by Glen L. Hall
With the cold sea air keeping him awake, Jarl was thinking about the Grim-Witch’s message. Beside him Ged was silent, the same thoughts no doubt going round in his mind.
They came to a place where there was nothing between the path and the cliff edge. The long line of Reiver horses was spooked by the drop and one or two had to be held firm by those walking alongside. One minute the path took them up dark cliffs with sheer drops onto sharp rocks below, then it led them down amongst the sand dunes with the biting sea winds in their faces.
Wherever they were, now and then the caravan would stop so the healers could tend to the wounded and the horses be fed and watered. And every time they stopped, those who could still hold a weapon would fan out into the night and station themselves around the long line of Reiver horses.
Braden occupied himself with sending out riders looking for the Grim-Witch and her crow-men, but they found nothing.
Jarl was also finding nothing – or nothing that made any sense. Was the Grim-Witch’s message genuine or had she cast some kind of spell on Ged and sent him back to deceive them? Perhaps Braden was right and it was a trap after all.
Something else was worrying him. The more he thought about the night in Oxford, the more he found Brennus and Drust’s version of events impossible to fathom. He knew Sam was special. Drust had told them that the flow never left him alone. It was just waiting for him to find it. Was he the heir of the Druids? Drust had at first thought that Eagan was the one, but later he and Brennus had come to believe that Sam was the one who would eventually learn to control the flow like no other. And so why had the Shadow let him live? Had it used him for some purpose?
His thoughts were punctuated by the groans of the wounded Reivers and the anxious whinnying of the horses. They had come to a place where the path took them within feet of a sheer drop. Jarl knew that for the next few miles they would be exposed. If they were attacked, they would be pushed into the sea.
Then Braden came to him. ‘The enemy is ahead.’ His voice did not betray his fear, but in the faint blue dawn Jarl could see it flickering in his eyes.
‘How many?’ he asked.
‘Three.’
‘Crow-men?’
‘We couldn’t tell. They are waiting where the path narrows.’
‘Are they alone?’
‘Yes,’ replied Braden, his face hard and unmoving. ‘Take care – I think it is a trap.’
‘I think they wish to speak.’ Ged had come upon them unnoticed.
‘They are murderers, Ged.’ Braden could not hide his distaste.
‘It won’t do to squabble amongst ourselves,’ Jarl said quickly. ‘Braden, send one of your men to tell Jolan to take the Reivers down onto the beach and wait for us to return. If we don’t, tell him to wait until the sea allows him safe passage to Howick.’
‘Jarl, it is clearly a trap. We should stay with our people.’
‘They want to speak.’
This time Braden chose to ignore Ged. ‘Jarl, what do you think?’
‘They have chosen their place well. So help get your people to the beach. If this is a trap, they will be safer with the dunes at their back. But we will speak to them.’
Braden shook his head. ‘Have your way, but there are many things here that make little sense. The Forest Reivers seem to be the ones sacrificing their blood, and for what?’
‘To stop a great darkness from creeping across your forefathers’ lands, Braden. It will not be in vain.’
Jarl watched Jolan, Erin and Bretta lead the long line of horses down the steep path, their descent protected by the rangers. It seemed to take an age before the last horse was off the path and disappearing onto the dark sands below.
‘If it is a trap, Braden, then Ged and I will hold them until you get news back to Jolan. Make for Howick – no harm will come to you there.’
‘How can you be certain?’ asked Braden.
‘My brother-in-law Kenrick will make sure of it.’
Jarl did not wait for Braden’s reply. Instead he set off down the path with both fear and determination beginning to rumble through his body. Beside him Ged walked silently with his short swords drawn, whilst Braden took his place on his right.
