Spiral: Book One of the Spiral in Time (23 page)

The men at the far end of the meadow signaled ready. Everything was in place. The girl’s back was to the river; there was no way for her to escape. The net could be slowly drawn shut. No need to be quiet now. He lifted the horn from his shoulder and blew a long, piercing call.

CHAPTER 15

The blare of a horn shook a flock of tree sparrows skyward from the oak tree where Sabrann and Glas lay, hidden under its low branches. Small golden leaves and fine brown feathers drifted over their heads. Her heart pounded. The harsh sound came from the direction of the great meadow they had just run through. They were coming!

“We have to hide. Quick, before they see us.”

They scrambled on hands and knees through the tall grass to the riverbank, and inched their way to the leafless tree that stood at the top, like a guardian to the river below. The soil had washed away, leaving part of the roots exposed—twisted and gnarled like an old person’s hands. She crept cautiously around the tree trunk, sure that a spirit lived there, and whispered a plea to the Matrones for protection.
Guard us.

Large river ferns held a tenuous place in the clay, and the ancient tree roots gave footholds as they climbed down the steep embankment to the water’s edge. It smelled of decaying fish and the pungent musk of otters that used the river’s narrow edge as a mating ground. The river Tamar was almost at full ebb, with the tidal current that returned the salty water to the sea, not far away. A narrow path, slick with wet clay, edged the shoreline.

“Wait here,” she whispered, and pushed Glas under a willow tree. Its long, narrow leaves hung down from arching branches that draped over the path like a green hut.

Crawling along the river’s edge, she searched for some sign of the low-water crossing that led to Belerion with its high moors. Culain came from Belerion, from Bodmin Moor, where wild ponies lived and the people were united in not wanting intruders. He said people there could disappear from view at a moment’s notice. They hid in
fogous
, stone tunnels under the earth, and were safe from unwanted visitors and, worst of all, the slavers, who sometimes came across the sea from Hieriyo and stalked them like deer. He said the
fogous
were everywhere, up on the high moors, and Culain never lied.

Crawling over rough sedge, inching under beds of river ferns, she pushed through some tall rushes and came upon a cleverly hidden coracle, the round, hide-covered boats used on the river. Sabrann knew who put it there: Talan.

The small fisherman used this coracle for setting nets across the river to catch salmon as the tidal flow swept them upstream, and to check his well-built weir. He had shown her how the weir was built one day when she came running to the river, chasing a beautiful peregrine falcon to capture and train. She shared some hard cheese with him and sat motionless on the bank, watching him work, her mind reaching into his, knowing his thoughts as they darted to and fro like small minnows in a still pond. From a pile of supple willow branches, he wove a withy screen that stretched like a curved wall across the narrowest part of the river, catching fish before the Tamar widened and flowed fast with the mighty pull of the tides.

“It’s a river that’s mated to the sea,” Talan had said, his eyes shining with the mystery of the waters. The small fisherman looked like one of the fish caught in his weir, with his pale, speckled skin and light green eyes.

“Once, long before any time we know, our old souls lived on the banks of this river. But Endil, a god of the sea, was angered by their living so close to his home and taking his creatures from the water for food. He caused the water to get higher and higher until the only place the old ones could live was on the high, rolling land away from the river bank, where you live now.”

His voice lowered to a whisper. “Even now, Endil and the other sea gods lay traps for our people by making the water go out to the sea, and then it rushes back in and drowns the unwary.”

Sabrann shivered at the thought and vowed never to be caught.

Now she and Glas were hunted like Talan’s fish. The crossing must be close by, but first, they must hide. Talan was her friend; he would not mind if she used his coracle to escape. In the bottom of the coracle were a crude oar, a long punt stick, and a net. It was just big enough to conceal them both until it was safe.

I’ll make a bower with branches and ferns to cover us, she thought, and it will look like driftwood and plants washed up by the river. Two or three nights hidden in the rushes, and then it will be safe to creep through the brush upstream and cross over.

Sabrann backed up carefully and beckoned to Glas. She stepped into the flowing, green water, still shallow at the edge, giving Glas room to get by.

He crawled out from under the willows and through the rushes to the coracle. “Hurry!” she hissed, as she looked down at the water and felt her fear rising. The river seemed faster now. He scrambled into the coracle, and as she lifted herself back onto the narrow path, it moved forward. Glas’s weight on the wet clay had moved the boat to the edge and it was sliding into the river. It was getting away!

She looked up as a shadow crossed her face. An even greater danger came from above. She had not kept watch on the riverbank, high above her head.

A line of warriors stood above, with spears and arrows pointed at her. She ducked back under the rushes. Loud shouts echoed over the water as spears and arrows flew down from the high embankment.

When she looked up again, she met the pale eyes of one boy, and then a dark figure loomed over her, eyes blazing like banked fires, and she saw death looking back. He wore the bronze armband of the Gaesatae—a Durotriges, with the assassins! The Gaesatae started climbing down.

But it was her they were after; Glas was in the coracle and could still escape. She kicked and pushed with all her strength, shoving the coracle out toward the middle of the river. It was the only way.

“Go, Glas, go. Now!”

