by James Wilde
‘Spoke? How? They have no mouths.’
‘They sang. And the people listened, and they danced, danced until they were in a frenzy, until they fell over in a dead faint. And when they woke at dawn, they were filled with the light of the gods. And they could go about their business for more seasons, safe in the knowledge that the gods were with them. Come.’
Myrrdin led him to one of the stones, and pressing his palms upon it he rested his cheek against it and closed his eyes. ‘Sometimes, even without the drumming, you can hear them speak,’ he murmured.
Lucanus pressed his own ear against the stone. It was cool next to his skin. After a moment, he thought he could hear a sound, but not a voice, a heart beating steadily, low and deep. Boom. Boom. Boom.
Myrrdin pulled back, but left one hand on the stone. He had a curious smile, Lucanus thought, almost gentle. ‘The gods are in here,’ the wood-priest whispered. He crouched and placed the same hand on the earth. ‘And in here. In the land around this place, around all the circles, and joining them. On some nights, a blue light limns the stones. That is the light of the gods. If you ever see it, you will feel it in your heart, Lucanus, and you will be changed for all time.’
Lucanus turned to him, frowning. ‘You are teaching me.’
‘If you are to raise a king,’ the wood-priest said, ‘he must be wise in the ways of all that he is. I will be by your side for the rest of your days, guiding and teaching. And my son will walk with your son, and one day, when the Bear-King comes, Myrrdin will walk with him too.’
Four days passed, and on the morning of the fifth Amarina left the campfire and walked into the circle. The wood-priest had set up his staff there so that it cast a long shadow, but she had no idea what he was doing and was in no mood to ask.
‘Would you have us wait here until the barbarians fall on us and chop us to pieces for the ravens?’ she said.
He eyed her, his smile wry. ‘With a tongue like that, you could cut them all dead.’
‘Play no games with me, druid. I am not like the men who run around behind you.’
‘No, that I can see. But I do not choose to wait. I am not the leader.’
‘No games, I said. You sing a song in Lucanus’ ear and he dances to it.’ She narrowed her eyes at him.
‘We wait until the war-moot can be held.’
‘No one is coming. You must know that.’
Myrrdin shrugged and she felt a wave of irritation. ‘If you had the wit you think you have, you would be taking us to a place where we could hide and grow strong.’
The wood-priest looked along the line of shadow, past the stones and into the distance. ‘The only safety is to be found on the Isle of Apples, if you could find your way there,’ he said, distracted.
‘And you know where that is?’
‘Aye. And sooner or later we will find our way to it and beyond it. For in the west, past that place, there is a land where the Bear-King can be born and where he can build his army, and his empire. In the west, where the old stories say the dead go on their way to the Summerlands. Where all good rewards wait. To the lands of the Dobunni, and the Durotriges and the Dumnonii. A land rich in lead and silver and tin, past the healing waters of Aquae Sulis. There are Wilds there too, like the ones the Grim Wolves knew in the north, beyond the fortress of Isca Dumnoniorum.’
‘Then that is where we must go. You whisper over one of Lucanus’ shoulders and I will have the other. We will see who wins.’
Amarina realized Myrrdin was no longer listening. She followed his gaze and in the hazy distance she saw a group of men with horses making their way towards the circle.
‘Find Lucanus,’ the wood-priest said, ‘and bring him here. Now.’
Since first light Lucanus had been stalking the white stag among the trees that edged the grassland. How it had evaded all his attempts to get close to it he didn’t know, and now the trail itself seemed to have disappeared. That too was baffling – he was no novice – but here he was, far from the stones and with nothing to show for it.
He bellowed a guttural howl of frustration, and a murder of crows took wing from the high branches, shrieking their disapproval. His band didn’t need the venison, but the hunt had taken his mind off Catia and his guilt at Marcus’ death for a little while.
As the echoes of his frustration died away, his nostrils flared at an odd scent, bitter and powerful, nothing he had ever encountered in the Wilds before. Motes of dust were floating in a sunbeam that broke through the canopy just in front of him and he realized he must have breathed them in.
