Wolf Blood (16 page)
Authors: N. M. Browne
Ger is impressive with his hair limed so that it stands up, giving him an extra span of height. The gold torque around his thick neck is polished and glinting in the torchlight. He runs to my side. I want to smile but my burned lips hurt too much.
‘Are you all right? I feared we’d be too late.’
I nod. I’m not all right but I am alive. Once more, just as I am ready to die, I am given another chance. I fight the urge to embrace Ger. I am so overwhelmed. He has saved me. My raw throat seizes up and I struggle to get any words out at all. I want to tell him not to attack the wolf. I look around for Morcant but he has gone. Ger shouts his orders and a young boy helps me towards the back of the horde while Ger engages my enemies. The boy gives me water from his canteen.
‘The Lord Druid said we had to move quickly to save you. You are the hope of the tribes!’ I don’t know what he is talking about. ‘Once we worked out that Madoc had gone we mustered at once and Ma and the women have abandoned the village because of your warning.’ As he talks his eyes dart from one man to the next, watching, straining to join in. I put my hand on his arm to stop him running into the thick of the fighting. I want to cover his ears so that he doesn’t have to hear the cries, the butcher sounds of metal hacking bone, but he is of age or Ger would not have brought him. I am glad to rest away from the fighting. I’ve done enough killing. Ger has brought more than twenty men and the Romans are down to five, two of whom are quite badly burned. There is only one way this will go.
The Romans did not have time enough to get themselves into good battle order. They fight bravely and well but they are no match for the joyous madness of Ger and his men. The boy almost wriggles away.
‘This is not your time,’ I say, as if I’ve seen his future. I am glad to say I have not, but he’s in such awe of me he leaves the killing to his elders.
My throat is agonisingly raw. I want to follow Morcant except that I know that he’s gone where I cannot follow. My eyes burn and I do not realise for quite some time that they are blurred less from the smoke than from my tears. I am alive and abandoned by the only companion I want; Morcant has gone back to his she-wolf.
Chapter Twenty-three
I am exhausted and I give myself up to the visions. There is little to choose between the scene before me and the pictures I see with my mind’s eye: people are dying in both.
I’m brought back to myself by the homely scent of ale and the savoury smell of bread.
‘Trista?’ Ger shakes me gently. When I open my eyes, it is his gap-toothed smile I see.
‘We won, my girl. You did well to fight them off for so long. You’re safe now.’
Can I ever be safe? The sun is high in a pale blue sky. I am lying under a thick plaid blanket and there are no trees to be seen. There are no bodies either. I sit up and accept the beaker of ale and hunk of bread from Ger’s hand.
‘Whaa?’ I begin. It is a sound not a word and it hurts to make even such a sound. I go to wipe my mouth and find it smeared with sticky ointments. Every part of me aches and I am stiff from the beating at the legionaries’ hands. I don’t think I’ve been cut, but it is hard to tell.
‘You were out of it, girl, so after we’d done what was needed we put you on your horse and brought you here.’ Now I can see it is a tribal encampment with people and livestock all corralled together in a temporary stockade. A huge central hearth has been built and the women are roasting what looks like venison on a spit. The smell of burning meat is too close to the stench of burning flesh. It makes my stomach heave.
‘Our Lord Druid took your words to heart and has taken himself off to find Caratacus. It was decided that we shall all follow his lead and offer ourselves to his service. Those that want to throw their lot in with Rome can follow Madoc’s path and risk his fate. Whatever our Queen has to say about it, I’ll not give my crops to Roman masters.’ He looks angry but then he looks at me and his brow clears. ‘There is no need for you to risk the road alone. I think we were wrong to send you on your way with no one but a slave. We are all in this together now. It will take us a while as we have brought all we can carry with us.’ He waves his hand to encompass the village of crude shelters.
I feel responsible. Was it my vision that did this? I think he must see that thought flit across my face. ‘The wind has been blowing this way for a while, girl. I’ve had a few visits from the armed men of the legion and I don’t like the way they eyed my land. I can’t hold what is mine against the legions. I might be old but I’m not stupid.’
