The Forgotten War (46 page)

‘If need be,’ said Cygan. ‘Come, let’s get moving again.’

They continued their journey. The river was so wide here that great flocks of seabirds would sit on it in massive clumps, bobbing up and down on the water, then rising as one with disgruntled
shrieks as Cygan’s boat approached them. The weather changed quickly here and they watched with some consternation as slabs of grey cloud came scudding towards them and the wind got fresher
causing small waves to come crashing into their prow. The waves were sending plumes of spray up across the boat and soaking Cerren who had the foremost rowing position. After nearly an hour of this
he called to the others.

‘Boats! On the river, coming towards us!’

‘How many?’ said Cygan.

Cerren stopped rowing and shielded his eyes. ‘Six, maybe seven; all longboats and all of them full.’

He was quite right. There were seven of them with about six to each boat. As they drew closer they could see the heads of children moving around between the rowers, there were women there
too.

‘Is that Vengefarak?’ said Cygan ‘On the lead boat?’

‘Yes,’ said Cerren, ‘And Raduketeveryan on the next boat. Hoy! Radu!’

His boat pulled up to theirs, and both men grabbed the prows of the other’s boats, pulling them together. Vengeferak trod water next to them. They greeted each other as warmly as possible
given the precarious circumstances.

‘We are evacuating the village,’ said Raduketeveryan. ‘It has become too dangerous, The Malaac attacked last night and breached the defences; several were killed. I see you
have had similar problems.’ He indicated the head resting on the boat’s stern.’

‘We never even got to the Twin Snake’s main settlement,’ said Cygan, ‘we were forced back. Tegavenek is injured.’

‘We lost Adevenek,’ called out Vengefarak. ‘The Gods here are angry indeed.’

‘Is the village empty now?’ asked Cygan.

‘There was no more space in the boats. In this water any more on board and we could capsize. There are several tribes here; they are taking the evacuees back to their own villages,’
Raduketeveryan replied, not actually answering the question.

‘The Elder and one of the Circle remain,’ said Vengefarak. ‘There were no more boats and they decided to sacrifice themselves to ensure that the others escaped.’

‘Then we will go and get them,’ said Cygan ‘We can take two more.’

‘Cygannan watch over you then. We will see you back at Black Lake.’ Vengefarak spurred his boat onwards and waved them goodbye.

‘Farewell, my friends,’ said Raduketeveryan. ‘You may even catch us up. One boat moves faster than seven.’ He released the prow and the refugee boats continued on their
way.

The Black Lake party watched the seven boats until they became indistinct lines on the horizon, then pressed forward.

The river continued to widen. The reeds gradually disappeared, exposing high banks of mud through which the thick roots of tough marsh grass showed – the only thing preventing rapid
erosion of the banks here. Now the water was like a brown soup rising and falling in waves which pitched their little boat up and down so that it was now shipping water. Tegavenek stirred himself
and did what he could to bail them out. Cygan, though, was thinking how much worse it would get when they started rowing through the lake with two extra bodies on board.

He did not have to wait long to find out. Suddenly the great muddy buttresses of the banks vanished altogether and they were pitched four square on to the lake. Immediately the wind whipped up,
flapping at their ears and driving the boat to the right. The waves, too, increased in ferocity, lifting the boat high then slamming it back into the water, kicking up a ferocious spray. Within
seconds all four of them were soaked. Tegavenek started scooping out the water with a renewed vigour, fighting the wind and tide as the three other men struggled to right the boat’s course
– for directly ahead was the black rock that gave the Jagged Hill tribe its name.

It was under a mile away – it was not a feature of great height, but one that stood out against the low country around it. They could make out the stockade and various dwellings
constructed of wood and reeds but little else until they got closer. It was not too far to row but in the difficult conditions it took an eternity. They were fighting waves, wind and tide and,
although all three of them were at the peak of fitness, they were soon exhausted. But, little by little, the island edged closer. They could now see the stockade had been flattened in parts and
that thatch and wood lay strewn over the open ground. The great house, in the centre of the village, had partially collapsed – its front roof supports lay on the ground and thatch was strewn
everywhere and was being whipped up by the wind in great clouds.

