The Endless Knot

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  We retraced our steps to the great hall. Tegid saw the grim set of our faces and asked, “Well? Did you find the child?”

  Cynan shook his head, “There was no child,” he answered, his voice a low growl in his throat. “But we have found the serpent . . . and our missing scouts as well.”

  Tegid swallowed hard and bowed his head as we described what we had seen. “The evil which has slept untold ages has awakened,” the bard said when we had finished. “We must leave this place at once.”

  The sky outside had lost all color and light. Bran wasted no time moving the men along. We hurried toward the road beyond the palace. The first warriors reached the far end of the terrace, and paused to allow the rest of the party to assemble before moving on. It was then that the Wyrm struck.

  The attack came so swiftly and silently that the first we knew of it was the choked-off scream of the man it seized and carried away. Hearing the man’s dying shriek, I spun around in time to see a sinuous shape gliding into the dusky shadows.

  A heartbeat later, we were all racing back across the terrace to where the others had halted. “Did you see?” they shouted. “The Wyrm! It took Selyf!”

  I shouted above the clamor. “Did anyone see where it went?”

  The Wyrm had attacked and vanished once more into the shadows without a trace. “We cannot go that way,” Bran concluded, staring in the direction of the road. “We will have to go around.”

  I peered around doubtfully. On one hand, the river, itself as silent and deadly as a serpent; on the other, the red palace and its evil occupant. Behind loomed the forest, rising like a massive, impenetrable curtain. Turning toward the forest with great reluctance, I said, “This way; we will try to find another path.”

  “What about Selyf ?” Cynan demanded. “We cannot leave him behind.”

  “He is gone,” Bran said. “There is nothing to be done for him.”

  Cynan refused to move. “He was a good man.”

  “And will it help Selyf if we all join him in the pit?” Bran asked. “How many more good men must we lose to the Wyrm?”

  My sympathies lay with Cynan, but Bran was right—fleeing made the best sense. “Listen to him, brother,” I said. “What benefit to Tángwen if you are not there to rescue her? The serpent could return at any moment. Let us go from here while we have the chance.”

  Leaving the terrace, we entered the forest, pausing only long enough to light torches before moving on. Bran led, with myself and Cynan behind, keeping the river to our backs. We worked our way into the undergrowth in an effort to skirt the palace. The further we moved from the river, the more tangled and close grown the wood became. We slashed and hacked with our swords, and forced our way, step-by-step, until we reached a rock wall rising sheer from the forest floor.

  “It is the same bank from which the palace is carved,” said Bran, scratching away the moss with his blade to reveal red stone beneath.

  Raising our torches, we tried to gauge the height of the bank, but the top was lost in the darkness, and we could not see it. “Even if we could climb it,” Cynan pointed out, “the horses could not.”

  Keeping the rock bank to our right, we continued on, moving away, always away, from the palace. When one torch burned out, we snatched up another brand from the snarl of branches all around us. Time and again, we stopped to examine the bank and, finding neither breach nor foothold, we moved on. A late-rising moon eventually appeared and poured a dismal glow over us. Now and then, I glimpsed its pale face flickering in the wickerwork of branches overhead.

  “I see a clearing ahead,” called Bran from a few paces on.

  “At last!” It seemed as if we had walked half the night and had yet to discover any way we might cross the stone bank. I signaled for the rest of the men to stop while Bran and I went ahead to investigate the clearing. Shoulder to shoulder, we crept slowly forward, pressing ourselves against the rock bank. We entered the clearing to see the red palace directly before us and, a little distance to the right, the darkly glimmering river.

  “We have come full circle,” I remarked. Indeed, we were standing just a few paces from where we had started.

  “How is it possible?” wondered Bran.

  “We must have become confused in the dark. We will go the other way.”

  Retracing our steps, we informed the others of the mistake, and struck off once more. Again, we kept the rock bank hard at the right hand so that we would not go astray. The moon reached the peak of its arc and began descending. We pressed relentlessly on, arriving after another long march at yet another clearing. Bran and I stepped together from the shielding edge of the wood into the open: the palace stood directly before us, and off to the right, the dark river.

