by Sam Taw
And wait we did, all the time swaying and lurching with the tidal flow. The Prince looked spent. His features drooped into heavy jowls, his complexion waxy and strained with pain. As I watched, Suliaman dig his thumbnail into each of his fingertips in turn. I thought perhaps his hands were his main site of discomfort. With Jago’s help, I asked him if I could make him more comfortable, perhaps a sling to support his hand.
The response had me more perplexed than ever. “He says that he has no feeling in his fingers, although he still has control over them. The pain is deep within, branching out from his backbone.”
Now I understood the need for such heavy doses of resin. He gave me a smile that conveyed his appreciation, but I was stumped as to how to help the man.
More time passed. The morning was dull but dry and the ocean no less rolling. At length, Suliaman asked for more hop tea, which I was glad to make for him.
Eventually we caught sight of the rest of our fleet. With a careful exchange of copper for passengers, we loaded into the smaller craft and let Tallack’s men row us to shore. It just happened to be the same vessel that carried a sulking Brea. Tallack’s head stayed on a swivel, fearful of attack from an unknown tribe. He ordered some of his men to stand guard, and more to scout further inland. The remainder stayed aboard the boats.
The Prince look mightily relieved to be on dry land. My fears for his health, it seems, were well founded. There was little chance of him enduring the long voyage to the top of the world. Maleek held on to his father’s arm, holding him upright as the old man’s knees buckled under his weight. His muscles could not support his thin frame. Was this too, part of the curse?
I spun around in search of my nephew. He was standing at the water’s edge looking out to sea with Brea nagging him at his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be bothered about what might lie behind you?” I asked, confused by his behaviour.
“I am bothered, Aunt Mel. That’s why I am looking out for Renowden.”
“And who might he be?” Before he answered, his face lit up in recognition. He stuck his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and blew out a shrill but distinctive whistle. A clear wave came back from a man in one of the boats. They rowed closer, allowing an older man to jump over the side and wade through the shallows. Brea slunk off like a beaten dog. I have no doubt that it was some kind of ruse to illicit sympathy from Tallack, or the Prince, or maybe both.
Despite being past the bloom of youth, Renowden was strong and lean. The gnarly stubble on his face made him look fearsome but his smile showed his softer side. As he approached us on the beach, he gave Tallack a beaming grin. “You whistled?”
“I did. Where are we, Ren?”
Renowden craned his neck, surveying our position. “This is Canti land. Your mother’s tribe.”
Tallack’s shoulders slumped with relief. He took a long breath and let it out slowly, balancing his hands on his head. “How is it that I don’t recognise this stretch of the coast?”
“Because you normally moor up some distance away to the west. You never had a reason to come this far east before.” Renowden shrugged.
“But you know it well?” I asked him, curious as to this man’s background.
“Yup, Fur Benyn. I know all the beaches and all the headlands around Inglond. Bit sketchy with Frynkish landings but I find my way eventually.”
“So, what do we do now?” I asked them both.
“Nothing.” Tallack replied, walking away towards the Prince. “Canti scouts will spot my ship soon enough. They’ll come out to us.”
Suliaman’s servants and guards collected wood from beyond the dunes and stacked them up for a fire. The Prince shivered despite his furs and warm clothing. He was accustomed to the warm dry atmosphere of his exotic homeland. I remember it taking a while for Jago to adjust to our damp climate. Suliaman’s tall chair was delivered from the ship along with cushions, blankets and his trunks of jewels and gold. We would need every bit of metal the man had to pay our way across this great land if we were to make it to the top of the world.
Maleek pulled the bear fur around his father, before stopping abruptly. He’d noticed something on his father’s skin. I moved closer to see what the commotion was about, for the quiet discussion was building into a frenzy of noise.
“What’s going on, Jago?”
“Maleek has found a patch of sore skin on his father’s neck. He is worried that the curse is growing in strength.”
