by Sam Taw
They say you can see your ancestors when your time is up. A long line of family and friends waiting to take you into the Underworld. I am no warrior, nor Chieftain. There was no space for the likes of me in the Summerlands. When that hatchet came for me, I froze. I saw nothing, no warm memories or feelings of support from those long since passed, just the sheer panic of what was to come.
It was less than an arm’s length from my face, when the great bear of a recruit reached out and punched it away. It clanged to the ground at my side, missing both me and my horse by a whisker. We all stood motionless for a few moments, taking in all that had happened.
The warrior rose from his knees and ran after the ill-tempered girl to exact his punishment. My spooked horse cantered off with my bags of herbs and the large boy stood by me dripping with blood. His knuckles were ripped to shreds but he was more concerned over my wellbeing than his injury. I examined his cuts and took him through the west gates towards the awning at the side of my hut.
He let me boss him about and tend his wounds, while he sat placidly on a stool watching folk going about their business in the compound. By the time I’d finished patching him up, Tallack had arrived to check up on me, having heard what had happened.
“Thank the gods that you are unhurt.” Tallack gushed, though I got the feeling that was more to do with losing a healer rather than his aunt. “What’s your name, boy?” That made me grin, for the massive lad looked to be about the same age as he.
“They call me Kewri, Chief.”
Tallack and I exchanged glances. It was certainly an appropriate nickname, although not a terribly clever one, for Kewri in our tongue is another word for giant.
“What’s your given name?” I asked him, smearing my famed plantain paste over the catgut stitches.
The lad shrugged. “Been Kewri long as I can remember.”
It was certainly a name I’d never forget. I patted his shoulder and thanked him again for his quick reactions and courage.
“You should be rewarded. What can I give you, tin, a sword or a stout horse? What will it be?” Tallack said, waiting for him to consider his options.
Kewri pulled a face, as though thinking hurt his head. “I’d like a nice dry place to sleep, if that’s in your power to give.”
Tallack burst out laughing. “Not a bronze blade, or metal nuggets, just somewhere comfy to lay your head? I think we can manage that, can’t we Aunt?”
“Eh? What are you saying?”
“You won’t take on my slaves to help you, and we can’t have our only healer and my favourite aunt in danger, so meet your personal guard, Kewri.”
“Not a chance. I don’t need a guard. That axe was not aimed at me. Find him a warm bed, certainly, but not under my roof.” I’d finished dealing with the lad’s injuries, he was all set to return to the training ground. “No offence, Kewri. I’m sure you’re a nice man and all, but I like my privacy and space.” I rolled up my things and scurried away inside my hut, leaving the pair of them outside.
Next to the fire in my shelter was a skinned rabbit. It was one of many such unexplained offerings to appear in and around my hut in days. I had no idea who was leaving food for me, but I was grateful nonetheless. I raked the coals and stuck a little goat’s butter into the cavity, before resting the spit over the fire. It would cook itself while I went to retrieve my horse.
As I ducked under the door lintel, I could see the enormous feet of Kewri sticking out from my hurdle shelter. “You still here, boy? I thought I told you that I didn’t need your services. Go on back to the training ground.” I carried on walking.
Kewri hurried after me. “Can’t. Chief Tallack ordered me to stay with you.”
“You’d be better off training with the others.” I tried to out run him, but his one stride to my two made it hard for me to get away.
“They’d be better off with me here.” He wasn’t even out of breath. I was gasping and had to stop to fill my lungs. Bending over holding my knees, I stared up at him. This giant of a boy, with hands the size of stew bowls, had just saved my life without a second thought. What possible reason would he have for avoiding warriors? It wasn’t as though he feared pain, he hadn’t murmured a bit over his gashed hand.
“Why won’t you train with the others? You’d be a fearsome warrior, the best they’d ever seen. You are hero material.”