  I took one look and called for Tegid. “See this, bard,” I said, flinging out my hand, “it makes no difference which way we go, we return to this place in the end. What are we to do?”

  Tegid cocked an eye to the night sky and said, “Dawn is not far off. Let us rest now, and try again when it is light.”

  We gathered at the edge of the clearing near the river and set about making a rough camp. We lit fires, established a watch, and settled down to wait for sunrise. Cynan wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down. I had just spread a saddle fleece on the ground and sat down crosslegged, a spear across my knees, when Tegid leapt to his feet.

  He froze. Listening.

  A faint, rippling sound reached me. It sounded like a boat moving against the riverflow. “It is coming from the water,” I whispered. “But what—”

  “Shh!” Tegid hissed. “Listen!”

  Faintly, as in the far-off distance, I heard the nervous whicker of a horse; it was quickly joined by another. Cynan rolled to his feet, shouting, “The horses!”

  We flew through the camp toward the horse picket. I felt a sharp icy stab of pain in my silver hand and in the same instant saw, outlined against the shimmering water, a monstrous serpent, its upper body raised high off the ground and great angular head weaving slowly from side to side. The enormous body glistened in the faint moonlight; the head, armored with horned plates, swung above three tremendous coils, each coil the full girth of a horse, and a stiff, forked tail protruded from between the first and second coil. Two long, thick, back-swept ridges ran down along either side of its body from just below the ghastly swaying head.

  A trail of water led up from the river. Obviously, the creature had more than one entrance to its den. It had come up from the river, close to the horses, no doubt intent on gorging its fearsome appetite on horseflesh. The horses, terrified, bucked and reared, jerking on their picket lines and tethers. Several had broken free, and men were trying to catch them.

  The Wyrm seemed keenly fascinated by the commotion, its plated head swerving in the air, eyes gleaming in the firelight. I saw the plunging horses and the campfires . . .

  “Help me, Cynan!” I shouted. Dashing forward, I speared one of the lichen bales with which we fed the horses and ran with it to the nearest fire. I thrust the bale into the flames and lofted the spear. Then, with the courage of fear and rage, I ran to the serpent and heaved the flaming spear into its face.

  The missile struck the bony plate below the monster’s eye. The Wyrm flinched, jerking away from the fire.

  I whirled away, shouting to those nearby. “Light more bales!” I cried. “Hurry! We can drive it away.”

  Cynan and two other warriors bolted to the stack of fodder, skewered three bales and set them ablaze. Cynan lunged to meet the Wyrm, raising a battle cry as he ran.

  “Bás Draig! ” he bellowed. The two warriors at his side took up the cry. “Bás Draig! ”

  Returning for another spear and bale, I saw Scatha running toward me. “Rally the war band!” I shouted. “Help Cynan drive the serpent away from the horses.” Turning to Tegid, I ordered, “Stay here and light more bales as we need them.”

  Bran and Alun, having seen my feat, appeared with bales ablaze. I quickly armed myself again and joined them;
together we charged the Wyrm. Scatha and the war band had taken up a position on the near side, midway between the serpent and the river—dangerously close to the creature, it seemed to me. They were already strenuously engaged in trying to attract the beast’s attention and draw it away from the camp.

  I made for a place opposite them, thinking that if the serpent turned toward them, we three would be well-placed for a blind-side attack. Upon seeing our approach, the Ravens, flying to meet us with weapons alight, sent up a shrill war cry, distracting the serpent. Scatha and her band saw their chance and rushed forward, weapons low and shields raised high. They struck at the huge coils, driving their blades into the softer skin of the belly between the scales. The huge, snaky head swung toward them.

  “Now!” I shouted, sprinting forward. My silver hand burned with a freezing fire.

  Scatha’s band stood fearless to the task, jabbing their spears into the Wyrm’s side. The annoyed beast lowered its head and loosed a menacing hiss. As the awful mouth cracked open, I heaved the shaft with all my might. The unbalanced missile fell short, striking the creature on the underside of its mouth with a great flurry of sparks, but no hurt to the creature at all. As my first missile fell harmlessly away, I was already running for another.