I nod. I try to speak but nothing but a croak comes out of my dry throat so I drink the spiced ale instead and remember the night of my escape from the hall when I would have given almost anything to taste its flavour again: it was worth the wait.
‘We found your gear: the mare, your sword and mine, oh, and this.’ He hands me the pouch with the message for Caratacus still intact inside it. ‘Not much of a one for keeping hold of things, are you?’
I’m about to try to explain but he puts his hand over mine. ‘I’m joking with you. You did well to survive. You’re truly worthy of this blade.’ He presses my longsword into my hand. As my fingers curl around it I can’t help but smile. The tiny movement hurts as if the skin around my mouth has shrunk. I still can’t speak so I pat his hand in thanks, but my eyes are already beginning to close. Too late I detect the bitterness of a sleeping draught in the aftertaste of the ale.
The next nights pass in a haze. I have visions. I eat. I sleep. I have to trust Ger and I do. His wife, Bethan, spoons warm milk sweetened with honey into my mouth. I know she has laced it with a potion to make me sleep but I don’t make a fuss. I’m not allowed to be awake for long. I know they believe that sleep is good for me and so it would be unkind to tell them about the endless horror of my prophetic visions. They are good people and are trying to spare me agony. We travel all day and sometimes for half the night and I am never left untended for very long.
The moon is a waning crescent. I calculate that I have been allowed to rest for almost fifteen nights. Tonight Bethan gives me unadulterated ale, instead of honeyed milk. I’m very weak, but I can swallow without pain.
‘So,’ Ger begins, ‘you are well again.’ I nod and cough. I have to force my voice to work after so long a rest.
‘I must thank you and your wife for caring for me.’
He grins and opens his arms to include all his gathered clan. ‘We have all cared for you as if you are our only child. You have not been the quietest of patients.’ There is a low wave of laughter swiftly suppressed. The people at the fire all look at me with such affection I wonder for a moment if I have turned into someone else.
His wife shushes him gently. Perhaps I made more noise than I remember. ‘What we all want to know,’ she says with a wicked little smile of her own, ‘is who is Morcant?’
At his name my body tenses. How can I have forgotten him? Where is he? I think my expression must have changed because she looks penitent at once. ‘Oh Trista, I’m sorry. Have I upset you?’
‘No, no, it’s fine. He is a friend, but we have parted company.’ My voice is still husky from lack of use. I try to smile. Has Morcant abandoned me or have I abandoned him?
It is a long time since I’ve been part of a clan such as this. I don’t belong here among this kindly throng of warriors and their wives. I am a warrior, a seeress and now a messenger with a blood debt to repay. I belong with other outcasts. I belong with Morcant.
I watch the leaping flames of the hearth fire for a long time, ignoring the cavorting of the Wild Weird and listening to the sounds of the sleeping tribe. I cannot stay. I wait for the first hint of dawn and then I get ready. I take only what is mine: mail, helmet, sword belt, sword and cloak. I am quiet as I can be, though my legs shake a little from lack of use.
‘Wait! You’ll need food for your journey,’ Bethan whispers to me across the sleeping form of her husband. She gets to her feet.
‘I’ll see you past the watch.’
She doesn’t ask me anything. She is swiftly on her feet gathering up a few small loaves of flatbread into a bag along with some dried venison. She hands me a spear too – one of ours – decorated with interwoven charms, curses and blessings.
‘Don’t think me ungrateful . . .’ I still find it difficult to speak.
She touches my cheek gently; her hands are rough as a slave’s. ‘You are not like us. We all know of the horrors that haunt your dreams.’ I see her snaggle-toothed smile in the firelight. I was obviously not as close-mouthed as I might have hoped in all my endless dreaming. ‘Our Lord Druid told us to take care of you and we have. Please take care of yourself.’
I hug her as warmly as if she were Cerys. ‘May the gods bless you,’ I say. ‘Say goodbye to Ger. I’ve left his sword.’
‘I hope you find him, your Morcant, and I hope he knows what a prize he has in you.’
