Bob tro w i'n edrych ar y symbolau, meddwl am y testun, ne’ drio ynganu’r seiniau, ma' fel 'sen nhw'n hedfan o 'nghwmpas i fel haid o adar mân yn trydar, wrth newid 'u hystyr fesul eiliad. Ond ma'n rwbeth a 'nelo â hud a lledrith yn bendant – dyna'r "gwaith mawr" heb os. Dyw e ddim byd yn debyg i unrw be' dyn ni 'di dysgu amdano yn yr Ysgol Ysgeler, cofiwch. Ma'r dewin, ne' well fydde gweud y siaman – y "llestr" – yn paratoi am rwbeth, rhw seremoni, gan alw ar y grymoedd priodol i'w helpu fe trwy ddod â'r "nerth dyladwy." Hud caos, siŵr o fod, achos taw dyna fe'n sôn am "afon anhrefn." Diddorol, 'lly, fod e'n canolbwyntio gymaint ar iaith -- be' yw'r cysylltiad rhwng y "llais" a'r "geiriau ar dân" tybed?(Dinner time): One thing’s sure and that’s that this language is slippery to say the least! Every time I look at the symbols, think about the text, or try to pronounce the words, it’s like they’re flying around me like a flock of tiny birds twittering, changing their meaning second by second. But it’s something to do with sorcery definitely – that’s the “great work” without a doubt. It’s nothing like anything I’ve learned about in the Scandalous School, mind you. The magician, or better would be to say the shaman – the “vessel” – is preparing for something, some ceremony, calling on the appropriate powers to help him by bringing the “due power.” Chaos magic, probably, because it’s talking about the “river of disorder.” Interesting, then, that it concentrates so much on language – what’s the connection between the “voice” and the “fiery words,” I wonder?
(Cyn mynd i’r gwely): Ma' fe'n mynnu creu synthesis newydd drwy uno elfennau gwrthwynebol – "golau a gwyll" – "gloes a rhyddhad" – "colli ac ennill" – "bywyd a thranc." Ma'n rhaid iddo fe drin y taclau priodol yn y lle cysegredig, er smo’r darn yn pennu be' ydyn nhw. Eto i gyd, dim ond sianeli'r pŵer 'naiff y siaman. Ac fe fydd e angen bod yn ddewr i gyflawni'r dasg o "lunio byd," be' bynnag ma'ny'n olygu. Smo fi'n gallu peidio meddwl am gwpled ola'r gerdd 'na 'sgrifennodd 'Nhad i cyn iddo huno am byth – "Os un fydd farw, pawb fydd fyw; A achub ef holl ddynol ryw?" am rw reswm. Pwy fydd yn mynd i farw, tybed? Wel o leia’ w i’n dechrau ymddiried yn ‘y ngreddfau’n hunan. Wrth gwrs ma’ arfaeth yr un sy’n bwrw’r hun mor bwysig wrth sianeli pŵer allanol. Rhaid i chi’ch uniaethu’ch hunan gyda’r ffynhonnell, ymrwymo’n llwyr i’r canlyniad, ac ymagor heb ofn i li’r egni. Ta be’, smo fi’n sicr o gwbl, ond, wel, w i ‘di dod i’r casgliad, ne’ ddyfalu, ne’ benderfynu taw dyma ystyr go iawn y swyn —(Before bedtime): He’s trying to create a new synthesis by uniting opposing elements – “light and dark” – “pain and release” – “loss and gain” – “life and death.” He has to wield the appropriate tools in the sacred place, although the piece doesn’t specify what they are. Then again, the shaman’s only channelling the power. And he’ll need to be brave to complete the task of “forming a world,” whatever that means. I can’t stop thinking about the last couplet of that poem my Dad wrote before he went to sleep forever – “If one man dies, then all survive; Through him will human-kind all thrive?” for some reason. Who’s going to die, I’m wondering? Well, at least I’m starting to trust in my own instincts. Of course, the intention of the one casting the spell is so important whilst channelling external power. You have to identify yourself with the source, commit yourself totally to the outcome, and open yourself fearlessly to the flow of energy. Anyway, I’m not certain at all, but well, I’ve concluded, or guessed, or decided, that this is the real meaning of the charm —
O, clywch chwi'r geiriau hyn ar dân, dyma fy llais –
Fel mai 'ngwaith mawr gaiff yr holl nerth dyladwy nawr,
Nes bydd afon anhrefn yn cymysgu a golau a gwyll!
Nac absenoled yr un erfyn hanfodol o'r fangre hon!
Ac fe ddaw bywyd llawn gloes lem yn wir fythol ryddhad,
Pan fydd gan y llestr y plwc i ymgolli wrth lunio byd,
Lle mai'r collwr yw'r enillwr, a dim ond newid arall yw tranc!		O hear these words of fire, this is my voice --
That my great work shall have all due power now,
And the chaos-river mix both dark and light!
Let no needful implement be absent here!
Then this life of sharp pain shall yield real enduring release,
When the vessel has the courage to lose himself, making a world,
Where the loser is the winner, and dying is but another change!
DYDD GWENER (Dydd y Farn!): Www, bron yn ofnus dw i nawr am beth fydd yn digwydd heno. W i’n teimlo fel ‘sen i ar fin ffrwydro! Gwell i fi beidio, wrth gwrs. Cofiwch be’ ddigwyddodd y tro ola’ ‘nes i golli arna i’n hunan! Ond alla i’m cadw ‘yn meddwl ar bethau, achos bod Barry wedi bod yn sgwrsio am fynd â fi i’r seremoni ar ‘i fotor-beic. Henach na fi yw e, ac ma’n gallu gyrru (wrth gwrs), ac ma’n lico potsian ag injans, pethau fel ‘na, ond tipyn bach o “lanc-rasiwr” ydy a gweud y gwir. Dychmygwch ‘ny! ‘Lly fe fydd yn rhaid i ni fod yn ofalus, ni i gyd yn ddrwg iawn am gael damweiniau yn y teulu ‘ma!FRIDAY (The Day of Judgement): Oooh, I’m almost frightened now about what’ll be happening tonight. I feel like I’m about to explode. I’d better not, of course. Remember what happened the last time I lost control of myself! But I can’t keep my mind on things, as Barry’s been chatting about taking me to the ceremony on his motorbike. He’s older than me, and he can drive (or course), and he likes pottering around with engines, things like that, but he’s a bit of a “boy-racer” to be honest. Imagine that! So we’ll have to be careful, we’re all very accident-prone in this family!
(Dau o’r gloch): Am frecwast, ôdd Wncwl yn sôn am ymarfer adrodd y Swyn Seithblyg, wel, dyna ôdd ‘i enw e arno fe. ta be’. Ma’n teimlo i fi fod yr hen gythraul yn gwbod lot iawn amdano, ond fod e’m yn weud, achos fod e’n gwenu’n od wrth siarad â fi. Nodweddiadol o’r Dewin yw ‘ny, wrth reswm -- awgrymu pethau heb esbonio’n llawn. Ond wedyn gweud wrtha i ‘nâth e am fynd yn fanwl drwy’r gwersi oll am “Natur a Gweithrediadau’r Grym Diatal.” Wel, wrth gwrs w i’n deall taw mewn gwirionedd yr holl Ddaear yw un creadur dirfawr, dyna’r peth, a phob peth byw fel cell ynddo fe. Ac er gwaetha’r holl ladd a thrychinebau, ma’r boblogaeth yn dal i dyfu, a dyn ni ddynolryw yn enwedig‘di bod yn bwydo’r oruwchorganeb ‘ma gyda’n gobeithion, a’n ofnau, a’n chwantau, fel ‘sen ni’n ‘u harllwys nhw i gronfa fyw, ddiwaelod. Ma’di bod yn cysgu’n dawel ers cyn co’, fel Hu·thulu yn Relyé, ac yn fodlon amsugno’n meddyliau a’n teimladau ni hyd yn hyn, wrth yn mowldio ni yn yn tro drwy’i breuddwydion a’i hunllefau sydd yn hollol tu hwnt i'n dirnad ni.(2 pm): At breakfast, Uncle was talking about practising reciting the Sevenfold Charm, well, that was his name for it, anyway. It feels to me that the old devil knows a great deal about it, but that he’s not saying, ‘cos he was smiling oddly while he was speaking to me. That’s characteristic of the Wizard, of course – suggesting things without explaining them fully. But then he told me to go in detail through all the lessons about “The Nature and Functioning of the Unstoppable Force.” Well, of course I understand that in fact the whole Earth is one gigantic creature, that’s the thing, and every living thing’s like a cell in it. And despite all the killing and disasters, the population’s still growing, and we, humanity in particular, have been feeding this super-organism with our hopes, and our fears, and our desires, like we were pouring them into a bottomless, living reservoir. It’s been sleeping soundly for ever, like Hu·thulu in Relyé, content, up to now, to suck up our thoughts and feelings, moulding us in our turn through its dreams and its nightmares, which are totally beyond our ken.
Y rhai cyfoethog, ac addysgedig, a chry’, a diegwyddor, sy’n ymyrryd a’r Grym Diatal gan amla’, i drio diwallu’u chwantau gwancus, wrth ddwyn y cyfle oddi wrth y werin bobl, sy’n cael ‘u hysgubo ymaith yn y broses – O, ma’ calonnau dynion yn tueddu at ynfydrwydd a drygioni! Ond bellach, ni ‘di cyrraedd y màs critigol, a dyna’r holl bethau ofnadw’ dyn ni’n ‘eu ‘neud i ddinistrio’r Blaned a ni’n hunain yn dihuno’r Kraken fydd ishe ymladd yn ôl. Y peth yw’n bod ni i gyd yn rhannau ohono fe, dyn ni fel canser, ch’mod. ‘Lly fe fydd yn rhaid iddo ymosod arno’i hunan, ac fe alle gael gwared ar bawb yn y pen draw. Dyna pam ma’ angen y rhai sbesial fel ni. Dyn ni’n hyfforddi mor egnïol fel gallwn ni sianeli pŵer aruthrol y Lefiathan, heb ‘i gythryblu na’i frifo, i ‘neud pethau positif, i estyn a chysylltu â’r Cosmos, yn hytrach na’i ddefnyddio fe, a cheisio’i orfodi i gydymffurfio i’n hewyllys ni. Ww, fe allen i ddweud mwy nag un stori wrthoch chi am yr hyfforddiant yma – ond smo fi’n mynd i ‘neud ‘ny, ddim nawr.The wealthy, and educated, and strong, and unprincipled, are the ones who interfere with the Unstoppable Force most often, to try to satisfy their greedy desires, whilst stealing the opportunity from the common folk, who get swept away in the process – Oh, the hearts of men are prone to folly and evil! But now, we’ve reached the critical mass, and all the terrible things we’re doing to destroy the Planet and ourselves are waking the Kraken who’ll want to fight back. The thing is that we’re all parts of it, we’re like a cancer, y’know. So it’ll have to attack itself, and it could get rid of everyone in the end. That’s why the special ones like us are needed. We’re training so energetically so that we can channel the Leviathan’s stupendous power without disturbing or hurting it, to do positive things, to reach out and connect with the Cosmos, rather than using it and trying to force it to conform to our will. Ooh, I could tell you a thing or two about the training here – but I’m not going to, not now!
(Hanner awr i fynd!): Ww, W i ishe bod yn siŵr mod i’n edrych ar ‘ngorau, achos fod e’n swnio fel bydd yn rhaid i fi berfformio heno. Ma’r Doethur Da’n sôn am ddod o hyd i’ch gwir lais wrth wau stori o iaith hudol ne’ rwbeth. A, chwap – fe ‘nes i sylweddoli taw mewn gwirionedd, rhestr o enwau creaduriaid yw’r geiriau ‘na i gyd wedi’r cyfan, os byddwch chi’n ‘u darllen nhw’n wahanol. Fel rhwbeth o rw hen chwedl o’r Nw Yrth – fe awn i ar fy llw fe allen i glywed llais Rwm bel-Shaftí’n sibrwd cwestiynau wrtha i ar yr awel dwym. Ta be’, dyna hen ddigon ar ‘ny! Wel, w i ‘di penderfynu ‘lly, ac fe fydda i’n gwisgo’r cilt ‘na o ledr artiffisial seithliw a brynodd Mam i fi cyn iddi ddiflannu, y crys yn ffrils i gyd, y gŵn hir, du, a’r ‘sgidiau Docs, coch. Ma’na botel o Fêl-gawod Eplesedig ddialcohol ‘da fi, ‘fyd. Ma’n nhw’n bown’ o lico fe (y cilt w i’n olygu, ma’n lliwgar iawn) – O, a’r Melwlith ‘fyd (ofnadw’ o flasus ydy).(Half an hour to go!): Ooh, I want to be sure that I’m looking my best, as it sounds like I’ll have to perform tonight. The Good Doctor’s talking about finding your true voice whilst weaving a story from magical language or something. And all of a sudden, I realized that those words are also in fact a list of creatures’ names after all, if you read them differently. Like something from some old tale from the Nw Yrth – I’d swear I could hear the voice of Rwm bel-Shaftí whispering questions to me on the warm breeze. Anyway, that’s quite enough of that! Well, I’ve decided then, and I’ll be wearing that kilt made of rainbow-coloured artificial leather Mum bought for me before she disappeared, the frilly shirt, the long black gown, and the red Docs boots. I’ve got a bottle of non-alcoholic Fermented Honeydew, too. They’re bound to like it (the kilt I mean, it’s really colourful) – Oh, and the Honeydew too (it’s awfully tasty).
Un peth ola’ – w i angen gweud – smo fi’n gwbod yn bendant ond w i’n credu ôdd ‘Nhad ddim wedi profi seremoni urddo'n llwyddiannus ‘riôd – tybed ife dyfeisio un ar ei gyfer ei hunan ‘nâth e o achos ‘ny – un ble taw bedydd tân ôdd y canlyniad annisgwyl ac angheuol. Ac eto i gyd, dyna’r llais ‘na’n esbonio taw “rhodd cân mor nerthol â dŵr" yw ystyr Pafunethu, ac o’i droi o chwith, w i’n gallu gweld, ne’ glywed, wedi astudio’r holl hen lyfrau ‘na mor fanwl, taw Ruzasoha yw’r enw cyfatebol, sy’n golygu "pennu'r ystyr gorau." Hei, dyma ni, ma’n marchog ar farch gwyn newydd gyrraedd ar ‘i fotor-beic enfawr. Tybed fyddwn ni’n câl pitsa ac edrych ar ffilmiau doniol ne’ arswyd? Nawr te, gadewch i fi weud hwyl fawr i ‘r hen Flodeuwedd sy’n pobi ‘i theisennau sbesial yn y gegin fel arfer, cyn mynd bant ar ‘yn antur fawr. Ie, fe fydda i’n synhwyrol a gofalus. Dyna Barry tu fas i’r dderbynfa nawr, rhaid i fi fynd. O ‘neno’r Hen Feistri, ma’r Harriet Potiwr ‘na, ‘yn hoff Ferch Sed, yna ‘fyd! Ydw i’n edrych yn iawn? Iawn, hwyl am y tro! Fe all y Blogosffer aros, fe roia i’r holl fanylion gwaedlyd i chi’n nes ymlaen!! I’r gad â fi ‘to! Grrrrr!One last thing – I need to say – I dunno for definite but i believe that my Dad had never experienced an initiation ceremony successfully – I’m wonderin’ whether he invented one for himself because of that, where a baptism of fire was the unexpected and deadly consequence. And then again, there’s that voice explaining that “gift of song as powerful as water” is the meaning of Pafunethu, and by inverting it, I can see, or hear, having studied all those old books in such detail, that Ruzasoha is the corresponding name, which means “to determine the best meaning.” Hey, here we are, my knight in shining armour’s just arrived on his enormous motorbike. I wonder whether we’ll have pizza and watch funny or horror films? Now then, let me say bye-bye to the Old Blodeuwedd who’s baking her special cakes in the kitchen as usual, before going off on my great adventure. Yes, yes, I’ll be sane and sensible. There’s Barry outside the reception now, I’ve gotta go. Oh, the old Masters, that Harriet Potiwr, my fave Z-Girl’s there too. Do I look OK? Right, bye for now! The Blogosphere can wait, I’ll give you all the gory details later on! Once more into the fray! Grrrrr!

Patrick-Jemmer-Ffred-Ffantastig-Voice-36-1

Pennod Pedwar Deg: Gohebu (Lleisiau 36) / Reporting (Voices 36)

Y CROCHAN SY WASTAD YN LLAWN [o “Holl Weithiau Daud Pekar, a Adwaenir hefyd fel David Baxter, a Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,” gan P Mamrick (gol.)] — Unwaith, roedd ‘na lwyth yn byw ym mhen draw’r Byd, cyn i hanes go iawn gael ei ddyfeisio. Doedd ganddyn nhw fawr o ddim gwerth sôn amdano, ond llwyddon nhw i grafu byw trwy chwilota am fywyd a bwyta gwreiddiau, blagur, a chnau wrth grwydro o le i le gan chwilio am ddŵr rhedegog, croyw. Ro’n nhw’n credu bod rhaid wrth symud, ac y bydden nhw’n marw ‘sen nhw’n aros yn yr un fan, am taw creaduriaid symudol o’n nhw. Ac roedd ganddyn nhw hefyd grochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd, y bydden nhw’n mynd â fe gyda nhw i ble bynnag y teithien nhw, er na allai neb gofio o ble roedd y crochan wedi dod yn wreiddiol, na phwy oedd wedi’i lunio fe, nac a oedd eu cyndadau wedi dod o hyd iddo ganrifoedd o’r blaen hyd yn oed, yn yr hen amser gynt. Byddai’r crochan bob tro’n dal y gwreiddiau, y blagur, a’r cnau (ac o bryd i’w gilydd, y dail, hefyd) y daethon nhw o hyd iddyn nhw trwy chwilota mor astud. Un dydd, byddai’n llawn, y dydd nesa’, byddai’n cynnwys y nesa’ peth i ddim. Doedd neb, ac enwedig nid y dynion doeth na’r gwragedd mawr, allai ddweud p’un o’r naill ddydd i’r llall.

Nawr, wrth i’r llwyth grwydro, ‘naethon nhw ffynnu, a ‘naeth y nifer ohonyn nhw gynyddu’n aruthrol nes bod saith teulu mawr. Ond gyda threigl amser, aeth y tir yn ddiffrwyth, ac roedd y bobl yn dechrau newynu. Dalion nhw i grwydro wrth ymbil ar yr Haul a melltithio’r Lleuad hyd nes eu bod nhw wedi blino’n lân ac yn cysgu ar eu traed. A’r crochan yn hollol wag, stopion nhw ar lan ehangder dirfawr, gwastad o hylif llonydd cyn ddued â’r muchudd yng nghanol anialdir diffaith. Ac yno datganon nhw: “Gadewch i ni oll gerdded yn syth i mewn i’r llyn ‘na o stwff tywyll trwchus tra bo’n cryfder barhau, nes iddo lifo droston ni, a’n distrywio ni, a dileu’n poen.” Yn unfryd cytunodd y lliaws, a aeth ati i gerdded, neu gropian i mewn i’r olew du, poeth, a’r hen yn cario’r babis, y rhai mewn oed yn arwain yr henoed, a’r plant yn rhedeg o flaen eu rhieni. A nhwthau oll wedi cyrraedd y crater yn cynnwys y pwll enfawr ac ar fin neidio, neu syrthio, i mewn i’r sylwedd trioglyd, dyma lais yn dechrau datgan fel a ganlyn —

THE CAULDRON THAT’S ALWAYS FULL [from ‘Collected Works of Daud Pekar, also known as David Baxter, and Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,’ by P Mamrick (ed.)] — Once, there was a tribe living at the far end of the World, before real history had been invented. They had practically nothing worth talking about, but they succeeded to scrape an existence by scavenging for food and eating roots, shoots, and nuts whilst wandering from place to place in search of pure, running water. They believed that it was necessary to move, and that they would die if they stayed in the same place, since they were moving creatures. And they also had an enormous cauldron of green brass that they would take with them wherever they travelled, although no-one could remember from where the cauldron had come originally, nor who had made it, not whether their forefathers had found it centuries ago, even, in days of yore. The cauldron would always hold the roots, shoots, and nuts (and sometimes also the leaves) that they found whilst foraging so diligently. One day it would be full, the next day it would contain next to nothing. No-one, and especially not the wise-men and the great-women, could say which from one day to the next.

Now, as the tribe wandered, they flourished, and the number of them increased incredibly until there were seven great families. But as time progressed, the land became barren, and the people began to starve. They kept on wandering, beseeching the Sun and cursing the Moon until they were completely exhausted and dead on their feet. When the cauldron was totally empty, they stopped on the bank of a vast, flat expanse of still liquid as black as jet in the middle of a desolate wilderness. And there they declared: “Let us all walk straight into that lake of thick, dark stuff whilst our strength persists, until it flows over us, and destroys us, and takes away our pain.” Unanimously the horde agreed, and they went to it, walking or crawling into the hot, black oil, the old carrying the babies, the adults leading the aged, and the children running in front of their parents. And when they had all reached the crater containing the enormous pool and were on the verge of jumping, or falling, into the treacly substance, a voice began to hold forth as follows —

Patrick-Jemmer-Ffred-Ffantastig-Voice-36-2

MATERION CYMDEITHASOL: Parti Priodas yng Nghapel Ymholiad Anenwadol. Yma yn y Malwr-Awyr, dyn ni’n osgoi pynciau crefyddol fel arfer, ar ôl yr holl broblemau yn ymwneud â Gŵyl Gogoniant a Gorfoledd wedi’i threfnu gan y Pwyllgor Eciwmenaidd ar Heddwch a Chymod gwpl o flynyddoedd yn ôl. Fe ddylen nhw fod wedi defnyddio’r Hen Iaith Yrtheg yn ogystal â’r Gymraeg, y Gernyweg, a’r Saesneg, medda i o hyd! Ta be’, mae achlysur arbennig iawn i’w ddathlu, fydd yn digwydd yn yr Ysgubor Newydd, Pyrth-y-Fall am 6 o’r gloch, 7fed Gorffenna’, bythefnos i heddi’. Dyna’r dydd hapus pan welwn ni briodas sifil ein hoff Fugail (wel, fy hoff Fugail finnau), y Canon Tommo, a Stevie G, Tywysydd Medrus Cymuned Ieuenctid Amgen, sy wedi bod gyda’i gilydd ers tua 10 mlynedd hir erbyn hyn. Fi fydd yn gweinyddu yn fy rôl fel Meistr Llawn yn Urdd Cyfrinachau a Cheidwadwr Hen Ddirgelion y Dauwynebog. Barry Barnes fydd y gwas bach (er ei fod e’n gallu ymddangos yn dipyn o labwst, ac yn frawychus iawn pan fydd yn gyrru’r motor-beic ‘na mae ‘di rhoi mwy o gic yn ei injan), a Harriet Potiwr fydd y forwyn briodas (ac am hudoles swynol ydy hi!). Bydd ‘na adloniant traddodiadol newydd sbon gan Gôr yr Urdd, fel arias o’r opera ‘Y Deyrnas Waedlyd’ gyfansoddwyd gan Gertrude Llwynlesg ar sail testun gan Mamrick.SOCIAL MATTERS: Wedding Party in the Chapel of Non-Denominational Enquiry. Here in the Air-Masher, we avoid faith matters as a rule, after all the problems associated with the Festival of Glory and Gladness organised by the Ecumenical Council on Peace and Reconciliation a couple of years ago. They should have used the Old Yrthian Language as well as Welsh, Cornish, and English, I still say! Anyway, there’s a very special occasion to celebrate, which will be happening in the New Barn, Hellsgate at 6 o’clock, 7th July, a fortnight today. That’s the happy day when we’ll see the civil marriage of our favourite Pastor (well, my fave Pastor), Canon Tommo, a Stevie G, Skilled Leader of the Community of Alternative youth, who’ve been together for 10 long years now. I shall be officiating in my role as Full Master in the Guild of Secrets and Keeper of the Old Secrets of Bifrons. Barry Barnes will be the page-boy (although he can appear a bit of a lout, and very frightening when he’s driving that motorbike he’s souped-up), and Harriet Potiwr will be the bridesmaid (and what an enchanting sorceress she is!). There’ll be brand-new traditional entertainment from the Guild Choir, like arias from the opera ‘The Bloody Kingdom’ composed by Gertrude Llwynlesg based on a text by Mamrick.
Bydd ‘na seremoni’n cynnwys llawer o siantio llesmeiriol yn ieithoedd fyrdd i gyfareddu’ch synhwyrau a’ch cludo chi i Fydoedd Eraill, a pharti i’w chanlyn ble bydd digon o gyri ffa sbeislyd wedi’u deifio, a madarch wedi’u preserfio mewn mêl, yn ogystal â goblediaid o ‘Aur Du’ – a gwahoddir pob un ohonoch. Falle’ch bod chi ddim yn gwybod, ond gaeth Capel Ymholiad Anenwadol ei sefydlu ar ôl y Chwalfa Fawr a dorrodd yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang yn yfflon. Yn ystod y blynyddoedd diweddar mae’r Capel (sy ddim yn sefydliad crefyddol, wrth gwrs, ond un athronyddol), wedi bod yn cymryd safbwynt blaengar ar lawer o bynciau llosg – fel cynnwys pawb ar gyrion cymdeithas, lledu neges heddwch a chariad, hybu agwedd o holi cyson, a gweithio i ddymchwel pob awdurdod gormesol – gyda chefnogaeth lwyr y cynulleidfaoedd ac anogaeth gre’ gan y cyhoedd.There’ll be a ceremony including lots of hypnotic chanting in myriad languages to bewitch your senses and transport you to Other Worlds, and a party to follow where there’ll be plenty of scorched spicy-bean curry and mushrooms preserved in honey, as well as goblets of ‘Black Gold’ – and every one of you is invited. Perhaps you don’t know, but the Chapel of Non-Denominational Enquiry was established after the Great Split that splintered the World-Wide Church. During the recent years, the Chapel (which isn’t a faith institution, of course, but a philosophical one), has been taking a leading viewpoint on many burning topics – such as including everyone on the fringes of society, spreading a message of peace and love, encouraging an attitude of constant enquiry, and working to overthrow every oppressive authority – with the complete support of the congregations and strong support from the public.
Pan gaeth y Capel ei sefydlu, roedd y sefydliad cynta’ o’r fath i annog a helpu’i swyddogion yn weithredol, -- y Bugeiliaid, yn ddynion a menywod – i lunio partneriaethau sifil â pherson o’r un rhyw – os o’n nhw eisiau ‘neud hyn, wrth gwrs. Ar hyn o bryd mae Capel Ymholiad Anenwadol yn llawer mwy rhyddfrydol o hyd nag yr un o’r Eglwysi Lleiaf, a Thabernaclau, a Themlau eraill ynglŷn â’r pwnc ‘ma. Mae Jelena Pekar, Prif Efrydydd Dyrchafedig a Llefarydd dros y Capel (rhaid i ni gofio taw teitl er anrhydedd yn unig yw’r un cynta’ ‘ma), wedi datgan ei bod hi’n falch iawn o groesawu priodas sifil am gyplau o’r un rhyw, yn enwedig tu fewn i’r Capeli. Mae hi wedi gweud ei bod hi eisiau tynnu sylw pawb i’r ffaith taw gweinidogaeth y Capel yw un o gynwysoldeb.When the Chapel was founded, it was the first institution of the kind to encourage and help its officers actively – the Pastors, men and women – to form civil partnerships with a person of the same sex – if they wanted to do that, of course. At the moment, the Chapel of Non-Denominational Enquiry is still much more liberal than any one of the other Minor Churches, and Tabernacles, and Temples with respect to this topic. Jelena Pekar, Chief Elevated Student and Spokesperson for the Chapel (we much remember that this first title is only an honorary one), has declared that she’s most happy to welcome civil weddings for couples of the same sex, particularly inside the Chapels. She’s said she wants to draw people’s attention to the fact that the Chapel’s ministry is one of inclusiveness.
Ac mae’r Capel wedi bod yn gweithio’n galed iawn gyda ni aelodau Urdd Cyfrinachau i ddyfeisio defodau a seremonïau neilltuol fydd yn rhan o’r gwasanaeth priodas. Mae’r PED yn dweud: “Mae’r geiriau ‘ma’n gallu cael eu hadrodd dros gwpl wrth iddyn nhw ddathlu partneriaeth neu briodas sifil, i fynegi’u cariad a’u penderfyniad i hala’u bywydau gyda’i gilydd, am taw drwy roi’ch hun i berson arall (neu, dan amgylchiadau gwahanol i bobol eraill), byddwch chi’n gallu dechrau trawsnewid eich hun a’r Byd i gyd.” Dewch i ymuno â ni felly (medd y cwpl hyfryd), er mwyn dathlu’n cariad at ein gilydd, ar ein Capel, ac atoch chi, ein ffrindiau i gyd – peidiwch anghofio’r torthau, y pysgod (a’r sglods), a’r poteli o win (gwin a choch)! Nodyn poléit: Er bod Tommo'n arfer brwydro’n llythrennol, bydd yn rhaid i chi beidio â ‘neud hyn yn ystod neithior y pâr llawen – os gwelwch yn dda!And the Chapel has been working very hard with us the members of the Guild of Secrets to come up with particular rites and ceremonies which will be part of the marriage service. The CES says: “These words can be recited over a couple as they celebrate a civil partnership of marriage, to express their love and their determination to spend their lives together, since it’s through giving yourself to another person (or, under different circumstances to other people) that you can begin to transform yourself and the entire World.” Come to join us, then (say the lovely couple), to celebrate our love for each other, our Chapel, and for you, all our friends – don’t forget the loaves, fishes (and chips!), and the bottles of wine (red and white!). A polite note: Although Tommo used to fight literally, you must not do this during the happy pair’s nuptials – thank you very much!
ACHUB YR IAITH: Ar un adeg bu Pyrth-y-Fall ar lan y môr yn ardal ble medrai’r rhan fwyaf o’r boblogaeth (pob un ohonyn nhw sy’n perthyn o bell i’r Baxteriaid, y Teulu Grossmann, neu’r Procteriaid) yr iaith hynafol o’r enw Yrtheg, yr honnir ei bod yn cael nodweddion hudol. Ond, gwaetha’r modd, mae Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig Aberdydd a’r Cylch (SAAUC) wedi tyfu’n aruthrol yn ddiweddar, a’r nifer o fyfyrwyr hefyd. O achos hyn mae’r trigolion sy’n byw yno trwy'r flwyddyn gron gyfan ers blynyddoedd ar flynyddoedd, wedi cael eu gwthio o'u cartrefi, a’r iaith ryfedd a nerthol gyda nhw. “Ein hiaith yw ein dull ni o fynegi ein hun, ac mae hi wrth graidd pwy ydym ni. Ein cyfrwng rhyngweithio â’r Byd ydy hi, a chalon ein diwylliant,” medd un preswylydd, gan ychwanegu taw “gweithred dreisiol yw lladd iaith, un ai trwy ormes, neu esgeulustra, neu watwar. A gwarthus ydy.”SAVING THE LANGUAGE: At one time Hellsgate beside the sea was an area where most of the population (every one of them distantly related to the Baxters, the Grossmann Family, or the Procters), could speak the ancient language called Yrthian, which is alleged to have magical properties. But, more’s the pity, the United Independent Educational Institutions of Aberdydd and the Region (UIEIAR) have grown enormously recently, and the number of students too. Because of this the residents who’ve been living there all year round for years and years, have been pushed out of the homes, and the strange and powerful language with them. “Our language is our way of expressing ourselves, and it’s at the root of who we are. It’s our medium of interacting with the World, and the heart of our culture,” says one resident, adding that “killing a language is a violent act, whether through repression, or negligence, or ridicule. And it is shameful.”
Ond, peidiwch anobeithio'n llwyr! Grŵp o’r enw “Taith yr Iaith,” sy ‘di bod yn ymgyrchu’n ffyrnig dros sefydlu “Caffi Achub y Iaith [felly].” Gwedan nhw fod yr enw’n cyfeirio at “daith drafferthus yr iaith tuag at ffynnu’n orfoleddus.” Hyd yn oed yr uwch-arwyr bach ewn ym meithrinfa'r Ganolfan Hyfforddi sy’n deall pa mor bwysig yw’r Hen Iaith, ac felly buon nhw’n trefnu pigo trwyn noddedig, a rasio trolïau siopa hedegog gyda mam-gu a thad-cu ym mharc ceir ‘Uwch-siopau’ i godi arian at y prosiect. Fuodd ond cwpl o ddamweiniau difrifol, diolch byth, ac roedd mor arswydus o galonnog clywed y cryts yn siantio ‘Pennill Dera’ gyda’i gilydd fel haid o gythreuliaid gwallgo’ —But don’t give up all hope! A group called “Language Journey” has been campaigning fiercely to establish “Save the Language Café [sic].” They say that the name refers to the “troublesome journey of the language towards jubilant flourishing.” Even the little super-heroes in the Training Centre’s nursery understand how important the Old Language is, and so they’ve been organising sponsored nose-picking, and racing flying shopping-trolleys with grand-ma and grand-pa in the ‘Super-shops’ car-park to raise money for the project. There were only a couple of serious accidents, thank goodness, and it was so terribly heartening to hear the kiddies chanting ‘Gorgon’s Verse’ together like a swarm of mad demons —
“Henffych, henffych, dân ac eira!
Dewch â’r Meistri, fel yr awn ni
Bell i ffwrdd, er mwyn gorwledda –
Feistri erchyll, dewch i’m helpu!
Ac wedyn, cyffrown y gwagle!
Hawddamor! Hawddamor! Wele!”		“Greetings, hail, O fire and snow!
Call the Masters; then we’ll go
Far away, to gorge with glee –
Fearful Masters come to me!
And then we’ll stir up mayhem!
All hail! Greetings! Behold them!”
Gaeth y gwaith ar y Caffi’i gwpla mewn pryd i ddathlu Gŵyl Ficingaidd Aberdydd yno, ble maen nhw wedi bod yn arllwys crochaneidiau di-ben-draw bron o ‘Aur Du’ (y coffi gorau yn y Ddau Fyd, ac ynddo elfen gyfrinachol), te rhedynen hynafol, a jin sych gyda pherlysiau aromatig, i’r torfeydd o gwsmeriaid diofal, a’r llanciau a llancesau wedi’u gwisgo’n Fôr-ladron. Erbyn hyn mae’r pice ac arnyn nhw flas mwy wedi’u ‘neud yn ôl rysáit sbesial yr hen Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann yn gwerthu fel tân gwyllt hefyd. Mae’n lle gwych i gysgodi rhag y glaw di-stop ond iachusol, ac mae pawb yn gweithio fel lladd nadredd i ‘neud yn siŵr bod popeth yn troi fel deiol. Dewch i helpu nhw i dynnu’r hen Yrtheg i lan o’r bedd. Fe fyddwch chi’n gweld, a chlywed, a phrofi popeth yno drwy gyfrwng yr iaith anghyffredin yn unig, ac fe fydd y geiriau a’r amgylchedd yn dechrau trawsffurfio’ch bywyd, dw i’n addo. Fe fues i’n hunan yno wythnos ‘nôl ac elwn i ‘to fel gwenci (‘tase’n hanfodol), ond mae'n ddrwg ‘da fi weud taw was prysur iawn dw i bob amser, a cha i byth cyfle arall yn y dyfodol agos, a dyna fe!The work on the Café was finished in time to celebrate Aberdydd Viking Festival there, where they’ve been pouring endless cauldronfuls of ‘Black Gold’ (the best coffee in the Two Worlds, with a secret ingredient in it), ancient fern tea, and dry gin with aromatic herbs in, for the crowds of merry customers, with the lads and lasses dressed as Pirates. Now, the moreish Welsh-cakes made according to the Old Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann’s special recipe are selling like wildfire too. It’s a great place to shelter from the non-stop but invigorating rain, and everyone’s working like crazy to make sure that everything goes like clockwork. Come to help them pull the old Yrthian out of the grave. You’ll see, and hear, and experience everything there entirely through the medium of this extraordinary language, and the words and the environment will begin to transform your life, I promise. I went there myself a week ago, and I’d be back again like a whippet (if it was absolutely necessary), but I’m sorry to say that I’m always a very busy man, and I won’t get another chance in the near future, and that’s that!
CHWARAEON a CHYLLID – AUR DU: Pethau anghyffredin sy’n digwydd ym myd cyffrous chwaraeon lleol. Byddwch yn cofio fy mod wastad yn tynnu eich sylw i ffawd dda ac anffawd fy hoff glwb Mig Farwol, sef yr Hen Grwydriaid sy’n chwarae ar y tir diffaith wedi’i ailddatblygu tu hwnt i’r hen Burfa Dar ar ochr ddeheuol Ystâd y Pinwydd. Wedi’r cwbl, noddir nhw gan Fanc Tesbyro, sy wedi benthyca cryn dipyn o arian iddynt dros y blynyddoedd i geisio hybu’u datblygiad, ond yn ddi-fudd. Fel y gwyddoch, nid ydynt wedi dod yn eu blaen tros y flwyddyn ddiwethaf, ac yn wir, maent wedi perfformio’n wael. Man a man imi esbonio: mae fel petai’r timau gelyniaethus wedi bod yn chwarae chwiw gyda cheffyl dall bob penwythnos trwy’r tymor diwethaf, ni ddymunaf fod yn gynnil gyda'r gwir. Sut byddai’n bosibl colli 0 – 350 yn Adran 3 Cynghrair Timau 3ydd ddydd Sadwrn diwethaf, fel arall?SPORTS and FINANCE – BLACK GOLD: Unusual things are happening in the exciting world of local sport. You’ll remember that I always draw your attention to the good luck and misfortune of my favourite Death-Tag team, namely The Old Wanderers who play on the redeveloped waste land beyond the old Tar Refinery on the south side of the Pine-trees Estate. After all, they are sponsored by Tesbyro’s Bank, which has lent them a considerable amount of money over the years to try to promote their development, but unsuccessfully. As you know, they have not come on over the past year, and indeed, they have performed terribly. I might as well explain that it is as if the enemy teams have been playing hide-and-seek with a blind horse every weekend through the latest season, I do not wish to be sparing with the truth. How would it be possible to lose 0 – 350 in Division 3 of the 3rd Teams’ League last Saturday, otherwise?
Wrth gwrs, bu amgylchiadau lliniarol. Mae’r rhan fwyaf o’r hen ddiawliaid dros bump ar hugain oed ac yn dod o un o’r saith prif deulu ym Mhyrth-y-Fall. Maent yn llafurio llawn amser bob dydd o wawr hyd fachlud a’r tu hwnt, o dan lach chwerw'r Meistri Erchyll yn y Slafdy hwnnw o’r enw Y Ganolfan Hyfforddi i Ieuenctid Amgen (mae’n ddrwg gennyf, ni fedraf fi beidio â chwerthin am eu pennau!). Roeddent wedi treulio 3 awr ar y bws ymlaen llaw’n teithio 120 o filltiroedd i gyrraedd y gêm. Roeddent wedi bod yn dathlu rhyw damaid o lwc hefyd, gwaetha’r modd. Bu bron i Risiart Rhuddygl farw yn ystod y gêm flaenorol, nos Wener, ond cafodd ei adfywio mewn labordy cêl ym mherfeddion y Ganolfan, y mae pawb yn ei alw’n ‘Dŷ Aileni’ bellach, gan y Doethur J B Procter a rodd iddo ddogn o ryw ddiod gadarn. Ni raid dweud bod pawb yn dathlu wedyn, gan fynd ar y criws tan oriau mân y bore. Ond dioddef gan andros o ben mawr roedd pawb drannoeth y ffair felly. Ar y llaw arall, roedd pawb yn y tîm arall dan ddeunaw oed, a chyn iached â'r cricsyn, er nad Pobl Sed mohonynt. Roedd yr ysgrifen ar y mur, a phennau ar y bloc. Ac fe ddisgynnodd y fwyell – yn ddygn! Wrth reswm cafodd ein harwyr gwrol eu cystwyo!Of course, there were mitigating circumstances. The majority of the old devils are over twenty-five years of age and come from one of the seven main families in Hellsgate. They labour full-time every day from dawn till dusk and beyond, under the bitter lash of the Terrible masters in that Sweat-shop called the Training Centre for Alternative Youth (I’m sorry, I cannot but make fun of them!). They had spent 3 hours on the bus beforehand travelling 120 miles to get to the game. They had been celebrating a small bit of luck also, more’s the pity. Richard Radish almost died during the previous game, Friday night, but he was resuscitated in a secret laboratory in the guts of the Centre that everyone is now calling the ‘House of Rebirth,’ by Doctor J B Procter who gave him a dose of some strong liquor. Needless to say, everyone was celebrating thereafter, going out boozing until the early hours of the morning. But then everyone was suffering from an enormous hangover the day after the night before. On the other hand, everyone on the other team was under eighteen years old, and as fit as a fiddle, although they were not Z-People. The writing was on the wall, and heads on the block. And the axe fell – harshly! Of course, our brave heroes were trounced!
Erbyn hyn, fodd bynnag, ymhlith llawer o bethau eraill tra chyffrous, mae’r bois (a’r rhocesi) wedi gwella y tu hwnt i bob disgwyl. Ac ar ben hynny, fe allant bellach brynu Dean Drysglog, chwaraewr gorau i’r Eirth Arfog am y swm tywysogaidd o £5000. Mae’r bachgen hwn yn 18 oed a 17 stôn, a bydd yn 6’3” pan ymsytha i'w lawn daldra. A dyna pan fydd yn peidio â llusgo ei figyrnau bys ar y llawr, bwystfil mor amrwd ac mor gyntefig ydy, ond mor gryf hefyd. 568 yw ei Ffactor Gorffolaeth EvtecHs, a chanolwr allanol ardderchog ydy felly. Ond, ‘neno’r Mawredd, fe all y llanc redeg! Ymhellach, byddant yn gallu cael benthyg Barry ‘Basiwr’ Barnes gan yr Ieuenctid Amgen am swm sylweddol hefyd. Sut y gall yr hen bwdrod fforddio gwneud y fath beth, rwy’n eich clywed yn ei ofyn yn syn?By now, however, amongst many other very exciting things, the boys (and the girls) have improved beyond all expectation. And on top of that, they can now buy Dean Drysglog, the Armoured Bears’ best player, for the princely sum of £5000. This boy is 18 years old and 17 stone, and he’s 6’3” when he stands up to his full height. And that's when he stops dragging his knuckles on the ground, he’s such a crude and primitive beast, but so strong, too. His EvtecHs Build Factor is 568, and so he’s an excellent outside-centre. But, by Goodness, the lad can run! Furthermore, they can borrow Barry ‘Basher’ Barnes from the Alternative Youth for a substantial sum too. How can the old wasters afford to do such a thing, I hear you asking in astonishment?
Wel, mae’n rhaid imi ddweud wrthych fod y lodesi (a’r bois) wedi dod o hyd i swm bach teidi o arian, oddi wrth eu cymwynaswr ‘Ewythr’ Jack Procter (mewn ffordd o siarad), a’u gwaddolasai â’r Burfa yn ei ewyllys yn y lle cyntaf. Ymddengys bod cronfeydd enfawr o’r olew aroglus puraf a ffurfiwyd o ffwng a rhedyn wedi’u hylifo dros y milenia, o dan y maes chwarae, fydd yn werth biliynau o bunnoedd i’r diwylliant fferyllol arloesol. Rydym yn credu bod yr Hen Grwydriaid wedi sylwi ar y ffaith bod gan yr olew briodweddau ifanceiddio sylweddol os bydd dyn yn ei yfed. Sut yn y Ddau Fyd y darganfuant y fath beth? Wel, ni fydd neb yn addef hynny. Ond mae llawer ohonynt eisoes yn teimlo’n llawer gwell nag oeddent hyd yn oed ond sawl wythnos cynt. Daethpwyd o hyd i’r dyddodion yn ystod gêm gyfeillgar yn erbyn y Bobl Sed pan achosodd un o’r Ieuenctid Amgen ffrwydrad ar ddamwain, a adawodd i ffynhonnell o ‘Aur Du’ ffrydio i’r awyr o grater yng nghanol y maes.Well, I must tell you that the girls (and the boys) have found quite a tidy little sum of money, from their benefactor ‘Uncle’ Jack Procter (in a manner of speaking), who had bequeathed them the Refinery in his will in the first place. It appears that there are enormous reservoirs of the purest aromatic oil, formed from fungus and ferns liquefied over the millennia, under the playing field, which will be worth billions of pounds to the innovative pharmaceutical industry. We believe that the Old Wanderers have noticed the fact that the oil has substantial rejuvenating properties if one imbibes it. How, in the Two Worlds, did they discover such a thing? Well, no-one will confess that. But many of them are already feeling a lot better than they were even a few weeks before. The deposits were found during a friendly game against the Z-People when one of the Alternative Youth accidentally caused an explosion, which allowed a fountain of ‘Black Gold’ to gush into the air from a crater in the middle of the field.
Fodd bynnag, yn ôl pob golwg, mae gan y driniaeth hon, a allai fod yn wyrthiol, rai canlyniadau annisgwyl. Arferai hen dad-cu Drysglog fod yn greadur crebachlyd a musgrell dros ei ddeg a phedwar ugain, ond ar ôl cymryd y moddion am ddim ond mis, mae bellach wedi dod yn debyg i darw ifanc â chyhyrau enfawr. Mae hefyd wedi magu pâr o gyrn miniog a chynffon hyfryd, ac yn parhau i newid. Bydd e’n ychwanegiad gwerthfawr a defnyddiol iawn at sgwad yr Hen Grwydriaid. Mae pethau tebyg yn digwydd i sawl un o’r chwaraewyr eraill hefyd (neu i aelodau’u teulu), ond mae pob un yn troi’n fwystfil gwahanol, yn unol â’i gymeriad. Wrth gwrs gall rhai o’r Bobl Sed eisoes droi’n anifeiliaid trwy fodd, ond mae’n bosibl iddynt ddewis y creadur a rheoli’r broses nad yw’n barhaol yn yr achosion hynny. Eto i gyd, mae un o’n merched ni wedi datblygu i fod yn shafiq â ffwr llwydlas, odiaeth, sydd yn gweithio bellach yn llwyddiannus iawn fel meddyg coed hunangyflogedig ledled y wlad.However, by all accounts, this potentially miraculous treatment has some unexpected consequences. Drysglog’s great-grandfather used to be a wizened and feeble creature over ninety years of age, but after taking the medicine for only a month, he has now become like a young bull with enormous muscles. He has also developed a sharp pair of horns and a lovely tail, and continues to change. He’ll be a valuable and useful addition to the Old Wanderers’ squad. Similar things are happening to several of the other players too (or to members of their family), but every one turns into a different beast, according to his character. Of course, some of the Z-People can already turn into animals voluntarily, but it’s possible for them to choose the creature and control the process which is not permanent in those cases. Then again, one of our girls has developed into a shafiq with exquisite slate-grey fur, who is now working very successfully throughout the land as a self-employed tree-surgeon.
Yn eu gorfoledd, roedd y chwaraewyr yn mynegi cryn ddiddordeb i gychwyn mewn prynu’r Canolfan Hyfforddi a’i throi’n ysgol, ysbyty, llyfrgell, a chanolfan hamdden gymunedol. Fodd bynnag, wedi ychydig ddadl am egwyddorion sosialaidd a delfrydau cynhwysol gan y tîm, penderfynasant fuddsoddi mewn ffatri newydd ar safle’r hen Burfa. Dylai miliwn o bunnoedd (mwy na heb) wneud y tro, ac mae’u rheolwr, John Procter, yn gweithio law yn llaw â’i hen gymrawd yr Anrhydeddus J B Grossmann, Chwilyswr Aruchel y Cyngor Technocratig Rhyngwladol, a’r Athro Mocata-Karswell, Is-ganghellor a Phrif Swyddog Gweithredol SAAUC i benodi Uwch Ymchwilydd Ymarferol a dod o hyd i weithwyr galluog yn ogystal â gwrthrychau arbrawf bodlon. Ar ôl blynyddoedd maith o fod mor aflwyddiannus, maent yn barod i gymryd y Ddaear gron drosodd maes o law, medd ein hoff dîm Fig Farwol, sydd newydd ddechrau defnyddio’r enw Y Gwylltfilod.In their jubilation, the players expressed considerable interest to start with in buying the Training Centre and turning it into a school, hospital, library, and community leisure centre. However, after a little debate about socialist principles and inclusive ideals by the team, they decided to invest in a new factory on the site of the old Refinery. A million pounds (more or less), should do the trick, and their manager, John Procter, is working hand-in-hand with the Honourable J B Grossmann, Exalted Inquisitor of the International Technocratic Council, and Professor Mocata-Karswell, Vice-chancellor and Chief Executive Officer of the UIEIAR, to appoint a Senior Practical Researcher, and to find able workers as well as willing test subjects. After many long years of being so unsuccessful, they are ready to take the entire Earth over in due course, say our favourite Death-Tag team, who have just begun using the name The Wild-Things.
ADEILADU PONTYDD: Rhaid bod chi i gyd yn gwybod yr hen briod-ddull, “Pethau i’w rhannu yw cyfrinachau,” a’r syniad ‘ma sydd yn wraidd y cais diweddarach i hybu’r Hen Iaith ym Mhyrth-y-Fall. Y gyfrinach maen nhw’n sôn amdani yw’r Yrtheg, ac maen nhw’n bwriadu rhyddhau llwyth o “siaradwyr cudd” yn Ffair Galan Mai, ddydd Twfroc Gyfrwys (1af Mai). Bydd parti pigo sbwriel lan, o fore gwyn hyd nos, ble gall y cyfranogion ddysgu geirfa briodol fel “ailgylchu,” “ynni gwyrdd amgen sy’n adnewyddadwy a chynaliadwy,” a “dymchwel y gorthrymder gan y gyfundrefn gyfalafol lwgr.” Drwy’r p’nhawn, bydd ‘na ddosbarthiadau mewn dofi gwylanod yn cael eu cynnal gan y Ffacir Ffug o’r Fforest Fflamllyd, Ffred Phantastig, ar y clwt pentre’. Am 3 o’r gloch gallwch chi gymryd rhan mewn gemau o Fig Farwol yn erbyn y cryts cythreulig o’r Ganolfan Hyfforddi i Ieuenctid Amgen neu roi rhyw swlltyn ar y canlyniadau (yn answyddogol wrth gwrs!). Ond peidiwch becso, fe fyddwn ni’n rhoi mwgwd dros eu llygaid i ‘gyfri’ am eu pwerau sbesial, a ‘neud pethau’n anos iddyn nhw.BUILDING BRIDGES: You must all know the old adage: “Things to be shared are secrets,” and it’s this idea that’s at the heart of the latest try at promoting the Old Language in Hellsgate. The secret they’re talking about is the Yrthian language, and they intend to let a tribe of “secret speakers” loose in the May-day Fair, on Wily Twfroc's Day (1st May). There’ll be a pick-up rubbish party, from daybreak till nightfall, where the participants can learn appropriate vocab like “recycling,” “alternative renewable and sustainable green energy,” and “overthrowing the oppression by the corrupt capitalist system.” Through the afternoon, classes in seagull-taming will be held by the Fake Fakir of the Flaming Forest, Ffred Phantastig, on the village green. At 3 o’clock you can take part in games of Death-Tag against the devilish kids from the Training Centre for Alternative Youth or put a small bet on the results (unofficially of course!). But don’t worry, we’ll be blindfolding them to take account of their special powers and make things harder for them.
Uchafbwynt y dydd fydd arddangosiad o bwerau’r iaith Yrtheg i drawsffurfio realiti gan Efan Baldrog Bacster (rhaid i fi gael yr enwau’n iawn yma!), am 5 o’r gloch ym Mae’r Smyglwyr (a bod y tywydd yn caniatáu), neu yn Ffreutur y Ganolfan Hyfforddi fel arall. I baratoi, mae’n awgrymu’ch bod chi’n synfyfyrio uwchben y dywediad: “Yr ofn oddi mewn i bob un yw’r bwystfil a’i hysa.” Er mwyn bod yn gynhwysol, o 9 o’r gloch y bore ‘mlaen yn Neuadd y Cymrodyr, bydd gemau o Sgrabl Cymraeg i’w chwarae, sy’n defnyddio 165 o deils. “Angenrheidiol” yw'r gair gorau, ond mae'n anodd iawn i’w ddefnyddio. Hefyd, bydd arddangosiad cynganeddu ble bydd beirdd lleol yn cyfansoddi cerddi difyr yn y fan a’r lle, gan ddefnyddio’r mesurau caeth.The highlight of the day will be an exhibition of the Yrthian language’s powers to transform reality by Efan Baldrog Bacster (I must get the names right here!), at 5 o’clock in Smugglers’ Bay (weather permitting), or in the Refectory of the Training Centre otherwise. To prepare, he suggests you meditate on the saying: “The fear within everyone is the beast that will devour him.” In order to be inclusive, from 9 o’clock in the morning onwards in Comrades’ Hall, there’ll be games of Welsh Scrabble to be played, using 165 tiles. “Angenrheidiol [Necessary]” is the best word, but it’s very hard to use it. Also, there will be a cynghanedd display where local poets will compose amusing poems on the spot, using the strict metres.
Wedyn, bydd cyfarfod cyhoeddus teirieithog (yn yr Yrtheg, y Gymraeg, a’r Saesneg) am 7 o’r gloch, i drafod: y problemau gyda chartrefi amlfeddiant i’r myfyrwyr yn yr ardal, angen llawer mwy o lefydd parcio, darparu sachau sbwriel annistryw i amddiffyn rhag ysglyfaethu gan wylanod, a sut i annog (neu orfodi) mewnfudwyr i fynychu’r dosbarthiadau Yrtheg rhad ac am ddim. Bydd Helen Grossmann yn perfformio’i sioe un wraig, “’Nes i Briodi Bod Arallfydol: Trasiedi mewn Saith Act,” ar y llwyfan dros dro yn y twyni tywod, a’r tâl mynediad o £1 yn mynd at y gronfa i adeiladu gwarchodfa i fwganod hybrid newydd ym Meysydd y Tywod. Fe fydd rhai ohonoch chi’n cofio taw’r fenyw ifanc uchelgeisiol iawn ‘ma oedd yn arfer rhedeg y Clinig sydd y Ganolfan Hyfforddi bellach, a hithau wedi symud ‘mlaen i bethau gwell. Fe roes y meddyliaethydd byd-enwog y gorau i’w swydd bwysig ond ingol ar ôl i’w mab gwpla’i TGAUau i ganolbwyntio ar gymuno â natur, ac arbrofi gyda theatr gymuned therapiwtig. Bydd y randibŵ’n cwpla gyda thwmpath yn Llwybrau Drygioni am 9 o’r gloch. Â’r holl elw (ar wahân i’r arian ar gyfer y gwarchodle) at goffrau Taith yr Iaith ar gyfer taith ymchwiliol i’r Wlad-wen a'r holl gostau wedi’u talu fel gall y Pwyllgor brofi sut mae ieithoedd lleiafrifol yn cael eu trin yno.Then, there will be a trilingual public meeting (in Yrthian, Welsh, and English) at 7 o’clock, to discuss: the problems with multi-dweller homes for students in the area, the need for many more parking places, provision of indestructible rubbish sacks to defend against predation by seagulls, and how to encourage (or force) incomers to attend the completely free Yrthian classes Helen Grossmann will be performing her one-woman show, “I Married an Alien: A Tragedy in Seven Acts,” on the temporary stage in the sand-dunes, with the entrance fee of £1 going to the fund to build a reserve for new hybrid chimeras in Sandyfields. Some of you will remember that this very ambitious young woman who used to run the Clinic, which is the Training Centre now, since she has moved on to better things. The world-famous mentalist gave up her important but stressful job after her son finished his GCSEs to concentrate on communing with nature, and experimenting with therapeutic community theatre. The shindig will finish with a twmpath in the Paths of Wickedness at 9 pm. All the profits (apart from the money for the sanctuary) will go to the Language Journey coffers for an all-expenses-paid research trip to the White-land so that the Committee can experience how minority languages are treated there.
CORNEL LÊN: Dros bymtheng mlynedd yn ôl erbyn hyn, fe ddaeth y llanc o arwr rhyfel, awdur, ac ymgyrchwr dros gyfiawnder cymdeithasol dyn ni’n nabod fel David Baxter i fyw yn ein plith ni yma yn Aberdydd. Gaeth e’i eni a’i fagu yn yr Hen Deyrnas Ddwyreiniol, sy wedi datblygu i fod y Wladwriaeth Ddwyreiniol Annibynnol bellach. Wrth reswm, roedd ei rieni’n siarad un o’r ieithoedd lleol fyrdd, mwy na thebyg, ac mae’n ymddangos bellach taw ‘Dá·hwyth Oh·fé’ oedd ei enw cywir – neu falle’i enw hudol, cyfrin (er mod i ddim yn siŵr am y sillafiad). Mae’n golygu, “Dyn sy wastad yn annwyl, sy’n lefeinio toes â thân.” Mae’r enw cyntaf yn enwog yn yr Hen Chwedlau o Galon y Cyfandir. Dá·hwyth oedd crwtyn a enillodd pwerau hudol ar hap a damwain, gan ddod yn ddewin grymus, a gyfathrebai ag Ysbryd y Byd (fel mae’n esbonio yn ‘Cariad, Colled, Chwilod’). Pan gyrhaeddodd e Aberdydd roedd y llanc wedi drysu’n llwyr, ac yn defnyddio’r ffugenw ‘Daud Pekar’ sy’n tarddu un o dafodieithoedd eraill yr ardal. Ond wedyn mabwysiadodd e’r llysenw ‘David Baxter’ i’n helpu ni dramorwyr, felly gadewch i fi ddweud ‘David’ o hyn ‘mlaen.LITERATURE CORNER: Over fifteen years ago by now, the lad who was a war-hero, author, and campaigner for social justice we know as David Baxter came to live amongst us here in Aberdydd. He was born and brought up in the Old Eastern Kingdom which has now become the Independent Eastern Commonwealth. Of course, his parents spoke one of the many local languages, more than likely, and it appears now that taw ‘Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé’ was his correct name – or perhaps his mystical, magical name (although I’m not sure about the spelling). It means, “The man who is always beloved, who leavens dough with fire.” The first name is famous in the Old Tales from the Heart of the Continent. Dá∙hwyth was a kid who won magical powers by accident, becoming a powerful magician, who used to communicate with the World-Spirit (as he explains in ‘Love, Loss, Beetles’). When he arrived in Aberdydd the lad was completely confused, and using the nom-de-guerre ‘Daud Pekar’ which is derived from one of the area’s other dialects. But then he adopted the nickname ‘David Baxter’ to help us foreigners, so let me use this from now on.
Tadogir y llinell, “Mae’r Famwlad Aflonydd mor bitw, drewllyd yw Afon Sed; Mor wirion brodorion yr ardal, ‘naeth chwalu’u bodolaeth gled” ar David yn aml iawn, fel tystiolaeth iddo fe gasáu gwlad ei enedigaeth. Rhaid i ni ddwyn mewn cof, fodd bynnag, iddo roi’r geiriau yng ngheg y cymeriad mileinig o’r enw Ivan Gythraul sy’n ymddangos yn y ddrama ‘Y Tywysog Dybryd.’ Mae’i ffrind gorau ar y llaw arall yn mynnu ei fod e wastad eisiau gwybod, “Sut oedd y cigfrain ar ben minarét uchel yr Uchelgaer Rosliw’n crawcian, pa gyfrinachau o’n nhw’n eu rhannu, beth oedd siâp a lliw’r sgrech yn codi gyda’r wawr o ogofâu wmbr y llygod mawr cynddeiriog ar bwys y pyllau halen hynafol.”The line, “The Haunted Homeland’s so puny, stinking the River Sed; So stupid the regions’ natives, who killed their home-comforts stone dead” is very often attributed to David as evidence that he hated his birth-land. We must bear in mind, however, that he put the words in the mouth of a vicious character called Ivan the Devil who appears in the play, ‘The Atrocious Prince.’ His best friend on the other hand insists that he always wanted to know, “How the ravens on top of the Rosy Fortress’s high minaret were croaking, what secrets they were sharing, what was the shape and colour of the scream rising with the dawn from the umber caves of the rabid rats beside the ancient salt mines.”
Wel, ‘sdim ots am hynny oll, achos taw nawr, mae dogfennau newydd ddod i’r golwg, sy’n profi y tu hwnt i unrhyw amheuaeth resymol taw cyfieithydd campus oedd David. Tarodd dyn tân ar y papurau mewn seler gêl o dan safle’r hen Ddafad Golledig, losgwyd yn ulw yn y tân a ysodd y ‘stad oll, tafarn ble byddai David yn lico difyrru’r amser drwy gymryd arno’i fod yn bwrw’r rwnau a dweud ffortiwn, yn ogystal â swyno’r cynulleidfaoedd mawr drwy adrodd storïau. Ymhlith y llawysgrifau oedd ‘Wil Kineythien aí’ (‘Dan y Pinwydd’), ‘Hanes y Dywysoges a’r Llabwst,’ 'Gweddïau a Bygythiadau,’ ‘Y Crochan sy wastad yn Llawn,’ ‘Οι του Eπικλήσεις Ἑνώχ’ (‘Parthed Arddeisyfiadau Enoch’), ‘Hanes Gwarthus y Mwncïod Cochion Hwyliog,’ ‘Cariad, Colled, Chwilod,’ ac ‘Exsecrationes Gentium Innumerabiles Profanarum’ (‘Melltithion Fyrdd y Cenhedloedd Cableddus’).Well never mind about all that, because now, documents have just come to light, which prove beyond a reasonable doubt that David was a talented translator. A fireman came across the papers in a secret cellar under the old Lost Sheep, which was burned to ashes in the fire that consumed the entire estate, a pub where David would like to while away his time pretending to cast the runes and tell fortunes, as well as beguiling the large audience by narrating stories. Amongst the manuscripts were ‘Wil Kineythien aí’ (‘Under the Pines’), ‘The Tale of the Princess and the Lout,’ ‘Prayers and Threats,’ ‘The Cauldron that is always Full,’ ‘Οι του Eπικλήσεις Ἑνώχ’ (‘Concerning the Enochian Invocations’), ‘The Shameful Tale of the Boisterous Red Monkeys,’ ‘Love, Loss, Beetles,’ and ‘Exsecrationes Gentium Innumerabiles Profanarum’ (‘Countless Curses of the Profane Peoples’).
Erbyn hyn, Undeb Myfyrwyr Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig Aberdydd a’r Cylch (UMSAAUAC) sy wedi codi arian i achub enaid hen noddfa’r sychedigion, gan greu ar y safle neuadd breswyl, canolfan technoleg gwybodaeth dra modern yn cynnwys peiriannau cymysgu meddyliau ac argraffyddion organig, a bar ffasiynol ond rhad (o’r enw ‘Llywbrau Drygioni,’ o bob peth dan Haul!). Maen nhw’n bwriadu cadw cof David y Llenor yn fyw trwy ddigwyddiadau yn y bar wedi’u symbylu gan goctels yn cynnwys Meddwl Mall, Ambrosia Ffug, Paun Gwirion, a Mêl-gawod Eplesedig. Dewch yn llu, felly, i gynnig llwncdestun i’r hen Dá·hwyth (beth bynnag oedd ei enw go iawn) a mwynhau rhai hanesion hynod newydd o’r Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth! Fe fydd y band Hebé Lwyd yn chwarae’u math unigryw o seico-pync nos Lun gynta’ pob mis – dyna fydd yn neis, on’ fydd? Dyma’n blas ni ar un o’i straeon mwya’ rhyfedd yn parhau —Now, the Student Union of the United Independent Educational Institutions of Aberdydd and the Region (SUUIEIAR) has raised money to save the soul of the old refuge for the parched, creating on the site a hall of residence, an ultra-modern information technology centre with mind-melding machines and organic printers, and a trendy but cheap bar (called the ‘Paths of Wickedness,’ of all things under the Sun!). They intend to keep the memory of David the Man-of-Letters alive through events in the bar stimulated by cocktails containing Blasted Brains, Fake Ambrosia, Mad Peacock, and Fermented Honey-dew. Roll up, roll up, then, to offer a toast to the old Dá∙hwyth (whatever his real name was) and enjoy some new tall tales from the Earth and the Nw Yrth! The band Hebé Lwyd will be playing their unique brand of psycho-punk on the first Monday night of every month – that’ll be nice, won’t it? Here, our taste of one his strangest stories continues —

“Arhoswch! Yr ydych yn barod i aberthu’ch hunain i’r Hen Feistri, er na wyddoch mohonom ni eto. Felly yr ydym ninnau, y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, wrth ein boddau. Fe fyddwn ni’n falch iawn o gael eich gwrogaeth a derbyn eich tynged o hyn ymlaen. Ac yn ein tro, byddwn ni’n eich bwydo a pheri ichi ffynnu. Ni fydd ond yn rhaid ichi wneud yr un peth bach hwn. Fe fyddwch yn rhoi pob un o’r llwyth a fydd farw i mewn i’r crochan o bres gwyrdd cyn i’r corff bydru. Fe fyddwn ni’n eu croesawu hwy i gyd mewn gogoniant ar y Nw Yrth, wedi’u cipio o safnau ebargofiant. Ac o’r herwydd, ni fydd y crochan byth yn wag, ac fe fyddwch chi’n deyrn ar yr holl Blaned ffrwythlon. Os cytunwch, nyni fydd eich Meistri, a chwychwi fydd ein gweision. ‘Delkurí’ fydd ein henw dirgel arnoch (er yr adwaenir chi gan y Byd fel ‘Deklo’), gan y byddwn ni’n bwydo’n gilydd! A’r enwau ar y saith teulu fydd: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, ac Ulkru. Chwychwi fydd biau’r Byd i gyd yn ein Henw ni. Dyma’n geiriau terfynol a digyfnewid ni. Credwch fi, oblegid mai myfi, Swtach, Arglwydd yr Anialwch, a gwas i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, sydd yn siarad!”

Gyda hynny dyna weiddi pob aelod o’r llwyth ag un llais: “Cytunwn! Gwnewch chi fel rydych chi wedi’i ddweud! Achubwch ni a pheri i ni ffynnu!” Ac felly yr oedd, ac felly y mae hi. I mewn i’r crochan o bres gwyrdd yr âi pob un o’r llwyth a fu farw, ac roedd y crochan wastad yn llawn hyd yr ymyl o ambrosia pêr, hylif purddu a ‘nâi i bob un a’i hyfodd ddod yn gryf iawn ond yn eitha’ twp. Ac wrth i’r bobl ffynnu a thyfu’n ddilyffethair, dechreuon nhw adeiladu dinas a magu anifeiliaid, ac yng nghanol y ddinas fe godon nhw Dŷ Aileni ar ffurf sigwrat mawr i gynnwys y crochan oedd yn Bont i’r Byd Arall. Yn fuan wedyn, ddarfu iddyn nhw ddod ar draws pobloedd eraill. Bob tro y digwyddai hyn, fe fyddai’r llais yn tarddu o ddyfnderoedd y crochan yn dweud wrthon nhw fod arnyn nhw angen gorfodi’u credau ar y dieithriaid aflan â chleddyf ac â thân. Ac felly y ‘naethon nhw. Ac wrth i’r pentyrrau o gyrff yn gorwedd o gwmpas y crochan dyfu’n uwch uwch gan ymestyn tuag at y Lleuad hyd yn oed, cyn iddyn nhw gael eu rhoi ynddo, roedd yr Hen Feistri Erchyll yn llawenhau ar y Nw Yrth. Ac roedd y crochan o bres gwyrdd wastad yn llawn yn wir.

“Wait! You are ready to sacrifice yourselves to the Old Masters, although you do not know them yet. Thus, we ourselves, the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, are delighted. We shall be most pleased to have your fealty and accept your tribute from now on. And in our turn, we shall feed you and cause you to flourish. You need only do this one little thing. You shall put every one of the tribe who dies into the cauldron of green brass before the body rots. We shall welcome them all in glory on the Nw Yrth, having snatched them from the jaws of oblivion. And as a result, the cauldron shall never be empty, and you shall dominate the whole fruitful Planet. If you agree, we shall be your masters, and you shall be our servants. ‘Delkurí’ will be our secret name for you (although you shall be known by the World as ‘Deklo’), as we shall feed each other. And the names of the seven families shall be: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, and Ulkru. You shall own the whole World in our Name. These are our final and immutable words. Believe me, as it is I, Swtach, Lord of the Wilderness, and servant to the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, who speaks!”

Immediately, every member of the tribe shouted with one voice: “We agree! Do as you have said! Save us and cause us to flourish!” And thus it was, and this it is. Into the cauldron went every one of the tribe who died, and the cauldron was always full to overflowing of delicious ambrosia, a jet-black liquid which made everyone who drank it become very strong but rather stupid. And as the people flourished and grew without restraint, they began to build a city and keep animals, and in the middle of the city they raised up a House of Rebirth in the form of a great ziggurat to contain the cauldron which was the Bridge to the Other World. Soon thereafter it came to pass that they came upon other peoples. Every time this happened, the voice issuing from the depths of cauldron would tell them that they needed to force their beliefs on the unclean strangers with sword and fire. And so they did. And as the piles of bodies lying around the cauldron grew higher and higher, reaching towards the Moon even, before they were put into it, the Terrible Old Masters rejoiced on the Nw Yrth. And indeed, the cauldron of green brass always was full.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 37

Pennod Pedwar Deg Un: Diweddu (Lleisiau 37) / Finishing (Voices 37)

Pan elwir ar y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd Ddydd y Farn, pan agorir y seithfed sêl, wedyn fe ddônt hwy, fel saith brenin a brenhines, pob un gyda’i saith llygad a’i saith corn, gan wisgo’i ddiadem ac arno saith seren, a chario ffagl fflamllyd. Y Saith biau saith teulu’r Delkurí: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, ac Ulkru. Hwythau sydd yn rheoli saith poenedigaeth bodolaeth farwol: llosgi, dallu, rhyddhau, ennill, byw, llanw, a chreu. Y rheiny sydd yn llywio saith cam galar: gwylltio, mynd ar goll, anwybyddu, dechrau deall, derbyn, brifo, gwella. Ac fe fydd eu gweision yno’n canu saith utgorn, cyn iddynt ddod â saith canhwyllyr a saith dysgl o aur. Ac yna fe ddatgelir pob cyfrinach y galon ddynol gan Swtach Arglwydd yr Anialwch a Meistr yr Anhysbys. A chyda saith taran fe ryddheir y saith pla olaf. A dyma fydd Mawdryn Ddifarw yn dihuno ar ôl ei gwsg hir, i ganu’i Saith Cân unwaith eto. Ac erbyn hynny fe fydd y Saith wedi dod yn Un.

When the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers are invoked at the Day of Judgement, when the seventh seal is opened, then they shall come, like seven kings and queens, each one with seven eyes and seven horns, wearing a starry diadem, and carrying a flaming torch. It is the Seven who own the seven families of the Delkurí: Ampashu, Azarié, Eldo, Namana, Nekendu, Silba, ac Ulkru. They rule the seven torments of mortal existence: burning, blinding, releasing, winning, living, filling, and creating. It is these who steer the seven stages of mourning: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, acceptance. And their servants shall be there, blowing seven trumpets, before they bring seven candelabras and seven golden dishes. And then every secret of the human heart shall be revealed by Swtach Lord of the Wilderness and Master of the Unknown. And with seven peals of thunder the seven last plagues shall be released. And so shall Mawdryn Undead awake after his long sleep, to sing his Seven Songs once again. And by that time the Seven shall have become One.