As they pulled up alongside the jetty, they started to be hit by large warm droplets of rain driving in from the sea. This, Cygan guessed correctly, lay less than half a mile distant. Cerren
leapt out to secure the boat while Cygan and Fasneterax grabbed their spears and headed into the ruined village.

They found the two men sitting inside the ruins of the great house. Skulls, pots and wall hangings lay idly about them. At first they raised their spears and started their battle cries until
they realised that the new arrivals were rescuers not enemies.

‘I am Cyganexatavan of the Black Lake. We have one boat and can bring the two of you back to our village. We need to leave quickly so, if there are any belongings you wish to take, get
them now and do not tarry.’

‘I am Denekavaxan, Elder of what once was the tribe of Jagged Hill. I thank you for your arrival but if you think you can escape the easier without us then do so. We are happy to give our
lives defending our village.’

Fasneterax spoke: ‘We did not come here to tour your lake. We will leave with both of you and, if the Gods allow it, we shall all return to our village together.’

‘Very well, stranger, then let us depart.’

With all the haste they could muster the four men returned to the boat. As it gathered strength, the rain slapped mercilessly against their shoulders and the back of their heads. With little
ceremony they clambered inside, the two new arrivals in the boat’s centre. The Elder took up an oar while his comrade readied a bowl to scoop out the water. As Cygan expected, the wind and
tide were with them this time and the boat fairly shot out from the jetty. The difficulty now was in keeping the boat under control, to stop it being pushed past the mouth of the river. They drew
their cloaks around them as much as they could as the elements assaulted them from all sides. The river mouth approached. Never had Cygan seen anything so welcoming. Denekavaxan, sitting just
behind him, turned to take one last regretful look at his former home.

‘By Cygannan and all the Gods, do you see that?’

Cygan turned and almost dropped his oar.

He saw the rock, black and keen amid the roiling brown water, yet just ahead of it and to the right there was something else. In normal circumstances he would have called it a coiling water
snake, but they never grew as long as this! Three coils he discerned – three arches standing out in the water, the central one standing higher than Jagged Hill itself. He reckoned four men
standing one on another could fit comfortably under its great span. He could see its scales, green-black, almost iridescent, quite beautiful in their own way, but each of them large enough to make
a warrior’s shield. As he watched, two of the coils disappeared under the waves, but emerging from the water came the neck and head of the great creature. He had expected a snake’s head
but it seemed more reptilian, arrowhead-shaped with a fin at its centre. Even at this distance he could see its teeth, many teeth, all needle sharp and maybe up to a foot long. As they watched, its
mouth opened and a great hiss came out, like a storm-force wind over jagged rocks, then the whole apparition plunged into the water once more and was gone.

Denekavaxan gasped, his voice suddenly hoarse: ‘Ventekuu, Ventekuu is among us. What can we do now? What can we do?’

Cygan wasn’t listening; he was too busy frantically rowing towards the river.

Three days later they limped back to their village. As Cygan expected, the great house was packed – nearly all the village was there. After leaving the still-sickly Tegavenek with the
other elders, he sought out Dumnekavax.

‘You have heard the news, yes? Vengefarak is back.’

‘He is, Cygan, yes; he got here barely two hours before you.’

‘How have things been here? Has the village been attacked?’

‘Not as yet and, if the Gods are with us, it won’t be either. I have walked the spirit path and Ukka has instructed me. You, my friend, have a part to play in the resolution of this
problem. Tell me your tale afterwards; right now I have an announcement to make.’

Cygan wondered what exactly ‘his part’ actually was but his pondering was cut short as the Elder called everyone to order. Cygan sat down with everybody else, feeling rather
miserable if truth be told.

‘You have been waiting for me to talk to you all following my journey into the world of the spirits. There I had the honour of being addressed by Ukka herself and guided as to the course
of action that we should take. It is not an easy course but it is one in which great honour can be achieved. If we do this correctly, then our village should be spared.’ He let the murmur of
the crowd subside before continuing.

