Dyffryn Alarch

DYFFRYN ALARCH - STORI ARSWYD - CYMRAEG A SAESNEG - SWAN VALLEY - HORROR STORY - WELSH AND ENGLISH - BREDEVOORT VAN DEN BERG Pan ddarganfyddir darn arian Rhufeinig yn mwd anialwch y Byd Newydd, mae capten llong yn herio grym llawer hŷn na brenhinoedd.When a Roman coin is discovered in the mud of the New World wilderness, a ship’s captain defies a power much older than kings.Mae’r digwyddiad hwn yn dychryn yr anheddiad yn raddol wrth i ôl traed anesboniadwy ymddangos y tu allan i’r palisâd, ac mae’r ddaear ei hun yn troi’n elyn ddistaw.This event gradually terrifies the settlement as inexplicable tracks appear outside the palisade, and the ground itself turns into a silent enemy.Wrth i ffrigadau’r llynges Seisnig gau i mewn i hawlio rheolaeth, mae llong lwyd ddieithr o oes anghofiedig yn codi o ddyfroedd y bae i gyflwyno neges ddirgel drom.As English navy frigates close in to claim control, a strange grey ship from a forgotten age rises from the bay waters to deliver a heavy, mysterious message.Mae’r chwedl werin dywyll hon yn plethu arswyd goruwchnaturiol ac arswyd seicolegol yng nghanol sŵn pibau cŵd galarus a churiad calon sy’n troi realiti yn lludw mân.This dark folk tale weaves supernatural dread and psychological horror amidst the sound of mournful bagpipes and a heartbeat that turns reality into fine ash.Cynigir y stori ffuglen hanesyddol gothig gyflawn llinell wrth linell yn yr iaith Gymraeg ac yn y Saesneg.The complete gothic historical fiction story is offered line by line in the Welsh language and in English. 'Yn haul cyntaf Mawrth, canodd y metel.In the first sun of March, the metal sang.Nid llewyrch byw aur ydoedd, na disgleirdeb tegell.It was not the living gleam of gold or the shine of a kettle.Gwawr lwyd, farw plwm a thun ydoedd, wedi’i chyfuno’n ddelw mor fawr ag ysgwyddau cawr, ar ben polyn talach na’r ŷd aeddfetaf.It was the dead, grey sheen of lead and tin, blended into an image as large as a giant’s shoulders, atop a post taller than the ripest corn.Arno, mewn cerfwedd uchel, safai arfbais Cwmni India’r Gorllewin: dwy long ysblennydd, wedi’u hamgylchynu gan lythrennau troellog a choron.Upon it, in raised relief, stood the coat of arms of the West India Company: two splendid ships, surrounded by curling letters and a crown.Llong fasnach a llong ryfel.A merchant ship and a warship.I Tamanend, mab hynaf arweinydd y Siconesiaid, rhywbeth hollol wahanol ydoedd.For Tamanend, eldest son of the Siconese leader, it was something else entirely.Bu’n gwylio’r polyn am wythnos.He had watched the post for a week.Gwelsai’r haul canol dydd yn ei boethi, a’r glaw yn ei wlychu.He had seen the midday sun heat it, the rain wet it.Astudiodd ei lygaid eryraidd miniog ymyl y metel cadarn lle’r ymwthiai o’r pren.His sharp eagle eyes had studied the edge of the sturdy metal where it protruded from the wood.Arhosodd nes i Hosset a’i ddynion adael am y caeau deheuol, eu rhawiau dros eu hysgwyddau, i greithio’r ddaear am ail dymor o fethiant.He waited until Hosset and his men had left for the southern fields, their spades over their shoulders, to scar the earth for a second season of failure.Pan oedd y gaer yn dawel, heblaw am y ddau wyliwr wrth y prif borth, nesâodd Tamanend.When the fort was quiet, except for the two guards at the main gate, Tamanend approached.Nid oedd yn llechwraidd; cerddodd yn syth, ei wyneb yn ddi-fynegiant.He was not stealthy; he walked straight, his face expressionless.Gorweddai ei domahawk, â phen carreg finiog, yn ei law.His tomahawk, with a head of sharp stone, rested in his hand.'