A dyma Hebé, ysbryd anhrefnus serch a chosb, yn cerdded ling-di-long tuag at y llanc yng nghanol colofn tân. Wrth iddi gyrraedd, a’r modrwyau euraid yn serennu ar ei bysedd oll, mae hi’n sibrwd pethau o bob math wrtho, am garco rhyw lances arbennig sy’n feichiog, a’i mab yn em odiaeth all drawsffurfio’r Byd Toredig ac achub pawb, ond i’r seremoni gael ei chyflawni’n gymwys gan yr offeiriad dewisol. A dyna fe’n gwylio’r Tywysog Anobeithiol yn cofleidio’i Dywysoges Amhosib ei Chael ar dwmpath gwyrdd symudliw, sydd hefyd yn garped brwnt. Ac fel golygfa mewn ffilm, mae’n clywed bellach lais y llances sbesial ‘na, y gariad mae’n ei charu gyda’i holl gorff, a meddwl, ac enaid, er dyw hi’m yn sylweddoli eto. A dyna hithau’n esbonio heb flewyn ar ei thafod ei bod hi’n cario baban bach, a’i llais mor gry’, a thaer. Ac mae’r llanc yn dechrau poeni fel arfer am gael tyfu lan, cymryd cyfrifoldeb, cael gyrfa, a magu teulu, ond mae hi’n gwenu arno fe a’i annog, ac mae e’n dechrau teimlo bydd popeth yn iawn, wrth iddi ailadrodd yr un gair – ‘ithlon’ – ‘brawd’ – drosodd a throsodd.And here’s Hebé, unruly spirit of love and punishment, dawdling towards the lad in the middle of a column of fire. As she arrives, the golden rings glittering on all her fingers, she whispers all kind of things to him, about protecting some special pregnant lass, her son an exquisite gem who can transform the Broken World and save everyone, if only the ceremony is completed properly by the chosen officiant. And he’s watching the Hopeless Prince caressing the Unattainable Princess on an iridescent green hillock, which is also a dirty carpet. And like a scene in a film, he now hears the voice of that special girl, the sweet-heart he loves with his whole body, and mind, and soul, although she doesn’t realise yet. And she explains as plain as can be that she’s carrying a little baby, her voice so strong and insistent. And the lad begins to worry as usual about growing up, taking responsibility, getting a career, and raising a family, but she smiles at him and encourages him, and he begins to feel that everything will be all right, as she repeats the one word – ‘ithlon’ – ‘brother' – over and over.
“…Ar ôl llawer o goncro a gormesu, fe gafodd y Cwpl Lwcus, y Dywysoges a’r Llabwst, faban. Ac er nad oedd neb wedi trefnu na dychmygu’r fath beth, fe oedd y Mab Darogan, a allai uno pwerau’r Delw-addolwyr ag eiddo’r Swynwyr i greu Byd newydd, o bosibl. Fe enwyd y plentyn dwywaith, mor arbennig oedd e, yn Keth·kela a Hethehela (yn ieithoedd y ddau lwyth), gan fod lliw ei groen yn wyrddlwyd, neu lwydlas neu lwydwyrdd. Efallai i hyn ddigwydd oherwydd y sefyllfa fregus yn yr Ysgor, fel y esboniaf nesaf, am fod y llys oll wedi cefnu ar y Swynwyr ac wedi’i hollti gan gynnen. Roedd y carfannau ymrafaelgar wastad yn trio newidio'i gilydd a chipio grym, trwy anfon ysbïwyr i gasglu tameidiau o wybodaeth wrth daenu celwyddau, a gwenwyno'r bwyd a'r dŵr. Yn Nhŷ Aileni, roedd y fflam dragwyddol wedi diffodd. Roedd y Llais Trallodus wedi tawelu. Ac nid oedd y crochan chwedlonol o bres gwyrdd i’w weld yn unman rhagor...”“…After lots of conquering and oppressing, the Lucky Couple, the Princess and the Lout, had a baby. And although no-one had organised nor imagined such a thing, it was he who was the Son Foretold, who could unite the powers of the Idolaters with that of the Sorcerers to create a new World, possibly. The child was named twice, so special was he, as Keth·kela a Hethehela (in the languages of the two tribes), as the colour of his skin was glaucous. Perhaps this had happened due to the fragile situation in the Fortress, as I shall explain next, as the entire court had turned its back on the Sorcerers, and was riven by contention. The argumentative factions were always trying to harm each other and seize power, by sending spies to collect scraps of information, whilst spreading lies, and poisoning the food and the water. In the House of Rebirth, the eternal flame had gone out. The Vexatious Voice had become silent. And the fabled cauldron of green brass was nowhere to be seen any longer…”
Ac wedyn mae’r llanc yn deall taw Steffan yw’r Brawd, ac yn gallu’i glywed e’n gweiddi arno, “Dere ‘mlaen, mêt! Neidia! Neidia!” A dyna lais benywaidd yn dawel adrodd geiriau Defod Musasa, “Le-iro mi fares; A’tse to p’oe; Ita za taz; Ha-tal agmi talag!” Ac wrth iddi hi ddwyn swynion y Saith o’u meddyliau’u hunain, dyna ffurf fethiannus yr Ysgolfeistr sarcastig yn ffrwydro o flaen ei lygaid yn grug o dalpiau o gnawd cignoeth, a phob un ohonyn nhw’n byw’n annibynnol ar y gweddill ac yn ceisio amgáu, a thagu, a mygu. Ac mae’r llanc yn gofio’i hunan yn trwsio tŷ bach y bwthyn glas wrth i Chwaer ddychmygol drio’i ddal e gyda swyn. Ond bellach dyma Chwaer go iawn o’i orffennol colledig yn ryddhau fe, wrth i lefiathan ymbelydrol hedfan yn syth tuag ato fe, a’i ddwsinau o lygaid cochion yn fflachio, a’i ddegau o gynffonau danheddog yn gafael a thorri, a’i saith ceg yn chwydu pob rheg dan yr Haul.And then the lad understands that Steffan is the Brother, and he can hear him shouting at him: “Come on, mate! Jump, jump!” And there’s a female voice quietly reciting the words of the Musasa Rite: “Le-iro mi fares; A’tse to p’oe; Ita za taz; Ha-tal agmi talag!” And as she steals the charms of the Seven from their own minds, there’s the decrepit form of the sarcastic Schoolmaster exploding before his eyes in a multitude of chunks of raw flesh, each one of them living independently of the rest, and trying to surround, and choke, and suffocate. And the lad remembers himself fixing the blue cottage’s toilet as an imaginary Sister tries to trap him with a spell. But now a real Sister from his lost past frees him, as a radioactive leviathan flies straight at him, its dozens of red eyes flashing, its tens of toothy tails grabbing and cutting, and its seven mouths spewing out every profanity under the Sun.
“…Ac yn hyn o beth, roedd penaethiaid saith teulu’r Rhyfelwyr yn ymddwyn mor debyg i’r Swynwyr Seraffaidd, gan weld bai, a chweryla, a ffrwgwd. Ceisio cytundeb rhyngddyn nhw oedd fel bwyta uwd â rhaw. Ond gyda golwg ar gadw disgyblaeth haearnaidd a chynnal trefn, doedd y Llabwst fawr o beth o gwbl. Fe ddylanwadid ar fywyd pawb yn byw yn yr Uchelgaer gan y sibrydion bygythiol, y cyffuriau yn y medd, y pryfocio di-baid, a'r diffyg cwsg. Erbyn heddiw dywedem ni ‘u bod nhw’n gorfod dygymod â chamdriniaeth seicolegol barhaus, ond dyweden nhw fod yna Reibes Ddrwg yn bwrw hud arnyn nhw, yr hen foch siofinistig (er nad yw dim byd o’i le ar foch, ‘chwaith!). Ei rybuddio fe’n gyson a wnâi’r Dywysoges, fod yna ryw ddrygioni ar droed gan yr uchelwyr, ond roedd pethau pwysicach o lawer yn pwyso ar ei feddwl. Bychan y tâl cyngor gwraig, ond gwae y gŵr nas cymero, fel y meddan nhw…”“… And in this matter, the chieftains of the seven Warrior families were behaving so similarly to the Seraphic Sorcerers, blaming, and quarrelling, and brawling. Trying to get them to agree was an impossible task. But with regards to enforcing iron discipline and maintaining order, the Lout was not much use at all. The life of everyone living in the Fortress was affected by the threatening whispers, the drugs in the mead, the ceaseless provocation, and the lack of sleep. Now we would say that they had to put up with constant psychological torture, but they said that an Evil Enchantress was casting spells on them, the old chauvinist pigs (although there’s nothing wrong with pigs, either!). The Princess warned him constantly that there was some evil afoot with the nobles, but he had much more important things on his mind. Little use is wife’s advice to her man, but he’ll rue the day he ignores her, as they say…”
Ond efallai bod y Swynwyr Seraffaidd wedi anghofio’u cyfarwyddiadau’u hunain. Neu efallai taw mater o ddehongli ydy yn y bôn, fel y bydd bob tro, wrth drin hudoliaeth, cyfreithiau, proffwydoliaethau, cytundebau, maniffestos gwleidyddol, cwestiynau arholiad, canlyniadau refferenda, ac ysgythrau. Yn wir, dyn nhw ddim eisiau i’r holl bŵer arswydus droi yn eu herbyn nhw. Maen nhw wedi dewis â llaw (wel, â thentacl, neu binsiwrn, a bod yn berffaith onest) ddau ddyn, a’u hyfforddi nhw trwy gyfrwng cyfres hir o dreialon a phrofedigaethau i fod yn aberth ac offeiriad, er nad nhwthau hyd yn oed a ŵyr p’un fydd p’un nes i’r foment dyngedfennol gyrraedd. Felly prin y gellid dweud taw gwerin bobl yw’r ddau Ddaearolyn (er taw wrth gwrs, y fath anwadalwch achosodd broblem enfawr y tro ola', hefyd, on’d do fe, ond dyna chi). Ond beth bynnag, maen nhw wedi trefnu i’r darpar offeiriaid ddysgu’r geiriau priodol yn fanwl, er bod un ohonyn nhw ar fin sychdarthu bellach, tra mae’r llall wedi anghofio popeth am y tro.But perhaps the Seraphic Sorcerers had forgotten their own instructions. Or maybe, fundamentally, it’s a matter of interpretation, as it always is when dealing with enchantment, laws, prophecies, contracts, political manifestos, exam questions, referendum results, and scriptures. Certainly, they don’t want the all the terrible power to turn against them. They’ve chosen by hand (well, by tentacle, or pincer, to be perfectly honest) two men, and trained them by means of a long series of trials and tribulations to be sacrifice and priest, although even they don’t know which will be which until the fateful moment arrives. So it can scarcely be said that the two Earthlings are common folk (although, of course, such shilly-shallying caused an enormous problem the last time, didn’t it, but there you are). But anyway, they have arranged for the prospective officiants to learn the proper words in detail, although one of them’s on the point of sublimating now, while the other’s forgotten everything for the time being.
“…Beth oedd y broblem fawr, felly, a all beri i bobl newid lliw? Wel, a sôn yn blwmp ac yn blaen, y bwyd oedd ar fai, siŵr o fod, neu’r prinder ohono. Rhaid cofio nad Amaethwyr oedd trigolion yr Amddiffynfa, ond Rhyfelwyr. Roedden nhw’n fwy cyfarwydd ag olew a lledr, â charreg a phren, nag â ffrwythau a llysiau, ynteu â physgod a chig. Felly nad oedd neb yn yr Ysgor yn cael deiet cytbwys o bell ffordd, a dweud y lleiaf. Ymhellach, roedd y Llabwst yn gwirioni ar dyfu ffwng eithriadol o’r Gefnwlad a ddatblygai nodweddion hudol o lesol o’i gadw mewn mêl am flwyddyn a diwrnod. Ac fe fyddai’n perswadio, neu’n annog, neu’n gorfodi ei fab i lyncu meintiau enfawr ohono, ac er ei fod yn achosi gweledigaethau brawychus yn ogystal â theimladau od, ystumiau rhyfedd, a chroen symudliw, doedd e ddim yn blasu’n rhy wael. Ond wedi dweud hynny, wrth gwrs, gormod o ddim nid yw da, hefyd, a gormod o bwdin dagith gi. Serch hynny, roedd y Teulu Hapus yn llwyddo i gadw'n fyw os nad yn iach, er gwaethaf yr helbulon rif y gwlith…”“…What was the big problem, then, that can cause people to change colour? Well, to speak plainly, it is the food that was to blame, probably, or the lack of it. We must remember that the inhabitants of the Fortress were not Farmers but Warriors. They were more familiar with oil and leather, with rock and wood, that with fruit and veg, or with fish and meat. So, no-one in the Citadel had a balanced diet by a long way, to say the least. Furthermore, the Lout was mad about growing exceptional fungus from the Hinterland that developed magically beneficial properties from being kept in honey for a year and a day. And he would persuade, or encourage, or force his son to gobble down vast quantities of it, and although it caused terrifying visions as well as odd feelings, strange twitches, and iridescent skin, it didn’t taste too awful. But having said that, of course, you can always have too much of a good thing, too., and it’s possible to choke on excess. Despite that, the Happy Family managed to keep alive if not healthy, despite the innumerable troubles...”
Ac mae’r Saith wedi gweithio mor galed i buro’r aberthfaen a’i gadw rhag cael ei halogi gan hylifau corfforol. Dyma’r holl eiriau melys ofnadw’n saethu fel bomiau hudol o bob ochr. Mae’r Hen Filwr, neu’r ffug-Ddewin (neu’r Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, hyd yn oed), wedi llwyddo i’w amddiffyn ei hunan rhag mynd yn seremonïol aflan, mwy neu lai, er taw’i fwriad cêl yw gwyrdroi dymuniadau’r Swynwyr. A thrwy ymarfer ei feddwl craff mae wedi puro’r llanc yn yr un modd ‘fyd, wel, yn ddigon da. Ond dyw neb wedi crybwyll cyflwr corfforol y cyfranogwyr. Ac o ran y print mân, mewn pob Hen Lyfr, Sgrôl Gorchmynion, Tabled Tynghedau, neu Lawlyfr Hud a Lledrith, fe fyddwch chi wastad yn dod o hyd i eiriau fel: dianaf, heb nam arno, di-fai; a pherffeithgwbl. Ac yn hyn o beth, mae’r llanc wedi’i halogi’n wael!And the Seven have worked so hard to purify the sacrificial stone and keep it from being desecrated by bodily fluids. All the terribly sweet words are shooting like magical bombs from every side. The Old Solider, or the fake-Wizard (or the Old Holy Warrior, even), has succeeded in defending himself from becoming ceremonially impure, more or less, although his secret intention is to pervert the Sorcerers’ wishes. And by exercising his shrewd mind he’s purified the lad in the same way too, well, well enough. But no-one’s mentioned the physical condition of the participants. And considering the small-print, in every Old Book, Scroll of Commandments, Tablet of Fates, or Grimoire, you’ll always find words like: unhurt, without blemish, faultless, and unstained. And in this matter, the lad is terribly defiled!
“…Er hynny, roedd y rhieni esgeulus yn rhy brysur yn mynd trwy'u pethau, wrth anelu at nodau milwrol (o ran y naill), neu ganlyn pleserau amaethyddol (o ran y llall), i ofalu’n briodol am y bachgen bach oedd yn hen iawn o’i oed. A dyna olygai ei fod yn dod dan ddylanwad plant yr Arglwyddi Dichellgar oedd cynddrwg, os nad gwaeth, na’u rhieni nhwthau. Un dydd, wrth chwarae gyda’r diawliaid bychain, fe redodd Keth·kela Hethehela i ffwrdd. Dywedodd y naill ei fod yn hela llygoden, tra honnodd y lleill iddo fynd ar ôl pêl a oedd wedi dianc o’i afael a rholio lawr tramwyfa, er nad oedd neb wedi gweld ble yn union roedd e wedi mynd. A oedden nhw’n dweud y gwir neu beidio am ei leoliad, roedd y crwt wedi treiddio i berfeddion yr Uchelgaer. Ac yn y seler ddyfnaf, dywyllaf, a mwyaf brawychus, roedd e wedi cwympo i mewn i gerwyn enfawr ar ffurf crochan o bres gwyrdd yn llawn hyd yr ymyl o hylif purddu oedd ambrosia pêr llawn mêl, a boddi. Pan nad oedd e wedi dod yn ôl erbyn hanner nos, fe gollodd y rhieni arnyn nhw eu hunain, dan boeni y caent eu barnu’n ddiffygiol, a mynd yn grac o feddwl o bosibl eu bod wedi colli ased gwerthfawr iawn…”“…Despite that, the neglectful parents were too busy doing their own thing, with military objectives in mind (on the part of one), or following agricultural pleasures (on the part of the other), to care appropriately for the little boy who was very precocious. And this meant that he came under the influence of the Deceitful Lords’ children who were as bad, if not worse, than their own parents. One day, whilst playing with the little devils, Keth·kela Hethehela ran off. One said he was hunting a mouse, whilst the others that he had gone after a ball that had escaped from his grip and rolled down a passageway, although no-one had seen where exactly he’d gone. Whether they were telling the truth or not about his location, the kid had penetrated into the guts of the Fortress. And in the deepest, darkest, and most terrifying cellar, he had fallen into an enormous vat in the form of a cauldron of green brass full to overflowing with pitch-black liquid which was sweet ambrosia full of honey, and drowned. When he had not returned by midnight, the parents went crazy, worrying that they would be judged lacking, and getting angry at the thought that, possibly, they had lost a very valuable asset...”
Ar draws croen y bachgen mae miloedd o greithiau’n dawnsio, dros ei gefn a’i frest, ac i lawr ei freichiau. Ac ar ei frest chwith, wedi’i serio â haearn poeth, mae siâp ‘sgarlad, symbol echrydus o’r Nw Yrth. Ac maen nhw’n llythrennau rwnig, cochion, sydd yn gyntefig a nerthol ofnadw’, sy’n ffurfio ac ail-ffurfio ieithoedd newydd. Ond O, am wayw dirboenus mae’n ddeimlo, wrth i’r arwydd ar ei frest newid yn gyson. A dyna’r symbolau wedi’u hysgythru ar ei gorff yn dod yn fyw, gan gogor a chanu. Ac wedyn mae’r llanc yn sylweddoli heb feddwl ond yn reddfol sut i fwrw’r hud grymusaf, drwy sianelu a chwarae gyda’r nerth trawsffurfiadol yng nghalon gwe iaith, sy’n aruthrol a hollgynhwysol. Mae’n ailddechrau adrodd wedyn, ac mae’r geiriau’n troi’n fantra, a’r mantra’n llafargan, a’r llafargan yn gân. Ac mae’n clywed bod gan y geiriau estron nerth anferthol, a dyna’r swyngan newydd yn dechrau llifo o’i wefusau — 'Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu.’All over the boy’s skin there are thousands of scars dancing, across his back and his chest, and down his arms. And on his left chest, seared with hot iron, there’s a scarlet shape, a dread symbol from the Nw Yrth. And they are red, runic letters, that are primal and terribly powerful, which form and re-form new languages. And Oh, what agonizing pangs he feels, as the sign on his chest changes constantly. And then the symbols incised on his body come alive, prattling and singing. And then the lad realises without thinking but instinctively how to make the strongest magic, by channelling and playing with the transformative power at the heart of the web of language, which is immense and all-embracing. He starts again to recite then, and the words turn into a mantra, and the mantra into a chant, and the chant into a song. And he hears that the strange words have immense strength, and so the novel incantation begins to flow from his lips – 'Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu.’
“…Trwy’i bwerau meddyliaethol, oedd bron yn oruwchnaturiol, canfu’r Llabwst taw er mwyn cael hyd i'r bachgen, byddai raid i'r chwiliwr feddu ar ddawn ieithyddol eithriadol, gan fod datguddiad ac esboniad yn mynd law yn law fel petai. Gofynnodd y Llabwst i'r Dewiniaid sut i ddatrys y broblem, ac atebon nhw y byddai angen ar y gweledydd llwyddiannus ddehongli'r pos canlynol – ‘Yn rhywle, roedd bustach wedi cael ei eni, fyddai’n newid ei liw ddwywaith yn ystod ei oes, o wyn, i goch, i ddu; Beth fyddai'r ffordd orau i ddisgrifio lliwiau'r creadur hwn?’…”“…Through his mentalist powers, which were almost supernatural, the Lout discerned that to find the boy, the searcher would have to possess exceptional linguistic skill, since revelation and exposition go hand-in-hand as it were. The Lout asked the Wizards how to solve the problem, and they answered that the successful seer would need to solve the following riddle – ‘Somewhere, a bullock had been born, which would change its colour twice during its lifetime, from white, to red, to black. What would the best way of describing the colours of this creature?’…”
Ac wedyn, felly, dyw e ddim yn trio bod yn swynwr symbolaidd trahaus, sy’n ceisio rheoli’r hud yn ffrydio o sylwedd y Ddau Fyd, ond yn hytrach, crefftwr ydy, sy’n mynd gyda’r llif creadigol, gan adael i’r egni arllwys trwyddo a chael ei fowldio ganddo yn ei dro cyn iddo ddianc mor gyflym. Dyw e ddim yn siarad yn ôl yr hen arfer mwyach, ‘chwaith, fel y dylai fe, er bod y siambr, y seler, y lle aberthol yn dechrau toddi, serch hynny. Ac mae’n ymuno â llais ei wir gariad wrth i hanfod pob bod byw yn y Ddau Fyd lifo trwyddyn nhw wrth iddyn nhw arnofio yng nghanol trobwll di-hidio, diarbed, di-baid creadigaeth — ‘Size, nilara, narala, sifi.’And so then, he’s not trying to be an overbearing symbolic sorcerer, who’s trying to control the magic spurting from the substance of the Two Worlds, but rather he’s a craftsman, who goes with the creative flow, allowing the energy to pour through him, and being moulded by it in his turn before it escapes so quickly. He’s not speaking in the old way any more, either, as he should, although the chamber, the cellar, the place of sacrifice, is beginning to melt despite that. And he joins with the voice of his true love as the essence of every living being in the Two Worlds flows through them as they float in the middle of a non-stop, unrelenting, careless maelstrom of creativity — ‘Size, nilara, narala, sifi.’
“…Nawr, bu yn y deyrnas y pryd hynny Siaman o'r enw Ohl·weled. Mae'r enw'n golygu y gallai ragweld llawer o bethau, ac fe fuasai wedi bod yn feddyliaethydd a rhifolegwr enwog heddiw. Roedd e'n dymuno â'i holl galon ddychwelyd i'w famwlad, yn bell dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd, ond wedi cael ei wrthod gan yr Unben o achos ei dalentau fyrdd. Beth bynnag, fe a ddatrysodd y pos, gan ddatgan – “Mae lliwiau'r bustach fel eiddo'r Man·toru, fydd yn achub y werin a’u damnio hefyd, gan ei fod yn wen pan gaeth e’i greu, mae’n goch ar hyd o bryd wrth iddo regi a thaeru yn Llwybrau Drygioni, ac fe fydd yn ddu ar y dydd gaiff e’i ladd gan y Dywysoges Waedlyd.” Syfrdanodd y Llabwst o glywed y fath eiriau, ac anfon y Siaman i nôl ei fab, ble bynnag y bo…”“…Now, there was in the kingdom at that time a Shaman called Ohl·weled. His name means that he could foresee many things, and he would have been a famous mentalist and numerologist today. He desired with his whole heart to return to his homeland, far across the Great Grey Sea, buy had been refused by the Tyrant because of his myriad talents. Anyway, it was him who solved the riddle, declaring – “The colours of the bullock are like those of the Man-bull, who shall save the folk and damn them too, as he was white when he was born, he is red at present as he rants and raves in the Paths of Wickedness, and he shall be black the day he is killed by the Bloody Princess.” The Lout was flabbergasted by such words, and sent the Shaman to fetch his son, wherever he might be…”
Ac erbyn hyn mae’r creadur cosmig wedi dod mor gymhleth bod ei driliynau o gelloedd hunangydwybodol wedi’u llenwi â chawl cychwynnol yn dechrau creu sain sy’n ymestyn drwy’r Holl Fyd, wrth iddo ddal i esblygu’n gyson. A dyma udo aflywodraethus yr oruwchorganeb yn ychwanegu mor bwerus at y gân sy’n gwrthwynebu disgwyliadau’r Swynwyr — ‘Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa.’ Mae’r sŵn hwn yn cynnwys cymysgedd rhyfedd o unigrwydd a gobaith, o solidariaeth ac anobaith, er dyw’m yn bosib dangos hyn mewn llun, na’i ddisgrifio mewn iaith. Ac er bod y Saith ar fedr torri drwyddo i gymryd y Ddaear drosodd ac achosi helbul â’u tentaclau rwberaidd, mae’i wiredd, a’i ffyrnigrwydd, a’i daerineb anochel, a’i llonder talog yn ‘neud iddyn nhw gael ofn ofnadw’ — ‘Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe.’And by now the cosmic creature’s got so complex that its trillions of self-conscious cells filled with primal soup are starting to create a sound that extends through the All-World, as it continues to evolve constantly. And the superorganism’s unrestrained howling adds so powerfully to the song that’s opposing the Sorcerers’ expectations. — ‘Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa.’ This sound contains a strange mixture of loneliness and hope, of solidarity and despair, although it’s not possible to show this in a picture, nor describe it in language. And although the Seven are on the verge of breaking through to take over the Earth and cause havoc with their rubbery tentacles, its truth, and its ferocity, and its inescapable earnestness, and its jaunty joy make them very afraid — ‘Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe.’
“…Crwydrodd y Siaman trwy'r coridorau troellog, a’r neuaddau dirfawr, a’r llwybrau cul, am ddyddiau heb saib, nes bod ei thraed yn gwaedu. I lawr ac i lawr aeth e, yn bellach bellach, wrth igam-ogamu’n ddiamcan heb yr un syniad am gyfeiriad na chyrchfan. Ond heb yn wybod iddo, roedd e’n anelu’n syth at galon ddu’r Amddiffynfa Anfad. O'r diwedd fe ddarganfu gorff y bachgen ar ôl gweld gwdihŵ'n hela haid o wenwyn ymaith o seler win yr Ysgor yn ddwfn yng ngwreiddiau’r lle. Roedd y gelain wedi'i chyffeithio’n berffaith gan yr ambrosia nes na fyddai byth yn heneiddio. A dyna oedd y bachgen wyneb i waered yn y crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd, a'i wyneb yn disgleirio o ogoniant glân. Roedd y Llabwst wrth ei fodd o gael corff ei fab yn ôl, ond doedd hyn ddim yn ddigon iddo o hyd…”“…The Shaman wandered through the winding corridors, and the vast halls, and the narrow paths, for days without a pause, until his feet were bleeding. Down and down he went, further and further, zig-zagging purposelessly without a single idea about direction nor destination. But unbeknownst to him, he was aiming straight for the black heart of the Sinister Stronghold. At last he discovered the body of the boy after seeing an owl chasing a swarm of bees away from the Fortress’s wine cellar deep in the roots of the place. The corpse had been perfectly preserved by the ambrosia so that it would never age. And there was the boy upside-down in the enormous cauldron of green brass, his face shining with holy glory. The Lout was delighted to get his son’s body back, but this was still not enough for him…”
A dyna’r llanc yn rhythu’n syth ym myw llygaid ei Wncwl ffiaidd, ac yntau’n crafangu wrth gilwenu’n anllad. Ond o’r tywyllwch, dyna fwystfil gwyllt yn llamu ato fe, un sy’n byw mewn fforest binwydd ar y Ddaear, mewn rhyw wlad hirbell, ac mae fel bleiddast yn gwarchod ei chenau wrth oernadu dan olau’r Lleuad lem — ‘Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha.’ A dyna’r Wncwl yn troi yn lwmp enfawr o ectoplasm curiadol sy’n dod yn geffalopod a chanddo lawer iawn o freichiau’n chwyrlïo dros bob man i gymriwio’i ysglyfaeth flinedig sy’n peuo’n n fyr ac yn gyflym erbyn hyn, â mil o lafnau iasoer.And the lad’s looking straight in the whites of his hateful Uncle’s eyes, as he claws and sneers salaciously. But from the darkness, a wild beast leaps out at him, one that lives in a pine-forest on the Earth, in some far-away land, and it’s like a she-wolf guarding her cubs, whilst howling under the harsh Moon’s light — ‘Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha.’ And the Uncle turns into an enormous lump of throbbing ectoplasm which becomes a cephalopod with very many arms whirling all over the place to lacerate its exhausted prey, who’s panting short and fast by now, with a thousand ice-cold blades.
“…Wedyn gorchmynnodd y Llabwst i’r Siaman adfer ei fab i fywyd. Ac yn wir, roedd yr hen ddyn yn gyfarwydd â'r chwedl am Tefnuth yn canu cân hudol wedi'i dwyn gan yr Haul fel y gallai hi farw, disgyn i'r Isfyd, casglu a gwella Lushfé, a dod â fe yn ôl i’w orsedd o ddur glas yn y Prif Sigwrat. Fodd bynnag, roedd e'n adnabod ei gyfyngiadau hefyd, ac er iddo ddod o hyd i gorff y plentyn druan yn y seler mor debyg i Annwfn, ar ôl chwilio am amser maith, roedd arno angen cyfaddef nad oedd e'n medru'i atgyfodi. Wel, aeth y Llabwst yn wyllt gacwn o glywed hyn, gan fynnu y dylai'r gŵr doeth, nad oedd yn ymddangos yn rhy ddeallus ar hynny o bryd, gael ei roi dan glo mewn claddgell gyda'r gelain. Ac ni fyddai ganddo ddim byd o gwbl i'w fwyta, a dim byd yn ei law ond cleddyf, ‘chwaith…”“…Then the Lout commanded the Shaman to restore his son to life. And indeed, the old man was familiar with the tale about Tefnuth singing a magical song stolen from the Sun that she could die, descend to the Underworld, collect and heal Lushfé, and bring him back to his throne of blue steel in the Chief Ziggurat. However, he recognised his limitations as well, and although he’d found the body of the poor child un the cellar so like the Underworld, after searching for an age, he had to admit that he couldn’t resuscitate him. Well, the Lout went raving mad when he heard this, insisting that the wise man, who didn’t appear too clever at that point in time, should be locked up in a dungeon with the corpse. And he would have nothing at all to eat, and nothing in his hand but a sword, either…”
Ond yn sydyn dyna ddaeargryn enfawr yn hollti’r tir diffaith o amgylch y Sigwratau, gan gyhoeddi bod yr Un Bwystfil ar Ddeg yn ymuno â’r frwydr, wedi’u galw gan hen swyn na allant ei wrthod — ‘Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha.’ Nid creaduriaid cyffredin mohonyn nhw, ond rhai o faint enfawr a llawn nerth goruwchnaturiol. O un o’r agennau dyna ymddangos neidr wenwynllyd, wrth i sarff ogoneddus lithro o dwll dwfn arall ar ochr bell y maes. Ac i gynorthwyo ymdrechion ei chyfeillion, dyna wiber gynddeiriog yn dod i’r golwg oddi dan y cerflun ffiaidd. Nad ydynt ar eu pennau’u hunain ‘chwaith, am mai dyma sgorpion angheuol yn sgrialu rhwng y coed o gerrig, a llysywen drydanol yn nofio’n wyllt trwy’r awyr lawn gwreichion. Ymhellach twrw cyhyrog sy’n rhuthro ar draws faes y gad gan ruo, i amddiffyn y llanc, ac yn ei ymyl mae draig ddirfawr. O’r dde fe ddaw bwgan blewog, wrth i lew gwallgof redeg i mewn o’r chwith.But suddenly an enormous earthquake splits the wasteland around the Ziggurats, announcing that the Eleven Beasts are joining the battle, called by an old charm they cannot refuse — ‘Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha.’ They are not usual creatures, but ones of enormous size and full of supernatural strength. From one of the fissures a poisonous snake appears, as a majestic serpent slips from another deep hole on the far side of the field. And to assist the efforts of its friends, a furious viper comes into view from under the hateful statue. They are not alone. either, for there’s a deadly scorpion scrabbling between the stone trees, and an electric eel swimming wildly through the air full of sparks. Further, a muscular bull rushes across the battlefield roaring, to defend the lad, and beside it there is a vast dragon. Form the right, there comes a hairy bogey, while a mad lion runs in from the left.
“…Roedd y Siaman wedi drysu'n lân o ystyried ei sefyllfa a'i amgylchiadau. Ac yntau bron a marw o newyn, llwyddodd i ladd sarff a oedd wedi llusgo dan y drws trwchus o dderw tuag at y plentyn, i'w hatal rhag niweidio’i gorff. (Ac fe wnaeth e hyn naill ai â'r cleddyf neu â cherrig hylaw, naill ai ar ddamwain neu o bwrpas. Dyw’r straeon ddim yn glir yma. Pwy all ddweud, bellach?) Trueni oedd hynny, yn yr ystyr o fod yn gamgymeriad, efallai, gan fod yr hen sarff yn feistres ar lawer iawn o gyfrinachau, yn cynnwys sut i iacháu'r meirwon, gwyrth a ddysgwyd iddi gan Tefnuth. Wrth i’r Siaman aros i ystyried sut i fwyta'r anifail heb ei goginio, ymddangosodd sarff arall. Pan welodd hi'i chariad yn gorwedd yn farw ar y llechi oer, fe ddiflannodd hi ar unwaith. Ond yn groes i ddisgwyliad yr hen ddyn, fe ddaeth hi yn ei hôl cyn pen dim, gan ddwyn yn ei cheg ddail rhyw lysieuyn, neu efallai mai madarch oedden nhw. Ac er ei fawr syndod, pan rodd hi'r planhigyn ar gorff y sarff farw, fe gododd hithau'n fyw yn y fan…”“...The Shaman was completely confused considering his situation and his circumstances. When he was almost dying of hunger, he succeeded in killing a serpent that had slid under the thick door of oak towards the child, to prevent it from harming his body. (And he did this either with the sword or with a handy stone, either by accident or on purpose. The stories aren’t clear here. Who can say, now?) That was a pity, in the sense of being a mistake, perhaps, as the old snake is mistress of very many secrets, including how to heal the dead, a miracle taught to her by Tefnuth. As the Shaman waited to consider how to eat the animal without cooking it, another serpent appeared. When it saw its sweetheart lying dead on the cold slates, it disappeared at once. But contrary to the old man’s expectation, it came back in no time, bearing in its mouth the leaves of some herb, or maybe they were mushrooms. And to his great surprise, when it put the plant on the body of the dead serpent, she came back to life immediately…”
Ac mae llais y llanc, a lleisiau Blodeuwedd a’r Doethur Da ‘fyd yn ymuno â chôr o leisiau cryfa’r Ddau Fyd, yn canu cân feddwol o gymhleth am garu, a chasáu, a chadw, a cholli, ac am uno pob peth croes — ‘Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.’ A dyma emyn llawn gwaed a harddwch, mor arswydus â Chân Tefnuth a ddaeth â Lushfé yn ôl i fywyd trwy’i haberthu’i hunan a mynd i lawr i’r Isfyd. Mae’n sôn am y naill sydd yn ysu, yn yr eiliad hwnnw, am ryddhad, ac am y llall sydd yn ymbil am fywyd i barhau, gan ddarogan y bydd, o’r diwedd, ddau aberth, ar yr adeg pan drosglwyddir nerth corfforol yr un ifanc, a grym meddyliol yn un hynaf, i’r mab nas genir eto, gan ddweud ei dynged a phennu’i ffawd, a chyda hi, ddyfodol y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth ill dau. A dyna’r Un Bwystfil ar Ddeg yn ymosod ar y creadur o’r id ar ffurf yr Wncwl, a’r Côr Arallfydol yn hwmian yn ddigon uchel i doddi hyd yn oed y cerrig gleision, a’r Comando Trefol wedi’i wisgo mewn olion lifrai milwrol yn trin ei gyllell hela ddanheddog, wrth i anrhefn lwyr ffromi o’i gwmpas.And the lad’s voice, and the voices of Blodeuwedd and the Good Doctor too are joining with the choir of the Two World’s strongest voices, singing an intoxicatingly complex song about love, and hate, and having, and losing. and about uniting every opposing thing — ‘Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.’ And this is a hymn full of blood and beauty, as terrible as Tefnuth’s Song who brought Lushfé back to life by sacrificing herself and going down to the Underworld. It speaks about the one who yearns, that very instant, for release, and about the other who is begging for life to continue, foretelling that there shall be, at last, two sacrifices, at the time when the physical strength of the young one and the mental power of the older one, shall be transferred to the son who is not yet born, speaking his destiny and sealing his fate, and with it, the future of the Earth and the Nw Yrth both. And there’s the Eleven Beasts attacking the creature from the id in the form of the Uncle, while the Otherworldly Choir hums loud enough to melt even the blue stones, and the Urban Commando dressed in the remnants of military uniform wields his serrated hunting knife, as complete chaos rages around him.
“…Heb fawr o sylw i iechyd a diogelwch, heb sôn am arbrofion clinigol (roedden nhw'n arfer gwneud pethau'n dra gwahanol yn yr hen ddyddiau, roedd yn eitha debyg i fod mewn rhyw wlad annatblygedig ar y Cyfandir Deheuol heddiw), fe rodd y Siaman dipyn o’r stwff hudol ar gelain y plentyn a fu farw o gael ei drwytho yn yr ambrosia’n cynnwys llawer o fêl. Ac yntau ddihunodd ar ei union, diolch i nerth y cemegion nitrogenaidd o'r enw alcaloidau, sy'n tarddu o blanhigion a dyf mewn tail gwartheg. Ond rhaid wrth gofio mai mêl hefyd oedd yn hanfodol i'r hudoliaeth fiocemegol ymddangosiadol. Ac yn hyn o beth, fe gyflawnodd y plentyn broffwydoliaeth oedd a wnelo â Lushfé yn y lle cyntaf — Fe fuodd yr aberth farw, Ond daeth ef yn ôl yn fyw; Fe gana’r holl goed pin felly, O wybod mai’r gangen wyw, Flagura drachefn mor syw…”“…Without much attention to health and safety, not to mention clinical trials (they used to do things very differently in the old days, it was rather like being in some undeveloped country on the Southern Continent today), the Shaman put some of the magical stuff on the corpse of the child who had died by being steeped in the ambrosia containing lots of honey. And he awoke straight away, thanks to the power of the nitrogenous chemicals called alkaloids, which originate from plants that grow in cattle dung. But it’s necessary to remember that honey, also, was essential to the apparent biochemical sorcery. And in this matter, the child fulfilled a prophecy which was associated with Lushfé in the first place — The sacrifice did perish, But came back to life once more; So all the pines are singing, To know that the withered bough, Shall flourish again in joy…”
Ac yn olaf, ar y gair, dyna fwystfil mawr y tywydd yn cyrraedd, gan ddod â storom ffyrnig o Fynyddoedd Duon Kharsag yng Nghyfandir Gogleddol y Nw Yrth, a honno’n bygwth hollol ddifa ffurf arteithiol yr Wncwl rheibus, sydd y Tad treisiol ar yr un pryd. Ac wedyn, cyfnod difesur o ddolefain tra chwynfanus gan ffurf lwfr y dyn neu’r dynion, cyn i’r llanc ysgwyd ei ben unwaith wrth allyrru‘n araf. A dyna siâp rhithiol y Tad-Wncwl yn cael ei dynnu’n gareiau gan grafangau anweledig ac yntau’n crio, a deisyfu – a ffrwydro’n gannoedd o ddafnau tew o slwtj berwedig – gan hyrddio’r llanc i lawr ar y maen wrth i’r gyllell gael ei thaflu o’i afael.And last, at that very moment, the great weather beast arrives, bringing a fierce storm from the Black Mountains of Kharsag in the Northern Continent of the Nw Yrth, which threatens to destroy completely the tortured form of the predatory Uncle, who’s the violent Father at the same time. And then, an incalculable period of most plaintive bleating from the cowardly form of the man, or the men, before the lad shakes his head once, whilst exhaling slowly. And the spectral shape of the Father-Uncle gets ripped to shreds by unseen talons whilst it cries, and begs – and explodes in hundreds of fat droplets of boiling sludge – slamming the lad onto the stone as the knife is thrown from his grip.
“…Roedd y Llabwst uwchben ei ddigon o gael ei fab yn ôl. Serch hynny, ni adawai i'r Siaman adael cyn iddo yntau ddysgu cyfrinachau dewiniaeth i'r bachgen. Fe gytunodd yr hen ddyn gan nad oedd ganddo ddim dewis o gwbl, a dysgu dewiniaeth i'r mab. Ac wedyn, roedd e'n cael gadael. Ond, a’r llong ar fin hwylio ymaith, fe ofynnodd y Siaman i'r bachgen boeri yn ei geg. Fe wnaeth y mab felly (dyna ffiaidd, on’d ife!) gan anghofio yn y fan a'r lle’r holl gyfrinachau roedd e wedi'u dysgu gan y gŵr hysbys. Dychwelodd y Siaman tuag adref heb oedi. Ond oblegid bu farw’r bachgen yn y crochan, felly efe oedd yr unig enaid i ddianc heb groesi’r Bont i’r Byd Arall. Ac roedd y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd yn cynddeiriogi o’i golli, ac yn benderfynol o gael y llanc arbennig yn ôl…”“…The Lout was beside himself with joy from getting his son back. Despite that, he would not allow the Shaman to leave before he had taught the secrets of magic to the boy. The old man agreed as he did not have any choice at all, and taught the son sorcery. And then, he was allowed to leave. But, with the ship on the point of sailing away, the Shaman asked the boy to spit into his mouth. The son did so (that’s disgusting, isn’t it!), forgetting on the spot all the secrets he’d learned from the wise man. The Shaman returned homewards without delay. But because the boy had died in the cauldron, he was therefore the only soul to escape without crossing the Bridge to the Other World. And the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers were incensed at losing him, and determined to get the special lad back…”
A dyma’r Bydysawd ar ddarfod, wrth i amser a’r gofod ruthro’n gyflymach gyflymach mewn sbiral gyfoglyd tuag at unigolrwydd ble byddan nhw’n ffaelu a diweddu am byth. A dyna olau coch yr Haul Lluddedig yn galw ar y llanc gan addo rhyddid, heddwch, serch, harmoni, a therfyn parhaol ar ddiodde’. Yn rhywle mae’n gallu gweld Ari-adní yn dal i fyny â’r Dyn-darw yn Llwybrau Drygioni i’w wanu e. A dyna Lotké yn y Cwch Dirboenus yn cael ei orfodi i edrych yn ôl, a throi’n biler o sialc, a’i lygaid gwyn yn sythu fel marblis gwirion ar y ddinas danddwr ar dân. Mae’r bachgen o ddyn yn cysgu ar ei drwyn, ac O, cymaint mae eisiau rhoi’r gorau i frwydro, er dyw’m yn siŵr ydy e eisiau byw neu farw, a ‘sdim ots ‘da fe, ‘chwaith.And here’s the Universe about to end, as time and space rush faster and faster in a sickening spiral towards a singularity where they’ll fail and end forever. The Exhausted Sun’s red light calls the lad, promising release, peace, love, harmony, and a permanent end to suffering. Somewhere her can see Ari-adní catching up with the Man-bull in the Paths of Wickedness to stab him. And there’s Lotké in the Tortured Hive being forced to look back, and turning into a pillar of chalk, his white eyes staring like silly marbles at the burning underwater city. The man-boy’s asleep on his feet, and Oh, how much he wants to give up fighting, although he’s not sure whether he wants to live or die, and he doesn’t care, either.
“…Nawr, bob yn dipyn, roedd Arglwyddi newydd wedi ymddangos o rengoedd yr hurfilwyr ar ôl y Wledd Goch, i arwain yr amryw griwiau. A than ddylanwad cyfrinachol gan y Saith Swynwr, ni fyddai asiantau'r carfannau croes byth yn rhoi'r gorau i geisio lladd y Teulu Hapus, wrth ddilyn y patrwm cyfarwydd. Fe allai’r rhieni eu hamddiffyn eu hunain. Ond dyna’r Llabwst yn penderfynu casglu’r hud cryfaf o bobman i'w roi i'r bachgen, Keth·kela Hethehela, i'w amnewid am y pŵer a ddygodd ymaith gan y Siaman. Wedyn, i’w gadw fe rhag niwed a thranc, fe anfonodd y Mab Darogan i’r Ddaear trwy’r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd wedi’i greu, hwyrach, gan yr awyrenwyr beiddgar ond anffodus…”“...Now, little by little, new Lords had appeared from the ranks of the mercenaries after the Red Feast, to lead the various crews. And under secret influence by the Seven Sorcerers, the agents of the competing factions would never give up trying to kill the Happy Family, following the familiar pattern. The parents could defend themselves, But the Lout decided to collect the strongest magic from everywhere to give to the boy, Keth·kela Hethehela, in exchange for the power taken away by the Shaman. Then, to keep him from harm and death, he sent the Son Foretold to the Earth through the Cleft between the Worlds created, perhaps, by the daring but unfortunate aviators…”
O’r diwedd, dyna’r seremoni atgas wedi’i dechrau gan y Dad ac wedi’i pharhau gan y ffug-Ddewin ar fin dirwyn i ben. Dyna agor y Porth rhwng y Bydoedd. Ac mor anodd ydy. Cyn anhawsed ag y medrai fod. Llafurus o ara’ mae’n digwydd. Ac mae’r llanc yn boddi mewn crochan dirfawr, gwaedlyd yn llawn o sain, a delwedd, a theimlad, ymhle mae emynau dyrchafedig yn cymysgu â’r iaith fras waetha’. A dyna fe’n canfod bod Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Yrthiaid wedi dod yn un, a’u bod nhw’n gorfoleddu’n aflywodraethus. Dyna’r drych sgrio afloyw yn ffrwydro am y tro ola’, i wasgaru teilchion i bedwar ban y Ddau Fyd, wrth i’r bwthyn glas yn losgi fel tân byw, gan gael ei lwyr ddinistrio, o’r seler uffernol i’r tŷ bach melltigedig. O’i gwmpas, dyna’r coed pin yn sgrechian wrth groesawu’r goelcerth anystyriol, gry’, bur, gan ganu’n hawdd. Ac fe fydd y ddau fod dynol yn derbyn yr hyn a haeddir ganddyn nhw fel gwobr neu gosb – fe fydd y naill fyw, tra bydd y llall farw.At last, the repugnant ceremony started by the Father and continued by the fake-Wizard is in the verge of coming to an end. The Gate between the Worlds opens. And it’s so difficult. As hard as it could be. Laboriously slowly it happens. And the lad’s drowning in an enormous, bloody caldron of sound, and image, and feeling, in which exalted hymns are mixing with the worst foul language. And he discerns that the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers of the Yrthians’ Extremely Exalted Empire have become one, and that they are rejoicing uncontrollably. The dull scrying-glass explodes for the last time, to scatter fragments to the four corners of the Two Worlds, as the blue cottage burns like living fire, getting completely destroyed, from the infernal cellar, to the cursed toilet. All around him, the pines scream as they welcome the pure, strong, thoughtless bonfire, singing easily. And the two human beings shall get what they deserve as prize or punishment – the one shall live, whilst the other shall die.
“…Taith y Mab Darogan oedd gweithred a achosai ganlyniadau annisgwyl a chyrhaeddgar, gan weu bywydau’r trigolion ar y Ddau Fyd ynghyd o hynny ymlaen, gan i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd gael y gwyllt o sylweddoli o bell yr hyn oedd wedi digwydd. A phan welodd arweinyddion y teuluoedd mawr y crwt yn diflannu mewn colofn o gwmwl fflamllyd oedd wedi ymddangos uwchben yr Uchelgaer Rosliw, am unwaith fe godon nhw mewn dig, gan uno i ymosod ar y Llabwst yn ffyrnig a’i larpio. Ac yn hyn o beth roedden nhw’n ymddwyn yn enwedig fel Swtach yn ymhyfrydu mewn darnio corff Lushfé. Ac felly fu farw’r Llabwst. Fodd bynnag, wedi hynny, fe wnaethon nhw ddechrau eu hen gastiau drachefn, gan gynllwyno helynt a hanner, ond ni allen nhw gytuno ar ddim byd rhagor, a ffoeon nhw ar eu hunion i wledydd pell. Ac oherwydd eu brad, fe gymerodd y Dywysoges le'i hannwyl ŵr ymadawedig fel Unben ar ôl bron hanner dydd o alar dwys…”“…The journey of the Son Foretold was an act that would cause unexpected and far-reaching consequences, weaving together the lives of the inhabitants on the Two Worlds from then on, for the Severn Sorcerers were incandescent with rage when they realised from afar what had happened. And when the leaders of the great families saw the kid disappearing in a column of flaming cloud that had appeared above the Rosy Fortress, they immediately arose in rage, uniting to set upon the Lout ferociously and tear him apart. And in this matter, they were behaving exactly like Swtach relishing dismembering Lushfé’s body. And so, the Lout died. However, after that, they began their old tricks again, plotting all kinds of mayhem, but they could not agree on anything any more, and they immediately fled to far lands. And due to their treachery, the Princess took the place of her dear departed husband as Despot after almost half a day of intense mourning…”
Yna, mae’r llanc a ddanfonwyd i gwblhau gwaith dyn yn gweiddi fel petai’r Ddau Fyd ar ben, gan syrthio dibyn-dobyn tuag at yr anghenfil berwedig sydd wedi ailffurfio ac yn gryfach ac yn gracach o lawer nag o’r blaen, wedi ymlâdd. Yn boenus, dyma’r swp enfawr o stwff cigog yn chwyddo, gan chwysu, a chwythu, a chwydu, wrth i ffurf ddynol, gyhyrog a fflamllyd ymgnawdoli. Ac mae llygaid du, gwag y ffigur dychrynllyd yn llosgi’r llanc fel dwy fflachlamp uwchfioled yn llawn o’i ofidiau a’i fethiannau yntau oll, wrth i’r breichiau enfawr droi’n dentaclau’n ymestyn i’w lusgo i waelod yr Afon Wylofus.Then, the lad who’s been sent to do a man’s work is shouting as if the Two Worlds are at an end, falling higgledy-piggledy towards the boiling beast, which is much stronger and angrier than before, utterly spent. Painfully, the enormous heap of meaty stuff swells up, sweating, and huffing, and vomiting, as a human form, muscular and flaming, incarnates. And the empty, black eyes of the terrible figure burn the lad like two ultraviolet torches full of all his own fears and failings, while the enormous arms turn into tentacles reaching out to drag him to the bottom of the Tearful River.
“…Roedd Ari·adní eisiau dial ar y rhai a oedd wedi achosi tranc Hufanoru, a pheri iddi golli Keth·kela Hethehela, a threuliodd hi gryn amser ar hyfforddi i fod yn filwraig. Fe ddarganfu i ble yn union roedd y troseddwyr wedi dianc, yn bell oddi ar ei Theyrnas (roedden nhw'n llechu ym mamwlad y Siaman a bod yn fanwl gywir), ac wedyn aros ei chyfle. Sawl blwyddyn yn ddiweddarach, fe arweiniodd hi gyrch yn erbyn gwlad yr Arglwyddi oedd wedi syrthio oddi ar ras, gan esgus mai hawlio teyrnged yn enw ei diweddar ŵr roedd hi. O weld cryfder ei byddin, a gogoniant ei cherbyd rhyfela, y werin bobl a ddarostyngwyd…”“…Ari·adní wanted revenge on those who had brought about Hufanoru’s demise, and caused her to lose Keth·kela Hethehela, and she spent considerable time on training to be a warrior-woman. She discovered to where exactly the criminals had escaped, far away from her Kingdom, (they were lurking in the Shaman’s homeland, to be perfectly correct), and then she waited her chance. Several years later, she led a campaign against the land of the Lords who had fallen from grace, pretending that she was claiming tribute in the name of her late husband. When they saw the strength of her army, and the glory of her war-chariots, the common people were humbled…”
A dyma’r llanc yn ymbalfalu nerth deng ewin i’w ryddhau’i hunan, ond yn pallu, a’r awyr yn llosgi’i ysgyfaint wrth iddo drio’n ofer ddal gwynt. Ar y Ddaear, mae’r pinwydd ym mhob man o gwmpas y bwthyn yn gollwng cannoedd ar gannoedd o gonau gwyrdd, yr un lliw â Thŵr Ari·adní a laddodd ei tharw o frawd gyda phelen o linyn (a dagr). Ac wrth frwydro i’w atal e gyda’u carnau, eu dannedd, a’u crafangau, dyna’r llengoedd o fodau asgellog, pigog yn saethu o’u hystlys filoedd o blu metelig, miniog, mor wyn â’r haen o ffwng yn tyfu’n wyllt ar waliau di-ben-draw Llwybrau Drygioni o dan yr Ysgor Rosliw. Ac ar lan llygredig, brwnt Afon Dagrau, dyna ddyn twp yn hala llawer o gerigos cyn ddued â chroen Man·toru pan fu farw, i’r dŵr drewllyd, wrth drio achub mochyn gwyllt wedi’i ddal mewn troli siopa rhydlyd. Ac ar riniog rhyw seler lawn hud a lledrith, dyna dorri breichled ar ddwrn un o’r ddau lanc, gan sarnu gleiniau cyn lased â llygaid gafraidd ei fêt ar hyd y llawr.The lad fumbles with all his might to release himself, but fails, the air burning his lungs as he tries in vain to catch his breath. On the Earth, the pines everywhere around the cottage are dropping hundreds and hundreds of green cones, the same colour as the tower of Ari·adní who killed her bull of a brother with a ball of thread (and a dagger). And while battling to stop him with their hooves, their teeth, and their talons, the legions of spiny, winged beings shoot from their sides thousands of sharp metallic feathers, as white as the layer of fungus growing wild on the endless walls of the Paths of Wickedness under the Rosy Fortress. And on the dirty, polluted bank of the River of Tears, a stupid man sends loads of pebbles as black as the Man·toru’s skin when he died, into the stinking water, whilst trying to save a wild pig caught in a rusty shopping-trolley. And on the threshold of some enchanted cellar, the bracelet on the wrist of one of the two lads breaks, showering beads as blue as the goat-like eyes of his mate all over the floor.
“…Roedd yr Arglwyddi balch a gwirion yn dal i ddirmygu’r Dywysoges fodd bynnag, gan ddweud taw mwydyn oedd hi o’i chymharu â’r Unben May·nover, neu hyd yn oed yr Unben Hufanoru, ac na reolai hi byth gan taw gwraig oedd hi. Heb droi blewyn felly, fe laddodd hithau bob un ohonyn nhw yno mewn galanastra enfawr, dinistrio'r ddinas yn llwyr, llosgi’r lleoliad, a halltu’r ddaear. Hyd yn oed y Siaman hen iawn o’r enw Ohl·weled oedd wedi achub ei mab, a fu farw yn y Cythrwfl Mawr Cyntaf. O’r herwydd, er nad Llysfam i neb oedd hi, am na phriododd hi erioed eto, fe gafodd hi’r llysenw y Dywysoges Waedlyd. Ac wedyn, wrth gael saib bach rhag y gorchwyl enbyd, fe ofynnodd Ari·adní i'r awyr wag a oedd hithau cymaint yn wir â'r Unben marw…”“…The proud and stupid Lords continued to scorn the Princess however, saying that she was a worm compared with the Tyrant May·nover, or even the Dictator Hufanoru, and that she could never rule because she was a woman. So, without batting an eyelid, she killed every one of them there in an enormous slaughter, destroyed the city completely, burned the place, and sowed the ground with salt. Even the ancient Shaman called Ohl·weled who had saved her son, died in the First Great Tribulation. As a result, although she was not anyone’s Stepmother, since she did not marry ever again, she got the nickname the Bloody Princess. And then, whilst taking a small break from the terrible task, Ari·adní asked the empty sky whether she was indeed as great at the dead Tyrant…”
Aros yn ddiamynedd mae’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd sy’n trigo yn y gofodau cuddiedig tu draw i ddirnadaeth gyffredin, gan wyrdroi’r onglau oll, a throi lliwiau’n sŵn. Mae’r llanc yn gwylio’r olygfa o’r Hen Lyfr ble mae Ishakí Dad yn oedi cyn gwthio'r gyllell i galon Adauvam Fab, i fodloni’r Duwdodau Rhyfedd a rhyddhau pwerau anhygoel. Ond y Mab sy’n chwarae rôl y Tad bellach, ac uwch eu pennau nhw mae’r gigfran ddu’n ymosod yn ffyrnig ar y golomen wen. A dyna’r Saith yn ddisgwylgar udo fel petai’u llefau’u hunain yn agor y Llwybr Dolurus i’r Byd Arall, wrth i’r Llais Trallodus orchymyn: “Lleddwch yr aberth â chyllell o fetel, a difethwch y corff, a roddwch ef nes iddo losgi yn y tân fel poethoffrwm i’r Hen Feistri, fel y dônt i wledda ar gnawd blasus y Ddaear oll hyd byth.”The Seven Seraphic Sorcerers who dwell in the hidden gaps beyond normal comprehension are waiting impatiently, distorting all the angles, and turning colours into sound. The lad’s watching the scene from the Old Book where Ishakí the Father hesitates before plunging the knife into the heart of Adauvam the Son to satisfy the Strange Divinities and unleash incredible powers. But it’s the Son who’s playing the role of the Father now, and above their heads the black raven is ferociously attacking the white dove. The Seven howl expectantly as if their own wails would open the Painful Path to the Other World, whilst the Vexatious Voice commands: “Kill the sacrifice with a knife of metal, and dismember the body, and place it to burn in the fire as a fire-offering to the Old Masters, that they may come to feast on the tasty flesh of the whole Earth forevermore.”
“…Wedi sefydlu ei hunan fel Unben, fe ddechreuodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd ddefnyddio’r sgiliau amaethyddol roedd wedi eu dysgu gan ei chariad colledig, yn ogystal â thechnegau hudol (neu rai gwyddonol arloesol, fel y dywedem ni yn ein hiaith goeth ni heddiw) gynhwyswyd yn llyfrau nodiadau cyfrinachol y ddiweddar Lysfam. Fel hyn roedd hi’n medru amaethu cnydau enfawr o fadarch, a ffa tra sbeislyd, a ffyngau gwyrddlwyd, a llwydlas, a llwydwyrdd, a chynhyrchu ambrosia purddu ac ynddo berlysiau a mêl. Ac nid yn unig dod yn gyfoethog eithriadol a wnaeth hi, ond hefyd tynhau rheolaeth dros ran fawr o’r Blaned, am fod gan y bwydydd hyn bwerau rhyfedd i effeithio ar feddyliau pobl, yn ogystal â’u cyrff a’u hymddygiad. Fe drefnodd hefyd y saith teulu mawr fel mai’r aelodau fyddai’n rhifolegwyr, meddyliaethyddion, ac offeiriaid, sêr-ddewiniaid, alcemyddion, chwilyswyr, a dehonglwyr, a sefydlodd ddefodau a seremonïau y byddai’n rhaid eu cadw i osgoi llid yr Hen Feistri, a dyfeisiodd lafarganeuon llawn nerth yn yr hen iaith gysefin, i’w galw a’u gorfodi nhw, i ymbil arnyn nhw a’u bygwth…”“…Having established herself as Tyrant, the Bloody Princess began to use the agricultural skills she’d learned from her lost lover, as well as magical techniques (or pioneering scientific ones, as we would say in our refined language today) contained in her late Stepmother’s confidential notebooks. In this way, she was able to cultivate vast crops of mushrooms, and very spicy beans, and glaucous fungi, and to produce jet-black ambrosia with herbs and honey in it. And she not only became exceptionally wealthy, but also tightened her grip over a large swathe of the Planet, as these foods had strange powers to affect peoples’ minds, as well as their bodies, and their behaviour. She also organised the seven great families so that the members would be numerologists, mentalists, and priests, astrologers, alchemists, inquisitors, and interpreters, and established rites and ceremonies they would have to keep to avoid the wrath of the Old Masters, and devised chants full of power in the old original language to summon them and compel them, to plead with them and threaten them…”
Ond mae eto ryw dalp o dywyllwch ‘styfnig yn y llanc colledig, rhyw ddarn miniog o graig o’r Lleuad Oriog, fydd ddim yn gadael iddo beidio ymdrechu, a dyna gysgod byrbwyll, yn sgrechian o rywle: “Cer yn dy flaen di, ‘achan, ma’ be’ fydd yn digwydd lan i ti, ti sy’n gweud yr hanes ‘ma, reit, nage nhw!” Ife dewis drosto’i hunan a wna, neu gael ei orfodi? Dyw e’m yn gwybod, so fe’n gallu’i ddeall. ‘Sdim ots o gwbl ‘da fe ta be’ am achosion na rhesymeg, ac yn bendant, dyw e’m yn bihafio’n ddewr, nac aberthu’i hunan er yr un egwyddor neilltuol. Ond mae’n teimlo taw fe sydd ar y llyw am y tro cynta’ ’rioed, siŵr o fod. Ac er yr holl fryntni, a gwewyr meddwl, a drewdod, a dryswch, mae hud puro’r ffug-Ddewin wedi ôl-danio i gadw’r llanc yn saff. Ond dyna fe’n sylweddoli wedyn hefyd, fel fflach o fellten, fod yn rhaid i'r Dewin daflu'i hunan i'r Gwagle bob tro bydd yn bwrw hud, heb wybod i sicrwydd a fydd y canlyniad disgwyliedig yn digwydd neu beidio, ond wrth fod yn ddigon dewr i weithredu, i neidio, serch hynny, ac er gwaetha'i holl amheuon. Ac yn sydyn mae geiriau newydd Swyn Trawsffurfio’n cydgysylltu yn ei ymennydd, ac wedyn yn dechrau ymrwygo’n ddigymell o’i geg sychedig iawn, gan lifo allan i heigio o gwmpas yn yr awyr fel marwor byw, eirias —But there is yet some chunk of stubborn darkness in the lost lad, some sharp piece of rock from the Capricious Moon, which will not let him stop fighting, and there’s a rash shadow screaming from somewhere: “Go on, mate, what happens is up to you, you’re telling this story, right, not them!” Is he choosing for himself, or being forced? He doesn’t know, he can’t understand it. He doesn’t care at all, anyway, about reasons or logic, and for sure, he’s not behaving bravely, nor sacrificing himself for any particular principle. But it feels like he’s at the helm for the first time ever, probably. And despite all the filth, and mental anguish, and stench, and confusion, the fake-Wizard’s purifying magic’s backfired to keep the lad safe. But he realizes then, too, like a flash of lightning, that the Magician must fling himself into the Void every time he casts a spell, not knowing for certain whether the expected result will happen or not, but being brave enough to act, to jump nevertheless, and despite all his doubts. And the new words of the Spell of Transformation suddenly coalesce in his mind, and then start to tear themselves unbidden from his terribly parched mouth, flowing out to swarm in the air like white-hot, living embers —

Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu;
Size, nilara, narala, sifi;
Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa;
Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe;
Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha;
Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha;
Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.
“…Fe adawodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd taw i’r Isfyd yr âi’r deiliaid ffyddlon ac ymostyngar pan fuon nhw farw, ar Blaned werdd a glas, yn bell oddi yno, ble bydden nhw’n byw’n wynfydedig am byth, petaen nhw’n ymddwyn yn unol â rheolau llymion oll Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig y Swynwyr. Ond, fe rybuddiodd hithau taw i Artaith Dragwyddol yn y Pwll Diwaelod yng nghanol tanbaid y Blaned yr aent fel arall. Ac fe ddatganodd hithau taw ffieiddbeth oedd pob delw gerfiedig, a delwedd unrhyw greadur, gan eu bod yn llawn nerth. Fe waharddodd hithau’r holl bobl rhag darlunio’r Swynwyr mewn unrhyw fodd, ar boen eu bywyd, a bygwth taw melltigedig fyddai pob anghredinwr, a phob un oedd yn glynu wrth unrhyw gred heblaw'r un uniongred, gyfanfydol…”“…The Bloody Princess promised that the faithful and submissive vassals would go to the Underworld when they died, on a blue and green Planet, far away from there, where they would live in bliss for ever, if they behaved according to all the strict rules of the Sorcerers’ Extremely Exalted Empire. But, she warned that they would go to Eternal Torment in the Bottomless Pit in the Planet’s fiery heart otherwise. And she declared that every graven image was an abomination, and the image of any creature, as they were full of power. She forbade all the people from depicting the Sorcerers in any fashion, on pain of death, and threatened that all unbelievers would be accursed, and every one who held any belief apart from the universal orthodox one…”
A dyna leisiau cryg y cryts colledig hefyd yn bloeddio Pennill Dera nerth eu ‘sgyfaint cas i agor y Drws Melltigedig. Wrth i'r holl leisiau weiddi, canu, gweddïo, sgrechian, a siantio, dyna'r geiriau fflamllyd yn ufuddhau iddyn nhw er mwyn dod â'r Gwaith Mawr i ben. Ac o uno cymeriadau oll y ddrama, dyna'r grym priodol yn llifo fel ffrwd afreolus trwy Seintwar y Saith gan ddiffodd y fflamau â thonnau o ddüwch, ond tanio Bydoedd newydd i fod mewn ffrwydradau o oleuni ar yr un pryd. Ac o dderbyn ei ddiffyg llwyr o wybodaeth a rheolaeth, dyna’r llanc yn codymu, gan gwympo’n sydyn ac yn ddiymadferth tuag at i mewn, ble mae Bydoedd di-rif yn aros i'w darganfod, ac mewn rhai ohonyn nhw gallai fyw mewn dedwyddwch, a phriodi, a chael cryts, a gweithio i Sefydliad i Blant Cythryblus – neu falle fod yn fwnci mawr, eofn fydd byth yn tyfu lan – neu gropian ar ei bedwar mewn gwewyr drwy lynnoedd braen o ddagrau tra thwym– pwy a ŵyr?And there’s the voices of the lost kids too, belting out Gorgon’s Verse at the top of their nasty lungs to open the Accursed Door. As all the voices shout, sing, pray, scream, and intone, the flaming words obey them in order to bring the Great Work to an end. And by uniting all the drama’s characters, the appropriate force gushes like an unruly stream through the Sanctuary of the Seven, extinguishing the flames with waves of blackness, but sparking new Worlds into being with explosions of light at the same time. And accepting his complete lack of knowledge and control, the lad tumbles, falling suddenly and helplessly inwards where there are numberless Worlds waiting to be discovered, and in some of them he could live in joy, and marry, and have kids, and work for an Institution for Troubled Children – or maybe be a cheeky great monkey who’ll never grow up – or crawl on all fours in torment through putrid lakes of super-heated tears– who knows?
“…A hyn oll a wnaeth y Dywysoges Waedlyd, gan honni taw hi oedd Proffwydes Gyntaf y Ffydd Fyd-Eang, a taw ei thasg sanctaidd oedd puro, disgyblu, cosbi, ac achub, a taw dyna fyddai braint a dyletswydd pob taeog ufudd y Swynwyr hefyd o hynny ymlaen. Ac fe ddywedai hithau gyda’r sicrwydd mwyaf fod ei phŵer eithriadol yn tarddu o’r hud a gododd yn ei bru o ddwyn y Mab Darogan a unodd grym y Swynwyr a dealltwriaeth y Delw-addolwyr. Am taw efe a fu farw ac wedyn dod yn ôl yn fyw. A dyna adawai iddi adrodd Swyn Grymusaf Enwi a Rhwymo i alw a gorchymyn grym bywiol pob creadur ar wyneb y Blaned…”“…And the Bloody Princess did all this, claiming that she was the First Prophetess of the World-Wide Faith, and that her holy task was to purify, discipline, punish, and save, and that that would be the privilege and the duty of every obedient vassal of the Sorcerers too from then on. And she said with the greatest certainty that her exceptional power sprang from the magic that arose in her womb when she was carrying the Son Foretold who united the power of the Sorcerers and the understanding of the Idolaters. For it was he who had died and then come back to life. And that allowed her to recite the Most Powerful Charm of Naming and Binding, to call and command the life-force of every creature on the face of the Planet…”
Yn wir, mae'r arfau oll yn barod yn y lle sanctaidd, fel gall y sawl a ollwng ei fywyd ddarganfod un newydd, gan ddianc heb os rhag bodolaeth lawn poen am byth – neu falle gan gofleidio un hyd yn oed yn waeth. Ond o leia' fe fyddai’n penderfynu, gweithredu, dewis, ar ei liwt yntau’i hun, be’ bynnag fyddai’r canlyniad. A dyna lais y Cyfaill ffrwcslyd, anwadal yn galw arno i neidio, wrth i’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd doddi a chyfuno â’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd o’r diwedd, i ddechrau rhodio dychymig y Cosmos heb rwystr. Mae cwndid y pŵer creadigol yn crynu’n wyllt, heb fod yn ddigon dewr i'w hyrddio'i hunan i'r dymestl. A dyna'r Holl Fyd yn disgwyl, un ai am drawsffurfiant, neu am farwolaeth.Indeed, all the tools are ready in the sacred place, so that the one who lets go of his life can discover a new one, escaping without a doubt from an existence full of pain for ever – or maybe embracing an even worse one. But at least it’s him who would be deciding, acting, choosing, completely for himself, whatever the outcome. The voice of the undependable, bewildered Friend is calling him to jump, as the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers melt and unite with the Indolent Idolaters at last, to stride through the imagination of the Cosmos without restraint. The conduit of the creative powers shudders wildly, not brave enough to hurl himself into the tempest. And so, the All-World waits, either for transformation, or for death.
…Ac wedyn, fe drodd y Dywysoges Waedlyd ei sylw tuag at y Ddaear, y Blaned ffrwythlon honno ar draws yr Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd, oedd yn gartref newydd i’r Mab Darogan oedd wedi mynd â disgyblaeth y Swynwyr yn ogystal â threiddgarwch y Delw-addolwyr. A pharod i’w goncro oedd y Byd hwnnw’n wir. Dychmygai hi hefyd taw dyna lle roedd hanfodion y Llabwst a’r Dyn-darw wedi’u cludo ar y foment y buon nhw farw, hen sôn am Thethalu ac Ichrus…”“…And then, the Bloody Princess turned her attention towards the Earth, that fertile Planet across the Cleft between the Worlds, which was the new home to the Son Foretold who had taken the discipline of the Sorcerers as well as the insight of the Idolaters. And that World was ready to be conquered indeed. She imagined also that that was where the essences of the Lout and the Man-bull had been transported the moment they died, not to mention Thethalu and Ichrus…”
Dyna’r ffurf gyfnewidiol yng nghanol y maen aberthu – yr Hen Elyn – ar fin ei ladd e. Yno, o’i flaen e, mae’r Tad treisiol, gorffwyll – yr Ewythr selog, ffiaidd – y Meddyliaethydd di-glem, llon – a’r Athro rhwystredig, dirmygus. Ac maen nhw’n cael eu hymuno gan Fam y llanc a’i llais ymbilgar yn dweud wrtho taw metel yw’r allwedd a dŵr yw’r elfen ar gyfer dianc i Fyd Arall. A dyna’r Arglwyddes yn ei leddfu a’i annog ar yr wyneb tra mae hi’n corddi gan ddicter oddi tanodd, wrth iddi basio i’w law ddagr hynafol o haearn rhydlyd. Ac yna, ar ei union, y munud hwnnw – mae’n gorfod i ‘neud e – mae’n rhaid iddo – ‘neud diwedd ar yr holl gyflafan. Er ‘does ganddo na’r cryfder na’r awydd, dyna fe’n codi’r gyllell i orffen popeth, a’i Chwaer-Cariad yn arwain ei law, yn dirion ond yn gadarn. Saith cymeriad sydd yno, ac mae pob un y cyfathrebu ag un o’r Saith Swynwr. Mae’n trio osgoi edrych ar y peth dychrynllyd o hyd, sy’n cynnwys ei hunan oll, gan droi’i wyneb ymaith yn anobeithiol. Ond, wedi’i gymell gan rym na ellir ei wrthwynebu, wedi’i reibio gan Lais Trallodus Swtach, ni all e gadw’i lygaid oddi arno fe, ac mae’n cael ei orfodi i graffu ar yr endid hunllefus.The ever-changing form in the middle of the sacrifice-stone – the Old Enemy – is about to kill him. There before him, is the crazed, violent Father – the hateful, zealous Uncle – the jolly, bungling Mentalist, the and the contemptuous, frustrated Teacher. And they are joined by the lad’s Mum, her imploring voice telling him that metal is the key, and water is the element for escaping to Another World. And there’s the Lady soothing and encouraging him on the surface, while she seethes with anger underneath, passing into his hand an ancient dagger of rusty iron. And then, immediately, that very minute – he has to do it – he needs to – bring an end to all the destruction. Although he has neither the strength nor the desire, he lifts the knife to finish everything, his Sister-Sweetheart guiding his hand, gently but firmly. There are Seven characters there, and each one corresponds to one of the Seven Sorcerers. He’s still trying to avoid looking at the abominable thing that contains his whole self, desperately turning his face away. But. compelled by an irresistible power, enchanted by Swtach’s Vexatious Voice, he can’t keep his eyes off it, and is forced to look at the nightmarish entity.
“…Yn llygaid craff ei meddwl, wrth rythu i’r crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd a safai erbyn hynny yn ymyl Gorsedd Ddur yr Unben drwy’r amser, fe ganfyddai’r Dywysoges Waedlyd bethau oedd yn digwydd ar y Ddaear. Felly fe allai weld, fel petai ar ryw sgrin archwilio wyrthiol, yr Hen Filwr, y Dewin Ifancaf, a’r Rhifolegwr Colledig, yr Arglwyddes Macbeth, y Meddyliaethydd dan Hyfforddiant, y Comando Trefol, a'r Ananedig. Dyna oedd lluniau tra deniadol o hudo a dioddef, o lofruddio, aberthu, a llosgi. Fe ganfu hithau mai Deklo oedd rhywogaeth y rhai yn byw ar y Ddaear, a'u bod yn debyg iawn i’w thylwyth hi’r Delkurí yn byw ar y Blaned Yrth…”“…With her shrewd mind’s eye, as she stared into the enormous cauldron of green brass which by then always stood beside the Steel Throne of the Despot, the Bloody Princess perceived things happening on the Earth. Thus, she could see, as if on some miraculous viewing screen, the Old Soldier, the Youngest Wizard, and the Numerologist Manqué, the Lady Macbeth, the Trainee Mentalist, the Urban Commando, and the Unborn. There were most attractive pictures of enchanting and suffering, of murdering, sacrificing, and burning. She discerned that Deklo was the species of those living on the Earth, and that they were very like her tribe the Delkurí living on the Harsh Planet…”
Ac er dyw’r llanc eisiau ‘neud e o gwbl, dyma’r dagr rhydlyd yn penderfynol ddisgyn, fel ‘sai’n trio sbeitio’r triniwr. A’r eiliad honno, amser ei hun a slaesir yn rhacs, wrth i resymeg gael ei drysu. Mae fel ‘sai crwt mwythlyd wedi malu’r cloc cosmig wedi mynd i’r pwd. A dyna’r symbolau arferol oll yn rhoi’r gorau i ‘neud synnwyr, yr un pryd bod pob delwedd yn toddi. Mae popeth yn uno o ran lleoliad ac amgylchiad, wrth i gymeriadau a syniadau nofio’n rhydd mewn môr posibilrwydd. A dyna bawb yn newid lleoedd a phersonoliaethau, a phobl mewn oed yn dod yn ifanc, tra mae cryts yn tyfu’n ddynion a gwragedd. Ac er ei enfawr arswyd, ymhlith y ffurfiau eraill oll, dyna’r llanc yn gweld Swtach ei hunan, yr Wythfed Swynwr mewn bwriad, a alltudiwyd o’i lwyth gan iddo gyfeillachu â’r Delw-addolwyr a cheisio’u dymchwel teyrnasiad ei gymrodyr. And although the lad doesn’t want to do it at all, the rusty dagger decisively descends, as if it’s trying to spite the wielder. That very second, time itself is slashed to rags, as logic is confounded. It’s like a spoiled kid’s smashed the cosmic clock, having gone into a sulk. And all the usual symbols give up making sense, the same time that every image melts. Everything becomes one on the part of location and event, as characters and ideas swim free in a sea of possibility. Everyone changes places and personalities, grown-ups becoming young, whilst kids grow into men and women. And, to his enormous terror, amongst all the other forms, the lad sees Swtach himself, the Eighth would-be Sorcerer, who was exiled from his tribe because he consorted with the Idolaters and tried to overthrow his comrades' reign.
“…Ac fe wyddai’r Dywysoges Waedlyd yn ei chalon fod Keth·kela Hethehela yn tyfu, ac aeddfedu, a disgwyl, a chynllunio, wrth i’r Daearolion difeddwl ruthro tuag at hunanddinistr, er na allai hithau ragweld o gwbl beth fyddai’n digwydd o hynny ymlaen. Ond o ddychmygu’r holl ryfeddodau all y meddwl eu creu, dyna oedd hithau’n chwerthin, am amser maith.”“…And the Bloody Princess knew in her heart that Keth·kela Hethehela was growing, and maturing, and waiting, and conniving, as the unthinking Earthlings rushed towards self-destruction, although she herself could not foresee at all what would happen from then on. But imagining all the wonders that the mind can create, there she was, laughing for a very long time.”
Ac efe, Arglwydd yr Anialwch, Meistr y Cwch Dur Glas Dirboenus, a Lledaenydd Anrhefn, yw’r Bachgen analluog, gwan hefyd, y Llabwst sy’n Dad i’r Mab Darogan, yn pendilio rhwng pwdu’n ofer a ffromi’n ddigon i ddiffodd yr Haul Disglair. A dyna fe’n swatio yn ei siambr heb olau, annirnad, y tu hwnt i amser a’r gofod, y tu allan i’r Cosmos trefnedig. Ac yng nghanol anfeidroldeb oll, ymhlith y tryblith isaf, mae’r aflwydd di-ffurf yn berwi a chablu wrth gnoi’n llwglyd ar esgyrn Creadigaeth. O’r diwedd, dyna’r llanc yn wynebu’i hunan, wrth i fyddin o ddrymiau ffiaidd guro’n gythruddol o aneglur, a dyna gacoffoni o ffliwtiau melltigedig yn nadu’n undonog. Mae e wedi ceisio’i waredu’i hunan rhag ei wendidau a rhag creulondebau bodolaeth, ond wedi methu’n llwyr, ond odid.And he, Lord of the Wilderness, Master of the Agonizing Blue Steel Hive, and Spreader of Disorder, is the weak, impotent Boy, too, the Lout who’s Father to the Son Foretold, oscillating between vain sulking and raging enough to extinguish the Dazzling Sun. And there he is, squatting in his lightless, incomprehensible chamber, beyond time and space, outside the ordered Cosmos. And in the centre of all infinity, amongst the nethermost chaos, the formless blight boils and blasphemes whilst gnawing hungrily on the bones of Creation. At last, the lad faces himself, as an army of foul drums beats maddeningly as if muffled, and a cacophony of accursed flutes whines monotonously. He has tried to redeem himself from his failings and the cruelties of existence, but has failed completely, probably.
Mewn chwiffiad, dyna ryw wirionedd erchyll yn dechrau gwawrio ar y llanc. Mae’n gweld taw trwy ddileu'i hunan o’r gêm annethol, bresennol, neu ganslo’i hunan o hafaliad annatrys bywyd, fel petai, fe fedrai fod yn bosib creu realiti amgen o ryw fath. Ac yno byddai popeth yn digwydd yn wahanol. Wedi’r cyfan, mae’r llanc yn sylweddoli taw fe yw etifedd i Sorakados Dywysog, fu farw mewn coelcerth fflamllyd yn un ar hugain oed wedi'i denu a’i fradychu gan Swtach. Ac fe ŵyr y llanc taw mawr iawn oedd anrheg y Dewin Ifanc. Gan taw Delkurí oedd dynolryw i ddechrau, oedd yn gaethweision llwyr i’r Saith. Ond ar ôl hunanaberth Sorakados, fe fedren nhw newid, ac wedyn Deklo oedden nhw, ac Urdd Cyfrinachau’n gweithio yn y cefndir i rwystro holl gynlluniau’r Meistri Echrydus. A bellach maen nhw ar drothwy trawsffurfiant arall, fel taw Thehelo fyddan nhw, os llwyddan nhw i oresgyn y rhwystrau anhygoel oll a pharhau i fodoli, fydd yn lledu’u hadenydd i hedfan tuag at yr Haul a llenwi’r Gwagle. Ar hynny, dyna ymddangos llais arall eto, un ifanc, ac ansicr, ond taer iawn, sy’n siantio’n rhythmig o’r dyfodol, falle, gan ‘neud i’r awyr danbaid grynu wrth iddo adrodd y Swyn Seithblyg. Ac mae’n dod yn gryfach a mwy hyderus fesul eiliad, a thrawsffurfio geiriau’r hud hynaf unwaith eto —In a trice, some horrible truth begins to dawn on the lad. He sees that by deleting himself from the current, unchosen game, or cancelling himself from life’s insoluble equation, as it were, it could be possible to create some kind of alternate reality. And there everything would happen differently. After all, the lad recognizes that he is the spiritual heir of Sorakados Prince, who died in a flaming bonfire, tempted and betrayed by Swtach at the age of twenty-one. And the lad knows that great indeed was the Young Wizard’s gift. For humankind was Delkurí to start with, who were completely enslaved to the Seven. But after Sorakados’ self-sacrifice, they were able to change, and then they were Deklo, with the Guild of Secrets working behind the scenes to frustrate all the plans of the Terrible Masters. And now they are on the threshold of another transformation, so that they will be Thehelo if they manage to overcome all the incredible obstacles, and continue to survive, who shall spread their wings to soar towards the Sun and fill the Void. Thereupon, yet another voice appears, one that’s young, and unsure, but very earnest, chanting rhythmically from the future, perhaps, making the incandescent air quiver as it recites the Sevenfold Charm. And it becomes stronger and more confident every second, transforming the oldest magic words once again —

Tha la safe fahe tha furulu;
Sizeni la ra nara la sifi;
Thuri the thi ropupaha hapi lisapa;
E thi tha a thi sali la leni the;
Poru punu ele tha ua la thi aha;
Afi ra seho uro uhufi life sesiha;
Filisi tha hui hafa tha leri thehe lo.
Ac wedyn, oddi mewn i ganol y swp o we corryn lym fel ellyll sy’n tynhau o amgylch ogylch iddo, fe ŵyr y gall e roi’r baich trymaf heibio bellach ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr. A’r pryd hynny, darfu a wnaiff y Byd, y Byd hwn, ei Fyd e.And then, from within the middle of the mass of razor-sharp spider-web that’s tightening all around him, the lad knows that he will be able lay the heaviest burden aside now at long last. And then the World, this World, his World, shall end.

Patrick-Jemmer-Ffred-Ffantastig-Voice-38-1

Pennod Pedwar Deg Dau: Cofio (Lleisiau 38) / Remembering (Voices 38)

Annwyl Ffrindiau’r Ganolfan Hyfforddi! Fi fy hun sy’n sôn yma’r tro hwn, gyda llaw, Dr John Balrog Procter, nid fy hoff gyn-brentis hyfryd Helen Grossmann sydd yn rhannu’i hamser rhwng ein helpu ni yma, trefnu prosiectau hanfodol eraill ym Mhyrthyfall, a chael seibiant haeddiannol. Wedi’r cwbl mae yna lond côl ganddi rhwng gofalu am ei Baban newydd, aruthrol, ymdopi fel rhiant sengl, a gorffen y thesis ar gyfer ei doethuriaeth, ‘Datblygu a Derbyn Amryfal Leisiau: Taith o wallgofrwydd i bwyll’ yn y Coleg newydd ei gychwyn o’r enw Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig Aberdydd a’r Cylch. Byddwn i’n hoffi gwneud sylw neu ddau i ddechrau cyn mynd yn fy mlaen i ddod â’r hanes hwn i ben. Dyma ni, ‘te.

Rwy’n caru geiriau cymaint! O’r cychwyn cyntaf, rwy wedi coelio mai defnyddio iaith yn fedrus, wrth siarad, a dweud, a gwrando, yw ffordd bron yn hudol i gyfathrebu â’r meddwl dynol ac achosi newid. Gweision hwylus yn wir ydy geiriau, all wneud i ddyn fagu hyder, ymddwyn yn ddewr, a syrthio mewn cariad, er bod y gair llafar yn cael ei chwythu ymaith ar yr awel y foment y genir ef. Ond rwy’n cofio bob tro mai’n debyg i ddŵr a thân, allan nhw fod yn feistri melltigedig hefyd, pan fyddan nhw beri i ddyn golli’i dymer, cyflawni erchyllterau, neu dorri’i galon. Efallai y dylem ni i gyd astudio a dysgu er mwyn dod yn arbenigwyr sydd yn medru trin hud geiriau fwyaf effeithiol. Ond, wedi dweud hynny, rwy’n credu’i fod yn amlwg, nad yw llawer o’r seiniau mae adar yn eu cynhyrchu, er enghraifft, ddim yn cyfathrebu yn yr ystyr cyffredin eu bod yn cynnwys gwybodaeth. Mae rhan ohonyn nhw’n dwyn hysbysrwydd, ond dyw llawer iawn o’r hyn maen nhw’n canu na thrydar yn cyfathrebu fawr o ddim, dim ond chwarae gyda sain ydy.

Fel meddyliaethydd, ac yn enwedig fel Dewin (er ein bod ni’n tueddu i osgoi’r enw eitha hen-ffasiwn bellach, ar goedd o leiaf), dw i’n ymwybodol iawn o hyn, achos bod llawer o bobl yn feirniadol iawn o’r hyn dw i’n ddweud, gan honni, “Ti’m yn ‘neud y mymryn lleia’ o synnwyr o gwbl. Ti’n swno fel ‘set ti’n siarad yn gall; ond ti’n swyno a thwyllo dy gynulleidfa druain wedi mwydro, nes iddyn nhw feddwl bod gen ti rywbeth pwysig i’w ddweud, a dim ond malu awyr wyt ti.” A dyma fi’n ateb: A bwrw bod hynny’n hollol gywir. Ond os bydda i’n llwyddo i gadw sŵn sy’n denu pobl, a chwarae gyda syniadau fel ‘swn i’n canu cerddoriaeth hudol, fe fyddan nhw’n falch o addef, “Wel, dyn ni’n mwynhau hyn yn yr un ffordd dyn ni’n dwlu ar edrych ar fynydd, neu wrando ar y tonnau, neu wylio adar yn hedfan, a dyna achos taw fe sy’n dawnsio.” Felly fe fyddaf fi’n dal i ddawnsio, a chanu, a gwau fy hud, gan obeithio y byddwch chi’n parhau i fwynhau, a thrawsnewid drwy’r amser o’r herwydd. Wedi’r cwbl, Wrth ei flas mae profi pwdin, meddan nhw, ac rwy wastad yn llwyddo i fynd â’r maen i’r wal, rywsut neu’i gilydd!

Dear Friends of the Training Centre! It’s me myself talking here this time. by the way, Dr John Balrog Procter, not my favourite lovely former-trainee Helen Grossmann who’s sharing her time between helping us here, organising other crucial projects in Hellsgate, and having a well-deserved rest. After all, she does have a lot on her hands what with her stupendous new Baby, coping as a single parent, and finishing the thesis for her doctorate entitled, ‘Developing and Accepting Multiple Voices: A journey from madness to sanity’ at the newly-founded College named the United Independent Educational Institutions of Aberdydd and the Region. I’d like to make a comment or two to start before going on to bring this tale to an end. Here we are, then.

I love words so much! From the very beginning, I have believed that using language skilfully, speaking, and telling, and listening, is an almost magical way to communicate with the human mind and cause change. Handy servents indeed are words, which can make a man gain confidence, behave bravely, and fall in love, although the spoken word is blown away on the breeze in the moment it is born. But I always remember that like water and fire, they can be accursed masters too, when they cause one to lose one’s temper, commit adrocities, or break one’s heart. Perhaps we should all study and learn in order to become experts who can wield the magic of words most effectively. But, having said that, I think it’s obvious that a lot of the sounds birds produce, for example, don’t communicate in the normal sense that they contain information. Part of them bears content, but a great deal of what they sing or chirp doesn’t communicate much at all, it’s just playing with sound.

As a mentalist, and especially as a Wizard (although we are tending to down-play that rather outdated title now, in public at least), I’m very conscious of this, as lots of people are very judgemental of what I say, claiming: “You don’t make the least bit of sense at all. you sound like you’re talking sense, but you beguile and trick your poor, bewildered audience, so they think you’ve got something important to say, and you’re just talking nonsense.” And so I answer: Let’s assume that that’s completely correct. But if I succeed in making a noise that attracts people, and in playing with ideas as if I were making enchanting music, they’re happy to admit, “Well, we enjoy this like we love looking at a mountain, or listening to waves, or watching birds flying, and that’s because it’s him doing his dance.” So, I shall carry on dancing, and singing, and weaving my magic, in the hope that you continue to enjoy, and transform all the time as a consequence. After all, The proof of the pudding’s in the eating, so they say, and I always succeed in achieving my results, one way or another!