  Alun had no better luck with his throw. But Bran, seeing how we had fared, managed to compensate for the top-heavy spear with a well-judged, magnificent throw. The serpent, aware of our presence due to our first clumsy attempts, swung toward Bran, hissing wickedly.

  As soon as the great wide mouth opened, Bran’s spear was up and in. The Ravens cheered for their chieftain. But the serpent gave a quick shake of its head and dislodged the barb and fire bale.

  I thought that Bran, like Cynan and me, would return to Tegid for another bale. Instead, he simply bounded forward and took up the shaft I had thrown. He impaled the fiery bale and prepared for another throw.

  Perhaps the beast anticipated Bran’s move. More likely, Yr Gyrem Rua, enraged by our attack, struck blindly at the closest moving shape. I glanced around just in time to see the huge horny head swing down and forward with breathstealing speed just as Bran’s arm drew back to aim his throw.

  The serpent’s strike took the Raven Chief at the shoulder. He fell and rolled, somehow holding on to his weapon. He gained his knees as the Wyrm struck again, raising the spear in both hands as the head descended so that he took the blow on the shaft instead. The spear with its flaming head fell one way and Bran was sent sprawling the other. The serpent drew back and tensed for another strike.

  The Ravens leapt forward as one man to save their chieftain. Alun reached him first and, taking up the fallen weapon, flung it into the serpent’s face while the others dragged Bran to safety.

  “Alun! Get out of there, man!” Cynan cried.

  Diving sideways, Alun hit the ground, rolled, and came up running. But instead of retreating to the campfire with the others, he stooped to retrieve the spear Bran had thrown.

  I saw him do it and shouted. “No! Alun!”

  27

  BATTLE AWEN

  The Wyrm struck. Alun whirled, throwing his flaming bale at the same time. The throw grazed the serpent’s jaw and bounced away as the head descended, knocking Alun off his feet and throwing him onto his back.

  I seized a spear Tegid had readied and ran to Alun’s defense. Garanaw and Niall heard my shout, turned, and ran to his aid. Scatha’s warriors redoubled their attack. They drove in close, stabbing fearlessly. Scatha, by dint of sheer determination, succeeded in forcing a spear into a soft place between two scales on the serpent’s side. With a mighty lunge, she drove the blade in. I saw the shaft sink deep into the beast’s flesh, and I heard her triumphant cry: “Bás Draig!”

  Spitting with fury, the red serpent hissed and the long neck stiffened; the two ridges on the side of its body bulged, then flattened into an immense hood, revealing two long slits on either side and two vestigial legs with clawed feet. The legs unfolded, claws snatching, and suddenly two great membranous wings emerged from the side slits behind the legs. These huge bat wings shook and trembled, unfurling like crumpled leather, slowly spreading behind the Wyrm in a massive canopy.

  Scatha gave the embedded spear another violent shove. The serpent hissed again and swiveled its head to strike, but Scatha and her warrior band were already retreating into the darkness.

  Meanwhile, Garanaw and Niall pulled Alun away. And I took advantage of the momentary lapse to position myself for another throw. Cynan, flaming spear streaking the night, ran to my side. As its evil head turned, the Wyrm’s mouth came open with an angry, rasping, seething hiss.

  “Ready? . . . Now!” I cried, and twin trails of fire streaked up into the monster’s maw. Cynan’s spear struck the roof of the serpent’s mouth and fell away causing a little hurt; mine hit on one of the long fangs and glanced away. I ran back to the campfire. “Give me another spear,” I demanded. “Hurry!”

  “It is not working,” Tegid began. “We must find another way to—”

  “Hurry!” I shouted, grabbing the firebrand from his hand and setting it to the nearest bundle. I took up a spear and plunged it into the bale. “Cynan! Follow me!”

  Scatha had seen us return for more bales and understood that we meant to try again. As we flew once more to our positions, she launched another attack on the Wyrm’s side. This time both she and one of the warriors with her succeeded in forcing spears between the thick scales. Two other warriors broke off their attack and leapt to Scatha’s side, adding their strength to help drive the shaft deep into the serpent’s flesh.