Clinging to the muddy grasses at the water’s edge, Sabrann turned to face the Gaesatae. She touched her hunting knife and knew she would use it when he came close enough.

From behind her, Glas shouted. “Sabrann, I’m coming!”

She looked back, horror-stricken. He had grabbed the coracle’s punting stick and fought the current with his strong arms. He was turning the boat back to the shore, towards her.

“Stop! Don’t do that. They will kill you!”

The coracle came closer. She moved to the boat to push it away again. But Glas grabbed her and did not let go as the small boat slowly turned, edging back into the full flow of the river.

Flint- tipped spears and arrows rained down from the top of the river’s bank. The Gaesatae was on the path along the river’s edge now and slipped in the slick mud as he tried to hurl his spear at her. Anger contorted his face. He screamed something and flung his spear with a mighty throw that just missed Glas and pierced the coracle’s side. A furious look on his face, he grabbed his sword and threw it in a wild throw that arched up and over the boat. The blade glistened, blinding bright with the sun, as it fell into the water. The coracle spun about in the current as Sabrann clung to its side. Arrows and spears littered the water. A broken spear floated to shore and the Gaesatae grabbed it with a roar. He hurled it with a powerful throw, hitting the coracle again.

She heard the soft whirring of an arrow and felt it strike as Glas pulled her into the boat.

“Let me go, Glas, it’s me they want.” His grip didn’t waver.

A shout went up from the riverbank. The attack stopped! The mercenaries yelled and pointed at something—the Gaesatae was in their line of fire. He was in the water, almost to the coracle. Glas tried to hit him with the punt.

“I can’t reach him, Sabrann.” Glas stood, red-faced, swinging the punt. The coracle rocked in the current, sending water splashing over the side.

“The net—throw it!” she cried.

The net was light and big enough to cross half the river. Glas swung it at the Gaesatae—it snagged his head and tangled around his arms. He thrashed wildly against it, then, dropped out of sight under the water. The river held the coracle tight now, the tidal waters strong with their fast-flowing rush back to the sea. The warriors stopped yelling, too far out of range for any spear or arrow.

“We’re safe now ...” cried Glas. His voice faltered as she slumped forward. Her hand held her shoulder where a thin, broken arrow shaft protruded. She had felt it hit as Glas struggled to pull her into the coracle and would have slipped back into the water if his strong arms had not held her fast.

Glas tentatively touched the shaft. It didn’t move. He gave her an anxious look.

“It’s stuck, and you’re bleeding a lot.”

“You have to pull it out, Glas. Be quick.” She could not run anywhere like this.

His eyes widened. She knew he hated to cause any pain. “Do it! You must, or we will never get away. Pull it straight out!”

Glas took a deep breath, and then gripped the arrow’s shaft. Sabrann shut her eyes tight, clutching the rough bark edge of the boat so tight it cut into the palm of her hand.

He made a small cry, and yanked the arrow free. A lightening streak of white-hot pain shot through her shoulder. Sabrann gave a fierce yell and everything turned black. For a moment, she passed out. When she opened her eyes, the water pooled in the bottom of the boat was streaked red with her blood. The arrowhead’s serrated edges left a deep, open wound and blood streamed down her arm. Glas grabbed her knife, quickly cutting off a piece of his tunic, and wound it tight around her shoulder. She leaned against the boat’s side, faint with pain.

Without anyone steering, the boat entered the middle of river. The swift current carried them away from the assassins on the riverbank, but the wrong way. They were fast moving downstream, far from the side that led to Belerion.

Glas tried to use the punt, but the tidal current was too strong. When Sabrann looked back she gave an alarmed shout. Talan’s net trailed behind the coracle with the body of the Gaesatae twisted in it. And he was alive! His eyes were open as he plunged beneath the water and then up again, gasping for air.

“I can’t get it loose! It’s stuck underneath.” Glas leaned over the back, frantically trying to see where the net was caught. Each moment took them farther from Belerion and safety.

Sabrann lay against the side of the coracle. Two spears were lodged in its side. The small boat dropped lower into the river. Neither she nor Glas could swim—they would drown! She wept in pain and frustration. There was nothing she could do; the coracle was being swept by the river toward the sea.

She felt a heavy thud to the boat. Something struck the coracle on one side and then on the other; the boat rocked violently. The water in the bottom deepened, as more water poured in through the holes in the hide. Sabrann looked over the side and saw a silvery fish, almost as long as the coracle. It bumped the side and shook the boat. It would tip them over!

Glas used his hands scooping water over the side. It was no use. They were sinking fast and all around them big, silvery fish kept bumping the coracle.

As the small boat moved ever farther from the shore, the river widened and there, sparkling in the risen sun, was more water than she ever imagined. In the middle of light so bright it hurt her eyes, a tall, dark shape loomed in front of them. Sabrann recognized it—she had seen it in her dream, so long ago this morning! But there was no turning back, no waking up.

Waves formed on either side of the sinking coracle, and the large silvery fish moved all around them, bumping against the sides of the boat. The water grew close and dark.

She remembered her mother in the dream. She could see her face, her glorious red hair, and her lips moving. Now Sabrann knew what she kept saying, over and over.

“Run, Sabrann! Run!”

It was too late.

PART III

The Astarte