Y gwir am y sefyllfa yw hyn: nid ydym yn gwybod bron dim byd i sicrwydd am y cymeriad o’r enw ‘Daud Pekar,’ nac am fanylion ei fywyd yng Nghalon y Cyfandir – os oedd e yno erioed o gwbl, yn hytrach nag yn y Meysydd Iâ Undonog, yr Anialdir Mawr, Coch, neu Wlad y Mil Ynysoedd ac Un, er enghraifft. Fodd bynnag, er mai fi sydd ar fai am y rhan fwyaf o’r digwyddiadau a adroddwyd yma – hynny yw, fi a drefnodd iddyn nhw ddigwydd – rhaid i fi gydnabod hefyd rai eraill wrth fynd heibio, y mae gwybodaeth ychwanegol wedi dod i’r fei amdanyn nhw yn ddiweddar, oherwydd y digwyddiadau anarferol yma yn yr hen Glinig, sydd bellach y Ganolfan Hyfforddi Fyd-Eang i Ieuenctid Amgen. Neu hwyrach y dylwn i ddweud fy mod i’n cael rhannu’r manylion pellach hyn â chi, nawr bod – materion – yma ac yn y Byd yn gyffredinol, wedi mynd cyn belled a datblygu cystal.The truth of the matter is this: we know hardly anything for certainty about the character called ‘Daud Pekar,’ nor about the details of his life in the Heart of the Continent – if he was ever there at all, rather than in the Monotonous Ice-Fields, the Great, Red Desert, or the Land of the Thousand and One Islands, for example. However, although it is I who am to blame for most of the events reported here – that is, it is I who arranged for them to happen – I must also acknowledge some others in passing, about whom additional information has come to light recently, due to the unusual events here in the former Clinic, which is now the World-Wide Training Centre for Alternative Youth. Or perhaps I should say that I am at liberty to share these further details with you, now that – matters – here and in the World at large, have gone so far and developed so well.
Mae arnaf fi angen crybwyll felly, y tri chastiwr, y drindod ryfedd hon – Sefydlwr y Clinig (Jack Procter), y Cymwynaswr Hael (Andrea Jakob Großmann), a’r Ellyllyn Cryf (Ivan Pekar, Tad Daud – a Thad Steffan hefyd, fel mae’n digwydd). Teg fyddai dweud bod perthynas cymhleth iawn rhyngddyn nhw, yn dyddio’n ôl i adeg y Cythrwfl Mawr. Cymeren nhw ran yn y brwydro i ryw raddau, mae’n debyg – ond a oedden nhw’n arwyr, cudd-gynhyrfwyr, hurfilwyr, ysbiwyr, neu gachgwn? Neu bob un o'r rhain? Dim ond y Duwdodau Creulon a ŵyr yn iawn. Byddai’n well gennyf fi feddwl eu bod yn wŷr hyf a mentrus – dynion busnes cyfrwys a digymrodedd, efallai – oedd yn y lle iawn ar yr adeg iawn – er na awn i cyn belled â dweud mai smyglwyr diegwyddor oedden nhw, ac yn wir nid terfysgwyr rhyngwladol. (Adynod lleol ysgethrin, ddichon). Roedd Jack yn chwilio am blant â galluoedd eithriadol yn unol ag anghenion y Clinig, ond hefyd i gyflawni’i ddibenion ei hunan. Ivan oedd yn ceisio pluo’i nyth ei hun ac i’r Pwll Diwaelod â phawb eraill. Ac roedd Andrea, yn hwyrddydd ei oes, yn ymhyfrydu’n chwarae rhan pennaeth y gwylliaid.I need to mention, therefore, the three tricksters, that strange trinity – the Clinic’s Founder (Jack Procter), the Generous Benefactor (Andrea Jakob Großmann), and the Strong Little Devil (Ivan Pekar, Daud’s Father – and Steffan’s Father too, as it happens). It would be fair to say that there was a complex relationship between them, dating back to the period of the Great Tribulation. They took part in the fighting to some extent, it’s likely – but were they heroes, agents provocateurs, guerrillas, spies, or cowards? Or all of these? Only the Cruel Divinities know for certain. I would prefer to think that they were bold and enterprising men – wily and uncompromising businessmen, perhaps – who were in the right place at the right time – although I would not go so far as to say that they were unprincipled smugglers, and certainly not international terrorists. (Terrible local hoodlums, maybe). Jack was scouting for children with exceptional abilities, in line with the Clinic’s needs, but also to fulfil his own ends. Ivan was trying to feather his own nest, and to the Bottomless Pit with everyone else. And Andrea, in his twilight years, revelled in playing the part of bandit-chief.
A hynny oll heb yn wybod i fi, yr arch-bypedfeistr hyd yn oed. Wel, nid darllenwr meddyliau, na dyn dweud ffortiwn, na chlirweledwr, mohonof fi, er gwaethaf yr hyn y mae rhai cellweirwyr yn ei ddweud. Nawr, gwarchod eu buddiannau’u hunain yw un peth, ond fel y Doethur Du a’i gyfryngwr yr Anrhydeddus Talbot â’r Tafod Arian, fe ddechreuodd y dynion ymbleseru mewn arferiadau eraill a fyddai’n arwain at ymddygiad anweddus ac anfoesol yn y pen draw. Digon dweud mai rhyfedd y tu hwnt oedd eu hargyhoeddiadau ynghylch cariad brawdol – a chwaerol – yn enwedig mewn cyd-destun defodol. Dim ond yn gymharol ddiweddar rwy wedi sylweddoli mai Großmann yr Hynaf oedd y ddolen goll fel petai, a hynny o ganlyniad i waith gan fy Hyfforddai Ifanc wrth gyfieithu “De Invocationibus Enoch,” a mynd trwy adysgrifau o sgyrsiau ysbryd rhwng ei Dad a’i Dad-cu. Andrea a ddarbwyllodd y ddau eraill y gallen galw ar yr Hen Feistri (Telok-vovim oedd ei enw arnyn nhw). Ac wedyn – greden nhw – fe fydden nhw'n dysgu pob cyfrinach yn y Ddau Fyd, gan gael hyd i ddoethineb arallfydol, yr eurfaen, a’r allwedd i fywyd tragwyddol – a dod yn graig o arian.It is not obvious who did what in respect of establishing, maintaining, and fostering their network, but between the three of them, they succeeded in immersing themselves completely in the murkiest pools of the Black Arts and Sciences. And all of that without me, the arch-puppet-master, knowing, even. Well, I am not a mind-reader, or a fortune-teller, or a clairvoyant, despite what some wags say! Now, safeguarding their own interests is one thing, but like the Black Doctor and his medium the Honourable Talbot Silver-Tongue, the men started to indulge in other practices which would lead to indecent and immoral behaviour in the end. Suffice it to say that their convictions concerning brotherly – and sisterly – love, especially in a ritual context, were extremely outré. Only comparatively recently have I realised that Großmann Senior was the missing link as it were, and that as a result of work by my Young Trainee translating “De Invocationibus Enoch,” and going through transcripts of spirit conversations between his Father and his Grand-father. It was Andrea who persuaded the other two they could invoke the Old Masters (Telok-vovim was his name for them). And they thought that they would learn every secret in the Two Worlds, getting hold of extra-terrestrial wisdom, the philosophers’ stone, and the key to eternal life – and becoming extremely well-off.
Wel, edrychwch ble maen nhw nawr. Bu farw Ivan ar law gordderch genfigennus (er i ymosodiad gan frawychwyr gael y bai am hyn yn yr adroddiadau swyddogol ). Bu farw Jack yn araf a phoenus iawn wrth floeddio swynion, ar ôl codi o farw’n fyw, fel petai. Bu farw Andrea Jakob Großmann (Andras Iago Grossmann erbyn hynny) yn ei wely, yn ddyn cyfoethog iawn o leiaf. A bellach ei Fab yntau, yr Anrhydeddus John Balrog Grossmann, er mai cnaf a dihiryn yw e yn y bôn (dim syndod yno), sy’n rheoli’r Cyngor Technocratig Rhyngwladol. Ond dyw e ddim wedi anghofio’i gysylltiad â’r Clinig, neu’n hytrach, â’r Ganolfan Hyfforddi, ychwaith, ac wrth gwrs, fe roddon ni loches i’w Ferch ryfeddol ond anniddig, Helen, pan oedd arni hi’i hangen mwyaf. Fel rwy wedi crybwyll o’r blaen, mae’i hymyriadau ysgubol, cyson yn creu heriau newydd a chyffrous inni bob dydd. A bod yn onest, rydym ni’n ddiolchgar bellach iddi’n gorfodi ni i blannu’r ffa sbeislyd dros ben drwy’r ‘stad i gyd, gan fod y Byd a’r Betws yn dwlu arnyn nhw. Felly, trwy eu ffermio nhw’n wyddonol, rydym yn gwneud elw enfawr. Ac mae’u nodweddion – llesol – o ran agor drysau meddyliol i Fydoedd Eraill, fel petai (yn enwedig pan fyddan nhw wedi’u llosgi’n ulw), yn ddefnyddiol iawn hefyd. Ac fe fydd ei Mab, er ei fod yn dra pheryglus os na chaiff ei reoli’n briodol, yn ased gwerthfawr inni yma, ac i’r Byd, gobeithio.Well, look where they are now. Ivan died at the hand of a jealous concubine (although a terrorist attack got the blame for this in the official reports). Jack died very slowly and painfully, screaming spells, after coming back to life, as it were. Andrea Jakob Großmann (Andras Iago Grossmann by then) died in his bed, a very wealthy man at least. And now his own Son, the Honourable John Balrog Grossmann, although he is fundamentally a cad and a bounder (no surprise there), is governing the International Technocratic Council. But he hasn’t forgotten his connection to the Clinic, or rather, to the Training Centre, either, and of course, we gave a haven to his amazing but petulant Daughter, Helen, when she needed it most. As I have already mentioned, her constant, sweeping interventions create new and exciting challenges for us every day. To be honest, we’re grateful now that she forced us to plant the extremely spicy beans throughout the estate, because the entire World loves them. So, by farming them scientifically, we’re making an enormous profit. And their – medicinal – properties – with respect to opening mental doors to Other Worlds, as it were (especially when they’ve been burned to a crisp), are very useful too. And her son, although extremely dangerous without appropriate containment, will, I hope, be a great asset to us here, and to the World.
Ymhellach, mae’n rhaid imi beidio ag anghofio fy chwaer yma, Miss Procter (Mrs Grossmann ar ôl iddi briodi), y fenyw aruthrol sy’n rhedeg gweithrediadau yma o ddydd i ddydd. Yn wir mae hi’n gallu ymddangos fel angyles gymwynasgar ar adegau, i rai pobl, ond fel rhyw greadures arallfydol, ddychrynllyd – y ‘sénomorff’ honno o’r ffilmiau arswyd – i bobl eraill, droeon eraill. Serch hynny, mae wedi gwneud gwyrthiau gyda’r hen le yma! Ac arbenigwr mewn codi arian ydy, sut yn enwedig, ‘dwn i’m! Rhwng hithau a JBG, roedd yn bosibl i’r Clinig godi o’r fflamau fel ffenics ar ei ffurf newydd yn fuan iawn. A fyddech chi’n dychmygu iddi hithau (Mrs G) gael affêr gydag Ivan Pekar (oedd yn defnyddio’r ffugenw John Baxter y pryd hynny), rywsut neu’i gilydd, ac mai dyna sut daeth Steffan i mewn i’r Byd? Eto i gyd, fe redodd Mrs Procter, gwraig i Jack, i ffwrdd gyda Mr Grossmann, gan esgor ar Helen yng Nghalon y Cyfandir maes o law. Er hwylustod, rwy wedi cynnwys Siart Achau’n dangos y perthnasau rhwng y tri llwyth, sef y Baxteriaid, y Procteriaid, a’r Teulu Grossmann, isod.Furthermore, I must not forget my sister here, Miss Procter (Mrs Grossmann after she married), the tremendous woman who runs operations here from day to day. Indeed, she can appear like a ministering angel on occasions, to some people, but like some terrifying otherworldly creature – that ‘xenomorph’ from the horror films – to others, on other occasions. Despite that, she’s done miracles with the old place here! And she’s an expert in raising money, how exactly I don’t know! Between her and JBG, it was possible for the Clinic to raise from the flames like a phoenix in its new form very quickly. Would you have imagined that she (Mrs G) had an affair with Ivan Pekar (who was using the nom-de-guerre John Baxter at that time), somehow, and that that’s how Steffan came into the World? Then again, Mrs Proctor, Jack’s wife, ran off with Mr Grossmann, giving birth to Helen in the Heart of the Continent in due course. For convenience, I have included a Family Tree showing the relationships between the three tribes, namely the Baxters, the Procters, and the Grossmann Family, below.

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Pwy oedd Daud, David, Dai mewn gwirionedd? O ble daeth e, a beth luniai’i bersonoliaeth, wrth lywio’i dyfiant, a gyrru’i ymddygiad? Wel, rydych wedi darllen y wybodaeth oll, wedi’i adrodd gan lygad y ffynnon. Chi a ŵyr cystal â fi. Cymaint creulondeb dynolryw? Dyna nad allaf fi’i gyfrif. Ond eto i gyd mae’n debyg mai dim ond rhithdybiau ym meddwl llanc hollol adnabyddus a fyddai’n ymddwyn yn fwy tebyg i grwt dryslyd gwirion y rhan fwyaf o’r amser nag i laslanc hyderus a pheniog, yw cryn dipyn o’r digwyddiadau a adroddwyd yma. Ond pa rai? Er ei ddiffygion fyrdd, roedd David yn ddeallus iawn ac yn storïwr ardderchog. O leiaf fe allwn ni ddweud heb rithyn o amheuaeth y daethpwyd â’r llanc yma gan fy mrawd Jack Procter mewn amgylchiadau anesboniadwy, wedi iddo yntau ddioddef yn erchyll nes mynd yn gysgod o fod dynol, gwaetha’r modd.Who was Daud, David, Dai in truth? From where did he come, and what fashioned his personality, steered his development, and drove his behaviour? Well, you have read all the information, reported straight from the horse’s mouth. You know as well as I. How great is the cruelty of humankind? That I cannot calculate. But then again it is likely that a considerable number of the events reported here are nothing but delusions in the mind of a totally unknown lad who would behave more like a silly, confused urchin than a confident and gifted young man, most of the time. But which ones? Despite his myriad failings, David was very intelligent and an excellent story-teller. At least we can say without a shadow of a doubt that the lad was brought here by my brother Jack Procter in unfathomable circumstances, after he had suffered terribly until he became a shadow of a human being, more’s the pity.
Yn y Clinig, yn y plasty hwnnw oedd wedi mynd â’i ben iddo y pryd hynny gan mwyaf, fe geisiai David ailgodi cyrbibion ei bersonoliaeth, trwy chwarae rôl gyda rhai o’r preswylwyr eraill, dan ddylanwad cyffuriau arloesol. Mewn gwirionedd, ni wyddai’r llanc pwy oedden nhw yn union ar y dechrau, wrth gwrs, am ei fod wedi drysu cymaint. Fodd bynnag, ffurfiai berthnasau cryfion gyda Steffan (‘Stevie’ – plentyn siawns i Mrs G, oedd wedi profi cryn broblemau wrth astudio, ac a ddaeth yn gyfaill da i David. Yn aml yr arferen nhw fynd am dro yn fan wen y Clinig gyda’i gilydd, fel Marchogion y Deml ar farch gwyn), Helen (‘Elen’ – plentyn siawns i Mrs Procter, a meddyliaethydd dan hyfforddiant. Fe fyddai David yn ei mwydro hi’n gyson â’i theorïau cynllwyn), John neu Jack (‘yr Hen Filwr’ – cyn-ysgolfeistr ar fin marw, oedd wedi gwneud ei ran yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr, oedd yn gyfrinachwr i’r llanc, ac a lwyddodd i ddysgu’r Hen Iaith Gêl iddo), Mrs Grossmann (‘yr Arglwyddes Macbeth’ – prif reolwraig y Sefydliad, duwies yr aelwyd a’r cartref, a mamfaeth i’r holl eneidiau colledig), a fi (‘y Dewin Ifanc’ – dyna enw digrif ar ddyn mor synhwyrol a chall â fi). Wedi dweud hynny, y rhan fwyaf o’r amser, fe fyddai David yn tybio mai personau hollol wahanol oeddem ninnau.In the Clinic, in that mansion which was falling apart at the seams for the most part, David tried to re-build the fragments of his personality, through role-play with some of the other residents, under the influence of pioneering drugs. In truth, the lad did not know who they were exactly at the start of course, because he was so confused. However, he formed strong relationships with Steffan (‘Stevie’ – Mrs G’s love-child, who had experienced considerable problems whilst studying, ac who became a good friend to David. Often, they would go for a jaunt in the Clinic’s white van together, like Knights Templar in shining armour), Helen (‘Elen’ – The illegitimate daughter of Mrs Procter, and a trainee mentalist. David would constantly pester her with his conspiracy theories), John or Jack (‘the Old Soldier’ – former schoolmaster at death’s door, who’d done his bit during the Great Tribulation, who was a confidant to the lad, and who succeeded to teach him the Old Hidden Language), Mrs Grossmann (‘the Lady Macbeth’ – chief manageress of the Institution, household goddess, and foster-mother to all the lost souls hers), and me (‘the Young Wizard’ – that’s an entertaining name for a man as sensible and level-headed as me). Having said that, most of the time, David would think that we were completely different people.
Yr oeddem fel teulu, ryw ffordd – o’r ‘Mabinogi,’ ysgatfydd – Tad, Mam, Brodyr, Chwaer, a Thad-cu. Mae gennym hyd yn oed gi o’r enw ‘Swtach,’ helgi o’r Dywysogaeth Orllewinol Deyrngar â gwallt cwta. Mae rhaid i fi ddweud na olyga’r gair hwn 'peth sy’n fwy huddyglyd na glo,' ac mae gan yr hen greadur dibynadwy ond twp flew gwyn a chlustiau rhudd yn eithaf tebyg i un o Gŵn Annwfn yn yr Hen Chwedlau. Yn hytrach, mae’r enw’n cyfeirio at dduwdod anrhefn, dinistr, a chreadigaeth o’r Anialdir Mawr, Coch, ac â phob rheswm a bod yn berffaith onest, gan fod yr anifail drewllyd yn taenu difrod yn ei sgil ble bynnag yr aiff. Ac wedyn mae’n rhaid i bawb fod yn dra chreadigol wrth geisio rhoi trefn ar bethau. ‘Doedd dda gan David ‘mo Swt, ‘chwaith, am mai’r ci a draflyncai’i chwilod anwes bob amser – yr hen gythraul!We were like a family, in a way – from the ‘Mabinogi’ – perhaps – Father, Mother, Brother, Sister, and Grand-father. We even have a dog called ‘Swtach,’ a short-haired hound from the Faithful Western Principality. I must say that this word does not mean “a thing that’s sootier than coal,” and the dependable but stupid old creature has white fur and red ears quite like one of Hell Hounds in the Old Tales. Rather, the name refers to a divinity of chaos, destruction, and creativity from the Great Red Desert, and with every reason to be perfectly honest, as the stinky animal spreads havoc in his wake wherever he goes. And then, everyone has to be extremely creative trying to tidy things up. David wasn’t keen on Swt, either, as the dog would gobble up his pet beetles all the time – the old devil!
Ond – yn groes i’r canlyniad disgwyliedig, ac yn anffodus iawn – fe achosai’r driniaeth hon i David lacio ei afael ar realiti ac ymddwyn yn aml mewn ffyrdd a ystyrid yn gymdeithasol annerbyniol, gan rai gorfanwl, beth bynnag, sydd yn rhy sobr a dideimlad. Ni allai beidio ag ymweld â Neuadd y Delweddau yn Aberdydd, er enghraifft, er mwyn myfyrio uwchben trallodau bywyd ar y naill law, a’i londer, ar y llaw arall. Ac yno, yn y fangre ‘hudol’ honno, fe fyddai’n siantio, a siglo ymlaen ac yn ôl, gan ddychmygu ei fod yn cyfathrebu â ‘bodau arallfydol,’ yn ôl pob sôn. Ond o leiaf fe fyddai’n aros nes i bawb eraill adael i ddechrau ar ei ddefosiwn. Wrth ymgymryd â gweithgareddau gweddol amheus o’r fath y dyfeisiodd ei gynllun ar gyfer trawsffurfio’r Byd a threchu ‘grymoedd gormesol cymdeithas gyffredin’ a arweiniodd yn y pen draw iddo fynd i helynt gyda’r gyfraith, a chael damwain difrifol yn y fan wen. Ac unwaith, dro arall, fe dorrodd i mewn i’m swyddfa (Ystafell 1/7 yn Neuadd y Murluniau – y ‘Cwch Dirboenus’ oedd ei enw dirmygus arni) gyda’i ‘arfau arferol’ er mwyn perfformio seremoni gysegredig. Ww, dyna gawlach a wnaeth e, ac am siang-di-fang oedd popeth ar ôl ei ymweliad annisgwyl a diwahoddiad! Efallai ei fod yn ystyried mai Etholedig y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd oedd e, mwy na thebyg, yr un oedd biau’r grym i sleifio rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Oni bai y gallai fod wedi gwneud pethau’n gywir, fe allai fod yma o hyd, siŵr o fod!But – contrary to the expected outcome, and very unfortunately – this treatment caused David to slacken his grip on reality and behave often in ways which would be considered socially unacceptable, by those with a strait-laced disposition, anyway, who are too staid and unfeeling. He could not stop himself visiting the Hall of the Images in Aberdydd, for example, in order to meditate on life’s tribulations on the one hand, and its joy, on the other. And there, in that ‘magical’ locus, he would chant, and rock back and forth, imagining he was communicating with ‘extra-terrestrials,’ apparently. But at least he would wait till everyone else left to begin his devotions. It was whilst undertaking rather dubious activities of this kind that he devised his plan for transforming the World and overcoming the ‘oppressive forces of normal society’ which led in the end to his getting into trouble with the law, and having a serious accident in the white van. And once, on another occasion, he broke into my office (Room 1/7 in the Hall of the Murals – the ‘Agonizing Hive’ was his scornful name for it) with his ‘usual tools’ in order to perform a sacred ceremony. Ooh, what a mess he made, and how topsy-turvy was everything after his unexpected and uninvited visit! Perhaps he considered that he was the Indolent Idolaters’ Chosen One, more than likely, the one who possessed the power to slink between the Two Worlds. If only he could have done things correctly, he could still be here, probably!
A thorri’r stori’n fyr, fe ymadawodd Daud Pekar, hynny yw David Baxter, â’r fuchedd hon (am y gwyddom ni), yn 21 oed ar gwsb y Milflwyddiant mwy neu lai – ‘doedd e byth yn un am wylio’r amser. Yn ei dyb, roedd e’n perthyn ar fywyd swynol, neu saith bywyd a bod yn fanwl gywir. Fe gredai ymhellach mai trwy ei arferion hudol (rwy wedi trafod y rhain o’r blaen) yr oedd wedi colli dau fywyd wrth geisio galw ei Fam yn ôl o’r bedd, ac wedyn wrth ddianc o’i Ewythr anfad; dau eraill, wrth achub Stjepan Velikičovjek rhag ei erlidwyr, ac ymdrechu i rwystro Jelena Pekar (ei Chwaer) rhag ymadael; dau mwy, wrth oroesi llofrudd ei Dad a’r ddamwain fan yma yn Aberdydd. Fe ellid dweud, felly, iddo fe roddi’i fywyd olaf i Stevie a Jack wrth eu hachub rhag tân yn yr hen fwthyn glas yn nhiroedd y Clinig (ond gweler y sylwadau pellach isod). Sut y gallai fod wedi dwyn dau fywyd o safnau angau, ar bris dim ond un, rwy’n eich clywed chi’n ofyn? Wel, wrth reswm, yr oedd yr Hen Filwr ar fin marw beth bynnag; ac ar ben hynny, mae gwerth bywyd Steffan yn dal i’w gyfrif. Fe fydd yn Ewythr eithriadol o dda i’r babi newydd maes o law, gobeithio, er yr holl erchyllterau a gyflawnwyd gan y dynion yn y stori drist hon hyd yn hyn.To cut a long story short, Daud Pekar, that is David Baxter, departed this existence (as far as we know), on the cusp of the Millennium more or less – he was never one for keeping good time. In his view, he possessed a charmed life, or seven lives to be completely correct. He further believed that through his magical practices (I have discussed these before) he had lost two lives trying to call his Mother back from the grave, and then escaping from his iniquitous Uncle; two others, saving Stjepan Velikičovjek from his persecutors, and striving to prevent Jelena Pekar (his Sister) from departing; two more, surviving the murder of his Father, and the van accident here in Aberdydd. It could be said, therefore, that he gave his last life to Stevie and Jack whilst rescuing them from a fire in the old blue cottage in the Clinic’s grounds (but see the further comments below). How could he have snatched two lives from the jaws of death at the price of only one, I hear you ask? Well, of course, the Old Solider was on the brink of death anyway; and on top of that, the value of Steffan’s life is still be accounted for. He’ll be an exceptionally good Uncle to the new baby in due course, hopefully, despite all the horrors committed by the men in this sad story thus far.
Yn eironig, dibynna’r pinwydd ar dân er mwyn parhau’n fyw, gan fod tymhered uchel yn rhyddhau had o’r pigyrnau. Ac yn debyg iddyn nhw, rydym ni’n dal i fodoli, ond wedi’n trawsffurfio. “Os un fydd farw, pawb fydd fyw,” meddai Daud, hynny yw David – wel, dyna ni – ond, am ba gost? Wrth gwrs, ei fab trwy’r llwyn gyda Helen – y talp hwn o gnawd – anap y lleian yn wir – sy’n goroesi eto. Mae’n enaid cryf iawn – ‘neno’r Hen Dduwdodau Rhyfedd, mae’n endid cryfach na’r un sy wedi bodoli ar wyneb y Blaned ddistadl hon cyn hyn. Fe fydd bywyd eithriadol o bwysig o’i flaen, heb os, a dyna oedd fy mwriad o’r cychwyn cyntaf.Ironically, the pines depend on fire to stay alive, as high temperature releases seed from the cones. And like them, we continue to exist, but transformed. “If one man dies, then all survive,” said Daud, that is David – well, there we are – but, at what cost? Of course, his love-child with Helen – that chunk of flesh – the nun’s misfortune, indeed – survives still. He’s a very strong soul – in the name of the Old Strange Divinities, he’s an entity stronger than any that’s existed on the face of this contemptible Planet before now. There shall be an exceptionally important life before him, without a doubt, and that was my intention from the very outset.
Un o golledion y Cythrwfl Mawr oedd Daud Pekar, David Baxter, yn wir, mewn ffordd o siarad. Ac fel y dyfalech, rwy’n credu mai ffyrdd o siarad sy’n creu’r Byd cydsyniol a rennir gennym i gyd. Fodd bynnag, er gwaethaf fy nymuniad i fy hun o ran datgan i David farw’n arwr, mae’r ddau ddyn arall oedd gydag ef pan ymadawodd yntau a ddywedai fel arall. Yn wir, fe fyddai Stevie a Jack yn mynd ar eu llw i David – heddwch i’w lwch (fel petai!) – ffoi o’r goelcerth, heb geisio’u hachub nhw o gwbl. Mae Stevie yn honni’n breifat mai efe a lusgodd yr Ewythr a’r Cymrawd i ddiogelwch. Roedd Jack yn dweud nad oedd yn gwybod beth oedd wedi digwydd, ond ei fod yn sicr mai Stevie a’i helpodd ef, tra oedd David yn ceisio ei ladd ef.Daud Pekar, David Baxter, was indeed one of the Great Tribulation’s casualties, in a manner of speaking. And as you will guess, I believe that ways of speaking create the consensual World that we all share. However, despite my desirre to declare that David died a hero, the two other men who were with him when he departed would say different. Indeed. Stevie and Jack would go on their oath that David – peace to his ashes (as it were!) – fled from the conflagration, without trying to save them at all. Stevie alleges in private that it is he who dragged the Uncle and the Comrade to safety. Jack said that he did not know for certain what had happened, but that he was sure that Stevie helped him, while David was trying to kill him.
Beth oedd y gwir amgylchiadau’n perthyn i’r noson honno, a beth a ddigwyddodd i David? Ni fydd neb yn gwybod i sicrwydd erioed. Ond yr ydym wedi gwneud ein gorau glas i anrhydeddu’r Arwr Anffodus. Ac felly, yng nghysgod pinwydden y mae David yn cysgu’n dawel yr awron – wel, unwaith eto mewn ffordd o siarad am na ddaethon ni erioed o hyd i’w gorff yn adfeilion y bwthyn. Yr oedd, serch hynny, dalp enfawr o glai wedi’i grasu ar ffurf dyn neu epa yno, a dyna sydd yn llenwi’r bedd bellach. Eto i gyd, ni all y Swt dieflig ‘na beidio â mynd i ymweld ag ysbryd ei hen archelyn o leiaf. Mae’r bwystfil drygionus yn dal i grafu ar y garreg fedd drwy’r amser, a gwneud beth bynnag y mae anifeiliaid yn ei wneud i farcio’u tiriogaeth, fel petai nad ydy’n dymuno i’r llanc druan orffwys mewn hedd.What were the true circumstances pertaining to that night, and what happened to David? No-one will ever know for definite. But we have done our very best to honour the Unfortunate Hero. And so, in the shadow of a pine David sleeps peacefully now – well, once again in a manner of speaking as we never came upon his body in the ruins of the cottage. There was, nevertheless, a huge lump of fired clay in the form of a man or an ape there, and that’s what’s filling the grave now. Then again, that devilish Swt cannot stop going to visit the spirit of his old arch-enemy. The mischievous beast keeps on scratching at the gravestone all the time, and doing whatever animals do to mark their territory, as if he does not want the poor lad to rest in peace.
Dyma oedd stori gyfan Daud yn ei eiriau ei hun, felly, am a wyddom – ond, dyma fi’n ailadrodd: Pa rannau sy’n gywir? A allai fod nad dim ond crebwyll ryw genau bach a gam-driniwyd yn echrydus, ac aeth yn orffwyll, yw’r rhan fwyaf ohoni? A feiddiwch farnu, ac os felly, pwy a farna'r barnwyr? Ond eto i gyd, dyma fi, y Dewin Ieuengaf blaenorol (bron), wedi trefnu’r manylion i gyd y tu hwnt i’r llenni er mwyn creu’r holl sefyllfa hon. Ac rwy wedi gwneud hyn gyda chymorth anfodlon yr Hen Filwr, fy mrawd di-feddwl-ddrwg hŷn (wel roedd e yn y niwl ynghylch fy nghynllun gwir i drawsffurfio Dynolryw, beth bynnag), oedd yn fwy tebyg i Dad imi. Noder yma, hefyd, fy nhri enw, mewn tystiolaeth o’m rhan gymhleth a hanfodol yn yr hanes hwn.This was David’s entire story in his own words, then, as far as we know – but, I reiterate: Which parts are correct? Could it be that most it is nought but the fancy of some young rascal who was horrendously mistreated, and went off the rails? Dare we judge, and if so, who will judge the judges? But then again, here am I, the former Youngest Wizard (almost), having arranged all the details behind the scenes in order to create this whole situation. And I have done this with the unwilling aid of the Old Soldier, my unsuspecting older brother (well, he was in the dark regarding my true plan to transdform Humanity, anyway), who was more like a Father to me. My three names should be noted here, too as evidence of my complex and essential role in this tale.
Dyna David, Dai, yr un peth â’n prif gymeriad; Balrog. sydd wedi’i gysylltu â’r teulu Grossmann, llawn dynion mawr; a Procter, hynny yw ‘Gwarchodwr,’ a darddodd o’n hendadau, amser Taith Fawr Sorakados. Er gwaethaf popeth, rhyfelwr dewr oedd Jack, yn y bôn, ac un deallus hefyd. a ddymunai ddatrys problemau trwy fynd wrthi nerth meddwl, enaid a chorff. Pwy a wyddai y buasai’n glynu wrth fywyd Daearol cyhyd a chyn gryfed, mor filain, wrth gredu ar yr un pryd yn yr hyn sydd i ddod? Ac efallai nad yr hyn a ddychmygech na disgwyl mohonof fi, ychwaith, er nad yr union amser cywir ydy i sôn am bethau o’r fath yn awr. Pan fydd fy – ein – cyfnod o alar drosodd, fe fydd y Gwaith Mawr yn dal i aros i’w wneud.There’s David, Dai, the same thing as our main character; Balrog, which is connected with the Grossmann family, full of great men; and Procter, that is ‘Guardian,’ which derived from our forefathers at the time of Sorakados’ Great Journey. Despite everything, Jack was a brave soldier, basically, and an intelligent man, too, who wanted to solve problems by going at it with all the strength of his mind, spirit, and body. Who would have known he would cling to Earthly life so long and with such might, so viciously, whilst believing at the same time in that which is to come? And perhaps I am not what you would imagine or expect, either, although the time is not right to speak of such things now. After my – our – period of mourning is over, there will still remain the Great Work to be done.
I gloi’r bennod hon, felly, am y tro o leiaf, esgusodwch fi am chwarae rhan y Pregethwr wrth imi ddweud y geiriau canlynol. Ffarwél – Daud, David, Dai, Dá∙hwyth – y llanc hwnnw oedd â chymaint o enwau gwahanol! Dan dy fendith (fel petai)! Y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd Dirifedi (a’r Dewiniaid mwyaf nerthol yn y Ddau Fyd ydynt hwy oll hefyd) a’th ddiogelo rhag ysglyfaethu’r Saith Swynwr Seraffiaid, pa le bynnag y byddych. Caniataont hwythau iti – ac inni i gyd – ennill iachawdwriaeth, pa beth bynnag fo honno, wrth inni weddïo — “Oddi mewn i’r cysgodion boed i olau ymdarddu!” — D.B.P.To close this chapter, then, for the time being at least, forgive me for playing the part of the Preacher as I say the following words. Farewell – Daud, David, Dai, Dá∙hwyth – that lad who had so many different names! Adieu (as it were)! May the Innumerable Indolent Idolaters (and they are all the most powerful Wizards in the Two Worlds, too), guard you from the predations of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, wherever you may be. May they allow you – and us all – to win salvation, whatever that may be, as we pray — “From out of the shadows, may illumination stream forth!” — D.B.P.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 39

Pennod Pedwar Deg Tri: Hedfan (Lleisiau 39) / Flying (Voices 39)

Y Cosmos yw popeth sydd, popeth fu, a phopeth fydd erioed. Ein hysgogi ni a wnaiff y cynhemlad lleiaf amdano — gan achosi goglais yn yr asgwrn cefn, crynu yn y llais, ac ias ysgafn, fel petai’n gof pell am gwympo o uchder mawr. Ni fydd neb byth yn deall beth yw ystyr bywyd yn y fath le, ond dyw hyn ddim yn broblem o gwbl. Mae bron popeth yn ddiddorol iawn, yn swynol hyd yn oed, os ydych chi’n edrych yn ddigon dwfn. ‘Does ond rhaid i ni archwilio’r Byd, ein gwlad, ein milltir sgwâr ni, heb sôn am yr Holl Fyd, i ddod o hyd i ryfeddodau. A dyna achos taw trwy’n llygaid ni, mae’r Cosmos yn ganfod ei hun. Trwy’n clustiau ni, mae’r Bydysawd yn gwrando ar ei harmonïau. Ni yw’r tystion, a thrwom ni mae’r Cosmos yn dod yn ymwybodol o’i ogoniant a’i odidowgrwydd.

Nawr, mae’n wir taw dim ond yn ysbeidiol roedd Daud wedi dyheu am wybodaeth galed, oer, gormod o freuddwydiwr oedd e. Ond, yn fy nhyb i, yn ôl yr hyn dw i wedi’i weld, a’i glywed, roedd e wastad yn dymuno bod mewn cysylltiad parhaol ag Ysbryd y Bydysawd (esgusodwch yr iaith farddonol), gan feddwi ar fygdarth y neithdar nefol (gwaeth byth!), a’i ben yn nofio mewn awyrgylch anhysbys i’w draed oedd yn dal i lusgo yn lluwch a llaid y Ddaear. Ac roedd ganddo draed o bridd, ‘does dim gwadu’r ffaith. Ond erbyn hyn dw i’n gallu dychmygu bod ei rym bywiol yn hedfan ymhlith y sêr, wrth iddo frwydro yn erbyn angenfilod nad ydyn nhw’n bod, gan daenu llawenydd ac achosi helynt (O diar, rhaid i fi stopio nawr, dyma fi â lwmp ofnadw’ yn fy ngwddf). — Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann, ‘Cofiant am Fywyd Defnyddiol (fel a draethwyd i’w chyfeilles, Helen Grossmann, wrth eistedd wrth yr aelwyd).’

The Cosmos is everything which is, everything which has been, and everything which will ever be. The least contemplation about it will stir us – causing a shiver in the spine, a trembling in the voice, and a light shudder, as if it were a far-off memory about falling from a great height. No-one will ever understand what is the meaning of life in such a place, but this is not a problem at all. Almost everything is very interesting, magical even, if you look deeply enough. We have only to investigate the World, our land, our back-yard, not to mention the All-World, to find wonders. And that’s because through our eyes, the Cosmos perceives itself. Through our ears, the Universe listens to its harmonies. We are the witnesses, and through us the Cosmos becomes conscious of its glory and its splendour.

Now it’s true that only occasionally did Daud long for cold, hard knowledge, he was too much of a dreamer. But, in my opinion, according to what I’ve seen, and heard, he always desired to be in constant communion with the Spirit of the Universe (excuse the poetic language), becoming intoxicated with the fumes of the heavenly nectar (worse still!), with his head swimming in an atmosphere unknown to his feet which always dragged in the Earth’s dust and mud. And he had feet of clay, there’s no denying the fact. But by now I can imagine that his life-force is flying amongst the stars, as he battles non-existent monsters, spreading joy and causing chaos (Oh, dear, I must stop now, I’ve got a terrible lump in my throat). — Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann, ‘Memoir of a Useful Life (as related to her friend, Helen Grossmann, sitting by the hearth).’

Nawr, ymhlith y pinwydd fflamllyd, yng nghanol union Cae Galar, yn union uwchben y bwthyn hudol, mae yna wagle’n ymddangos, neu’n agor, bwlch yn y continwwm gofod-amser, a ddiogelir gan arwydd ysgarlad arswydus wedi’i baentio mewn rhyw sylwedd gwaetgoch, fel fflam fyw. A dyna fe’n troi’n fortecs sbiral, amryliw, cyfoglyd. Ac yng nghanol y fortecs dyna ymrithio tŵr troellog â’i ben i lawr, i drywanu’r Ddau Fyd, tŵr mor llyfn ac mor gaboledig ag asgwrn cefn anhyblyg ‘sgerbwd hen farw. Dim ond llafarganeuon llawn amheuaeth, petruster, a cholled sy’n chwythu trwyddo. Heb yn wybod iddo, mae’r llanc o’r enw Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth newydd ddechrau dweud ei stori’i hunan, ac wrth i hud y geiriau lifo trwyddo, mae’n creu Bydoedd a Bucheddau o glai crai bodolaeth, gan dylino toes realiti, plygu sylwedd y dychymyg, a mowldio jeli amser, ar yr un pryd.Now, amongst the flaming pines, in the dead centre of the Field of Mourning, directly above the magical cottage, a void appears, or opens, a gap in the space-time continuum, protected by a terrible scarlet sign painted in some blood-red substance, like living flame. And it turns into a sickening, polychrome spiral vortex. And in the middle of the vortex an inverted twisted tower appears, to pierce the Two Worlds, a tower as smooth and as polished as the inflexible back-bone of a long-dead skeleton. Only litanies full of doubt, hesitation, and loss, blow through it. Without knowing it, the lad called Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth has just begun to tell his own story, and as the magic of the words flows through him, he creates Worlds and Biographies from the raw clay of existence, simultaneously kneading the dough of reality, folding the substance of the imagination, and moulding the jelly of time.
A dyma Daud wedi'i gludo ar ei union i'w hoff le yn y Ddaear gron, Neuadd y Delweddau yn Nhref Aberdydd, sydd mor debyg i'r Tŷ Glas o hen fri yn y Weriniaeth Ddeheuol Niwtral, yn ôl pob sôn. A dyna fe fel petai mewn llesmair yn gwylio'i hunan wrth iddo grwydro drwy'r lle a'i galon yn llawn tristwch a llonder yn gydamserol, gan siarad â fe'i hunan. Ac Ww, cymaint mae'n ei garu fe, yr adeilad hwn sy'n hynafol tu hwnt, sydd â waliau llwyd golau, dydyn nhw'm yn rhy dal ac arswydus, a thŵr swynol ac ynddo ffenestri mawr wedi'u bario fel gorthwr uchelgaer, yn cynnwys – pwy a ŵyr beth – ar ei ben. Mae'n caru’r ffordd y mae'r pyrth efydd, enfawr, a'r ffaglau, a’r daeargelloedd tywyll yn deffro atgofion am straeon yn yr Hen Lyfrau. Am bethau fel y Wledd Goch, pan gaeth yr uchelwyr oll yn y Deyrnas Waedlyd eu lladd, am y Dyn-darw wedi'i rwygo a'i drywanu, ac uwchlaw popeth, am ddarnio Lushfé gan ei raglaw ffyddlon Swtach. Ac O, mor awyddus ydy ar hyn o bryd i ddwyn dial ar y rhai oll sy wedi 'neud cam â fe. Ond mae’n brifo’n ddirfawr ‘fyd o gofio sut roedd e ‘di eisiau creu, a rhannu, a charu, ac, o bryd i’w gilydd, wedi trio ‘neud ‘ny oll – yn amhriodol ac yn seithug, gan amla’, gwaetha’r modd.Daud is immediately transported to his favourite place in the whole World, the Hall of the Images in Aberdydd Town, which is so similar to the Blue House of old renown in the Neutral Southern Commonwealth, apparently. And as if in a reverie, he watches himself wandering through the place, his heart full of sadness and joy at the same time, talking to himself. And Ooh, how much he loves it, this building which is extremely ancient, which has light grey walls, that aren’t too tall and frightening, and a magical tower with large, barred windows like the keep of a citadel, containing – who knows what – at its top. He loves the way the enormous bronze gates, and the torches, and the dark vaults awake memories about stories in the old Books. About things like the Red Feast, when all the nobles in the Bloody Kingdom were killed, about the Man-bull, torn and stabbed, and more than anything, about the dismembering of Lushfé by his faithful lieutenant Swtach. And Oh, how eager is he right now to bring revenge on those who’ve wronged him. But he hurts terribly too, remembering how he’d wanted to create, and share, and love, and, from time to time, had tried to do all that – inappropriately, and without success, for the most part, more’s the pity.
Mae'r Neuadd yn dal hanfod glan y môr yn wir. Mae’r awel iach ac arni oglau halen, sy wastad yn trwytho popeth yn Aberdydd, bron â thoddi’r gwaith metel gan staenio’r meini â gwythiennau gwyrddlas, y lliw arbennig 'na all dim ond copr ei greu. Mae'r llanc yn dwlu ar syllu ar y tŵr trwy ffenestr ei 'stafell wely gan grio am ddyn-a-ŵyr-be', wrth iddo edrych ar yr awrleisiau sy’n dweud celwyddau am yr amser o bob un o’r ffasadau ac eithrio’r un sy’n union gyferbyn â fe, diolch i’r drefn. Mae'n gwenu gyda diolch hefyd wrth iddo gydnabod fe allai dyn atal amser, neu'i droi yn ei ôl am ychydig o leia'. Mae'n bosib gallai Dá·hwyth Baldrog Prok·ethra, y Prif Ddewin balch ond aneffeithiol o’r Ysgor Rosliw ddysgu ambell beth yma ynglŷn â llanw a thrai amser ganddo fe.The Hall really does capture the essence of the seaside. The fresh salt-smelling air that always steeps everything in Aberdydd, almost melts the metalwork, staining the stones with turquoise veins, that special colour that only copper can create. The lad loves staring at the tower through the windows of his bedroom, crying about who-knows-what., as he looks at the clocks that tell lies about the time from each one of the facades apart from the one exactly opposite him, thank goodness. He smiles in thanks too as he acknowledges that you can stop time, or turn it back for a bit at least. It’s possible that Dá·hwyth Baldrog Prok·ethra, the proud but ineffectual Chief Magus from the Rosy Citadel could learn a few things about the ebb and flow of time from it.
Wedi'r cwbl, fe a fethodd atal y tonnau rhag dwyn y Siaman Ohl·weled ymaith wedi iddo gipio'i swyn yn ôl oddi ar Keth·kela Hethehela. A fe 'naeth ffaelu rhwystro Ichrus a Thethalu rhag syrthio trwy'r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd pan drion nhw ddianc ar eu hadenydd ffug. Ond bellach mae e'n gweithio gyda'r Morulku llesg i ormesu’r Elohi bwystfilaidd yn eu teyrnas yn gaeth i wyddoniaeth hudol yn y dyfodol pell. Wrth iddo synfyfyrio uwchben hyn oll, mae Daud bron â marw eisiau mynd i’r parc. Ac wedyn, ar ôl iddo chwarae mig yno, fe all gyrraedd Neuadd Aberydd a rhuthro’n gyffro i gyd trwy'r coridorau troellog o bren, wedi’u gwneud yn llithrig a llawn sawr â chwyr lloriau.After all, it’s he who failed to stop the waves from carrying the Shaman Ohl·weled away when he’d pinched the magic back from Keth·kela Hethehela. And it’s him who didn’t manage to stop Ichrus and Thethalu falling through the Cleft between the Worlds when they tried escape on their fake wings. But now he’s working with the languid Morulku to oppress the bestial Elohi in their kingdom addicted to magical technology in the far future. As he muses on all this, Daud is dying to go the park. And then, after he plays tag there, he can get to Aberdydd Hall and rush, all excited, through the winding wooden corridors, made slippery and smelly with floor-polish.
Mae'n meddwl am y lle fel petai'n rhyw Wncwl caredig ond clyfar -- ac un rhy faldodus o’r hanner ‘fyd – sy’n chwarae rhan cawr anwaraidd nes i’r rhieni fynd bant, ac wedyn yn llwytho’i hoff Nai ag anrhegion helaethwych. Yno, mae’n ymddangos taw dros y lle i gyd mae byliau o bres caboledig, a hysbysfyrddau o ffelt gwyrdd wedi’i bilio, a ffenestri cywrain o wydr lliw. Er gwaetha'r holl baneli o bren brown tywyll, a’r arwyddion hen ffasiwn a thros ben llestri, mae'r Neuadd yn teimlo’n ifanc a bywiog, a dyma le grymus a chyfeillgar.He thinks of the place like it’s some kind but clever Uncle – and one who’s too indulgent by half, too – who plays the part of the savage giant until the parents go away, and then showers his favourite Nephew with sumptuous presents. There, it appears that all over the place there are polished brass door-knows, and notice-boards of green baize, and ingenious stained-glass windows. Despite all the panels of dark brown wood, and the old-fashioned, over-the-top signage, the Hall feels young and lively, and this is a powerful and friendly place.
Tu mewn i’r dirwedd feddyliol hon, yn llawn delweddau mae e wedi'u llunio o’i freuddwydion, ble taw mor hawdd yw cyfathrebu â rhannau cêl ei hunan, gan ddychmygu, pensynnu, ac ymgolli yn ei feddyliau, fe ddaeth e i oed, neu, o leiaf, fe aeth e'n hŷn. Yn ddwfn mewn myfyrdod, dyna Daud yn cofio taw pan oedd e yn ei arddegau, roedd e wedi mynd yno i wrando ar y gig cynta' 'rioed gan y band seico-pync Briwiau Man·toru oedd yn digwydd yng nghroth gysurus y Neuadd. Ac mae'n difaru'n enbyd fydd e'm yn gallu cymryd rhan yn y cyngherddau, yn y cyfarfodydd gwobrwyo, yn y seremonïau derbyniad mwyach o hyn ‘mlaen.Inside this mental landscape, full of images he’s formed from his dreams, where it’s so easy to communicate with hidden parts of himself, imagining, daydreaming, and losing himself in his thoughts, he came of age, or, at least, he got older. Deep in contemplation, Daud remembers that when he was in his teens, he’d gone there to listen to the first ever gig by the psycho-punk band Man·toru’s Wounds which took place in the Hall’s comforting womb. And he regrets terribly that he won’t be able to take part in the concerts, in the prize-givings, in the initiation ceremonies any more, from here on.
Dyma'r cartre' i ysbryd yr hen Jarl Aber-Dyggðar yn cysgu yn y cerflun o farmor â’i lygaid o farblys, yn ffugio ei fod yn ffyrnig wrth iddo edrych i lawr o’i gilfach ar y wal, fel petai'n anghenfil arallfydol o ‘Oddi mewn i'r Cysgodion’ ar y teledu. Ond nage marw ydy ond yn disgwyl i’r awr benodol ddod, pan fydd y goleuadau wedi'u diffodd. Ac wedyn fe all ffrwydro’n fyw i batrolio'r neuaddau gwag, â golwg ddychrynllyd urddasol arno. Mae'r llanc yn cofio sut synnodd e wrth syllu’n graff ar y lluniau rhyfeddol a rhagorol sy’n addurno waliau’r cysegr sancteiddiaf. Ac yno, oddi mewn i strociau afradlon y brwsh paent, ymhlith y porfeydd tra gwelltog, mae yna frodorion â chroen seithliw yn byrstio mas, yn ogystal â phlanhigion trawiadol ofnadw’, a phob math o greaduriaid ffansïol. Mae'n cael ei gyfareddu gan y gerddoriaeth a’r gelfyddyd fel ei gilydd. A dyna fe'n cofio sut y dymunai fe gael hyd i hud a lledrith go iawn, sut yr oedd e’n arfer breuddwydio, sut yr oedd e angen dianc. Ac mae'n rhynnu o edrych arno’i hunan yn troelli’n llesmeiriol i mewn i fydoedd anghyfarwydd, i wahanol deyrnasoedd o fodolaeth…This is the home to the spirit of the old Earl Aber-Dyggðar, sleeping in the marble statue with its marbles for eyes, pretending to be fierce as he looks down from his niche on the wall, as if he’s an extra-terrestrial monster from ‘Out of the Shadows’ on the telly. But he’s not dead but waiting for the proper hour to come, when the lights are put out. And then he’ll explode into life to patrol the empty halls, looking terrifyingly dignified. The lad remembers how he was stunned staring intently at the strange and awesome pictures that decorate the walls of the holy of holies. And there, from within the paint-brush’s extravagant strokes, amidst the extremely grassy pastures, rainbow-skinned natives burst out, as well as terribly striking plants, and all kinds of fantastic creature. He’s bewitched by the music and the art alike. And he remembers how he used to desire to find real magic, how he used to dream, how he needed to escape. And he shivers, looking at himself spinning hypnotically into unfamiliar worlds, to different kingdoms of existence…
Cysgodion trwm, fel stribedi o felfed gwlyb wedi’u blingo o degan enfawr, stwffiedig sy’n slapio cnawd y plant, gan ymosod ar gefn un ohonyn nhw’n enwedig, a thrio’i lapio fe. Ar ei olwg, fe ddwedech fod e’n cyffroi ond llawn dychryn ar yr un pryd. Ac mae’n tybio heb allu deall nac esbonio: Ife lle heulog yr ailanedigion yw hwn, neu’r carchar purddu cyn geni? Gwerin y coed sy’n gwarchod y drws, agor y clo, gofalu am yr hynt. Enfawr, lliw mahogani, a cheinciog iawn ydyn nhw, yn llawn tyllau mwsoglyd, a chramen o gennau drostyn nhw mewn mannau. Ac yno maen nhw’n lolian gan jocan yn dawel, a’u canghennau mawr, cudynnog ar led, wrth i’r gwynt gogleisiol, twym ddawnsio a gweddïo’n anwadal o’u hamgylch yn y lloergan. Mynd a dod y mae’u hwynebau creithiog nhw, sy’n debyg i wawdluniau cartwnaidd o deidiau a neiniau hynafol a lled ddynol, wrth iddyn nhw amneidio, a chwerthin, a siffrwd, a gwingo, a’u symudiadau mor araf â gwylan yn orlawn o oruwch-fêr, sy’n crwydro’n isel yn nistrych hallt y Cefnfor Cenfigennus.Heavy shadows, like strips of wet velvet flayed from an enormous stuffed toy are slapping the children’s flesh, attacking the back of one of them in particular, and trying to enswathe him. By the look of him you’d say that he’s excited but full of terror at the same time. And he wonders without being able to understand or explain: Is this the sunny place of the reborn, or the pitch-black pre-birth prison? The tree-folk guard the door, open the lock, protect the way. They’re enormous, ebony-coloured, and very knotted, full of mossy holes, with a crust of lichen over them in places. And there they lounge, joking quietly, their big, tufted branches spread out, as the warm, tickly wind dances and prays waywardly about them in the moonlight. Their scarred faces, which are like cartoonish caricatures of ancient and half-human grandparents, come and go, as they nod, and laugh, and whistle, and fidget, their movements as slow as a seagull sozzled on super-marrow, that’s wandering low in the Jealous Ocean’s salty spray.
Mae’r holl rymoedd naturiol, cysefin yn troelli o’u cwmpas nhw, yn llifo trwyddyn nhw hyd yn oed wrth iddyn nhw bendwmpian, a’u hamrannau’n gostwng. Oddi mewn i’w trwmgwsg, maen nhw’n ffocysu a sianelu pŵer gwyrdd, gan ddrachtio suddion y Blaned, cyn eu treulio, eu distyllu, eu tewychu, eu trawsffurfio. Popeth glân sy’n bodoli ynddyn nhw, y rhai sydd yn meithrin pawb a phopeth ac yn enwedig y rhai mwya’ anghenog, y cryts colledig. Maen nhw’n dwlu ar chwarae cyffrous, ar wynt glaswellt newydd ei dorri, ar sgrechian afreolus, ar felyn llachar trysor wedi’i guddio. Nhw sy’n gwella cleisiau porffor a phoenau tyfu, wrth fwydo ar gariad disglair y plant. Gan taw’r rhieni gorau yn yr Holl Fyd ydyn nhw, heb os nac oni bai. Yn hollol ddigymell maen nhw’n cofleidio ac anwesu, wrth iddyn nhw wthio eu hadau yn eu blaen, gan ganiatáu iddyn nhw dyfu’n naturiol, cyn gadael iddyn nhw fynd yn rhydd.All the original natural powers revolve around them, flowing through them even as they drowse, their eyelids drooping. From within their deep slumber, they focus and channel green power, swigging the Planet’s juices, before digesting them, distilling them, thickening them, transforming them. Everything pure exists in them, those who foster everyone and everything and especially the neediest, the lost kids. They love exciting play, the smell of newly-cut grass, unruly screaming, the shiny yellow of hidden treasure. It’s they who heal purple bruises and growing pains, feeding on the children’s dazzling love. Because they are the best parents in the All-World, without a doubt. Without any compunction, they embrace and snuggle, as they push their seed onward, allowing them to grow naturally, before letting them go free.
Ddim ar garped swyn mae’r llanc yn cyrraedd, a dyw e’m yn teithio ar ei ben ei hunan, ‘chwaith. Yn lle ‘ny, mae’n hedfan ar wely wedi’i ‘neud o haearn bwrw, ynghyd â’r cryts eraill, wedi’u pacio ar y ffrâm simsan fel torllwyth o gŵn bach newydd eu geni. Maen nhw’n cydio am eu bywydau yn y cwilt llawn lympiau, yn fyw o waith brodio, ond ar yr un pryd yn ‘sgarmesu, bron ag ymgiprys i gwympo, i gael gwynt dan eu hadain nhw. Mae’r llanc yn gwenu o glust i glust, gan deimlo pigiadau o gyffro yn ei berfeddion, ac wedyn chwerthin dros bob man nes iddo ddechrau igian yn wyllt. A dyna fe’n hwpo’i ben i lan yn uchel o bwrpas, yn union nes bod y gwyntoedd cant o filltiroedd yr awr yn gallu drysu’i wallt aflêr, gan roi stop ar ei anadlu am funud, a ffrwydro pelenni'i lygaid, bron, a byrstio’i galon, ‘fyd.It’s not on a magic carpet that the lad arrives, and he’s not travelling alone, either. Instead, he’s flying on a bed made of cast iron, together with the other kids, packed on the rickety frame like a litter of newly-born puppies. They grab onto the lumpy, crochet-covered quilt, for dear life, but at the same time scrabbling, almost vying to fall, to get the wind under their wings. The lad smiles from ear to ear, feeling prickles of excitement in his guts, and then laughing out loud until he begins to hiccup wildly. And he shoves his head up high on purpose, just so the hundred-mile-an-hour wind can tousle his dishevelled hair, stopping his breathing for a minute, and almost exploding his eyeballs, and bursting his heart, too.
Ac mae’r llanc yn teimlo fel petai’r agosrwydd hwn, y profiad hwn wedi’i rannu, yr agosatrwydd, yn rhoi cleciadau ar switshys, gwasgu botymau, cau cylchedau cyffro – Www – yn gwneud i rai teimladau mewnol ddod – cymaint yn fwy dwys eto. Dyna’r gwely yn ‘neud dolen a phlymio, gan droi a throelli yn yr awyr ffres, gan gyflymu ac arafu, tocio brigau coed, cwympo oddi lefel y cymylau i hedfan trwy lifeiriant ffyrnig rhaeadr enfawr. Nhw, un bobl unedig sy’n gweiddi’n unllais fel ‘sai’r Holl Fyd ar ben. Dyma eneidiau’r meirwon yn canu nerth eu ‘sgyfaint gân fuddugoliaethus o gael eu rhyddhau o’u cwsg diflas heb freuddwydion. Mae’r Lleuad Oriog, plentyn siawns i Arth y Wybren, yn wincian yn feddw ar y twpsod cyfeillgar, wrth i’w thad, Meistr Hurtrwydd ei hunan, lyncu’r grog yn awchus o’i gostrel ddiwaelod, cyn baglu bant i genhedlu sêr eraill yn rhywle arall yn y nefoedd.And the lad feels as if this closeness, this shared experience, the intimacy, flicks switches, presses buttons, closes circuits of excitement – Ooh – makes some internal feelings get – so much more intense again. The bed loops the loop and plummets, turning and spinning in the bracing air, clipping the tops of trees, falling from cloud-level to fly through the furious flow of an enormous waterfall. They, one united people, shout in unison as if the All-World’s at an and. Here’s the souls of the dead singing a victorious song at the top of their lungs on being released from their boring, dreamless sleep. The Fickle Moon, illegitimate daughter to the Heavenly Bear, winks drunkenly at the friendly fools, as her father, the Master of Madness himself, guzzles the grog greedily from his bottomless gourd, before staggering off to beget other stars elsewhere in the heavens.
Yn fuan, ar ôl croesi lle gwag difesur yn heigio o liwiau, a seiniau, a sawrau, a theimladau, dyma’r cryts yn hwylio trwy deyrnas y Gwarchodwyr sy’n rhoi croeso didaro iddyn nhw yn y cyfnos llaith, a’u haelodau annynol yn amneidio’n ddoeth wrth iddyn nhw alw’r anturiaethwyr di-glem i mewn i’r fro dan ddaear. Yn y pellter, dyna dwmpath gwastad, llydan yn codi oddi ar y ddaear, wedi’i orchuddio â lliain gwlanog, gwyrdd, ac ar ben y bryncyn hwn mae coron o fysedd cerrig sy’n ceisio swyno’r sêr i lawr o ffurfafen lawn ystyr. Mae’r tyle’n ara’ ddeffro’i hunan, gan ymestyn, a chwyddo, a chanu grwndi, fel petai’n gath fawr, swrth sy’n ymysgwyd ar ôl nawfed hoe’r dydd i chwilota am y pryd diwetha’.Soon, after crossing a measureless void teeming with colours, and sounds, and odours, and feelings, the kids sail through the kingdom of the Guardians who give them a nonchalant welcome in the moist twilight, their inhuman limbs beckoning wisely as they call the clueless adventurers to the underground realm. In the distance, there’s a wide, flat mound rising from the ground, covered with a green, woolly sheet, and on top of this hillock there’s a crown of stone fingers which are trying to charm down the stars from a meaning-loaded firmament. The hill’s slowly waking itself up, extending, and swelling, and purring, as if it’s a big, drowsy cat, that’s stirring itself after the ninth nap of the day to rummage about for the latest meal.
Mae un ochr y bryn yn gogwyddo o dan olau pefriol y Lleuad, tra mae’r llall, yr un amhosib ei gweld, wedi’i chwato mewn cysgod trwchus. Mae’r tyndra trydanol yn cynyddu, gan godi croen gŵydd ar y cryts, wrth i’w cyhyrau oll fynd yn dynnach dynnach. Maen nhw ar bigau’r drain, a phinnau bach arnyn nhw dros eu cyrff i gyd. A bellach mae’r cryts sy wedi bod yn teithio ar y gwely ers achau, yn gafael ym mhyjamas ei gilydd, wrth i’w cerbyd nhw ddechrau trwynblymio, gan hyrddio’i hun i gyfeiriad y mynydd yn tyfu oddi tanyn nhw o’r pridd coch bras ac arno arogl glaw ar ôl cyfnod hir, sych. A dyna nhw’n mynd i lawr, yn bellach bellach, gan syrthio’n gyflymach gyflymach. Heb air o gelwydd, mae golwg pob un ohonyn nhw’n mynd yn aneglur wrth i’r gwynt main chwipio heibio i’w penglogau gan frathu, a gwawdio, a rhuo fel sarff asgellog ar fin marw.One side of the hill slants down under the Moon’s sparkling light, whilst the other. the impossible-to-see one, is hidden in thick shadow. The electrical tension mounts, giving the kids goose-bumps, as all their muscles get tighter and tighter. They’re on tenterhooks, with pins-and-needles all over their bodies. And now the kids who’ve been travelling on the bed for ages, grip onto each other’s pyjamas, as their carriage begins to nose-dive, hurling itself in the direction of the mountain growing beneath them out of the rich, red, soil smelling of rain after a long dry spell. And so they go down, further and further, falling faster and faster. Without a word of a lie, everyone’s vision gets blurry as the biting wind whips past their skulls, nipping, and mocking, and roaring like a winged serpent at death’s door.
Mae rhyw fwnci ewn wedi gosod y llyw am ochr dywyll y Mynydd Gwydr, ble mae popeth mor ddu â’r muchudd, a ‘does neb byw’n gwybod dim byd amdano. A dyna nhw’n dal i ddisgyn fel mellten wib wrth i’r düwch ddod yn nes nes, gan gario drewdod llosg osôn a’r stêm o fil o orsafoedd trên. ‘Neno’r Mawredd, mae’n edrych fel petai’r lle ‘ma’n mynd i fod yn fedd priodol i’r cysgwyr effro o’r Byd Arall! Ac wedyn – dyna’u hysgyfaint yn cael eu gwasgu fel consertinas, gan ‘neud i’w trwynau ganu bib-bib fel offerynnau cerdd plentynnaidd. Yn wir maen nhw’n eitha’ tebyg i foch Swtach, yn binc a gwichlyd ar fin rhuthro dros y dibyn i dragwyddoldeb yn y Pwll Diwaelod, a’u lleisiau’n creu anghytgord poenus o uchel. Ond o leia’ fydd yr aberthau dieithr ‘ma ddim angen disgwyl llafn lym yr offeiriad, fel roedd yn rhaid i Adauvam ‘neud ar law’i Dad Ishakí.Some cheeky monkey has set the rudder for the dark side of the Glass Mountain, where everything is as black as sunset, and which no living soul knows anything about. And so, they continue to fall like greased lightning, as the darkness comes closer and closer, carrying the burning stink of ozone and the steam from a thousand train-stations. Good Heavens, it looks like the place is going to be an appropriate grave for the waking sleepers from the Other World! And then – their lungs get squashed like concertinas, making their noses go peep-peep like childish musical instruments. Indeed, they’re rather like Swtach’s pigs, pink and squeaky, on the verge of rushing over the edge into eternity in the Bottomless Pit, their voices creating a painfully loud cacophony. But at least the foreign sacrifices won’t need to await the priest’s keen blade, as Adauvam had to do at the hand of his Father Ishakí.
Ac wedyn, heb rybudd, mae’r cryts ar y gwely hedegog, hudol, yn torri trwy ryw rwystr anweledig, gan ddryllio rhyw faes grym, a dyna bopeth yn mynd dros ben llestri’n wir. Ar bob ochr mae clychau’n canu a lleisiau’n moli wrth ganu cân orfoleddus i’w swyno nhw nes iddyn nhw anghofio holl flinderau'r Ddaear yn lân. Fel y rhai sydd â chalonnau pur, maen nhw wedi llwyddo yn y prawf terfynol. Maen nhw wedi’u pwyso, a chafwyd nhw’m yn brin, er eu bod nhw mor ddiffygiol ar lawer cyfri’, a bellach mae’u calonnau ar dân. Dyma nhw felly’n cael ymuno â rhengoedd y bendigedigion, ac yn mynd i mewn i ogoniant. Mae golau ffagl fflamllyd, yn dwym a rhosliw, yn llyfu o’u hamgylch nhw, gan ddyheu am redeg ei thafodau rheibus dros eu cnawd. Ac yn sydyn dyma’r plant byr eu gwynt yn ymlacio.And then, without warning, the kids on the magical, flying bed break through some unseen barrier, shattering some forcefield, and then everything really goes haywire. On every side, there’s bells ringing and voices praising and singing a jubilant song to enchant them so they forget all the Earth’s troubles entirely. As those with pure hearts, they’ve succeeded in the ultimate test. They’ve been weighed, and not found wanting, although they’re so lacking on many accounts, and now their hearts are on fire. Here they are, being allowed to join the ranks of the blessed, and go into glory. The light of a flaming torch, warm and rosy, licks about them, yearning to run its voracious tongues over their flesh. And suddenly the short-of-breath children relax.
Ar y gair, maen nhw’n cael eu difetha, fel bisgedi siocled ar ffurf plant yn cael eu dipio i ddysglaid o de poeth, nes iddyn nhw doddi, a syrthio mewn swp ar y gwely. A dyna gegau llawn ofn yn llurgunio’u geiriau, ac ar unwaith yn ceisio ailddysgu iaith, gan weiddi, sgrechian, ebychu, a llefaru â thafodau. Ond maen nhw’n cyflym adfywio, gan lwyddo i godi ar eu heistedd unwaith ‘to, a churo’i gilydd ar eu cefnau, cyn cwympo i freichiau’i gilydd. Ac maen nhw bron â lladd eu hunain yn chwerthin, wrth i’r glaw arian, trwm lefain yn llawen. A dyna lu o gryts yn debyg i gnofilod llwglyd â gwallt pigog yn rholio o gwmpas yn ddireidus yng nghanol y gobenyddiau fflwffog wedi’u staenio â phryder, a’r cwiltiau pluog, coslyd.At that moment, they are destroyed, like chocolate biscuits in the form of children getting dipped into cups of hot tea, so that they melt, and fall in a heap on the bed. And then mouths full of fear garble words and immediately try to re-learn language, shouting, screaming, exclaiming, and speaking in tongues. But they quickly recover, managing to sit up once again, and slapping each other on their backs, before falling into each other’s arms. And they almost die laughing, as the heavy, silver rain weeps happily. And so a host of kids like starved rodents with spiky hair, roll about cheekily in the middle of the fluffy, worry-stained pillows, and the itchy, feathery quilts.
Erbyn hyn mae’r gwely hudol yn hedfan yn esmwyth uwchben tirwedd i synnu ati yn Ffatri Breuddwydion Tragwyddol. Mae’n neuadd aruthrol ac ynddi golofnau tal dros ben yn dal gemau o bob math, a’i llawr wedi’i daenu â theganau. Yma, mae hi mor dwym a heulog â diwrnod o haf yng ngogledd y Cyfandir Deheuol, a’r lliwiau llachar ofnadw’n adlewyrchu’r cynnwrf i gyd yn digwydd trwy gydol y lle. Mae yna blant ym mhob man; ac fel eogiaid maen nhw’n nofio’n groes i’r llif, gan chwyrlïo, bwrw tin-dros-ben, a hedfan. Yn y lle ‘ma, mae si cyfeillgarwch digymell yn crychdonni trwy’r awyrgylch fel petai’n un o ddagrau chwilboeth Lushfé wedi’i ddiferu i’r ambrosia purddu yn y Crochan sy wastad yn Llawn. Mae’r rhuo, a’r brefu, a’r crawcian gan y miloedd o fwystfilod anhysbys yn gwahodd y cryts i fforio, wrth i beiriannau a yrrir gan ager disglair a gwynt draig, ddenu’r dewiniaid technolegol a’r gwyddonwyr hudol, i arbrofi, i ddysgu, i ddarganfod, i greu – heb arswyd methu.Now the magical bed is cruising smoothly above a landscape to be wondered at in the Eternal Dream Factory. It’s an enormous hall with extremely tall columns holding games of all kinds, the floor strewn with toys. Here, it’s as warm and sunny as a summer’s day in the north of the Southern Continent, the awfully bright colours reflecting all the commotion going on all over the place. There are children everywhere, and like salmon they’re swimming against the flow, twirling, somersaulting, and flying. In this place a sigh of unprompted friendliness ripples through the air as if it were one of Lushfé’s red-hot tears dropped into the pitch-black ambrosia in the Cauldron that’s always Full. The roaring, and the lowing, and the squawking from the thousands of unknown beasts invites the kids to explore, whilst machines driven by dazzling vapour and dragon’s breath, tempt the technological wizards and the magical scientists, to experiment, to learn, to discover, to create – without fear of failure.
O ran un o’r cryts, o’r enw Dai, David, Daud, Dá·hwyth, sydd â chysgodion tywyll dan ei lygaid o ganlyniad i ormod o nosau heb gwsg, dyma’i filltir sgwâr, ei fro, ei lawenydd. Mae’n ymlafnio mor galed i ryddhau’i hunan o afael y plant eraill ar y ddyfais hedegog, wrth frwydro hefyd yn erbyn cofleidiad y gwely, sy fel Mam or-warchodol â bronnau panylog, nad yw’n fodlon gadael iddo ffoi’r nyth. Ond o’r diwedd, dyna’r cynfasau gormesol yn rhoi’r gorau i frwydro, a’i ollwng yn rhydd.For one of the kids, called Dai, David, Daud, Dá·hwyth, who has dark shadows under his eyes because of too many sleepless nights, this is his back-yard, his realm, his joy. He struggles so hard to release himself from the grasp of the other children on the flying contraption, whilst fighting also against the embrace of the bed, which is like an over-protective Mother with dimpled breasts, who’s not willing to let him fly the nest. But at last, the oppressive sheets give up fighting and let him go free.
Ac wedyn – O! Mae’n dod o hyd i’r milltiroedd ar filltiroedd o dramwyfeydd a’u lloriau wedi’u sgleinio, sy’n estyn fel ffwng o dan y tir, gan dyfu, newid, egino. Mae yna ffeuau ar ffurf llyfrgelloedd, a’u hwaliau o ‘styllod derwen yn frith o lampau ar lun penglogau, a’u silffoedd yn drwm gan lawlyfrau hud, a’u cypyrddau’n llawn drysau cudd, sy’n arwain at risiau troellog a llithrennau ysgubol. Ac mae’r lle i gyd wedi’i dwnelu drwyddo â siafftau cul i’w cropian trwyddyn nhw. Yma, mae’r trigolion yn chwarae o ddifri, yn broffesiynol, gan guddio a chwilio am ddyddiau bwy gilydd, yn y fangre hon heb ei chysylltu â Byd Byw a Marw, ble mae arfwisgoedd haearn yn gorymdeithio o gwmpas, wrth i lygaid paentiedig y portreadau byw wylio. Yma fe all pob drws cyfarwydd agor ar siambrau na feddyliai neb y bydden nhw wedi bodoli o gwbl.And then – Oh! He comes across miles and miles of passageways with polished floors, that extend like fungus under the ground, growing, changing, sprouting. There are dens in the form of libraries, their walls of oak planks bristling with skull-shaped lamps, their shelves heavy with books of magic, and their cupboards full of hidden doors, which lead to spiral staircases and sweeping slides. And the whole place is tunnelled through with narrow shafts to crawl through. Here, the inhabitants play for serious, professionally, hiding and seeking for days on end, in this location unconnected with the World of Living and Dying, where iron suits of armour march about, as the living portraits’ painted eyes watch. Here, every familiar door can open onto chambers no-one would have thought existed at all.
Felly, dyma’r llanc yn anturio drwy’r llwybrau cyfnewidiol, di-ben-draw, ac mae’n gallu teimlo anadl bryfoclyd creugarwch chwareus yn chwythu trwyddo fe. A dyna fe’n mynd trwy’r Dollfa Rithiol a chroesi’r Bont Ddolurus dros yr Afon Wylofus a chyrraedd y lan ble mae’r Haul Disglair wastad yn tywynnu. Dyma’r llanc sy wedi rhoi da am ddrwg bob tro, bron, ar wahân i’r adegau ‘na pan oedd e’n fachgen bach drwg iawn. Dyma’r dyn sy wedi aberthu’i hunan i arbed eneidiau eraill rhag cael codwm (wel roedd e’n barod i ‘neud ‘ny ta be’, siŵr o fod). Ac mae wedi’i olchi, ac wedi’i lanhau hefyd â gwaed, a thân, a dagrau – a’r Delw-addolwyr gorchfygol ar fedr coroni’i ben â llawryf o’r diwedd.So, the lad adventures through the endless, ever-changing paths, and he can feel the teasing breath of playful creativity blowing through him. And there he is going through the Phantom Toll-Booth and crossing the Wailing Bridge over the Tearful River, and reaching the shore where the Dazzling Sun always shines. This is the lad who’s repaid bad with good every time, almost, apart from those occasions when he was a very bad little boy. This is the man who’s sacrificed himself to save other souls from falling (well, he was ready to do that anyway, probably). And he’s been washed, and cleaned too, with blood, and fire, and tears – and the victorious Idolaters are on the verge of crowning his head with laurel at last.
Mae’r llanc wedi syrthio drwy Ddrych Sgrio i Fyd Arall, Bro Smalio, ble mae cerfluniau, a delweddau, a syniadau o bob math wedi’u dihuno gan ei ddychymyg, yn dod yn fyw mewn cig a gwaed. Dyma fro syfrdanol y Brenin Melyn a Phalas Tywod Etneksha. Yma, tu hwnt i ddisgwyliadau pobl eraill, rhai o’r moethau yw symledd, tawelwch, bod yn ffrindiau, creu heb fod angen cynulleidfa, a charu heb ormod o gyffro. Yma, 'sdim rhaid bod yn eithriadol i fyw a ffynnu. Mewn gwirionedd, mae'n fraint bod yn gyffredin, a dim ond y condemniedig sydd angen trio bod yn sbesial. Ac yma dych chi’n gallu hedfan gyda’r adain gwatwar ymhlith y fforestydd o bin. Yn wir, mae’r Daearolion a’r Yrthiaid yn prancio, a brwydro, a chwerthin heb ofn, ar ffurf cimerâu cyfnewidiol, wedi deall bod pawb a phopeth wedi’u cysylltu â’i gilydd, a ‘does y fath beth â ni a nhw ar wahân i’w gilydd. Ond wrth i David wenu o ddychmygu’r fath ddieithrwch na all e’i ddeall na’i gredu o gwbl, gan ysgwyd ei ben ac allyrru‘n araf, mae popeth yn siglo a symud unwaith ‘to, gan ei daflu wysg ei ochr ar ras wyllt nes iddo gael ei boeri mas – yn rhywle’n gyfan gwbl wahanol.The lad’s fallen through a Scrying Glass to Another World, the Realm of Make-Believe, where statues, and images, and ideas of all kinds awoken by his imagination, come alive in flesh and blood. This is the stupendous kingdom of the Yellow King and the Sand Palace of Etneksha. Here, beyond the expectations of other people, simplicity, quiet, being friends, creating without needing an audience, and loving without too much excitement are some of the luxuries. Here, there’s no need to be exceptional to live and thrive. In truth, it’s a privilege being normal, and it’s only the condemned who need to try and be special. And here you can fly with the mocking-birds amongst the pine-forests. Indeed, the Earthlings and the Yrthians prance, and fight, and laugh without fear, in the form of constantly transmogrifying chimeras, having understood that everyone and everything is connected together, and there’s no such thing as us and them separate from each other. But as David grins, imagining this weirdness that he can’t understand or believe at all, shaking his head and exhaling slowly, everything jiggles and changes once again, throwing him sideways in a mad dash until he’s spat out – somewhere utterly different.
Anialdir ydy, ond un sy’n fwy tebyg i ffwrnais danllyd o Lyfr Coch Rhwd a Gwaed, nac i ehangder dirfawr o dywod marw. Mae’r lle i gyd yn fflamgoch ac yn frith o chwilod croenysol uffernol yn mynd ‘chep – er — chep – er — chep – er,’ o boptu, byth a hefyd. Ond mor oer ydy, cyn oered â Meysydd Rhewllyd Pegwn y De yng nghanol gaea’ anfaddeugar, caled. Ym mhob man mae’r meirw sy’n byw yn crwydro o gwmpas gan wylo a’u dannedd yn rhincian wrth i senomorffiaid cenfigennus, llwglyd, gorffwyll sydd â chennau anhreiddiadwy, eu llarpio nhw â’u miloedd o ddannedd gwaedlyd, a’u trywanu â’u cynffonnau mor finiog â Chleddyf Hud Sorakados, cyn iddyn nhw ddod yn fyw’n syth i ddiodde’ eto. Maen nhw o fewn pellter gwegian i arch aruthrol yn llawn colomennod du a chigfrain gwyn yn hedfan ymhlith enfysau budr a allai’u hysgubo nhw bant a’u hachub rhag eu hartaith ‘sen nhw ond yn gallu helpu’i gilydd. Ond maen nhw’n rhy brysur yn ymhyfrydu wrth edrych ar law annaearol Swtach yn arysgrifio’r manylion am bechodau fyrdd pawb eraill mewn geiriau estron ar y tywod crasboeth ond llithrig i’w cynorthwyo’i hunain, heb sôn am eu cymrodyr hunanol.It is a desert, but one which is more like a fiery furnace from the Red Book of Rust and Blood, than to an immense expanse of dead sand. The whole place is flame-red, and teeming with hellish flesh-eating beetles going ‘chep – er — chep – er — chep – er’ on all sides, all the time. But it is so cold, as cold as the Frozen Fields of the South Pole in the middle of a hard, unforgiving winter. Everywhere the living dead wander about weeping and gnashing their teeth as mad, starving, jealous xenomorphs with impenetrable scales, tear them to pieces with their thousands of bloody teeth, and stab them with their tails as sharp as Sorakados’ Magic Sword, before they immediately come back to life to suffer again. They’re within staggering distance of an ark full of black doves and white ravens flying amongst dirty rainbows that could sweep them off and save them from their torture if they could just help each other. But they’re too busy rejoicing whilst watching Swtach’s unearthly hand inscribing the details of everyone else’s myriad sins in foreign words on the parched but slippery sands to help themselves, let alone their selfish fellows.
Dyma’i Dad dybryd, byrbwyll, creulon tu hwnt, wedi’i ail-greu ar lun a gwedd coeden grin, bythol-fflamllyd, wedi’i hamrwymo gydag amdo gwyn, aflan, fydd yn cael ei orfodi i ddatgan ei phechodau fyrdd rhwng gwyll a gwawl, wrth i drŵp o fwncïod gwyllt ei chwipio â llachiau o edau dur. A dyna’i Ewythr ysgeler a threisiol, â chwfl am ei ben, ond erbyn hyn mae wedi dod yn fuwch sy’n arswydo’n enbyd wrth redeg o gwmpas mewn cau heb glwyd yn cynnwys miloedd o deirw. A dacw’r hen Ysgolfeistr gormesol, hunanol wedi mynd yn was penisel, crebachlyd i lanc ifanc yng ngwisg ‘sgarlad y Dewin, sy’n hoenus, grymus, ac eithriadol olygus. Wedyn, wrth i Dai sythu’n gegrwth ar hyn oll, er dyw e’m yn siŵr be’ sy’n digwydd, o flaen ei lygaid mae i’w weld bod y golygfeydd ‘ma’n toddi ac ail-ffurfio’n araf iawn, wrth i’r ffigurau i gyd newid lle i ddiodde’ cosb wahanol.Here’s his extremely cruel, rash, atrocious father, re-created in the aspect of an ever-burning, blasted tree, wrapped in a filthy, white shroud, which is forced to declare its myriad sins from dust to dawn, while a troupe of wild monkeys whips it with lashes of steel thread. And there’s his villainous and violent Uncle, with a cowl on his head, but now he’s become a cow which is getting terribly frightened running about in a gateless field containing thousands of bulls. And over there is the selfish, tyrannical School-master, become a shrivelled, downcast servant to a young lad in the scarlet garb of the Wizard, who’s lively, powerful, and extremely good-looking. Then, as the Dai stares open-mouthed at all this, although he’s not sure what’s happening before his eyes, it appears that these scenes are melting and re-forming very slowly, as all the figures change place to suffer a different punishment.
Ac wedyn dyma’r naill yn cael ei drochi mewn bloneg blasusa’ i ddenu haid o lau tân, pigog fydd yn ei ddifa nes taw dim ond sgerbwd byw fydd ar ôl, tra mae’r llall yn cael ei orfodi i lowcio galwyni o ddognau afiach o bob math nes iddo chwyddo’n sffêr enfawr o gnawd byrlymus, sy’n berwi, a bytheirio, a beichio’n ddi-ball. Ac felly bydd dawns y dynion diedifar a hunangyfiawn yn mynd yn ei flaen yn dragwyddol, yn ôl pob tebyg. ‘Does dim lle yn unman yn union fel y lle ‘ma, ac yma, ‘does neb yn gwrando ar eu sgrechian, neu o leia’ os ydyn nhw, dyn nhw’m yn hidio’r un ffeuen amdanyn nhw.And then one is dipped in tastiest lard to attract a swarm of prickly fire-bugs which will consume him until only a living skeleton is left, while another is forced to gulp down gallons of unwholesome potions so that he blows up into an enormous sphere of bubbling flesh, which boils, and belches, and wails without stop. And so, the dance of the unrepentant and self-righteous men goes on eternally, it would appear. There’s nowhere exactly like this place, and here, no-one listens to them screeching, or at least, if they do, they don’t give a fig about them.
Tu hwnt i’r fangre hon yn llawn o ddigofaint a dagrau, dim ond cysgodion erchyll y Byd Arall sy'n dod i’r golwg. Mae Dai, David, Daud, Dá·hwyth yn teimlo nad drychiolaethau mohonyn nhw, ond endidau corfforol, yn ddu fel glo, sy'n denu'r llanc â'u bysedd hirion, gafaelgar. Ond dyna fe’n cael ei dynnu bant o’r olygfa ‘ma sy mor foddhaol o ffiaidd. Yn rhywle draw fan’na, yn bell iawn i ffwrdd, dyna’i Elyn gwaethaf, ei Ffrind gorau, mewn sachlïain a lludw, yn petruso ar ymyl dibyn fel rhyw hen ffŵl. Mae’n bwriadu neidio, ac wrth i David wylio, dyna beth ‘na e. A’r llanc yn strancio yn y dŵr gwenwynllyd gan foddi, dyna Dai yn deifio i mewn ar ei ôl e heb feddwl, a’i dynnu e mas, cyn ei gario i ben mynydd ucha’r Holl Fyd, o ble mae’r Rhifolegwr Colledig yn hedfan tuag at y machlud wedi’i wisgo fel môr-leidr gogoneddus.Beyond this place, full of suffering and tears, only the terrible shadows of the Other World come into view. Dai, David, Daud, Dá·hwyth feels that they’re not phantoms but physical entities, as black as coal, which are tempting the lad with their long, grasping fingers. But he gets pulled away from this scene which is so satisfyingly hateful. Somewhere over there, very far off, there’s his worst Enemy, his best Friend, in sack-cloth and ashes, hesitating on the edge of a precipice like some old fool. He intends to jump, and as David watches, that’s what he does. The lad struggles in the toxic water, drowning, and Dai dives in after him without thinking, and pulls him out, before carrying him to the top of the highest mountain in the All-World, from where the Numerologist Manqué flies into the sunset dressed as a glorious pirate.
Nesa’, bant â David drachefn – ac mae’n troi a throi – gan fynd i lawr – disgyn – ar goll – ac i mewn i gwmwl sy’n llachar, pêr, dengar. Mae'n cyfarch y gorffennol wrth iddo ruthro heibio’n aneglur i’r dyfodol, gan geisio gafael ynddo, ond er ei arswyd llwyr a'i fawr ddychryn, dyma fe'n ei ollwng, achos, wel, wedi’r cyfan, pa ddewis arall sydd ganddo? Roedd e wedi bod yn breuddwydio, a gobeithio, ond ‘does neb a fedrai atal llif amser mewn gwirionedd, hyd yn oed ‘sai fe’n afon yn hytrach na darn diderfyn o jeli. Ond drwy'r amser dyna’r arogleuon – gwymon, halen, heulwen, haearn a gwaed, chwys a thywod poeth wedi’i chwythu gan chwaon o wynt, pridd gwlyb domen yn sythu. A hyd yn oed yna, y pryd hwnnw, arlliwir popeth gan ddigalondid plentyndod, gan golled, gan deimlad afrealiti. Dyw ‘rioed wedi gallu deall na natur nac achoseg y boen hon. Ond serch ‘ny, y rheiny yw cofion mae'n eu teimlo yn ei galon hyd yn oed yn gryfach erbyn hyn.Next, David’s off again – and he turns and turns – going down – descending – lost – and into a cloud that’s glittering, sweet-smelling, tempting. He greets the past as it rushes by him in a blur towards the future, trying to grab onto it, but to his complete terror and great dread, he drops it, because, well, after all, what other choice does he have? He’d been dreaming, and hoping, but no-one can stop the flow of time in truth, even if it were a river rather than a boundless piece of jelly. But always, there’s the smells – seaweed, salt, sunshine, iron and blood, sweat and hot sand blown by gusts of wind, soaking wet soil drying. And even then, at that instant, everything is tinged with the dejection of childhood, with loss, with a feeling of unreality. He’s never been able to understand the nature or aetiology of this pain. But despite that, these are the memories he feels in his heart even stronger now.
Mewn man arall, wedi cwympo am hydoedd a thorri drwodd o un realiti i un amgen, mae Rwm bel-Shaftí wedi’i ddihuno o'i drwmgwsg hir ar ffurf tas fawr o wair euraidd, mor ddwfn islaw cramen y Blaned, gan ddaeargryn damweiniol wedi'i achosi gan Ddewin nerthol ond amhrofiadol. Wrth iddo godi o'i guddfan, mae'n rhyddhau meintiau enfawr o olew aroglus yn cynnwys gronynnau fyrdd o aur pur. A dyna'r pwca llysnafeddog yn ymlawenhau'n afieithus, gan hopian a sboncian o gwmpas, hedfan drwy'r awyr, a chanu galarganau mawreddog yn yr Hen Iaith Yrtheg, cymaint ei bleser o gael ei lais taer, rhwysgfawr yn ôl. Ac fel arfer all y dynan castiog ddim peidio gofyn y naill gwestiwn ar ôl y llall eto, er mai erbyn hyn mae'n gwybod i’r dim mai'r da, y drwg a'r diolwg sy'n galaru mor uchel â'i gilydd yn y Pwll Diwaelod, wedi'u harteithio gan ei gyn-Feistr, Swtach, Arglwydd Anwiredd.In another place, having fallen for ages and broken through from one reality to an alternate one, Rwm bel-Shaftí has been woken from his deep sleep as a big stack of golden hay, so deep below the Planet’s crust, by an accidental tremor caused by a powerful but inexperienced Wizard. As he rises from his hidey-hole, he releases great quantities of sweet-smelling oil containing loads of bits of pure gold. And the slimy imp rejoices exuberantly, hopping and bouncing about, flying through the air, and singing majestic threnodies in the Old Yrthian Language, so great is his pleasure in getting his pompous, insistent voice back. And as usual, the wily gnome still can’t stop asking one question after the other, although by now he knows full well that the good, the bad, and the ugly mourn as loudly as each other in the Bottomless Pit, tortured by his ex-Master, Swtach, Lord of Misrule.
Mae'n temtio pawb a phob un o fewn glyw, ddydd a nos, ddiwrnod ar ôl diwrnod, wrth iddo wibio o amgylch y Byd, gan addo gwobrau amhosib eu cael, gan bob amser hau hadau anghytgord a chodi cynnen. Mae geiriau ffiaidd y cythraul cecrus yn adleisio drwy'r awyr lawn cyffro, gan ofyn, "Oes 'na ddim byd na allwch chi fyw hebddo? Sut fyddech chi'n 'neud eich bywyd yn berffaith? Be' dych chi eisiau uwchlaw pob dim?" Ac maen nhw'n llawn pŵer annisgybledig sy'n cymell pawb yn eu clywed nhw i derfysgu, lladrata, a niweidio, a Rwm bel-Shaftí, sy'n defnyddio'r enw Lonelihahi bellach, yn gwallgo' grechwenu.He tempts each and every one within earshot, day and night, day after day, as he shoots around the World, promising impossible-to-get prizes, always sowing the seeds of strife and causing contention. The cantankerous devil’s hateful words echo through the excited air, asking, “Is there nothing you can go without? How would you make your life perfect? What do you want above all else?” And they’re full of unruly power that urges all who hear them to riot, rob, and harm, whilst Rwm bel-Shaftí, who’s now using the name Lonelihahi, guffaws madly.
Mae 'da Daud o hyd frithgofion am lefydd a phobl eraill fu gynt yn hollbwysig i'w fywyd – am Fam, a Chwaer, a Chariad – er eu bod yn cyflym bylu wrth i’r cymeriadau ‘ma i gyd weiddi, a llefain, a galw arno, a begian, a thrio’i rwystro rhag diflannu. Dyna’i Fam ar ei gwely angau mewn Tŷ Aileni ar ffurf sigwrat enfawr yn griddfan a gwingo wrth iddi gael ei thrawsffurfio’n ewig anfarwol fydd yn prancio ymhlith y sêr o hynny ‘mlaen. Ac wele’r Chwaer gref, a chaled, a milwrol bron, sy’n ei atgoffa am Gariad, yn rheibio pawb a phopeth o’i chwmpas â’i barddoniaeth histrionig o dop Tŵr Gwyrdd yng nghanol Ysgor Rosliw. Maen nhw’n mynnu’i fod e’n edrych yn ôl fel yr â un ai i’r Nefoedd neu i’r Uffern, i’r Ddaear, neu i’r Nw Yrth, i gael ei fendithio neu’i gosbi, ‘does ‘na ddim trydydd opsiwn ar gael ganddyn nhw – ond p’un yw p’un?David still has faint memories of other places and people who were once all-important to his life – of a Mam, and a Sister, and a Lover – although they’re quickly paling, as all these characters shout, and cry, and call on him, and beg, and try to stop him disappearing. His Mam, on her deathbed in a House of Rebirth formed like a great ziggurat, groans and writhes as she’s transformed into an immortal doe which will prance amongst the stars from then on. And behold the strong, and hard, and almost military Sister, who reminds him about a Girl-friend, enchanting everyone and everything about her with her histrionic poetry from the top of a Green Tower in the middle of a Rosy Fortress. They insist he look back so that he will go either to Heaven or to Hell, to the Earth or to the Nw Yrth, to be blessed or punished, they have no third option available – but which is which?
Ond yn brwydro yn eu herbyn nhw mae’i Ffrind, ei Frawd sy wedi ail-ymddangos ar wely hedegog yn ei wisg ffansi, yn edrych fel Tywysydd Medrus Undeb yr Archarwyr i annog Dai i fynd yn ei flaen, i ddilyn ei lwybr ei hunan, i ‘sgrifennu’i stori’i hun a chreu Bydoedd newydd. A dyna’r llanc yn sylweddoli taw dim ond cysgodion ansylweddol ydyn nhw oll, yn ffrind ac yn elyn fel ei gilydd, yn cynnwys ei gysgod ei hunan, a fyddai'n diflannu 'sai fe'n ymyrryd â nhw. Gwell o lawer fyddai canu’n iach iddyn nhw nawr, a gadael iddyn nhw fyw a marw mewn hedd wrth iddo fentro i mewn i wledydd anhysbys. Ac mae’n syn ganddo sylweddoli yn y fan a’r lle taw fe sy’n gallu bod yn Dad iddo’i hun, a Mam hefyd.But fighting against them is his Brother who’s reappeared on a flying bed in his fancy dress, looking like the Skilled Leader of the Superheroes’ Union, to encourage Dai to go forward, to follow his own path, to write his own story, and create new Worlds. And the lad realises that they are all nothing but insubstantial shadows, friend and enemy alike, including his own shadow, which would disappear if he interfered with them. Much better would be to bid them farewell now, and let them live and die in peace as he ventures into unknown territory. And it’s a shock to him when he realises there and then that he can be his own Dad, and Mam, too.
Mae'n teimlo'i fod wedi dysgu gwers eithriadol galed ond tra phwysig o gael ei orfodi i edrych yn ôl dros ei ysgwyd ar y Hen Fyd, wrth ddychmygu daflu'i hunan trwy'r Hollt cyn iddo gau am byth. Mae'n deall bellach hefyd taw dim ond un ffordd sydd i fachgen dyfu i lan a dechrau byw'n annibynnol fel gwir Ddewin. Fe fydd yn rhaid iddo drechu ei ofnau yntau, fel y bydd meistr yn tywys gwas ffyddlon. Ac fe fydd angen iddo gyfeirio ei enaid fel bydd capten yn hwylio llong. Ac wedyn, trwy orfodi'i hunan i weithredu, er gwaetha' holl beryglon y dyfodol, a'i aml amheuaeth, fe fydd e'n wir wrol o'r diwedd. Am lwyth o hen rwtsh, mae’n dweud wrtho’i hun, ond dyna fe’n gadael iddo’i hun gwympo’n ddyfnach ddyfnach i Fydoedd tu mewn i Fydoedd, wrth i amser arafu unwaith ‘to.He feels he’s learned an extremely hard but very important lesson being forced to look back over his shoulder at the Old World, imagining throwing himself through the Cleft before it closes for ever. He understands now too that there’s only one way for a boy to grow up and begin to live independently as a true Wizard. He must overcome his own fears, like a master guides a faithful servant. And he needs to steer his soul like a captain sails a ship. And then, by forcing himself to act, despite all the dangers of the future, and his many doubts, he’ll be truly brave at last. What a load of old nonsense, he says to himself, but he lets himself fall deeper and deeper into Worlds within Worlds, as time slows down once again.
Am y tro ola’, felly, yn araf iawn mae’n ymddangos, dyna’r gyllell farus yn gwyro wrth iddi ddisgyn, gan sboncio fel bod y llanc yn torri ei fraich ei hunan a thynnu gwaed. Ac yn erbyn y cefndir porffor i’r sigwratau yn llewyrchu ar y Nw Yrth dyma’r Bydysawd oll yn diasbedain wrth i’w waed e lifo mewn afon wyllt o lawen o’i gorff drylliedig gan ffurfio pwll du o’i flaen. Gwaed a haearn – dŵr a metel – yr elfennau hanfodol ar gyfer torri drwy’r llen. A dyna fe’n dorri’i hun yn rhydd o’i gloffrwymau, ac ymlafnio i lan ac i lan, a’i ddychymyg chwilfriw’n rhedeg yn wyllt.For the last time, then, very slowly it appears, the greedy knife swerves as it descends, leaping so that the lad cuts his own arm and draws blood. And against the purple background to the ziggurats sparkling on the Nw Yrth, the whole Universe resounds as his blood flows in a joyously wild river from his battered body forming a black pool in front of him. Blood and iron – water and metal – the essential elements for breaking through the veil. And he cuts himself free of his fetters, and labours upwards, and upwards, his shattered imagination running wild.
Ar y Blaned Yrth, dyma'r Dyddiau Olaf yn cyrraedd, a’r holl ddŵr wedi anweddu o'r moroedd, a'r afonydd, a'r nentydd, fel bod pob bod byw yn crafu'r pridd fel ci ar farw i drio yfed a bwyta. Wedi teithio am dridiau, a'r Llygad Pell yn y Nefoedd yn difetha'r cymylau, mae'r Tad a'r Mab yn cyrraedd y maestir enfawr o'r enw Cae Galar wedi'i benodi gan y Saith Swynwr a amgylchynir gan saith mynydd o gwarts. Ac yno, yng nghanol y maes, mae'n rhaid i Ishakí Dad rwymo Adauvam Fab, cyn bloeddio'r weddi briodol dros gorff yr aberth i fodloni'r Hen Dduwdodau Rhyfedd. Ond y tro 'ma, yn groes i fersiwn arferol y stori a adroddir yn yr Hen Lyfr, gyda bod y Llais Trallodus yn rhoi'r gorchymyn i blannu'r dagr miniog ym mrest y Mab, gan areithio fel petai’n siarad â’i hun mewn damhegion, dyna'r Tad yn ufuddhau ar unwaith, er ei ddychryn ofnadwy, gan adael i'r grymoedd erchyll redeg heb lestair o Fyd i Fyd.On the Harsh Planet, the Last Days are arriving, when all the water has evaporated from the seas, and the rivers, and the brooks, so that every living thing is scraping the earth like a dying dog to try to drink and eat. Having travelled for three days, as the Distant Eye in the Sky destroys the clouds, the Father and the Son reach the enormous plain called the Field of Mourning appointed by the Seven Sorcerers, which is surrounded by seven quartz mountains. And there, in the middle of the field, Ishakí the Father must bind Adauvam the Son, before shouting out the appropriate prayer over the body of the sacrifice to satisfy the Old Strange Divinities. But this time, contrary to the usual version of the story which is reported in the Old Book, as soon as the Vexatious Voice gives the command to plunge the sharp dagger into the Son’s chest, orating as if talking to itself in parables, the Father obeys immediately, despite his awful fear, allowing the terrible powers to run without restraint from World to World.
A dyma Adauvam – Thoahatha, bellach – yn ffrwydro'n haid o bili-palod cochion sy'n chwim dro'n adar bychain. Ac wrth i hyn ddigwydd, dyna Ishakí – Ihahi – yn dod yn hwrdd wedi'i ddal mewn dryslwyn gan ei gyrn, gan gael ei ysu gan dafodau o dân wrth i'r cardinaliaid bach, siaradus ei ddannod, a'i bigo i farwolaeth. Ar y gair, dyna Lotké – Lothihi – ar ffurf piler byw o sialc yng Nghwch Dur Swtach yn amsugno'r mymryn lleia' o ddagrau Lushfé o'r awyrgylch anobeithiol, nes ei fod yn ymddarnio'n ddrylliau sy'n cael eu chwythu trwy'r Hollt Gosmig yn agor letach letach, i beillio'r Greadigaeth ddisgwylgar â biliynau o gysyniadau newydd.And Adauvam -- Thoahatha, now – explodes into a swarm of red butterflies which swiftly turn into tiny birds. And as this happens, Ishakí – Ihahi – becomes a ram caught in a thicket by its horns, being devoured by tongues of fire while the loquacious little cardinals taunt him, and peck him to death. Immediately, there’s Lotké – Lothihi – in the form of a living pillar of chalk in Swtach’s Steel Hive absorbing a tiny bit of Lushfé’s tears from the hopeless atmosphere, so that he fragments into bits that get blown through the Cosmic Cleft opening wider and wider, to pollinate the expectant Creation with billions of new concepts.
Ac wedyn dyna Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth yn neidio mewn arswyd llwyr i mewn i’r tywyllwch ac ansicrwydd tu hwnt i’r tonnau fflamllyd. Ond neidio mae e. A dyna fe’n torri i mewn i’r bwthyn, gan redeg, hedfan, ymladd ei ffordd trwy’r adeilad ar dân. A dyna fe’n cyrraedd y seler, gan weiddi, a chael ei losgi’n echryslon, wrth iddo gipio un corff anymwybodol, ac wedyn un arall, ac ymdrechu i lusgo’r ddau – y naill yn ifanc, y llall yn hen – i lan, i fyny – er dyw e’m yn siŵr o gwbl ble mae e, na be’ mae’n ‘neud. A dyna fe’n tagu, a baglu, a llefain, a phesychu, a syrthio, a bwldagu, a stryffaglio, a rhegi, a pharhau, a ffrwtian, a gwag-gyfogi. A dyna fe’n dechrau marw, rywsut, er nad yw’n sylwi ar y ffaith na deall beth sy’n digwydd. Saith bywyd oedd ganddo, ac erbyn hyn yr un olaf sy’n mynd i’r gwynt yn clindarddach.And then, Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth jumps in complete terror into the darkness and uncertainty beyond the flaming waves. But jump he does. And he’s breaking into the cottage, running, flying, fighting his way through the burning building. And he reaches the cellar, shouting, and gets terribly burned, as he grabs one unconscious body, and them another, and labours to drag the two – one young, the other old – up, up – although he’s not sure at all where he is nor what he’s doing. And he’s choking, and stumbling, and crying, and coughing, and falling, and spluttering, and struggling, and swearing, and carrying on, and blabbering, and retching. And he begins to die, somehow, although he doesn’t realise the fact nor understand what’s happening. Seven lives he had, and now the last one’s being carried off by the crackling wind.
Dyma Sorakados o Lyfr Coch Rhwd a Gwaed, dyn ifanc a thra golygus yn un ar hugain oed, sy newydd daro ar y gwir am ei hanes cêl. Mae wedi ymlafnio dros y gwagle i’r Nw Yrth i gipio gogoniant, gwybodaeth, a grym, wrth daro dros ryddid yn erbyn y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, dial ar ei Dad, ac achub ei Fam. Ac yno, wedi'i flino gan y trafferthion oll, mae'n gwledda’i lygaid ar ddelweddau symudol, amryliw o bopeth a fu, popeth sydd, a phopeth a fydd, gan ddysgu cyfrinachau aneirif. (Er dyw e'm yn sylweddoli'r ffaith, Swtach ei hun yw ffynhonnell y gweledigaethau, sydd yn fanwl gywir er gwaetha'u rhyfeddod). A'r pryd hwn, fe gadarnheir ei ddyfaliad mwya' torcalonnus y tu hwnt i amheuaeth. Fydd e'm yn gallu dychwelyd i'r Ddaear gyda'r hysbysrwydd newydd oll, ac os bydd e'n llwyddo i fynd yn ôl o gwbl, fe fydd yn blentyn drylliedig, na fydd yn meddwl, na charu, na chreu byth eto.Here’s Sorakados of the Red Book of Rust and Blood, a young and extremely handsome young man of twenty-one, who’s just hit upon the truth about his secret history. He’s laboured across the void to the Nw Yrth to seize glory, information, and power, whilst striking a blow for freedom against the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, getting revenge on his Father, and rescuing his Mother. And there, exhausted by all the trials, he feasts his eyes on multi-coloured moving images of everything that’s been, everything that is, and everything that will be, learning numberless secrets. (Although he doesn’t realise the fact, Swtach himself is the source of the visions, which are absolutely correct despite their strangeness). And at this time, his most heart-breaking supposition is confirmed beyond all doubt. He won’t be able to return to the Earth with all the new information, and if he does succeed to go back at all, he’ll be a broken child, who’ll never think, nor love, nor create ever again.
A dyna fe'n eistedd yn fud am oriau bwy gilydd, gan rythu ar y caleidosgop o sbiralau pensyfrdanol yn ffurfio yn yr haen o waed ar wyneb y maen gwastad sy'n chwarae rhan drych sgrio iddo. Ond, wrth 'neud hyn, yng nghanol ei siantio ymhlith y lluniau byw, pryfoclyd, dyna fe'n deall sut, falle, i lwyddo yn ei amcanion, i ryw raddau o leia', ond ddim yn y ffordd roedd e wedi bwriadu. Nage heb golled enbyd, 'chwaith.And he sits silently for hours on end, staring at the kaleidoscope of dizzying spirals forming in the layer of blood on the surface of the flat stone which is playing the part of a scrying-glass for him. But, whilst doing this, in the middle of his chanting amidst the provocative living pictures, he understands how, perhaps, to succeed in his aims, to some extend at least, but not in the way he’d intended. Not without terrible loss, either.
Mae'n esgus felly ei fod yn credu'r llwyth o gelwyddau adroddir gan Tefnuth ddauwynebog wedi'i gwisgo fel cangen Mai am ei Fam druenus, yn ystod eu tarantela orffwyll yn y Castell Cymylog. Mor foesgar yw'r Sêr-ddewin eilwaith yn y cnawd wrth ymgomio â Hebé am ei Gariad Drahaus, er ei bod hithau mor aflednais â bwtsier o'r Gefnwlad yn gwerthu cnawd baban gyfnod y Cythrwfl Mawr Cynta'. Ac mae'n dal yn raslon a swynol hyd yn oed wrth iddi'i roi fe yn nwylo Swtach ym Mhalas Tywod Etneksha fel fod yntau'n gallu'i hebrwng tuag at Gaer y Brenin Melyn. A thrwy'r amser, mae Cennad Camhysbysrwydd didostur yn parablu am bwysigrwydd cyfiawnder dall, a rhagfarn addas, ac atgyweiriad diatal am bechodau anhysbys.He pretends, therefore, that be believes the tissue of lies recounted by two-faced Tefnuth, dressed up like a dog’s dinner, about his pitiful Mother, during their mad tarantella in the Cloudy Castle. How polite is the reincarnated Astrologer whilst conversing with Hebé about his Haughty Love, although she is as vulgar as a butcher from the Hinterland selling baby-flesh during the First Great Tribulation. And he remains gracious and charming even while she hands him over to Swtach in the Sand Palace of Etneksha, so that he can escort him towards the Yellow King’s Fort. And all the time, the merciless Messenger of Misinformation chatters about the importance of blind justice, suitable prejudice, and ceaseless reparation for unknown sins.
'Does fawr o ryfeddod felly i'r Tywysog ddarganfod mai Dendrah Leiddiad sy'n llechu yno yng nghatacwmau'r corrod obsidian er mwyn ei hela fe. Ac yno mae popeth ar dân ac yn llosgi â fflam las, oer, anniffodd. Wedi'i reibio fe, mae hi'n ei hyrddio i ganghennau danheddog y llwyni uffernol sy’n amgylchynu'r fan. A dyna fe'n chwalu'n wyllt trwy erddi'r Palas angheuol, wrth i wreiddiau'r chwyn mor finiog â weiren bigog dreiddio trwy'r tir rhewllyd i'w dorri fel octopysau rhyfelgar. Yn y pen draw, ar ôl brwydro yn erbyn cimerâu arallfydol, annychmygadwy, mae'n cael ei ollwng, bron yn noeth, ac yn chwys a briwiau i gyd, ymhlith coedwig enfawr o bin. Ac yno, mae'n cael ei wthio'n nes nes tuag at ymyl Ffynnon Eneidiau, sy'n arwain at y Pwll Diwaelod.It’s no great surprise then when the Prince discovers that Dendrah the Assassin is lurking there in the catacombs of the obsidian spiders to hunt him. And there everything is on fire and burning with an inextinguishable, blue flame. Having enchanted him, she hurls him into the jagged branches of the hellish bushes that surround the place. And he strikes out wildly through the gardens of the deadly Palace, as the roots of the weeds that are as sharp as barbed wire penetrate through the frozen soil to cut him like war-mongering octopuses. In the end, after fighting against unimaginable other-worldly chimeras, he’s dropped, almost naked, and covered in sweat and wounds, amongst an enormous pine-forest. And there, he’s pushed closer and closer to the edge of the Well of Souls, that leads to the Bottomless Pit.
Wrth i'r fflamau rheibus godi i'w ysu, o'i wirfodd mae'n offrymu'i rym bywiol i'r Hen Feistri Dychrynllyd gan ddefnyddio'r cleddyf deufin yn dwyn y swyn yn iaith yr hen Swmeriaid. Ond bellach mae'r glyffiau wedi'u hail-ddrefnu'u hunain nes iddyn nhw ddweud: "Mae'r wledd wedi gorffen, mae'r lampau wedi diffodd: Mae pawb wedi ffoi, mae popeth bellach drosodd; Nawr rhowch fi yn y tân, gyneuwch oddi danodd." Ac er mai'r pedwar tocyn priodol sydd ganddo i’w gynorthwyo ar y daith, mae'n dewis yn ddewr ac yn ddoeth eu taflu nhw o'r neilltu, wrth dorri'i hudlath wedi’i harysgrifio â rwnau coch yn yfflon ar yr un pryd. Ac mae'r symbolau'n hedfan bant ar ffurf gweision y neidr rhuddgoch. Wrth gwrs o ganlyniad, ni fydd yntau byth yn gallu dychwelyd. Ond trwy 'neud hyn mae'n llwyddo i anfon arwydd i'r Ddaear i ddechrau rhyddhau rhyw fath o bŵer eithriadol wedi'i gronni yno, wrth ddarparu modd i'w olynyddion, yn fodlon ac anfodlon fel ei gilydd, ddianc o'r Nw Yrth. A chyrraedd y Blaned Wyrddlas mae'i signalau'n debyg i seirff trydanol, yn cynnwys llawer o hud nerthol a chyfarwyddiadau ar sut i sefydlu Cymdeithas Gudd i wrthwynebu asiantau’r Saith, yr eiliad mae'n marw. Ac erbyn hyn, Thoahatha yw'i enw newydd.As the predatory flames rise up to consume him, voluntarily he offers his life-force to the Terrible Old Masters using the two-edged sword carrying the charm in the language of the old Sumerians. But now, the glyphs have rearranged themselves so that they say: “The feast is over, and now the lamps expire: All fled, all done; therefore lift me on the pyre!” And although he has the four appropriate tokens to help him on the journey, he chooses bravely and wisely to throw them to one side, breaking the magic staff inscribed with red runes into smithereens at the same time. And the symbols fly off in the form of scarlet dragonflies. Of course, as a result, he shall never be able to return. But by doing this he succeeds in sending a signal to the Earth to begin releasing some kind of exceptional power pent up there, whilst providing a way for his successors, willing and unwilling alike, to escape from the Nw Yrth. And the signals, similar to electric serpents, containing much powerful magic and directions on how to establish a Secret Society to oppose the agents of the Seven, do indeed reach the Blue-green Planet, the very instant he dies. And at this time, Thoahatha is his new name.
Dyma Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth. Fe ddihysbyddir y saith bywyd. Fe ddiweddir y seremoni atgas. Fe ddiffoddir y gannwyll olaf. Fe ddisgynna’r cysgodion. Ai croth gysurus yw hon, neu fan bygddu’r meirwon? Yn y tŵr wyneb i waered afreal, mae llygaid y Mab Darogan – sy wedi bod yn ceisio taflu golwg ar bopeth yn digwydd i’w Dad, fel hen granc creithiog sy’n sgrialu, gwylio, ymosod, wrth hela’i brae’n hollol ar ei ben ei hun – yn cau, fel petasai wedi marw. Ond aros, gwrando, disgwyl mae e. Ac ar frest chwith y baban heb ei eni, dyna ymddangos eu sêl nhw, y cysgodion penchwiban, annirnadwy ‘na sy wastad yn denu bodau meidrol â’u bysedd duon.Here is Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth. The seven lives are spent. The hateful ceremony is finished. The last candle is extinguished. The shadows descend. Is this a reassuring womb, or the dusky place of the dead? In the unreal upside-down tower, the eyes of the Son Foretold – who’s been trying to get a glimpse of everything happening to his Father, like an old scarred crab that scrabbles, watches, attacks, whilst hunting its prey totally alone – close, as if he’s died. But he’s waiting, listening, expecting. And on the unborn babe’s left chest, there appears their seal, those incomprehensible, frivolous shadows who are always tempting mortals with their black fingers.
Mae’n edrych yn union fel tàg yn perthyn i Driadau o’r Dwyrain Pell, neu falle graffiti wedi’u chwistrellu mewn paent coch gan gyn-fyfyriwr crac yng nghlawstrau’r Brifdechneg yn Nhref Emrallt. Ond eto i gyd, gallai fod yn debyg i arwydd cyfrinachol wedi’i beintio mewn gwaed gan smyglwr cyffuriau ar wal rhyw Glinig arloesol yn Aberdydd. Mae’n dangos pa mor eithriadol rymus ydy eisoes, wedi amsugno hud ei Dad, a meddwl yr Hen Filwr, a nerth ei Wncwl, a hefyd cymaint yn fwy pwerus fydd e yn y dyddiau a ddaw. Ac wedyn, ar anterth y ddefod wedi’i chychwyn y tro ‘ma gan ffug-Ddewin aflêr sy’n wylo dagrau chwerw erbyn hyn – pan gymysgir marw â byw – dyna agor unwaith eto lygad Plentyn Amser sy’n Fab i’r Arwr Anffodus a Merch y Wawr, hynny yw, y Llabwst a’r Dywysoges – yn dragwyddol.It looks just like a tag belonging to the Triads from the far East, or perhaps graffiti sprayed in red paint by a disgruntled ex-student in the cloisters of the Unitechnic in Emerald Town. But then again, it could be similar to a secret sign painted in blood by a drug-smuggler on the wall of some innovative Clinic in Aberdydd. It shows how exceptionally mighty he already is, having absorbed his Father’s magic, the Old Soldier’s mind, and his Uncle’s strength, and also how much more powerful he will be in the days to come. And then, at the climax of the rite begun this time by the unkempt fake-Wizard, who’s weeping bitter tears by now – when dying mixes with living – the eyes of the Time-Child, who’s Son to the Unfortunate Hero and the Daughter of the Dawn, that is the Lout and the Princess, open once again – in perpetuity.
Dyna ferwi ysgyfaint. Mae cofion ataliedig y llanc yn oedi ar drothwy dymuniadau rhwystredig. Mae’i gyhyrau’n wylofain fel sbringiau rhydlyd yn crefu i dorri. Dyna’i galon yn drymio ei churiadau terfynol, wrth atseinio â rhyw rythm anhysbys. Ac mae’r boen yn dwysáu, wrth i’w ymwybyddiaeth dreio ymaith. Dyma’r eiliadau ola’ o fod yn edifar. Er dyw e’m yn gallu esbonio fe, mae’n tystio i’w dranc ei hun – ei ymadawiad – o safbwynt trydydd berson, wrth iddo ddiflannu am byth o fodolaeth arferol – gan syrthio i lawr trobwll diwaelod i ddifancoll. Ond eto i gyd – dyma lais y Ffrind Dilesâd yn myngial fel arfer – be’ yw marw, be’ bynnag, ond dechrau’r antur fwya’?Lungs boil. The lad’s repressed memories hover on the threshold of frustrated desires. His muscles wail like rusty springs begging to break. His heart drums out its last beats, echoing with some unknown rhythm. And the pain worsens, as his consciousness ebbs away. These are the final seconds of being regretful. Although he can’t explain it, he’s witnessing his own demise – his departure – from a third-person perspective, as he disappears for ever from normal existence – falling down a bottomless whirlpool to utter destruction. But then again – here’s the voice of the Useless Friend mumbling as usual – what’s death, anyway, but the beginning of the greatest adventure?
Dyma fodolaeth y llanc – yn swyn ac yn erchyll ar yr un pryd – yn mynd rhwng y cŵn a’r brain. Dyma’r Llabwst oedd wedi uno cymaint o nodweddion anghyson, gan fod yn arw ond yn gariadus, yn hyll ond yn swynol. Ac yn awr, falle, er ei fod yn teimlo mor ofnus, fe all fihafio’n ddigon dewr yn y pen draw. Drwy’r amser, geiriau ynfyd gan y Brawd Da i Ddim yn trio’i lusgo fe ‘nôl o ffin ebargofiant, ond yn methu. A’r pryd hyn ‘lly, ydy, mae David yn dod yn siŵr rywfodd heb feddwl yn rhy galed am y ffaith, dyw e’m wedi gwastraffu’i fywyd o gwbl er gwaetha’ be’ bynnag mae pawb eraill yn ddweud. Oedd, roedd yn rhaid iddo fe garco’i hunan, a byw yn ei ffordd ei hunan, doedd dim dewis amdani. Do, mae e ‘di ‘neud ei orau glas, a heb os, cymaint o boen, ac ofn, a helynt – a hwyl – sy wedi bod! Ie, teg fyddai gweud iddo fe fyw bywyd i’r eitha'. A nawr, gad dy lap, Bendith y Ddau Fyd, yr hen frithgi di!Here's the lad’s existence – enchanted and hideous at the same time – going to rack and ruin – once and for all. Here’s the Bumpkin who’d united so many conflicting characteristics, being rough but loving, and ugly but charming, for example. And now, maybe, although he feels so fearful, he'll be able to behave bravely enough in the end. All the time, silly words from the Good-for-nothing Brother try to drag him back from the brink of oblivion, but fail. And so now, yes, David’s becoming sure somehow without thinking too hard about the fact, that he’s not wasted his life at all, despite whatever everyone else says. Yes, he had to look after himself, and live in his own way, there was no choice about that. Yes, he’s done his level best, and without a doubt, how much pain, and fear, and bother – and fun – there’s been! Yes, fair to say that he’s lived life to the utmost. And now, shut ya gob, for the Sake of the Two Worlds, y’old smelly mongrel!
Ar bob llaw, mae yna leisiau'n siarad, a sisial, a gweiddi mewn ieithoedd o bob cwr o'r Cyfandir Gogleddol – 'ffatri, riža, muzika, football, pfad, pappa, porkkanat, psomí' – nes bod y geiriau'n gorgyffwrdd, a thoddi, a chymysgu, fel petai haid enfawr o wenyn yn suo'n ddifater ond yn gysurus o'i gwmpas. Nawr, mae griddfan dwfn, uchel, wedi’i gronni am amser maith iawn, yn dianc oddi mewn i frest y bachgen arwrol. A dyna Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth yn ei hwylio’i hunan, ond yn wahanol i Ichrus, mab Thethalu, oedd mor sicr am ei adenydd ffug, dyw’r llanc hwn ddim yn gwybod o gwbl be’ fydd yn digwydd. A dyna fe’n lledu’i adenydd – ac mae’n gweiddi ei air hud cêl, wedi’i ffurfio o lythrennau cynta’ enwau’r Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd wrth i’r sain grochlefain yn yr awyr ffrwydrol — “HWNTLIN.”On every side, there's voices talking, and whispering, and shouting in languages from every corner of the Northern Continent – 'ffatri, riža, muzika, football, pfad, pappa, porkkanat, psomí' – until the words overlap, and melt, and blend, as if an enormous swarm of bees is buzzing indifferently but reassuringly around him. Now, a loud, deep groaning, dammed up for a very long time, escapes from within the heroic boy’s chest. And there’s Daud, David, Dai, Dá·hwyth readying himself, but different from Ichrus, Thethalu’s son, who was so sure about his fake wings, this lad doesn’t know at all what will happen. And so, he spreads his wings – and he shouts his secret magic word, formed from the first letters of the names of the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, as the sound clamours in the explosive air – “HWNTLIN.”
Mae’n rhyw hanner meddwl taw yn y dechreuad yr oedd y gair, ond dechreuad be’n enwedig, ‘dŵyr e’m. Ac wedyn, heb saib, dyna saith llais wedi dod yn un yn siantio’r hen eiriau hud droeon ac yn gywir, i ddechrau ymgnawdoli a’u datguddio nhw ar y Ddaear – “Khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.” Ers cyhyd maen nhw’n bwriadu, ac arfaethu, a gwyniasu am reoli, a llywodraethu, ac amddiffyn, ond yn eu gorfoledd, ychydig a wyddan nhw taw peri newid, a chychwyn esblygu wnân nhw o reidrwydd, ‘fyd. A dyna’r llanc yn newid unwaith eto, gan gael ei drawsffurfio – o Dá·hwyth Oh·fé i Thoahatha Ihahi – y Mab Tadol, neu’r Tad Mabol – gan adael ei hen ffurf gorfforol ar ôl fel lwmp o glai deifiedig, wrth iddo neidio, a —He half thinks that in the beginning was the word, but the beginning of what exactly, he knows not. And then, without a pause, there’s seven voices become one chanting the old magic words repeatedly, and correctly, to begin incarnation and manifest them on the Earth – “Khepereni kheperen kheperet kheperen kheperet nebet em-khet kheperi.” For so long they’ve intended, and planned, and yearned to control, and govern, and conserve, but in their jubilation, little do they know that of necessity they will cause change and begin evolution also. And the lad changes once again, being transformed – from Dá·hwyth Oh·fé to Thoahatha Ihahi – the Fatherly Son, or the Filial Father – leaving his old physical form behind like a lump of scorched clay, as he jumps, and —