He felt thick-headed for a moment, as if he had taken a blow to a temple. But it passed and then his thoughts swam with fascination at the complexity of branch and leaf and light and shade. He stared for a moment, drinking in the green world. After a while, his wits flickered and he realized he was seeing something that jarred.
Among the dense vegetation, a pair of eyes was staring back at him.
‘Who goes?’ he asked.
A face formed around the eyes, a familiar face, and a young woman stepped out from the edge of a hawthorn bush. She was naked, but smeared with clay and wrapped with ivy.
Hecate the Maiden stepped before him. Yet as he looked her up and down, he saw she was no longer the maiden he had seen beyond the wall. Her belly was swollen, her hands cupping it.
‘You’re with child.’
‘Your child, Lucanus the Wolf.’
He laughed. Behind her, he saw movement. The two other women, the mother and the crone, waited half hidden among the trees.
Hecate the Young leaned forward until he found her face swimming before his eyes. ‘That day, in our home, when we flew,’ she murmured. ‘It was not only the broomstick that I rode.’
Lucanus’ mind whirled back to that first encounter. He had slipped into unconsciousness as the sisters’ spell began to fade. ‘You lie.’
She smiled. ‘It will be a girl.’
‘How can you know?’
‘Any wise woman knows these things. Eat the right herbs, at the right time, and the choice is made.’
‘This child is conceived through magic, then.’
Hecate only laughed.
He glanced down at her belly. ‘My child?’
‘Your blood, Wolf. The blood of kings, and now queens. Shall we see which is stronger?’
Hecate placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down until he was sitting at the foot of a tree. He didn’t have the strength to resist.
‘Rest,’ she whispered. ‘You will see me … and her … again.’
Despite himself, his eyelids drooped, and when he looked up again the three witches were gone.
The fire roared up higher than the tallest stone. It was what it was – a provider of warmth, a way to roast the venison that sizzled next to it – and it was something else too, a beacon, calling out across those flat, dark lands, reaching deep into men’s hearts.
Mato hurried past the blaze, his limbs aching from an afternoon collecting the wood for the bonfire alongside Aelius, Menius, Galantha and Decima, and Amarina when she had returned from her futile search for Lucanus.
But now here was the Wolf, wandering into that quavering circle of orange light. Mato hailed him. ‘Brother, we have been looking for you everywhere.’
Lucanus looked past him at the towering flames. ‘What is this? A feast?’
Mato heard a dreamy quality in his friend’s voice. Perhaps he’d taken a knock to the head. ‘More than that. Where have you been?’
‘Hunting …’ The word trailed away as if he planned to say more then decided against it.
As Mato led him past the fire, Amarina marched up. ‘I don’t thank you for wasting my day trailing through wood and marsh trying to find you.’
Though she showed her frostiest expression, Mato knew her well enough to see through it.
‘You’re the leader. Now lead,’ she went on, grabbing Lucanus’ arm and pulling him into the centre of the Heartstones.
Caught in the flickering light breaking through the gaps among the stones, ten strangers were deep in conversation with Myrrdin. When Mato had left to collect the wood, there had only been eight.
‘Who are they?’ Lucanus asked.
‘A chance for better days,’ Mato said.
When he saw them, the wood-priest beckoned them over. ‘Here,’ he announced, ‘is the Pendragon.’
As one, the strangers bowed their heads.
Lucanus looked shocked. Mato shoved him forward.
‘Once the people of the land where I live were called the Trinovantes,’ a man with flowing white hair said. ‘Our teachers tell us the stories of days long gone. We do not forget. When word of the war-moot reached Camulodunum, we talked long and hard about what we should do.’ He looked around at the other strangers, who were nodding along to his words. ‘We do not have warriors as we did in days past, but we have men who can fight and we will send them to you. That is our vow.’
‘Even now the call of the Pendragon means something,’ another said. ‘We do not forget. None of us will ever forget.’