The path hugged the side of the cliff face here and the sea was alive with slithers of white waves crashing on the beach below. It wasn’t long before it narrowed and Jarl drew his sword as he caught sight of the three figures standing there, blocking their way. He thought he had walked into a nightmare. Just ahead, now clearly visible, were two wolves, their deep growls warning them not to come a step closer. He could feel a cold sweat break out across his body as their glowing eyes settled on him. Standing between them was a feathered creature, an abhorrence that could have once been a man but was now something altogether hideous.
Jarl, Braden and Ged came to a halt and stood staring in disbelief until a voice broke the silence. It was deep and thick with an accent that made its words twist into strange sounds.
‘Who is the one that leads you?’
‘Why does it matter?’ Braden’s voice was full of cold venom, his sword poised, his neck muscles flexing.
‘There are no leaders here. We speak with one voice. Why do you block our path?’ Jarl asked, hoping he didn’t sound as apprehensive as he felt.
‘My mistress met the Keeper of the Druids at the Dead Water.’
The words rang out in the cold night air.
‘He sent a message that he would meet her there.’
Jarl could feel Ged and Braden’s eyes on him as his mouth ran dry. ‘Why are you telling us this?’ he managed to say.
‘He is the only one left amongst you who can speak to the past. My mistress sent her most powerful servants to bring him back with a message.’
‘What message?’ Jarl could feel his trepidation turning into fear – fear not of these strange creatures but of the idea that Brennus had gone to the Dead Water not to speak to the Dagda but the Grim-Witch. It chilled him to the bone.
‘They cannot be trusted!’ Braden seemed to be filling with rage.
‘I think there is some truth in what they say,’ contradicted Ged.
‘Why did the Keeper want to talk to your mistress?’ asked Jarl, his head still swirling.
‘Our mistress is the only one who knows the way to the Darkhart. She has been there.’
He had been told the Fall had been created two thousand years ago. It would have been impossible for anyone to have survived that length of time and yet, like Ged, he thought there was truth in the words.
A gentle light was beginning to seep into the landscape, but it only made the being that was speaking look even more grotesque.
‘Our brother Ezru travels with the Keeper,’ it continued. ‘They will arrive in Holy Island in five days’ time. She asks you to bring the girl there.’
To Jarl’s left Ged was a statue, whilst to his right Braden was rippling with tension, his face grim.
‘What has this got to do with the girl?’ asked Jarl.
‘She is in danger. She needs to be kept safe. She will have to go to the Otherland.’
Jarl found himself dizzy and bewildered. Here he was, facing three creatures he didn’t think existed. Three creatures who seemed to know far more of what was going on than he did.
‘We do not trust murderers,’ Braden growled.
The wolves let out low threatening growls in reply and were quickly back on all fours. Just for a second Jarl thought Braden might rush them. He put out a warning hand.
‘We are not murderers,’ the creature said. ‘You attacked us. We were following the girl. We have always been following the girl.’
‘You killed my people. I should strike you down this minute!’
Jarl could feel the tension rising.
‘You slaughtered my people without thought,’ came the creat
ure’s cold response. ‘Now you will listen to me. As the Fall weakens, the Shadow Ruins will grow stronger. They are coming and you are ill prepared. The Ruin will wage a war and we must stand together. My brother Ezru and his Grim-wolves will bring the Keeper of the Druids to the shores of Holy Island in five days’ time. My mistress will be there to speak to him and to speak to the past. Be there and bring the girl.’
‘We will be there.’
‘Jarl!’ Braden was incredulous, but Ged’s face was impassive. They remained standing as the creatures turned away and vanished into the night.
‘It is a trap, Jarl!’ Braden’s disbelief turned to anger.
‘I don’t think so. We will meet them at Holy Island and find out.’
The Calm before the Storm
Eagan Reign was standing on the soft white sands of Howick Bay, watching the sun rise over the sea. The first night he had been at Howick, he had slept for hours, but last night he had tossed and turned. Crow-men had stalked him through his slumber and at one point he had been back in the garden of the old school house, unable to move and rigid with fear. He had awoken, drenched in cold sweat, his bedclothes damp, only to fall asleep again and see the Grim-were looming out of the night. There had been other blurred faces in his dreams, too – his mother, his father, Sam, Emily and even Oscar had all made an appearance. One by one, a great Shadow had come for them, and each time he could do nothing to stop it.