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 40

Pennod Pedwar Deg Pedwar: Cyffesu (Lleisiau 40) / Confessing (Voices 40)

Dawn hanfodol actio, o ran unigolion a chymdeithasau, sy’n cadw’r Byd Dynol rhag ffrwydro. Wrth reswm pan ydym yn fabanod, nid ydym yn gallu’n hamddiffyn ein hunain rhag popeth y tu allan inni yn y Byd, ac mi rydym ni’n cymryd siâp pwy bynnag sydd yn dylanwadu arnom o ddydd i ddydd, fel ‘tasai. Ond pan adawn ni’n fabanod, mi fyddwn ni’n dechrau dysgu actio, er mwyn chwarae’n rhannau yn nrama fawr bywyd. Ac wedyn mi fyddwn ni’n rhoi colur ar ein hwynebau, a gwisgo dillad ffansi, wrth newid yn gyson. Mi fyddwn ni’n defnyddio’r naill fasg ar ôl y llall i guddio’n personoliaethau anaeddfed, wrth ymarfer drwy’r amser gelfyddyd eithriadol gymhleth, sef sut i oroesi yn y Byd ffals a thwyllodrus hwn, a thynnu ymlaen gyda’n gilydd heb ormod o boen. Ond yn fuan mi fyddwn ni’n dewis un o’r gwisgoedd fydd yn ymddangos fwyaf gweddus, i ymguddio y tu ôl iddi o hynny ymlaen. Ar yr un pryd, er bod yna ddisgwyl inni newid ein hymddangosiad corfforol yn ystod ein bywyd, nid ydym i fod i newid ein hanfod fel unigolyn. Ystyrir gan gymdeithas gan amlaf y dylem ni aros yr un peth drwy gydol ein hoes. A dyna bawb yn chwarae gêm greulon a llafurus, gan esgus bod yn wahanol gymeriadau mewn amgylchiadau gwahanol. Mae’n ddigon i’ch drysu’n lân.

Mi fydd pob un ohonom ni’n ei dwyllo’i hun mai’r casgliad hwn o gymeriadau gwneud yw pwy ydy hi neu ef mewn gwirionedd. Yn y fagl yr ydym ni felly, gan mai rhy lai o actio fydd yn arwain y Byd at ddinistr, tra bydd gormod ohono’n arwain unigolion i’r ysbyty meddwl. ‘Does dim syndod bod yna gymaint o helbul a helynt yn ein Byd. Ond nid cywir yw’r agwedd hwn na’r ymddygiad hwn! Proses ddysgu yw bywyd, ac mi all personoliaeth dyn, a’i ddeallusrwydd, a’i alluoedd, newid drwy gydol ei oes. Hollbwysig ydi sylweddoli mai trwy ddysgu, hynny yw trwy fyw, mi fydd rhwystredigaeth yn troi’n ddryswch, ac wedyn yn oleuad. Chwychwi sy’n medru’ch creu a’ch mowldio’ch hun i fod y person rydych chi eisiau’i fod. Myfi sydd wedi penderfynu cynorthwyo’r Ddaear alaethus i gael hyd i’w wir hunan unwaith ac am byth, gan ddechrau ymhlith y werin bobl. A dyna pam yr adewais fy mywyd braf a’m swydd hawdd yn y Madws Mileinig hwnnw (lle mae’n rhaid i’r rhan fwyaf o’r staff eu hunain gael triniaeth drylwyr, a bod yn berffaith onest), a dod i weithio ymhlith gwehilion cymdeithas yma ym Mhyrthyfall, wrth fyw’n fochaidd yn Neuadd y Cymrodyr. Mi rwy wedi cael adferiad iechyd i raddau helaeth erbyn hyn ar ôl yr holl fistimanars yno ymhlith y crachach, diolch i’r drefn. Mae fy nghwmni, ‘Y Chwaraewyr Chwit-chwat’ (dim ond mi ar hyn o bryd), yn arbrofi gyda therapi cymunedol theatraidd, ac rwy’n bwriadu llwyddo yma er fy methiannau blaenorol. Rhaid imi wneud hynny o ran dyled imi fy hun, i’m mab hardd a gwyllt, a’i ddiweddar Dad anghrybwylladwy — Dr Helen Balrog Grossmann, ‘Sgrechiadau o’r Cyrion: Pennod 1: I ddechrau ar y dechrau.’

It is the essential talent of acting, on the part of individuals and societies, that keeps the Human World from exploding. Of course, when we are babies, we cannot defend ourselves from everything outside us in the World, and we take on the shape of whoever influences us from day to day, as it were. But when we leave our babyhood, we begin to learn how to act, in order to play our parts life’s great drama. And then we put make up on our faces, and put on fancy-dress, whilst changing constantly. We use one mask after the other to hide our immature personalities, whilst all the time practising an exceptionally complex art-form, namely how to survive in this false and deceptive World, and get on together without too much pain. But soon we choose one of the costumes which appears most fitting, to hide behind from then on. At the same time, although we are expected to change our physical appearance during our life, we are not supposed to change our essence as individuals. For the most part, society considers that we should remain the same throughout our lifetime. And so, everyone plays a cruel and exhausting game, pretending to be a variety of characters in different circumstances. It is enough to totally confuse you.

Every one of us deceives themselves that this collection of manufactured characters is who she or he really is. We are trapped, therefore, as too little acting leads the World to destruction, whilst too much of it leads an individual to the mental hospital. It is no surprise that there is so much chaos and confusion in our World. But this attitude and this behaviour are not correct! Life is a learning-process, and one’s personality, and his intelligence, and his abilities, can change throughout his life. It is all-important to realize that through learning, that is through living, frustration turns into confusion, and then into illumination. It is you who can create and mould yourself to be the person you want to be. I have decided to assist the tragic Earth to find its true self once and for all, beginning amongst the common folk. And that is why I left my cushy life and my easy job in that Malicious Madhouse (where most of the staff themselves need to have in-depth treatment, to be perfectly honest), and came to work amongst the dregs of society here in Hellsgate, whilst slumming it in Comrades’ Hall. I have recovered my health to a great extent by now after all the jolly japes amongst the nobs, thank goodness. My company, ‘‘The Fickle Fol-de-Rols’ (only me at present), is experimenting with theatrical community therapy, and I intend to succeed here despite my previous failures. I owe it to myself, to my beautiful and wild son, and his unmentionable late father, to do that. — Dr Helen Balrog Grossmann, ‘Screams from the Outskirts: Chapter 1: To begin at the beginning.’