She kisses me lightly on the cheek and returns to the fire. Two of the Wild Weird follow her, the rest come with me. I am still puzzling over her words when day breaks.
Chapter Twenty-four
I feel as if my legs belong to a newly born lamb. I have to lean hard on my spear and wonder if that is why thoughtful Bethan gave it to me. Somehow I breathe better away from all those tribespeople. I am better off alone. That is not true: I am better off with Morcant. I could have stayed with Ger and still fulfilled my debt to Cassie. Bethan understood me well. My leaving Ger’s clan is less about Caratacus than about Morcant.
I won’t find Morcant on Ger’s chosen roads – on the old market tracks. If I want to find the wolf, I’ll have to travel through the wilderness, through the forests and the scrublands on the route west. If Morcant is still heading towards Mona, then that will be his path too. The Sabrina and the Sacred Isle are both west of here.
I should have borrowed a horse. I haven’t been walking long when I realise that my decision to walk alone through rough terrain without companionship is more insane than merely foolish. I am weary before the sun has moved in the sky. The Wild Weird are so numerous here I can barely see the ground. Most of them are so terrifying in appearance that I have to avert my eyes. I sing to distract myself, like a mad woman. My voice sounds rusty as an abandoned sword, ugly as a cry of pain.
I keep the sun at my back and pick my way through the dense forest. Sometimes it feels as if the Wild Weird are guiding me, herding me even. That is the trouble with being alone – fancies can become convictions all too easily.
I have to stop to rest, sooner than I’d like. I settle down to eat something and rest against the trunk of an oak tree. It is only then that I see it: a clear pathway lit by a wan, unearthly light that has nothing to do with the weak sun. It is so obvious it could be painted on the ground. The grass is faintly silvered as if rimed with frost and the mud glows with a soft inner fire. I shiver. I know what this is and it is something I never thought to see – the druids’ walk, the sacred path, the highway of the dead.
I’m sure now that the Wild Weird have been pushing me in this direction. What would happen if I were to walk that path? I know nothing of the mysteries, the ancient wisdom that might guide me. I’ve learned enough lore to recognise that the Wild Weird are unreliable allies and they could be urging me to my death. As I wrap my cloak more tightly around my shoulders, my fingers brush against the metal of Ger’s arm ring. I’d forgotten all about it. I work it down my arm to take a better look at it in daylight. Now I can see that it is far from being the plain gold band I thought at first. It is very finely wrought, of the most precious rose-hued gold, chased into intricate interlocking patterns; indeed, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Didn’t Ger say it would grant me clear sight? I need that now more than ever before.
I struggle to my feet, using the tree trunk for support. My legs still tremble after any kind of muscular effort. I stumble, right myself, but the precious arm ring rolls from my grasp. It hasn’t rolled far. It lies in that section of the ground that was illumined by eldritch light, but now there is no light, no path and no grey folk cavorting at my feet: there is nothing but the dark wood and an eerie silence broken only by my loudly beating heart. I don’t know how I failed to grasp the obvious truth. It was not madness or my prophetic power that let me see the grey folk and the druids’ walk: it was Ger’s gift, that is the clear sight that Ger’s druid granted me.
I pick the arm ring up with more care and reverence than I bestowed on it before. As soon as I touch it the path beneath my feet flares into brightness like a pale flame and a swarm of grey folk are gathered round my feet. I push Ger’s arm ring higher up my arm and tighten it so that it will not work its way loose. It was a great and terrifying gift that he gave me. Did the druid intend me to walk the druids’ walk?
I can’t help but rest my hand on my sword as I start my journey again. As soon as I place one foot on the path, the world beyond it dissolves into a blur of greens and greys. I pray that this is the right decision and take a step.
I am somewhere else. Here I am in the summer country. It is warm and the light is golden so that the grass and trees along the way glow like gems: the green of emeralds, the brown of amber, while the path itself has a dazzling diamond glitter. I have seen this place in visions. I want to run from its strangeness and at the same time I never want to leave.