He twisted his mouth to one side and shook his head. “I ain’t no hero, Fur Benyn. Never will be.” He wandered off towards the eastern fringes of the island where the wooded copse still provided cover for the few creatures that had not yet been eaten. I thought it to be an end to our discussion, but as I headed back home, he caught up with me leading my horse stacked high with herbs.
I watched as he tied the reins to the overhang of the hurdle shelter and lifted off my bags. Without asking, he carried my things into the hut and returned to the stool outside. Offering my thanks, yet again, I returned to the cooking rabbit and gave it a turn. Other than a mild creaking sound of the stool he sat on; I could barely tell that he was still out there.
The rabbit roasted long before I’d finished storing my herbs. It smelled incredible, making my gut groan with hunger. Taking it off the spit, I cut it in half and added it to a hunk of bread in a bowl. I went outside to give it to my saviour. His face lit up like I’d given him gold dust. “Don’t think this means you’re staying. Eat up and head back to the recruits.”
His smile was as catching as his laugh. There was that twinkle in his eye again. This one was going to be hard to shake off. I kept my eye on him as best I could for the rest of the day. He moved only once from his stool, to wash my bowl in the stream, before walking into the wooded area. I thought he might have given up and wandered away, but he returned with an armful of fresh leaves to give to the goats.
At sundown, Cryda came to my hut. “Who’s he?” She mouthed wandering in and collapsing on my bunk.
“One of Blydh’s new warriors. I patched him up. He’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
She lost interest immediately. “The Long Hut is finished. The boy’s want to have a big celebration in there this evening. You’ll come, won’t you? I plan to announce the babe’s name tonight.” She twirled a section of her golden hair around her finger. I noticed that she did that lot when she was trying to persuade men to do her bidding. It didn’t work on me.
“I don’t think I will, Cryda. I’m tired, it’s been a long day.”
“But you have to come. I want you to be a part of the naming ritual.” She pulled her sad face, the corners of her mouth tipped down like she was about to cry. Did she really think that would tug at my heart?
“You should have named that little mite back in the winter. She’ll be walking and talking before she has a name to call her own.” I tied my last bundle of herbs together and climbed up onto the bunk to attach it to the roof struts.
Cryda watched me struggle for a time. I could see it amused her that I was too short to reach the last available space left to hang the mallow to dry. “You should get your warrior to do it for you.” She grinned.
That made me even more determined to fend for myself. “I can manage.” It almost wrenched my back, but I eventually got the bunch tied off. She was still laughing, rolling about on my furs. Maybe I had isolated myself for too long. After the loss of Jago, it was my way of coping. Being on my own meant I didn’t have to listen when they made light of his death. If I heard, but he was just a slave once, I heard it a dozen times.
I could see that she wouldn’t leave until I had agreed to go. “Fine. I’ll come and eat all your food, but I won’t stay long.” That shifted her. After she had left, I went down to the stream and rinsed myself off, before refilling the goat’s water supply. Kewri hadn’t budged. I changed into my best tunic and clean shoes and hovered over my furs, trying to decide how cold it might be inside the Long Hut. In the end, I left them behind, choosing to use the cold as an excuse to leave early.
Lighting a torch from my fire,
I left my hut and began the muddy walk across the grass to the Long Hut. Kewri jumped up from his seat and trailed after me.
“I think I’m safe crossing the compound, lad. Go back to your recruit tents.”
“I got orders, Fur Benyn.” Was all he’d say. Now I had another issue to contend with. New recruits were not permitted in the long hut. It had limited space inside. With both Tallack and Blydh’s best warriors among us, the place would be packed to the roof. How could I leave the great lummox outside in the cold? There again, if I took him inside with me, he might get punished for his insolence. This was turning into a rotten day indeed.
My curiosity to see how the boys had arranged the inside of the Long hut was all that kept me going. I grabbed Kewri by the sleeve and pushed past Blydh’s warriors through the entrance. “He’s with me.” I grumbled at their sour faces at seeing the giant.