O’r diwedd, Gyfeillion, dyma’r datgeliad terfynol, gan eich adroddwr gostyngedig, Dá·hwyth Baldrog Prok·ethra, Prif Ddewin yr Uchelgaer Rosliw (dyna enw henaidd ichi, ond ceisio bod yn fanwl gywir rydw i). Cas gennyf oedd oedi rhag datgelu mwy hyd yn hyn, ond rwy wedi bod yn gweithio’n galed iawn i gyflwyno’r achos fel y datblygodd ef ar y pryd, o’m safbwynt o leiaf. Dim ond unigolyn ffaeledig fel pob un arall ydw i wedi’r cwbl, er gwaethaf fy ngalluoedd godidog, a’m huchelgeisiau arswydus, ond rwy’n gweddïo (mewn ffordd o siarad, achos mai hollol ofer yw’r fath weithred heb os nac oni bai) fy mod wedi llwyddo yn fy amcanion pellgyrhaeddol dros ben.At last, friends, here’s the ultimate revelation, by your humble narrator, Dá·hwyth Baldrog Prok·ethra, the Rosy Fortress’s Chief Wizard (there’s a quaint name for you, but I’m trying to be completely correct). I’ve hated delaying before revealing more up to now, but I’ve been working very hard to present the case as it developed at the time, from my viewpoint at least. I’m only a fallible individual like everyone else, after all, despite my outstanding talents, and my fearful ambitions, but I pray (in a manner of speaking, as this kind of act is totally futile without a doubt) that I’ve succeeded in my exceedingly far-reaching aims.
Felly i ddechrau, rhaid imi eich atgoffa chi bod y Byd i gyd yn derbyn y Theori Maka ers achau, hynny yw, mai un bwystfil aruthrol gymhleth yw pob Planed, peth bron yn hollol annealladwy, a'r creaduriaid eraill arni (os ydynt yn bodoli) fel celloedd, neu'n chwarae rhan moleciwlau biolegol, neu ysgogiadau nerfol, a'r dinasoedd fel organau, a'r fforestydd fel ysgyfaint, a'r moroedd ac afonydd fel gwaed a gwythiennau, a'r gwyntoedd fel anadl. Nid ydym yn gallu'i weld er ei fod ym mhob man o'n cwmpas. Ni allwn ni gyffwrdd ag ef, er ein bod ni i gyd yn rhannau ohono. Rhan bwysig iawn o neges y Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd (sydd yn cynrychioli ein dymuniadau a photensial fel rhywogaeth, efallai, neu’n dychymyg cyffredinol ni), oedd mai yn eu tro, y Planedau'u hunain, a’r Cysodau Heulol, a’r Clystyrau, a’r Galaethau, yw rhannau o organeb hyd yn oed yn fwy, ac yn y blaen, nes bod y Bydysawd oll yn un oruwchorganeb. Mae'n byw ar drawsffurfiad egni, fel petai, ar lif gwybodaeth, ar newid cyson, ac wrth iddo fwydo, a thyfu, ac esblygu, mae'n gweithio fel rhyw beiriant cyfrifiadurol, cosmig sy'n storio a phrosesu gwybodaeth, gan geisio ateb y cwestiwn anatebadwy: Beth yw pwrpas bodolaeth?So, to start, I must remind you that the whole world has accepted the Maka Theory for ages, that is, that every Planet is one incredibly complex beast, a thing almost totally incomprehensible, where the other creatures on it (if they exist) are like cells, or play the part of biological molecules, or nervous impulses, and the cities are like organs, and the forests like lungs, and the seas and rivers like blood and vessels, and the winds like breath. We cannot see it, although it is everywhere around us. We cannot touch it, although we are all parts of it. A most important part of the message of Indolent Idolaters (who represent our desires and potential as a species, perhaps, or our collective imagination), was that in their turn, the Planets themselves, and the Solar Systems, and the Clusters, and the Galaxies, are parts of an even bigger organism, and so on, so that the whole Universe is one super-organism. It lives on the transformation of energy, as it were, on the flow of information, on constant change, and as it feeds, and grows, and evolves, it’s working like some cosmic computing machine that stores and processes knowledge, trying to answer the unanswerable question: What is the purpose of existence?
Yn ein milltir sgwâr, felly, mae'r Ddaear oll yn debyg i ryw Gimera a gafodd ei eni'n wreiddiol pan ddaeth y Blaned i fod o’r cwmwl o lwch sêr o amgylch yr Haul tua 4.5 biliynau o flynyddoedd yn ôl. (Fe fyddwn i bob tro yn cael fy siomi ar yr ochr orau gwrando ar fy Chwaer, y ddiweddar Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann yn adrodd a dadlau’n huawdl ynghylch hyn, ar sail ei breuddwydion cylchol am ddechreuad a diwedd y Byd.) Mae’r Cimera wedi bod yn gorwedd mewn trwmgwsg hyd yn hyn, ond wrth iddo rochian, a thorri gwynt, gan droi a throsi, mae wedi esgor ar bob peth byw. Gyda threigl amser mae wedi creu a lladd yn hollol ddibryder, mewn proses droellog sydd wedi arwain atom ni Ddynolryw, heddiw. Wrth gwrs mae ar yr Hil Ddynol angen dychmygu, adeiladu, a bwyta er mwyn goroesi, a ffynnu, a thyfu, ac felly rydym wedi dyfeisio credau, dinasoedd, a pheiriannau. Ond, ar yr un pryd, rhaid cyffesu mai byw dan dri gorfod rydym ni, sef gorfod dogma dall, gorfod confensiynau cymdeithasol anhyblyg, a gorfod mater, egni, a chyfreithiau corfforol. Ymhellach mae wastad yn rhaid inni frwydro yn erbyn rhywbeth, neu byddwn ni'n gwywo a marw, a hyd yma mae rhai yn ein plith o leiaf wedi bod yn ymlafnio ag ofergoel yn tarddu o ansicrwydd ac ofn, â rhagfarn, annhegwch, a gormes mewn cymdeithas, a hefyd yn erbyn elfennau didostur natur. Dyma ichi ddirgelwch mwyaf bodolaeth ddynol: gyda chymaint o allu y daw cymaint o loes, sydd yn anochel ond yn hollol hanfodol.In our back-yard, then, the whole Earth is like some Chimera which was born originally when the Planet came to be from the cloud of star-dust around the Sun about 4.5 billion years ago. (I would always be pleasantly surprised to listen to my Sister, the late Mrs Blodeuwedd Grossmann, reciting and debating eloquently regarding this, based on her recurrent dreams about the inception and end of the World.) The Chimera has been lying in a deep sleep thus far, but as it has snored, and broken wind, tossing and turning, it has borne every living thing. In time, it has created and killed completely thoughtlessly, in a tortuous process that has led to us, Humanity, today. Of course, the Human Race needs to imagine, to build, and to eat, in order to survive, and flourish, and grow, and so we have devised faiths, cities, and machines. But, at the same time, one must confess that we are living under three constraints, namely the constraint of blind dogma, the constraint of inflexible societal conventions, and the constraint of matter, energy, and physical laws. Furthermore, we always need to fight against something, or we will wither and die, and so up to now some amongst us at least have been contending with superstition arising from uncertainty and fear, with prejudice, unfairness, and oppression in society, and also against the merciless elements of nature. Here you have the greatest mystery of human existence: with such great ability comes so much pain, which is inevitable but totally essential.
Er bod llawer iawn o bobl dros y Glob yn credu mai ar ben sigwrat bywyd rydym ni bellach, mewn gwirionedd, dim ond cocos o gnawd, a gwaed, ac asgwrn yn yr injan organig ydym. Heb yn wybod inni, mae'i dychmygion aruchel yn ymestyn atom ni ac yn gwau trwom fel tentaclau treiddiol i ymyrryd â ni'n isymwybodol ond yn bendant. "Yn Nhŷ Aileni Relyé, deffroa'r breuddwydiwr Hu·thulu," medd Arianithi Broffwydes yn 'U Sheshilith i Kerathil oír' (hynny yw, 'De Serpentis Arcanis' neu 'Ynghylch Cyfrinachau'r Sarff'). Yn y gorffennol, mae Dynolryw wedi bod yn rhy brysur ceisio byw ar oleuni dydd a gwynt i achosi gormod o ddifrod i'r Blaned. Ond wrth inni wneud hyn rydym wedi bod yn llenwi claddgelloedd meddyliol y ddyfais blanedol rydym i gyd yn rhannau ohoni, â phob un o'n teimladau a'n meddyliau, â’n breuddwydion am y gorffennol a'n hunllefau am y dyfodol. Mae'r Byd felly yn gweithredu fel batri aruthrol sydd yn cronni egni seicig.Although very many people across the Globe believe that we are now on top of the ziggurat of life, in truth, we are nothing but cogs of flesh, and blood, and bone in the organic engine. Without our knowing it, its sublime imaginings reach out for us and weave through us like penetrating tentacles to interfere with us, subconsciously but for certain. “In the House of Rebirth at Relyé, will awake the dreamer Hu·thulu,” says Prophetess Arianithi, in 'U Sheshilith i Kerathil oír' (that is, 'De Serpentis Arcanis,’ or 'Regarding the Secrets of the Snake'). In the past, Humanity has been too busy trying to scrape its existence to cause too much damage to the Planet. But, as we have done this, we have been filling up the mental vaults of the planetary device we’re all parts of, with every one of our feelings, and thoughts, with our dreams about the past and our nightmares about the future. The World is thus functioning as a stupendous battery which amasses psychic energy.
Rydym yn creu’r fath egni drwy’r amser, fel unigolion a chyda'n gilydd, ond unwaith ei fod wedi ymuno a'r ffynhonnell, nid yw'n bosibl ei reoli gydag unrhyw radd o sicrwydd, na hyder, na chysondeb. Dyma'r Grym Diatal sydd bob tro'n llanw a thrai, wrth fynd ar gynnydd ac ar gil, yn ôl patrymau caotig o gymhleth. O’r cychwyn cyntaf, mae rhai nerthol wedi bodoli, yn dlawd neu’n gyfoethog, yn werinol neu’n foneddigaidd, yn ddoeth neu’n wirion fel ei gilydd, a all deimlo a defnyddio’r Grym Diatal i greu a thrawsffurfio, ai trwy enedigaeth, neu hyfforddi damweiniol, neu lwc hollol. Y rhai dawnus hyn sydd â'r gallu i reidio'r dymestl heb ddihuno'r Cimera, fel yr ymddengys eu bod yn gorchymyn y nerth annisgrifiadwy. Ond er gwaethaf hynny, dim ond helpu'r egni byw sydd yn tyfu a lleihau'n gyson i gyflawni'i ddibenion ei hun y mae'r rhain, yn hytrach na'i ddefnyddio a’i afradu. Nyni, y Dewiniaid, sydd wedi dysgu dros y canrifoedd er Taith Sorakados, sut i wneud hyn orau, ac wedi bod wrthi’n cael hyd i’r fath bobl, a’u hyfforddi hwy, gan ddysgu iddynt gyfrinachau’r grefft. Wrth gwrs ar yr un pryd roedd rhai eraill ymhlith y mwyafrif oedd heb y gallu gorwych hwn, ond oedd eisiau rheoli a gormesi serch hynny. Hwythau a datblygai dechnegau swyn symbolaidd i gyrraedd eu nod. Ac felly yr âi’r rhyfel athreuliol yn ei flaen yn ddi-ball flwyddyn ar ôl blwyddyn.We create this type of energy all the time, as individuals and collectively, but once it’s joined the source, it’s not possible to control it with any degree of certainty, confidence, or consistency. This is the Unstoppable Force which is constantly ebbing and flowing, waxing and waning, according to chaotically complex patterns. From the very beginning, powerful individuals have existed, poor or wealthy, plebeian or noble-born, wise or foolish alike, who can feel and use the Unstoppable Force to create and transform, whether through birth, or accidental training, or complete luck. These talented people have the ability to ride the tempest without waking the Chimera, so that it appears they are commanding the indescribable force. But despite that, they are merely helping the living energy, which unendingly rises and falls, to complete its own ends, rather than using it and squandering it. It is we, the Wizards, who have learned over the centuries since Sorakados’ Journey, how to do this best, and have been hard at it finding such people, and training them, teaching them the secrets of the craft. Of course, at the same time, there were some others amongst the majority who lacked this superb ability, but who wanted to control and oppress nevertheless. It was they who would develop techniques of symbolic sorcery to achieve their aim. And thus the war of attrition went on without respite year after year.
Wel, mae'n amlwg bod y boblogaeth ddynol wedi bod yn tyfu'n esbonyddol, hyd yn oed wrth inni ddifa niferoedd ofnadwy o rywogaethau eraill fesul flwyddyn. Ac ar yr un pryd mae cynnwys y gronfa seicig wedi parhau i ddod fwyfwy cymhleth ac ansad, a'r gwasgedd yn cynyddu hefyd rhwng holl ofnau a chwantau'r biliynau'n byw, a dioddef, a marw. Yn gymharol ddiweddar, roeddem ni Ddynolryw wedi cyrraedd y pwynt lle roeddem yn ystyried nad oedd yfflon o ddim na neb uwchlaw inni. O'r herwydd, roedd ein llywodraethwyr, ein llefaryddion, ein cynrychiolwyr – y gwleidyddion, yr offeiriad, y gwyddonwyr yn ddiwahân – yn mynd ati megis llwyth o fegalomaniaid gorffwyll gan rym i anrheithio'r cyfan, o Jyngloedd Anweledig y Gorllewin i'r Wlad Werdd Newydd, ac i’n caethiwo ninnau'n hunain yn yr un modd.Well, it’s obvious that the human population has been growing exponentially, even as we destroy terrible numbers of other species year on year. And at the same time the contents of the psychic reservoir has continued to become more and more complex and unstable, with the pressure increasing too what with all the fears and desires of the billions living, and suffering, and dying. Comparatively recently, we, Humanity, had reached the point where we considered that there was nothing whatsoever superior to us. Therefore, our governors, our spokespersons, our representatives – the politicians, the priests, the scientists in unison – set about it like a tribe of power-crazed megalomaniacs to plunder everything, from the Unseen Jungles of the West to the New Green Land, and to enslave us ourselves in the same way.
Nid oeddem yn brwydro yn erbyn grymoedd mwyaf rhagor, ond yn erbyn ein gilydd, gan wastraffu’n holl allu i newid a datblygu. Yr oeddem ninnau ar fedr colli’r holl ymdrech gynhyrchiol, a'r dioddefaint angenrheidiol priodol, wrth syrthio tuag at i mewn, gan wystno a gwanhau fel petai, yn hytrach na hedfan tuag at y sêr. A dyna oedd yr hyn roedd y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd yn ei ddymuno’n anad dim. Ar y llaw arall, bellach mae cymaint ohonom ni, ac rydym wedi datblygu'r gallu i sgwrio popeth yn llwyr oddi ar wyneb y Ddaear yn hwyr neu'n hwyrach, yn ein cynnwys ein hunain, drwy gyfrwng newid hinsawdd a chynhesu byd-eang, neu fomiau atomig, neu wenwyno’r moroedd.We were not fighting against greater forces any more, but against each other, wasting our whole ability to change and develop. We were on the verge of losing the whole productive effort, and the appropriate necessary suffering, whilst falling inwards, shrivelling and wakening as it were, rather than flying towards the stars. And that was what the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers wanted above all. On the other hand, now there are so many of us, and we have developed the ability to scour everything completely off the face of the Earth sooner or later, including ourselves, through climate change and global warming, or atomic bombs, or poisoning the oceans.
Yn y Byd sydd ohoni, mae’r Pwyllgor Rhyngwladol ar Ffydd a Moesau’n deddfu’n gyfyngol dros bob agwedd ar ymddygiad cyhoeddus a phreifat, gan lywodraethu â dwrn haearn. Mae’r Undeb Masnachol Milwrol yn rheoli cyflenwad a galw ym mhob marchnad ledled y Byd. Ac mae Comisiwn Asiantaethau Darlledu Annibynnol yn darparu bara a chwaraeon i boblogaeth sydd wedi hurtio i’r fath raddau bod eu hymenyddiau’n troi’n slwtsh. Dyma’r ‘Drindod Anfad’ wedi’i darogan gan Talbot Dafod Arian. A phetaem ni’n rhoi’r gorau i frwydro a datblygu, neu’n difetha mwyafrif o’r bodau byw oddi ar y Ddaear, dyna fyddai ergyd enfawr i’r Cimera, er y byddai ffurfiau eraill ar fywyd yn esblygu maes o law, dros filenia aneirif, siŵr o fod.In the present World, the International Committee on Faith and Morals legislates prohibitively on every aspect of public and private behaviour, governing with an iron fist. the Military Mercantile Union controls supply and demand in every marked throughout the World. And the Commission of Independent Broadcasting Agencies provides bread and circuses to a population which has become so stupefied that their brains are turning to mush. This is the ‘Iniquitous Trinity’ foreseen by Talbot Silver-Tongue. And if we were to give up fighting and developing, or to delete most of the living beings off the Earth, that would be a terrible blow to the Chimera, although other forms of life would evolve in due course, over countless millennia, probably.
Felly, a'r lleiafrif mwyaf nerthol, ac abl, a barus yn ein plith yn gwneud difrod ar y gweddill ohonom ni, a’r Blaned, wrth i’n meddyliau ni’n rhedeg yn wyllt, roedd yr amser wedi cyrraedd pan fyddai synhwyrau rhagorol y Cimera cwsg yn ennyn ei system imiwnedd. A'r pryd hwnnw, byddai’n ymosod arnom ni Ddynolryw fel petaem yn firws, er mwyn ein cosbi ni’n enbyd wrth gadw’r creaduriaid eraill yn fyw, a’u dyrchafu hwy nes y byddant yn cymryd drosodd. Un peth yw brwydro a dioddef o wyniau tyfiant er mwyn dal i newid ac felly goroesi ac aeddfedu, ond peth arall yw mynd i ddifancoll llwyr, wrth reswm. Y syniad brawychus hwnnw – mai rhywogaethau newydd, grymus allai ddod yn hollbwysig ar y Ddaear – a ysgogodd fy ymdrechion oll.So, with the most powerful, and able, and greedy minority amongst us wreaking havoc on the rest of us, and the Planet, as our minds ran wild, the time had arrived when the sleeping Chimera’s superb senses would rouse its immune system. And at that time, it would attack us, Humanity, as if we were a virus, in order to punish us terribly whilst keeping the other creatures alive, and promoting them so the they would take over. It’s one thing to fight and suffer from growing pains to keep on changing and thus to survive and mature, but it’s another thing to go to complete destruction, of course. It is that terrifying idea – that powerful, new species could become all-important on the Earth – which impelled all my efforts.
Myfi ymhlith yr holl Ddewiniaid eraill a wnaeth ddirnad – a derbyn – nad ffynhonnell eithaf y Grym Diatal mohonom ni o bell ffordd, er bod rhan bwysig iawn ohono yn tarddu o’n cymdeithas a’n diwylliant bellach, a nyni sydd yn gallu’i ddeall, a’i sianeli, a’i lywio orau. Roeddwn i eisiau ymladd yn ôl, yn erbyn y ddau ddrwg yn cystadlu, sef atafiaeth a hunanddinistr, gan harneisio’r pŵer rhyfeddol yr ydym ninnau'n ei ryddhau mor esgeulus, sydd yn cylchredeg yn ysbryd y Blaned fel petai, gan beri breuddwydion a hunllefau, ac ennyn chwantau, a ffantasïau, a gobeithion. A siarad yn blwmp ac yn blaen, roeddwn i’n dymuno atal Dynolryw rhag cael eu hysgubo ymaith am byth, neu rhag cael eu darostwng a’u hanghofio o leiaf.It was I amongst all the other Wizards who discerned – and accepted – that we are not the ultimate source of the Unstoppable Force, by a long way, although a very important part of it derives from our society and our culture now, and it is we who can understand it, and channel it, and steer it best. I wanted to fight back against the two competing evils, namely atavism and self-destruction, by harnessing the phenomenal power we release so carelessly, which circulates in the Planet’s spirit as it were, causing dreams and nightmares, and igniting desires, and fantasies, and hopes. To speak plainly, I wanted to stop Humanity from being swept away forever, or from being cast down and forgotten at least.
Ar y dechrau, dim ond fi a gredai yn y fath freuddwyd, ond ymhen fawr o dro sylweddolais na allai'r Hil Ddynol gyflawni tasg goroesi a ffynnu ar ei ffurf bresennol, ac fe fyddai angen ymyrryd yn sylweddol yn ein datblygiad ein hunain, er mwyn cynorthwyo grymoedd naturiol, ddylem ni ddweud, a rhoi help llaw i esblygu. Rwy wedi bod yn cynllunio drwy gydol f’oedolaeth felly i wahodd y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd (sydd yn cynrychioli’n huwch-ego, efallai) i ymrithio ar y Ddaear, i danio'r Ail Chwildro Gwyddonol, ac ar ôl hynny er mwyn inni allu eu trechu hwy, a thraflyncu’u pŵer. (Ac yn hyn o beth roedd gan sawl person arall syniadau tebyg, roeddent wedi’u dwyn oddi arnaf fi, ond roedd eu cymelliadau’n hollol anghywir, ac roeddent yn dymuno ceisio’u mantais eu hun ar draul pawb eraill.) Trwy frwydro yn eu herbyn yn uniongyrchol yn hytrach na’u gweision, fe gredwn i y byddem ni’n dioddef yn enbyd, ond yn cryfhau’n enfawr o’r herwydd.At the start, it was only I who believed in such a dream, but in no time, I realized that the Human Race could not complete the task of surviving and flourishing in its present form, and there would be the need for substantial interference in our own development, in order to aid the natural forces, should we say, and give evolution a helping hand. I’ve been scheming throughout my adult life, therefore, to invite the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers (who represent our super-ego, perhaps) to materialize on the Earth, to spark the Second Scientific Revolution, and after that, for us to be able to defeat them, and gobble up their power. (And in this matter, several other people had similar ideas, which they had stolen from me, but their motivations were completely incorrect, and they desired to seek their own advantage at the expense of everyone else.) By fighting against them directly, rather than their servants, I knew that we would suffer terribly, but become enormously stronger as a result.
Ac ymhellach, dybiwn i, fe fyddai’r rhai oedd yn rhy wan yn – cael eu dileu o’r gêm – fel petai, heb fod yn rhaid i ninnau’n hunain gael gwared arnynt. Nithio'r grawn oddi wrth yr us, gredaf fi, yw enw ar y fath broses. Yn unol ag athrawiaeth y Gwledydd Dall Thoahatha, yn dyddio yn ôl i gyfnod Taith Sorakados, fe fyddai’r Elohi bwystfilaidd wedyn yn medru amsugno nerth y Telok-vovim, i ddymchwel y Morulku bregus ond gormesol. Iaith farddonol, efallai, ond mae’r syniad yn gywir, serch hynny. Ac ar yr un pryd fe fyddwn i'n rhoi'n ôl i'r rhai sydd yn ei haeddu, eu nerth cysefin, gan eu galluogi i fowldio'u bywydau eu hunain, boed y canlyniadau'n bositif neu'n negatif. Yna byddai Delko’n troi yn Thehelo, gan uno grym y Swynwyr a dealltwriaeth y Delw-addolwyr, technoleg a chrefft, pŵer aruthrol ymasiad niwclear a cheinder organig crochenwaith. Efallai, obeithiwn i, gyda fy help creulon, fe fyddent yn lledu'u hadenydd newydd sbon a mynd i ymweld â'r Cosmos maes o law – trwy dda neu drwy hagr – a chyn i’r Haul Disglair ffrwydro mewn pelen dân o leiaf!And furthermore, I thought, those who were too weak would be – deleted from the game – as it were, without us ourselves having to get rid of them. Dividing the wheat from the chaff, I believe, is the name for such a process. In accordance with the teaching of the Blind Seer Thoahatha, dating back to the period of Sorakados’ Sojourn, the bestial Elohi would then be able to absorb the might of the Telok-vovim, to overthrow the fragile but oppressive Morulku. Poetic language, perhaps, but the idea’s correct nevertheless. And at the same time, I would be giving back to those who deserved it their native power, enabling them to mould their own lives, be the results positive or negative. Then, Deklo would turn into Thehelo, uniting the strength of the Sorcerers and the understanding of the Idolaters, technology and craft, the awesome power of nuclear fusion and the organic elegance of pottery. Perhaps, I hoped, with my cruel help, they would spread their brand-new wings and go to visit the Cosmos in due course – by fair means of foul – and before the Resplendent Sun exploded in a fireball at least!
Ar ôl imi gael fy nghefn ataf fi’n dilyn fy nhaith eithriadol beryglus i’r Nw Yrth yn laslanc, fe sylweddolais yn araf iawn na allwn innau byth fynd yn ôl yno, oherwydd, petaswn i'n llwyddo i gyrraedd y lle o gwbl, dim ond plentyn syfrdan ac ynfyd fyddwn i, a drengai ar unwaith. Fe welais na allwn i gyflawni hyn oll ar fy liwt fy hunan, a thros y blynyddoedd felly rwy wedi casglu dilynwyr – hynny yw, cefnogwyr, cyd-weithwyr, cyfeillion, a chyd-droseddwyr – ataf fi. O'r diwedd, fe lwyddais i – fe lwyddasom ni. Roedd y Byd wedi cyrraedd yr adeg dyngedfennol. Roedd ein gelynion yn y Drindod Anfad wedi darganfod ein hymgyrch, ond yn rhy hwyr. Nid oeddent yn rheoli pob un peth dan yr Haul eto, a ninnau oedd wedi dechrau cymryd yr awenau oddi wrthynt i raddau helaethach bob mis, dan gochl ein gweithgareddau seicolegol yma yn y Ganolfan (hynny yw, y Clinig). Roedd arnom ni angen canolbwyntio ar y plant, oedd yn fwy chwannog i gredu yn ein hawgrymiadau a derbyn ein hyfforddiant, ac yn fwy nerthol o lawer, ac felly yn fwy defnyddiol, na’r oedolion ar ben hynny.After I recovered following my extremely dangerous trip to the Nw Yrth as a stripling youth, I realised very slowly that I myself could never go back there, because, if I succeeded to reach the place at all, I would be but a stunned and crazy child, who would perish at once. I saw that I would not be able to accomplish all this under my own steam, and over the years, therefore, I have collected followers – that is, supporters, fellow-workers, friends, and co-conspirators – around me. At last, I succeeded – we succeeded. The World had reached the fateful time. Our enemies in the Iniquitous Trinity had discovered our campaign, but too late. They did not yet control everything under the Sun, and we had started to seize the reins from them to a greater extent each month, under the cover of our psychological activities here in the Centre (that is, the Clinic). We needed to concentrate on the children, who were more inclined to believe in our suggestions and accept our training, and much more powerful, and therefore more useful, than the adults in any case.
Lle ardderchog i'w recriwtio hwy oedd y gylchfa ryfel yng Nghalon y Cyfandir – ystyrier y ffactorau genetig, yr ofn cynhyrchiol hollbresennol, a’r hud gwerin cynhenid – ac edrychwch ar bwy y cafodd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd hyd iddynt yno: trindod o bobl ifanc a fyddai'n bwysig ofnadwy pan ail-greasom ni hwy yma. Daud, Jelena, a Stjepan. Y Llabwst, y Dywysoges, a'r Dyn-darw. David, Helen, a Steffan. Lushfé, Tefnuth, a Swtach. Dá·hwyth, Elena, a Stharafan. A phan oeddem ni wedi dechrau ennill tir, roedd yn rhaid inni gynnal trefn, a gostegu gwrthwynebiaeth heb betruso er mwyn cychwyn pethau o newydd. O’r diwedd, rhaid bod rhyw endid wedi cyflawni’r aberth ar y maes yng nghanol Cae Galar yn briodol, yn unol â dymuniadau’r Hen Feistri. Rwy’n gallu clywed y nefoedd yn atseinio – “Yk’k, yk’k wd’ny! Yk’k b’blwn yk’k! Ws’rs, yk’k, yk’k!” – o hyd, fel petai’r clecian ffiaidd byth yn mynd i bylu!An excellent place to recruit them was the war zone in the Heart of the Continent – consider the genetic factors, the ever-present productive fear, and the native folk-magic – and look at who the Old Holy Warrior found there: a trinity of young people who would be awfully important when we recreated them here. Daud, Jelena, and Stjepan. The Lout, the Princess, and the Man-bull. David, Helen, and Steffan. Lushfé, Tefnuth, and Swtach. Dá·hwyth, Elena, and Stharafan. And when we had begun to gain ground, we needed to maintain order, and subdue resistance without wavering in order to begin things afresh. At last, some entity must have fulfilled the sacrifice on the stone in the middle of the Sorrowful Field appropriately, according to the wishes of the Old Masters. I can hear the heavens resounding – “Yk’k, yk’k wd’ny! Yk’k b’blwn yk’k! Ws’rs, yk’k, yk’k!” – still, as if the horrible chattering is never going to fade!
Ac yma’n wir y mae’r Swynwyr Seraffaidd bellach yn brasgamu dros wyneb ein Byd Gwyrddlas ni heb rwystr. Ond roeddent heb sylweddoli mai cael eu gorfodi i uno â’r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd a wnaent er mwyn croesi’r Gwagle rhwng y Bydoedd. Ac unwaith roedd y Porth Galarus wedi agor, nid oedd dim troi’n ôl. Felly y mae hi. Dyma hwy’n rhedeg yn wyllt, gan ledu creugarwch distrywiol (neu ddistryw creadigol), wrth hau hadau trawsffurfiant, wrth i Ddynolryw gael eu newid, gan strancio’n ffyrnig. Ond tra mae’r Saith yn chwarae, ac ymyrryd, ac arbrofi ym mhob cwr o’r Ddaear, un ohonynt, oedd yn arfer bod yn aelod o’u Hurdd hwy, ac sydd wedi chwarae rhan eithriadol o bwysig yn yr hanes hwn, sef Swtach, a adawyd ar ôl i reoli’r Nw Yrth yn ofer o’i Gwch Dur Glas Dirboenus, mae’n ymddangos. Problem sylfaenol Swtach oedd nad oedd ef eisiau aros yn unig yr un peth fel y gwnâi ei gymrodyr, a thrwy gofleidio newid, holltodd ef ei bersonoliaeth, a’i alltudio ei hun o rym rhanedig y grŵp. Felly roedd yn rhaid iddo geisio cipio tameidiau o’u pŵer pryd bynnag y gallai o hynny ymlaen. Wel, mae wedi cael yr hyn a ddymunai o’r diwedd, beth bynnag. Bywyd tragwyddol heb y rhai eraill, a rheolaeth lwyr, ond ar delerau na fyddai fe byth wedi’u dychmygu na’u dewis, ar sail yr hyn rwy’n gallu’i ganfod yn fy nrych sgrio rhyng-ddimensiynol o leiaf.And here indeed are the Seraphic Sorcerers now, striding over the face of our Green-blue World without hindrance. But they had not realised that they would be forced to unite with the Indolent Idolaters in order to cross the Void between the Worlds. And once the Mournful Gate had opened, there was no turning back. And so it is. Here they are running wild, spreading destructive creativity (or creative destruction), whilst sowing the seeds of transformation, as Humankind gets changed, struggling ferociously. But while the Seven play, and interfere, and experiment in every corner of the Earth, one of them, who used to be a member of their Guild, and who’s played an exceptionally important part in this tale, namely Swtach, has been left behind to rule the Nw Yrth in vain from his Excruciating Blue Steel Hive, it appears. Swtach’s fundamental problem was that he did not want to remain exactly the same, as did his comrades, and by embracing change, he fractured his personality, and exiled himself from the shared power of the group. So, he needed to try to seize snippets of power whenever he could from then on. Well, he’s got what he wanted at last, anyway. Eternal life without the others, and complete control; but on terms he would never have imagined or chosen, based on what I can discern in my inter-dimensional scrying-glass at least.
Nawr, dichon mai cysylltiad cryf sydd wedi bod rhwng Swtach a sawl cymeriad arall yn y stori gymhleth hon, drwy’r amser, sef yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, y Tad, y ffug-Ddewin, yr Wncwl, yr Hen Filwr, a’r Ysgolfeistr. Fe hoffwn i ddweud mai rhannu’r un hanfod ydynt, erbyn hyn, os nad oeddynt yn gwneud hyn o’r cychwyn. Yn achos y dynion hyn, beth bynnag, maent wedi cael eu haeddiant, yn yr un ffordd â’u Meistr, ac maent bellach i’w gweld yn debyg i rai o’n cimerâu newydd ni, ond rhai sy’n newid yn ddi-baid o’r naill ffurf i’r llall wrth ddioddef cosbau anghyffredin o bob math. Ond ar ôl un flwyddyn ar bymtheg fe ddônt yn ddynion eto am undydd a blwyddyn er mwyn ymoddef, a chweryla, a phrotestio wrth ei gilydd, a ffraeo’n ofer, cyn ailgychwyn eu poenedigaeth. Wel, hidiwch befo hynny. Yma, mae fel petai'r Ddaear wedi'i throchi mewn crochan o ambrosia purddu, tra blasus, na all ei drigolion eu hatal eu hunain rhag ei lyncu i lawr, sydd yn darparu galluoedd fyddai wedi bod y tu hwnt i ddychymyg rai blynyddoedd o'r blaen.Now, perhaps there has been a strong connection between Swtach and several other characters in this complex story, all along, namely the Old Holy Warrior, the Father, the fake-Wizard, the Old Soldier, and the Schoolmaster. I would like to say that they all share the same essence by now, if they didn’t do that from the outset. In the case of these men, anyway, they have received their just deserts, in the same way as their Master, and now they appear like some of our new chimeras, but ones which change ceaselessly from one form to the other whilst suffering uncommon punishments of all kinds. But after sixteen years they become men again for a year and a day, in order to connive, and quarrel, and remonstrate with each other, and fight in vain, before restarting their torment. Well, never mind that. Here, it’s as if the Earth has been immersed in a cauldron of very tasty, jet-black ambrosia, which its inhabitants cannot prevent themselves from swallowing down, which provides abilities that would have been beyond imagining some years before.
Wel, mae'r amser yn hedfan heibio yn hynod gyflym, ond ydy, a myfi – nyni – sydd wedi newid trefn sefydlog y Byd drwy gyflwyno dulliau bod hollol newydd, a syniadau brawychus o chwyldroadol. Roedd y pum hen rym natur defodol, sef awyr, dŵr, metel, pridd, a thân wedi hen basio'r dyddiad olaf defnyddio. Roedd yn rhaid inni ddyfeisio rhai newydd, a saith ymddangosai fel nifer hudol. Fy syniad i oedd y dylai'r elfennau newydd gyfuno set o wrthgyferbyniadau, gan gynnwys cyfanswm y Bydysawd, sef: 'tân a dŵr' – 'golau a gwyll' – 'gloes a rhyddhad' – 'colli ac ennill' – 'bywyd a thranc' – 'gwacter a llawnder' – 'creu a dileu.' Ac unwaith eto, fe ddes i ben â gwneud hynny, diolch i’r Saith Hen Feistr, ar ôl treulio amser anghymedrol yn prancio o gwmpas coelcerth ar ben tŵr troellog nes imi gwympo i lawr o orflinder. A sôn am y grymoedd creadigol a thrawsffurfiadol, dilyffethair rydym ni wedi bod yn gallu eu rheoli trwy gyfrwng Swyn Hynaf Enwi a Rhwymo!Well, time is flying by incredibly fast, isn’t it, and I – we – have changed the established order of the World by introducing completely new ways of being, and terrifyingly revolutionary ideas. The old ritual forces of nature, namely air, water, metal, earth, and fire, had long passed their use-by date. I had to invent some new ones, and seven seemed like a magical number. My idea was that the new elements should combine a set of oppositions, containing the sum-total of the Universe, namely: ‘fire and water’ – ‘light and dark’ – ‘pain and release’ – ‘losing and winning’ – ‘life and death’ – ‘emptiness and fullness’ – ‘creating and destroying.’ And once again I succeeded in doing that, thanks to the Seven Old Masters, after spending an inordinate time prancing around a bonfire on top of a spiral tower until I fell down from exhaustion. Talk about the unfettered creative and transformative powers we’ve been able to control by means of the Oldest Spell of Naming and Binding!
Rydym wedi dysgu cymaint gan y Swynwyr am eu gwaith ar y Blaned Yrth. Yma yn labordai cêl y Ganolfan rydym wedi bod wrthi'n torri tir newydd ym maes newydd sbon Cêl-swoleg gan gymysgu technoleg nanobot â pheirianneg genetig i greu rhywogaethau hybrid arswydus. Rydym wedi llwyddo i gyflawni gwyrthiau, bron, yn dibynnu ar ystyr y gair ‘gwyrth’ yn eich idiolect (ni raid dweud fy mod yn sôn yn ffigurol yma). A heb os rydym ni wedi dechrau gwneud cynnydd yn ein tasg o drawsffurfio’r Cosmos (wel, rydym yn dechrau yma ar y Ddaear!). Ar ben hynny, gyda’n help ni, mae Sefydliadau Addysgol Annibynnol Unedig Aberdydd a’r Cylch wedi dod yn chwaraewr allweddol ar y llwyfan fyd-eang. Dim syndod yma, gan fod yr Athrawes Jelena Pekar sydd yn cadeirio Pwyllgor SAAU.We have learned so much from the Sorcerers about their work on the Harsh Planet. Here in the Centre’s secret laboratories, we have been hard at it breaking new ground in the brand-new field of Crypto-zoology, mixing nanobot technology with genetic engineering to create shocking hybrid species. We have succeeded in performing miracles, almost, depending on the sense of the word ‘miracle’ in your idiolect (needless to say that I am speaking figuratively here). And without a doubt we have begun to make advances in our task of transforming the Cosmos (well, we’re starting here on the Earth!). On top of that, with our help, the United Independent Educational Institutions of Aberdydd and the Region have become key players on the world-wide stage. No surprise there, as it’s Professor Jelena Pekar who’s chairing the UIEI Committee.
Ymhlith y rhestr hir o lwyddiannau syfrdanol, ceir y canlynol. Rydym wedi creu bodau artiffisial, digynnig, ar ffurf pobl sydd yn cerdded, a siarad, a meddwl, a gweithio, i fod yn gwmnïwyr inni, a'n cynorthwyo ni. Ni fyddant byth farw, ac fe allant wneud pethau bron yn anghredadwy. Nid wy'n gallu peidio â dychmygu’r rhain, ein hymgnawdoliadau ni wedi’u llunio o blastig, a dur gwrthstaen, a silicon, yn anturio cyn belled yn y gofod â Phorth y Trwbadŵr, ac ymweld â galaethau ger Ysgwydd Nimrod, gan gario’n hymwybyddiaeth ddihafal ynddynt. O, gyda llaw, trwy gyfrwng ein hinjan rhannu meddyliau, fiomecanyddol, mae'n bosibl erbyn hyn ddarllen cyfrinachau calon dyn, a lluosogi’i lawenydd, a dwyn ei heddwch, a gweld dyfnder ei anobaith hefyd.Amongst the long list of stunning successes, we have the following. We have created exceptional artificial beings in the shape of people, which walk, and talk, and think, and work, to be companions for us, and to assist us. They will never die, and can do almost unbelievable things. I cannot stop imagining these, our incarnations fashioned of plastic, and stainless steel, and silicon, venturing as far in space as the Troubadour’s Gate, and visiting galaxies by Nimrod’s Shoulder, carrying our unequalled consciousness in them. Oh, by the way, by means of our biomechanical thought-sharing engine, it’s possible now to read the secrets of a man’s heart, and multiply his joy, and steal his peace, and see the depths of his despair, also.
Mor hawdd ydy cysylltu'ch corff â'r lliaws o ddyfeisiadau newydd, wrth newid eich ymwybyddiaeth â'r Aur Du, ac yn gyffredinol, mae pawb wedi bod yn rhyfeddol o awyddus i chwarae’r fath gemau. (Fel mae’n digwydd, mae’r coblyn ystrywgar a pharablus hwnnw o’r enw Lonelihahi a wnaeth ymddangos yn ddisymwth, wedi bod yn ddefnyddiol iawn yn hyn o beth.) Rydym wedi sicrhau hyn oll fel bydd pawb yn derbyn Trefn Newydd y Byd heb ail feddwl. (Wrth gwrs, nid Trefn Fydol Berffaith mo hyn, dyna fyddai'n arwain, wyddom ni, at farweidd-dra, ac wedyn, yn y pendraw, at dranc.) Ac wrth i hyn oll ddigwydd o dan reolaeth lem ein ffrindiau gorau ar y Cyngor Technocratig Rhyngwladol bondigrybwyll, nyni yn y Ganolfan sydd yn dod yn gyfoethocach byth, heb sôn am fwyfwy nerthol. A hynny yn ogystal â’r holl elw sydd yn dod i mewn o’r Aur Du, a’r Ffau Arallfydol. O, mae’n rhaid imi grybwyll hefyd Stevie, Satharāfanu, sydd bellach yn medru byw ar incwm preifat, wedi cael hyd i ryw henbeth gwerthfawr tu hwnt ar ffurf pyramid neu sigwrat, oedd yn arfer perthyn i’w Ewythr, yr Hen Filwr. Ac er na lwyddodd y Tywysydd Medrus i ddod yn rhifolegwr wrth astudio yn yr hen Ffatri Addysgol, mae cryn ddawn ganddo o ran dyfeisio peiriannau ac offerynnau. A chyda’r holl arian, mae wedi bod yn gallu buddsoddi yn creu injans i allanoli’r dychymyg ac i wneud dymuniadau’n real.It is so easy to connect your body to the host of new devices, whilst changing your consciousness with the Black Gold, and in general, everyone has been surprisingly keen to play such games. (As it happens, that crafty and loquacious imp called Lonelihahi who appeared from nowhere, has been very helpful in this matter.) We have ensured all this so that everyone will accept the New World Order without a second thought. (Of course, this isn’t a Perfect Earthly Order, that would lead, we know, to stagnation, and then, in the end, to death.) And as all this happens under the stern control of our best friends on the scarcely-mentionable International Technocratic Council, we in the Centre are becoming richer than ever, not to mention more and more powerful. And that’s in addition to all the profit that’s coming in from the Black Gold and the Otherworldly Beans. Oh, I must mention Stevie too, Satharāfanu, who is now of independent means, having come across some exceedingly valuable antique in the form of a pyramid or ziggurat, which used to belong to his Uncle, the Old Soldier. Although the Skilled Leader didn’t succeed in becoming a numerologist whilst studying in the old Education Factory, he has considerable talent in developing machines and instruments. And with all the money, he’s been able to invest in creating engines to externalize the imagination and make desires real.
Wrth reswm, ni allai dyfeiswyr yr holl wyrthiau hyn ragweld pob canlyniad, na'r gadwyn o ddigwyddiadau fyddai'n canlyn yn eu sgil. Yn y fforestydd toreithiog oedd yn anialdir gynt, mae yna greaduriaid bychain newydd yn ymddangos ac ynddynt waed fedr hydoddi dur a choncrit. Mae'r dechnoleg trawsblannu arloesol wedi sefydlu marchnad ddu dra phroffidiol mewn cyrff, organau ac ymenyddiau, a tra mae'r byddinoedd wedi newid, mae'r rhyfela'n parhau. Ar ben hynny, wrth gwrs, er bod yr CTR yn gweithio mor galed i guddio'r ffaith, na fydd y rhai'n cael y llawdriniaeth newydd byth yr un peth rhagor, er ei bod yn gallu estyn bywyd yn sylweddol.Of course, the inventors of all these miracles could not predict every outcome, nor the chain of events that would follow in their wake. In the verdant forests that were previously desert, tiny new creatures are appearing with blood that can dissolve steel and concrete. The innovative transplant technology has established a most profitable black market in bodies, organs, and minds, and whilst the armies have changed, the wars continue. On top of that, of course, although the ITC is working so hard to hide the fact, those who have the new surgery are never the same again, although it can prolong life substantially.
Nid wy’n hoff iawn o'r gair twp hwnnw, 'sombi' (nid gohebydd yn gaeth i wasg y gwter mohonof fi), ond mae'r creaduriaid sydd yn ymddangos ar ben y broses yn eithaf gwahanol i'r hyn oeddent o'r blaen. Gwell hynny na bod yn farw, neu'n sâl iawn, neu mewn poen ddirfawr, dybiwn i. Mae'n ddiddorol iawn (ac eithaf rhyfedd) bod y rhan fwyaf eisiau mynd i nofio yn y môr bob dydd, neu ballu tyllau dwfn a chysgu ynddynt, neu ddringo coed a siglo o gangen i gangen sawl gwaith y dydd. Ac mae'n ffodus iawn mai dim ond ychydig ohonynt fynnu ceisio hedfan hedfan trwy neidio oddi ar adeiladau uchel. Ond wrth gwrs maent hefyd yn gallu blasu synau, teimlo lliwiau, gweld yn y tywyllwch, clywed meddyliau, achosi i blanhigion dyfu’n wyllt, a chyfathrebu’n hynod glir ag anifeiliaid o bob math. Rhwng yr holl fwydydd arloesol rydym wedi'u cynhyrchu sydd yn gwerthu fel 'tasai'r Byd ar ddarfod, a'r ychwanegiadau llesol sydd yn cael eu rhoi yn y cyflenwad dŵr, mae llawer o ddatblygiadau'n digwydd. Dyma wŷr yn mynd yn gyhyrog, cryf, a blewog iawn, fel bleidd-ddynion. Dyna blant yn tyfu cennau a thagellau, fel môr-ddynion. A beth am y menywod sydd yn egino pigau ac adenydd pluog hardd? Cyn gynted ag y byddant wedi derbyn y sefyllfa anghyfnewidiol, ac wedyn cynefino â'u ffordd newydd o fyw, fe ddechreuant fwynhau bywyd lled-ddynol, debyg gen i. Mor gyffrous ydy popeth, ac mae'n golygu y bu’n rhaid i gymdeithas addasu i gryn raddau.I am not very fond of that silly word ‘zombie’ (I’m no hack-writer for the gutter-press), but the creatures who appear at the end of the process are quite different from what they were before. Better that than being dead, or very ill, or in enormous pain, I suppose. It’s very interesting (and quite surprising), that the majority want to go to swim in the sea every day, or dig deep holes and sleep in them, or climb trees and swing from branch to branch several times a day. And it’s very fortunate that only a few of them insist on trying to fly by jumping off tall buildings. But of course, they can also taste sounds, and feel colours, see in the dark, sense thoughts, cause plants to grow wildly, and communicate remarkably clearly with animals of every kind. What with all the innovative foods we have produced which are selling as if the World were ending, and the beneficial supplements being put in the water supply, there are a lot of developments taking place. Men are getting muscular, strong, and very hairy, like werewolves. Children are growing scales and gills, like merpersons. And what about the women who are sprouting beaks and beautiful, feathery wings? As soon as they accept the irrevocable situation, and then get used to their new forms of life, they begin to enjoy quasi-human existence, it seems to me. Everything is so exciting, and it means that society has had to adapt considerably.
Tra mae pobl, sefydliadau, a moesau wedi bod yn newid cymaint ac mor gyflym – mewn corff, ac enaid, a meddwl, allai dyn ddweud – nid yw'r Eglwys Fyd-Eang ddim wedi bod yn gallu cynnal ei hawdurdod drostynt, ac wedi'i thynnu’i hun yn gareiau. Bellach mae Cenhadon Heddwch yn brwydro yn erbyn yr Eglwys Filwrol, wrth i'r Tabernaclau Annibynnol ymdrechu i droi'r Brodyr a Chwiorydd Ffyddlon at eu dehongliad o'r Hen Lyfrau. Yma, rydym wedi bod yn cyd-weithio'n agos â Chapel Ymholiad Anenwadol, sydd yn rhannu llawer o'n hamcanion. Nyni, felly, fydd yn llenwi'r bwlch, gan helpu'r werin bobl i reoli'u patrymau meddwl cymhleth, newydd; i ddefnyddio'u ffurfiau corfforol newydd, rhyfedd; ac i ddatblygu'u heneidiau annynol newydd, y tu hwnt i'r holl hen gyfyngiadau dynol.Whilst people, institutions, and morals have been changing so much and so quickly – in body, soul, and mind, one could say – the World-Wide Church has not been able to maintain its authority over them, and has torn itself apart. Now the Missionaries of Peace are fighting against the Church Militant, as the Independent Tabernacles campaign to convert the Faithful Brothers and Sisters to their interpretation of the Old Books. Here, we’ve been cooperating closely with the Chapel of Non-Denominational Enquiry which shares many of our aims. It is us then, who’ll be filling the gap, helping the common folk to control their new, complex patterns of thinking; to use their strange, new physical forms, and to develop their new, inhuman souls, beyond all the old, human constraints.
Ac i goroni'r cwbl, rydym wedi darganfod – neu greu – carfan o arweinyddion ardderchog i'r to sydd yn codi, rhai sydd eisoes biau pwerau gwych a galluoedd hynod i'w gloywi, eu hogi – a'u disgyblu. Nid yw'r pwerau hyn na da na drwg. Rydym yn dysgu i’r hyfforddeion ifanc y wyddor o beri newid yn unol â'r ewyllys, yn y modd mwyaf effeithiol posibl. Hynny yw, gallu meddwl i fod yn drech na mater – a’r un mor bwysig, gallu’r naill feddwl i drechu’r llall. Rwy’n fy ngweld fy hunan fel bugail da i braidd ystyfnig, arweinydd ysbrydol adar brithion yr Hil Ddynol, os hoffwch chi. Erbyn hyn, Satharāfanu, Tywysydd Medrus Undeb yr Archarwyr sydd yn gofalu am y rhan fwyaf o’r materion ymarferol yma o ddydd i ddydd. Ac O, am ddychymyg cyfoethog a ffrwythlon sydd ganddo! Mae’n creu Bydoedd Eraill cyflawn gyda’r taclau rhithrealiti diweddaraf i’r Bobl Sed fodern chwarae ynddynt. Trist dweud, roedd David a Helen yn perthyn i’r hen drefn i’r fath raddau na fuasent wedi goroesi ymhlith Ieuenctid Amgen heddiw, y plant chwithig o hardd hynny. Roedd eu hamser wedi pasio. Hmm, erbyn meddwl: O mor freulyd ddiflannol yw gogoniant y Byd!And to crown it all, we’ve discovered – or created – a group of excellent leaders for the new generation, ones who already have excellent powers and noteworthy abilities to be polished, honed – and disciplined. These powers are neither good nor bad. We teach the young trainees the science of causing change in accordance with the will, in the most effective way possible. That is, the ability of mind to overcome matter – and just as important, the ability of one mind to overpower the other. I see myself as good shepherd to a stubborn flock; spiritual leader to the black sheep of the Human Race, if you like. By now, Satharāfanu, Skilled Leader of the Superheroes’ Union is looking after most of the practical matters from day to day. And Oh, what a rich and fruitful imagination he has! He’s creating entire Other Worlds with the latest virtual-reality tools, for the Z-People to play in. Sad to say, David and Helen belonged to the old order to such a degree that they wouldn’t have survived amongst the Alternative Youth of today, those awkwardly beautiful children. Their time had passed. Hmmm, come to think of it: Sic transit gloria Mundi!
Nid oedd y rhan fwyaf o’r gwerinos yn credu eu bod yn bodoli o’r blaen, y Saith Swynwr Seraffaidd, ond fe wyddant yn bendant eu bod yma nawr. A dyna am fod rhaid inni i gyd ddod ynghyd i geisio cadw’r gelyn cyffredin hwn draw. Trwy’r flwyddyn ddiweddaraf rydym wedi bod yn gweithio fel lladd nadredd i alw a rhwymo hanfod yr Hen Feistri, fesul un, er mwyn gwell rheoli’r saith grym natur newydd. Galan Awst y daliasom gysgod Nuthkí mewn potel pop; crebachodd tentaclau Isheth Alban Elfed; fflam Lushfé a ddiffoddodd Galan Gaeaf; mewn pwff o resymeg diflannodd Wezir Alban Arthan; trodd Hebé Lwyd yn geffyl pren Nos Galan; Alban Eilir y daeth Tefnush o hyd i gariad cywir; ac aeth dagrau Nebesh yn sych Glamai. Wedi dweud hynny, tra gallwn ni’u dal hwy am sbel, maent yn dal i gael eu tentaclau, a’u carnau, a’u malwyr yn rhydd, drwy’r amser, y naill ar ôl y llall. Ond mor beryglus, ac mor gryfhaol, ac mor bwysig yw brwydro’n gynddeiriog yn eu herbyn.Previously, the majority of the great unwashed did not think they existed, the Seven Seraphic Sorcerers, but they know for definite that they are here now. And that’s because we must all unite to try and keep this common enemy at bay. Through the last year, we’ve been working like madmen to summon and bind the essence of the Old Masters, one by one, in order to control better the seven new forces of nature. On Lammas Day, we caught the shade of Nuthkí in a pop bottle; Isheth’s tentacles shrivelled at the Autumnal Equinox; Lushfé’s flame went out on All Hallows’ Day; in a puff of logic Wezir disappeared on the Winter Solstice; Hebé the Grey turned into a hobby-horse New Year’s Eve; at the Vernal Equinox Tefnush found true love; and Nebesh’s tears ran dry on May-day. Having said that, while we are able to catch them for a while, they keep on getting their tentacles, and their hooves, and their mandibles, free, all the time, one after the other. But it is so dangerous, and so invigorating, and so important to fight rabidly against them.
Yn fuan, bydd dyddiad y lleuad fefus yn cyrraedd, sef dydd Llun yr ugeinfed o Fehefin 2016. Alban Hefin. Rwy’n tybio a fydd y Dewin Ieuengaf newydd – y Blaenaf ymhlith Cydraddolion, o’r enw Elfan Baldrog Bacster, yn un ar bymtheg oed – yn barod i gael ei urddo? Mor anhygoel o rymus ydy, ond yn debyg i’w Dad, mae hefyd yn tueddu i fod yn anhrefnus ac annisgybledig. Ond nawr bod pethau wedi dod cyn belled â hyn, nawr bod yr olwyn wedi dechrau troi’n fwyfwy cyflym, nid oes dim dychwelyd yn ôl i’r hen drefn, beth bynnag y bydd y cenau bach yn ei wneud. Rwy wedi clywed gan hen frân wen ei fod wedi llwyddo i ddatrys y Swyn Seithblyg yn ei ffordd ei hun, gan ffurfio ystyr newydd o’r symbolau astrus, o’r geiriau cyfnewidiol. Ac wrth gwrs, dyna oedd elfen hanfodol yn y cynllun, gan fod ei Dad wedi llunio’r darn yn y lle cyntaf, yn fwy na thebyg, neu o leiaf wedi’i ddarganfod a’i gynnwys yng nghalon ei ymarferion hudol. Mae’n hollol wir mai meistr ar ieithoedd oedd Daud. Ond mae’r manylion fyrdd yn aros i’w datgelu, ond ac fe fydd y frwydr i oroesi’n gorfodi’r Mab i ddod yn arglwydd dros ei bwerau trawsffurfiol, wrth gael hyd i’w wir lais ei hun am y tro cyntaf. Ac mae’n gymwys mai fe ddylai fod yr un i godi i’r anterth, gan ryddhau’i Dad a chyflawni’r seremoni.Soon, the date of the strawberry moon shall arrive, namely Monday the twentieth of June 2016. The Summer Solstice. I wonder whether the new Youngest Wizard – the First amongst Equals, called Elfan Baldrog Baxter, who’s sixteen years old – is ready to be honoured? He’s so incredibly powerful, but like his Father, he also tends to be disorganized and undisciplined. But now that things have come as far as this, now that the wheel has begun to turn faster and faster, there’s no returning to the old dispensation, whatever the young whelp does. I’ve heard on the grapevine that he’s managed to solve the Sevenfold Charm in his own way, forming a new meaning from the abstruse symbols, from the ever-changing words. And of course, that was an essential element in the plan, as his Father had fashioned the piece in the first place, more than likely, or at least had discovered it and incorporated it in the heart of his magical practices. It’s completely true that Daud was a master of languages. But the myriad details remain to be revealed, and the struggle to survive will force the Son to become lord over his transformational powers, whilst finding his own true voice for the first time. And it’s appropriate that he should be the one to ascend to the zenith, releasing his Father, and completing the ceremony.
Ar ryw ystyr fodd bynnag, rhaid bod f’ystryw eisoes wedi llwyddo, i ryw raddau o leiaf, gan ein bod ni i gyd yma o hyd, ac yn ffynnu – fel y meddwn i uchod, mwy neu lai, “O’r diwedd, rhaid bod rhywun wedi cyflawni’r aberth yn briodol, yn unol â dymuniadau’r Hen Feistri.” Fe gredaf fi fod Elfan yn mynd i ganu (neu ubain!) gyda’i fand seico-pync, Y Saith Mwnci Ewn – dyna fydd yn golygu oriau di-ben-draw o ddadwrdd yn ddigon â hollti pen dyn, felly! Wel, o leiaf ni fydd y giamocs oll ddim byd yn debyg i'r hen ddyddiau drwg pan fyddai'r ymgeisydd gorfod prancio o gwmpas mewn tiwnig wen a gwregys gwyrdd. Ond eto i gyd, mae’n wir fy mod i’n edrych ymlaen at wisgo'r gŵn hir, ysgarlad ac arno sêr o aur, a’r het drichorn, ddu, ac at chwifio fy hudlath o binwydd chwe throedfedd ac arni rwnau cochion.In some sense, however, my stratagem must already have succeeded, to some extent at least, as we are all here still, and flourishing – as I said above, more or less: “At last, someone must have accomplished the sacrifice appropriately, according to the Old Masters’ wishes.” I believe that Elfan is going to sing (or howl!) with his psycho-punk band, The Seven Cheeky Monkeys – that’ll mean endless hours of noise that’s enough to split your head open, then! Well, at least the whole palaver will be nothing like the bad old days when the candidate would have to prance around in a white tunic and green belt. But then again, it’s true that I’m looking forward to wearing the long, scarlet gown with gold stars on, and the black, tricorn hat, and to brandishing my six-foot pine magic-wand with red runes.
Fe fydd Dai, all dyn obeithio, yn dathlu seremoni dderbyn y tro hwn, hefyd. Neu, hwyrach y dylem ni ddweud y bydd David eisoes wedi profi defod ynydu. Y fath ansicrwydd a dryswch yw arwydd o’r broblem enfawr gyda’n cysyniadau arferol ni ynghylch amser, ni raid dweud. Felly maddeuwch imi am gamddefnyddio amseroedd gramadegol yma! Ond pryd bynnag y gwnaeth hi ddigwydd, neu, y bydd hi’n digwydd, bedydd tân ydy’n wir, am farddonol! Yr elfen wrthwynebol i dân yw dŵr, wrth reswm, a'r darpar Ddewin Ieuengaf wedi awgrymu imi mai Pafuthenu, gwas i'r Delw-addolwyr Dioglyd a gipiodd y llanc, gan ei achub rhag crafangau Zuvnirathé, y galwyd arni gan y ffug-Ddewin. Fe fyddwch yn cofio mai dyna Afr Ddu'r Goedwig sydd â Miloedd o Epil, arwydd yr Haul, a chyllell finiog ymwybyddiaeth. A bob tro mae hi’n bwydo ar olau wrth ei ddinistrio'n llwyr. Dyna ddiddorol, am mai personoliad y Lleuad a moroedd yr isymwybod yw Pafuthenu, sydd â phen gafr ar gorff menyw, ac yng nghanol ei dalcen seren ddisglair.Dai will, one can hope, celebrate an initiation ceremony this time, too. Or, perhaps we should say that David already has experienced a rite of passage. Such uncertainty and confusion is a sign of the enormous problem with our usual concepts regarding time, needless to say. So forgive me from misusing grammatical tenses here! But whenever it happened, or it will happen, it’s a baptism of fire indeed, how poetic! The opposite element to fire is water, of course, and the prospective Youngest Magician has intimated to me that it’s Pafunethu, servant to the Indolent Idolaters, who snatched the lad, saving him from the talons of Zuvnirathé. who was summoned by the fake-Wizard. You’ll remember that that’s the Black Goat of the Forest who has Thousands of Young, symbol of the Sun, and the sharp knife of consciousness. And she’s constantly feeding on light whilst destroying it completely. That’s interesting, as Pafunethu is personification of the Moon and the seas of the unconscious, and he has a goat’s head and a woman’s body, and in the middle of his brow is a shining star.
Eto i gyd, nage ieithydd mohonof fi, ond mae’n amlwg imi fod yr enw Pafunethu’n golygu ‘gallu canu cyn rymused â’r môr,' a dŵr yw'r elfen fydd wastad yn ffurfio'r ffin rhwng y Ddau Fyd. Wedi dweud hynny, rhaid wrth drin taclau o fetel i droedio trwy'r Hollt rhwng y Bydoedd. Rwy'n anghytuno a'm Hyfforddai Ifanc felly o ran ystyr yr enw Ruzasoha, gwrthdroad Pafuthenu. Fe ddehonglwn i mai 'dewis y taclau addasaf' ydy’r em yng nghalon y gair hwn. Wedi'r cwbl, roedd David yn un mor dda am redeg i ffwrdd bob tro, ai dianc a wnâi neu beidio! A dim ond fel swigen yw'n holl Fydysawd ni yn yr ewin o ryw fôr aruthrol, cosmig. Tybed a grëwyd Realiti Amgen pan – wel, pan fu David ddiflannu o'n hun ni -- ar ôl i Olau Serol y Telok-vovim gael ei ryddhau, hynny yw? Ac os felly, dyma fi’n ei ddychmygu’n ein gwylio ni oll, yn mynd ar ein busnes beunyddiol, coegwych, wrth iddo hwylio ymhlith cytserau hollol ddieithr.Then again, I’m not a linguist, but it’s obvious to me that the name Pafunethu means ‘the ability to sing as powerfully as the sea,’ and water is the element that always forms the boundary between the Two Worlds. Having said that, it is necessary to wield tools of metal to penetrate through the Cleft between the Worlds. I disagree with my Young Trainee therefore on the meaning of the name Ruzasoha, the reverse of Pafuthenu. I would interpret that ‘choose the most suitable tools; is the gem in the heart of this word. After all, David was always such a good one at running off, whether he escaped or not! And our whole Universe is only like a bubble in the foam of some immense cosmic sea. I wonder whether an Alternative Reality was created when – well, when David disappeared from our one – after the Telok-vovim’s Astral Light was released, that is? And if so, I imagine him watching us all, going about our tawdry sub-luminal business, as he sails amongst wholly strange constellations.
Efallai, rywbryd yn y dyfodol, gallwn ni dorri trwy’r llen unwaith eto a dod o hyd iddo, pan fyddwn ni wedi dysgu harneisio pwerau anghymharol y Swynwyr i lwyddo – i ryw raddau, ac am ysbaid – yng ngemau annealladwy’r Delw-addolwyr. Nid myfi a ŵyr, fodd bynnag, beth sydd y tu hwnt i’n realiti ni, ond rwy’n clywed tarfiad yn y Maes Unedig, ac wedi bod yn gwirioni ar ddyfalu beth a fo. Nid ei fod yn bosibl ei weld ef, Thoahatha Ihahi, fodd bynnag. Felly, gobeithio ei fod wedi’i ddal yn ei Fydysawd ei hunan, os ydy’n goroesi o gwbl. Rwy’n gwerthfawrogi’i aberth anfodlon, ac yn y blaen, ond wedi dweud hynny, dw i ddim eisiau dychmygu treulio hyd yn oed hanner awr arall yn chwarae Sgrabl Tsieinëeg gyda’r fath lanc â Daud Pekar byth eto. Dyna fyddai artaith lwyr. Roedd ei syniadau naïf ynghylch cyfiawnder cymdeithasol a rhyddfreinio’r proletariat dros ben llestri’n wir, a doedden nhw ddim byd yn debyg i’m cynlluniau i alluogi’r rhai all eisoes eich helpu’ch hunain orau.Perhaps, sometime in the future, we can break through the veil again and find him, when we’ve learned to harness the Sorcerers’ incomparable powers to succeed – to some extent, and for a short spell – in the Idolaters’ incomprehensible games. I myself do not know, however, what is beyond our reality, but I feel a disturbance in the United Filed, and have been loving guessing what it might be. Not that it’s possible to see him, Thoahatha Ihahi, however. So, I hope he’s caught in his own Universe, if he survives at all. I appreciate his unwilling sacrifice, and so on, but having said that, I don’t want to imagine spending even another half hour playing Chinese Scrabble with such a lad as Daud Pekar ever again. That would be complete torture. His ideas about social justice and enfranchising the proletariat were over the top indeed, and they were nothing like my plans to enable those who can already help themselves best.
Fel rydych yn gwybod, er bod y Sêl Ysgarlad arswydus wedi mynd heibio oddi wrthyf fi i ymrithio ar fest chwith Elfan bellach, serch hynny, rwy wedi fy mendithio’n arbennig gan yr Hen Dduwdodau Rhyfedd nes y byddaf fi’n byw heb heneiddio dros saith einioes arferol. Mae’r milwyr ymosod, y bobl artiffisial, eisoes yn barod a bodlon. (Wel, ‘does ganddynt ddim dewis, mewn gwirionedd, wrth reswm.) Ac rwy’n bwriadu y byddwn ni Ddynoliaeth yn hyrddio’n hanfod i’r Gwagle, rywfodd neu’i gilydd, er ‘does gennym ni mo’r syniad lleiaf am yr hyn sydd yn llechu allan yno. Ond mynd yno i goncro, a meddiannu, a rheoli – fel haid o locustiaid rheibus yn ymosod ar gau o wenith – dyna fyddai’n brawf tra gweddus i’n Hil Newydd Uwcharwyr ni, oni fyddai?As you know, although the terrible Scarlet Seal has passed from me to materialize on the left chest of Elfan now, despite that, I have been specially blessed by the Old Strange Divinities so that I shall live without ageing over seven normal life-times. The shock-forces, the artificial people, are already ready and willing. (Well, they have no choice, in truth, of course.) And I intend that we, Humanity, shall hurl ourselves into the Void, somehow or other, although we do not have the least idea about what is lurking out there. But going there to conquer, and possess, and rule – like a swarm of rapacious locusts attacking a field of corn – that would be a most fitting test for our New Race of Superheroes, wouldn’t it?
A dyma fi felly'n dirwyn fy araith i ben, am y tro o leiaf, a finnau wedi bod yn hedfan rhwng y Bydoedd ar adenydd hud yr Hen Ddienyddiau. Gobeithio mai balch ohonof fi fyddai fy Mam-gu fawreddog, y Wraig Fawr Aratheroth (a adwaenid fel yr Arglwyddes Ari·anhrot yn rhywle arall, hefyd). Yr oedd hithau’n filwraig fawr ei pharch, alcemydd medrus, a bwtsiwr o fri ymhlith y gymuned ym Mhyrthyfall, ac rwy’n ei charu hi cymaint eto. Wedi’r cyfan, hyhi a blannodd hadau rhyfeddod yn fy nghalon, fy mwydo â’r hen chwedlau oll, ennyn tân creugarwch yn fy meddwl, fy meithrin wrth i’m hud dyfu, fy helpu i lunio fy syniadau ynghylch bywyd, moesau, a goroesi, fy ngwthio tuag at y Nw Yrth, a’m hannog i areithio gerbron Meistri’r Urdd. Ac wedyn hithau a’m cefnogodd pan gipiais rym oddi ar yr hen griw a chael gwared ar y bradwyr yn y Pwll Diwaelod. O, mor anodd oedd meddu awdurdod arnynt i gyd ar y dechrau: roedd fel ceisio corlannu praidd o gysgodion ystyfnig a thrafferthus iawn! Ond enillais yn y pen draw, gan beri iddynt blygu i’m hewyllys, a hwythau’n ildio, ac ymostwng, ac ufuddhau. Www, rwy bron â gallu clywed yr Hen Feistres yn tuchan o'i darllenfa ar ffurf tŵr gwyrdd, tal, wrth i sawr adfywiol coedwyrdd nadreddu o gwmpas y fangre sanctaidd! Cyn imi ei hanfon i gwrdd mor ddisyfyd â’r Duwdodau Rhyfedd ym Mhalas Grisial Kish y dydd trist ond anochel hwnnw, wrth gwrs. Anesmwyth y pen a wisga’r goron!Her am I then, bringing my oration to an end, for the time being at least, after I’ve been flying between the Worlds on the wings of the Ancients of Days’ enchantments. I hope that my majestic grandma, the Great Woman Aratheroth (who was known as the Lady Ari·anhrot elsewhere, too), would be proud of me. She was highly respected warrior-woman, a skilled alchemist, and a renowned butcher amongst the community in Hellsgate, and I love her so much still. After all, it is she who planted the seeds of wonder in my heart, fed me with all the old tales, lit the fire of creativity in my mind, nurtured me as my magic grew, helped me to fashion my ideas about life, morals, and survival, pushed me towards the Nw Yrth, and encouraged me to orate before the Masters of the Guild. And then it was she who encouraged me when I seized power from the old-guard, and got rid of the traitors in the Bottomless Pit. Oh, how hard it was exerting authority over them all at the beginning: it was like trying to herd a flock of stubborn and very troublesome shadows! But I won in the end, making them bend to my will, as they yielded, and submitted, and obeyed. Oooh, I can almost hear the Old Mistress grumbling from her lectern in the form of a tall, green tower, as the invigorating smell of wintergreen snakes about the sacred place. Before I sent her so unexpectedly to meet the Strange Divinities in the Crystal Palace of Kish that sad but inevitable day, of course. Heavy the head that wears the crown!
O’m rhan i, rwy wedi dioddef cymaint oherwydd y Gwaith Mawr, yn gorfforol ac yn feddyliol, ac yn awr rwy’n ystyried dianc, yn syth ar ôl y seremoni nesaf, am gyfnod hir o leiaf os nad am byth. Mor flinedig ydw i, a’m hannwyl Chwaer Blod·íhweth newydd farw, ac ni fydd ond yn rhaid imi ddodi’r fodrwy am fy mys i ddisylweddu a sleifio ymaith fel lleidr yn y nos. Rwy wedi dod i’r casgliad mai hunanaberth yw gwir natur crefft y Dewin, a ‘does dim problem gennyf ddiflannu’n llwyr o wyneb y Blaned Yrth hon, nawr bod pethau’n mynd rhagddo cystal. Mae fy hen gymrawd a phartner paffio, y Meistr Ffredrig Llwynlesg wedi bod yn fy nghynorthwyo’n ddirfawr gyda’i awgrymiadau ynghylch dognau priodol a swynion addas. Ceidwadwr Dirgelion Hynafol y Dauwynebog yw’r hen frithgi drewllyd, ond ni fyddaf fi’n llyncu’i elicsir ieuenctid ar frys! Thoahatha, neu Falathalah, neu Palohathala fydd ffugenw addas imi ar fy nghrwydradau, gredaf fi – tri enw ar Yrthiad, efallai!For my part, I have suffered so much because of the Great Work, physically and mentally, and now I am considering escaping, straight after the next ceremony, for a long spell at least if not for good. I’m so tired, what with my dear Sister Blod·íhweth just having died, and I’ll only have to set the ring on my finger to dematerialize and slink away like a thief in the night. I’ve come to the conclusion that self-sacrifice is the true nature of the Wizard’s craft, and I have no problem disappearing completely from the face of this Harsh Planet, now that things are progressing so well. My old comrade and sparring-partner, the Master Frederick Llwynlesg, has been assisting me immensely with his suggestions regarding appropriate potions and suitable spells. The stinky old mongrel is Keeper of the Ancient Secrets of Bifrons, but I shan’t be swallowing down his elixir of youth in a hurry! Thoahatha, or Falathalah, or Palohathala will be a suitable nom de guerre for me in my perambulations, I believe – three names for an Yrthian, perhaps!
Fe fydd gennyf ŵn hir, gwyn amdanaf, ac yn fy llaw ffon pererin, wrth imi grwydro hwnt ac yma fel y mynnaf. Efallai fe hongiaf o Bren y Bywyd i wylio diwedd yr Holl Fyd, llawenhau wrth danio Bydysawd newydd i fodolaeth, neu gael pigo fy iau allan yn fynych gan eryrod am fy nigywilydd-dra. Fel rwy wedi dweud droeon, er mai Dewin dw i’n wir, nid wyf yn ddaroganwr, na gwneuthurwr gwyrthiau. Ac nid Arglwydd Tywyll mohonof fi, ‘chwaith, y mae arno angen dylanwadu’n ddirwystr ar y Ddaear gron, wir i chi. Nac Ymerawdwr Adwythig, sydd â'i fryd ar ladd a distrywio, ac sydd eisiau dreifio Seren Farwol drwy’r Cosmos i chwalu Planedau, beth bynnag a feddylio, neu a honno’r gwadwyr anwybodus. Dim ond gweithio er lles mwyaf ein Rhywogaeth y bûm i erioed, yn y ffordd orau y gallwn ei chanfod ta beth, heb fod yn Was Dioddefus. Ond eto i gyd, wedi tueddu i farw mor dra anesboniadwy – a hawdd – y mae arweinyddion grymoedd y gwrthsafiad!I shall wear a long, white gown, and have in my hand a pilgrim’s staff, as I wander hither and thither as I please. Perhaps I shall hang from the Tree of Life to watch the end of the All-World, rejoice whilst sparking a new Universe into existence, or have my liver pecked out repeatedly by eagles for my presumptuousness. As I have said over and over, although I am a Wizard, I am not a soothsayer, nor a miracle-worker. And I’m not A Dark Lord, either, who needs to hold untrammelled sway over the entire Earth, honest. Nor an Evil Emperor either, intent on killing and destroying, who wants to drive a Death-Star to wipe out Planets, whatever the unenlightened naysayers may think and claim. I have only ever been working for the greater good of our Species, in the best way I could discern, anyway, without being a Suffering Servant. But then again, the leaders of the opposition forces have tended to die so very mysteriously – and easily!
...Felly, dyma ni – dyma fi – a'r ddefod dyngedfennol wedi'i chyflawni o'r diwedd, a'r Byd wedi'i newid am byth. Falle taw dim ond straeon yw’n bywydau ni i gyd, neu ddramâu, neu rywbeth tebyg, a ninnau’n cael ein gorfodi i actio, ac esgus, a chwarae rolau ynddyn nhw (gan bwy, ‘dwn i’m). Er gwaetha’ popeth, ar ôl hyn oll, dych chi ddim yn fy nabod i o gwbl, mewn gwirionedd, ar wahân i’r tamaid bach dw i wedi’i ddatgelu i chi. Pwy fuasai wedi meddwl y byddai bywyd fy nghymeriad, a’n hanes i, mor debyg i’r rhai wedi’u byw gan yr Arwr Anffodus, yr Hen Filwr, yr Ellyllyn Cryf, a’r Rhifolegwr Colledig dw i wedi bod yn sôn amdanyn nhw cymaint? Ble dyn ni'n terfynu, a ble mae pawb eraill yn cychwyn? Mewn ffordd dwi’n teimlo taw rhannau ohono i yw Dai, a Steff, a Jack, a John, bellach bod eu lleisiau wedi'u gwau trwof, a finnau’n troedio’r llwybrau maent wedi'u creu. Ac er dw i’m wedi cwympo mewn cariad erioed cyn hyn achos mod i ‘di bod mor brysur, pwy a ŵyr am y dyfodol? Wel dyna ni, ‘te, dyna fel y mae hi. Dw i ‘di ‘neud popeth dw i’n gallu ‘neud yma, ac mae'n hen bryd i fi'i hel hi. Ond beth bynnag fydd yn digwydd nesaf, fe fydd hi’n stori lawn dagrau a chwerthin – a hud – ac un ddiddorol tu hwnt. Yr wyf fi’n tyngu ichi – os bydd fy ngair yn golygu unrhyw beth – ar rymoedd newydd y Ddaear, y Swynwyr Dioglyd, a’r Delw-addolwyr Seraffaidd! A dyma fi felly ar fin dibyn, yn lledu’n adenydd unwaith ‘to, a ‘ngeiriau swynol yn barod – a dw i ar fedr deifio i’r Gwacter diderfyn unwaith ac am byth, a’m gwynt yn fy nwrn!...So, here we are – here I am – the fateful ceremony completed at last, and the World changed for ever. Perhaps all our lives are just stories, or plays, or something like that, in which we’re forced to act, and pretend, and play roles (by whom, I don’t know). Despite everything, after all this, you don’t know me at all, in truth, apart from the little bit I’ve revealed to you. Who would’ve thought that the life of my character, and my history, would be so similar to those lived by the Unfortunate Hero, the Old Soldier, the Strong Little Devil, and the Mathematician Manqué I’ve been talking about so much? Where do we finish, and where does everyone else begin? In a way, I feel that Dai, and Steff, and Jack, and John are parts of me now that their voices have been woven through me, with me treading the paths they’ve created. And although I’ve never fallen in love before now because I’ve been so busy, who knows about the future? Well there we are then, that's how it is. I have done all I can here, and it’s high time for me to get a move on. But whatever happens next, it’ll be story full of tears and laughter -- and magic – and an extremely interesting one. I swear to you – if my word means anything – by the Earth’s new powers, the Lazy Sorcerers, and the Seraphic Idol-worshippers! And so here I am, on the edge of a precipice, spreading my wings once again, my charmed words at the ready – and I’m on the verge of diving into the limitless Void once and for all, my heart in my mouth!

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 41

Pennod Pedwar Deg Pump: Pam ma’ pethau fel y ma’n nhw / Why things are as they are

Dyma ni, felly, wel, dyma fi, olyga i, Ffred eich storïwr gostyngedig. Sai’n gw’bod pwy dych chi, ble’r ydych, na hyd yn oed os bydd rhywun yno i glywed y darn ‘ma yn y pen draw, ond wi’n credu dylen i ddweud e’n uchel doed a ddelo. Wi’n teimlo taw nawr fydde amser da i rannu fe gyda chi, neu o leia’i gofnodi nes gall be bodau bynnag sy’n dal i fodoli mewn oesoedd i ddod gael hyd iddo. Na’th Veythra Marm·íku (Pjetêr Mamrick) o Ilyria yn y Famwlad Aflonydd, Aelod Llawn o Urdd Cyfrinachau a ffrind da i fi, ei adrodd wrth Dá·hwyth Prok·ethra (Procter bach, Dai, ch’mod) a fi, pan o’n i’n dal yn gysylltiedig â’r Madws Mileinig ‘na a gweithio gyda’r cythraul ifanc sy di chwalu’r holl fyd erbyn hyn. (Man a man a mwnci melyn i fi ddefnyddio’r hen enwau hud yma i roi blas i chi ar sut ro’dd pethau’n arfer bod, er bod popeth wedi newid gymaint ers yr hen ddyddiau da.) Nes i lwyddo i ddianc o’r stad uffernol yn Aberdydd yn y pen draw pan na’th pawb ddechrau troi’n greaduriaid chwedlonol, a ffrwydro ar hyd ac ar draws. Ond ro’dd mor anodd achos bod yr hud mor gryf yno.

Ro’dd sawl un wedi bod yn bwrw swynion rhwymo, greda i, heb fwriadu neud, fwy na thebyg, ond yn llwyddiannus iawn serch ‘ny. Ro’dd rhaid i fi ddefnyddio’n holl nerth jyst i ddisylweddu a ‘nhrawsgludo’n hunan i Deml y Gogoniant Cuddiedig yn y lle cynta, a dyna le sy’n perthyn i ninnau yn yr Urdd fyd. Wedyn, ro’n i’n cadw o’r golwg yno am sbel wrth i fi gael fy nerth yn ôl, cyn diweddaru’r swynion amddiffynnol hyd eitha ‘ngallu. Arbenigwr ar berlysiau, pils, tinturiau, ac elicsirau dw i, wrth gwrs, a dyna pam mae’r siantio a dawnsio o gwmpas mor chwithig ac anodd i fi. Nes i symud nesa i Faenordy Challavas, cartre i ‘nheulu’r Llwynlesgiaid, ble mae’r tân yn sibrwd cyfrinachau yn yr hen iaith Yrtheg, ac am ganrifoedd, defodau cyfrin wedi digwydd ganol nos bob hydref dan lewyrch afiach y Lloer Wacsaw. Dyna ble dw i nawr, a sai’n gallu gadael ar hyn o bryd. Ond sai’n siŵr ydw i i fod i aros a gwarchod y ffont ar ffurf crochan pres gwyrdd, neu neidio i mewn gan obeithio bydda i’n diflannu.

Wedi’r cwbl, na’th Dai Procter lwyddo i ffoi’n syth ar ôl y seremoni dderbyn ddiwetha, wedi iddo gipio’r fodrwy eithriadol ‘na o rywle. Dim ond gyda chryn dipyn o help gen i wrth gwrs. Eto i gyd, ga’th e’i eni i un o’r teuluoedd hudol mawr, tra do’n i ond yn grwt mwythlyd o deulu goludog, ar y dechrau o leia. Fe ddyle Procter fod wedi bod yn gallu reidio’r dymestl yn rhwyd lly, wedi’r cyfan, fe na’th ei chychwyn, a fi oedd ei law dde am sbel. Wrth gwrs doedd fawr o ddewis da fi, wedi i fi ymwadu â busnes y teulu’n fachgen, gan ddatgan bydde’n well da fi fod yn farw mewn ffos na bod yn rhan o’r cynllwyn cyfalafol mochaidd i ormesu’r dosbarth gweithiol. Ond ro’n i wedi ‘narbwyllo’n hunan taw archwilio cyfrinachau’r Hen Feistri o’dd y ffordd i ddatrys holl broblemau’r Byd. A dyna o’n i’n dilyn ôl traed ‘y nghyndad Ioan aeth bant i galon y cyfandir i fod yn fynach, fydde’n hala’i holl amser yn neud arbrofion esoterig, cyfathrebu gyda bodau annynol a sgriblan swynion. Ac felly fe es i, gan adael Gertrude druan yn ôl!

A, wi’n cofio sut o’n ni’n arfer brwydro pan o’n ni’n ifancach, David a fi, ac yntau’n llawn o’r holl syniadau angerddol am newid y Byd trwy gryfder ewyllys a nerth corfforol, a finnau ond eisiau aros yn y labordy i chwarae gyda’n ryseitiau, eneiniau, elicsirau, injans a dyfeisiadau. Ro’n i’n breuddwydio bydden nhw’n gwella iechyd a lles pobl, dwysáu’u synhwyrau, eu neud nhw’n gryfach a mwy deallus, gadael iddyn nhw fwynhau rhagor o amser hamdden, a’u helpu nhw i ddianc rhag eu bywydau annifyr fel caethweision a byw rhai gwell. Ond i’r gwrthwyneb, fe nethon nhw ddwyn ‘yn meddyliau pan do’n i’m yn canolbwyntio, i’w gwyrdroi nhw a’u defnyddio nhw i’w dibenion anfad eu hunain heb yn wybod i fi, bryd ‘ny ta be. O, sut gallen i fod wedi bod mor dwp? Dyna brofi’n unig sut gall cynlluniau gorau a mwya manwl dyn fynd ar gam mor hawdd. Ddim taw rhyw fath o athrylith o’n i, ond ro’n i’n dychmygu mod i’n chwarae’n rhan mewn cynllun mwy, falle.

Ond ro’dd yr hen Ddewin Ifanca’n ffrind da i fi dros y blynyddoedd a bod yn onest, gan iddo adael llonydd i fi pan taw dyna be o’n i eisiau, a rhoi cartre i fi droeon eraill heb ofyn gormod o gwestiynau. Roedd e fel brawd i fi, mewn ffordd, un a gadwe lygad barcut ar be o’n i’n neud a be o’dd da fi ar y gweill. Erbyn meddwl bellach, falle’i fod â llygad ar ‘yn etifeddiaeth. Ond na fydden i’n bodloni i’w gynlluniau dros ben llestri, na’i annog a chefnogi pan na’th e roi’i bryd ar gymryd yr Urdd drosodd mor ddidostur. O, ro’dd rhaid i fi redeg bant bryd hynny, fedren i’m bod wedi neud unrhyw les wrth aros yno ta be, a ro’n i mor hoff o deithio o gwmpas y Byd gan gasglu samplau. Ond o leia nes i ddarganfod ffyngau streipiog goleuol, ffau glas seicedelig, madfallod canibalaidd gwenwynig, llau tân pigog, cynrhon moch gwrychog, brithyllod pluog llinorog, a sudd amlffurf. Fe ddes i ‘nôl pan o’dd y sefyllfa wedi ymdawelu.

Sai’n gallu rhoi’r gorau i gredu bod yr holl sefyllfa’n rhyw fath o benyd i fi, falle, am ‘y nhroseddau i gyd hyd yn hyn, neu gosb am ‘y ngwendidau cynhenid fyrdd, ond ma’ popeth mor aneglur, cyn belled i ffordd, a sai’n gallu meddwl yn syth. Fe allai fod yn brawf, ar y llaw arall, neu’n arbrawf, ond un i ganfod beth, weden i’m. Ww, ma’na ben tost arteithiol da fi, was! Ond dyna hen ddigon ar yr holl deimlo’n flin drosta’n hunan. Wi angen tynnu’r ewinedd o’r blew a chychwyn ar y stori, ‘te, ‘nghynulleidfa anweledig. Sori am y trosiad ‘na, sy mor anffodus dan yr amgylchiadau. Fel ro’n i’n gweud, sai’n gallu gadael y lle ‘to, a rhaid i fi neud rhywbeth wrth aros, lly fe fydda i’n recordio hi ar CD wrth ei hadrodd. Un o’r chwedlau modern, newydd am y Nw Yrth ydy, o’r enw “Pam mae pethau fel y maen nhw.” Ddim un am eiriau mohona i, ddim mwya, ta be, ond dyna rywbeth yn galw arna i i weud ‘ngweud.

Ma’na ryw bŵer eithriadol mewn geiriau, meddan nhw, lly bydda i’n llefaru’n ofalus, gan obeithio ar ‘ngwaetha fe ddaw rhyw les o neud. Falle na i gonsurio rhyw ysbryd cymwynasgar i ‘nysgu a ‘nhywys, ac wedyn dod i ddeall rhywbeth ychwanegol o bwys am y llanast tra brwnt ‘ma sy’n amlyncu’r Ddaear gron fel mewn un o’r ych a fideos gwaetha. Wel, does w’bod yn y Byd, wi’n byw mewn gobaith. Ond ta be, fe fydda i’n mwynhau dweud yr hanes o leia. Bydd yn cadw’n meddwl rhag canolbwyntio ar ‘mhroblemau’n hunan ormod fyd. Lly, bant â ni!

Here we are then, well, here I am, Ffred your humble narrator. I don’t know who you are, nor where, nor even if there’s anyone there to hear this piece in the end, but I think I should say it out loud, come what may. I feel that now would be a good time to share it with you, or at least record it so that whoever’s still existing in ages to come can find it. Veythra Marm·íku (Pjetêr Mamrick) of Illyria in the Haunted Homeland, Full Member of the Guild of Secrets and good friend to me, recited it to Dá·hwyth Prok·ethra (Procter junior, Dai, y’know) and me, when I was still connected with that Malicious Madhouse and working with the young devil who’s fractured the whole world by now. (Might as well use the old magical names here to give a taste of how things used to be, although everything’s changed so much since the good old days.) I managed to escape from the hellish estate in Aberdydd in the end when everyone started turning into mythical creatures, and exploding all over the place. But it was so hard because the magic was so strong there.

Several people had been casting binding spells, I believe, without intending to, more than likely, but very successfully despite that. I had to use all my strength just to dematerialize and transport myself to the Temple of the Hidden Glory in the first place, and that’s a place that belongs to us ourselves in the Guild too. Then, I laid low there for a while as I got my strength back, before updating the defensive charms as best I could. I’m an expert on pills, tinctures, and elixirs, of course, and that’s why the chanting and dancing about’s so embarrassingly difficult for me. I moved next to Challavas Manor, home to my family, the Llwynlesgs, where the fire whispers secrets in the old Yrthian language, and for centuries, mysterious rites have taken place at midnight every autumn under the sickly glow of the Fickle Moon. That’s where I am now, and I can’t leave at the moment. But I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to wait and guard the font in the form of a cauldron of green brass, or jump in hoping I’ll disappear.

After all, Dai Procter managed to flee straight after the last initiation ceremony, after he’d grabbed that exceptional ring from somewhere. Only with a considerable amount of help from me of course. Then again, he was born to one of the great magical families whilst I was only a spoiled kid from a rich family, at the start at least. Procter should have been able to ride the tempest easily then, after all, he set it in motion, and I was his right-hand man for a while. Of course, I didn’t have much choice, after I renounced the family business as a boy, declaring that I’d rather be dead in a ditch than be part of the dastardly capitalist plot to oppress the working class. But I’d convinced myself that probing the Old Masters’ secrets was the way to solve all the World’s problems. And there I was following the footsteps of my ancestor Ioan who went off to the heart of the continent to be a monk who would spend all his time doing esoteric experiments, communicating with inhuman beings, and scribbling spells. And so off I went, leaving poor Gertrude behind!

Ah, I remember how we used to fight when we were younger, David and I, with him full of all the passionate ideas about changing the World through will-power and physical might, and me just wanting to stay in the laboratory to potter with my recipes, liniments, elixirs, engines, and inventions. I dreamt that they’d improve people’s health and well-being, intensify their senses, make them stronger and more intelligent, allow them to enjoy more leisure time, and help them to escape from their miserable lives and live better ones. But on the contrary, they stole my thoughts when I wasn’t concentrating, to twist them and use them for their own sinister ends without my knowing it, then anyway. Oh, how could I’ve been so stupid? It just goes to show how one’s best and most detailed plans can go awry so easily! Not that I was some kind of mastermind, but I imagined I was playing my part in a bigger plan, perhaps.

But the old Youngest Wizard was a good friend to me over the years to be honest, as he left me alone when that’s what I wanted, and gave a home to me at other times without asking too many questions. He was like a brother to me, in a way, one who would keep an eagle eye on what I was doing and what I had on the go. Come to think about it, perhaps he had his eye on my inheritance. But I wouldn’t acquiesce to his over-the-top plans, nor encourage and support him when he set his mind to taking the Guild over so mercilessly. Oh, I had to run away then, I couldn’t have done any good staying there anyway, and I was so fond of travelling about the World collecting samples. But at least I discovered luminescent stripy fungi, psychedelic blue beans, poisonous cannibal lizards, prickly fire-lice, bristly pig-bugs, pustular feather-trout, and multi-form juice. I came back when the situation had calmed down.

I can’t stop believing that the whole situation’s some kind of penance for me, maybe, for all my transgressions up to now, or a punishment for my myriad innate weaknesses, but everything’s so unclear, so far off, and I can’t think straight. It could be a test, on the other hand, or an experiment, but one to discover what, I couldn’t say. Ooh, I’ve got an excruciating headache, man! But that’s enough of all the feeling sorry for myself. I need to pull my finger out and begin the story, then, my unseen audience. Sorry about that metaphor, which is so unfortunate under the circumstances. As I was saying, I can’t leave the place yet, and I have to do something while I wait, so I’ll be recording it on CD whilst telling it. It’s one of the new, modern legends about the Nw Yrth, called “Why things are as they are.” I’m not one for words, not any more, anyway, but there’s something calling on me to have my say.

There’s some exceptional power in words, they say, so I’ll be speaking carefully, hoping against hope that some good will come from doing so. Perhaps I’ll conjure some helpful spirit to teach me and guide me, and then come to understand something extra of import about this most cruel mess that’s engulfing the whole World like in one of the worst video nasties. But anyway, I’ll enjoy telling the tale at least. It’ll keep my mind from concentrating on my own problems too much too. So, off we go!