‘I come from Verulamium,’ a third said. Mato saw that he kept his eyes down, as if he were afraid to look at Lucanus. ‘My blood comes from the Catuvellauni. The army has deserted us, but we will do what we can. We do not forget.’
Mato heard in those repeated words something that sounded like an oath, one that was echoing across the years from days that everyone thought had vanished. He glanced past the gathering and saw two more men trudging into the circle on weary legs. ‘And still they come,’ he murmured.
‘What do you say to those who have answered your call, Lucanus Pendragon?’ Myrrdin asked.
The Wolf hesitated, and Mato could see the conflicted thoughts playing out on his face. But he was a good leader, and like all good leaders he understood his responsibilities.
‘We are few,’ Lucanus began. His voice was faltering, but Mato heard it grow stronger as he spoke, and his eyes caught the fire as he looked around the gathering. ‘The barbarians are many, and they are strong, and savage. The land, our land, is burning. Good men and women made slave. Soon the bloody tide will wash up against our feet, here. Do not believe that it will flow away if we turn our backs or look to our own. Do not believe that we can wish like children and it will all vanish. We fight, or we die. We fight together.’
Mato saw Amarina watching his friend intently, as if seeing him through new eyes. She scowled when she saw him looking at her.
‘We are few, but we are brave,’ Lucanus continued, ‘and I have seen that a few brave men can defeat the fiercest enemy.’
Could the tattered remnants gathering beneath Lucanus’ banner truly defeat an overwhelming force of brutality the like of which they’d never seen before? Yet hearing Lucanus’ words, Mato found himself believing that they could.
‘We do not have the numbers, but we will fight with cunning,’ the Wolf continued. ‘We will strike when our enemy least expects it. We will be hungry like the wolves of winter. And we will chase the visions of days yet to come where there is not dark, but light, not war but peace. Where a new king can rise, who will lead us into a new age. Stand with me.’
His voice rose with the final three words, and Mato felt his blood thunder when he heard the cheers of the men around him.
‘Pendragon,’ they shouted as one. ‘Pendragon. Pendragon.’
The fire had been lit, and from it the Dragon would rise anew.
‘Are we in agreement?’ The wood-priest walked with Mato to the far side of the circle where they could not be overheard.
Mato looked back to where Lucanus was surrounded by those who were prepared to invest so much in him. ‘I’ve no stomach for your deception. But there’s a greater good here. If lives can be saved, if hope can be found, I’ll play my part. Know this, though, I’ll do nothing that brings harm to Lucanus, or any of my friends, merely to further your plans.’
‘There are dark days to come, of that I have no doubt. But you’ve not begun to see the extent of this plan. We will let nothing stand in the way of the Bear-King’s being brought into this world.’
‘Even if that sets me against you?’
‘I answer to a higher power.’ Myrrdin tried to soften his words with a smile.
‘One thing still troubles me. Well, many things trouble me, but this one plays on my mind.’
‘Go on.’
‘What bargain did you make with the Attacotti to persuade them to fight at our side?’
Myrrdin looked towards the fire. In the dancing light, the shifting shadows twisted his features. ‘I told them that, when the time was right, they could feast on the flesh of a king and thereby gain his powers. Powers beyond imagining.’
‘What king?’
‘Kings always die, wolf-brother. When they have outlived their usefulness they are sacrificed so that new blood can keep the land alive. This is the way of all things.’ Mato winced at the regret he heard in those words.
Myrrdin walked off, his voice floating back. ‘Your friend Lucanus the Wolf died a long time ago. Don’t mourn for the man that has gone. Now he is the Pendragon, and all this will be in his hands.’
And as Mato watched the night swallow the wood-priest, he felt a rising fear at what was about to be unleashed.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Sol Invictus
Rome
‘NOW IS THE hour for truth. Our time together is short and there’s much to be done,’ Corvus said.