“Let me see.” I shoved passed the healer and guards to get a closer look at this sore. It was pale and no larger than my thumbnail in size. I couldn’t with any certainty say that it was part of his ailment, or whether the old man had rubbed a bit of his neck raw, but Maleek’s reaction was extreme enough to warrant investigation. It clearly troubled the man.
I turned to Jago and instructed him to boil some fresh water. Digging into my kit back, I unwrapped my knife roll and took out a small blade. Suliaman’s guards went crazy, each of them aiming spears at me in the most disturbing and threatening stance. Raising the small knife between finger and thumb, I handed it to the closest guard, and rummaged for a bundle of burdock roots. When they saw what I needed the blade for, the guard returned it to me with a nod of permission.
Scraping at the thick rind surrounding the fibrous root, I exposed a fresh section laden with oozing sap and approached the Prince. “Jago, tell him that this stuff soothes skin problems. It’ll take off the itch and help it to heal.” As soon as the information was received, the old man pulled down the bear pelt and tipped his head to one side. With as gentle a stroke as I could manage, I wiped the clean root across the sore and allowed it to dry.
I handed another length of burdock root to his healer, who fumed at me from the opposite side of the Prince. It was hard not to judge that excuse for a medicine man, but as far as I could tell, he did not earn his keep.
Maleek turned to me, and in our tongue, he said, “Thank you, Fur Benyn.” You could have knocked me down with a puff, I was so surprised. I found myself blushing from the experience. He’d picked up our words just by listening to us talking. I wonder if he knew that Fur Benyn was not my true name, but a compliment paid to me for my healing skills. He put us to shame with his mastery over new language. None of our tribe even attempted to learn another tongue, although how Tallack got by with his Frynkish trading I’ll never know.
When the Prince was settled and refreshed by warm teas of crushed burdock root to clean his blood and a little food from their supplies, he ordered his men to go in search of clay. Curious, I stayed on the beach to watch events pan out. By late afternoon, Suliaman’s men stacked the fire high with branches and one of his guards sat and moulded a large amount of clay from further inland.
Tallack and I ate dried boar strips and supped some of our ale, while a statue the size of half a man took shape before our eyes. The head was large with jutting out ears, the eyes were quarter moons and the mouth curved up in a grotesque smile. The strangest part of all, was the figurine’s arms. They twisted about the clay body and were much longer than that of a normal person. The guard took most care over the position of the clay hands. One rested on the arm of the other, while its right hand touched the neck of the statue at the exact same place the sore appeared on Suliaman’s throat.
When the guard was satisfied with his labours, he stood back and allowed the remaining guards to move it into the hot embers. With more wood to stoke the fire, the clay man turned into pot. Tallack removed himself from the fire side to speak with the crewmen on shore. I guessed that he was making arrangements for the boats to sail west to deliver the copper to our tribe.
There was so much to organise, but I trusted that my young nephew had a mind to take care of the details. Jago sat in the sand at my side and stared at the flames licking the clay man. He was more than mesmerised. It was as though he’d seen a demon. I offered to share my furs with him, to ease the shivers that coursed through his body, but he didn’t respond. The statue held him in a daze.
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br /> I whispered to him, trying to break the spell, but to no avail. His mind was lost in thought. Wrapping the edges of my cloak about his back, I left him alone, figuring that he’d tell me his troubles in his own time.
Tallack returned shortly after and ignored Brea’s attempts to entice him to her side. “Aunt Mel. Our ships will need to set off on the next tide. I’ve asked Ren to stay with us, but we must have a decision from the Prince soon.”
“You aren’t serious?” Brea scoffed. If you are thinking of riding all the way to the stones at the top of the world you are crazy. That foreigner won’t make it past Canti lands, and then it will all be for nought. Cut your losses and return home. Blydh needs us all if we are to defend ourselves against the Duros.”
As much as I hate to admit it, the girl was right. The chances of Suliaman succumbing to the curse before reaching the Skotek stones were high, and then Maleek was free to break the deal. His character was as deep and troubled as Tallack’s brother and I suspected deadlier too. It was our last chance to cement the arrangement with the Prince, before sending the ships home.