Ar y cychwyn cyntaf, yn rhywle neu’i gilydd y tu draw i’r llen, ro’dd yna ddwy ardal a rhyngddyn nhw ofod gwag. Ro’dd y naill le’n dywyll, ac oer, a llawn iâ, tra o’dd y llall yn olau, a phoeth, a llawn tân. Brwydrai’r tafodau fflamllyd a’r chwaon rhewllyd yn y gofod am oesoedd di-rif ond ni all yr un grym na’r llall ennill. Fodd bynnag, drwy’u cyd-adweithio cyson, yn y pen draw, fe greodd y gwres a’r oerni ryw fath o niwl myglyd, rhyfedd a dewychai’n ara ara’n ddiferion fyrdd o hylif du, trwchus, do’dd yn cynnwys na dŵr na thân. Dyma o’dd y sylwedd ymwybodol cyntaf yn yr Holl Fyd, ac ro’dd mor gynhyrfus o gael i greu o ddim, fel petai mewn perlewyg, iddo ffrwydro i lenwi’r ddwy wlad. Yn yr anial tanllyd, ffurfiodd y diferynnau floc enfawr o glai afluniaidd, ac yn y tir orest, rhewllyd, hedfanen nhw o gwmpas gan newid eu lliw, a’u siâp, a’u maint drwy’r amser.At the very beginning, somewhere or other in the great beyond, there were two areas with an empty space between them. One place was dark, and cold, and full of ice, whilst the other was light, and hot, and full of fire. The flaming tongues and the freezing breezes fought in the void for countless ages but neither one force nor the other could win. However, through their constant interplay, in the end, the warmth and the coldness created some kind of strange, smoky mist which condensed very slowly into myriad drops of thick, black liquid, that did not contain either water or fire. This was the first conscious substance in the All-World, and it was so excited at being created from nothing, as if in a rapture, that it exploded to fill the two worlds. In the fiery land, the droplets formed an enormous block of formless clay, and in the frosty wasteland, they flew around changing their colour, and their shape, and their size all the time.
O’r diwedd, symudodd y gwreichion gorffwyll yn haid trwy’r gofod a glanio ar y clai cysglyd a’u llyncai, gan dyfu’n fwyfwy. A dyna lle’r o’dd y bloc yn chwysu a chrynu cyn ymrannu’n ddau dalp cnodiog mewn daeargryn a ryddhaodd hefyd bedair afon o wlybwr llaethog i feithrin y talpiau byw o fater. Ac wrth iddyn nhw orwedd yno’n pendwmpian, ro’n nhw’n cystadlu i amsugno meintiau gwahanol o’r ambrosia gwyn, gan dyfu a newid o ganlyniad. Ar ôl amser maith, ro’n nhw wedi datblygu i fod yn ddau gorff wybrennol. Yr un fwyaf a phoethaf o’dd yr Haul, yr un lleiaf ac oeraf o’dd y Lleuad. Ro’dd yr Haul yn llawn tân ac ager, ac yn fyrbwyll a rhyfelgar, tra o’dd y Lleuad yn graff a chyfrwys ac yn llawn eira a llwch.At last, the crazy sparks moved as a flock through the void and landed on the sleepy clay which absorbed them, growing bigger and bigger. And there was the block sweating and shuddering before splitting into two fleshy chunks in an earthquake that also released a river of milky fluid to nourish the living hunks of matter. And as they lay there dozing, they competed to imbibe different amounts of the white ambrosia, growing and changing as a result. After a long time, they had developed to be two heavenly bodies. The bigger and hotter one was the Sun, the smaller and colder one was the Moon. The Sun was full of fire and steam, and was rash and warlike, whilst the Moon was discerning and crafty, and full of snow and ash.
Ro’dd y Lleuad, o’dd bryd hynny’n ymddangos fel sarff â phen tarw, yn derbyn rheolau amser, ac eisiau mwynhau taith bodolaeth, tra o’dd yr Haul ar ffurf gwalch ac arno ben llew yn gwrthwynebu newid a braenu, a bob tro ro’dd arno angen rhuthro tuag at ei gyrchfan. Ro’dd y Lleuad yn sylweddoli bod byw mewn byd wedi’i reoli gan amser yn golygu colled a dolur yn ogystal â llawenydd. Fe ddewisodd hi’n wirfoddol ddilyn llwybr coch, troellog yr arwr yn llawn drain ac anhawster. Ar y llaw arall, ro’dd yr Haul yn mynnu brasgamu ar hyd y ffordd ddu sy’n syth a rwydd tuag at lwyddiant a bri. Hyd yn oed yn ystod cyfnos yr Holl Fyd, fe fyddai’n rhedeg yn wyllt gyda’r helfa fawr, gan weiddi, “Gwneler fy ewyllys, megis uchod, felly isod hefyd!”The Moon, who at that time appeared like a snake with a bull’s head, accepted the rules of time, and wanted to enjoy the journey of existence, whilst the Sun in the form of a hawk with a lion’s head resisted change and decay, and always needed to rush to his destination. The Moon realized that living in a world ruled by time involved loss and anguish as well as joy. She chose voluntarily to follow the twisting red path of the hero full of thorns and difficulty. On the other hand, the Sun insisted on striding along the black road that’s straight and leads towards success and renown. Even in the twilight of the All-World, he would be running wildly with the great hunt, shouting, “Let my will be done, as above, so below also!”
Ro’dd yr Haul a’r Lleuad yn nerthol iawn, ond nage duwdodau o’n nhw. Yn hytrach ro’n nhw’n rymoedd natur, a fedren nhw ddim creu pethau’n uniongyrchol. Felly dyna lle’r o’dd y ddau’n datgan ag un llais, “Gwae fi, fydd yn gallu lladd, a gwylio pethau’n marw, ond na all gynhyrchu dim byd o’m pen a’m pastwn fy hun!” Cyn i’r Yrth ddod i fod ar ffurf planed gorfforol, ro’n nhw yno’n synfyfyrio ers tro byd ar eu pennau’u hunain ond yn ofer. Ro’dd llawer o syniadau’n hedfan o gwmpas ar hap ym meddwl yr Haul a'r Lleuad ynghylch sut y dylai pethau fod. Ro’dd y Lleuad yn deall byddai cylchoedd natur yn golygu newid a loes, gan feddwl, “Peth gwahanol fyddi di pan ddoi di allan o’r storm, o’th gymharu i’r hyn o’t ti pan est ti i mewn.”The Moon and the Sun were very powerful, but they were not divinities. Rather, they were forces of nature, and they could not create things directly. So, there were both of them declaring with one voice, “Woe is me, who will be able to kill, and watch things die, but who cannot produce anything at all on my own!” Before the Yrth came to be in the form of a physical planet, they were there meditating for a very long while on their own and in vain. There were lots of ideas flying around at random in the mind of the Sun and the Moon about how things should be. The Moon understood that the cycles of nature would mean change and pain, thinking, “A different thing will you be when you come out of the storm, compared with what you were when you went in.”
I’r gwrthwyneb do’dd yr Haul ond yn poeni am ei ran yn y machlud coch, na fyddai’n ddinistr llwyr ond yn ddiwedd ar bethau fel yr o’n nhw y pryd hynny, gan alaru, “Yr wyf yn dymuno canu fel aderyn, heb boeni am bwy sydd yn gwrando nac am yr hyn y maent yn ei feddwl.” Fe ddechreuodd pethau ddigwydd pan grwydrodd rhai o’r meddyliau bant a chwrdd yn y gofod. Dyna o’dd cychwyn carped mawr gwybodaeth, yn debyg i rwyd emog, ac ynddi gorweddai’r Lleuad a’r Haul fel dau freuddwydiwr, y naill yn creu’r llall.On the contrary, the Sun only worried about his part in the red sunset, which would not be complete destruction, but an end to things as they were then, lamenting, “I desire to sing like a bird, without worrying about who is listening nor about what they think.” Things began to happen when some of the thoughts wandered off and met in the void. That was the start of the great carpet of knowledge, similar to a bejewelled net, and in it lay the Moon and the Sun like two dreamers, the one creating the other.
Yn gyntaf, o achos eu dychmygion, ro’dd yna wynt deallus yn chwythu uwchben y cefnfor cysefin o’dd wedi ymddangos yng nghanol y gofod gan godi tarth llachar a greodd y pedwar Isfyd o’dd yn ansylweddol, a chyfnewidiol, a llawn cysgodion. Fe ddihunodd llais y gwynt liaws o fodau glân a agorodd eu llygaid a gweld y cread am y tro cyntaf fel cae o flodau anhygoel yn lledu’u petalau. Ro’dd y byd cyntaf yn ynys fach, dywyll, a chyfyng yng nghanol pedwar môr, lle ro’dd y bodau glân yn byw yn ogystal â phobl y tarth, y werin wirion, a’r twyllwr mawr (dyma o’dd y cyndadau cysefin). Yno ro’dd popeth yn wahanol arlliwiau o las. O blith llwyth y werin wirion y tad cyntaf yn byw yn y gogledd a’r fam gyntaf yn byw yn y gorllewin gaeth hyd i’w gilydd trwy chwifio ffaglau a cherdded nes iddyn nhw gwrdd yng nghanol y byd cyntaf.First, because of their imaginings, there was an intelligent wind blowing above the primal ocean which had appeared in the middle of the void, rising a shining mist that created the four Underworlds which were insubstantial, ever-shifting, and full of shadows. The wind’s voice awoke a host of holy beings which opened their eyes and saw the creation for the first time like a field of incredible flowers opening their petals. The first world was a small, dark, and cramped island in the middle of four seas, where the holy beings lived together with the mist people, the silly folk, and the great trickster (these were the original ancestors). And there, everything was different shades of blue. Amongst the tribe of the silly folk, the first father living in the north and the first mother living in the west found each other by waving torches and walking until they met in the middle of the first world.
Wedyn fe balon nhw dwll yn yr awyr yn nwyrain y byd cyntaf, ac arwain pawb trwyddo. Dyna lle ro’n nhw felly yn yr ail fyd, o’dd hefyd yn gaeedig a heb olau. ac yn gartref i seirff gwyrddlas, llathraidd, ac angenfilod llwydlas, blewog, Ro’dd popeth yno’n goch, a melyn, a gwyrdd. Yno, naeth y cyndadau cysefin dramgwyddo yn erbyn pennaeth y seirff, a’u halltudiodd nhw o’r ail fyd. Ond pan naeth y tad cyntaf lunio ysgol o fuchudd, fe allen nhw ddianc trwy dwll yn yr awyr yn ne’r ail fyd. Ro’dd y trydydd byd helaeth yn cynnwys sawl afon yn croesi'i gilydd, a mynyddoedd sanctaidd, ac yno ro’dd llwyth croesawgar y bwystfilod tân yn byw. Yno, du, a gwyn, a llwyd o’dd y prif liwiau, os byddwn ni’n gallu galw’r rhain yn lliwiau, ac ro’dd y lle i gyd yn fôr o oleuni uwchfioled, a achosai lewyrch rhyfedd ym mhob man.Then, they dug a hole in the sky in the east of the first world, and led everyone through it. There they were then in the second world, which was also enclosed and lightless, and home to sleek, turquoise serpents and hairy, glaucous monsters. Everything there was red, and yellow, and green. There, the original ancestors offended the serpents’ chief, who exiled them from the second world. But when the first father fashioned a ladder of jet, they were able to escape through a hole in the sky in the south of the second wold. The extensive third world contained several intersecting rivers and sacred mountains, and there lived the welcoming tribe of the fire-beasts. There, the main colours were black, and white, and grey, if we can call those colours, and the whole place was bathed in ultraviolet light that caused a strange glow everywhere.
Ond allai’r twyllwr mawr ddim peidio herwgipio plant arglwydd y bwystfilod tân. Ac o ganlyniad, fe achosodd y brenin ddilyw, ac felly ro’dd yn rhaid i’r cyndadau cysefin ffoi. A dyna sut y cyrhaeddon nhw’r pedwerydd byd, ble ro’dd llwyth o fwystfilod dŵr yn byw yn y moroedd enfawr dan olau’r Haul a’r Lleuad. Ro’dd popeth yn amryliw, a llachar, a thwym yno. Ac yno ro’dd y cyndadau cysefin yn ffynnu, wrth reoli bywyd trwy gymorth y tymhorau, a chyfathrebu â’r Haul a’r Lleuad ar ben y mynyddoedd sanctaidd ro’n nhw wedi’u hail-greu gyda phridd o’r ail fyd.But the great trickster could not resist kidnapping the lord of the fire-beasts’ children. And as a result, the king caused a flood, and so the original ancestors had to flee. And that is how they reached the fourth world, where a tribe of water-beasts was living in the enormous seas under the light of Sun and Moon. Everything was shining, and multi-coloured, and warm there. And there the original ancestors flourished, as they governed life with the help of the seasons, and communed with the Sun and the Moon on top of the sacred mountains they had re-created with soil from the second world.
Ac yno yn y pedwerydd byd, ro’dd y fam gyntaf a’r tad cyntaf yn cael gefeilliaid a ddaeth yn arwyr mawr, a lladd y bwystfilod dŵr. Wedyn fe deithion nhw’r holl ffordd drwy’r moroedd i begwn y de. Pan gyrhaeddon nhw yno, naeth y gwynt o hwyliau’u cwch gusanu darn mawr o iâ hallt gan achosi iddo doddi, a rhyddhau dwy goeden, a ddatblygodd i fod yn angyles dal falch a chythraul byr, clyfar. Fe briododd y rhain a chael pump o blant hudol o’dd meistri’r pum elfen, sef awyr, dŵr, metel, pridd, a thân. Fe laddodd y plant ‘ma bawb yn llwyth y werin wirion, gan ddefnyddio’u cyrff i lunio ffurf gorfforol i’r Yrth a’r Nefoedd, a meddwl fe fydden nhw’n rheoli’r pumed byd, yr Yrth o’u castell godidog ond rhwysgfawr. Y pryd hwnnw, ro’dd y tir i gyd ar wyneb yr Yrth yn un cyfandir enfawr crwn wedi’i amgylchu gan y Cefnfor Allanol Hallt. Yng nghanol y cyfandir ro’dd y Môr Bach Mewnol yn llawn o ddŵr croyw, ac yn ei ganol, ro’dd ynys ble ro’dd maes brwyn. Yng nghanol union yr ynys hon ro’dd cadarnle pum meistr yr Yrth.And there, in the fourth world, the first mother and the first father had twins who became great heroes, and killed the water-beasts. Then, they travelled all the way through the seas to the south pole. When they arrived there, the wind from the sails of their boat kissed a huge piece of salty ice causing it to melt, and release two trees, which developed to be a proud, tall, she-angel, and a clever, short he-demon. These married and had five magical children who were the masters of the five elements, namely air, water, metal, soil, and fire. These children killed everyone in the tribe of the silly folk, using their bodies to form the physical shape of the Yrth and the Heavens, and thinking they would rule the fifth world, the Yrth, from their magnificent but ostentatious castle. At that time, all the land on the surface of the Yrth was one huge, circular continent surrounded by the Salty Outer Ocean. In the middle of the continent was the Little Inner Sea, full of fresh water, and in its centre was an island where there was a field of rushes. In the dead centre of this island was the stronghold of the five masters of the Yrth.
Yna, wrth i’r pump ymhyfrydu yn eu gwaith o wneud, a defnyddio, a thrawsffurfio, o’dd mor ddinistriol ond mor greadigol ar yr un pryd, naeth yr hen gastiwr ymddangos yn ddisymwth i daro cytundeb gyda nhw ar gyngwystl. “Wele!” ebe fe, “Fe fyddaf yn taflu’r garreg hon i’r ffynhonnell yng nghalon eich uchelgaer. Os bydd hi’n disgyn i’r gwaelod, addawaf mai yn ôl i fyw yn y trydydd byd yr âi pawb fydd farw yma o hyn ymlaen.” Ond chwerthin am ei ben yntau naeth y pum meistr, wrth iddo ollwng y garreg yn y pydew. A dyna lle’r o’dd y cerigyn yn suddo’n ddyfnach ddyfnach, wrth i’r pum meistr grechwenu’n uwch uwch. Faint o amser aeth heibio wrth iddyn nhw sefyll yno’n disgwyl? Fydd neb byth yn gwybod i sicrwydd. Wrth gwrs fe gyrhaeddodd y cerigyn y gwaelod maes o law, gydag unig blop tawel. A chyda hynny, gaeth y pum meistr eu sugno i lawr y ffynhonnell, yn dilyn trywydd y garreg, gan adael y lle’n wag ar wahân i’r twyllwr mawr, yn ogystal â’r bodau glân a phobl y tarth o’dd wedi bod yn gwylio hyn oll mewn tawelwch llwyr.Then, as the five rejoiced in their work of making, and using, and transforming, which was so destructive but so creative at the same time, the old trickster appeared suddenly to make a wager with them. “Behold!” he said, “I shall throw this stone into the fountain in the heart of your fortress. If it descends to the bottom, I promise that everyone who dies here shall go back to the third world to live from here on.” But the five masters laughed at him, as he dropped the stone in the well. And so the rock sank deeper and deeper, as the five masters guffawed louder and louder. How much time went by as they stood there waiting? No-one will ever know for sure. Of course, the stone reached the bottom in due course, with a single quiet plop. And with that, the five masters were sucked down the well, following the path of the rock, leaving the place empty apart from the great deceiver, together with the holy beings and the mist people who had been watching all this in complete silence.
Pan dynnodd yr hen gastiwr y mwgwd oddi am ei wyneb, a’r clogyn oddi ar ei gefn, ro’dd i’w weld yn debyg i ryw anghenfil enbyd gyda chorff fel llew, coesau fel dyn, llygaid fel gwdihŵ, rheiddiau fel hydd, a chynffon fel cath. Ond er gwaethaf ei wedd, yr Haul o’dd y twyllwr mawr yn wir. Fe ymatebodd y ddau lwyth yn wahanol i’w gilydd, fodd bynnag. Tra o’dd pobl y tarth yn ebychu, a gweiddi, a bwldagu’n syn, ro’dd y bodau glân yn canu clod yr Haul Disglair. A dyna pam gadawyd i’r bodau glân esgyn i’r nefoedd ble daethon nhw’n sêr, tra gaeth pobl y tarth eu taflu mas i’r gofod. Ac yno fe dendiai’r Lleuad Oriog arnyn nhw, fel taw yn y pen draw y tyfen nhw i fod yn blanedau newydd. Yn wahanol i’r Haul a’r Lleuad, felly, do’dd yr Yrth ddim yno yn y cychwyn cyntaf, ac ma’n cynnwys llawer o dŵr, a halen, a phridd, a haearn, ac yn ymddwyn fel plentyn eofn, gan chwarae, a chanu, a phigo’i thrwyn, a gweiddi, a thorri gwynt.When the old trickster pulled the mask off his face, and the cloak off his back, he looked like some terrible monster with a body like a lion, legs like a man, eyes like an own, antlers like a stag, and a tail like a cat. But despite his appearance, indeed it was the Sun who was the great trickster. The two tribes responded differently to each other, however. Whilst the mist people exclaimed, and shouted, and spluttered in surprise, the holy spirits sang the praises of the Glittering Sun. And that’s why the pure spirits were allowed to ascend to the heavens where they became the stars, whilst the mist people were thrown out into the void. And there the Fickle Moon tended to them, so that, in the end, they would grow to be new planets. In contrast to the Sun and the Moon, then, the Yrth was not there at the very beginning, and it contains lots of water, and salt, and soil, and iron, and behaves like a cheeky child, playing, and singing, and picking its nose, and shouting, and breaking wind.
Nawr, ro’dd yr Haul a’r Lleuad bob tro’n ymryson â’i gilydd. Fe fyddai’r Haul yn honni taw meistr yr Holl Fyd o’dd e, a’r Lleuad yn dweud ei bod hithau wedi’i chreu’i hun. Er gwaethaf ei nerth eithriadol e, dyna o’dd gosodiad a bryfociai’r Haul yn enbyd, ac felly galwodd ar y Lleuad i ymddangos a’i herio hithau, gan ddweud, “Gadewch inni weld pwy all wneuthur y peth gorau!” Wedyn, ymrithiodd yr Haul a’r Lleuad ar yr Yrth ar ffurf dyn hysbys a gwraig fawr yn sefyll ar lân y Môr Bach Mewnol. A dyna lle’r o’dd yr hen ŵr yn dawnsio yn nyfroedd y môr wrth i’r tonnau ymffurfio’n ysbrydion gloyw a disglair a wibiai ym mhobman. Ond ar ôl hynny, fe atebodd y fenyw deg trwy brancio ymhlith y tywod, a ddechreuai dyfu’n blanhigion rhyfeddol o ddeniadol, o bob math, a faint, a lliw. Ro’n nhw’n ddirfawr a chryf iawn, ac yn gallu symud o gwmpas, ond dim ond yn araf iawn.Now, the Sun and the Moon were always contending with each other. The Sun would claim that he was master of the All-World, and the Moon would say that she had created herself. Despite his exceptional strength, that was a statement that provoked the Sun terribly, and so he summoned the Moon to appear and challenged her, saying “Let us see who can make the best thing!” Then, the Sun and the Moon materialized on the Yrth in the form of a wise man and a great woman standing on the shore of the Little Inner Sea. And there was the old man dancing in the waters of the sea as the waves formed themselves into bright and shining spirits which zipped about everywhere. But after that, the fair woman answered by prancing amongst the sand, which began to grow into strangely enticing plants, of every kind, and size, and colour. They were enormous and very strong, and could move around, but only very slowly.
Wedyn naeth y dyn crebachlyd orchymyn, “Boed i’r creadigaethau siarad!” Ar hynny, dechreuodd ysbrydion yr awyr ganu, a bloeddio, ac adrodd gan ddweud, “Yr Haul yw arglwydd popeth.” Ro’dd y Lleuad yn gyndyn o wneud yr un peth, gan ateb, “Pam dylwn i ufuddhau i ti, frawd? Fe gaethon ni’n creu ar yr un pryd. Ddim trech na fi wyt ti, er dy fod ti gymaint yn fwy, ac yn fwy nerthol o lawer” Ond pan glywodd hi’r ysbrydion yn chwerthin am ei phen, fe geisiodd beri i’w ffrwythau a’i llysiau sôn wrthi, gan eu cosi, a chrefu arnyn nhw, a’u ceryddu. Er gwaethaf pob ymdrech, sut bynnag, dim ond sisial, a myngial, a phiffian a wnâi’r planhigion, wrth chwifio’u canghennau a’u coesynnau’n wan. Ac felly fe godwyd cywilydd ar y Lleuad, ond fyddai’r Haul ddim yn rhoi’r gorau i gystadlu eto.Then, the wrinkled man commanded, “Let the creations speak!” Thereupon, the air spirits began to sing, and shout, and recite, saying, “The Sun is the lord of all.” The Moon was reluctant to do the same thing, answering, “Why should I obey you, brother? We were created at the same time. You’re not in charge of me, although you are so much bigger, and much stronger.” But when she heard the spirits laughing at her, she tried to cause her fruits and vegetables to speak to her, tickling them, and beseeching them, and scolding them. Despite every effort, however, the plants would but whisper, and mumble, and giggle, whilst waving their branches and their stems weakly. And so, the Moon was shamed, but the Sun would not give up competing yet.
A dyna lle’r o’dd yr hen gono’n dweud, “Gwnewch chi gwt ichi’ch hun, a chewch i mewn gyda’ch creaduriaid pitw. Wedyn fe fyddaf yn ei losgi fe’n ulw. Os byddwch chi’n goroesi, fe fyddaf yn moesymgrymu ger eich bron chi, gan ddatgan i chwychwi eich creu’ch hun!” Er ei bod hi’n arswydo am beth bynnag fyddai’n digwydd, dywedodd y wraig hardd, “Chaiff neb fyw’r bywyd ma’n ei ddewis. Man a man i fi fynd i ‘nhranc fel arwr, gan ennill bywyd tragwyddol ym meddwl yr Holl Fyd.” Ar y gair, aeth hithau i mewn i’r bwthyn dros dro wedi’i wneud o’u haelodau gan y llystyfiant, a gweddill y planhigion symudol gyda hi.And there was the old codger saying, “Make for yourself a hut, and go in with your pitiful creatures. Then I shall burn it to ashes. If you survive, I shall bow down low before you, declaring that you created yourself!” Although she was terrified about whatever would happen, the beautiful woman said, “No-one gets to live the life she chooses. I might as well go to my doom as a hero, winning eternal life in the mind of the All-World.” At that very moment, she went into the temporary cottage made of their limbs by the vegetation, the rest of the moving plants with her.
Ro’dd fel petai’r cwt yn fath o gocŵn gwyrdd wedi’i neud o ddeiliant irlas. Fe ddywedodd wrthi hi’i hun, “Dyw’m yn bosibl i ofn ddiflannu, all e’m mynd i unman. Ond bod yn ddewr yw gwybod be i’w neud, a’i neud e. ‘Lly i mewn i’r cwt â fi i newid sialens yn gyfle!” Nawr ro’dd popeth yn wyrdd a llawn sudd, ac felly fe gymerodd gryn amser i’r dyn doeth gynnau tân yn neunydd y lle. Tra o’dd yntau’n gweithio nerth deng ewin i ddinistrio’i chwaer, dyna lle’r o’dd y gwinwydd yn cynhyrchu plisg mawr crwn, wrth i wreiddiau cyhyrog y planhigion oll durio trwy’r pridd meddal a ymagorai o’u blaenau i ffurfio twnnel yn arwain dan y ddaear at ddiogelwch ar yr ynys yng nghanol y Môr Bach Mewnol.It was as if the shed was a sort of green cocoon made of verdant foliage. She said to herself, “It’s not possible for fear to disappear, it can’t go anywhere. But being brave is knowing what to do, and doing it. So, into the hut with me to change a challenge into an opportunity!” Now, everything was green and full of sap, and so it took a considerable time for the wise man to light a fire in the material of the place. Whilst he worked with all his might to destroy his sister, there were the vines producing great round pods, as the muscular roots of all the plants burrowed through the soft soil that opened up before them to form a tunnel leading underground to safety on the island in the middle of the Little Inner Sea.
Wrth i’r Lleuad a’r llystyfiant symudol gropian dianc felly, dyna lle’r o’dd yr Haul yn llwyddo i losgi’r cwt, ac yn llawenhau o glywed y masglau’n ffrwydro’n swnllyd, gan ddychmygu bod y ddraen yn ei ystlys yn trengi. Ond ro’dd y Lleuad yn saff, ymhell oddi ar y traeth, a phan aeth yr Haul i mewn i’r cwt nad o’dd ond murddun erbyn hynny, aeth e’n gacwn gwyllt o sylweddoli’i hystryw hi. Aeth yr Haul ati ac ymosod arni ar ffurf neidr, a llew, a rhaeadr, a thân, ond eisteddodd hithau o’i flaen e ar ffurf delwedd garreg yn darlunio siâp menyw enfawr feichiog. Ac wrth iddi gyrcydu yno’n adrodd, “Beth fu ddoe nad yw heddi; beth sy heddi na fydd ‘fory,” allai’r brawd ddim ei niweidio hi. Gan fod yn gas gan ysgrydion yr awyr glywed a gweld y cyrff nefol ffraeo cynddrwg, fe ddisgynnon nhw i ganol yr Yrth trwy dwnelau’r planhigion, gan doddi popeth o’u blaenau, a dyna sut daeth y pŵer eithriadol i fodoli yng nghalon y blaned heddi.So, as the Moon and the moving vegetation escaped, crawling, there was the Sun succeeding to burn the hut, and rejoicing to hear the shells exploding noisily, imagining that the thorn in his side was perishing. But the Moon was safe, far from the beach, and when the Sun went into the shed that was only a ruin by then, he went raving man on realizing her stratagem. The Sun went to it and set upon her in the form of a snake, and a lion, and a waterfall, and a fire, but she herself sat there before him in the form of a stone statue depicting the shape of an enormous pregnant woman. And as she squatted there reciting, “What was yesterday is not today, what is today will not be tomorrow,” her brother could not hurt her. Because the air spirits hated hearing and seeing the heavenly bodies fighting so badly, they descended to the centre of the Yrth through the plants’ tunnels, melting everything before them, and that is how the exceptional power came to exist in the heart of the planet today.
Ar ben hynny, mor chwyrn o’dd eu taith iddyn nhw hollti’r unig gyfandir yn ddau hanner ar wahân i’w gilydd yn llawn mynyddoedd a chymoedd, ac achosi i’r dŵr ffres yn y Môr Bach Mewnol gronni mewn llynnoedd a llifo mewn afonydd. Fe felltithiodd yr Haul y planhigion, a’u taenu nhw dros wyneb y blaned, gan ddweud na fydden nhw’n symud byth eto er na allai fe’i ddinistrio gwaith ei chwaer y Lleuad yn llwyr. Ac am iddi newid cymaint, y Nw Yrth o’dd enw’r blaned o hynny ymlaen. A dim ond cynyddu a wnâi’r ysbryd cystadlu rhwng mab a merch y gofod hefyd.On top of that, so violent was their passage that they split the single continent into two halves separate from each other full of mountains and valleys, and caused the fresh water in the Little Inner Sea to accumulate in lakes and flow in rivers. The Sun cursed the plants, and spread them over the face of the planet, saying that they would never move again although he could not destroy the work of his sister the Moon completely. And because it had changed so much, the Nw Yrth was the name of the planet from then on. And the competitiveness between the son and daughter of the void only increased also.
Ac felly, trwy’r brwydro di-ball rhwng y Lleuad Oriog a’r Haul Disglair fe ddaeth y ddau lwyth mawr i fyw ar y Nw Yrth, y naill o’r enw y Dladli ar y cyfandir gogleddol, a’r llall o’r enw y Sunri ar y cyfandir deheuol, fel dyn ni wedi clywed amdano yn y chwedl o’r enw Cân yr Haul. Ysgogwyr a chynhyrfwyr o’dd y Sunri gweithgar a difrifol, fyddai’n ymddangos fel swynwyr ffroenuchel a gorthrymus i hilion llai datblygedig. Ac fe fydden nhw’n dweud yn ddrwg am y Dladli, gan eu galw’n chwaraewyr gemau plentynnaidd, llabystiau gwladaidd gwirion, a gwastraffwyr amser ac adnoddau gwerthfawr, a honni taw dim ond segurwyr da i ddim o’n nhw.And so, through the ceaseless fighting between the Fickle Moon and the Dazzling Sun, came the two great tribes to live on the Nw Yrth, the one called the Dladli on the northern continent, and the other called the Sunri on the southern continent, as we have heard about in the tale named the Sunsong. The hard-working and sensible Sunri were movers and shakers, who appeared like proud and oppressive sorcerers to less developed races. And they would malign the Dladli, calling them childish game players, stupid country bumpkins, and wasters of valuable time and resources, and claiming that they were just good-for-nothing idlers.
Ynghylch y Dladli eu hun, dydyn ni’m yn gwybod llawer o gwbl, achos eu bod yn gyfrinachgar a dirgel, er gwaethaf eu nerth eithriadol. Felly, bydd gweddill yr hanes hwn yn ymwneud â’r Sunri, er bod y Dladli yn arfer dylanwad aruthrol arnyn nhw o’r tu hwnt i’r llenni. Digon dweud bod yn y pen draw, yr o’dd ar y naill lwyth angen y llall i oroesi, heb sôn am ffynnu. Ac yn yr un ffordd i’r Haul a’r Lleuad ddod o’r un sylwedd yn wreiddiol, er nad o’n nhw’n hoff iawn o addef y ffaith, ro’dd yn rhaid i’r ddau grŵp uno unwaith eto o’r diwedd.About the Dladli themselves, we do not know much at all, as they were secretive and mysterious, despite their exceptional strength. So, the rest of this tale will deal with the Sunri, although the Dladli exerted exceptional influence over them from behind the scenes. Suffice it to say that in the end, the one tribe needed the other to survive, not to mention flourish. And in the same way that the Sun and the Moon came from the same substance originally, although they were not very fond of admitting the fact, the two groups needed to unite once again at last.
Ymhlith y Sunri, ro’dd yna wyth pendefig, sef: y brawd a chwaer Lufsi yr heliwr a Tvetni y cerddor; y brawd a chwaer Nukti y ffermwr a Hepi y gof; y brodyr Orzi yr ysgolhaig ac Itsi y swynwr; a’r brawd a chwaer Sukti y ffŵl a Nezpi y morwr. A bod yn fanwl gywir, fe fyddai Nukti yn newid o fod yn ddyn i fod yn wraig bob yn ail flwyddyn am iddo syllu ar wyneb y Lleuad Las am yn rhy hir pan o’dd yn grwt. Do’dd y Sunri ddim yn bobl, na bwystfil, nac ysbrydion chwaith, ond yn rhyw gyfuniad rhyfedd o’r tri pheth. Ro’dd Lufsi fel ceffyl dŵr, Tvetni fel adar llwch gwin, Orzi fel ci du fflamllyd, Nukti fel hwch wen neu dwrch gwyn, Itsi fel afanc hedegog, Hepi fel caseg esgyrnog, Sukti fel draig driphen, a Nezpi fel llamhigyn y dŵr. Falle byddai’n deg dweud eu bod yn fodau hudol â phersonoliaethau’n debyg iawn i’r creaduriaid chwedlonol ‘na. Arweinydd y llwyth o’dd Lufsi yr heliwr, a daeth i fodoli mewn tair agwedd arall, sef fel Azli yr athro, Selki y lleidr, a Belzi y bwtsiwr.Amongst the Sunri there were eight nobles, namely: the brother and sister Lufsi the hunter and Tvetni the musician; the brother and sister Nukti the famer and Hepi the smith; the brothers Orzi the scholar and Itsi the wizard; and the brother and sister Sukti the fool and Nezpi the sailor. To be completely accurate, Nukti would change from being a man to being a woman every other year, as he had stared at the face of the Blue Moon for too long when her was a child. The Sunri were not people, nor beasts, not spirits either, but some strange combination of the three things. Lufsi was like a water-horse, Tvetni like a wine-dust-bird, Orzi like a flaming black dog, Nukti like a white sow or a white boar, Itsi like a flying water-beast, Hepi like a bony mare, Sukti like a three-headed dragon, and Nezpi like a water-leaper. Perhaps it would be fair to say that they were magical beings with personalities very like those legendary creatures. Leader of the tribe was Lufsi the hunter, who came to exist in three other aspects, namely as Azli the teacher, Selki the thief, and Belzi the butcher.
“Lle i bawb, a phob un yn ei le,” o’dd arwyddair y Sunri. Ro’dd pob un ohonyn nhw’n falch iawn o’i gymeriad, a’i swydd, a’i safle cymdeithasol, heblaw am Sukti, o’dd eisiau prancio o gwmpas wrth neud y naill beth ar ôl y llall heb orffen yr un ohonyn nhw. Ro’dd y lleill yn dweud taw ffŵl o’dd Sukti chos taw yn eu tyb nhw yr ymddangosai fel petai fe’n gwrthod cymryd cyfrifoldeb dros yr un agwedd ar redeg y llwyth, na chydweithio gyda nhw i osod trefn ar y Nw Yrth. Mewn gwirionedd, ro’dd yn well gan Sukti deithio o gwmpas y blaned i ymweld â gwledydd anhysbys a darganfod cyfrinachau, tra o’dd pawb eraill yn gweithio’n eithriadol o galed yn y famwlad ogoneddus. Fe ddywedai yntau taw cennad y Sunri i’r cenhedloedd dioddefus oedd e, a llysgennad llawnalluog ar grwydr, a’i fod yn dod â neges o ryddhad trwy ufudd-dod di-syfl, bodlonrwydd trwy ddisgyblaeth filwrol, a dealltwriaeth trwy ffydd ddall. Ond ar y slei bach, ro’dd Sukti yn ceisio cyflawni’i ddibenion dirgel ei hun, bid siŵr.“A place for everyone, and everyone in his place,” was the watchword of the Sunri. Every one of them was very proud of his character, and his job, and his social standing, apart from Sukti, who wanted to prance about doing one thing after the other without finishing any of them. The others said that Sukti was a fool since in their opinion it appeared as if he refused to take responsibility for a single aspect of running the tribe, or cooperating with them to impose order on the Nw Yrth. In truth, Sukti preferred travelling about the planet to visit unknown lands and discover secrets, whilst everyone else was working exceptionally hard in the glorious motherland. He said that he was the legate of the Sunri to the suffering nations, and ambassador plenipotentiary at large, and that he was bringing a message of liberation through unflinching obedience, satisfaction through military discipline, and understanding through blind faith. But on the sly, Sukti was trying to fulfil his own mysterious ends, to be sure.
Ac yn wir, pan o’n nhw wedi ymsefydlu a thyfu’n ddigon cadarn, fe ddechreuodd y Sunri fynd o gwmpas gan hau hadau gwareiddiad a ddosbarthu bwyd, a nerth, a gwybodaeth. Fe roai Lufsi y bwa a saethau; Tvetni, ryfelganau a hwiangerddi; Nukti, yr aradr ac ŷd; Hepi, haearn a’r efail; Orzi, femrwn a glyffiau; Itsi, rifau a’r calendr; a Nezpi, fapiau a hwyliau. Dim ond chwilmantan, a gofyn cwestiynau, ac adeiladu dyfeisiau rhyfedd a wnâi Sukti. Ac yn wir, fe ddofai’r saith Sunri’r hilion cyntefig y daethon nhw ar eu traws, o’dd yn ganibaliaid anwaraidd yn ôl pob tebyg, ac a fyddai farw fel arfer yn ifanc iawn ar ôl bywyd truenus yn llawn ofn a phoen. Ond pan fyddai’r werin wedi derbyn eu hanrhegion, fe droai’r Sunri fel petai yn ddraig enfawr yn rhuo, “Gwnewch chi hyn,” a “Na wnewch chi hynny” dan gosb marwolaeth, neu waeth. A ble bynnag yr aen nhw, fe fydden nhw’n adeiladu dinasoedd ac ynddyn nhw slafweithdy, canolfannau cosbi a chyflyru, a thai ymostwng a deisyfu. Fe fydden nhw’n dal y werin leol yno, hanner ffordd rhwng peryglon cyffrous byd natur a gogoniant dychmygol y nefoedd, gan eu rhwymo gyda rheolau, deddfau, gorchmynion, crefyddau, rhwymedigaethau, dyletswyddau, a chyfrifon.And indeed, when they had become established, and grown strong enough, the Sunri began to go around sowing the seeds of civilization and dispensing food, and strength, and knowledge. Lufsi gave the bow and arrows, Tvetni, war-songs and lullabies; Nukti, the plough and grain; Hepi, iron and the forge; Orzi, parchment and glyphs; Itsi, numbers and the calendar; and Nezpi, maps and sails. Sukti would just ferret about, ask questions, and build strange devices. Indeed, the seven Sunri tamed the primitive races they came across, who were uncivilized cannibals in all probability, and would usually die very young after pitiful lives full of fear and pain. But when the folk had received their presents, the Sunri would become, as it were, a massive dragon, roaring, “Do this,” and “Do not do that” on pain of death or worse. And wherever they went, they would build cities, containing sweat-shops, punishment and conditioning centres, and houses of humiliation and supplication. They would catch the local folk there, half way between the exciting dangers of the natural world, and the imagined glory of the heavens, binding them with rules, laws, commandments, faiths, obligations, duties, and accounts.
Ro’dd yn rhaid i’r Surni bob amser geisio llethu unigoliaeth fel byddai’r bobl yn chwarae rhan mân olwynion ym mheiriant cymdeithas. Ac fe ddysgen nhw’u taeogion i gofleidio’r gwerthoedd bydol o ddefnyddioldeb a chaffaelgarwch, yn lle’r rhai cysegredig, sef chwaraegarwch, gollwng, ac aberthu. Serch hynny, ddim gwir anrhegion gan blant yr Haul o’dd y rhai cyntaf, ond offerynnau i rwydo a gorthrechu’r rhai o’dd yn ceisio sadrwydd a diwedd ar boen. Sukti ymhlith y Sunri wrthododd ostwng yn ei arrau o flaen y delfrydau gormesol ‘ma, gan ddiodde’n enbyd yn y pen draw.The Sunri always had to suppress individuality so that they people would play the part of cogs in the social machine. And they would teach their serfs to embrace the worldly values of utility and acquisitiveness, in place of the sacred ones, namely playfulness, letting-go, and sacrifice. Despite that, the former were not real gifts from the children of the Sun, but tools to ensnare and coerce those who were seeking stability and an end to pain. Sukti amongst the Sunri refused to abase himself to these oppressive ideals, suffering terribly in the end.
Fydd bynnag, fe fyddai draig y Sunri yn rhwymo pobl i hunaniaeth ac ofn fel na fydden nhw’n mwynhau’r arian, na’r pŵer, na’r moethau, na’r pleserau fyrdd a enillen, gan eu carcharu nhw yng nghanol aml system dra chymhleth a chydgysylltiedig, a rhyddhau drygioni i’r Nw Yrth. Hyd yn oed pan âi rhai rebeliaid i’r fforest ar hyd llwybrau anweledig, i chwilio am aur goleuni, fel cŵn ar y trywydd, a’i ddarganfod, fe fydden nhw’n dod ‘nôl i wareiddiad gan gario dim byd ond ulw siomedigaeth, os nad o’n nhw’n eithriadol gryf o ran corff ac enaid.However, the Sunri dragon would bind people to selfishness and fear so that they would not enjoy the money, or the power, or the luxuries, or the myriad pleasures they would win, imprisoning them in the middle of multiple very complex and interconnected systems, and releasing evil into the Nw Yrth. Even when some rebels would go into the forest along unseen paths, to search for the gold of enlightenment, like dogs chasing the scent, and find it, they would come bring back to civilization carrying nothing but the ashes of disappointment, if they were not exceptionally strong in body and spirit.
Yn y cyfamser, ro’dd y saith aelod gweithgar ond cwerylgar yn llwyth y Sunri, pob un ohonyn nhw heblaw am Sukti hynny yw, wedi meddiannu’r gwastadedd yng nghalon y cyfandir deheuol ac wedi’i drawsffurfio’n baradwys ffrwythlon â’u sgiliau eithriadol, ac adeiladu saith sigwrat yno i fyw ynddyn nhw wrth ddechrau rheoli a threfnu popeth o’u cwmpas nhw. Yng nghanol maes brwyn ymhlith y sigwratau rhowyd maen enfawr, gwastad ac ynddo ffynhonnell yn arwain yn ddwfn iawn i ddeunydd y Nw Yrth. Ac ro’dd y pydew ‘ma, ar ffurf crochan o bres gwyrdd bob amser yn llawn o hylif du, trwchus, a phan fyddai’r saith yn ei yfed, fe ddelen nhw’n dra chryf, a chlyfar ofnadw, a llawen iawn am sbel, nes i’r effeithiau bylu. Fel ma’n digwydd, achosai’r stwff ‘ma iddyn nhw fyw am flynyddoedd maith hefyd. Dyma o’dd y sefyllfa, felly. Dros y blynyddoedd, ro’dd y Sunri wedi dod i lywodraethu dros y cyfandir deheuol oll gyda chywirdeb milwrol a disgyblaeth ddiysgog, o’u pencadlys yn y sigwratau enfawr ymhlith maes brwyn.In the meantime, the seven hardworking comrades in the tribe of the Sunri, all of them apart from Sukti that is, had taken possession of the plain in the heart of the southern continent and had transformed it into a fruitful paradise with their exceptional skills, and built seven ziggurats there to live in as they began to rule and order everything around them. In the middle of the field of rushes amongst the ziggurats was placed an enormous, flat stone, in which was a well leading very deep into the material of the Nw Yrth. This well, in the form of a cauldron of green brass was always full of thick, black liquid, and when the seven drank it, they would become very strong, and terribly clever, and very happy for a while, until the effects faded. As it happens, this stuff caused them to live for many long years as well. This was the situation, then. Over the years, the Sunri had come to govern the whole southern continent with military precision and unwavering discipline, from their headquarters in the enormous ziggurats amongst the field of rushes.
Ro’dd y rhain yn llawn peiriannau gwyrthiol a drawsffurfiai’r egni cudd wedi’i gronni yng nghraidd y blaned yn wres, a golau, a symudiad, a sain. Gan eu bod yn credu taw’r Haul Disglair a roddai’r fath nerth a gallu iddyn nhw, fe o’dd eu duwdod, eu symbol, a’u gwarchodwr, tra taw’r Lleuad Oriog i’r gwrthwyneb o’dd yn amlwg y dwyllwraig, y gelyn, a chynrychiolydd popeth drwg ac i’w osgoi. Hyd yn oed yn fwy pendant o’dd y ffaith bod y Lloer Fradwrus yn gwenu ar y creaduriaid erchyll a hollol anhysbys ‘na’n craffu byw ar y cyfandir gogleddol mewn amgylchiadau anwaraidd a chyfwng iawn. Heb os nac oni bai, yn ôl y Sunri, y garfan arall haeddai gael eu dinistrio’n llwyr am eu bod wastad yn newid, a gwrthod arfer yr awdurdod priodol dros eu tiriogaeth helaeth, gwyllt. Wedi dweud hynny, fydden nhw byth yn ymosod ar wledydd y de, gan frwydro yn ôl dim ond pan fyddai rhaid iddyn nhw’u hamddiffyn eu hun mewn gwirionedd.These were full of miraculous machines which transformed the hidden energy dammed up in the core of the planet into heat, and light, and movement, and sound. Since they believed that it was the Resplendent Sun who gave such strength and ability to them, he was their divinity, their symbol, and their guardian, whilst it was the Fickle Moon who was, on the contrary, obviously the deceiver, the enemy, and the representative of everything bad and to be eschewed. Even more definite was the fact that the Treacherous Moon smiled on those terrible and totally unknown creatures which scraped an existence on the northern continent in most uncivilized and straitened circumstances. Without a doubt, according to the Sunri, the other faction deserved being utterly destroyed, as they were always changing, and refused to exercise the appropriate authority over their extensive, wild territory. Having said that, they would never attack the lands of the south, fighting back only when they needed to defend themselves in truth.
A bod yn berffaith onest, ma’n hollol wir taw dim ond eisiau cadw’r ddysgl yn wastad a wnâi’r Dladli o’dd yn arfer byw o luch i dafl gan hala’u hamser yn cyfeddach, gwledda a meddwi, chwarae chwaraeon di-drefn a danjerus, gwylio dramâu ffarsaidd a threisgar, a dawnsio’n ffyrnig drwy’r nos i fiwsig cyflym uchel, a ballu. Fe fydden nhw’n defnyddio’u hiaith gyfnewidiol fel teclyn i sbarduno cyfathrebu uniongyrchol o feddwl i feddwl, sythweld bosau astrus, a dyfalu’n gywir am bethau nad o’dd wedi digwydd eto. Yn hyn o beth ro’dd effeithiau iaith y Dladli yn debyg i dechnegau hudol wedi’u defnyddio mewn gwledydd eraill.To be perfectly honest, it’s completely true that the Dladli only wanted to keep things on an even keel, those ones who used to live rough-and-tumble, spending their time carousing, feasting and getting drunk, playing unruly and dangerous sports, watching farcical and violent plays, and dancing furiously all night to loud, fast music, and so on and so forth. They would use their ever-changing language as a tool to spark direct communication from mind to mind, intuit answers to abstruse riddles, and guess correctly about things that had not yet happened. In this regard, the effects of the Dladli tongue were similar to magical techniques used in other lands.
Er gwaetha hynny oll, y gwir yw taw brathu’r gaseg wen yn ei chynffon fyddai dweud taw casáu trefn, dyfalbarhad, ac ymroddiad a wnâi’r Dladli. Nhw a wyddai cystal â neb arall ar y Nw Yrth fod rheoleidd-dra’n gyffredin a phwysig iawn ym myd natur. Ond yn groes i’r Sunri, fe greden nhw’n angerddol, ac o’u profiad eu hun, na allai patrymau creadigol gael eu gorfodi, ac y dylen nhw godi’n ddigymell. A’r peth rhyfedda am y Dladli o’dd sut llwydden nhw i’w cuddio’u hun, am na allai dyn ddod o hyd iddyn nhw trwy’u ceisio nhw, na’u gweld nhw trwy edrych yn syth arnyn nhw. Yn bendant fe fyddai llawer yn amau nad o’n nhw yno o gwbl.Despite all that, the truth is that it would be calumny to say that the Dladli hated order, perseverance, and commitment. They knew as well as anyone else on the Nw Yrth that regularity was common and very important in the world of nature. But contrary to the Sunri, they believed passionately, and from their own experience, that the creative patterns could not be compelled, and that they should arise spontaneously. And the strangest thing about the Dladli was how they succeeded to hide themselves, for one could not find them by seeking them, nor see them by looking straight at them. For definite, many would doubt that they were there at all.
Ond o bryd i’w gilydd fe fyddai’r Dladli yn taro ar rywun ar hap a damwain fyddai eisiau’i dorri’i hun yn rhydd rhag gormes gwâr y Sunri, a dysgu, sut i ddechrau’i achub ei hun, ac wedyn, y byd a’i gyd greaduriaid, trwy gynnau gwreichion byw dychymyg yn ei fywyd. Fe fydden nhw’n esbonio bod ‘na ddu a gwyn mewn popeth o dan y Lleuad, ac fe fyddwn ni i gyd angen gweithio’n galed iawn drwy’r amser i ddewis y llwybr cywir i ni’n hun heb ormod o hunan-gasineb na hunan-gyfiawnder. Yn wir, fyddai dim pall ar angen dewis, newid, a thyfu, a dim ond tranc a arhosai ar ben y daith. Fe fyddai’r Dladli yn rhannu’u meddyliau, eu teimladau, a’u profiadau, am taw iddyn nhw, gweithrediad eilradd o’dd ymwybyddiaeth unigol.But from time to time the Dladli would come across someone by complete accident who would want to cut himself free from the civilized oppression of the Sunri, and learn how to begin saving himself, and then, the world and his fellow-creatures, by kindling living sparks of imagination in his life. They would explain that there is black and white in everything under the Moon, and that we all need to work very hard all the time to choose the correct path for ourselves without too much self-hatred or self-righteousness. Indeed, there would be no cease to the need for choice, change, and growth, and only death would be waiting at the end of the journey. The Dladli would share their thoughts, their feelings, and their experiences, for to them, individual consciousness was a secondary function.
Yn gyntaf, byddai raid i’r prentis baratoi trwy ddiodde’r profiadau caletaf, gan grwydro a mynd ar goll drwy’r amser, ond cael hyd i ryw agwedd o’i wir hunan bob tro byddai’n baglu a chwympo. Ac fe fyddai wedyn yn dechrau’i dderbyn a charu’i hun fel ro’dd e, yn hytrach nag fel ro’dd eisiau bod. Fel hyn gallai’i feddwl, ei ysbryd, ddechrau crwydro’n rhydd tu hwnt i derfynau’r corff, gan agor drysau mewn muriau gwag. Fel hyn fe fyddai’n llwyddo, falle, i ddisgyn i’r Isfyd, gan dreiddio i fydoedd colledig y cyndadau cysefin, a nofio o’r pedwerydd byd amryliw, i'r trydydd byd du, gwyn a llwyd, i’r ail fyd coch, melyn, gwyrdd, ac i lawr tuag at y byd cyntaf, glas, hyd yn oed. Yn ail byddai arno angen tynnu arfogaeth confensiynau cymdeithasol cyn treiddio i’r ogof fwya brawychus i ladd y ddraig sy’n gwarchod y trysor ro’dd wedi bod yn ei geisio mor ddyfal. Ar ôl neidio i’r gwagle, ar ffurf pysgod adeiniog, felly, ar ddechrau’i hediad heb amser na gofod, fe fyddai’n darganfod nad oes teyrnas lân ble ma’ ystyr sefydlog eitha’n bodoli. Ond yn lle hynny, fe gyrhaeddai gartre bod pur, ble nad oes tu mewn na thu mas rhagor, a ble ma’ ystyr oll wedi toddi.First, the apprentice would have to prepare by undergoing trials, wandering and getting lost all the time, but finding some aspect of his true self every time he stumbled and fell. And he would then begin to accept himself and love himself as he was, rather than as he wanted to be. Thus could his mind, his spirit, begin to roam free beyond the confines of the body, opening doors in bank walls. In this way he would succeed, perhaps, in descending to the Underworld, penetrating the lost worlds of the original ancestors, and swmming from the fourth multicoloured world, to the third black, white, and grey world, to the second red, yellow, green world, and down, towards the first, blue world, even. Secondly, he would need to take off the armour of societal conventions before penetrating the most terrifying cave to kill the dragon that guards the treasure he had been seeking so diligently. After jumping into the void, in the form of a winged fish, then, at the start of his spaceless, timeless flight, he would discover that there is no holy kingdom where ultimate established meaning exists. But instead of that, he would reach the home of pure being, where there is no longer inside and outside any more, and where all meaning has melted.
Ac wedi i’r prentis ddileu’r grymoedd meddyliol yn ei rwymo, fel ei fod ar yr un donfedd â’r byd fel ma’ e mewn gwirionedd, fe fyddai’n gweld taw’r un peth yw poen a phleser, da a drwg, uffern a nef, rhinwedd a llygredigaeth, duwdodau a chythreuliaid. Ac wedyn wedi cael gwared ar ei ymlyniad wrth bethau, fe sylweddolai na fyddai dim byd o bwys iddo’i neud rhagor, gan y gwelai taw disgyblaeth sy’n arwain at bleser, rhithiau sy’n ildio i oleuo, a thrwy geisio rhyddhad y caiff e’i ddal. Ymhellach, wedi cofleidio’r anghenfil drwg oddi mewn iddo, a’i garu, fe allai gyfuno â fe er mwyn ei ladd.And after the apprentice has deleted the mental forces that were binding him, so that he is at one with the world as it really is, he would see that pain and pleasure are the same thing, as are good and bad, hell and heaven, virtue and vice, divinities and demons. And then having got rid of his attachment to things, he would realise there was nothing important for him to do any longer, as he would see that discipline leads to pleasure, illusions give way to illumination, and by seeking release he becomes trapped. Furthermore, having embraced the evil monster within himself, and having loved it, he could unite with it in order to kill it.
Fe fyddai’r arwr wedi cwblhau’r cylch, a dod yn hen ddewin hiraethus. Fe allai fe fynd yn ei ôl yna ar ffurf morfarch â llygaid gwalch, i rannu’r stori ac agor drysau breuddwyd i’r rhai eraill fyddai eisiau dysgu ganddo, gan dangos iddyn nhw sut i chwarae o ddifri eto. A falle os digwyddai hynny, fe fyddai gefynnau cymdeithas gyffredin yn diflannu heb fod yn rhaid iddyn nhw adael yr arddyrnau, fel petai. Ac yn wir ro’dd y Sunri yn ffieiddio'r Dladli o achos eu syniadau anhrefnus, eu dysgeidiaeth anffurfiol, a’u hymarferion chwyldroadol, ac yn gweithio nerth braich ac ysgwydd, a meddwl, ac enaid i ddwyn dylanwad eu gelynion glas i ddim.The hero would have come full circle, and become an old wistful wizard. He could then return in the form of a sea-horse with the eyes of a falcon. to share the story and open the doors of dream to those others who would want to learn from him, showing them how to play seriously again. And perhaps if that happened, the fetters of conventional society would disappear without them having to leave the wrists, as it were. And indeed, the Sunri detested the Dladli because of their disordered ideas, their informal doctrine, and their revolutionary practices, and worked with all the might of their bodies, minds, and spirits to bring the influence of their sworn enemies to nought.
Maes o law, yn ôl ym maes brwyn, fe briododd Itsi Hepi a gaethon nhw ferch, Zuvti, o’dd fel gafr ddu. Orzi hefyd a briododd Nukti, a esgorodd ar ferch o’r enw Harti, o’dd yn debyg i gyhyraeth. Fe fyddai Nezpi a Sukti bant ran fwya o’r amser, ond pan o’n nhw gartre, fe fydden nhw’n byw gyda’i gilydd ond ddim gŵr a gwraig o’n nhw. Ac ro’dd Sukti o leia’n genfigennus iawn o’r rhai eraill o’dd wedi cael plant, a naeth benderfynu rhwystro Lufsi a Tvetni rhag cael baban. Wel, dyna’r hyn ro’dd e’n sibrwd wrtho’i hun. Ond yn ei galon ro’dd e’n gandryll am fod e’n meddwl bod y Sunri eraill yn ei sarhau fe, a’i wawdio o achos ei goelion od a’i ymddygiad anarferol. Ro’dd e’n siŵr byddai pethau’n llawer gwell ac yntau wrth y llyw. Os byddai raid i Lufsi farw i gyflawni hyn, bydded felly! Tri chais i ddisodlwr fyddai oddi ar hynny, ‘lly, fel y gwelwn ni.In due course, back in the field of rushes, Itsi married Hepi and they had a daughter, Zuvti, who was like a black goat. Orzi too married Nukti, who bore a girl called Harti, who was like a banshee. Nezpi and Sukti would be off most of the time, but when they were home, they would live together but they were not man and wife. And Sukti at least was very jealous of those others who had had children, and decided to prevent Lufsi and Tvetni from having a baby. Well, that was what he whispered to himself. But in his heart he was furious, as he thought that the other Sunri insulted him and mocked him because of his odd beliefs and his unusual behaviour. He was sure that things would be much better with him at the helm. If Lufsi needed to die to achieve this, so be it! Three tries for a usurper would it be from then on, therefore, as we shall see.
Yn gyntaf, fe balodd Sukti dwll dwfn yn llawn pigau miniog yn yr ardal ble ro’dd Lufsi yn arfer mynd i hela, a’i orchuddio â dail a changhennau. Pan gwympodd Lufsi i mewn iddo, gaeth e drywanu a marw. Ond dyna lle’r o’dd y planhigion o gwmpas y twll yn gollwng perlysiau iachusol ar ei gorff drylliedig, a’i lenwi â hwmws llaith, ffrwythlon. Ac yno gorweddai Lufsi am dri dydd gan gael ei drawsffurfio, a phan ddihunodd, Azli yr athro o’dd e, ac yn ei law lyfr hynafol achos iddo ddysgu cyfrinachau’r bedd. Pan welodd Sukti hyn, ro’dd arno ofn mawr, a ffoiodd yn syth i begwn y de cyn i’r lleill allu’i ddal, i fesur a phwyso’r sefyllfa a chynllwynio’r castiau nesa.First, Sukti dug a deep hole full of sharp spikes in the area where Lufsi used to go hunting, and covered it with leaves and branches. When Lufsi fell into it, he was pierced and died. But there were the plants around the hole dropping healing herbs on his broken body, and filling it with fruitful, moist humus. And there Lufsi lay for three days being transformed, and when he awoke, he was Azli the teacher, and in his hand was an ancient book, as he had learned the secrets of the grave. When Sukti saw this, he was very frightened, and fled straight away to the south pole before the others could catch him, to size up the situation and plan the next ruse.
Wedyn, ar ôl cyfnod addas, fe adeiladodd Sukti dŵr tal, ysblennydd â staer droellog ynddo, ar draeth ddim yn rhy bell oddi wrth sigwratau’r Sunri a chynnau tân ar ei ben. Pan aeth Azli i archwilio, fe achosodd Sukti i’r drws gloi cyn iddo yntau gyrraedd y top. Ac wrth i Azli sefyll yno’n arolygu’i diriogaeth oll yn falch, fe daniodd ei elyn ffiws a ffrwydrodd y lle gan losgi Azli yn farwor a chwythwyd ymaith gan y gwynt. Ond gollyngodd yr awel bob brycheuyn o’r cols ar y pridd coch sych, yn llawn o waedfaen o gwmpas y tŵr ble ro’n nhw’n dal i losgi. Pan ddechreuodd fwrw glaw ar ôl tair wythnos, naeth y dŵr a’r awyr gymysgu â’r ulw, y clai llawn metel, a’r tân byw nas diffoddid. A dyna lle’r o’dd cawr â phenglog fflamllyd yn ei balu’i hun o’r ddaear. Dyma o’dd Selki y lleidr, o’dd wedi dwyn grym yr holl elfennau.Then, after a suitable period, Sukti built a tall, splendid tower with a spiral staircase in it, on a beach not too far from the ziggurats of the Sunri and lit a fire at its top. When Azli went to investigate, Sukti caused the door to lock before he reached the top. And as Azli stood there surveying his territory proudly, his enemy lit a fuse and the place exploded burning Azli to cinders, which were blown away by the wind. But the breeze dropped every speck of the embers on the dry red soil, full of haematite around the tower where they continued burning. When it began to rain after three weeks, the water and the air mixed with the ash, the clay full of metal, and the living fire which would not be extinguished. And there was a giant with a flaming skull digging himself out of the ground. This was Selki the thief, who had stolen the power of all the elements.
Ro’dd Sukti yn dychryn i’r fath raddau o glywed a gweld y creadur brawychus ‘ma’n rhuo iddo redeg bant fel cath i gythraul, neu wenci, neu ewig, neu filgi. Ro’dd e’n dal i redeg fel y gwynt pan gyrhaeddodd y cyfandir gogleddol. Ac yno, fe syrthiodd ar lawr bron â marw, ac yno ro’dd e’n llesgáu nes i drigolion anweledig yr ardal ddaeth ato, a gofalu amdano. Falle fod e’n wir na ellid eu gweld gan taw rhyw ffordd o ymestyn synhwyrau’r corff drwy aberthu’r corff ‘na sydd. Ond er bod eu geiriau’n nerthol iawn, llawer mwy na lleisiau’n unig o’n nhw. Wedi cryn amser, fe naeth Sukti ddadebru a dod at ei goed, gyda help eu hud uffernol effeithiol. Ond yn ogystal â’r bwyd, a’r moddion, ro’dd e wedi amsugno llawer o’u syniadau a’u hagweddau, a dysgu dulliau syfrdanol o chwarae’n wyllt gyda grymoedd natur gan y Dladli er na allai fe’u gweld nhw. Yn y pen draw ro’dd y ddau barti wrth eu boddau o ganlyniad i’r ymweliad annisgwyl, y naill achos bod nhw’n dwlu ar ledaenu cythreuldeb, y llall gan fod e’n credu y câi’i ffordd ei hun o’r diwedd a thalu’r pwyth yn ôl i’r Sunri creulon.Sukti was frightened to such an extent when he heard and saw this terrifying creature roaring that he ran off like a cat out of hell, or a weasel, or a doe, or a greyhound. He was still running like the wind when he reached the northern continent. And there, he fell down almost dead, and there he languished, until the unseen inhabitants of the area came to him, and cared for him. Perhaps it is true that they could not be seen because there is some way of enhancing the bodily senses through sacrificing that body. But although their words were very powerful, they were much more than mere voices. After considerable time, Sukti revived and came to his senses with the help of their hellishly effective magic. But in addition to their food, and their medicines, he had sucked up lots of their ideas and their attitudes, and learned surprising methods of playing wildly with the forces of nature from the Dladli although he could not see them. In the end, the two parties were delighted as a result of the unexpected visit, one lot because they loved spreading mischief, the other as he believed he would get his own way at last and pay back the cruel Sunri.
Nawr, ro’dd Selki yn hala dyddiau bwy gilydd yn sigwrat Tvetni a chyn pen dim ro’dd e wedi’i neud hi’n feichiog. Tra o’dd pawb eraill yn dathlu, sleifiodd y cyfrifydd a hysbyswr Rumpi, mab i Shafti y bwtsiwr, ymaith i ddweud wrth ei feistr Sukti a lechai erbyn hynny mewn hen fwthyn glas ar lannau’r afon chwim ar droed y mynyddoedd o galchfaen ar gyrion y fforest binwydd ar ben gogleddol y cyfandir deheuol. Pan glywodd Sukti y newyddion hapus, bu bron iddo danio gan lid, ac yn y fan a’r lle fe benderfynodd gweithredu i niweidio’i elynion yn enbyd cyn gynted ag y byddai’n bosibl. Dan ddylanwad y Dladli cyfrwys, felly lluniodd Sukti ddyfais lanhau i chwistrellu dŵr poeth yn cynnwys cymysgedd o botas ac olew casia dros y corff i gyd. Enw yntau ar y peiriant rhyfeddol o’dd y “cawl od.”Now, Selki was spending days on end in Tvetni’s ziggurat, and in no time, he had made her pregnant. Whilst everyone else was celebrating, the accountant and informant Rumpi son of Shafti the butcher, slunk off to tell his master Sukti who was lurking by then in an old blue cottage on the banks of the swift river at the foot of the mountain of limestone on the outskirts of the pine forest at the northern end of the southern continent. When Sukti heard the happy news, he almost ignited with fury, and there and then decided to act to harm his enemies terribly as soon as would be possible. Under the influence of the cunning Dladli, therefore, Sukti fashioned a cleaning device to squirt hot water containing a mixture of potash and cassia oil over one’s whole body. His name for the wonderful machine was the “odd soup.”
Aeth y gwas bach Rumpi â’r ddyfais i sigwrat Selki a’i gadael yno gyda chyfarwyddiadau llawn ar sut i’w defnyddio. Nawr allai Tvetni ddim rhoi’r gorau i gwyno taw rhwng yr hela, a’r gormesu, a’r lladrata, ro’dd Selki yn drewi drwy’r amser. Yn wir, ro’dd e wastad yn gwynto fel petai fe newydd ei godi o’r bedd. Felly croesawodd yntau’r anrheg anhysbys yn gynnes, tynnu’i diwnig, ei goron lawryf, a’i sandalau ar unwaith, a neidio i mewn. Ond heb yn wybod iddo, ro’dd Sukti wedi trefnu i’r be-ti’n-galw gynhesu’r hylif glanhau cymaint nes byddai Selki yn llamu’n uchel yn yr awyr, a mas o’i groen. Wedyn, ac yntau hanner ffordd rhwng y ddaear a'r nefoedd, yn noethlymun ac yn sebon i gyd, fe fyddai weiren rasel wenwynllyd yn saethu mas a’i lapio, gan ei rwygo’n ddarnau. Yn ôl doethineb y Dladli, dyna o’dd yr unig ffordd o’i ladd e’n farw gorn. A dyna beth ddigwyddodd, a Rumpi cas yn hofran yno i gasglu’r talpiau gwaedlyd o gnawd a’u cludo nhw bant pan glywai fe’r sgrechian.The toady Rumpi took the device to Selki’s ziggurat and left it there with full instructions on how to use it. Now Tvetni could not stop complaining that what with the hunting, and the oppressing, and the thieving, Selki was stinking all the time. Indeed, he always smelled as if he’d just been dug up from the grave. So, he welcomed the unknown present warmly, immediately took off his tunic, his laurel wreath, and his sandals, and jumped in. But unbeknownst to him, Sukti had arranged for the thingumyjig to heat the cleaning fluid so much that Selki would leap high into the air, and out of his skin. Then, with him half way between the earth and the heavens, stark naked and covered in soap, poisoned razor-wire would shoot out and entwine him, tearing him to pieces. According to the wisdom of the Dladli, that was the only way of killing him stone dead. And that’s what happened, with horrid Rumpi hovering there to collect the bloody chunks of flesh and spirit them off when he heard the screams.
Gan glegar chwerthin naeth Sukti ei hun wasgaru’r lympiau o asgwrn a madruddyn, chyhyr a bloneg dros holl wyneb y Nw Yrth, yn yr afonydd, ar ben y mynyddoedd, ar waelod y môr, ymhlith y coedwigoedd, ac yn y dyffrynnoedd, fel na allai neb gael hyd iddyn nhw i gyd i ail-greu’i gas elyn. Ac er fod e’n mynd yn ysig ac yn gleisiau i gyd, ro’dd e’n mwynhau’i waith yn enfawr. Ond fedrai fe ddim teithio dros y mynyddoedd o galchfaen ger yr afon chwim i gyrraedd canol y fforest binwydd ar ben gogleddol y cyfandir deheuol. A dyna o’dd achos bod Elni a’r llengoedd o Filwragedd yn gwarchod y lle sanctaidd. Cyn iddo gerdded ymaith, fodd bynnag, a’r sach hesian yn cynnwys talpiau gwaedlyd o gorff Selki dros ei ysgwyd, fe naeth lwyddo i gipio llond dwrn o’r planhigyn â deiliant pluog o’r enw Spikni. A chyn gynted ag y naeth gyffwrdd â’i groen, fe wellodd ei friwiau oll.Cackling with laughter, Sukti himself scattered the lumps of bone and gristle, muscle and bone over the whole face of the Nw Yrth, in the rivers, on top of the mountains, at the bottom of the sea, amongst the forests, and in the valleys, so that no-one would be able to find them to re-create his most hated enemy. And although he got battered and bruised all over, he enjoyed his work enormously. But he could not travel over the limestone mountains by the swift river to reach the middle of the pine forest at the northern end of the southern continent. And that was because Elni and the legions of Warrior-women were was guarding the sacred place. Before he walked away, however, the hessian sack containing bloody chunks of Selki’s body over his shoulder, he succeeded in snatching a fistful of the plant with feathery foliage called Spikni. And as soon as it touched his skin, all his wounds healed.
Mor ofidus o’dd Tvetni o achos y trais ‘ma ar ei chymar, ac yn enwedig felly am ei bod yn gwybod ei bod hi ar fin ddod â’u plentyn diniwed a diamddiffyn i mewn i’r byd brwnt ac ysglyfaethus yn fuan iawn. Ond hefyd fe sylweddolodd taw, os byddai hi’n ymadael â maes brwyn i fynd i helpu Selki, fe fyddai arni angen nyrs i garco’r crwt iddi, a hithau’n crwydro’r Nw Yrth gan geisio cael hyd i’w chymar, a’i iacháu. Felly gyda chymorth y Sunri eraill, fe ddaeth hi â menyw o ryw Fyd Arall, a chyda hynny esgor ar fab, Blardi, o’dd yn debyg i wrgi, a’r person mwya hardd yn yr holl Nw Yrth.So sorrowful was Tvetni because of this outrage against her companion, and especially so because she knew she was about to bring their innocent and defenceless child into the cruel and predatory world very soon. But she also realized that if she were to depart from the field of rushes to go and help Selki, she would need a nurse to look after the young whelp for her, as she ranged over the Nw Yrth trying to find her mate and heal him. So, with the support of the other Sunri, she brought a woman from some Other World, and thereupon gave birth to a son, Blardi, who was like a man-dog, and the most beautiful person on the whole Nw Yrth.
Fe gytunodd y wraig i edrych ar ei ôl e tra byddai Tvetni bant, a’i amddiffyn rhag yr ymosodiadau di-baid gan Rumpi nes i’r llanc gyrraedd un deg chwech oed. A dyna a wnâi hi’n llwyddiannus iawn gan ennill clod a bri cyn dychwelyd i’w byd ei hun i esgor ar faban maes o law er taw morwyn o’dd hi. Fe aeth hi â chyfrinachau fyrdd ynghylch amaethyddiaeth yn ôl gyda hi, a’r enw Blardi hefyd, a dyna pam ma’ fersiynau arno mor gyffredin mewn gwledydd ar bwys y Coedwigoedd Iâ ar ei phlaned heddi. Yr endid mwya llachar a theg o bryd i’w weld erioed ar wyneb y Nw Yrth o’dd y llanc, o’dd â llygaid glas yr awyr, a gwallt hir, golau. Ond tra o’dd e’n gryf a deallus iawn, ro’dd e’n ystyfnig ac afreolus tu hwnt hefyd, a chreulon ar adegau. Fe a greodd i'r Sunri o'r llys cysefin yn y Pwll Diwaelod y dras o senomorffiaid arswydus, fel arfau byw i ladd, a rhwygo, a difetha.The woman agreed to look after him while Tvetni was away, and defend him from the ceaseless attacks by Rumpi until the lad reached the age of sixteen. And that’s what she did very successfully winning praise and renown before returning to her own world to bear a son in due course although she was a maiden. She took myriad secrets about agriculture back with her, and the name Blardi too, and that’s why versions of it are so common in lands by the Ice Forests on her planet today. The lad was most brilliant entity, and the fairest of countenance, ever to be seen on the face of the Nw Yrth, who he had sky-blue eyes, and long, blond hair. But whilst he was strong and very intelligent, he was stubborn, and incredibly unruly too, and cruel on occasions. It was he who created for the Sunri from the primal slime in the Bottomless Pit the race of terrifying xenomorphs, as living weapons to kill, and tear, and destroy.
Fe deithiai Tvetni o bant i dalar, gan chwilio a chwalu, a gofyn i bawb a phopeth a o’n nhw’n gwybod i ble ro’dd Selki wedi diflannu, ond ym mhob man fe gâi hi’r un ateb, “Na wyddom ble ma’r Arglwydd.” Ond er gwaetha’i hing, fe gofiai hi hefyd ei bachgen bach, ac wrth iddi fynd o gwmpas, dywedai wrth y rhai siaradai â nhw, “Diolch yn fawr iawn, ddieithryn caredig! Ond ga i ofyn un ffafr fach arall gennych cyn i fi fynd ar fy hynt? Fyddwch chi addo peidio â niweidio fy mab, y person mwyaf hardd yn yr holl Nw Yrth, os gwelwch chi’n dda?”Tvetni travelled from pillar to post, searching high and low, and asking everyone and everything whether they knew where Selki had disappeared, but everywhere she got the same answer, “We do not know where the Lord is.” But despite her anguish, she remembered also her little boy, and as she went around, she said to those she spoke to, “Thank you very much, kindly stranger! But can I ask one other little favour before I go on my way? Will you promise not to harm my son, the most beautiful person in all the Nw Yrth, if you would be so kind?”
Ac fe gytunai pawb yn syth, yn ei ffordd neilltuol ei hun. Dyna lle’r o’dd hi felly, yn ymdeithio dros holl wyneb y blaned o begwn y de i gors y gogledd. Er na allai neb ddweud ble ro’dd Selki, wrth iddi chwilio, fe ddaeth hi o hyd i dalpiau bychain o’i gorff a alwai arni o’r dyffrynnoedd, ymhlith y coedwigoedd, ar waelod y môr, ar ben y mynyddoedd, ac yn yr afonydd. Fe ofidiai hi fwy bob tro iddi ddarganfod talp arall, a thra o’dd pawb yn addo na fydden nhw’n newidio Blardi, serch hynny ro’dd Tvetni yn anobeithio am fedru casglu pob darn o gorff ei dad.And everyone agreed straight away, in his own particular fashion. There she was then, trekking over the whole face of the planet from the south pole to the northern swamp. Although no-one could say where Selki was, as she searched, she came across to tiny chunks of his body that called to her from the valleys, amongst the forests, at the bottom of the sea, on top of the mountains, and in the rivers. She became more anxious every time she discovered another chunk, and whilst everyone promised they would not harm Blardi, nevertheless Tvetni despaired of being able to collect every piece of his father’s body.
Pan naeth Tvetni gyrraedd gogledd pell y cyfandir deheuol, fe ddywedodd Elni, Tywysydd Medrus y Milwragedd wrthi iddyn nhw droi Sukti yn ei ôl, a threiddiai hithau ddim i’r fforest gysegredig o binwydd, chwaith. Ac felly, chytunodd un planhigyn ddim na fyddai’n drygu Blardi. A dyna o’dd yr un o’r enw Spikni sydd mor llyfn, ac mor aromatig â gwair ffres, ac yn tyfu’n wyllt yn y goedwig drwchus ymhlith y glaswelltir wedi’i amddiffyn gan fynyddoedd enfawr o galchfaen. Ac wedyn fe aeth Tvetni yn fwy digalon nag erioed o ddychmygu corff Selki wedi’i larpio, a meddwl na fyddai hi byth yn adennill y darnau oll. Elni a soniodd felly wrthi wedyn, “Er na allwn ni’ch helpu chi yn eich loes, cofiwch chi hyn. Yr Haul sy’n gweld popeth ac yn gwybod enw popeth. Pan fydd e’n galw, fe fydd popeth yn ateb. Pan fydd e’n gorchymyn, fe fydd pawb yn ufuddhau. Dilynwch yr Haul felly ac efallai fe ddewch chi o hyd i’r hyn rydych yn ei geisio.” Do’dd Tvetni ddim yn deall, ond aeth hi ar ei ffordd gan ddilyn trywydd yr Haul wrth ganu’i thelyn, a thros y blynyddoedd, fe nâi hi ymweld â phob cwr o’r Nw Yrth.When Tvetni reached the far north of the southern continent, Elni, Skilled Leader of the Warrior-women told her that they had turned Sukti away, and she did not penetrate the sacred pine-forest either. And so, one plant did not agree that it wouldn’t harm Blardi. And that was the one called Spikni which is so smooth, and as aromatic as fresh hay, and grows wild in the thick forest amongst the grassland defended by enormous mountains of limestone. And then Tvetni became more disheartened than ever when she imagined Selki’s shredded body, and thought she would never regain all the bits. It was Elni who spoke thus to her then, “Although we cannot help you in your anguish, remember this. The Sun sees everything and knows the name of everything. When he calls, everything answers. When he commands, everyone obeys. Follow the Sun therefore and perhaps you will find that which you seek.” Tvetni did not understand but went on her way following the Sun’s trail whilst playing her harp, and over the years, she visited every corner of the Nw Yrth.
Wrth i Tvetni ymlwybro i lan ac i lawr, dros bant a bryn, fan hyn fan draw, ddydd ar ôl dydd, heb gwyno na grwgnach, fe ddechreuai hi ddirnad geiriau yn nhrydar yr adar, yn nhorri’r tonnau, yn sisial y glaswellt, ac yn y synau oll wedi’u neud gan bob peth dan yr Haul. Tra o’dd hyn yn digwydd, fodd bynnag, ro’dd yr Haul Disglair yn rhy brysur o lawer yn canu, a dawnsio, a chwerthin i dalu sylw i Tvetni yn clustfeinio, mor swynol o’dd sain ei thelyn. A dyna lle’r o’dd hithau felly’n dwyn geiriau’r Haul a’u gwau nhw i gyd i ffurfio cân fwy hudol na dim byd o’dd wedi’i glywed erioed o’r blaen—As Tvetni laboured up and down, over hill and dale, hither and thither, day after day, without complaining or grousing, she began to discern words in the twittering of the birds, in the breaking of the waves, in the whispering of the grass, and in all the sounds made by every thing under the Sun. Whilst this was happening, however, the Resplendent Sun was much too busy singing, and dancing, and laughing to pay attention to Tvetni eavesdropping, so charming was the sound of her harp. And there she was therefore, stealing the Sun’s words and weaving them all to form a song more magical than anything that had ever been heard before —
“…Dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, eshempa;
Silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví;
Turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshaba;
Endilda, andíshis, lilivalis, kestala;
Brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta;
Anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista;
Vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, delkurí.”		“…Dalatha, belvalo, lendrina, eshempa;
Silpistí, nildiru, marilé, zileví;
Turikikihí, thirularop, bahuakah, vielshaba;
Endilda, andíshis, lilivalis, kestala;
Brubumbu, elentlova, kualuru, tithihenta;
Anvisashé, kouroakrí, ankelrerek, shezesista;
Vilizda, huiklé, vildarsí, delkurí.”
Yna fe arhosai Tvetni ei chyfle. Gyfnod y Lleuad Lawn yn ystod y seithfed mis, fe ddringodd hithau i ben y mynydd uchaf yn y Nw Yrth, a dechrau canu’r gân wedi’i dwyn oddi wrth yr Haul. Yn wir ro’dd y geiriau’n llifo heb rwystr o’i cheg bendig mor felys a nerthol achos bod nhw’n enwi pob peth yn bodoli ar wyneb y Nw Yrth, ac yn y moroedd a’r awyr hefyd, a datgan ei bwrpas a’i ffawd. Ond ro’n nhw eisoes wedi dechrau newid cyn iddyn nhw adael ei gwefusau —Then Tvetni waited her chance. At the time of the Full Moon during the seventh month, she climbed to the top of the highest mountain in the Nw Yrth, and began to sing the song stolen from the Sun. Truly the words were flowing without restraint from her blessed mouth so sweetly and powerfully as they were naming every thing existing on the face of the Nw Yrth, and in the oceans and the sky also, and declaring its purpose and its fate. But they had already begun to change before they left her lips —
“Taalth, pfeffa, lendri, espa;
Sipzí, nildro, marli, shiví;
Tuhríthí, thirop, bahwach, biilsa;
Edid, adyzidz, lilif, hestahl;
Brubunga, elethlop, hwalu, tiiah;
Afir-asé, kowróakri, aeherrereh, shthessihs;
Vilhstha, hwich, fatlasrish, dehlo.”		“Taalth, pfeffa, lendri, espa;
Sipzí, nildro, marli, shiví;
Tuhríthí, thirop, bahwach, biilsa;
Edid, adyzidz, lilif, hestahl;
Brubunga, elethlop, hwalu, tiiah;
Afir-asé, kowróakri, aeherrereh, shthessihs;
Vilhstha, hwich, fatlasrish, dehlo.”
Ac ro’n nhw’n gallu dal neu ollwng yn dibynnu ar wir ddymuniad yr un fyddai’n eu llafarganu. Am un deg saith o flynyddoedd ro’dd Tvetni wedi bod yn crwydro o amgylch yn ceisio Selki. Y noson honno, wrth gwrs, ro’dd hi eisiau’n anad dim ei gael e yn ôl, ac wrth iddi ganu, ymgasglodd yr holl ddarnau o’i gnawd at ei gilydd i ailffurfio’i gorff o’i blaen hi.And they were able to hold or let go, depending on the true desire of the one who was chanting them. For sixteen years Tvetni had been wandering around seeking Selki. That night, of course, she wanted more than anything else to have him back, and as she sang, all the pieces of his flesh collected together to re-form his body in front of her.
Wedi cael modd i fyw ro’dd Tvetni wedyn, ond ro’dd ei llawenydd yn fyrhoedlog, achos taw dim ond hongian yno’n siglo yn yr awel laith, goslyd wnâi’r ffurf welw heb yngan gair, gan ei gwawdio hi fel bloc garw o glai seimllyd cyn farwed â hoelen. Wyddai Tvetni’m beth i’w neud ond llefain, a phlycio tannau’r delyn, a chanu, ond nawr cân dra thrist o’dd hi. “Be na nawn i i’w gael e ‘nol?” gofynnodd hithau, gan ateb ei hun, “Yn wir, fe nawn i unrhyw beth, hyd yn oed rhoi ‘mywyd am ei un e!” Mor nerthol o’dd yr alaw taw rhyw hanfod cymar Tvetni a’i clywai o’r trydydd byd, a dyna lle’r o’dd y ddelw chwyslyd, hell yn gollwng dagrau ar ôl dagrau ar bridd llwm y mynydd, gan achosi iddo flaguro. Ond unwaith eto, ro’dd y geiriau’n wahanol —Then Tvetni was beside herself with joy, but her happiness was short-lived, because the sallow form just hung there jiggling in the tickling, moist air, without pronouncing a word, mocking her like a rough block of slimy clay as dead as a door-nail. Tvetni didn’t know what to do but cry, and pluck the strings of her harp, and sing, but now it was a most sad song. “What would I not do to get him back?” asked she, answering herself, “Indeed, I would do anything, even give my own life for his!” So powerful was the melody that some essence of Tvetni’s companion heard it from the third world, and there was the horrific, sweaty effigy dropping tear after tear on the mountain’s barren soil, causing it to sprout. But once again, the words were different —
“…Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu;
Size, nilara, narala, sifi;
Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa;
Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe;
Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha;
Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha;
Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.”		“…Thalasa, fefa, hetha, furulu;
Size, nilara, narala, sifi;
Thurithe, thiropu, pahaha, pilisapa;
Ethitha, athisa, lila, lenithe;
Porupunu, eletha, uala, thiaha;
Afirase, hourouhu, filife, sesiha;
Filisitha, huiha, fathaleri, thehelo.”
Gyda hynny, ro’dd Tvetni yn synnu cymaint iddi lewygu, gan syrthio ar lawr wrth i’w hanfod gadael ei chorff a dilyn llwybr y dagrau tuag at y trydydd byd. Ac yno fe naeth enaid Tvetni ddarganfod ysbryd ei chymar, ac fe anwesai’r ddau, gan ymblethu, cyn codi gyda’i gilydd yn araf araf tuag at ben y mynydd uchaf unwaith ‘to. Pan lanion nhw yno, fe ailgydiodd pob un o’r ddau â’r corff cywir, ac ro’dd cymar Tvetni yn holliach, a dianaf, a chryf, a heini unwaith eto. Fe naeth y dagrau, fodd bynnag, ddianc, gan ddal i ddisgyn trwy haenau’r Isfyd, gan losgi’u ffordd alarus i lawr, ac o’r diwedd fe gyrhaeddon nhw’r byd glas cyntaf. Yno fe naethon nhw ymgrynhoi mewn twll mawr i ffurfio llyn dwfn, a’i wyneb yn berffaith lonydd fel pwll o arian byw, ble gallai dyn weld popeth yn digwydd yn unrhyw fan yn y pum byd, a’r tu hwnt os o’dd yn dymuno ‘lly. Ac wedyn yn ôl ar y Nw Yrth, ro’dd y cariadon yn gorweddian ym mreichiau’i gilydd am amser hir, cyn cusanu’n dyner unwaith.With that, Tvetni was so greatly astonished that she swooned, falling down as her essence left her body and followed the tears’ path towards the third world. And there Tvetni’s spirit discovered her mate’s soul, and the two embraced, intertwining, before rising together very slowly towards the top of the highest mountain once again. When they alighted there, each of the two reconnected with the correct body, and Tvetni’s companion was whole, and uninjured, and strong, and vigorous once again. The tears, however, escaped, continuing to descend through the layers of the Underworld, burning their mournful way down, and at last they reached they first blue world. There they collected in a large hole to form a deep lake, its surface perfectly still like a pool of quicksilver, where one could see everything happening in the four worlds, and beyond if one so desired. And then back on the Nw Yrth the lovers lounged in each other’s arms for a long time, before kissing tenderly once.
A’r eiliad honno, ro’dd yna floeddio chwerthin uchel yn cythryblu’r awyr boeth ar arni ddrycsawr osôn, wrth i fflach ddirfawr o fellten rwygo’r nefoedd gan adael llewych fiolet ym mhob man. Gan i Tvetni fod yn fodlon ei haberthu’i hun, a hud yr Haul mor gryf, ro’dd hi wedi cael llusgo hanfod ei gymar yn ôl o’r Isfyd. Ond ma’na bob tro bris rhatach neu ddrutach i’w dalu am bob gweithred hudol, gredwch chi fi, achos bydd yn aflonyddu ar drefn fawr y cosmos i ryw raddau, boed hynny’n ddinod neu’n sylweddol. Pan o’dd y swyn wedi dod i ben felly, ddim Selki yr athro a orweddai yn ymyl Tvetni, ond Belzi y bwtsiwr ac yn ei llaw fwyell waedlyd, gan iddo goncro marwolaeth dair gwaith.And that second there were loud peals of laughter troubling the hot air scented with ozone, as an enormous flash of lightning tore the heavens leaving a violet glow everywhere. Because Tvetni had been willing to sacrifice herself, and with the Sun’s magic so strong, she had been able to drag the essence of her companion from the Underworld. But there is always a price to pay for every magical act, believe you me, be it cheaper or more expensive, as it upsets the great order of the cosmos to some degree, be it insignificantly or substantially. When the charm had come to an end, then, it was not Selki who stood opposite Tvetni, but Belzi the butcher with a bloody axe in his hand, as he had bested death thrice.
Yr hudoles fwya swynol ar y Nw Yrth fyddai Tvetni felly o hynny mlaen, a Mam y Meirwon Oll hefyd. Fe nâi atseiniau’i chân, o’dd yn ogoneddus, a lledf, a llawen ar yr un pryd, eu hargraffu'u hun ar ddeunydd yr Holl Fyd wrth iddyn nhw lifo drwy amser a'r gofod, gan doddi a thorri’n deilchion —Tvetni would be the most beguiling sorceress on the Nw Yrth therefore, from then on, and the Mother of All the Dead too. The echoes of her glorious song that was triumphant, and mournful, and joyous at the same time impressed themselves on the material of the All-World as they flowed through time and space, melting and breaking apart —
“…Tha la sa fe fa he tha fu ru lu
Si ze ni la ra na ra la si fi
Thu ri the thi ro pu pa ha ha pi li sa pa
E thi tha a thi sa li la le ni the
Po ru pu nu e le tha u a la thi a ha
A fi ra se ho u ro u hu fi li fe se si ha
Fi li si tha hu i ha fa tha le ri the he lo.”		“…Tha la sa fe fa he tha fu ru lu
Si ze ni la ra na ra la si fi
Thu ri the thi ro pu pa ha ha pi li sa pa
E thi tha a thi sa li la le ni the
Po ru pu nu e le tha u a la thi a ha
A fi ra se ho u ro u hu fi li fe se si ha
Fi li si tha hu i ha fa tha le ri the he lo.”
Hyd yn oed wedyn, fyddai canfod deyrnynnau o’r gân wreiddiol yn gadael i'r rhai allai’u hailgyfuno a chanu mewn cytgord â’r emyn, neu'r oernad, neu'r hanes newydd, fwrw hud nerthol iawn. Ond ro’dd y geiriau mor llithrig bwerus ei fod yn beryglus eu llefaru nhw, am y tuedden nhw i ddianc rhag rheolaeth y dewin, gan eu hail-drefnu'u hun i beri canlyniadau syfrdanol a daeargrynfaol yn amlach na pheidio. Ond nage dyna o’dd y cyfan. O ganlyniad i Ddisgyniad Tvetni, gyfnod y Lleuad Lawn yn seithfed mis pob blwyddyn o hynny ‘mlaen, fe agorai pyrth y trydydd byd fel gallai ysbrydion yr ymadawedig grwydro’n ddiatal ymhlith y rhai byw am noson gan helpu neu frifo yn ôl eu harfer.Even then, discerning fragments of the original song would allow those who could recombine them and sing in harmony with the new hymn, or threnody, or tale, cast very strong spells. But the words were so powerfully slippery that it was dangerous to give voice to them, as they would tend to escape from the wizard’s control, re-organizing themselves to cause stunning and earth-shattering results more often than not. But that was not all. As a result of Tvetni’s Descent, she who is Mistress of the Dead, at the time of the Full Moon in the seventh month of every year from then on, the gates of the third world would open, so that the spirits of the departed could wander unfettered amongst the living for a night, helping or hurting according to their wont.
Ac felly, pen-blwydd Blardi yn un deg chwech oed, pan fyddai’n cael ei dderbyn i rengoedd y Sunri, ddaeth yn ddathliad dwbl. Dyna pan ddelai’r mab i oed, a phan nelai’r tad ailanedig ddychwelyd mewn gogoniant. Mor grac a rhwystredig â llosgfynydd nad o’dd wedi cael echdorri ers milenia o’dd Sukti o sylweddoli hyn, a dweud y lleia. Fe aeth ar ei lw wedyn y byddai’n dial ar y teulu hapus unwaith ac am byth. Ond fe fyddai raid iddo weithredu ar ei liwt ei hun y tro ‘ma, gan i’w was bach Rumpi ddiflannu mor sydyn o’dd ar wyneb y Nw Yrth ar ôl methu cael gwaed ar y plentyn ffiaidd Blardi, o’dd yn cael ei gyfarch fel ysbryd harddwch caotig y blaned. Wythnos cyn y parti mawr, fe naeth Sukti hedfan i gael cyngor gan y Dladli ar y cyfandir gogleddol. Dyna lle’r o’dd y ffurfiau anweledig yn gorffwyll chwerthin o ddysgu iddo fynd â sbrigyn o Spikni o ymylon fforest binwydd y Milwragedd. Fe ddangosodd y castwyr e sut i lunio saeth o goesynnau Spikni, a dweud wrtho sut i’w chaledu a’i neud yn anataliadwy gan ddefnyddio swyn nerthol iawn o’r enw Defod Amsasi.And so Blardi’s sixteenth birthday, when he would be accepted into the ranks of the Sunri, became a double celebration. That is when the son would come of age, and when the reborn father would return in glory. Sukti was as angry and frustrated as a volcano that had not been allowed to explode for millennia when he realized this, to say the least. He swore then that he would get revenge on the happy family once and for all. But he would have to act on his own initiative this time, as his today Rumpi had disappeared so suddenly off the face of the Nw Yrth after failing to get rid of the hateful child Blardi, who was being hailed as the spirit of the planet’s chaotic beauty. A week before the great party, Sukti flew to get advice from the Dladli on the northern continent. There were the unseen forms laughing madly at learning that he had taken a sprig of Spikni from the outskirts of the Warrior-women’s pine forest. The tricksters showed him how to fashion a dart from Spikni stems, and told him how to harden it and make it unstoppable using a very powerful charm called the Amsasi Ritual.
Fe frysiodd Sukti adre mor gyflym ag y gallai felly ar gefn eryr enfawr gwyn i gynllunio’r gwaith mawr, fyddai’n arwain at dranc Blardi a thorri calon Tvetni a Belzi. A thrwy neud hynny, a lladd unig etifedd y llwyth, falle byddai’n chwalu goruchafiaeth y Sunri dros y rhan fwya o’r Nw Yrth hefyd. Dyna o’dd ei gynllun diystyrllyd ac anfad. Wrth gwrs, fel y gwyddom ni, yn anffodus bryd hwnnw, dim ond gwrywod a gâi etifeddu grym a theyrnasu dros y llwyth, a dyna achosai gryn ddig i’r merched Zuvti a Harti, o’dd yn gryf, a hardd, a deallus, a phenstiff. A siarad yn blwmp ac yn blaen, cymaint ro’n nhw’n casáu Blardi, y crachfonheddwr ifanc, nes bydden nhw’n neud unrhyw beth i gael gwared arno fe.Sukti hurried home as quick as he could therefore on the back of an enormous white eagle to plan the great work, which would lead to Blardi’s demise and break the heart of Tvetni and Belzi. And by doing that, and killing the only scion of the tribe, perhaps he would shatter the domination of the Sunri over most of the Nw Yrth also. That was his despicable and wicked plan. Of course, as we know, unfortunately at the time, only males could inherit power and reign over the tribe, and that caused considerable indignation to the girls Zuvti and Harti, who were strong, and intelligent, and headstrong. To speak plainly, they hated Blardi, the young upstart, so much, that they would do anything to get rid of him.
Felly yn ystod y dyddiau cyn y wledd fawr, fe luniodd Sukti dair saeth o goesynnau Spikni, y planhigyn nad o’dd wedi addo na fyddai byth yn niweidio Blardi, a’u caledu nhw gyda geiriau Defod Amsasi dan olau’r Lleuad Oriog, nes bydden nhw’n anataliadwy. Pan naeth e yngan y geiriau am y tro cyntaf, a’i berfeddion yn llawn iâ – “He-tleki, Mi-tleki; Etzi, Itzi; E’tsetpi U’yi; Mi-vrasi El-rui” – fe ryddhaodd nerth aruthrol i’r Holl Fyd a ddatblygai’i fywyd ei hun, er na fyddai neb yn llefaru’r geiriau’n gywir eto. Ro’dd angen tair saeth, ni raid dweud, achos bod gan Blardi dri thad, mewn ffordd o siarad, sef Lufsi yr heliwr, Azli yr athro, a Selki y lleidr.So, during the days before the great feast, Sukti fashioned three darts of Spikni stems, that plant that had not promised that it would never harm Blardi, and hardened them with the words of the Amsasi Ritual under the light of the Fickle Moon, so that they would be unstoppable. When he pronounced the words for the first time, his guts full of ice -- “He-tleki, Mi-tleki; Etzi, Itzi; E’tsetpi U’yi; Mi-vrasi El-rui” – he released stupendous power into the All-World which would develop its own life, although no-one would say the words correctly again. Three darts were needed, needless to say, as Blardi had three fathers, in a manner of speaking, namely Lufsi the hunter, Azli the teacher, and Selki the thief.
Ro’dd yn hawdd i Sukti ddarbwyllo’r ddwy fenyw flin a sorllyd i chwarae rhan yn ei gynllun ofnadw, wedi’u swyno nhw â’u geiriau teg, ac fe roiodd yntau un saeth i Zuvti â’i gwallt golau’n llen dros hanner ei hwyneb, ac un saeth i Harti â’i gwallt du wedi’i dorri’n fyr iawn, wrth gadw’r drydedd iddo’i hun. Ac wedyn fe naeth Sukti drawsffurfio’i hun yn belen dentaclog o ectoplasm, ac wedyn dod yn folwsg mawr ysgithrog, ac yn olaf cymryd siâp morwyn o’r enw Dendri â ffluwch enfawr o wallt coch. Ddydd yr ŵyl fawr, ymgasglodd pawb i lygad-dystio i Blardi yn cael ei drochi yn y crochan enfawr o bres gwyrdd yng nghanol y maen du ymhlith sigwratau’r Sunri, â choron o lawryf am ei ben swynol ond didostur.It was easy for Sukti to convince the two angry and sullen women to play a part in his awful plan, having beguiled them with his blandishments, and he gave one dart to Zuvti whose blond hair was a veil over half of her face, and one dart to Harti whose black hair was cut very short, whilst keeping the third for himself. And then Sukti transformed himself into a tentacled ball of ectoplasm, and then became a great fanged mollusc, and finally took the shape of a maiden called Dendri with an enormous shock of red hair. The day of the great festival, everyone assembled to witness Blardi being immersed in the enormous cauldron of green brass in the middle of the black stone amongst the ziggurats of the Sunri, a laurel crown on his charming but merciless head.
A dyna lle’r o’dd Dendri, Zuvti, a Harti yn sefyll ar uchafbwyntiau triongl hafalochrog ar gylchedd y maen enfawr, a saeth anataliadwy wedi’i chuddio lan llewys pob un. Ro’dd y saith Sunri arall yn ffurfio cylch o amgylch y crochan, a Blardi yn hongian mewn harnais uwch ei ben, yn gwisgo tiwnig draddodiadol o hesian gwyn a gwregys gwyrdd am ei ganol. Yr union eiliad naeth Belzi orchymyn i’r llanc gael ei ollwng i lawr i’r hylif gludiog, trwchus, du, fe daflodd y tri lleiddiad eu saethau’n gydamserol tuag ato fe nerth eu breichiau. Am nad o’dd y Spikni wedi gwrthod brifo Blardi, do’dd dim dewis gyda’r saethau, ac o dan ddylanwad Defod Amsasi ro’n nhw’n anataladwy’n wir. A dyna lle’r o’dd un yn trywanu’r llanc drwy’i lygad de, un arall drwy’i galon, ac y drydedd drwy’i glun chwith. Ro’dd Sukti wedi trefnu popeth nes byddai’n ymddangos bod y peiriant codi wedi torri gan ryddhau’r darnau miniog, angheuol. Ac felly fu farw Blardi, etifedd y Sunri a seren fydol.And there were Dendri, Zuvti, and Harti standing at the vertices of an equilateral triangle on the circumference of the enormous stone, with an unstoppable dart hidden up the sleeve of each one. The seven other Sunri were forming a circle around the cauldron, with Blardi hanging in a harness above it, wearing a traditional tunic of white hessian with a green belt about his waist. The very second that Belzi commanded that the lad be let down into the black, thick, sticky liquid, the three assassins flung their darts simultaneously towards him with all their strength. Since the Spikni had not refused to harm Blardi, the darts had no choice, and under the influence of the Amsasi Ritual they were unstoppable indeed. And there was one piercing the lad through his right eye, another one through his heart, and the third through his left thigh. Sukti had arranged everything so it would appear that the hoist had broken releasing the deadly, sharp bits. And so Blardi, scion of the Sunri, and mundane star, died.
Ar y gair, fe gaeth y lle’i lenwi â sŵn dychrynllyd, fel llewod yn rhuo, moroedd yn brochi, bleiddiaid yn udo, a chleddyfau’n llyncu bywydau. Ro’dd fel petai byddai’r twrw uffernol yn parhau am byth, a difa’r Nw Yrth oll, gan ei fod yn ormod i’r byd ei oddef. Aeth yr awyr yn borffor. Gwagiodd y crochan gan fyrlymu’n gyfoglyd. Holltodd y maen gyda chlep fyddarol, gan greu Bwlch Byrhoedlog rhwng y Nw Yrth a’r bydoedd eraill. Syrthiodd celain Blardi yn llwrw ei ddeudroed i lawr siafft y pydew yn dilyn y crochan. Trodd y pridd ffrwythlon yn anialdir o wydr toredig. Aeth y dŵr yn y ffos o amgylch yr anheddiad yn wirod pur fyddai’n ddiod lân wedi’i chysegru i Blardi colledig yn nes ymlaen.Immediately, the place was filled with a dread sound, like lions roaring, seas raging, wolves howling, and swords gobbling lives. It was as if the infernal commotion would persist for ever, and destroy the whole Nw Yrth, as it was too much for the world to bear. The sky went purple. The cauldron drained, bubbling sickeningly. The stone split with a deafening snap, creating an Ephemeral Rift between the Nw Yrth and the other worlds. Blardi’s corpse fell feet-first down the well-shaft following the cauldron. The fruitful soil turned to a wilderness of broken glass. The water in the moat around the settlement became pure liquor that would be a holy drink consecrated to lost Blardi later on.
A dyna lle’r o’dd pawb yn codymu’n bendramwnwgl i’r Bwlch Byrhoedlog o’dd wedi agor mor sydyn rhwng y pedwar byd, ac i lawr ac i lawr yr âi pawb, i’r agendor. Pan o’dd holl bendefigion llwyth y Sunri wedi mynd trwy’r hollt sgrechlyd, fe gaeodd hi tu ôl iddyn nhw fel safnau ymlusgiad aruthrol, diflas. Sukti o’dd yr un a ddisgynnodd bellaf, gan gyrraedd byd cyntaf y cyndadau cysefin. Ac yno fe gaeth e’i gloi mewn cwch glas dirboenus, islaw afon danddaearol o ble ro’dd e’n gorfod gwylio pob un peth a ddigwyddai yn y bydoedd eraill. Er do’dd e'm yno’i hun yn y cnawd i ymyrryd â chynlluniau’r Sunri, ro’dd e’n gallu neud llanast gyda chryn ymdrech. Ym mhen tipyn, fe ddechreuai fe estyn ei dentaclau seicig ar draws amser a’r gofod i neud drwg yn rhywle arall hefyd.And there was everyone tumbling head over heels into the Ephemeral Rift that had opened so suddenly between the five worlds, and down and down went everyone into the abyss. When all the nobles of the Sunri tribe had gone through the screeching gap, it closed behind them like the jaws of a monstrous, bored reptile. It was Sukti who fell furthest, reaching the first world of the original ancestors. And there he was, shut up in an excruciating blue hive, below an underwater river, from where he had to watch every single thing that happened in the other worlds. Although he wasn’t there in person to interfere with the plans of the Sunri, he was able to wreak havoc, with considerable effort. After a while, he began to extend his psychic tentacles across time and space to do evil elsewhere, too.
I’r ail fyd yr aeth y Sunri eraill, ble dysgen nhw lawer iawn, cyn llwyddo i ddychwelyd i’r Nw Yrth a phara’u rhyfel tragwyddol yn erbyn y Dladli. A beth am Blardi, y llanc mwya golygus a mwya anodd ei drin a fodolai erioed? Fe gwympodd e i’r trydydd byd, ble arhosai, a does neb yn gwybod ei ffawd, er taw falle fod e’n teyrnasu yno’n wyn ei fyd am byth. A falle byddai honno’n fargen dda: ffeirio bywyd Blardi am fywydau’i dri thad, Lufsi, Azli, a Selki. Ond dywedir heddi gan swynwyr goleuedig taw’i ddyfyn-ysbrydion Pfenti, gair, a Rzahsi, gweithred, a ddaiff pan fydd y dewin yn galw ar enw’u meistr glân i’w amddiffyn rhag Zuvti y gythreules dân, a Harti yr ysbryd iâ.To the second world went the other Sunri, where they learned a very great deal, before managing to return to the Nw Yrth and continue their eternal war against the Dladli. And what about Blardi, the most good-looking lad, and one hardest to deal with who ever existed? He fell to the third world where he stayed, and no-one knows his fate, although maybe he ruled there in bliss of ever. Perhaps that would be a good bargain: the exchange of Blardi’s life for the lives of his three fathers, Lufsi, Azli, and Selki. But it is said today by enlightened wizards that his familiar-spirits Pfenti, word, and Rzahsi, action, will come when the magician calls on the name of their holy master to defend him from Zuvti the fire-demoness, and Harti the ice-spirit.
Yn ystod alltudiaeth hirbarhaol y Sunri, fe ddigwyddai’n anfwriadol i’r Dladli ddod mewn cysylltiad meddyliol â breuddwydwyr, siamaniaid, artistiaid, a chyfrinwyr, ar blanedau eraill dros yr Holl Fyd, ac ro’dd eu neges chwyldroadol yn cael ei lledaenu ar draws ac ar hyd, er nad o’n nhw’n malu’r un botwm corn am hynny o gwbl. Ar ôl i’r Sunri grafangu’u ffordd yn ôl i’r Nw Yrth, tasg o’dd yn dra anodd am i’r Bwlch Byrhoedlog ei selio’i hun tu cefn iddyn nhw wedi’u cwymp, fe dreulien nhw gryn dipyn o’u hamser yn ffraeo ym mysg ei gilydd. Pan nad o’n nhw’n neud felly, âi’r frwydr rhwng y Dladli a’r Sunri yn ei blaen, a hyd yn oed yn fwy cenfigennus, a ffrom, a sbeitlyd o’dd y Sunri o weld llwyddiant anfwriadol eu gelynion marwol. Fe naethon nhw, felly, ddechrau anfon cenhadon cudd i’r bydoedd eraill, i wyrdroi dylanwad y Dladli, gan ddefnyddio technoleg wedi’i seilio ar hud cyntefig yr Isfyd i greu’r dreigiau cymhellol fyddai’n rhwymo a gostegu unigolion, ffrwyno anghydffurfiaeth, hawlio ufudd-dod, a rheoli cymdeithas. An yno fe fydden nhw’n bwydo ar rym bywiol y rhai byw, a hala eneidiau’r meirwon i lafurio yn y Pwll Diwaelod yn ôl ar y Nw Yrth.During the extended exile of the Sunri, it happened that the Dladli came into mental contact with dreamers, shamans, artists, and mystics, on other planets across the All-World, and their revolutionary message was getting spread far and wide, although they didn’t care about that in the least. After the Sunri clawed their way back to the Nw Yrth, a task that was mighty difficult as the Ephemeral Rift had sealed itself behind them after their fall, they spent a considerable amount of their time fighting amongst themselves. When they weren’t doing that, they battle between the Dladli and the Sunri continued, and the Sunri were even more jealous, and angry, and spiteful when they saw the unintentional success of their mortal enemies. They began, therefore, to send secret agents to the other worlds, to pervert the influence of the Dladli, using technology based on the primitive magic of the Underworld to create their coercive dragons that would bind and silence individuals, bridle nonconformity, demand obedience, and govern society. And there they would feed on the live-force of the living, and send the souls of the dead to lanour in the Bottomless Pit back on the Nw Yrth.
Ym myd cyntaf y cyndadau csefin, roedd Sukti yn dod yn gryfach gryfach, a dechrau gwylltio’r Sunri. O ganlyniad. fe naeth Lufsi deithio i lawr i’r Cwch Glas Dirboenus ar ffurf Azli yr athro, Selki y lleidr, a Belzi y bwtsiwr, i fegian arno fe, ymresymu â fe, ac yn y pen draw i’w orchymyn a’i orfodi fe i fod eu llygad gwyliadwrus, eu cennad wedi’i garcharu, a’u llysgennad wedi’i rwydo. Ac er bod Sukti yn rhefru a rhuo, mor nerthol oedd Lufsi yn ei dri agwedd nad allai yntau ond cutuno. Nawr, er bod Sukti wedi’i ddarostwng, do’dd e byth yn rhoi’r ffidil yn y to o ran llesteirio cynlluniau’i gyn-gyd-wladwyr, gan geisio tarfu'r colomennod a chynhyrfu'r dyfroedd ar bob cyfle posibl. Ond bob tro anfonai fe’i goblynnod meddyliol neu’i fwbachod dychmygol mas i rwystro ymgyrchoedd ei gymheiriaid ffiaidd, fe fyddai’r ymgais yn mynd o’i le, a throi yn ei erbyn i’w helpu nhw yn lle’u niweidio yn y pen draw. Unwaith, fe naeth ddigwydd i’w chwarae anfedrus gyda’r continwwm cosmig agor porth i fyd arall o’r enw y Blaned Yrth, gan roi ffrwyn i’r saith Sunri newid hynt ei ddatblygiad yn gyfan gwbl ac am byth.In the first world of the original ancestors, Sukti was becoming stronger and stronger, and beginning to vex the Sunri. As a result, Lufsi travelled down to the Agonizing Blue Hive in the form of Azli the teacher, Selki the thief, and Belzi the butcher, to beg him, reason with him, and in the end command him and compel him to be their watchful eye, their incarcerated ambassabor, and their ensnared legate. And although Sukti ranted and raved, so powerful was Lufsi in his three aspects that he could not but agree. Now, although Sukti had been cast down, he never gave up hindering the schemes of his former compatriots, traying to put the cat amongst the pigeons and upset the apple cart at every possible opportunity. But every time he would send his mental imps or his imaginary bogey-men out to hinder the campaigns of his hateful peers, the attempt would go wrong, and turn against him to help them instead of harming them in the end. Once, it happened that his unskilled meddling with the cosmic continuum opened a gate to another world called the Harsh Planet, giving free rein for the seven Sunri to change the course of its development completely and for ever.
Yn ara bach a bob yn dipyn, fe gasglai Sukti, yng ngwedd y Peintiwr Coch a fedrai ystumio’r gofod, troi amser yn ôl, a neud i freuddwydion ddod yn sylweddol, acolitiaid, asiantau, a deiliaid dros yr Holl Fyd, gyda’i bwerau meddyliol a’i addewidion am glod, golud, a gwireddu pob dymuniad, yn ogystal â’i fygythiadau am artaith dragwyddol. Ar rai bydoedd, naen nhw ymddangos fel mynachod cycyllog, ond fel seirff llyfn eu tafod, dichellgar ar blanedau eraill, ac fe gymeren nhw lawer o ffurfiau amgen ar hynny. O’r diwedd, fodd bynnag, pan fyddai’r hen Haul Coch ar fin ffrwydro cyn dileu pob gronyn o fywyd oddi ar wyneb y Nw Yrth, Sukti a gamai i’r bwlch fel petai.Terribly slowly, but nevertheless surely, Sukti, in the aspect of the Red Painter who could distort space and turn back time, and make dreams become substantial, collected acolytes, agents, and vassals across the All-World, with his mental powers and his promises of fame, fortune, and the fulfilling of every desire, as well as his threats of enteral torture. On some worlds they would appear like cowled monks, but like wily, smooth-tongued serpents on other planets, and they would take many alternative forms besides. At last, however, when the Red Sun was on the verge of exploding before deleting every morsel of life off the face of the Nw Yrth, it is Sukti who stepped into the breach as it were.
Ond ma’n sicr na fyddai wedi neud hynny oni bai i Lufsi ddisgyn i’r Cwch Glas Dirboenus ar waelod byd cyntaf y cyndadau cysefin aeonau di-rif o’r blaen, ddichon, i rwymo Sukti â’r hud mwya nerthol. Wedyn, ar ben yr oes gosmig nesaf, castiau cyson Sukti fyddai’n uno’r Dladli a’r Sunri i greu tras newydd o’r enw y Tlevki, gan eu hyrddio nhw oll trwy’r gofod tuag at blaned las, wyrdd, a ffrwythlon, ac un barod i’w hanrheithio, ble gwledden nhw’n orfoleddus ar gyrff, a meddyliau, ac eneidiau’r trigolion anwybodus am gryn amser. Serch hynny, yn ddigon naturiol, do’dd e’m yn bosibl i neb herio’r Drefn Fawr ynglŷn â newid, a dadfeilio, a thranc am byth, ac yn y pen draw, y rhai’n trio gorfodi’r Holl Fyd gâi’u twyllo a’u dymchwelyd hefyd. Wedi’r cwbl, hyd yn oed yr Haul Coch, y Lleuad Las, y Nw Yrth, a’r Planedau Niwlog fu farw wedi einioes hir ddychrynllyd, ac yn ddi-os fe fydd y Blaned Yrth drengi yn ei thro hefyd. Bid a fo am hynny, fe gosbid y Tlekvi yn briodol am eu rhyfyg fel petaen nhw’n blant drwg o’dd wedi dwyn tân a chael eu llosgi, ond dim ond wedi iddyn nhw newid cwrs y byd unwaith eto gan ddefnyddio’r sgiliau ro’n nhw wedi’u hennill ar y Blaned Yrth, ond nage yn y ffordd ro'n nhw wedi dychmygu na bwriadu.But it is sure he would not have done that had not Lufsi descended to the Excruciating Blue Hive at the bottom of the original ancestors’ first world, countless ages before, maybe, to bind Sukti with the stringest magic. And then, at the end of the next cosmic era, it would be Sukti’s constant tricks that would unite the Dladli and the Sunri to create a new race called the Tlevki, hurling them all through space towards a blue, green, and fruitful planet, and one ready to be despoiled, where they could feast jubilantly on the bodies, and minds, and spirits of the ignorant inhabitants for a considerable time. Despite that, naturally enough, it wasn’t possible for anyone to challenge the Great Order regarding change, and degeneration, and death for ever, and in the end, those trying to compel the All-World were tricked and overthrown too. After all, even the Red Sun, the Blue Moon, the Nw Yrth and the Misty Planets died after a terrifyingly long lifetime, and doubtless the Harsh Planet will perish in its turn also. Be that as it may, the Tlevki were punished appropriately for their presumption as if they were naughty children who had stolen fire and been burned, but only after they’d changed the course of history once again, using the skills they’d won on the Harsh Planet, but not in the way they’d imagined or intended.
Falle taw nage anhygoel fyddai mentro’r farn taw gwaeth na’r meistri’u hun o’dd y disgyblion hyffordden nhw. Ond eto i gyd, falle taw gwobr o’dd honno, i’r Tlevki o leia, nad o’dd ond llaid a heulwen i ddechrau. Er na châi Sukti etifedd, fe âi yn ei flaen i ddefnyddio llawer o enwau, gwisgo aml fasg, meddu ar sawl personoliaeth, a chwarae llawer o rannau, gan ymddangos fel amddifad, milwr, lleidr, meddyg, artist, athro, fferiad, a bardd ymhlith rhai eraill, ac ro’dd ei ddylanwad yn helaeth iawn yn wir. Ac enw’r blaned bitw ‘na o’dd y Ddaear, cyn belled i ffwrdd, ar goll yn niwloedd amser, a drawsffurfid tu hwnt i adnabyddiaeth gan y Tlevki, wrth i sillafu cân trawsffurfio Tvetni barhau i athreiddio i’r Holl Fyd, gan newid drwy’r amser —Perhaps it would not be far-fetched to venture the opinion that the pupils they trained were worse than the masters themselves. But then again, maybe that was a prize, for the Tlekvi at least, who were nothing but mud and sunshine to begin with. Although Sukti would not produce an heir, he would go on to use many names, wear many masks, and possess many personalities, appearing as an orphan, soldier, thief, doctor, artist, teacher, priest, and poet, amongst other things, and his influence was very extensive. And the name of that pitiful planet was the Earth, so far away, lost in the mists of time, which was transformed beyond all recognition by the Tlekvi, as the syllables of Tvetni’s song of transformation continued to permeate the All-World, changing all the time —
“Li tha ru ha ho ha – si he ni sa a ra ze sa – la li tha the ra e – i lu a a pi fi a – e si pa la thu ni – ha tha se nu na thi – thi ru fa fa ra – si thi ro pa li fi – le la ri la fi fu – pu u thi pu ha – si le ro he tha fe hu – u po lo ri fi the sa – la le se ha tha tha – fe u the hu li…” Ond dyna stori arall yn llwyr.“Li tha ru ha ho ha – si he ni sa a ra ze sa – la li tha the ra e – i lu a a pi fi a – e si pa la thu ni – ha tha se nu na thi – thi ru fa fa ra – si thi ro pa li fi – le la ri la fi fu – pu u thi pu ha – si le ro he tha fe hu – u po lo ri fi the sa – la le se ha tha tha – fe u the hu li…” But that is another story entirely.