Our old Chieftain hut had a long table at the back of the room, with Aebba the Wild’s tall seat at its centre. To his right, sat his first wife and Ruvane of our tribe, Cryda, while to his left was the chair for his first-born son. Paega lost the right to inherit the Chieftain’s chair when the twins challenged his right to rule. How would they arrange the elevated table now that their amicable arrangement was so strained?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Set far above all other tables at the end of the new Long Hut were two tall chairs. Each were made from thick lengths of wood and topped with a carving of a wolf’s head on the right seat and a bear on the other. Between the two, was a smaller chair normally reserved for the Ruvane. Now I could see why there were so many raised voices as we entered. Kerensa and Treeve stood nose to nose in a fierce argument. Neither would back down, until it became more physical.
I could see that Tallack thought it amusing at first, his little man friend asserting his authority over the daughter of a mining leader, but Blydh most certainly did not. A fire burned in his eyes that spelled trouble. As if that were not enough to contend with, Faolan rose from his seat to the right of Blydh’s to douse the dispute with grease.
“Neither of you should be permitted the Ruvane’s chair. For Cernonnus’ sake, look at you man. You’re actually proud to be considered a woman?” Faolan prodded Treeve in the back. “Grow some balls, boy! That seat is for my Sorcha, when she gets here and no other.”
That only served to inflame Tallack all the more. “Hey, that’s enough. You don’t get to decide how our Chieftain hut is run. Your daughter is not Ruvane yet.” He shoved the Skotek Chief aside, making way for Treeve to step up to the chair.
“No way, brother.” Blydh bellowed. “I won’t have that poor excuse for a man at my side. Take him away.”
Kerensa saw her chance. “I could very well be carrying the next Metern of the Dumnonii. I should be Ruvane.”
It descended into pushing and shoving in short order. It was when I heard the sound of blades scraping against their scabbards, that something had to be done.
“Kewri, come along. I will need your help with this.” I hurried up to the top table and shrieked at the top of my voice. “Stop this now!” Gesturing to Kewri he moved closer to the squabbling crowd and towered over them all. “Take the chair away. Until a Ruvane is officially bound to one of our Meterns, there will be no one at their sides other than guests. Kewri walked around the back of the raised platform and lifted the smaller of the three chairs down to the floor.
Other than a few grumbles and a good deal of huffing, the quarrelsome bunch slunk away, leaving Tallack and Blydh to their lonely seats overlooking us all. From their narrow-eyed glares at one another, I could see that it wasn’t the end of the dispute. All I had achieved was a delay. This does not bode well for the coming conflict. If they cannot decide something as simple as a seating hierarchy, we stand no chance in battle.
Kewri sat on a bench at the far end of the room by the door, keeping his beady eye on me. Having put myself in the centre of all the fuss, it fell to me to dictate the proper order of things. Faolan returned to the visitor’s seats to one side of Blydh. The second row of tables was supposed to accommodate the closest family and wives of the Metern. “Cryda, you, Derwa and the babe sit there, with Glaw the Ordo next to you.”
Glaw sat down next to Derwa and took a turn at minding the baby. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Fur Benyn. It makes me sound like an enemy of the people rather than family.”
I apologised to the man from the mountains, but he was indeed an Ordo. He was heir to their tribe, and really ought to have returned to Northern Kembra a long time ago. Next, I had to find room in such a tight space for the troubling lovers. Pulling the line of benches apart, I isolated a small table in front of the relative’s benches. “Treeve, you sit this side. Kerensa at the other end, and I shall sit between you until you learn to behave yourselves.”
Only Faolan dared to laugh at this. He was much older than all others in the hut, bar me, and he could see the funny side to treating these tribal leaders as though they were naughty children. In truth, they were. Aebba’s passing had left a void of experience in our tribe which I struggled to fill.
Despite the unpleasantness all around, the slaves filed in and delivered platters of meats and breads, and the first fresh cooked vegetables and leaves of the season.
They were welcome indeed. We have been extraordinarily fortunate with hunts over the winter, but meat and bread without a few leaves to help clean the bowels leads to bad tempered warriors. I ate my fill and made sure that those around me had their fair share too, including Kewri. He might turn out to be more useful than I thought after all.