So he had walked down the tree-lined avenue to the quiet beach, to the Celtic Flow. The previous day, as a cold breeze had rolled in from the deep blue sea, he had stood beside the broken remains of the boat and wept. Then he had got to work. Over the years, each timber of the Celtic Flow had been lovingly fixed or replaced until not a single original piece was left and it was held together only by its name. Now it was being built all over again. Eagan had borrowed a heavy tool box from Kenrick and had spent the rest of the day repairing the internal structure. The boat would not sail again until he had fetched wood from Craster to fix its broken prow, but he had made a start.
Today he would continue. But despite being satisfied with his work so far, he didn’t feel relaxed. Even in the early morning calm, with the waves gently lapping the warm sand, he was apprehensive. This was the calm before the storm. The way Sam and Emily had described the Shadow, he knew it would come again. He felt overwhelmed by the responsibility. How long could they stay at Howick? And where could they go from here? The Hoods’ home in Bamburgh? As he stroked the boat’s broken wood, his mind was wandering through every possibility.
When the line of horses broke from the narrow path that led south, he found himself crouching down and then lying flat against the hull, watching and waiting. There were dozens and dozens of horses, most with riders hunched over their necks or lying over their backs. Beside them he recognised the Forest Reivers, but he did not move. These were people he loved, but he did not move. These were proud and fierce folk. They were rangers, the fiercest of all the Reivers, and yet they looked defeated. As he watched them approach, Eagan’s eyes filled with tears once more.
Then he felt a weight lift from his heart and was up and running towards them. The autumn sun flashed from swords drawn in dismay, but then the Reivers recognised him.
‘Eagan!’
Jarl seemed to breathe his son’s name in. Then they were embracing like only a father and son can. Braden Bow joined them, hugging them both.
Finally Eagan stepped back and stared at his father. He was horrified by how haggard he looked. The lines on his face were deep and ragged and smudged with dirt. There was blood on his clothes and there seemed to be wounds to his leg and shoulder that had only just stopped bleeding.
Braden also seemed to have changed since their chance meeting in the Blindburn. Even though he was now smiling, there was a tenseness about him, almost an inner rage.
Others were approaching too, people Eagan knew but who were now almost unrecognisable to him. Jolan Raeshaw had an angry and confused look about him, whilst Erin Dun-Rig seemed distraught. She squeezed him tightly and he could feel her sobs as he held her.
‘What has happened?’ he asked, but his father quickly shook his head.
‘Let us get the wounded to Howick and we can answer your questions there. I am so glad you are safe and well, Eagan. Are Sam and Emily with you?’
‘They are at the hall.’
Eagan could see the relief flooding across his father’s face.
‘Come along then.’
Eagan placed one arm around his father and the other around Erin, whose tears continued to flow, and left the Celtic Flow to the beach.
As they walked along the path under the tree archway, only the sound of the horses’ hooves punctuated the silence. It was clear the Reivers had come fresh from battle, and Eagan couldn’t help wondering who they had been fighting. All around him, the horses were carrying men and women who weren’t moving. There were some, he thought, who must be dead, as their faces were ashen and they didn’t stir even when their mounts stumbled. Then he gasped as Bretta’s colourless face passed by.
‘Bretta!’ he called, but his father hugged him close.
‘She is overcome by the poison of the crow-men,’ he whispered.
Remembering it only too well, Eagan turned pale.
‘I’m hopeful that Kenrick can help these people,’ Jarl murmured.
‘You’ll need a stronger magic than that,’ Eagan whispered, horrified. ‘They are dying.’