I roused Jago from his fugue to assist with translation. Tallack began to explain where we hand landed in relation to the Skotek stones. We lay at the farthest reaches of the south-eastern shore, with the stones in the opposite corner of the island, in the north-western isles. He asked the Prince how he felt about the possibility of a very long sea journey along the coast before the Black Rites Ritual could be performed.
The old man did not speak. He cast his eyes to his son and swallowed back his pain. His eyes misted over, giving us all a clear idea of his thoughts. At length, Maleek answered on his behalf. He used his native tongue.
Jago listened and told us his fears. “The Prince cannot travel that distance by sea. He suffers more and more each day and the inconvenience of being aboard ship, even one as fine as Tallack’s, is too hard to cope with. He says that they will pay you handsomely to take them over land.”
Brea’s ears pricked up at the sound of payment, especially since she knew the currency would have a golden hue. She moved closer to Tallack and draped her arm over his shoulder. “Maybe you should consider it, my love. Gold would help to feed all the warriors that Blydh plans to train.”
“Why would you care?” He snapped at her. “The payment would be for our whole tribe. You wouldn’t see a single nugget of it.” What had she said to him to make him turn on her so cruelly? I should have been more circumspect, but I couldn’t help but grin. Brea saw me and stomped away from the fireside. Something told me that we we’re brewing up trouble with that one.
Tallack tried to convey the difficulties in travelling by land across numerous tribal regions in the coldest part of the cycle. Every amicable tribe would require a tribute in payment to cross their land, and that was under the banner of pilgrimage. Other tribes who were less than reasonable, would be more likely to attack, taking all the Prince’s wealth and possibly lives too.
Maleek sneered at this statement. He unsheathed his curved blade and stood back into a cleared space. With rapid swipes, he swung the blade about his head with such skill and determination, he almost severed an ear. As impressive as this display was, we all knew that it would not stand up to an attack of head hunters mounted on fast steeds. Their sheer numbers alone would reduce us to slavery or worse within moments. I didn’t doubt his courage, only that his number of guards were too few.
The conversation batted backwards and forwards for some time, neither side making headway. I could see both arguments, but I leaned heavily on the side of forging this foreign alliance with our efforts in lifting his curse. Tallack leaned towards returning to the River Exe to assist his brother in rebuilding the compound and training new warriors in preparation for the Duro attack.
We reached deadlock. Tallack rose from his cross-legged position in the sand and began walking away. He was just a few strides from the fire when a scout rode into camp. Maleek and his guards scrambled into action until Tallack gestured for them to lower their weapons. The rider was his kin.
“Whoa!” The rider said, pulling back on the reins. “Are you going to have me butchered by your friends?” It was Tallack’s cousin, Cade. He dismounted and hurried over to him, grasping around the back of his neck to pull their foreheads together in greeting. “We did not expect to see you so soon after your summer visit. What are you doing all the way down here?”
“Blown off course.” Tallack smiled. “Good to see you, Cade. What’s the news from camp?”
“You heard about grandfather?”
“We did. We are all sorry for your loss.” I chipped in, for I could see that my nephew was desperate to empty his bladder but held off out of politeness. Cade wandered over to me and greeted me in the same manner. It was a touching gesture, usually reserved for close family.
“Fur Benyn. How fortunate that you have come. My grandmother will be keen to hear all about Aunt Cryda.” Cade nodded through the obligatory introductions and then sat in the sand by the fire. The Prince extended his hospitality to him, ensuring his cup was filled with wine and food offered from a cedar wood bowl. Cade looked at the thin fabrics and tall hats coloured an unusual purple, and was keen to hear of our quest. Jago had his work cut out for him, standing a respectful distance between us all and keeping up with each translation to the foreigners.
“You got yourself a good slave there, Fur Benyn.” Cade announced, accepting more spiced meats from Suliaman’s servant. I was on the verge of insisting that he should call me by my given name, but realised that it would do no good. These youngsters either forget, or feel uncomfortable in its use.