Wel, dyna chi ‘te, dyn ni di cyrraedd diwedd y chwedl, a dyna’r geiriau tyngedfennol i chi, y gosodiad hudol ola, “Ond dyna stori arall yn llwyr.” Pwy fydde wedi meddwl, a finnau’n cwato ‘ma’n crynu gan ofn? Wrth gwrs, nage stori arall mohoni hi o gwbl, dyna’r gwir noeth, ofnadw, ond bywyd go iawn, a ninnau oll yn ei ganol! Www, cymaint wi’n casáu sut mae pethau wedi mynd ers i’r mwnci bach ewn ‘na ma’n nhw’n alw’n Fab Darogan, a’r arweinydd cwlt, y Tywysydd Medrus, o’dd yn arfer bod yn artist graffiti neu be bynnag, ryddhau’r Tlevkimvi ar ein Byd druan ni. Ac wrth gwrs dyna’r enw cywir, yn golygu ‘Draig Farwol.’ Roedd y Doethur Du a’r Tafod Arian yn deall ‘ny ganrifoedd yn ôl, ond fe na’th Anathré Krosm·ethra (Andrea Großmann, hynny yw) ei gamddehongli fel Telok-vovim, ‘Y Syrthiedig.’ Ddim arna i mae’r bai, nethon nhw ‘nhwyllo i, y ddau ddiawl ‘na, Evlan Baks·ethra a Stharafan Krosm·ethra (Elfan a Steffan, wrth gwrs). Ro’dd ‘na lawer o anarchwyr technolegol, hacwyr bywyd, a môr-ladron yn y seiberofod yn llechu tu ôl i’w meddalwedd amgryptio, eu rhithffurfiau annymunol, a’u personoliaethau ffug o’dd yn eu helpu nhw fyd, gyda’u halgorithmau analytig, a’u cronfeydd data enfawr ac anhygoel.

Na’th pethau gychwyn digwydd yn ara ac yn ddigon anymwthiol, a rhai pobl yn tyfu cynffonau, cyrn, blew, pigau, cennau, carnau, neu adenydd. Do’n nhw’m yn bihafio’n fwystfilaidd gan amla i ddechrau, ond yn fuan roedd y croesiadau’n ffurfio gangiau a rhyfela yn erbyn ei gilydd. Ac wedyn na’th cymdeithas ddechrau chwalu wrth i’r bodau hybrid eu trefnu’u hunain a phenderfynu ymosod arnon ni’r ‘anailgyfluniedig’ dan orchymyn yr Ieuenctid Amgen bondigrybwyll. Dyn nhwythau’m yn newid wrth gwrs, ond yn mynd yn fwyfwy nerthol bob dydd. Yn ddiweddar fodd bynnag ma’ pethau wedi mynd o ddrwg i waeth. So hi’n wlad i hen wŷr bellach, wel, nage i fodau dynol o unrhyw oedran. Ma’ pobl yn newid drwy’r amser, gan fynd dros i’r ochr dywyll. Ma’na gimerâu’n prancio, a rhedeg o gwmpas, a hedfan dros bob man. Neu’n heidio i’r arfordir i fynd i fyw yn y môr.

Un o’r pethau gwaetha yw fod llengoedd o epaod hedegog arfog wedi cymryd lle’r heddlu a’r fyddin. Ma’n nhw’n patrolio’r strydoedd, gorfodi cwrffyw, ysbeilio, ac ymosod ar unrhyw un digon twp i fentro mas ar ei ben ei hun heb ddiogelu’i hunan yn briodol gyda llach fflamllyd. Ma’r dinasoedd yn beryglus iawn nawr i’r rhai ac arnyn nhw arogl dynol ‘to. Ac eto, dyna’r nadredd adeiniog sy’n sleifio fel cysgodion rhewllyd drwy hunllef barhaol pawb, gefn nos a liw dydd, gan ddarllen ein meddyliau, gwylio’n pechodau, ceryddu, gorchymyn, beio, a chosbi gyda llais taranllyd fel rhyw ddraig hynafol o’n co’ ni’r hil ddynol.

Ond ma’na obaith eto, wi’n meddwl, gredwch chi fi. So popeth yn boen, dioddefaint, a cholled. Ma’na rai ohonon ni sy’n gwrthsefyll trawsffurfiad llwyr y Byd, rywsut. Ni’r gwrthodedig, yr anghofiedig, y brithgwn, y lliprynnod, y rhai amhur eu gwaed, hynny yw, falle. Ac wrth i’r Tlevkimvi ymrithio, dyna’r Grym Diatal yn dechrau llifo fwy chwim a chwyrn nag erioed o’r blaen. Wel, chwarae teg, ma’r laslances ddiog o Blaned ‘ma’n dihuno o’r diwedd, a chychwyn estyn ei chyhyrau. Fel ma’n digwydd, ma’ cryn nifer o’r gormeswyr gwirion ar yr ochr arall sy di trio amsugno’r pŵer wedi’u chwythu ymaith i pwy ŵyr ble ganddo, diolch i’r drefn. Ar y llaw arall, dyna aelodau newydd o’n Hurdd ni’n ymddangos o unman, yn ddynion, menyw, a chryts, yn fwyfwy aml. Wel, wi’n feddwl taw dewis dod yn aelodau wnân nhw, pan fyddan nhw angen ein help i stopio’u holl ddymuniadau, ofnau, a meddyliau eraill rhag dirhau, ac yn y blaen.

Am unwaith dyn ni i gyd yn yr Urdd (wel fwy neu lai) yn cydweithio i raddau helaeth, gan gofio’n haddunedau i atal y Byd rhag mynd rhwng y cŵn a’r brain yn dyddio ‘nôl i gyfnod ein sefydlwr Sorakados Ddewin. Gobeithio fod e’n falch ohonon ni wrth iddo’n gwylio’r rhai ffyddlon yn ein plith ni’n slafio fel lladd nadredd i achub y Ddaear, o’i orsedd ddur glas tu hwnt i’r sêr, yr hen walch. Hmm, a sôn am hen hocedwyr, falle bod Dai Procter yno gyda fe, wedi ffoi rhag yr holl stŵr dychrynllyd a gwaedlyd wedi’i gorddi yn sgil ei gynllwynion gorffwyll, a’i weithrediadau mwy byrbwyll byth. Wel, bid a fo am ‘ny, hyd yn oed o fan hyn, fe alla i weld y llecynnau o wrthsafiad yn egino a datblygu yn y drych sgrio mawr ar wal neuadd y cerfluniau byw’n ddwfn dan y Maenordy. Ma’n rhwyd ni’n dechrau ymdaenu dros y Byd unwaith ‘to’n araf iawn, wrth i ni dyfu’n gryfach fesul mis.

Pan naiff pob hyfforddai ychwanegol ymrwymo i’n hachos yn gorff, meddwl, ac enaid, dyna fydd dafn bychan purddu arall o ambrosia byw’n ymddangos yn y crochan pres gwyrdd, fel dagrau Lushfé a dene Tefnuth i lawr i’r Isfyd, neu’r sylwedd cysefin greodd popeth arall. O ble ma’n dod, sai’n gallu dyfalu, rhyw Fyd Arall yr ochr arall i’r gofod mawr, synnwn i’m. Ond un peth dwi’n siŵr ohono yw taw pan fydd y crochan yn orlawn fe yfwn ni’r hylif glân a dod fel yr uwch-arwyr yn yr holl gomics ‘na. Wel, does ‘na ddim pall ar obaith, on’d oes, sbo? Yn y cyfamser, falle bod ni’n dysgu rhywfaint gan y Tlevkimvi fyd, trwy’u hastudio mor agos atyn nhw wrth iddyn nhw ymosod arnon ni’n ddiorffwys. Ac yn wir, wrth i ni ddisgyblu’n meddyliau a chyfuno’n hewyllysiau, dyna rai ohonon ni’n llwyddo i ddiflannu o olwg eu draig hollweledol am sbel. Os gallwn ni ond eu dynwared i ryw raddau, fe fyddwn ni’n gallu treiddio’r llen a dianc o’r cylch o fodolaeth ‘ma. Ond be fydd yn digwydd wedyn, ‘dwn i’m.

Ta, be, fe a i i lawr i’r seler nawr i guddio rhag y chwilod baldorddus, ffiaidd sy di bod yn diffeithio’r wlad, gan draflyncu dail a chnawd fel ei gilydd. Wi’n gallu’u clywed nhw’n heigio tu fas, gan rincian eu malwyr a hisian siantau rhyfel mor fygythiol a byddarol, ond fedran nhw’m treiddio i mewn lawr fanna drwy’r ithfaen. O, hawyr bach, ma’ syllu mor astud ar yr holl globylau symudliw o sudd yn pwlsadu a chwyrlïo yn y crochan yn neud i ‘mhen droi a chodi pwys arna i. Ma’ fel ‘sen i’n gallu clywed lleisiau’n gweddïo mewn pob iaith yn yr Holl Fyd ar yr un pryd. Fe fydda i’n cael joch mawr o’r hen Olew Lethí (wedi’i echdynnu o’r maen glas enwog i’w gael yn yr ogofeydd ambr ar waelod y Cefnfor Berw), cyn setlo i lawr. Dyn ni’n credu fod e’n debyg i ddagrau Lushfé, ac yn gallu neud yn union be sy angen bob tro. Dyna pam na’th Nebesh hala’i gwas Lotké i lawr i’r Isfyd i drio dwyn y dafnau ariannaidd, amhrisiadwy oddi ar Swtach, wrth gwrs. Gobeithio bydda i’n cwympo i gysgu’n syth, a hala noson heb hunllef am newid, gan ddianc o’r glyn wylofain ‘ma am ennyd bendigedig, ond fetiwn i’m ar ‘ny. Dyma fi lly, Hlothrig Faland·ashé, Ffred Phantastig, Ffredrig Llwynlesg, yn cau pen y mwdwl am y tro.

Well, there you are, then, we’ve reached the end of the tale, and there’s the fateful words for you, the final magical statement, “But that’s another story entirely.” Who’d have thought it, what with me squatting here trembling with fear? Of course, it’s not another story at all, that’s the terrible, plain truth, but real life, and we’re all in the middle of it! Oooh, how much I hate how things have gone since that cheeky little monkey they call the Son Foretold, and the cult-leader, the Skilled Leader, who used to be a graffiti artist or something, released the Tlevkimvi on our World. And of course, that’s the correct name, meaning ‘Deadly Snake.’ The Black Doctor and the Silver Tongue understood that centuries ago, but Anathré Krosm·ethra (Andrea Großmann, that is) misinterpreted it as Telok-vovim, ‘The Fallen.’ It’s not my fault, they tricked me, those two devils, Elvan Baks·ethra and Stharafan Krosm·ethra (Elfan and Steffan, of course). There were loads of technological anarchists, life-hackers, and cyber-pirates lurking behind their encryption software, their unpleasant avatars, and their fake personalities who were helping them too, with their analytic algorithms, and their enormous and unimaginable databases.

Things began to happen slowly and unobtrusively enough, with some people growing tails, horns, fur, beaks, scales, hoofs, or wings. They didn’t behave bestially for the most part to start with, but soon the cross-breeds were forming gangs and making war on each other. And then society started to fragment as the hybrid beings organized themselves and decided to attack us the ‘un-re-configured’ under the command of the scarcely-mentionable Alternative Youth. They don’t change of course, but become stronger and stronger every day. Recently however things’ve gone from bad to worse. It’s not a country for old men now, well, not for human beings of any age. People are changing all the time, going over to the dark side. There are chimeras prancing and running about, and flying everywhere. Or flocking to the coast to go and live in the sea.

One of the worst things is that legions of flying apes’ve taken the place of the police and the army. They patrol the streets, enforcing a curfew, looting, and setting on anyone stupid enough to venture out on his own without protecting himself appropriately with a flaming lash. The cities are very dangerous now for those who still smell human. And then again, there’s the winged snakes that slink like icy shadows through everyone’s constant nightmare, in the dead of night and in broad daylight, reading our minds, watching our sins, chastising, commanding, blaming, and punishing, with a thunderous voice like some ancient dragon from our human race-memory.

But there’s still hope, I think, believe you me. Not everything is pain, suffering, and loss. There’s some of us who’re withstanding the complete transformation of the World, somehow. We the rejected, the forgotten, the mongrels, the weaklings, the impure-bloods, that is, maybe. And as the Tlevkimvi materialized, the Unstoppable Force began to flow more quickly and violently that ever before. Well, fair play, this lazy teenager of a Planet is waking up at last, and starting to flex her muscles. As it happens, a considerable number of the foolish oppressors on the other side who’ve tried to absorb the power, have been blown away to who-knows-where by it, thank goodness. On the other hand, there are new members of our Guild, men, women, and children, appearing from nowhere, more and more often. Well, I mean that they choose to become members when they need our help to stop all the wishes, fears, and other thoughts from becoming real, and so on.

For once, all of us in the Guild (well, more or less) are cooperating to a great extent, remembering our vows to stop the World from going to rack and ruin dating back to the time of our founder Sorakados the Wizard. I hope he’s proud of himself as he watches the faithful amongst us slaving with might and main to save the Earth, from his blue steel throne beyond the stars, the old rascal. Hmm, and talking of old rogues, perhaps Dai Procter’s there with him, having fled from all the dreadful and bloody commotion stirred up in the wake of his mad schemes, and his even more rash actions. Well, be that as it may, even from here, I can see the pockets of resistance sprouting up and developing in the great scrying-glass on the wall of the hall of the living statues deep under the Manor. Our net’s starting to spread over the World once again, as we grow stronger month on month.

When every additional trainee commits himself to our cause with body, mind, and soul, another tiny pure-black drop of living ambrosia appears in the green brass cauldron, like Lushfé’s tears that tempted Tefnuth down to the Underworld, or the original substance that created everything else. Where it come from, I can’t guess, some Other World the other side of the great void, I wouldn’t wonder. But one thing I’m sure of is that when the cauldron is overflowing we’ll drink the holy fluid and become like super-heroes in all those comics. Well, hope springs eternal, doesn’t it, I guess? In the meantime, maybe we’ll learn something from the Tlevkimvi too, through studying them at close quarters as they attack us relentlessly. And indeed, as we discipline our thoughts and combine our wills, some of us are succeeding to disappear from the sight of their all-seeing dragon for a while. If we can just imitate them to some degree, we’ll be able to break through the barrier and escape from this sphere of existence. But what’ll happen then, I don’t know.

Anyway, I’m going down to the cellar now to hide from the abominable chattersome beetles that’ve been laying waste to the land, devouring leaves and flesh alike. I can hear them swarming outside, gnashing their mandibles and hissing out war-chants so threateningly and deafeningly, but they won’t be able to penetrate in down there through the granite. Oh, good grief, gazing so intently at all those iridescent globules of juice pulsating and whirling in the cauldron is making my head spin, and my stomach turn. It’s as if I can hear voices praying in every language in the All-World at the same time. I’ll be having a large tot of the old Lethí Oil (extracted from the famous blue-stone to be found in the amber caves at the bottom of the Boiling Ocean), before settling down. We believe that it’s like Lushfé’s tears, and can do exactly what’s needed every time. That’s why Nebesh sent her servant Lotké to the Underworld to try and steal the priceless silver droplets from Swtach of course. I hope I’ll fall straight asleep, and spend a night without a nightmare for a change, escaping from this teary vale for a blessed moment, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Here I am then, Hlothrig Faland·ashé, Ffred Phantastig, Frederick Llwynlesg, signing out for now.

Patrick Jemmer Ffred Ffantastig Voice 42

Pennod Pedwar Deg Chwech: Trasiedi ar y Migl-Urth / Tragedy on Migl-Urth

Yn seler Maenordy Challavas â’i waliau o wenithfaen pinc, ymhlith y cerfluniau byw, dyw’r Dewin ar ffo o’r enw Hlothrig ddim yn gallu cysgu o gwbl, er gwaetha’r meintiau enfawr o Olew Lethí mae wedi’u llyncu. A dyna fe’n eistedd ar y gadair uchel yn debyg i orsedd o ryw fath yn rhythu ar yr hylif purddu yn byrlymu a sblasio yn y crochan o bres gwyrdd ar esgynlawr o’i flaen, gan drio pendwmpian. Ond o’i gwmpas, ar bob llaw, mae yna leisiau taer a threiddiol yn sibrwd wrtho fe, ac mae’r geiriau’n llifo allan mewn cymysgedd o bob iaith yn nerthol dros ben ond yn newid drwy’r amser, fel y tonnau ar rwy afon aflonydd, ac yn treiddio trwy’r golau gwan deflir gan y canhwyllau gwaedrudd. Y tu allan i’r fangre swynedig, mae’r pryf cigysol, swnllyd yn dal i ymosod ar yr adeilad, gan grillian yn fain a rhincio’u hargregyn wrth chwistrellu asid organig ymhobman. Ac er na allan nhw durio drwy’r muriau, dyna’r flanced o gyrff bychain yn mogi’r lle’n achosi i’r awyr oll oddi mewn i’r strwythur hynafol humian fel offeryn chwyth diawlig. Wrth i osgled y dirgryniadau gynyddu, gan neud i’r holl adeilad grynu, dyna Hlothrig yn cael ei fwrw oddi ar ei glwyd i lanio ar ei bedwar wrth ochr y crochan.

Ac yn union mae’n deall bod yr amddiffynfa wedi’i hadwyo a’i fod wedi’i ddarganfod, o weld y Sêl Ysgarlad arswydus yn ymrithio ar wal bella’r siambr. Mae wedi bod yn gweddïo am gael hoe fach o’r hunllef ond bellach fe aiff i’r uffern. Ac yn wir, dyna ymddangos uwchben y crochan berw ffurf ddynol, a’i hwyneb yn disgleirio fel angel fflamllyd, neu falle cythraul achubol. Yno mae’n sefyll, neu’n hongian, fel seren lachar yn gwisgo lifrai milwrol cuddliw, ac ar ei gefn bâr o adenydd rhacsog. Mae’n edrych fel petai’n hamddenol smocio ffag, a’i fwg amryliw’n troi’n ddafnau ambr sy’n ymdoddi i neud cadwyn euraidd yn ymestyn i gydio yn Hlothrig gerfydd ei freichiau a’i goesau. Ac er dyw’r Dewin ddim yn canolbwyntio’n rhy dda, mae’n meddwl fod e’n gweld y diawl (neu dduwdod) disglair yn chwerthin o’r bol wrth i’w ysglyfaeth gael ei blycio i lawr i’r cefnfor o aran byw sy di ffurfio yng ngwaelod y crochan enfawr, ac wedyn trwyddo, i’r Isfyd. Ac yno, mae yna afon wylofus yn ara ganu’i chân ddiarbed ynghylch chwalfa a thranc—

Thihana Inā safale i nai a Alasali ala elesī;
Ni miasinare Alasali ā la Rouena Ria hila.
Senethe alasali ā la nai ana ife ni milufi ulesi sonī the ifi hila;
Isie zoliemithe Firithe a frisala i ni Alasalioha frisala posa ī lise.
Isithalu alethese ale nai amalo ni mihusala sulufa Esisi a Dei pere hila;
Ni mīzasisi sire si halaru ha izasisi halaru ha ni sire si hila.
Isithalu ethanasepizi Thehelo a nai suhehe ilse;
Ni milufi tholohulu Horalo a Esisi a Deī pe hila.
Papafonā Rianithi a naī the ifi thura ifepapē pi rolapase;
Ni miparai Firithe a sonufurisī so aitharise i.
Perai romele ro siperā thalise i nai nusale;
Laza ni mihehilisi he isie sutha thurufu afu alasali ā la isile hila.

In the cellar of Challavas Mansion with its walls of pink granite, amongst the living statues, the fugitive Magus Hlothrig cannot sleep at all, despite the vast quantities of Lethí Oil he’s slurped down. And there he sits on the high chair like a throne of some kind staring at the pure-black liquid bubbling and splashing in the cauldron of green bronze on a dais before him, trying to doze. But around him, on all sides, there are insistent and penetrating voices whispering to him, and the words flowing out in a mixture of every language are extremely powerful but change all the time, like waves on some turbulent river, penetrating through the insipid light cast by the blood-red candles. Outside the enchanted locus, the noisy, flesh-eating bugs are still attacking the building, chirping and stridulating their carapaces whilst squirting organic acid everywhere. And although they cannot burrow through the walls, the blanket of tiny bodies smothers the place, causing all the air inside the ancient structure to hum like a demonic wind-instrument. As the amplitude of the vibrations increases, making the whole building shake, Hlothrig is thrown from his perch to land on all fours besides the cauldron.

Immediately he understands that the stronghold’s been breached and that he’s been discovered when he sees the terrible Scarlet Seal materializing on the furthest wall of the chamber. He’s been praying to get some respite from the nightmare, but now he’ll be in hell. And indeed, there, above the boiling cauldron, appears a human form, its face blazing like a flaming angel, or maybe a redeeming demon. There it stands, or hangs, like a bright star wearing camouflage military gear, with a pair of ragged wings on his back. It looks like it’s leisurely smoking a fag, and the multicolour smoke turns into amber drops that fuse together to make a golden chain that extends to grab Hlothrig by his arms and legs. And although Magus isn’t concentrating too well, he thinks he sees the dazzling devil (or divinity) belly-laughing as his prey is tugged down into the ocean of quicksilver that’s formed in the bottom of the enormous cauldron, and then through it, to the Underworld. And there, a sorrowful river is slowly singing its incessant song of upheaval and death —

Thihana Inā safale i nai a Alasali ala elesī;
Ni miasinare Alasali ā la Rouena Ria hila.
Senethe alasali ā la nai ana ife ni milufi ulesi sonī the ifi hila;
Isie zoliemithe Firithe a frisala i ni Alasalioha frisala posa ī lise.
Isithalu alethese ale nai amalo ni mihusala sulufa Esisi a Dei pere hila;
Ni mīzasisi sire si halaru ha izasisi halaru ha ni sire si hila.
Isithalu ethanasepizi Thehelo a nai suhehe ilse;
Ni milufi tholohulu Horalo a Esisi a Deī pe hila.
Papafonā Rianithi a naī the ifi thura ifepapē pi rolapase;
Ni miparai Firithe a sonufurisī so aitharise i.
Perai romele ro siperā thalise i nai nusale;
Laza ni mihehilisi he isie sutha thurufu afu alasali ā la isile hila.