* * * * * *
Ged Broadflow was watching the leaves falling. He didn’t quite understand it. He would have expected to see trees beginning to shed their foliage at this time of year, but this was different. As the Reivers had moved beneath the trees there had been a light wind, but it had fallen to a whisper as they had proceeded along the winding path. Yet whereas at first there had been just a few leaves gently spinning to the ground, now there were swirls amongst the stillness and murmurs amongst the Forest Reivers as streams of leaves came dancing between them.
Jarl barely noticed it at first, though he did find a comforting warmth easing his aching body as he limped along with Eagan. But beside him, Braden, Ged and Erin were looking up towards the canopy as more and more leaves fell, tumbling and twisting until the archway was filled with them.
‘What is this?’ Jarl heard Erin say, but he couldn’t reply, only marvel at the unfolding spectacle. Eagan was saying something to him, and seemed to be laughing, but he could no longer hear him, as leaves were falling between them. All around him Forest Reivers were placing their weapons on the ground and embracing the swirling leaves, which were dancing around the wounded in ever greater numbers, and seemed, Jarl noticed, to be thickest around the horses carrying the worst affected.
The sound of rustling leaves mingled with the Reivers’ happy voices, filling the quiet space with soothing music, and there was a goodness in the warm wind that for a moment flushed the exhaustion from Jarl’s body. For the first time since Brennus had returned from Oxford, his fear left him. The sickness he had felt in his stomach dissipated and he was overflowing with a relief that for an instant made him feel weightless.
Braden felt his anger leave him. It simply melted away, leaving him drained and tearful. Looking up, amazed, to the very highest part of the canopy, he thought he could see the wings of giant birds. Perhaps those that had come to their rescue at the King’s Seat, he thought. Most were hidden by the leaves that were raining down, so he couldn’t tell for sure, but whatever was happening, he didn’t want it to stop. He could feel a warm wind and slight crackle of energy as the leaves pirouetted around them, and it almost made him want to dance. He too noticed that the leaves showered the horses carrying the wounded and would not leave them alone.
As the Forest Reivers’ astonishment hummed through the tree canopy and the tumbling leaves gathered momentum, Bretta lay draped over a horse, too weak to move. The initial
flare of the poison igniting within her body had given way to an awareness of the venom snaking its way into her, numbing and weakening as it went. She had been hot, then cold and shivering. Then there had come a suffocating mist that had scrambled her senses, a darkness that had blinded her, a dizziness that had made her unable to stand. Soon she had found herself unable to keep awake. As if in a dream, she had felt the cold hands of the healers and had heard her brother pleading with her to stay with them, but there had been a heaviness that had softly taken away the pain, a darkness that had rolled away the fear. The fire that had burned through her had been doused by an icy chill. At first she had welcomed it. But as it had taken her further into the cold darkness, there had come a time when she hadn’t been able to remember her name.
Now in the blackness there was no pain, only bewilderment. Where was she? Who was she?
‘Bretta.’
The woman’s voice was lyrical and soothing. But it seemed to pull her back towards the pain. She was tired, and the silence and darkness comforting. She wanted to stay where she was.
‘The fellowship needs you, Bretta.’
This time the voice was stronger and Bretta thought there was an urgency to it. But she wanted to rest in this quiet place.
‘You must follow me back.’
The voice was insistent and Bretta could no longer ignore it. She opened her eyes and saw darkness with touches of grey. Slowly she could feel the pain returning. She could not understand why the voice wanted her to go back to the pain and hurt.
‘The Druidae have chosen you.’
The voice was close, almost by her side, but there was now a whisper in the darkness asking her to stay. Bretta hesitated.
‘Druidae. What do they want?’
‘Follow me and you will see.’
When she opened her eyes again, the darkness had turned to grey and the whisper was fading. Leaves were dropping all around her.
Others were also beginning to stir atop their horses, gently sitting up as the leaves continued showering down until the air was empty and the Forest Reivers were standing on an autumn carpet.