The one to keep an eye on is Kerensa. Her exclamation revealed the extent of her ambition. It is in her mind to force Blydh to bind with her so that she can bear him a son, thus assuring her place among the top table for all time. If she is swept aside in favour of Faolan’s daughter, as the bargain insists, Kerensa will not melt quietly into the background. Her very presence suggests that her father approves of her union with Blydh. We cannot afford to offend the leader of the Alchemists, those in charge of all our mining assets in the south.
Treeve’s reaction was also a surprise. To openly and flagrantly claim to be the equivalent of Tallack’s Ruvane, is almost blasphemous. The crewmen of the Sea Warrior Clan will not take kindly to that kind of claim. He will make Tallack a laughing stock before he’s through. I sat patting my full belly, content to return to my bed for the night, when Cryda spoke out.
She stood up and banged her cup on the table in front of her. “My sons, Faolan, respected elders and warriors. I have an important announcement.” She waited until all were quiet and turned to hear her. “I have at last decided on a name for the last child of Aebba the Wild, and I would like for Meliora to perform the naming ritual, here in the new Long Hut at the next new moon.”
There were cries of ‘What name did you choose?” and “Another feast, may the Gods be praised,” among the shouts and cheers. I remained silent. Where were my gods when Jago had his throat opened before my eyes?
“Well, Meliora. Are you excited to perform the rites? You have been on at me for more moons than I can count about her name.” Cryda said to an eager crowd. They all hushed, awaiting my response.
I remained in my seat with my back to the top and second tables. “Name her by all means, the poor mite deserves one, but don’t drag me into godly rituals and rites. I hold no faith anymore.” The collective intake of breath did not scare me. If gods do exist, they are cruel and unjust.
It was Tallack of all people who took me to task over my outpouring. “You’ll take that back, Aunt, and you will perform my sister’s due rites. It is the eldest woman of the tribe’s responsibility to welcome new life and that falls to you. I won’t have you forsaking the gods and provoking their wrath at this critical time.” He didn’t sound like Tallack. It was as though he’d aged greatly during the building of the island compound, and it had soured his sweet nature. All the elders and warriors glowered at me over the top of their ale cups. T
his wasn’t the time to argue with the Meterns for a second time in one night.
“Fine. I’ll do what you command, but don’t expect me to believe in any of it.” More gasps, clicking of tongues and general murmurs of discord bounced about the room. “What name have you picked for the child?” It was then I knew that my bitterness and enmity for the gods, was ruining what should be a joyous occasion for Cryda and the Chiefs. At that moment, I hated myself more than Cernonnus and his goddesses.
“I thought that Delen might be a fitting name, considering her little ears are just like tiny petals.” Cryda said it so softly, I knew that I had ruined the moment for her. Now it fell to me to make amends. Even if I did not believe in the gods, everyone did, and it wouldn’t do to upset the Chiefs any further.
“That is perfect for her, Cryda. Aebba would be proud. I’m sure she’ll be a formidable warrior when she’s grown.” Watching Cryda’s reactions, I knew I’d done it again, said something thoughtless. Her face screwed up like she was in pain and tears trembled on the lids of her eyes.
“I don’t want her to be a fighter. She was born to become a Ruvane of a great tribe someday.” Cryda pulled herself together, sniffing back the unwanted emotion. “It’s settled then. Her name day will be in a quarter moon from now.”
I hadn’t the heart to argue with her. It struck me as insane that this woman would happily sell her only daughter to the son and heir of another tribe, just so that she could become a Ruvane. What kind of mother would prefer beaten submission to a Chieftain, than a warrior maiden capable of defending herself? This tribe has become weak during Aebba’s reign, and is set to continue while the twins do little to change things.
I smiled and nodded at those on the top table and left as soon as I could without offence. It was only when I got to the door that I remembered Kewri. What was I going to do with him?