“So, let me get this straight,” Cade said, with a forefinger stuck in mid-air. “This one over here, is your painted slave from far beyond the Channel, but these painted men are noblemen from a Phoenician colony?”
I thought for a moment and nodded. That about summed the situation up. Poor Jago was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time when he was scooped up and sold into slavery. I had no idea about his life before then. He may well have been of a high social status himself, much like the Prince, who had the benefit of guards and wealth to protect him.
Jago opened his mouth to translate Cade’s observations, but I gave him a tiny shake of the head to dissuade his attempts. It wouldn’t do to upset them with his casual talk. Jago turned to them, in his astute way, but instead of speaking in their tongue, he fell to the ground like a weighted sack, and shook violently in building convulsions.
The Prince gasped, struggling to his feet. Maleek once again drew his blade and stood in front of his weakened father, closing in on Jago’s throat.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maleek bared his teeth, spitting out venomous warnings against Jago’s seizure. To my mind it meant only one thing. They had never seen this malady before and assumed it was sent by dark spirits of the underworld, a part of the curse. I have never jumped up from the ground so quickly in my life. Pushing myself between Maleek and Jago, I hoped to the gods that he would stay his hand and not strike me down. Jago foamed with spittle and looked to be choking. I knelt by his side, twisting his slender body by the shoulder and cradling his head until the drool fell to the floor clearing his airways.
The Phoenicians all backed away from us, each holding spears and daggers for protection against the perceived threat.
Tallack returned from the dunes and saw me and the trembling slave in the sand. He trudged past his girlfriend and growled at her. “You couldn’t make yourself useful and help her I suppose?”
Brea examined her nails and snarled her retort. “Why should I? He’s just a slave. Kill him, don’t kill him, what do I care?”
She cared alright. She wanted Jago dead and burned to keep him quiet, and then she’d only have me to deal with. I shot her a glare but it went unnoticed. Tallack spoke soft words to calm the visitors down. None of them had any clue what they meant, but Maleek seemed to trust him. He put away his curved sword and instructed his men t
o do the same.
I stayed with the boy, wiping his mouth and preventing him from wriggling into the hot embers surrounding the clay statue. When he finally came to his senses, he tried to stand but lost his balance and fell once again. With a little wine to revive him, and some cool water splashed on his face, he was able to speak.
“You must tell them that you were not taken over by a demon to attack them. Be honest. Explain why these fits come from time to time.” Slowly and with faltering words, Jago told the Prince about his head injury, and that our tribe now believe that he can communicate with our gods. I watched their expressions as they took in this information and assimilated what that might mean. Suliaman was the only one to reply. When he was finished, Jago flushed with embarrassment and hung his head low.
“What did he say?”
“The Prince was kind about my situation. He said that you must be very fond of me to treat me with such care.”
Brea was not amused. “Oh, for the sake of Cernonnus, save me this gushing kawgh.” For a mountain tribe girl, she certainly uses plenty of our expletives. She stood up and tipped her head at Tallack, indicating for them to be alone. I suspect that she realised her grip on him was loosening and that she needed to apply more physical methods to bend him to her will again. It was a pivotal moment. If he went with her into the sand dunes, I knew that she would persuade him to return home, leaving Jago and I alone on this quest.
He scratched at his chin and watched her repeat her signal. Cade saw it too, for it was hard to miss. He giggled at her brazen attempt and helped himself to more wine. Tallack closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He snatched the cup from his cousin and emptied Cade’s wine down his throat. Brea had failed. Inwardly, I rejoiced at my minor victory. All was not lost.
Brea huffed her disgust and slipped away into the dunes alone. The night drew on and the clouds cleared, rendering the air frigid. She would have to return to the fire to bunk down for the night or freeze among the foxes and weasels. I gave her little thought. As long as Jago and I stayed close to the Prince, we were safe from her potential attack.