Dyma fyd ble mae popeth wedi chwalu’n yfflon, gwareiddiad wedi ffoi, a chymdeithas wedi encilio i ambell gadarnle ola. Mae natur wedi adennill ei thiriogaeth unwaith eto ar ôl saib bach pan oedd hi wedi gadael i un rhywogaeth deyrnasu. Ond ro’n nhw wedi niweidio’r blaned i’r fath raddau nes iddyn nhw ddechrau’u dinistrio’u hunain hefyd, ac unwaith i’r broses ennill cyflymder, doedd ball arni. Y peth rhyfedda oedd nad i’r fath beth ddigwydd, ond sut aeth y trawsffurfiad llwyr yn ei flaen fel adwaith cadwynol. Tra oedd y rhan fwya o’r boblogaeth yn meddwl taw gwell na’r creaduriaid eraill o’n nhw, rhwng yr holl arbrofi â chemegion, tincran â genynnau, gorddefnyddio cyffuriau, peirianneg amgylcheddol, rhannu personoliaethau, (heb sôn am y ffaith eu bod yn addasu’u cyrff, hollti’r atom, llygru’r moroedd a’r awyrgylch, a chythryblu grymoedd natur), dyna lle ro’n hwythau’n troi’n angenfilod yn y pen draw. Ac roedd hwn yn newid llythrennol a pharhaol, a phobl yn cymryd arnyn nhw nodweddion anifeiliaid, ac yn ymddwyn a mynd bant i fyw fel mae anifeiliaid yn neud.This is a world where everything is totally fractured, civilization has fled, and society retreated to a few last strongholds. Nature has reclaimed its territory once again after a small pause when it let one species rule. But they have damaged the planet to such a degree that they’ve begun to destroy themselves too, and once the process gained momentum, there was no stopping it. The strangest thing was not the fact that such a thing happened, but how the complete transformation went on like a chain-reaction. Whilst most of the population thought they were better than the other creatures, what with all the experimenting with chemicals, tinkering with genes, over-using drugs, environmental engineering, sharing personalities (not to mention the fact that they were modifying their bodies, splitting the atom, polluting the seas and the atmosphere, and disturbing the forces of nature), there they were, turning into monsters in the end. And this was a literal and permanent transformation, with people assuming animal characteristics, and behaving and going off to live as beasts do.
Saith unigolyn nerthol iawn o ran corff, enaid, ac ewyllys sy wedi codi ymhlith adfeilion y byd i lywodraethu’n ddidostur dros y gweddill. Yn ddiweddar mae’r Ayseyus, Fókhyro a'i wraig Frikshn; Eydudown a'i gŵr Bragga; Twhanz; a Braytstá wedi trechu’r prif lwyth arall, y Wanírs, gan dderbyn y deurywiad o’r enw Freying yn wystl i geisio cynnal heddwch a threfn yn ystod y cyfnod tra bregus hwn. Gyda’i gilydd maen nhw’n arfer awdurdod dros bobman y gellir byw ynddo eto, hynny yw, y Migl-Urth. Ac maen nhw’n casglu atyn nhw’r rhai ymhlith plant y werin bobl sy’n gallu rheoli’u galluoedd newydd i sianelu’r Nerth Di-ludd er mwyn eu defnyddio nhw i adeiladu byd hollol newydd y tu hwnt i dda a drwg. I’r diben hwn, mae Fókhyro wedi comisiynu penseiri o lwyth y Naytlóds i godi Canolfan Hyfforddi, Neuaddau Preswyl, a Maenordy Moethus ar lannau Afon Raynow, yn agos i’r bwthyn glas ble mae’r doethwr hynod a brawychus o’r enw Hlothrig Mulrin (sy bellach yn cael ei enwi’n Oylrig Sífót) yn byw. Ac yno mae’n darllen y rwnau, llefaru â thafodau, darogan trychineb, a bwrw cysgod hir dros yr holl Migl-Urth yn ôl pob sôn.Seven individuals, very strong in body, spirit, and will, have risen up amongst the ruins of the world to govern mercilessly over the rest. Recently, the Ayseyus, Fókhyro and his wife Frikshn; Eydudown and her husband Bragga; Twhanz; and Braytstá, have defeated the other main tribe, the Wanírs, receiving the hermaphrodite called Freying as a hostage to try and maintain peace and order in this most fragile period. Together they exercise authority over everywhere habitable, that is, the Migl-Urth. And they are collecting to themselves those amongst the children of the common folk who can rule their new abilities of channelling the Unhindered Power in order to use them to build a completely new world beyond good and evil. To this end, Fókhyro has commissioned architects from the Naytlód tribe to erect a Training Centre, Halls of Residence, and a Luxury Manse on the banks of the Raynow River, near the blue cottage where the mysterious and frightening sage Hlothrig Mulrin (who’s now called Oylrig Sífót) lives, reading the runes, speaking in tongues, predicting disaster, and casting a long shadow over all Migl-Urth by all accounts.
Ac yno mae’r dyfroedd cythryblus yn canu byth a hefyd hen gân ryfedd a chyfnewidiol am dân, a dagrau, a thranc: “Tihaan u Ina-i-shfalé nay u Alsalil-i-elles; Ny m'ashinré wil Alsali Rowena Hría hýl” – “Fe fydd cerbyd y Lleuad yn tarfu ar y Sidydd, ac; Fe fydd y Saith Seren Siriol yn wylo.” A’r unig dyst yw Oylrig Sífót, y dewin a ddygwyd o fyd arall, sy’n eu bwydo a’u gostegu, eu cocsio a’u symbylu â’i hud, gan chwarae rhan y croesan sy’n rheoli heb yn wybod i neb. Ac, yn debyg i'r hen dduwdod corniog Horní-wun dyw e byth yn aros yn yr un ffurf am hir, gan newid yn gyson o gigfran, i flaidd, i alarch, i garw, gan ddefnyddio'i hudlath wen. Ac felly, ddysgwn ni, wedi addo môr a mynydd i’r cewri o ddynion hyn, mae Fókhyro wedi colli’i holl gyfoeth wrth gamblo, a gall e’m talu, ac yn awr fe fydd yna helynt ar y cythraul! A dyna ddechrau’r stori hon.And there the troubled waters are always singing an old, strange, and ever-changing song about fire, and tears, “Tihaan u Ina-i-shfalé nay u Alsalil-i-elles; Ny m'ashinré wil Alsali Rowena Hría hýl” – “The chariot of the Moon will disturb the Zodiac; And the Pleiades will weep.” And the only witness is the magician brought from another world, Oylrig Sífót, who feeds, and placates, coaxes, and spurs them on with his magic, playing the fool who’s in charge without anyone knowing it. And, like the old horned divinity Horní-wun, he never stays the same in the same form for long, but constantly changes, from a raven, to a wolf, to a swan, to a deer, using his white wand. Thus we learn, that having promised the earth to these giants of men, Fókhyro has lost all his wealth whilst gambling, and cannot pay them, and now all hell will break loose! And that is the start of this story.
Mae Wowdun Fókhyro (mewn byr o dro fe fydd yr hen gythraul yn dechrau defnyddio’r ffugenw Wun-ay am un rheswm neu’i gilydd), pen-bandit i’r llwyth o droseddwyr o’r enw yr Ayseyus, sy’n symudwr, ysgogwr, crëwr, lluniwr bargeinion, a thorrwr llwon, ynghyd â’i bartner cyfnewidiol, celwyddog, Lẃk Braytstá (ie, dyna’i enw iawn er bod pawb yn dweud “Lwcus” fel arfer) sy’n chwim ei droed, blewog ei ddwylo, a bob tro’n dod â thranc, cynnau tannau, a lledaenu llanast, yn twyllo a “damweiniol ladd” y deliwr o’r garfan groes, Ottow Naytlód (mae’n dipyn o fwystfil a dweud y lleia, sy’m yn siarad lawer ran fwya’r amser am ei fod mor benysgafn o lyncu’i gyffuriau’i hun, ac sy’n cael ei alw’n “Ottow y Dyfrgi” am ei fod yn debyg iawn i’r anifail o’r un teulu â’r wenci, a blew hir, brown a ffwr meddal odano, sy’n defnyddio’i gynffon lydan, gref a’i draed gweog i nofio’n gyflym ac yn ystwyth), â cherrig i gefn ei benglog, wrth iddo yntau adennill celc lleidiog o oruwch-fêr a maint enfawr o aur, wedi’i suddo er mwyn diogelwch yng nghofleidiad melys Afon Raynow, a dwyn yr ysbail, wrth i’r tonnau siantio: “Shenté wil alsali nay anaif ny m'luf-hwihls sonni ithfi hýl; Isié dzoliemith 'Vrith-i-frisla'n u Alsalioha i frisla bosa ils” – “Fe fydd y sêr yn troi'u golygon draw oddi wrthynt ac yn cuddio'u llwybrau; Fe fydd golau'r Haul yn cael ei roi yn y cysgod gan olau ariannaidd Mercher.”Wowdun Fókhyro, (in the fullness of time he'll be Old-Nick-named Wun-ay for one reason or another), the don of the Ayseyu crime-clan, mover, shaker, creator, deal-maker, and oath-breaker, together with his mendacious, mercurial sidekick, fleet-footed, light-fingered doom-bearer, fire-starter, and chaos-inflator “Lucky” Lẃk Braytstá (yes, that's exactly right!), set up and “accidentally kill” the rival dealer, Ottow Naytlód (he's rather a beast to say the least, who doesn't talk lots most of the time as he's so stoned on his own drugs, and who's called “Ottow the Otter” as he's very like the animal of the weasel family, with long brown fur, and soft down on his belly, which uses its strong, wide tail and its webbed feet to swim swiftly and supply), with a stone to the back of his skull, as he retrieves a skanky stash of super-marrow and an enormous amount of gold, sunk for safety in the sweet embrace of the Raynow River, and make off with the bounty, as the waves chant: “Shenté wil alsali nay anaif ny m'luf-hwihls sonni ithfi hýl; Isié dzoliemith 'Vrith-i-frisla'n u Alsalioha i frisla bosa ils” – “The stars will turn away from them and will obscure their course; The light of the Sun will be eclipsed by the silvery light of Mercury.”
Yn barod i dorri gwythiennau yn ogystal â chwalu pennau, mae Fanfér a Reygun, brodyr mwya siaradus Ottow yn dod o hyd i laddwyr drygionus eu haelod teulu, a – gwae hwythau! – dyna’r ddau ddihiryn yn cymryd yr hen Wowdun yn wystl, gan hawlio treth waed yn cynnwys llawer iawn o arian. Wrth gwrs dyna’n eitha anghyfleus i Dad Ayseyu, byddai’n well da fe wledda, a diota, a chyfeddach (os na fydd e’n rhyfela, hynny yw). Er mwyn dial cosbedigaethol, dyna’r hen feddwyn., oferwr, a merchetwr yn cael ei hongian allan i sychu ar goeden ar bwys cae rasio Hworldash, yn rhywle hollol anhysbys, ymhell o bobman, ym mhen draw'r byd, gyda dim byd i’w yfed, ond wedi’i grogi o fewn golwg i ffynnon fyrlymus ble does ball ar obaith, ar bob cyfri. A dyna fe’n gweld rhithiau enbyd o ddiffyg hylif, nes fod e’n ymddangos bod llygaid llidus Wowdun yn cofleidio pob un anffawd a dolur a allai ddigwydd mewn holl fyd o ystyr, yn y presennol, yn y gorffennol, neu yn y dyfodol.Fit to bust blood-vessels and brain-boxes, Ottow’s more voluble brothers Fanfér and Reygun track the reprobate kin-slayers down and – o woe! – the two hooligans take old Wowdun hostage, demanding blood-geld of much dosh. Of course, that's rather inconvenient for the Ayseyu Father, who'd prefer to feast, and drink, and carouse (if he's not making war, that is). In punitive retribution, the old soak, ne'er-do-well, and ladies' man is hung out to dry on a tree by Hworldash race-course somewhere near the back of beyond and not far off from the end of world, with nowt to drink, but suspended in sight of a burbling well where hope springs eternal, by all accounts. Hallucinating horribly from liquid-lack, Wowdun’s addled eyes appear to embrace every single setback and sorrow that could occur in a multiverse of meaning, present, past, or possible.
Wel, dyna’r crwydryn dan artaith yn ymbil am farwolaeth dangnefeddus o sugno lan y fath ddoethineb athrist wedi’i gronni ers pan oedd y Migl-Urth yn ifanc. Ond er gwaetha’i weddi druenus, dyna bâr o gigfrain du, adwythig yn cachu yn y nyth, pan maen nhw’n dod i glwydo ar ei ysgwyddau, ac un o’r diawliaid (oedd wedi dechrau’i yrfa fel colomen wen negesi, er bod y byd a’r betws yn arfer ei hathrodi’n enbyd) yn mynd ati i bigo pelen ei lygad chwith mas. Ond o leia mae’r adar ffiaidd yn taenellu tipyn bach o ddŵr ffynnon cynddilywaidd i mewn i’w geg wrth iddyn nhw aros yno'n ei andwyo fe. Ar ôl iddyn nhw neud felly, mae’r ddau aderyn, Hugging a Mwning, yn dod yn gyfeillion cu iddo yn oes oesoedd, byth bythol, a hyd ddiwedd amser.He, tormented wanderer, pleads for a peaceful passing on the presentation of this woeful world-aged wisdom. But his pitiful prayer is pissed on when a pair of baleful black ravens come to perch on his shoulders and one of the buggers (who’d started out his career as a much-maligned messenger dove) proceeds to peck out his left eyeball. But at least the blasted birds sprinkle a little antediluvian spring-water in his gob whilst they remain and maim. Having so done, the twin birds Hugging and Mwning become his bosom buddies for life ever-after and a day.
A, Wowdun Unllygeidiog druan, ei feddwl clwyfus yn crwydro, a throi, a mwydro o ganlyniad i’r datguddiadau chwerw mae newydd eu profi, na all bellach beidio â chanfod bod tranc yr Ayseyus ar fin digwydd! O, dduwdodau tirion, ystyriwch y cyfnos fflamboeth sy’n rhagflaenu cusan y nos, mor ddu â chlais! A dyna fe’n hongian, gan ymdrybaeddu mewn hunllefau didostur o ddistryw hollol a thrallod llwyr, heb fod yn gallu gweld na dianc nac achubiaeth. Oni bai, falle, ddichon, medrai rhyw blentyn a ddeuai i fod o achos ei amlhau gwarthus a thrythyll rwystro ar hap ruthr sydyn y pandemoniwm organig, daroganedig, mae wedi’i orfodi i’w ragolygu.Ah, poor Wowdun One-eye, wounded mind wandering, reeling, and rambling from his rancorous revelations, cannot now un-know that the end the Ayseyus is nigh! O, sweet gods, consider the fire-flecked twilight that precedes night’s bruise-black kiss! And there he hangs, wallowing in pitiless nightmares of utter destruction and complete desolation, unable to see any escape or salvation. Unless, mayhap and perchance, some offspring of his outrageous, orgiastic proliferation might by chance prevent the precipitous onrush of the predicted, organic pandaemonium he’s perforce previewed.
Mae Braytstá, yn y cyfamser, mor fradwrus â bod ffurfafen y dydd yn las, wedi ceisio’r gwystlwr dichellgar ac anfaddeugar Handfást Naytlód, a chribddeilio’i gelc o aur hud trwy fygwth datgelu’r cytundebau cêl ar gyfer nwyddau a gwasanaethau o bob math mae Handfást wedi’u sicrhau gyda’r gwleidydd milain Atlí Hitman a daeth o ryw wlad bell dros y Môr Mawr Llwyd yn wreiddiol. Er bod Handfást yn trio cuddio rhyw fodrwy (wedi’i neud o aur echdynnwyd o esgyrn babis marw a llenwadau yn nannedd llofruddion wedi’u crogi, ddywedir ei bod â phriodweddau dirgel ac anhraethol o ran atal heneiddio a dannedd pwdr, ymhlith llawer o bethau eraill, er enghraifft gweithio fel “arswyd-sgop”), dyna Braytstá yn ei chipio hi ynghyd â gweddill yr aur, gyda sioncrwydd allnaturiol.Braytstá, meanwhile, treacherous as the day-sky’s blue, has sought out the devious and unforgiving pawnbroker Handfást Naytlód and extorted his horde of magical gold by threatening to reveal the secret deals for goods and services of all kinds made between Handfást and the vicious politico Atlí Hitman who came from some far-off land across the Great Grey Sea originally. Although Handfást attempts to conceal a certain ring (made from gold extracted from the bones of dead babies and the teeth of hanged murderers, said to have mysterious and unspeakable anti-ageing and tooth-decay-defying properties, amongst many other things, such as acting as a “horror-scope”), Braytstá seizes it, together with the rest of the gold, with preternatural alacrity.
Mae Handfást, sy’n edrych, a bihafio, yn union fel llyffant hudol, ffiaidd erbyn hyn, yn melltithio pob un o’r cythreuliaid, gan boeri trwy’i ddannedd perffaith fel perlau mân y caiff Afon Raynow ei staenio’n waetgoch o genhedlaeth i genhedlaeth i neud iawn am y gwarth hwn, ac na fydd neb yn berchen ar ei aur am hir cyn cael ei faglu hala i ebargofiant melys cyn yr amser penodedig, ac mewn ffordd fwya echryslon hefyd, i gwrdd â chreawdwr a dadwneuthurwr popeth. Mewn pwl o dymer ddrwg ofnadw, fel mellten i bren, dyna Lẃk syn yn ei daro fe’n farw gorn, fel taw’r person cynta i ddiodde o’r geiriau drwgargoelus yw Handfást ei hun. Mae Braytstá yn dychwelyd, a chyflwyno’r aur, ond dim ond yn hwyrach mae’n crybwyll y felltith dan lyfu’i weflau. Ac mae Afon Raynow yn parhau i ddatgan: “Isthahlu altesil nay amlo ny m'hwzl sulfa u Ezis Dey pré hýl; Ny m'ishazis hsireil thlaruil ishazis thlaruil'n hsireil hýl” – “Fe fydd cnydau'n gwywo ac fe fydd dŵr yn diflannu o wyneb y Ddaear; Fe fydd gwreiddiau'n troi'n canghennau, tra daw canghennau'n wreiddiau.”Handfást, who by now is looking, and behaving, just like a vile magical toad, curses the whole god-damned lot of them, spitting through his quite perfect pearly gnashers that the Raynow River shall be stained blood-red from generation unto generation in recompense for this outrage, and that none shall possess his gold for long before being sent shuffling to sweet oblivion in advance of the rightly-appointed hour, and in the most ghastly fashion to boot, to meet the maker and un-doer of all. In a lightning-quick fit of temper, astonished Lẃk strikes him down stony dead, so that Handfást is the first victim of his own ill-omened words. Braytstá returns and delivers the gold, only afterwards gloatingly speaking of the curse. And the Raynow River continues to declare: “Isthahlu altesil nay amlo ny m'hwzl sulfa u Ezis Dey pré hýl; Ny m'ishazis hsireil thlaruil ishazis thlaruil'n hsireil hýl” – “Crops will wither away and water will disappear from the Earth; Roots will turn into branches, and branches become roots.”
Yn y cyfamser, mae’r stori’n troi at Ráring Fókhyro, gororwyr i Wowdun, a phen-bandit i griw enfawr o smyglwyr, môr-ladron, a masnachwyr pobl. Mae’n ennill enwogrwydd dros nos ymhlith llengoedd y troseddwyr, wrth iddo lwyddo i drechu’r holl garfannau eraill ledled y wlad a’r tu hwnt, a chael ei olynu gan ei fab Fawlsong. Yn ei dro, mae Fawlsong yn dod yn dad i efeilliaid, Sikjurny a Sikmaynd, y ddau ohonyn nhw fydd yn tyfu i lan i ddod yn holion wyth i linach y Fókhyros. Flynyddoedd yn ddiweddarach, dyna benadur gang cystadleuol o’r enw Ziggí sy di bod yn llechfeddiannu tiriogaeth Fawlsong wrth i’r ail ymhyfrydu’n ormodol yn ei bŵer sy’n ddiderfyn i bob golwg, yn hawlio priodi Sikjurny fel pris heddwch rhwng y carfannau croes. Mae Sikmaynd yn annog ei dad i gytuno. Dyna a wna Fawlsong.Meanwhile the story turns to Ráring Fókhyro, Wowdun’s great-great-grandson, and chief-bandit to an enormous crew of smugglers, pirates, and people-traffickers. His star rises meteorically in the felons’ firmament as he achieves mastery over all the other gangs far and wide and is succeeded in turn by his son Fawlsong. In due course, Fawlsong spawns twins, Sikjurny and Sikmaynd, who grow up to be the Fókhyro dynasty’s double doyens. Years later, rival kingpin Ziggí, who’s been encroaching on Fawlsong’s territory as the latter revelled in his seemingly limitless power, demands to marry Sikjurny as the price of peace between the warring factions. Sikmaynd urges his father to agree. Fawlsong does.
Felly dyna Wowdun, hen hen a garw yr olwg, yn gwisgo clogyn hir llwyd o groen blaidd, ac yn ei esgid ddagr hynafol, yn sleifio mor ystwyth â sarff lithrig i mewn i’r twmpath wedi’i drefnu i ddathlu’r briodas. Heb ei weld, mae’r hen fandal cas yn plannu’r gyllell ac ar ei charn aur lawer o rwnau, yn wyneb grwn y bwrdd derw, drudfawr. Www, rwnau! Aur! Melltithion! Tynged! Dim ond Sikmaynd sy’n llwyddo i’w thynnu hi allan heb dorri’i lengig, a dyna’n amlwg yn argoeli’r gogoniant sydd i ddod, ond ife?Wowdun, ancient and gnarly, wearing a long grey cloak and with an antique dagger down his boot, sneaks snake-sinewed and wolf-pelted into the wedding hoe-down. Unseen, he drives the knife with a rune-laden gold hilt into the expensive round oaken table-top, the dirty old vandal. Aah, runes! Gold! Curses! Fate! Only Sikmaynd, sinuously strenuous, succeeds in pulling it out without strangulating a haggis: an omen of obvious future glory. Or is it?
Fel mae’n digwydd, mae Ziggí yn dwlu ar gael dweud ei ffortiwn yn rheolaidd gan ei ordderch feistrolgar, y fio-ergo-swynyddes Dr Graymjayld, sy’n alcemydd a horosgopydd drwg ei enw. Dyna hithau’n temtio’i chariad gydag addewidion annychmygadwy ond diamheuol y gall e ormesu’r Migl-Urth oll trwy gael ac wedyn dysgu trin y gyllell ryfedd. Ond yn y cefndir, mae hi yng llawiach yr hen Ddewin arallfydol, Oylrig Sífót. A dyna Ziggí, na all roi’r gorau i lygadrythu’r rwnau dyrys, a geiriau mesmeraidd Graymjayld yn atseinio yn ei glustiau, yn cynnig ffortiwn mewn aur wedi’i ddwyn am yr efryn swyn. Mae Sikmaynd yn mynd ar ei beth mawr gan floeddio na fydd e’n colli’r dagr byth. Wedi mynd o’i go’, dyna Ziggí yn saethu’r penteulu Fawlsong Fókhyro gynta. Mae Sikjurny yn pledio am fywyd Sikmaynd a’u brodyr ieuengach eraill. ond dyna ddynion Ziggí, wedi drysu gan aidd anwaraidd a diodydd meddwol Graymjayld, yn eu handwyo nhw a’u gadael fel petaen nhw’n farw. Dim ond Sikmaynd, wedi’i anafu’n echrydus, sy’n llwyddo i sleifio ymaith, gan adael ei chwaer yn hafflau Ziggí a’i weision bach affwysol.As it happens, Ziggí’s mad-keen on getting his fortune told regularly by his masterful mistress, bio-ergo-mancer Dr Graymjayld, alchemist and horoscopist of ill-repute. She tempts her paramour with undreamt-of but indubitable promises that he’ll be able to dominate the whole Migl-Urth by obtaining and then learning to wield the strange knife. But, behind the scenes, she’s in cahoots with the old otherworldly wizard, Oylrig Sífót Ziggí, fixated on the riddling runes, and with Graymjayld’s words ringing in his ears, offers Sikmaynd a fortune in stolen gold for the enchanted implement. Sikmaynd vows on his life screaming that he’ll never lose the dagger. Enraged, Ziggí first shoots the paterfamilias Fawlsong Fókhyro. Sikjurny pleads for the lives Sikmaynd and their other, younger brothers, but Ziggí’s men, mental with barbarous zeal and Graymjayld’s intoxicating potions, maim them and leave them for dead. Only Sikmaynd, dreadfully wounded, manages to slink away., leaving his sister in the grasp of Ziggí and his pathetic minions.
Heb yn wybod i Sikmaynd, dyna Sikjurny ei chwaer, wedi colli’i phwyll ar ôl y lladdedigaeth, yn ceisio cychwyn adwaith cadwynol i ddial ar lofruddwyr bwystfilaidd ei theulu, a’r holl Migl-Urth hefyd. Dyna hithau felly’n dianc rhag ei dalwyr, gan gymryd arni’i bod yn mynd i anrheithio pentre’r gwladwyr yn y fforest binwydd cyn rhoi’u bythynnod ar dân. Mae’r gwarchodwyr gwirion yn ei chredu hi’n llwyr, gan floeddio arni wrth iddi fynd yn ei blaen. Wedi’i chuddio’i hun fel ei bod yn amhosibl ei hadnabod, mae’n mynd i gwrdd â Sikmaynd yn ei guddfa. Gyda’i gilydd, maen nhw’n ffroeni rhagor o gyffuriau fferyllol cartre nag a fyddai’n lladd sawl ceffyl mawr. Dan ddylanwad y sylweddau mor flasus, dyna Sikmaynd yn cyplu’n anghyfreithiol â’i chwaer ei hun, wrth i bâr o gigfran aflêr, sbecwyr cywilyddus, syllu ar yr olygfa, gan frewlan yn fileinig. Wedyn, dyna’r twyllwr Sikjurny yn ymadael fel lleidr yn y nos, ac yn ddiweddar, yn dwyn mab sy’n frawd iddi ar yr un pryd, o’r enw Sinfíalty. O dduwdodau creulon! Am arswyd! Am ddychryn! Am warth!Unbeknownst to Sikmaynd, Sikjurny his sister, crazed at the carnage, seeks to start a chain-reaction to get vengeance on her family’s bestial murderers, and all of Migl-Urth as well. So she escapes her captors, pretending she's off to pillage the peasants' village in the pine-forest before setting their cottages alight. The stupid guards believe her completely, cheering as she goes on her way. Camouflaged and unrecognisable, she goes to meet Sikmaynd in his hideout. They together insufflate more home-made pharmaceuticals than would kill several large horses. Under the influence of the so-tasty substances, Sikmaynd illicitly mates with his own sister, as two motley raven-twins, vile voyeurs, gaze gravely on muttering murderously. Then, the trickster Sikjurny departs like a night-thief, and later bears her own brother-son, Sinfíalty. O cruel gods! The horror! The terror! The shame!
Pan ddaw Sinfíalty i oed, er na allai neb byth ragweld y fath dro rhydedd ar fyd, dyna yntau’n cael ei hala i’r lloches yng nghanol yr anialdir ble mae’i dad sydd ei frawd hefyd, yn byw, gan fynd â’r dagr hynafol, dieflig wedi’i ddwyn oddi ar Ziggí gyda fe. Wrth gwrs, fe ddaw'r ddau ddyn dan faich o’r pechod mwya’n gyfeillion calon a brodyr gwaed, a rhuthro o gwmpas fel gwylliaid terfysglyd. Ymhen hir a hwyr, maen nhw’n ymdreiddio i blasty gang Ziggí, a chael hyd i fenyw, yr unig un yn yr holl le, yn ôl pob sôn. Er does gan y ddau ddyn yr un syniad ynghylch pwy ydy hi na be mae di neud, mae Sikmaynd yn llwyddo i ddyfalu, ac wrth iddo ddechrau boddi mewn gofid a gwae, poen a thrallod, dyna fe’n gollwng y gath o’r cwd, a dweud popeth wrth Sinfíalty.When Sinfíalty comes of age, he, in a strange and absolutely unpredictable fate-twist, is sent to the safe-house in the middle of the wilderness where his father who’s also his brother, lives, taking the vintage Ziggí-stolen doom-dagger with him. Of course then the two incest-ridden men become bosom-buddies and blood-brothers and rampage as rowdy renegades. Eventually, they infiltrate Ziggí’s gang-mansion, and come across a woman, the only one in the whole place, it would appear. Although the two men have no idea who she is or what she’s done, Sikmaynd manages to guess, and as he becomes covered in doom and gloom, pain and misery, he blurts everything out to Sinfíalty.
Ww, dychmygwch yr aduniad teuluol, wrth i Sikjurny esbonio’r amgylchiadau. Dyna i chi amlygiadau! Am gyfrinachau erchyll! Mae’r gwŷr yn ymbil ar Sikjurny i adael, ond dyna hithau’n dewis tranc o wirfodd calon yn dâl am y gwarth mae wedi’i ddwyn arni’i hun. Dyna hwythau felly’n lladd pawb, yn cynnwys y fam sy hefyd y chwaer, a dymchwel y tŷ yn wastad â'r llawr. Mae’r ordderch wenwynig Graymjayld (sy wedi bod yn llechu yn y seler), yn dianc, fodd bynnag, trwy ryw wyrth ddieflig, wedi’i harwain gan bâr o gigfrain sy’n siarad mewn damhegion.Ooh, imagine the family reunion, as Sikjurny explains the circumstances. What revelations! Such terrible secrets! The menfolk beg Sikjurny to leave but she willingly chooses death as payment for her self-inflicted dishonour. So, they slay everyone, mother-sister included, razing the house to the ground. Malevolent mistress Graymjayld (who’s been lurking in the cellar) escapes, however, by some devilish miracle, guided by a pair of riddling ravens.
Nawr, mae Sikmaynd a Sinfíalty, yn graig o arian, yn ben ar lwyth y Fókhyros am flynyddoedd maith wedyn. Mae Sikmaynd, ryfedd dweud, yn byw tali gyda Graymjayld, wedi’i denu i ryw raddau gan ei geiriau hudolus ac am ei bod mor heini ac ystwyth, a hefyd gan y cyffuriau anhygoel mae’n cynhyrchu’n gyson yn eu sied ardd hyfryd ar ffurf bwythyn glas hynafol. Mae hithau, sut bynnag, yn casáu ar y slei bach y dynion laddodd ei chymar Ziggí, ac yn ceisio gwenwyno’r ddau rebel diedifar pwy, nid yw’n syndod dweud, sy’n mwynhau yfed hyd at feddwi, yn debyg i lawer iawn o bobl eraill yn dod o amgylchedd teuluol trwblus. Dyna hithau, felly, yn cyfrwys drefnu gŵyl gwrw a chystadleuaeth yfed, a bragu cerwyni enfawr o neithdar angheuol, gan herio’r ddau ddyn dewr i’w llyncu nhw ar ei dalcen.Sikmaynd and Sinfíalty, loaded with loot, now rule the roost for years. Sikmaynd, strange to say, shacks up with Graymjayld, attracted somewhat by her witching words and lissom litheness, as well as by the fantastic pharmaceuticals she manufactures mundanely in their lovely garden shed in the shape of an ancient blue cottage. She though, secretly loathing the men who murdered her mate Ziggí, tries to poison the two unrepentant rebels, who, just like lots of other people from a disturbed family background, like a good drink. She then, cunningly organizes a beer festival and drinking contest, and brews huge barrels of deadly nectar, challenging the two brave men to down them.
Mae Sikmaynd bob tro’n ochelgar o achos ei orffennol amheus, ac yn cadw un o’i lygad o leia ar agor bob amser rhag bod rhywun eisiau’i fradychu. Dyna fe’n cymryd gwrthgyffur, llyncu’r llathen o ddiod yn un joch, a rhedeg milltir mewn llai na phedwar munud yn lle cicio’r bwced. Wedi colli arni’i hun ond yn hy eto, dyw’r meddyg breuddwydion ddim yn gwyro o’i chynllun, ond yn dal ati gyda’i hystrywiau llwfr, nes i Sikmaynd ddiffygio o’r diwedd, wedi’i barlysu fel peirat piwritanaidd sy di llowcio llond lletwadau o laeth mwnci. Ar hynny, dyna Sinfíalty ei hun, yn ddiamddiffyn a niweidiadwy, yn drachtio o’r llestr hudol yn llawn gwenwyn wedi’i baratoi gyda breuan a phestl, a chwympo’n farw’n syth.Sikmaynd, ever wary due to his dodgy past, always keeps at least one eye open for treachery. He takes antidote, drains the ale-yard and runs a mile in less than four minutes instead of kicking the bucket. Maddened but undaunted yet, the dream-doctor doesn’t deviate from her plan, but keeps on with her dastardly deceptions, until Sikmaynd droops at last, paralytic as a puritanical pirate on poitín. Thereupon, Sinfíalty himself, unprotected and vulnerable, quaffs from the magical mortar-and-pestle-poisoned vessel and immediately drops down dead.
Pan mae Sikmaynd yn dod at ei goed, dyna fe’n twlu lan, wedyn tynnu llygad Graymjayld, cyn dangos y drws i’r doethur diawledig. Hyd yn oed yn awr, fodd bynnag, mae’n anfodlon cyfnewid bywyd drwg am un lled lân – dyna ffŵl annoeth a byr ei olwg i chi – er taw llygad am lygad yw peth arall yn llwyr, heb sôn am ddant am ddant, llaw am law, a throed am droed. Dyw e’m yn gallu peidio meddwl, ch’mod, taw siarad yn wir wnaiff gwaed wedi’i golli mewn dicter, gan alw'n daer am ddial a mwy o dywallt gwaed. Mae blynyddoedd lawer yn mynd heibio, ac wrth i wyll creulon a hydref ysgethrin ymdaenu fel mantell ddu dros y Migl-Urth oll, dyna Sikmaynd yn mynd yn hen iawn, penllwyd, llym yr olwg, melyn a cham ei ddannedd, a hir ei farf. Drwy’r amser mae’n cael ei fwrw yn ei flaen i chwiwladrata ac ysbeilio gan ei awydd anniwall am fwy a fwy o aur. Mae di ennill cyfoeth tu hwnt i fesur, ond er hynny, mor brudd â mynach cwflog mewn badd-dy cyhoeddus ydy, ac mor unig â lleuen dân, bigog yng nghanol y Maes Iâ Mawr Gorllewinol. Yn y pen draw, mae’n llwyddo i gael gafael ar y ferch hardd iawn Shugrlayn a wnaiff unrhyw beth bron i’w briodi fe am ryw reswm annealladwy.When Sikmaynd comes to, he throws up, then out-eyes Graymjayld, before throwing the diabolical doctor out. Even now, though, he’s unwilling to exchange an evil life for a half-decent one – the blind, short-sighted fool – although an eye for an eye is another thing entirely, not to mention a tooth for a tooth, hand for a hand, and foot for a foot. He can’t help thinking, you see, that blood spilled in anger surely talks, crying out for vengeance and more bloodshed. Long years pass, and as a cruel twilight and terrible autumn spread out like a black cloak over all Migl-Urth, Sikmaynd grows very old, hoary, harsh-faced, yellow-toothed, and long of beard. All the time, he’s spurred on to pilfer and plunder by his insatiable desire for more and more gold. Rich beyond measure, he is as fed-up as a cowled monk in a public bath-house, and as lonely as a prickly fire-louse in the middle of the Great Western Ice-field. Eventually he manages to bag the real beauty Shugrlayn, who for some utterly unfathomable reason is desperate to marry him.
Wel, be sy’n digwydd nesa? Mae penaethiaid pum gang croes, crwydriaid bychan, ystrywgar, sy’n arbenigwyr ar gloddio a phuro mwynau, ac yn dweud taw Meistri’r Migl-Urth ydyn nhw, yn ymgiprys yn ofer am oruchafiaeth dros y tylwythau ar ôl tranc Ziggí. Maen nhw’n gwrthwynebu’n gryf y fath gytundeb rhwng hen farwn crintachlyd a morwyn ifanc heb yr un geiniog, wedi’u hannog gan gynllwynion Oylrig Sífót. Yn wir, maen nhw’n casáu’r syniad o bontio, uno claniau, tynnu gwregys, a gwagio llestri llawn llaeth hynawsedd dynol. Maen nhw eisiau herwgipio Shugrlayn yn y fan a’r lle, ac yn dymuno golud Sikmaynd yr un mor awyddus, neu hyd yn oed yn fwy, ac maen nhw’n bwriadu cael hyd i bopeth! Felly dyna nhw’n cuddio i ymosod ar Sikmaynd, ac ar ôl ei frifo’n enbyd, yn chwalu’r dagr â charn aur ac arno lawer o rwnau hudol yn gyrbibion. Mae Shugrlayn yn addunedu i’w iacháu fe, ond mae Sikmaynd yn gwrthod, gan fynnu’i fod e’n gallu clywed llais gwawdlyd Wowdun, ei hen hen hen hen hendaid, yn ei alw fe yn ei flaen tuag at ogoniant gwaedlyd mewn rhyw fath o nef uffernol tu hwnt i’r llen.Well, what happens next? Five rival gang-lords, devious, diminutive drifters, experts on mining and mineral manipulation, who call themselves the Masters of the Migl-Urth, are vying vainly for dominion over the clans after Ziggí’s demise. They strongly object to this meeting of minds between an old miserly baron and young penniless maiden, spurred on by the machinations of Oylrig Sífót. Indeed they hate the idea of building bridges, joining clans, ungirding loins, and emptying vessels full of the milk of human kindness. They want to kidnap Shugrlayn, there and then, and they desire Sikmaynd’s wealth just as much, or even more, and they intend to have it all! So, they ambush and terribly wound Sikmaynd and shatter his magical be-runed, gold-be-handled dagger in smithereens. Shugrlayn vows to heal him but Sikmaynd refuses, insisting he hears great-great-great-great-grandfather Wowdun’s mocking voice calling him onward to gory glory in some kind of hellish heaven beyond the veil.
Cyn iddo drengi, dyna Sikmaynd yn tyngu difa’r gelynion gwael i Shugrlayn. Wel, mae’n addo bydd eu plentyn heb ei eni’n dial ar y coblynnod rheibus am golled ei dad marw i’r enfed radd pan fydd y dagr toredig wedi’i ail-wneud yn arwydd o’i ddicter. Ar y gair, dyna fe’n darfod mewn golygfa gywilyddus o ing angheuol. Mae Shugrlayn yn pendilio ar drothwy ebargofiant, ar fin cael ei chipio ymaith gan y cabál o ben-rhyfelwyr ysglyfaethus. Fodd bynnag, pan ddatgelir tadogaeth y mab yn ei chroth, mewn tro ar fyd arall yn rhyfeddach na dim byd sy’n digwydd mewn ffuglen, dyna’r pen-bandit sy’n gweld ei wyn arni, yn cymryd Shugrlayn dan ei adain helaeth. O ganlyniad, pan gaiff y mab Sikhát, sy bellach heb dad, ei eni, dyna fe’n cael ei feithrin gan Reygun Naytlód, sy di cael ei dwyll o’i ran gyfreithlon o’r alanas gan ei frawd sarffaidd, castiog, Fanfér.Before he croaks it, Sikmaynd swears extirpation for the vile enemies to Shugrlayn. Well, he promises that their unborn child will wreak vengeance on the rapacious goblins for the loss of his dead father to the n-th degree when the broken dudgeon-dagger is re-forged. He then expires in a shameful scene of coil-shuffling angst. Shugrlayn poises on the edge of oblivion, about to be snatched away by the cabal of predatory war-lords. However, when the paternity of her unborn son is revealed, in yet another fate-twist stranger than any fiction, Shugrlayn is taken under the extensive wing of the chief gangster who’s been making calf-eyes at her. As a result, when the now-fatherless son Sikhát is born, he’s fostered by Reygun Naytlód, so sorely swindled out of his rightful share of wergild by his wily snake-like sibling, Fanfér.
Dyna sut mae hi, ‘lly. Flynyddoedd yn ddiweddarach. Mae’r ffortiwn wedi’i thalu yn sgil marwolaeth Ottow Naytlód yn aros dan ofal Fanfér, brawd i Reygun, ac fe fyddai rhai’n honni taw dyna’r canlyniad cywir. Mae’n hŷn, doethach (ha!), a mwy erchyll na’r un ieuengach, ac yn fwystfil treisiol gythreulig, neu hyd yn oed yn ddraig mewn croen dyn heb air o gelwydd. Fe allai dyn ddychmygu bod Fanfér yn berchennog ar “arswyd-sgop.” Am ei fod yn chwennych am y celc o aur sy mor ddisglair, llachar, a hyfryd, ac eisiau ei gael iddo’i hun, dyna Reygun yn cyhuddo Sikhát o fod yn gachgi i’w brocio i ymladd â Fanfér. Mae Reygun yn honni bod Fanfér wedi dwyn ei hanner o’r celc, a nawr dim ond ceisio cyfiawnder a wnaiff e.So, this is how it is. Years later. Ottow Naytlód’s ransom remains (arguably) in the rightful keeping of Reygun’s brother Fanfér. He’s older, wiser (ha!), and horribler than the younger one, and a fiendishly violent creature, a veritable dragon in man’s clothing. One might almost imagine he’s the possessor of a “horror-scope.” Coveting the shiny, twinkling, lovely gold-mound himself, Reygun accuses Sikhát of cowardice to goad him into fighting Fanfér. Reygun claims Fanfér has stolen his half of the hoard and he now merely wants justice.
Fe fydd Sikhát yn gallu cadw’r golud a’r gogoniant. Mae’r ystryw gyfrwys yn llwyddo ar unwaith! Dyna Reygun, ar gefn ei geffyl gwyn (fel petai), yn taflu drylliau’r dagr dieflig wedi’i dorri tuag at Sikhát. Mae’r hyfforddai ifanc sy’n anwybodus ac felly’n hollol ddi-ofn, yn llamu gyda nhw i’r efail, ble mae’n ail-wneud yr erfyn (dim ond achos ei fod mor ddiniwed mae’n gallu neud hyn), a chychwyn mas yn syth i sgarmesu â Fanfér ffiaidd yn ei ffau jynglaidd. Yn enwedig fel roedd Oylrig Sífót wedi rhagweld, yr hen foi cyfrwys iddo!The gold and the glory Sikhát can keep. The cunning ruse works immediately! Reygun, full of dudgeon (as it were), throws the bits of the broken dagger of doom at Sikhát. The unknowing and hence totally fearless young apprentice leaps with them to the forge, re-makes the weapon (only due to his innocence can he do this), and sallies forth immediately to jungle-rumble with fearsome Fanfér. Just as Oylrig Sífót had predicted, the crafty old beggar!
Gyda chymorth rhai o’r anifeiliaid mwya parod eu cymwynas y cael hyd iddyn nhw’n rheolaidd yn y fath chwedlau, sy di cael llond bol o anrheithio gan y ddraig, dyna Sikhát yn ffeindio’i ffordd i ffau Fanfér, yn ddwfn yn y fforest ffantastig. Er bod Fanfér yn rhybuddio Sikhát bod Handfást wedi melltithio’r celc hudol, mae Sikhát yn ddiysgog, gan gredu taw dim ond eisiau glynu wrth ei fynydd o aur naiff Fanfér, yr hen gythraul gwirion. Gan ei fod yn symud mor ysgafndroed, ac yn llefaru mor ystrywgar, dyna Sikhát yn trechu’r ffelon sarffaidd, a’r beirdd yn chwysu chwartiau wrth gyfansoddi’r chwedl i ddisgrifio’r achlysur. Dyna Afon Raynow yn rhedeg yn goch – nage am y tro cynta, na’r ola ‘fyd! – fel y rhagwelwyd wrth reswm gan Handfást pan naeth e fwrw’i felltith andwyol i ddechrau cychwyn. Ac mae’n ubain: “Ishazis edanspísh u Delkurí nay zuchech ils ny m'luf-dlouhlu u Horalo u Ezis Dey ipé hýl; Pih mayhlwn'n nehlí af'ehr rolaps” – “Fe fydd Dynolryw yn meddwi ar win gan anghofio'r Nef er mwyn y Ddaear; Fe fydd pob un peth yn peidio cyflawni'i nod yn fuan.”With the help of some of the most accommodating animals found regularly in such legends, who are fed up to the back teeth with the dragon’s depredations, Sikhát finds his way to Fanfér’s lair, deep in the fantastical forest. Although Fanfér warns him of Handfást’s curse on the magic stash, Sikhát is unmoved, believing that Fanfér wishes only to cling on forever to his gold hoard, the silly old devil. With much fleet-footed guile and pages of poetic perspiration, Sikhát prevails over the serpentine felon. The Raynow River runs red – not for the first time, nor the last! – as predicted, of course, by toady Handfást when he pronounced his crippling curse in the first place. And it wails: “Ishazis edanspísh u Delkurí nay zuchech ils ny m'luf-dlouhlu u Horalo u Ezis Dey ipé hýl; Pih mayhlwn'n nehlí af'ehr rolaps” – “Mankind will get drunk on wine and forget Heaven in favour of Earth; Soon everything will cease to accomplish its function.”
Wel, mae Reygun yn cyrraedd wedyn a cheisio honni’i hawl i ran o’r aur, gan ensynio taw yntau oedd yn gyfrifol am ladd y ddraig ‘fyd i ryw raddau, am taw yntau ddywedai wrth Sikhát am ail-wneud y dagr mor llwyddiannus, a’i annog i ddilyn ei dynged, a hyd yn oed mwy o’r fath rwtsh. Heb oedi, dyna Reygun yn torri calon Fanfér ei frawd mas, gan orchymyn i Sikhát ei rhostio hi fel fod yntau’n gallu’i bwyta er mwyn dial am y tro ola ar ei frawd ffiaidd yn y ffordd fwya gwaedlyd posib. Wedi hynny, mae Reygun yn syrthio i drwmgwsg, wedi ymlâdd o achos yr holl gynnwrf dybryd mae pawb eraill wedi bod yn diodde ohono – yr arwr ifanc Sikhát er enghraifft, a’r ddraig farw yn anad dim. Ond pwy sy’n llechu tu ôl i’r llwyni wrth ymyl, gan gadw llygad barcut ar bopeth? Dim ond Oylrig Sífót, wrth gwrs, ac mae’n chwerthin yn ei lawes, bid siŵr!Reygun arrives and attempts to stake a claim on a share of the gold, insinuating that he also had a role in the slaying because he made Sikhát re-forge the dagger so successfully, and encouraged him to follow his destiny, and even more of the same rubbish. Without delay, Reygun slices out his brother Fanfér’s heart, ordering Sikhát to roast it so that he himself can eat it in a last act of grizzly vengeance on his loathsome brother. Then Reygun falls into a deep slumber, knackered by all the egregiously vicarious nervous excitement – provided by the young hero Sikhát for instance, and the dead dragon in particular. And who’s lurking behind the bushes nearby, keeping an eagle-eye on everything? Only Oylrig Sífót, of course, and he’ laughing up his sleeve, to be sure!
Dyna Sikhát yn llunio bêr dros dro a chynnau tân, gan neud popeth mae’r hen feistr crebachlyd, surbwch wedi’i orchymyn iddo’i neud. Fodd bynnag, er nad oes ganddo fawr o brofiad ynghylch bod yn ganibal, dyw yntau ddim yn gallu peidio blasu’r mymryn lleia o’r cnawd amryw, deniadol o suddlon, a chyn gynted â’i fod wedi stwffio tamaid amheuthun yn ei geg yn glafoerio, dyna fe’n dechrau clywed lleisiau. Wel, dyna rywbeth sy’n digwydd yn aml rown’ fan hyn yn ôl pob sôn, o ganlyniad, mae’n debyg, i’r ffaith bod cynifer o frodyr yn priodi’u chwiorydd yn groes i bob deddf dyn a natur. Ac ar ben hynny, pwy a ŵyr a allai fe fod wedi’i heintio’i hun â rhyw glefyd wedi’i achosi gan brionau?Sikhát fashions an ad-hoc spit and kindles a fire, and does exactly as he’s been bidden by his old wrinkly master. However, newcomer to cannibalism that he is, he can’t resist having a tiny taste of the raw flesh himself, as it’s tantalizingly juicy, and upon stuffing a tasty morsel into his salivating gob, he starts to hear voices. Well, that’s not an uncommon occurrence in these-here parts by all accounts, due, probably, to the fact that so many brothers marry their sisters against every law of man and nature. And on top of that who knows about the potential for self-inflicted prion-disease contamination?
Mewn gwirionedd, anifeiliaid rhyfeddol y goedwig sy’n hefrio’n ddi-baid, ac fe all Sikhát ddeall bellach bob gair maen nhw’n ddweud wrth iddyn nhw drydar, rhuo, brefu, gweryru, hisian, gwichian, a’r gweddill. Pan mae’r lleisiau’n ei rybuddio bod Reygun yn snecian tuag ato a llafn miniog, noeth yn ei grafanc fradwrus, fe all Sikhát achub y blaen ar yr ymosodiad dan din gan ei dadmaeth. Dyna’r glaslanc yn lladd y cawr blewog cyn farwed â hoelen, a mynd i ffwrdd â’r aur melltigedig yn wlyb diferol o waed, yn ogystal â’r gogoniant hunllefus.In fact, it’s the wondrous forest animals that are yammering on incessantly, and Sikhát can now comprehend every word of the twittering, roaring, lowing, whinnying, hissing, squeaking, and the rest. When the voices warn him that Reygun’s sneaking towards him with a sharp, drawn blade in his treacherous claw, Sikhát is able to pre-empt his foster-father’s cowardly strike. The stripling youth slays the hairy giant stone dead and makes off with the gore-soaked and god-forsaken gold, and the gruesome glory.
Drwy’r amser, mae Sikhát yn gallu clywed y lleisiau hollbresennol yn baldorddi am y goth o fenyw, ac angyles y fall, o’r enw Brawnjayld, sy’n hoff iawn o finlliw du, bochau’n rhuddliw i gyd, a gwallt mor wyn â’r powdr eiriog gorau. Mae’r dduwies fetel trwm hon, sy’n dwlu ar reidio o gwmpas yn gwisgo helmed ac arni gyrn, menig hir lledr, a mantell goch, yn blentyn cariad i Wowdun a Graymjayld, a gaeth ei geni ar ôl un noson wyllt o garu fflamboeth wedi’i fegino gan sylweddau meddwol. Bellach mae’r fam, y ddifa gyfrwys, galon ddu, yn ei dirmygu, er bod ei thad hi fel iâr ag uncyw. Nid rhyfedd fod ganddi’i phroblemau’i hun, a’i bod yn osgoi heulwen ac awyr iach, gan fwynhau’n well brancio a phirwetio yn y glaw, wrth ganu tra-la-la-la-la!All the while he hears the ever-present voices babbling about the goth-girl, biker-babe Brawnjayld, fan of black lipstick, red-rouged cheeks, and hair white as the finest snowy powder. This heavy-metal goddess who loves riding around wearing a horned helmet, long leather gloves, and a red gown, is the illegitimate spring-off of Wowdun’s and Graymjayld’s passionate drug-fuelled fiery fling. She’s now spurned by her mother, black-hearted, devious diva that she is, although her father is massively over-protective of her. No wonder she has problems, shunning sunlight and fresh air, and preferring always to prance and pirouette in the rain, singing tra-la-la-la-la!
Dyna bisyn! medd Sikhát wrtho’i hun, er nad arbenigwr ar faterion marched mohono fe, bid sicr. Wedi’i chondemnio fel petai’n rhyw laslances druenus, yn ansad ei meddwl (er taw dweud iddi gael ei dewis gan y duwiau fyddai’n well disgrifiad), mae hi’n cael ei chyfyngu i’w thŷ, “er ei lles ei hun,” wedi brwydr lawn rhwng y ferch wrthryfelgar a’i ffrindiau terfysglyd ar y naill law, a’i hen dad od a llengoedd yr anfarwolion ar y llaw arall. A sdim fawr o Gymraeg o gwbl rhwng y rhiant dioddefgar a’r plentyn ystyfnig y dyddiau ‘ma a dweud y lleia.Phwoar! says Sikhát to himself, no expert in women-stuff to be sure. Condemned as if she were some pitiful mentally unstable teenager (although to say she’d been chosen by the gods would be a better description), she’s kept prisoner under house-arrest “for her own good,” after a pitched battle between the rebellious daughter and her riotous friends on the one hand, and her strange old man and the legions of the immortal on the other. And it would be a whopping understatement to say that the long-suffering parent and the wilful child are somewhat estranged these days.
O’r diwedd, dyna Sikhát yn cyrraedd fila gromennog, glodfawr Wowdun, ble mae popeth wedi mynd yn draed moch yn ddiweddar am ryw reswm, a’i waliau yn winwydd pigog o bougainvillea ym mhob man, wedi’i hamgylchynu gan ffens drydan foltedd uchel. Ac yntau’n meddu ar fedrusrwydd mabolgampol o bob math, mae’n neidio dros honno’n hawdd. Mae’r holl derfysgu a lladd wedi dwyn ffrwyth wedi’r cwbl: concwerwr cyhyrog, creulon ydy bellach, ac un all oresgyn er gwaetha pob disgwyl, fel rhyw injan ryfel annynol. Mae’n treiddio i siambr sorri Brawnjayld, a hithau’n esbonio sut mae Wowdun wedi’i dal hi yno i’w gorfodi hi i dalu iawn am ei throseddau annuwiol yn erbyn yr Ayseyus. Yn fyrbwyll, mae Brawnjayld wedi tyngu llw na fydd hi’n priodi ond yr un achubydd, sef un sy’n yn ddisgynnydd i Wowdun ei hun, ac ymhellach, sy’n llwyddo i ladd gelyn pennaf eu teulu, yr anghenfil ffiaidd Fanfér. Wel, a bod yn onest, mae’r Dewin swynol Oylrig Sífót wedi taro ar frys i’w gweld hi o’r blaen ‘fyd, ac wedi plannu’r syniad yn ei phen ifanc.Sikhát finally arrives at Wowdun’s vaunted, vaulted bedlam-villa, walls arrayed with spiny bougainvillea vine, ringed by a high-voltage electric fence. He easily vaults over that, possessed of all sorts of athletic prowess. Not for nothing then has been all his rampaging and slaying: now he’s a lean, mean all-overcoming machine! He penetrates Brawnjayld’s boudoir, and she explains how Wowdun’s trapped her there to force her to atone for her impious crimes against the Ayseyus. Impetuously, Brawnjayld’s vowed to wed but one rescuer, who is descended from Wowdun himself and moreover, who manages to kill their family’s sworn enemy, the vile monster Fanfér. Well, to be honest, she’s had another flying visit, this time from the charming Magus Oylrig Sífót, who planted the idea in her youthful head.
Wel, dyna Sikhát yn adrodd ei orchestion fyrdd o flaen Brawnjayld, a hithau wrth ei bodd ac yn canu am ei breuddwyd wefreiddiol y byddan nhw gyda’i gilydd am dragwyddoldeb a diwrnod dros ben (wel, tan ddiwedd y flwyddyn nesa, falle, ta be). Fodd bynnag, dyna hi’n tyngu (unwaith eto, y dyngwraig gableddus, gegog iddi!) bydd hi’n derbyn Sikhát dim ond pan fydd e wedi darostwng y gangiau eraill i gyd. Wir i chi, dyna fyddai’n gryn gamp heb air o gelwydd, ond llances arbennig ydy hithau, nage rhyw hwren rad ar ôl ei arian! Felly dyna Sikhát yn mynd bant i ymdreiddio i’r llwyth dychrynllyd o nerthol a’r enw y Nayflungs, er mwyn eu difa nhw’n llwyr cyn dod yn ôl i gyflawni’i gariad gyda’i ddyweddi. Dyna fydd gwynfyd cenhedlol diderfyn! (Mae’r Nayflungs, fodd bynnag, heb yn wybod i’r rhan fwya o’r gwerinos, yn digwydd bod yn ddisgynyddion lledryw i’r cewri o gyndadau, y Naytlóds, a derfysgai'r Migl-Urth yn ôl yn yr hen hen ddyddiau ar goll mewn niwl gorffwyll amser.) Ond cyn iddo neud hynny oll, mae'n palu twll enfawr ar lannau Afon Raynow a chladdu'r holl gelc o aur a gwrthrychau eraill ynddo, gan ei warchod gyda'r swynion mwya nerthol wedi'u hadrodd iddo gan yr anifeiliaid chwedleugar ond cymwynasgar. Ac os marw naiff e cyn casglu'r golud, yr afon fydd yn gael e i gyd yn oes oesoedd, heb os nac oni bai.When Sikhát chortlingly recounts his myriad exploits to Brawnjayld she is overjoyed and sings of her electric dream that they should be together for ever and a day (well, maybe until the end of next year). However, she swears (yet again, the prolific, profane oath-taker!) that she’ll only take Sikhát when he has subjugated all the other gangs. Really now, that would be no mean feat without a word of a lie, but she’s a classy chick not some cheap tart of a gold-digger! So, Sikhát goes off to infiltrate the horrendously powerful Nayflung clan, in order to extirpate them and so come to consummate his love with his betrothed. Oh, seminal joy unbounded! (The Nayflungs, however, unbeknownst to most of the great unwashed, happen to be the degenerate descendants of the gargantuan Naytlód progenitors, who terrorized Migl-Urth way back in the days of time’s mad mistiness.) But before he does that, he digs an enormous hole on the banks of the Raynow River and buries the whole stash of gold and other objects in it, protecting it with the strongest charms recited to him by the talkative but helpful animals. And if he should die before collecting the riches, then the river shall have it all forever, without a single doubt.
Ychydig yn ddiweddarach, dyna yntau, Sikhát, yn sleifio i mewn i diriogaeth ddigyfraith, wyntog, wyllt y Nayflungs, a dod o hyd i’w lloches fileinig. Mae hwythau, y Nayflungs, wedi rhoi cartre i Dr Graymjayld sy’n ddall ond yn bellweledol, ac sy di bod yn crwydro o gwmpas fel ryw amddifad rhacsiog heb ddimai goch yn ei boced. Maen nhw’n credu medran nhw fanteisio ar ei galluoedd eithriadol o ran cynhyrchu cyffuriau, ond falle taw hithau sy wedi’u twyllo nhw yn lle, mewn ffordd o siarad, a hithau fydd yn eu cymryd hwythau mewn llaw yn y pen draw, o wybod am ei gwehelyth grymus ond drwgargoelus! Dyna yntau, Sikhát, yn cymryd oriau’n malu awyr am yr holl fanylion gwaedlyd ynghylch ei gampau gogoneddus, ac wrth gwrs, mae’n cael ei wahodd i aros.A short time later, he, Sikhát, slinks into the wild, wind-swept, lawless territory of the Nayflungs, and finds their viperous den. They, the Nayflungs have taken in sightless but nevertheless far-seeing Dr Graymjayld, the ragged waifing stray, who’s been wandering about like some down and out. They believe they’ll be able to capitalise on her exceptional drug-making ingenuity, although maybe its she who’s taken them in instead, in a manner of speaking, and she who’ll take them in hand in the end, given her potent but ill-portentous pedigree! He, Sikhát, takes hours rabbiting on about all his exploits in gory-glory detail, and, of course, is invited in to stay.
Mae Graymjayld yn cynghori arweinyddion y llwyth – yr hanner brodyr Háfgun Nayflung (a dyna esiampl wir o atafiaeth i dras wyrgam y Naytlóds, os oedd un yn byw eto), a Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd – i gryfhau’u cyfeillgarwch gyda’r arwr trwy drefnu i Sikhát briodi’u chwaer Gwdrẃun. Nage’i syniad hithau ydy, gofiwch chi, ond ystryw a ddyfeisiwyd gan yr hen ymyrrwr Oylrig Sífót. Felly, a Sikhát yn synfyfyrio uwchben pa mor fuan fe fydd yn ymadael i achub ei annwyl Brawnjayld a’i hysgubo hi ymaith, dyma Dr Graymjayld yn lladradaidd roi dogn o bwdr seicedelig yn ei gobled o de madarch, ac yn y fan a’r lle dyna Sikhát yn cwympo dros ei ben a’i glustiau mewn cariad â Gwdrẃn, gan ddiarhebu’n ofnadw fel rhyw gwrci meddw gaib. Ww, fe fydd yn edifar ganddyn nhw i gyd am y dydd dychrynllyd hwnnw!Graymjayld advises the clan-leaders – the half-brothers Háfgun (a true example of throwback to the twisted Naytlód stock if ever there were one alive still), and Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd – to cement their alliance with the hero by marrying Sikhát to their sister Gwdrẃn. It’s not her own idea, mind you, but a ruse concocted by the old meddler Oylrig Sífót. So, as Sikhát ponders how he soon will depart to rescue his beloved Brawnjayld and whisk her off, Dr Graymjayld stealthily spikes his goblet of mushroom tea with a portion of psychedelic potion, and on the spot Sikhát becomes drunkenly and vociferously enamoured of Gwdrẃn. Oh, how they all shall rue that dreadful day!
Nawr, mae Brawnjayld unig yn dal i ddisgwyl am Sikhát ar ei hynys fewndirol – ond yn ofer! O’r diwedd, dyna Wowdun yn swagro fel rhyw dduwdod i mewn i’w chaets goreurog, fel petai fe newydd neidio oddi ar gefn ceffyl wyth coes, i ddweud wrthi’i fod wedi cael llond bol ar ei dwli. Mae’n cyhoeddi heb flewyn ar ei dafod ei fod yn gwybod y cwbl am ei hoed dirgel. Ac ymhellach, dyna fe’n datgan y bydd rhaid iddi hithau ymbriodi, yn anorfod ac yn groes i’w rhagwybodaeth a’i hewyllys, â dyn gwahanol i’r un roedd hi’n meddwl fyddai’n ei hysgubo ymaith, a hynny cyn pen dau aeaf oeraidd, er gwaetha, neu falle o achos, yr holl brancio o gwmpas ac achosi helbul mewn helmedau â chyrn, menig duon, gynau cochion, a botas lledr.Brawnjayld continues to await Sikhát in her inland island isolation – but in vain! Eventually, Wowdun, godlike, sashays into her gilded cage, as if he’s just slipped off an eight-legged horse, to say he’s had enough of her nonsense. He announces in no uncertain terms that he knows everything about her secret tryst. And furthermore, he declares that she shall, perforce and against her fore-knowledge and will, wed a different man from the one she thought would sweep her off, before the passage of two winters chilly, despite, or maybe because of, all the cavorting about and causing havoc in horned helmets, black gloves, red robes, and leather boots.
Yn y cyfamser, mae Sikhát, sy erbyn hyn yn disgleirio o lawenydd fel rhyw hen hipi gwirion yn glaf o gariad, yn priodi Gwdrẃn wrth i’r byd a’r betws ymhyfrydu’n swnllyd yn yr achlysur hapus. Wedyn, dyna Sikhát a’i deulu yng nghyfraith newydd yn tyngu llw mawr yn addo teyrngarwch na ellir mo’i dorri rhwng eu gangiau. Mae yntau a Gwdrẃn mor ddwfn mewn cariad nes eu bod yn teimlo byddan nhw’n dianc rhag safnau’r angau pan ddaw'r dydd i farw. Fodd bynnag, hyd yn oed yn awr dyna ryw gysgod bygythiol yn llawn diarwybod corddol yn cymylu calon Sikhát, yn llosgi’n rhosliw o gariad fflamboeth, gan achosi iddo guchio’n biwis.Meanwhile, a radiantly, stupidly happy drippy-hippy Sikhát weds Gwdrẃn amidst much rowdy revelry. Then, Sikhát and his new in-laws swear a gangland oath of unbreakable fealty. He and Gwdrẃn are deeply, death-defyingly happy. However, even now, a menacing shadow of churning unknowingness clouds Sikhát’s rose-red, love-buzzed heart, making him scowl peevishly.
Felly mae amser yn mynd heibio, fel mae bob tro yn neud, ar ôl ei arfer, a dyna newyddion ynghylch Brawnjayld a’r celc o aur yn hedfan tuag at glustiau enfawr blewog Dr Graymjayld (mae hi’n gallu clywed cystal â blaidd chwedlonol, ch’mod). Does a nelo’r Lẃk Braytstá brac ei dafod ddim byd â'r peth, siŵr o fod, wrth gwrs, neu falle dim ond rhyw ychydig, ond wedi’u cyffroi gan y syniad o gyfoeth dirifedi a phŵer tu hwnt i ddisgrifiad, dyna’i theimlyddion yn codi’n amlwg. Mae hi’n mynnu y dylai Gunna briodi Brawnjayld, gan hel pentwr o arian a chipio’r holl ogoniant ar yr un pryd. Dyna Sikhát, Háfgun, a Gunna yn ei chychwyn hi felly i achub Brawnjayld, yn garcharor yn ei thŵr gwyrdd o jâd, o’i siaced gaeth a’i thad cysetlyd.Time passes, as it tends to do, after its fashion, and news of Brawnjayld and the gold hoard reaches Dr Graymjayld’s gigantic hairy ears (all the better to hear with!). That’s probably, of course, got nothing, or at least very little, to do with loose-tongued Lẃk Braytstá, but piqued by the idea of immeasurable riches and untold power, Graymjayld’s lug-holes prick up perceptibly. She insists that Gunna should wed Brawnjayld, raking in both cash and glory. Sikhát, Háfgun, and Gunna set off to rescue Brawnjayld, trapped in her green jade tower, from her strait-jacket and her straight-laced father.
Pan maen nhw’n cyrraedd yno, dim ond Sihhát sy’n ddigon heini i allu’i daflu’i hun dros y ffens, gan fod pawb yn gallu gweld bod y ddau arall yn rhy dew o lawer o oryfed, gorfwyta, llyncu gormod o gyffuriau, ac ymollwng i ddirywiad. Mae Sikhát yn llygru’r cyflenwad dŵr gydag amnewidyn artiffisial rhin rhyw blanhigyn wedi’i gynnig gan Graymjayld, sy’n gwynto o hash madarch hudol wedi’i stwffio â chynrhon moch gwrychog yn llawn wermod a mercwri. Mae’r gwenwyn yn drysu meddwl Brawnjayld, sy eisoes braidd yn ffwndrus. Pwy fyddai wedi gwybod hynny’n well, wrth reswm, na’i mam fiolegol Graymjayld, sy ddim wedi bod yno er ei mwyn hi erioed? Ta be, mae’r dogn o sylwedd gwaharddedig yn hala colled wyllt ar Brawnjayld fel petai hi’n seico’n pogo’n orffwyll mewn rhyw barti rafio hen ffasiwn iawn. Ar ben hynny, mae’n peri i’w golwg fynd yn aneglur, nes bod hi’n meddwl taw Gunna sy’n caru â hi, tra mae Sikhát yn ei chofleidio hi’n wir. Dyna ffawd ffiaidd yn gafael ynddi gyda’i genau crafangus, cadarn – yn enwedig fel bod ei Dad Unllygeidiog wedi darogan! A dyna’i brif gudd-gynhyrfwr Oylrig Sífót yn gwylio popeth trwy lygaid lama wedi’i stwffio ar wal borffor a melyn y stafell garu, dan laswenu fel lloerigyn.When they get there, only Sikhát is fit enough to be able to fling himself over the fence, as the other two are conspicuously corpulent from over-indulgence in drink, drugs, and decadence. He taints the water supply with artificial substitute of some natural plant extract proffered by Graymjayld that smells of magical mushroom hash stuffed full of bristly pig grubs infused with wormwood and mercury. The poison clouds Brawnjayld’s already rather addled mind. Who would have known that better, of course than her always-absent birth-mother, Graymjayld? Anyway, the dose of prohibited substance sends Brawnjayld into an old-skool rave psychic-silo. Moreover it makes her vision wonky so that she perceives her lover as Gunna, when it’s Sikhát who’s really embracing her. Vile, vice-like fate grips her in its grasping jaws – just as her One-eyed Father predicted! And there’s his chief agent-provocateur, Oylrig Sífót, watching through the eyes of a stuffed llama on the purple and yellow wall of the wooing-chamber, a silly grin plastered on his face.
Wedi drysu’n llwyr, mae Brawnjayld yn teimlo does dim dewis da hi ond derbyn Sikhát ar wedd Gunna ar ei olwg (am flaidd mewn croen dafad!), er bod ganddi deimlad annifyr ofnadw o ddwfn oddi mewn iddi fod pob dim o'i le. Mae’r ddau ohonyn nhw, yn achubydd a’r un achubwyd, yn cysgu ochr yn ochr, y noson honno, ond yn aros yn ddiwair, gan fod y cyffur wedi’u taro nhw’n anymwybodol, a’r bore wedyn dyna Brawnjayld yn petrus gytuno i briodi’r dyn sy’n ymddangos fel Gunna iddi. Pam, ar y Migl-Urth neu’r tu hwnt, mae’n neud felly, o wybod does dim byd o gwbl wedi digwydd yn ystod y noswaith ddi-ffrwt honno, adewir i ddychymyg y ddau berson oedd yno ar y pryd, boed nhw’n euog neu beidio.Totally confused, Brawnjayld feels she has no choice but to accept Gunna-lookalike Sikhát (wolf in sheep’s clothing that he is!), although her waters’ feeling stir her to deep unease. The two, rescuer and rescuee, share a bed that night but remain chaste, as the drug has knocked them unconscious, and the next morn Brawnjayld haltingly agrees to marry him-who-she-takes-to-be Gunna. Why, on Migl-Urth or beyond, she does this, given that lacklustre night’s lack of performance, is left to the imagination of the guilty, or guileless, parties.
Mae pethau’n symud yn ddiwrthdro i lawr, yn ddyfnach byth tuag at ebargofiant yn yr agendor ddiwaelod. Yn ystod y neithior, ar ôl i Brawnjayld briodi’r Gunna go iawn, mae pawb yn mwynhau pogo yn y pwll mosh, waltsio, neu ddawnsio limbo fel y bo’n briodol. Ond dyna pan mae llygad gwamal crwydredig y briodferch yn disgyn am eiliad ar Sikhát, sy’n eistedd wrth ymyl Gwdrẃn wrth i bawb stopio’r chwyrlïo gwyllt i ddal eu gwynt. Dim ond wedyn y mae effeithiau'r synth-fesg tra chryf yn diflannu fel bod Sikhát a Brawnjayld ill dau’n cofio o’r diwedd yr addewidion naethon nhw cyn llyncu’r gwenwyn. Gwae hwythau – a’u bochau’n cochi gan gywilydd nes eu bod yn chwilboeth – maen nhw’n arddel yn llaes eu gên, yn gegrwth, ac yn farwaidd eu llygaid, warth y sefyllfa sydd ohoni.Matters progress, inexorably, downward, ever downward towards abyssal oblivion. During the nuptial feast, after Brawnjayld’s wedding to the actual Gunna, everyone’s indulging in pogoing in the mosh pit, waltzing, or limbo-dancing, as appropriate. But that’s when the bride’s wandering eye alights momentarily on Sikhát, seated next to Gwdrẃn as all stop the mad whirling about to catch their breaths. Only then do the effects of Dr Graymjayld’s synth-mesc double-plus wear off so that Sikhát and Brawnjayld both at last recall the promises they made pre-inoculation. Woe upon woe – as shame pricks their cheeks blood-red – they, slack-jawed, open-mouthed, and glazed-eyed, recognise their current dishonour.
Mae Brawnjayld yn gwrthod bwyta nac yfed, a glynu wrth ei gwely, gan lewygu fel bod dim ond rhywun wedi’i ddiystyru’n gallu neud. Mae’n gweld yn dda i dderbyn anrhegion o win coch a siocled, ac yn hala ei hamser yn gwau gorchudd cwilt addurnedig o blu alarch a gwallt baban. Pan mae Gunna yn trio dod yn nes ati, dyna hithau’n lladd arno fe, gan awgrymu y dylai wthio pluen wen o’i chrosio ble dyw’r Haul ddim yn disgleirio, a’i felltithio am beri iddi dorri’i haddewid glân fel menyw – am warth anhraethadwy! Yn anfodlon, fe ddarbwyllir ef i geisio cyfathrebu â Brawnjayld trwy gyfrwng sgwrs synhwyrol a chall fel dyn mewn oed yn siarad â menyw aeddfed, yn hytrach na bloeddio ac ystumio. Gwrthod ar ei ben mae hithau a (gan ei bod yn dechrau bwrw iddi o ran yr holl regi), dyna hi’n ei felltithio yntau a Gwdrẃn unwaith eto, yn wael a’n wenwynllyd, gan weddïo byddan nhw ill dau’n marw cyn pryd, ac mewn ffordd yn waeth nag unrhyw ffawd (yn ddall neu’n bellweledol) allai drefnu hyd yn oed petasai’n neud ei gorau glas i fod yn eironig o annirnadwy.Brawnjayld refuses to eat or drink, and cleaves, swooning as only the spurned can do, to her bed. She deigns to accept only gifts of red wine and chocolate, and spends her time weaving an ornate quilt-cover from swan-quills and baby-hair. When Gunna approaches her, she excoriates him, suggesting he shove a white feather from her crocheting up his fundamental orifice, and curses him for causing her to break her woman’s sacred word – shame unspeakable! Reluctantly, Sikhát is prevailed upon to try transacting with Brawnjayld in sensible, adult-to-adult conversation rather than bawling and gesticulating. She’s having none of that and (as she’s getting in the swing of the bad language lark) again vilely, vitriolically curses both him and Gwdrẃn to an early death, worse that any fate (blind or sighted) could even ironically and inconceivably muster.
Yn syn, mae Sikhát yn sôn yn gariadus wrth Brawnjayld am y cyffur a ddefnyddiwyd i’w hudo fe, gan gyfadde taw ei gweld hithau’i wir gariad, yno yn y cnawd o’r diwedd, yw’r unig be sy di rhoi unrhyw gysur iddo o gwbl. A thrwy’r amser, dyna Oylrig Sífót yn mwynhau’r olygfa wrth lygadrythu arnyn nhw, yn rhith hen was cefngrwm a thrwm iawn ei glyw. Er ei bod hithau’n llawn tosturi o achos deisyfiad Sikhát, mae Brawnjayld yn taeru, nage heb ddagrau, ei bod hi’n rhy hir o lawer i osgoi cychwyn drygioni tragwyddol a diarbed. Yn chwerw, dyna hithau’n diddanu Sikhát wrth ragweld yn llon taw yntau o leia fydd yn medru trengi’n anrhydeddus. Gan ofidio’n enbyd, mae Sikhát a Brawnjayld ill dau’n paratoi i’w baglu hi tuag at eu tynghedau unigol. Dyma yntau’n symud mas o’r cartre priodasol byrhoedlog dan bwdu i wersyllu yn y stafell wely sbâr y drws nesa i siambr foethus Gwdrẃn, wrth iddi hithau orwedd yno’n stoicaidd. O na bai ddim felly! Petai’r Aysayus ond yn gallu rhuthro draw i achub y dydd! Ond nid felly y bydd hi.Shocked, Sikhát speaks lovingly to her of the drug used to ensnare him, and admits that his only quantum of solace has been to see her, his true sweetheart, there in the flesh at last. And all the while, there’s Oylrig Sífót enjoying the scene whilst eyeballing them, disguised as an old, bent servant. who’s very hard of hearing. Although deeply touched by Sikhát’s plea, Brawnjayld avers, not sparing tears, that it is much too late to avert eternal, unrelenting evil’s onset. She bitterly comforts Sikhát with her blithe prediction of an honourable death for him at least. Deeply grieved, both Sikhát and Brawnjayld prepare to dash towards their respective fates. He moves out of the short-lived marital home pouting to camp in the spare bedroom next door to Gwdrẃn's sumptuous chamber, while she reclines there stoically. If only it were not so! If only the Ayseyus could rush in to save the day! But that is not to be.
Ar ôl i Sikhát fynd yn ôl at annedd unig Gwdrẃn am sbel i drio trafod pethau â hi, dyna fe’n esbonio wrthi’n drist am hynt y felltith. Ond dyna hithau fodd bynnag yn dangos y drws iddo, gan ei anfon yn ôl i'w lety oer ac anghyfforddus dros dro, a'i gynffon yn ei afl. Pan mae Gunna yn gofyn cyngor ei frawd gwaed yn nes ymlaen, mae Sikhát yn dweud wrtho’n swta taw dim ond yntau, y gŵr i Brawnjayld, all drin ei chlwyfau. Mewn ymateb, mae Gunna yn mynd i mewn i’r siambr i ymweld â’i wraig led-anymwybodol, gan gynnig, yn anhydeiml ond yn synhwyrol, brynu tawelwch meddwl iddi, a datgan fod e’n barod i dalu mwy o arian nag a ellir ei gyfrif, yr hen fochyn siofinaidd o gyfalafwr! Er gwaethaf yr holl erfyn ofer arni, mae Brawnjayld yn dal yn ddidaro, wrth iddi’i ddannodd. Dyna hithau’n sgrechian nerth esgyrn ei phen taw ar ei hunion fe fydd yn ymadael â’r lle am byth, gan ei adael yntau i foddi mewn gwaradwydd uffernol – oni bai fod e’n ymddiheuro'n llaes gyda chusan enfawr, gwlyb, a lladd ei fab yng nghyfraith ffyddlon a di-fai yn y fan a’r lle.Upon returning to Gwdrẃn's lonely residence for a short spell to try and discuss matters with her, sad Sikhát acquaints her with the course of the curse. She however simply sends him packing back to his cold and uncomfortable temporary lodgings with a flea in his ear. When Gunna later seeks his blood-brother’s advice, Sikhát informs him curtly that Brawnjayld’s only doctor should be her husband. In response, Gunna approaches his almost-insensible wife in her chamber, insensitively but sensibly offering to buy her peace-of-mind, declaring he’s prepared to pay more gold than she can shake a stick at, the old chauvinist pig of a capitalist! Unmoved by his empty blandishments, Brawnjayld taunts him. She wails at the top of her lungs that henceforth she shall quit thence forever and leave him drowning in abyssal disgrace – unless he says a big sloppy sorry and slays his faithful and blameless brother-in-law on the very spot.
Yn hurt, mae Gunna yn mynnu’i fod wedi addo i warchod Sikhát sydd bellach yn frawd o gydfilwr iddo, a’i chofio hi am eu llw, wrth esbonio taw tewach gwaed na dŵr. Mae Brawnjayld, sut bynnag, yn ddiysgog, gan ddadlau bod Sikhát eisoes wedi torri’r addewid trwy’i llithio hi ar ran Gunna. Wedi’i ddifrodi a’i ddigalonni, dyna Gynna yn ymadael â siambr iasoer Brawnjayld, cyn rhedeg bant i hala dyddiau lawer yn cynhemlu uwchben be i’w neud nesa, am o leia pum munud ar y tro rhwng drachtio bwcedeidiau o soma ffug, chwarae dartiau, a chryn nifer o weithgareddau gwrol hanfodol eraill, fel codi seddi toiled, newid globau golau, tynnu fflwff o’i fogail, pigo’i drwyn, a chribo’r gwallt dan ei geseiliau. Yn niffyg dim arall, dyna Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd yn galw ar ei hanner brawd Háfgun Nayflung, i roi eu pennau at ei gilydd yn gyfrinachol.Flabbergasted, Gunna insists that he has sworn to protect Sikhát who’s now a brotherly comrade-in-arms to him, reminding her of their vow, whilst explaining that blood is thicker than water. Brawnjayld, however, is adamant, maintaining that Sikhát has already broken the promise by seducing her in Gunna’s stead. Devastated and down-thrust, Gunna departs Brawnjayld’s chilly chamber, before running off to spend many days pondering over what to do next, for at least five minutes at a time in between slugging buckets of fake-soma, playing darts, and any number of other crucial manly activities such as toilet-seat uplifting, changing light-globes, navel-fluff extracting, nose-picking, and combing his under-arm hair. As a last resort, Gunna Nayflung-Háfbryd summons his half-brother Háfgun Nayflung, to consult with him in secret.
Wedi mwydro ac mewn llesmair, mae Háfgun yn awgrymu bod Brawnjayld yn rhaffu celwyddau o genfigen. Mae Gunna yn anghytuno’n egnïol, fodd bynnag, gan fynegi’i fod e’n ei charu hi, ac yn ymddiried ynddi, ac ailddweud taw trwy ladd Sikhát fe ddôn nhw’n feistri ar eu ffawd eu hun, a all gipio celc euraidd Fanfér. Felly dyna Gunna a Háfgun yn mynd i'r afael â’u chwarter brawd Gowt-hón Nayflung-Háfbryd-Lowlayf ynglŷn â’r pwnc anodd ei drin hwn, gan wybod heb amheuaeth fod e’m wedi neud adduned nac ymrwymiad gydag aelodau eraill y gang, am fod y llanc gwanllyd yn nychu yn ei wely dan law’r Dr Graymjayld ar y tro. Dazed and confused, Háfgun suggests that Brawnjayld is stringing together a pack of lies out of jealousy. Gunna disagrees strenuously, however, stating that he loves and trusts her, and reiterating that by slaying Sikhát, they will become masters of their own fate, able to seize the golden hoard of Fanfér. So Gunna and Háfgun approach their quarter-brother Gowt-hón Nayflung-Háfbryd-Lowlayf, regarding this touchy subject, knowing indubitably that no gang-oath hath he sworn, as the sickly lad was languishing in bed under Dr Graymjayld at the time.
Maen nhw’n addo iddo a thomen o arian a statws cymdeithasol annychmygadwy os bydd e’n fodlon lladd Sikhát. (Mae’r llipryn wedi bod yn ffantasïo am y fath bethau deuddeng waith y funud o leia ers achau, fel rhyw gigfran â thri llygad, rhwng craffu ar ei gasgliad o lawysgrifau lliwiedig a swyno gwylanod â’i bibgorn.) Sdim rhaid iddyn nhw droi braich Gowt-hón am yn hir na’n rhy galed, ac mae’r llanc yn neidio am y cynnig gwych i ladd rhyw gwrci cythreulig cywilyddus, ac felly i roi prawf ar ei ddyndod ac ennill cymeradwyaeth gan y llwyth gwatwarus.They promise him both piles of cash and undreamt-of social status if he’ll slug Sikhát. (The pitiful boy’s been fantasizing over such things at least twelve times a minute for ages, inbetween gazing at his collection of illuminated manuscripts and charming seagulls with his hornpipe). The arm-twisting is neither long nor hard, and Gowt-hón leaps at the choodessny chance to oobivat some merzky hratchny kot, so proving his manhood.
Gyda’r wawr y bore wedyn, a’r awyr yn gwrido fel marwor yn clindarddach, dyna Gowt-hón yn mynd i mewn i ogo-ddyn Sikhát, ac, ar fin dod yn ddyn go iawn, dyna’r llanc yn trywanu’i westai a’i gymrawd yn y cefn wrth iddo huno, gan ei anfon i gyfarfod â’r crëwr, pwy bynnag a fo hwnnw. Yn llawn gwewyr, dyna Gwdrẃn yn dihuno o hunllef frawychus am goelcerthi gwyllt ac afonydd o waed, ac yn rhuthro i mewn i’r stafell westeion yn ôl ei harfer fel rhyw ymwelydd does dim croeso iddo, gan falu’r drws pitw a’i hysgwyd cyhyrog ond cymesur. Gan bwyso a mesur yr olygfa waedlyd o fewn rhyw ddegau o ficroeiliadau, dyna hithau’n llawn dolur ac arswyd, yn magu yn ei breichiau gorff drylliedig ei gŵr wedi'i ddieithrio, wrth iddo hwylio i ymadael â’i fodolaeth alarus. Mae Sikhát, fodd bynnag, y milwr mwya anffodus yn y byd i gyd, yn gorchymyn iddi beidio ag wylo, na gweld bai ar ei brodyr am ei dranc annhymig. Yna, mae’n marw, a’i ran yn nrama ddi-chwaeth bywyd ar y Migl-Urth wedi dod i ben o ddifri.At dawn’s first fiery cracking the following morning, Gowt-hón enters Sikhát’s dude-oir and, a real man-in-the-making, the lad stabs his guest and confrere in the back as he slumbers, sending him to meet his maker, whoever that may be. In anguish, Gwdrẃn awakens from a terrible nightmare about raging infernos and rivers of blood, and, as is her generally unwanted wont, rushes into the guest bedroom, busting open the puny door with her muscular but well-proportioned shoulder. Assessing the blood-besmirched vista in a few tens of microseconds, in sorrowful horror, she cradles her estranged hubby’s mangled body as he prepares to shuffle off the mortal coil. Sikhát, however, the ultimate unfortunate soldier, orders her not to weep, nor to blame her brothers for his untimely demise. He then expires, his part in the vulgar drama of life on Migl-Urth well and truly over.
Wrth i Gwdrẃn sgrechian mewn gloes, dyna Brawnjalyld loerig yn clegar chwerthin, dan ferwi o hwyl atgas, a melltithio’r Nayflungs am eu bod wedi neud gwarth o be, gan lofruddio’u cynghreiriad, eu cyfaill, eu gwestai, eu brawd-yng-nghyfraith, a’u harglwydd. Mae’n datgan ei bod yn sylweddoli bellach taw celwydd noeth oedd ei llithio gan Sikhát yn cymryd arno taw Gunna ydoedd dan ddylanwad golchdrwyth llysiau'r afu, ac y bydd hi’n gadael Gunna am byth beth bynnag. Wedi dweud ei dweud, dyna Brawnjayld yn gweithredu’n derfynol, gan ei gwanu’i hun rhag blaen. Fe drochir ei chelain dda-i-ddim mewn petrol a’i rhoi ar dân ynghyd ag eiddo Sikhát. A dyna gychwyn goddaith fydd yn ymledu fel haint i ysu’r Nef a’r Isfyd fel ei gilydd. Mae’n golygu fyd fod y mynydd o aur ac arteffactau eraill oedd yn arfer perthyn i Sikhát wedi suddo’n syth i ddyfnderoedd Afon Raynow na ellir eu plyio, am dragwyddoldeb. Ond mae pawb yn credu taw Gwdrẃn, yn wraig gyfreithlon i Sikhát pan fu farw, biau popeth bellach, a’i bod hithau’n aros yn fud i warchod y celc amhrisiadwy.As Gwdrẃn screams in anguish, maddened Brawnjayld cackles in mirth abominable and curses the Nayflungs for murdering their ally, friend, guest, brother-in-law, and lord. She reveals that she now realises that Sikhát’s seduction of her in Gunna’s place was a lousy, lichen-lotion-laced lie, and that she is leaving Gunna forever anyway. Thus declaring and so doing, does Brawnjayld stab herself forthwith. Her good-for-nothing corpse is doused in petrol and burned together with Sikhát’s. And that is the instigation of a contagious, spreading conflagration of godly, or hellish, proportions. It means also that the mountain of gold and other wonderful artefacts that used to belong to Sikhát have sunk straight to the un-plumbable depths of the Raynow River for eternity. But everyone thinks that Gwdrẃn, rightful wife of Sikhát at the time of his death, now owns everything, and that she’s keeping mum to safeguard the priceless stash.
Wel, mae fflamau trallod yn araf losgi i lawr, nage am y tro ola ni raid dweud, gan ddiflannu i ebargofiant wrth i’r ulw oer gael eu chwythu ymaith gan y gwynt deifiol. Dyna Gwdrẃn, wedi’i llorio a’i chalon yn friw, yn crwydro’n ddisynnwyr trwy strydoedd creulon y ddinas fawr, ddrwg. Mae’n casáu pob eiliad o’i bywyd di-werth, toredig, ond dyw hi’m yn gallu'i dwyn ei hunan eto i neud amdani’i hun, na llamu tu hwnti’r llen fel bod ei diweddar chwaer Brawnjayld dan ei chroes eisoes wedi neud. Yn y cyfamser, mae aur Fanfér a harddwch Gwdrẃn wedi dal sylw’r gwleidydd llawn addewid a chwannog i gipio pŵer, Atlí Hitman, sy’n corddi gan lid a nwydau dinistriol eraill, ac sy eisiau difodi’r llwythau delio cyffuriau heb ymdroi. I'r perwyl hwn, mae’n recriwtio lluoedd o bobl mor dreisiol ac anwar â bwystfilod gwyllt, gan eu darparu nhw â’r arfau diweddara, a’u hyfforddi nhw i ladd yn ddidostur. Ond beth yw tarddiad yr holl bolisïau barbaraidd, y cynlluniau ciaidd, y dechnoleg bron yn hudol, a’r ddemagogiaeth feistrolgar? Ww, wel, ni fyddai’n anghywir dweud taw Oylrig Sífót sydd wrth wraidd hynny oll.So, misery’s flames slowly burn themselves down, not for the last time needless to say, sinking to oblivion as the ashes wither cold away. Devastated Gwdrẃn wanders witless through the mean streets of the big bad city. She loathes every moment of her broken, worthless life, but cannot bring herself yet to the verge of self-destruction and beyond after the fashion of her late suffering con-soeur Brawnjayld. Meanwhile, the gold of Fanfér and the beauty of Gwdrẃn have caught the interest of the up-and-coming, and very power-hungry, politician, Atlí Hitman, who is seeking to exterminate the drug-clans with immediate effect and not without dashings of negative affect. To this end, he recruits hordes of people as violent and uncivilized as starving wild animals, providing them with the latest weapons, and training them to kill mercilessly. But what is the source of all the barbaric policies, the cynical schemes, the almost-magical technology, and the masterly demagoguery? Ooh, well, perhaps it wouldn’t be incorrect to say that it’s Oylrig Sífót who’s at the root of all that.
Mae Gunna yn gofyn i Háfgun ddylen nhw ymosod yn ffyrnig ar Hitman er mwyn tynnu’r pŵer oddi wrth y dyn ffiaidd cyn iddo ddod yn unben dros y Migl-Urth cyfan, neu gymodi â fe i geisio plesio'r holl gachgwn gwangalon sy eisiau dim ond gorffwys mewn hedd am byth. Mae Dr Graymjayld, sy’n ddall ond â thrwyn enfawr (mae’n medru synhwyro peryg fel rhyw fleiddast wyllt), yn cynghori’u bod nhw’n gallu prynu nawdd a chefnogaeth gan Hitman, os bydd e’n priodi Gwdrẃn. Ac wedyn, pan fyddai yntau o fewn eu gafael, fe fydden nhw’n ei ladd e’n syth. A dyna’r Doethur gwarthus yn ychwanegu taw gwell fyddai taro tra bo'r haearn yn boeth. Ac felly, gyda’r bwriadau gwaetha, mae’r Nayflungs yn llawen gychwyn ar y ffordd hon tuag at ddinistr.Gunna asks Háfgun whether Hitman should be met with violent resistance to wrest power from the vile man before he becomes tyrant over the whole Migl-Urth, or appeased in an attempt to please all the shrinking violets who just want to rest in peace. Dr Graymjayld, blind but big-nosed (all the better to sniff out trouble!) counsels that Hitman’s patronage and protection can be bought via marriage to Gwdrẃn. And then, when he was in their grasp, they would kill him immediately. The dastardly Doctor adds that it would be best to strike whilst the iron’s hot. Thus down this badly-intentioned road to destruction do the Nayflungs blithely proceed.
Mae sgowtiaid Nayflung yn dod o hyd i Gwdrẃn ar y strydoedd gyda mintai o garidýms, fyddai’n lico bod yn weinyddion, actorion, campwyr dianc, a beirdd, a’i hachub hi. Fodd bynnag, fe fyddai’n well da Gwdrẃn farweiddio ymhlith y proliaid a’r gwerinwyr, ac mae’n gwrthod arddel ei brodyr na maddau iddyn nhw. Mae Graymjayld yn dweud wrth ei merch hirgolledig am beidio galaru mwyach, gan sylwi taw tra mae Brawnjayld mor farw â sglod, a’i lluwch yn chwythu ar y gwyntoedd, mae Gwdrẃn ar dir y rhai byw o hyd, ac yn eitha ifanc ac iach, ac y dylai hi’i siapo hi a phriodi, cyn iddi fynd yn rhy hwyr. Wel, dyna Gwdrẃn yn gwrthateb dyw hi’m eisiau’u gweld yr un ohonyn nhw’n cael ei ladd, mewn gwirionedd, ond ar wahân i ‘ny dyw hi’m yn malu’r un daten. Gan gredu na fydd hi’n hapus byth eto, ni wêl Gwdrẃn ddiben i geisio neud dim byd (wrth gwrs mae hi eisiau dal ati gyda'i hoff hobi o neud trugareddau o fetel ar ffurf anifeiliad gwyllt, a'u harysgrifo nhw â rwnau hudol i anfon negesau cudd), heb sôn am briodi eto, a’r holl sothach brwnt o ran neud cartre a magu teulu fyddai hynny’n olygu.Nayflungs scouts discover Gwdrẃn living on the streets with a troupe of down-and-outs, would-be waiters, actors, escapologists, and poets, and rescue her. However, Gwdrẃn would prefer to languish with the proles and plebs, and refuses to acknowledge or forgive her brothers. Graymjayld tells her long-lost daughter to mourn no longer, commenting that while Brawnjayld is deceased, no more, and atomised upon the winds, Gwdrẃn is still in the land of the living, and quite young and healthy, and that she should get a move on and get hitched. Gwdrẃn retorts that she has no desire to see any of them slaughtered, really, but otherwise gives not a single fig. Believing that never again will she know happiness, Gwdrẃn sees no point in doing anything (of course, she wants to keep at it with her fave hobby of making trinkets from metal in the form of wild animals, and inscribing them with magical runes in order to send secret messages), let alone remarrying and all that messy home-making and family-rearing malarkey that would entail.
Yn gwerylgar ac annheg mae Dr Graymjayld yn ateb yn ôl, gan wfftio Gwdrẃn a dweud ei bod hi dan rwymedigaeth i beidio â gweld bai ar ei brodyr, ac fe ddylai hi frysio i ddyweddïo. Mae’n ychwanegu’n sarhaus taw Brawnjayld oedd yn gyfrifol am farwolaeth Sikhát, a'i bod hi’n berffaith weddus bod y Nayflungs mewn du ac yn galaru drosto fe am ysbaid o leia, achos taw dyna’r drefn. Mae’r doethur dall sy'n ddrygist heb ei ail yn dal i whilia dwli, gan fygwth Gwdrẃn ei merch ystyfnig â hunllefau annychmygadwy os bydd hi’n methu ildio. Ac mae’r ddwy ohonyn nhw’n gwybod bod Graymjayld yn gallu neud yn union beth mae’n ddweud, am ei bod yn cael ei chefnogi bob cam gan y Dewin dichellgar Oylrig Sífót. Mae Gwdrẃn yn ffwndrus, wedi diflasu ar y byd, ac yn barod i dynnu’i thraed ati. Dyna hithau felly’n ymostwng i orchymyn ei mam wallgo.Dr Graymjayld retorts pugnaciously, snorting un-equitably that Gwdrẃn’s behoved not to blame her brothers, and that she should get on and get betrothed. She adds contemptuously that Brawnjayld was responsible for Sikhát’s death and the Nayflungs are, quite sensibly, and for good form’s sake at least, in grief. The blindly blethering drug-doctor threatens Gwdrẃn her recalcitrant daughter with unimaginable nightmares if she does not capitulate. And they both know Graymjayld can do what she says, as she’s supported every step of the way by the mendacious Magus Oylrig Sífót. Distracted, world-weary, and ready to give up the ghost, Gwdrẃn caves in to her maniacal mother’s demands.
Yn ystod eu neithior ddrudfawr eithriadol, dyna Atlí yn cynnig llwncdestun i’w anwylaf Gwdrẃn Hitman (nage bod yfed crochaneidiau o ffrwyth y winwydden wedi neud byd o les i’r nythaid hwn o nadroedd gwenwynig). Mae e wedi’i ysgogi fodd bynnag gymaint gan degwch blêr Gwdrẃn a’i gwallt am ben ei dannedd, â chan ei freuddwydion am y pentwr dirfawr o aur bydd e’n cael gafael ynddo maes o law. Ar ôl addo cyfeillgarwch bythol i’r Nayflungs (yr hen gelwyddgi iddo!), a chyda hunanfeddiant gwleidyddol dihafal, dyna Hitman yn diflannu’n sydyn, gan ysgubo’i wraig ymaith, a’i bochau cyn wynned â’r eira, cyn i rywun ei saethu fe.At their extremely expensive wedding, Atlí blissfully quaffs to his most beloved Gwdrẃn Hitman (not that necking cauldronfuls of fruit of the vine has done much to help this benighted brood of blighters). He is moved, however, as much by the grubby beauty of Gwdrẃn whose hair’s flying all over the shop, as by his dreams of the vast hidden gold-pile he’s set to get his hands on in due course. After promising undying friendship to the Nayflungs (the dirty old liar!), with unmatched political aplomb, Hitman disappears suddenly, whisking off his snow-white-cheeked wife, before someone shoots him.
Wel, mae’r amser yn mynd heibio mor gyflym on’d ydy, fel tonnau’r môr yn treio a llenwi, ac wrth gwrs dyw e ddim yn aros ar neb. Ond er gwaetha hynny, mae Gwdrẃn wir yn aros heb ei chyffwrdd, gan na llwyddiant nodedig Hitman ym myd dadlau gwleidyddol (wrth iddo gael gwared â’i elynion fesul un, a malu’u hesgyrn yn llwch), na chariad y lleban glafoeriog tuag ati (gan ei bod yn gwrthod bob tro ymweld â fe i gyflawni’i dyletswyddau priodasol). Dim ond unwaith naethon nhw gusanu a chofleidio yn y dirgel fel petai, ond ynghylch hynny, taw biau hi. Yn y cyfamser, dyna yntau’n gadael i’w chwant am y celc aur dyfu fel rhyw lysieuyn arallfydol rhyfedd. Yn y pen draw, mae Atlí, sydd yr un mor ddiamynedd â rhwystredig, yn galw ar i’r brodyr Nayflung ymddangos ger ei fron ym Mhalas yr Henuriaid Dyrchafedig.Time’s tides slip and slide by, waiting for no man. But despite that, Gwdrẃn indeed remains untouched, both by Hitman’s successes in the arena of distinguished political discourse (as he bumps off his foes one-by-one, and grinds their bones to dust), and by his lardy-lipped lurve for her (since she always refuses to visit him to complete her conjugal duties). Only once did they kiss and cuddle behind closed doors as it were, but regarding that, let us maintain a respectful silence. He, meanwhile allows his lust for the gold hoard to grow like some strange otherworldly vegetable. In the end, exasperated and frustrated in equal measure, he summons the Nayflung brothers to appear before him in the Palace of the Exalted Elders.
Dan bwdu, mae Gunna yn protestio wrth Háfgun ynghylch a ddylen nhw drotian mynd fel cŵn bach pan fydd Hitman yn chwythu’i chwiban uwchsonig, wedi’i gerfio’n gain o esgyrn llygod mawr. Mae Háfgun yn gythryblus ei feddwl a dweud y lleia. Mae’n dyfalu bod Gwdrẃn yn ceisio’u rhybuddio nhw trwy anfon modrwy ar ffurf pen blaidd atyn nhw, o bob peth dan haul, gan fod honno’n arwydd cyffredin o fradwriaeth yn ffeuau troseddol brwnt y Migl-Urth dwyreiniol. Mae Gunna, i’r gwrthwyneb, yn honni bod Gwdrẃn yn anfon neges o gymod. A dyna Dr Graymjayld, sy bob amser mor gastiog â wisgers cadno gwyn, yn cytuno ag argoeli Háfgun, ac yn dweud wrth Gunna am beidio â bod mor uffernol dwp. Mae hi’n cyfri bod y fodrwy wedi’i doctora, a'i bod yn dwyn rhybudd yn wreiddiol, wedi’i ysgythru mewn rwnau cêl! Mae Gunna yn cael ei argyhoeddi gan hyn, a dechrau ofni trap twyllodrus, ond serch hynny mae’n penderfynu dylai’r brodyr ymweld ag Atlí Hitman, ond mewn llawn arfogaeth. Maen nhw’n neud felly. Fodd bynnag, pan maen nhw’n cyrraedd, dyna nhw’n syrthio i fagl wrth i gyfnos faglu’n bitw o ara dros y dydd dychrynllyd. Am arswyd diderfyn!Gunna sulkily remonstrates with Háfgun as to whether they should trot like lapdogs when Hitman blows on his ultrasonic whistle, exquisitely carved from rat bones. Háfgun is troubled to say the least. He guesses that Gwdrẃn is trying to warn them by sending them a wolf-head ring, of all things, since this is a common symbol of treachery in the dirty criminal dens of eastern Migl-Urth. Gunna, in contrast, alleges that Gwdrẃn sends a message of reconciliation. Dr Graymjayld, always wily as a white-fox’s whiskers, agrees with Háfgun’s prognostications, and tells Gunna not to be so darned silly. She reckons that the ring has been tampered with, and actually originally encoded a warning, etched in secret runes! Gunna, now convinced and fearing an underhand trap, nevertheless decides the brothers should visit Atlí Hitman, but well-armed. This they do. However, on their arrival they’re ambushed as twilight’s petty pace creeps in the dreadful day. Oh horror unbounded!
Byrbwyll ac awchus am waed yw’r Nayflungs, ac er bod nhw’n gastiog, maen nhw’n gryf ac yn gyhyrog hefyd, ac yn llwyddo rywsut i wrthyrru catrodau oll Hitman, er gwaetha’r holl gymorth arallfydol maen nhw’n ei dderbyn gan Oylrig Sífót. Sut maen nhw’n neud hyn, dim ond y duwiau ŵyr (wel, a bod yn berffaith onest, does yr un duwdod ar ôl ar y Migl-Urth erbyn hynny, ch’mod). Yna dyna ragor o ddynion arfog yn llifo mas, ac mae ‘na sgarmes saethu enfawr sy’n mynd yn lladdfa lwyr. Ond mae’r brodyr Nayflung a’u ciwed wydn, wyllt yn trechu, am sbel o leia.The Nayflungs are rash and bloodthirsty and although they’re corpulent, they’re also strong and muscular, and somehow manage to repel every one of Hitman’s cohorts, despite all the otherworldly support they have from Oylrig Sífót. How they do this, gods alone know (well actually, you know, there’s not a single divinity left on Migl-Urth by then). More armed men then spew forth and there is an enormous gunfight in which great carnage ensues. But the Nayflung brothers and their wild, hardy rabble prevail, for a while at least.
Yn y cyfamser, mae Gwdrẃn winglyd yn trio eistedd yn llonydd i wrando ar y brwydro. Mewn anobaith, mae’n melltithio awr ei genedigaeth, gan resynu at funud, a ffieiddio eiliad ei horosgop atgas. Pan maen nhw’n ei ffeindio hi o’r diwedd, dyna’u brodyr ananrhydeddus ac anffortunus yn datgan eu bod nhw’n cael eu gorfodi i ladd ei gŵr ac wedyn i’w rhoddi hi mewn priodas , gan law ddidostur, anweladwy ffawd. Fodd bynnag, pledio gyda nhw i arbed bywyd Atlí mae Gwdrẃn. Pam, O pam, O pam? Felly maen nhw’n gwawdio Hitman, a’i brocio fe, gan neud iddo redeg o gwmpas yn borcyn, wrth chwerthin am ei ben yn anhrugarog, ond yn gadael iddo sleifio ymaith o’r diwedd. O, maen nhw’n ffyliaid i gyd, a’i hewythrod yn dwpsod. Sut gallen nhw fod mor dwp? Achos taw, wrth iddi nosi, gan ryddhau cysgodion creulon ymhlith tirwedd lom y jyngl trefol, dyna dyrru cefnogwyr Hitman yn gefn iddo ledled y ddinas ddadfeiliedig.Meanwhile, fidgety Gwdrẃn tries to sit still and listen to the fighting. Devastated, she curses the very hour of her birth, deploring the minute, and hating the second of her hateful horoscope. Finding her at last, her un-fêted and ill-fated brothers declare that they were forced to slay her husband and then give her away in marriage by fate’s inexorable, invisible hand. However, Gwdrẃn pleads with them to spare Atlí’s life. Why, Oh why. Oh why? So, they mock Hitman, and prod him, making him run around stark naked whilst laughing at him mercilessly, but they let him slink away at last. Fools with dolts for uncles! How could they be so stupid? For, as night falls, releasing fell shadows amidst the bleak landscape of the concrete jungle, Hitman rallies allies throughout the dilapidated city.
Wedi diffygio, dyw’r Nayflungs ddim yn gallu osgoi cysgu, ond cyn gynted â’u bod nhw’n cofleidio Huwcyn lonydd, dyna ddechrau’r gwrthymosodiad, er bod y llebanod gwladaidd sy’n ennill tir yn llwyddo i’w hamddiffyn eu hunain, a gwrthsefyll y cyrch. Mae Atlí Hitman yn gwrthio trwy orchymyn i’w hen gadarnle gael ei roi ar dân. Dyna’r Nayflungs yn arllwys allan o’r adeiladau llosg i’w hachub eu hunain rhag cael eu hysu, ac wedi ymladdfa gynddeiriog ymhlith y tonnau o fflam, dyna hwythau oll yn cael eu dal.Exhausted, the Nayflungs cannot cheat sleep, but just as they are embraced by the Sandman, the counterattack begins, although the encroaching country bumpkins manage to defend themselves and resist the onslaught. Atlí Hitman counters by ordering his former stronghold to be set on fire. The Nayflungs pour forth from the burning buildings to save themselves from a fiery death, and after ferocious fighting amongst the waves of flame they themselves are all captured.
Gan daflu’i garcharorion wrth draed Gwdrẃn, mae Hitman yn tyngu bydd yn dial cam Sikhát trwy hyrddio’i brodyr Gunna a Háfgun i mewn i bydew nadredd, syniad clyfar mae di fenthyg gan Oylrig Sífót. Wedi ffieiddio, dyna Gwdrẃn yn galw’i gŵr, yr unben wrth ei ewyllys, yn fwystfil adwythig, a’i felltithio â marwolaeth warthus. Fel taranfollt mae hefyd yn datgan ei bod yn dwyn plant Hitman, er taw o’r braidd eu bod nhw wedi cyffwrdd â’i gilydd, ac fe all glywed eu dwy galon yn curo oddi mewn iddi. Mae’n atgoffa Atlí taw’r Nayflungs yw ewythrod i’r babis ‘ma, ac yn ymbil am eu bywydau. A dyna Hitman yn tyngu na fydd e’n rhyddhau’r Nayflungs ond os byddan nhw’n rhoi iddo’r celc o aur sy’n ei arteithio a’i bryfocio, ddydd a nos. Cyfarwydd, on’d ife?Casting his captives at Gwdrẃn’s feet, Hitman vows that he will avenge Sikhát by hurling her brothers Gunna a Háfgun into a snake-pit, a clever idea he’s borrowed from Oylrig Sífót. Disgusted, Gwdrẃn calls her husband the dictator an evil beast, and curses him with a shameful death. She also drops a bombshell, stating that she is bearing Hitman’s children, despite their very minimal physical contact, and can feel their two hearts beating inside her. She reminds Atlí that the Nayflungs are the uncles of these babes and pleads for their lives. Hitman vows that he will only release the Nayflungs if he is given the gold hoard that tortures and tantalises him day and night. Familiar, or what?
Gan ildio o’r diwedd, mae Gunna yn cytuno i roi’r aur i Hitman, ond dim ond os caiff Háfgun ei ladd gynta, a gwas bach yn dod â’r galon ato yntau ar hambwrdd arian. Lladd! Calonnau! Dial! Yr un hen hanes! A dyna Gunna hanner brawd i Háfgun yn gwepio a phrancio, fel siaman lloerig wedi meddwi ar laeth mwnci. O’i cho, mae Gwdrẃn yn begian ar Hitman i arbed Háfgun. Mae Hitman, sut bynnag, yn ymdynghedu i gael yr aur mae di bod yn geisio mor ddyfal. Mae’n dweud taw’n gam neu’n gymwys, mae ar y Nayflungs y cyfan iddi, ac fe fydd yn ei gael e trwy deg neu drwy hagr, costied a gostio. Dyw Háfgun ddim yn gallu dianc, a dyna’r galon yn cael ei thorri mas, yn curo eto, wrth i’w pherchen ddolefain yn drybeilig a gwaedu hyd at y diferyn ola. Gyda hynny, dyna Gwdrẃn yn dwyn dau o blant diniwed i'r byd cythryblus dros ben, a genedigaeth yn dilyn yn dynn wrth sodlau tranc fel mae’n digwydd yn aml.At last relenting, Gunna agrees to give Hitman the gold, but only if Háfgun is first slain and his heart delivered to him on a silver salver by a flunkey. Slaughter! Hearts! Revenge! The same old tale! Háfgun’s half-bother Gunna’s gurning and cavorting, like a moon-struck shaman high on hooch. Frantic Gwdrẃn pleads with Hitman to spare Háfgun. Hitman, however, vows to have his precious gold. He says that, right or wrong, the Nayflungs owe the lot to him, and that he’ll get it by fair means or foul, whatever it takes. Háfgun can’t extricate himself, and the heart is excised, still beating, with not a little bleating and a great deal of bleeding. On the spot, Gwdrẃn brings two innocent children into the extremely troubled world, birth following hard on the heels of demise as often happens.
Wedi derbyn yn galonnog organ goronaidd ei frawd gwangalon, sy bellach wedi peidio’i churo chwim, dyna Gunna yn chwerthin yn afreolus am ben Atlí. Mae’r aur, wrth reswm, wedi diflannu amser maith yn ôl, wedi mynd ar goll am byth yn Afon Raynow ar ôl marwolaeth Sikhát, a’r dŵr yn dweud wrth y gwynt: “Papfon u Arianithi nay ithfi thura ifpapé ebí rolaps; Ny m'praí 'Vrith i sonfrisil i aítiharis wil lin” – “Fe fydd Arianithi yn ei chloi'i hun tu ôl i'w drws caeedig cyn hir; Fe fydd cynnwrf pelydrau'r Haul yn codi'r moroedd.” Mae Gunna yn melltithio Hitman, yn ôl yr arfer mewn amgylchiadau o’r fath. A dyna Hitman, yn debyg i’r dihirod gorau oll yn y llyfrau comics gwaetha, yn gorchymyn i Gunna gael ei daflu’i lawr yn syth i’r pydew nadredd yn fyw o seirff yn hisian. Mae’n dychmygu fe ddysgiff i’r Nayflung chwerthin yn wahanol! Ond dyw Atlí ddim wedi cofio’r hen ddihareb: A chwarddo olaf a chwardd orau.Upon cordially receiving his craven brother’s severed coronary organ, now still from its hasty pounding, Gunna laughs in Atlí’s face. The gold, of course, is long gone, lost forever in the Raynow River after Sikhát’s death, the water telling the wind: “Papfon u Arianithi nay ithfi thura ifpapé ebí rolaps; Ny m'praí 'Vrith i sonfrisil i aítiharis wil lin” – “Arianithi will soon lock herself behind her closed door; The Sun's rays' shock will lift up the seas.” Gunna curses Hitman, as is usual in such circumstances. And just like all the best villains in the worst comic-books, orders Gunna to be cast down immediately into his snake-pit seething with hissing serpents. He imagines he’ll make the Nayflung laugh on the other side of his face! But Atlí hasn’t remembered the old proverb: He who laughs last laughs longest.
Mae calon Gwdrẃn yn caledu o gasineb tuag at ei gŵr gwaradwyddus (ond o leia mae ganddi hi ŵr – a chalon ‘fyd!). Dyna hithau’n gorchymyn i gitâr gwerin lwcus sy wastad mewn tiwn, oedd unwaith yn perthyn i un o glerwr Ziggi o’r enw Stádust, gael ei anfon at ei brawd ym mhwll anobaith. Mae Gunna wedyn yn canu’n gadarn, wrth blycio tannau’r gitâr hudol, ac mae hyn yn swyno pawb o’i gwmpas. Dyna fe felly’n cipio buddugoliaeth ysgithrog o safnau mantach methiant, tra gostegir y seirff hyd yn oed gan syrthio i gysgu’n sydyn ryfeddol. Ym mhen yr hir a'r hwyr, mae poeth yn newid mewn chwinciad. Wrth i’r perfformiad caraoce difyfyr ddechrau crwydro’n beryglus agos at sgrechian canig gyfoglyd orfelys gan Rhisiart ar ben Dibyn, dyna wiber hynafol, sy’n denau’i gwaed, gowtiog, a hynod drwm ei glyw, yn llamu’n llesg ar Gunna, a’i roi fe yn ei orwedd ag un wawch wichlyd. (Yr unig hanner brawd sydd ar ôl ymhlith llwyth y Nayflungs sy’n sgrechian wrth gwrs, nage’r hen sarff ymlusgol yn hisian.)Gwdrẃn’s heart hardens in hatred for her humiliating husband (at least she’s got one – a heart, and a husband, that is!). She orders a lucky always-in-tune folk-guitar, once owned by one of Ziggí’s wandering minstrel Stádust, to be sent to her brother in the pit of despair. Gunna’s resolute singing and magical strumming enchant all around him. There he is then, snatching fanged victory from and defeat’s gummy jaws, as, wondrously, even the snakes are stilled to sudden sleep. At long last, everything changes in a splitting instant. As the impromptu karaoke performance wanders precariously towards spitting out a sickeningly saccharine ditty by Richard on the Cliff-edge, an ancient adder, anaemic, arthritic, and acutely hearing-impaired, leaps languorously upon Gunna and lays him low with a single shrill shriek! (It’s the single remaining, Nayflung half-brother who’s screaming, of course, not the old hissing slitherer.)
Dyna arswydo Gwdrẃn o glywed rhwnc angau estynedig a dirdynnol ei hanner brawd yn chwythu i fynu o’r dyfnderoedd pygddu. Ac yn yr un eiliad honno sy’n teimlo fel tragwyddoldeb, ac yn ddigon i oeri'r gwaed, pan erys amser, dyna Gwdrẃn, wedi rhewi hyd at fêr ei hesgyrn, yn sylweddoli o’r diwedd sut i ddial ar Atlí Hitman am y trais ar y Nayflungs oll. Nos dywyll a stormus ydy, ac nid galluoedd y fall hyd yn oed all daranu mor wyllt. Dyna gigfrain anwes Wowdun, Hugging a Mwning, yn craffu ar yr olygfa erch fel tystion adwythig, yn fud, ond yn barod bob tro i wawchio sennau heb eiriau. A thrwy’u llygaid mae Oylrig Sífót yn gwylio ‘fyd, wedi’i gyfareddu gan y drych sgrio yn seler y bwthyn glas ar lannau Afon Raynow.Aghast, Gwdrẃn hears her half-brother’s protracted death-cry wafting up from the inky depths. And in that single, semi-infinite, hair-splitting second, with marrow chilled and blood curdled, Gwdrẃn at last realises how to wreak vengeance on Atlee Hitman for the outrage against all the Nayflungs. It’s a dark and stormy night, and even hell’s not got fury the like of it. Wowdun’s pet ravens Hugging and Mwning gaze on the dread scene as baleful witnesses, mute, but ever ready to squawk wordless insults. And through their eyes watches Oylrig Sífót also, who’s entranced by the scrying-glass in the cellar of the blue cottage on the banks of the River Raynow.
Wedi’i brawychu, dyna Gwdrẃn yn tynnu’n ddwfn ar getyn o oruwch-fêl, ac yn gorchymyn y deuir â’i babanod o efeilliaid ati hi ar ben tŵr ucha’r uchelgaer yng nghanol y dymestl ffyrnig. Ac yno, hyhi sy’n eu lladd nhw ill dau a’i dwylo teg ei hun, gan drin dagr llym a charn o aur ac arno rwnau fyrdd. Mae’n ddall i wir ddrygioni’i gweithred o achos yr atgasedd anweladwy mae’n gallu’i glywed. Dyw daioni a goleuni ddim yn gallu neud cymaint â chael cip drwy’r llenni tywyll ar y bwystfil hwn o lofrudd dwbl. Ac yn sgil y lladdedigaeth wedi’i chychwyn gan y Nayflungs, does yr un o ganlynwr Hitman yn sylweddoli bod Gwdrẃn greulon yn sleisio a lladd ei hepil hithau.Appalled, Gwdrẃn, supermarrow-pipe-toting, commands her infant twins be brought to her at the top of the fortress’s highest tower, in the thick of the raging storm. And there, she herself kills them both with her own fair hands and a keen knife, gold-handled, and rune-bedecked. She’s blinded to the true evil of her action by her hatred’s sightless substance. Goodness and light can’t even get a look-in through the dark blankets at this double-murdering-monster. And, in the wake of the Nayflung-instigated carnage, none of Hitman’s henchmen cotton on to Gwdrẃn’s cruel cutting and offing of her own offspring.
Yn ystod yr wylnos yn dilyn angladd y lluoedd yn lled gaeth i Hitman sy’n hastio at yr uffern, dyna Gwdrẃn yn ymddangos o’r diwedd. Gan roi dau ficer yn llawn o win coch rhywiog i’w gŵr, mae’n yfed i’w iechyd da, ei hir oes, a’i hapusrwydd di-ben-draw. Wrth iddo lyncu’r ddiod a gynigir gan ei wraig yn un joch, dyna Atlí Hitman yn difaru’i enaid ei fod wedi colli’r aur, ond yn ymhyfrydu’n gas ‘fyd yn ystyried tranc ei elynion. Mae’n ymddangos bod y cnaf cywilyddus wedi drysu a dweud y lleia, o ganlyniad i bopeth sy di digwydd o flaen ei lygaid oedd fel arfer yn dreiddgar ond sy’n farwaidd a diddirnad erbyn hyn. Dyna fe’n gorweddian, yn llesg a ddi-ffrwt.At the ensuing funeral wake for Hitman’s hell-hastened half-enslaved cohorts, Gwdrẃn finally appears. Presenting two goblets of rich red wine to her husband, she toasts his hearty health, long life, and unbounded happiness. As he slugs deep of the potion proffered by his wife, Atlí Hitman feels deepest regret over the loss of the gold, but also horrible satisfaction as he considers the death of his enemies. The reprehensible rapscallion seems distracted, to say the least, as a result of all the events that have unfolded in front of his once beady but now uncomprehending glazed eyeballs. He lolls, listless and lethargic.
Dyma Gwdrẃn wedyn yn llyfu’i gwefusau dan wgu. Dyma’r unig eiliad mae wedi’i dewis i ddatgan ei dichell. A dyna hithau’n cyhoeddi i bawb yno taw, yn ddial am drais tanbaid Atlí, ac am ei fustl milain, mae hi wedi lladd y meibion dibechod. A dyna hithau’n mynd yn ei blaen i ddatgelu bod y diodlestri wedi’u llunio o esgyrn cywrain eu penglogau ac arnyn nhw haen drwchus o arian, tra mae’r gwin yn dintur deniadol (ond arteithiol!) yn cynnwys eu gwaed a mêl. Ac ar y funud honno, mae’r haid o helgwn yn perthyn i Hitman ei hun yn llenwi’u cylla â gweddillion marwol y babanod. Dyna’r galarwyr wedi ymgasglu’n ffrwydro. Dychmygwch yr arswyd, y ffieidd-dod, y dolur, yr ing! A dyna Atlí Hitman yn cwympo ar lawr, a’i lygaid lloerig yn sefyll allan o'i ben, wedi cynddeiriogi cymaint nes bod ei gorff yn borffor i gyd.Gwdrẃn, gloating gloweringly, chooses this moment to announce to all there present that, in vengeance for Atlí’s volcanic violence and vicious vitriol, she has slain their sinless sons. She goes on to reveal that the goblets are their delicate, silver-encrusted skull-bones, and the wine a tempting (but tormenting!) tincture containing their blood and honey. Atlí Hitman’s own horde of hunting hounds is gorging at this very instant on the babies’ worldly remains. The assembled mourners explode. Imagine the horror, the revulsion, the anguish, the angst! Atlí Hitman falls down, insane eyes popping, positively purple with apoplexy.
Mae Hitman yn cael ei gludo i’w wely ym mhorth y fynwent. Ond mae yna un tro ola ar fyd. Dyna Gwdrẃn yn mynd ling-di-long ac yn lladradaidd i mewn i siambr arswyd Atlí. Dyna hithau’n dihuno’i gŵr. Ac wedyn dyna hi’n plannu dagr â charn o aur ac arno rwnau fyrdd, oedd unwaith yn drysor teuluol i ryw hendad hynafol anghofiedig, yn ei frest, yn weithred aflednais o ddialedd terfynol. Dyma ddarfod Hitman musgrell ar ei wely angau, felly, ymhlith llawer iawn o felodrama. A dyna Gwdrẃn yn edliw’r ffaith iddo fod ei gorff eisoes yn yr amlosgfa, gan ei bod wedi defnyddio’i chastiau benywaidd i baratoi’n dda iawn. Mae’n marw, a geiriau twyllodrus Oylrig Sífót yn canu yn ei glustiau’n llosgi. O fewn eiliadau, mae yna goelcerth wyllt yn ysu maenordy Atlí Hitman, sy wedi’i wlychu drwodd â thanwydd. Ac O, mae’n llosgi mor aruthrol gyflym ac yn ddi-droi'n-ôl. Wrth i ddydd gwelw wawrio, gan ddisodli’r noson wenwynig, dim ond Gwdrẃn syfrdan sy’n goroesi ac yn sleifio ymaith yn ddistaw.Hitman is carried to his bed and death’s door. In fate’s final twist Gwdrẃn saunters stealthy into Atlí’s chamber of horrors, wakes her husband, and drives a gold-handled rune-strewn dagger, one-time heirloom of some forgotten ancient ancestor, into his chest as the ultimate act of vulgar vengeance. As Hitman expires amidst much moribund death-bed melodrama, Gwdrẃn taunts Hitman with the news that his body is already at the crematorium, for, using her womanly wiles, she has prepared very well. He dies, Oylrig Sífót’s deceitful words ringing in his burning ears. Within moments, a blazing inferno consumes Atlí Hitman’s fuel-soaked mansion-house immensely swiftly and utterly decisively. As pale day dawns to drive out the noxious night, only Gwdrẃn survives, to steal away in stunned silence.
Yn sgil y lladdfa, mae Gwdrẃn yn crwydro’n ynfyd trwy’r cefn gwlad. Gan ymlwybro am glogwyni’r arfordir, mae hi eisiau rhoi diwedd ar y fodolaeth mae’n ei chasáu erbyn hynny â chas perffaith. Mae’n amcanu dod yn aberth dynol gan ddileu’i dioddefaint trwy daflu’i chorff eiddil i gofleidiad hallt y cefnfor mud. Ond dyna’r môr minsur, yn aruchel ddiystyrllyd, yn gwrthod ei herfyniad! Mae gan Gwdrẃn, gwraig sy’n wahanol i bob gŵr, lawer o amser i ystyried, wrth i’r llanw ddal i godi a gostwng fel arfer. A dyna hithau’n eistedd felly ar lan y môr rhithdduwiol, gan fyfyrio uwchben ei gofidiau fyrdd ymhlith y blodau gwylltion sy’n ffynnu ar y traethellau tywodlyd, trist (does lawer ohonyn nhw, a bod yn onest, yn laswellt a’r uffernol lysiau'r dial gan mwya!).In the apocalypse’s aftermath, Gwdrẃn wanders witless through the countryside. Making for the coastal cliffs, she seeks to end her detested existence:, extirpating her anguish by casting her frail form as a human sacrifice into the silent ocean’s saline embrace. But the surly sea, sublimely dismissive, refuses her supplication! With time to reflect, as the tide ever rises and falls, Gwdrẃn, a woman like unto no man, sits at the sanctimonious seashore, pondering her myriad woes amongst the wild flowers that flourish on the sad, sandy banks (not many of them, to be honest, mostly grasses and hellish knotweed!).
Ar ôl, mae’n ymddangos, oesoedd, o feddwl, mae’n galw ar ysbryd aflonydd Sikhát am y tro ola erioed, gan atgoffa’i charwr lledrithiol am eu haddewidion heb eu cywiro, ac ymhŵedd arno i ddychwelyd. Yn ofer, wrth gwrs, mae’n eiriol. Dim ond wedyn, wedi llwyddo i’w thaflu’i hun i’r ewyn afreolus, yng nghroth ddaearol y nefoedd wedi’i llenwi â dŵr, fe’i derbynnir hithau. Dyna alar ei holl fywyd yn cael ei foddi nes nes taw dim ond un gân serch ola sydd ar ôl, wedi’i siantio gan seiren wylofus, ac ynddi mae adlais geiriau edliwgar Afon Raynow yn cymysgu â gwawchiau gwag y gwylanod.After, it appears, ages of thought, she calls upon Sikhát’s restless spirit one last time, and, madly reminding the spectral lover of their unfulfilled promises, implores him to return. In vain, of course, does she entreat. Only then, self-shunted into the unfettered foam, earth-bound watery womb of the firmament, is she accepted. Her life’s grief's drowned to a final sorrow-laced siren-crooned torch-song, in which the echo of the Raynow River’s reproachful words mingles mocking with the gulls’ empty squawks.

Pwy sy’n gwylio’r ddrama ddynol hon yn mynd rhagddi, ar ymyl clogwyn uwchben yr olygfa dyngedfennol? Dim ond Braytstá, yn genau lwcus fel arfer, sy’n smocio’n ddidaro ond yn drwm. Mae’n chwarae rhan gwyliedydd swyddogol i’w feistr Unllygeidiog Wowdun unwaith ‘to. A dyna Lẃk yn glaschwerthin o ystyried bywyd ar y Migl-Urth yn llawn ffoleddau di-ddal a diffrwyth, gan aros, yn rhwystredig fel arfer, am ddechrau fflamllyd diwedd terfynol popeth. Ac felly, fel trychineb gormesol tragwyddol, fe aiff y gylchred greulon yn ei blaen yn ara deg, yn chwiwgar a chanseraidd, heb y mymryn lleia o atyniad nac arwyddocâd.

Wrth i’r tân ymledu, gan losgi’r byd crwn, mae Afon Raynow yn dal i chwydu allan ei chân anorffen a chwerw eithriadol wrth iddi ferwi, gan greu realedd a’i anghofio ar yr un pryd. Ond cyn i’r holl ddyfroedd purddu, byw droi’n darth myglyd fydd yn mynd yn ei flaen i ddifetha popeth, dyna un ffigur unig yn gwisgo gŵn hir, gwyn ac yn ei law ffon o bin yn nesáu atyn nhw gan faglu’n boenus o ara. A dyna’r hen ddoethwr hynod a brawychus Oylrig Sífót, hynny yw Hlothrig Mulrin, sy wedi achosi cymaint o helbul a helynt tu hwnt i’r llenni yn ystod ei arhosiad ar y Migl-Urth.

Ac mewn ymdrech anobeithiol ola i ddianc a’i achub ei hun a had y dynol ryw ‘fyd, falle, dyna’r hen ddewin yn llwyddo i’w daflu’i hun i mewn, gan lafarganu â’r tonnau eiriau’u mantra cyfnewidiol: “Praí rommleil sipera i athhlis nay nuslé; Lasha ny m’hessilishil isié zutha thruf-afoo’n wil alsali isil hýl” – “Fe fydd lluwch amseroedd hynafol yn codi drachefn; Fe fydd gwyntoedd yn brwydro a’r stŵr wedi’i golli ymhlith y sêr.” Ac wrth i’r dŵr drewllyd a gwenwynig gau dros ei ben, dyna agor Hollt i Fyd Arall, ac yntau’n cael ei hyrddio trwyddo.

Who’s watching this human drama unfold, on a cliff-edge above the fateful scene? Only Braytstá, lucky beggar as usual, smoking idly but heavily. He’s playing the role of the official observer for his One-eyed master Wowdun once again. Lẃk laughs hollowly at life on the Migl-Urth, full of fruitless, fickle follies, waiting, as always unfulfilled, for the beginning of the fiery end of all ends. And so, eternally cruel and cancerous, does the calamitous cycle creep on, capricious and crushing, completely lacking in charm or consequence.

As the fire spreads, consuming the whole world, the Raynow River keeps on spewing out its endless and exceptionally bitter song as it boils, creating reality and forgetting it at the same time. But before all the living, jet-black waters turn into a suffocating mist that will go on to destroy everything, one lonely figure wearing a long, white gown and carrying in his hand a pinewood staff approaches them, stumbling painfully slowly. And that’s the old, weird, frightening sage, Oylrig Sífót, that is Hlothrig Mulrin. who’s caused so much chaos and confusion behind the scenes during his sojourn on the Migl-Urth.

And in a last, hopeless effort to escape, and save himself and the seed of the human race too, he succeeds in flinging himself in, intoning with the waves the words of their ever-changing mantra: “Praí rommleil sipera i athhlis nay nuslé; Lasha ny m’hessilishil isié zutha thruf-afoo’n wil alsali isil hýl” – “The dust of ancient times will rise up again; Winds will clash and their din will be lost among the stars.” And as the stinking and poisonous water closes over his head, there’s a Cleft to Another World opening, and he gets thrust through.

Mwy am Patrick / More about Patrick

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