‘Before I tell you the task that has fallen to us, let me welcome the Jagged Hill tribe to our village. They have withstood nightly attacks from the Malaac for many days and their bravery
can only be an asset to us here at the Black Lake.’ There was some applause at this, which Cygan participated in. ‘Now as to what we need to do. Firstly, these disturbances are not
caused by any failure on our part; we here have done nothing to anger the Gods. Rather, the cause lies with the people outside the marsh who have meddled in things they do not understand and upset
the balance of life here. We need to find out what they have done so I propose sending our ambassador Cyganexatavan to the dry lands of the north to find out the cause of the problem.’

Another roar of approval and Cygan saw the way things were going; there was no point in fighting the inevitable. Wearily, he stood up and addressed the crowd.

‘I accept the charge laid upon me and will leave when the Elder advises.’

Dumnekavax nodded to him. ‘And now for the second task: Ukka needs placating. She has requested an emissary. Someone young and strong, eager to serve both his village and the
Gods.’

Instantly every young man present got to their feet shouting at the Elder, imploring him to choose them. Dumnekavax stared impassively at them.

‘Very well. I have chosen. Cerrenatukavenex will be the emissary. He has slain the Malaac and proven himself a warrior. There is none here more fitting.’

Cerren beamed at all and sundry. Honour indeed would be his for eternity.

If he was being honest with himself, he had never seen a river like it. Two days travel from the mountains through ancient oak woodlands and wide grasslands had brought them
here, the river Taethan. They were just north of the point where the Taethan Falls crash on to the plain and spread outwards, to form the wide shallow river that flows down to the sea. They had
journeyed along its course for a whole day and never at any point did the river seem to get any more than four feet deep; indeed, it rarely seemed to be any deeper than two along most of its
length. The water itself was crystal clear as it ran over its stone bed, fronds of river grasses dancing gracefully as they swayed in the fast current. Morgan lost track of the fish he saw; most of
them did not swim off either, but rather hung in the water regarding the unfamiliar interlopers with a bored curiosity. They river was dotted with many eyots rising out of the shallow depths; all
were crowned with trees and had a thicket of shrubs and bushes at their base. Many birds perched in the high branches, calling defiantly to the humans passing below as if they perceived their very
presence here as an affront. The river was very wide but everyone in the party could not help but glance frequently at the far bank. There sat the Aelvenwood. If ever a forest could glower, then
this was the one. Impenetrable shadows gathered under the closely entangled branches of the densely packed trees. The whole place looked like light never pierced its inky depths, that it existed
out of time itself, that it had looked like this a thousand years ago and would still do so a thousand years hence. As they walked alongside it with only the river separating them, they constantly
expected something evil, an army of night horrors or a pack of slavering Agnathi beasts to emerge and bear down on them, all teeth and glowing red eyes. But nothing came aside from the wind in the
trees, the calls of the birds and the chatter of water bouncing over sand and rock.

Cedric sat at the front of the wagon next to Varen, looking out for the island from whence the signal to the Wych folk would be sent. Morgan walked alongside them.

‘Do you have any idea where this island could be then?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Cedric. He seemed a lot better for being off the mountain and colour had returned to his cheeks. ‘Just keep your eyes out for a statue, probably covered in leaves or
ivy. It has stood untended for many years after all.’

‘It would not do to walk straight past it. We are already some three days from the sea; I don’t want to get there and have to turn back and retrace our steps’

‘And miss it again?’ said Cedric.

Morgan groaned and looked back across the river.

As the river was so shallow, the banks were pretty marshy. They camped that night therefore a few hundred yards from the river, sheltered by a crescent of gnarled oak trees. They lit no fire as
all of them had the uneasy feeling that they were being watched and the last thing they wanted was to draw unwelcome attention. None of them slept well that night. They lay on their backs, weapons
in hand, watching the clouds scud across the face of the waxing moon.