The light of the lamp limned Gaia, casting a halo around her ash-blonde hair. He thought how majestic she looked in that soft golden glow, the commanding woman he remembered from his childhood. At that moment he could believe that all the dark times had finally been expunged, like the blood that had once stained the floor of this chamber.
The midsummer’s night was unbearably hot, made more so by the brazier glowing in the corner of the room. His nostrils flared at the caustic smoke suspended in the dead air.
The Hanged Man’s features were ruddy in the light of the hot coals. ‘You are sure of this? Your brother had doubts about your abilities.’
‘Ruga’s dead,’ Corvus replied. ‘That loss is painful, and I’ve never grieved so hard. But I’ll carry on his work. He would want that, and he would trust me to do it well.’
Severus nodded, his twisted neck making it seem like a spasm. ‘You are a Sun Runner now. Mithras has blessed you and raised you high. The Invincible Sun recognizes your worth.’
Corvus bowed his head. ‘I’m honoured, Father. You know how much that means to me.’ When his mother had given the cult enough gold to establish another temple to replace the one that had been lost, any barriers to his rising quickly through the degrees had swiftly vanished.
‘Very well,’ Severus replied. ‘I’m told you are travelling to Gaul in the morning, to meet with the emperor. And then to Britannia?’
Corvus nodded. ‘The barbarians have invaded, so my friend Theodosius tells me. His father, Theodosius the Elder, has been informed that the tribes are sweeping across the whole of the island. Valentinian won’t let that stand. I know no more than that.’
‘Despite the best efforts of the Christians, there are still a few of us who keep the light. You will find good friends in the army. Call on them in your hour of need. They will answer you, Heliodromus.’
‘I’ll live up to the faith that’s been placed in me.’
The Hanged Man nodded to him, and then to his mother, and lurched out of the sweltering chamber.
Once he was gone, Gaia swayed over and rested her hands on his shoulders. She smiled, all the tears that had followed Ruga’s death long since dried up.
‘I’m placing all my faith in you, my love,’ she murmured. ‘Know this will be hard. Ruga was preparing all his life for what is to come. Now you must take up the mantle with no time to ready yourself. This fight is going to be harder than anything you have ever had to do.’
‘I won’t let you down. This is what I’ve always w
anted.’
‘We cannot afford to lose, Corvus.’
‘If things get hard, Pavo will help me.’
‘Of course he will,’ she said with a firm nod. ‘You must do whatever it takes to claim victory.’ She drifted to the window and looked out into the suffocating night. He could see the sweat glistening in the V of naked skin from her nape to the small of her back. ‘Sometimes I wonder if the gods … if Mithras … is truly watching over us.’ She sounded distracted, as if she were talking to herself. ‘You are being sent to Britannia, which is exactly where you need to be. I was told once, nothing happens by chance. Perhaps that is true.’
‘And when I get to Britannia I will kill my half-sister Catia.’
‘And anyone she has gathered around herself?’
He nodded.
‘When you took Ruga’s life, I knew I should have chosen you from the start. Your brother would always have let me down.’
That pleased him more than she knew.
‘I underestimated you in so many ways. You knew, didn’t you?’
‘About the Dragon?’
‘You’ve known for a long time.’
He smiled. Ruga and his mother had thought they were being so clever. But he’d heard the tales of the Dragon long ago, the one who would become the incarnation of Mithras upon the earth. And when he’d spent long hours torturing the druid that his mother had once kept captive in the cellar where Hecate now lived, he’d learned that this vision of a saviour was a shared one. An old, old story, he had been told. The Christians. The wood-priests. They all believed their saviour would one day come to lead them out of the dark. What power that chosen one would hold. Ruga was never deserving of those heights.
Gaia brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. ‘Catia is a selfish, spiteful girl,’ she continued. ‘An evil girl. All she will want is for the saviour to fall under her influence, so she alone will have power over him and all that he stands for. That cannot be. You would be doing a great good if you rid the world of her.’
‘I’ll do whatever is necessary.’
She nodded, pleased.