  Scatha’s success inspired the Ravens, who raced to repeat the feat on the opposite side. Drustwn and Garanaw charged in close, working their weapons into a crack between scales. They, too, succeeded in wounding the beast.

  Yr Gyrem Rua screamed and flapped its enormous wings; its forked tail thrashed from side to side like a whip.

  Cynan and I took up our positions. Placing the butt of the spear in the palm of my metal hand, I stretched my other hand along the shaft as far as I could reach. As the Wyrm’s head veered toward me once more, I crouched low, my heart racing. The flames flared; sparks fell on my upturned face and singed my hair.

  “Come on, you bloated snake,” I growled, “open that ugly mouth!”

  The massive neck arched. The hideous head tensed high above me. I saw the fireglint in a hard black glittering eye.

  With a shout of “Die, dragon!” Cynan took his place slightly behind and to the left of me. The serpent shrieked, and the sound was deafening; its awful wings arched and quivered, and clawed feet raked the air. My stomach tightened. I clenched my teeth to keep from biting my tongue.

  “Strike!” I taunted. “Strike, Wyrm!”

  The enormous mouth opened—a vast white pit lined with innumerable spiked teeth in a triple row. Two slender fangs emerged from pockets in the upper mouth. The blue-black ribbon of a tongue arched and curled to a frightful screech.

  And then the awful head swooped down.

  I saw the fangs slashing toward me. My body tensed.

  “Now!” cried Cynan. His spear flashed up over my shoulder and into the descending mouth. “Llew!”

  I hesitated a rapid heartbeat longer, and then heaved my flaming missile with every ounce of strength I possessed. My metal hand whipped up, driving the missile into a high, tight arc.

  Cynan’s spear pierced the puffy white flesh and stuck fast. My spear flashed up between the two fangs, over the teeth, and into the throat.

  The red serpent recoiled. Its mouth closed on the shaft of Cynan’s spear, driving the spearhead even deeper into the soft skin and forcing the mouth to remain open. The creature could not close its mouth to swallow, which would have allowed it to quench the flames now searing its throat.

  The Wyrm began thrashing violently from side to side. With great, slow strokes, the terrible wings beat the air. Burning lichen rained down on our heads. The lethal tail slashed like forked lightning, striking the gro
und with killing clouts.

  “Run!” Cynan shouted, pulling me away.

  We fled to the fire where the Ravens now stood shouting and cheering. Bran lay on the ground bleeding from a wound on the side of his head. Alun sat slumped beside him, white-faced, a foolish, dazed expression on his face.

  Blood oozed from Bran’s head, and Alun’s eyelids fluttered as he fought to remain conscious. Rage seized me and spun me around. I saw the winged serpent slam down its head as if to bite the earth. The force of the blow splintered the spear holding open its mouth. The huge jaws closed, the throat convulsed, and up came my spear with the smoldering bale still attached.

  Wings beating a fearful rhythm, the serpent slowly lifted its flat head and upper body, loosed its coils and began half-flying, half-slithering away. Our campfire guttered in the gale of its retreat.

  “It is fleeing!” shouted Drustwn, lofting his spear in triumph.

  “Hie-e-ya!” crowed Emyr with a jubilant whoop. “Yr Gyrem Rua is defeated!”

  “The Wyrm is conquered!” Cynan shouted. He grabbed me and clasped me to his chest. I saw his mouth move, but his voice had become the irritating buzz of an insect. His face creased with concern; sweat gleamed on his skin in the firelight. The glint of each bead became a needle of stabbing light, a naked star in the frozen universe of night. The ground beneath my feet trembled, and the earth lost all solidity.

  And I felt my spirit expand within me; I was seized and taken up, as if I were no more than a leaf released from a branch and set sailing on a sudden gust of wind. My ears pounded with the blood rush; my vision hardened to a sharp, narrow field: I saw only the winged serpent—scales gleaming bloodred in the shivered light of our fire, grotesque wings stiffly beating, lifting that huge body to the freedom of the night sky. I saw the Red Serpent of Oeth escaping; all else around me dimmed, receded, vanished.