by Sam Taw
I knew from my walk with Rawley and Paxton that the majority of their settlement huts lay along the Trym tributary, a short walk from the tightest bend in the Avon. Our men garnered their strength, collectively pulling the oars in unison without any need to beat a rhythm. Those of Tallack’s crewmen kept the pace, leading Blydh’s Head Hunters into a gruelling speed.
If only the tidal bore of the Severn reached this far into the Avon, we could have timed our approach to let it carry us up the river and out of harm’s way. As it was, we had the gods with us, passing the Trym without detection. I was dizzy with fear, my trembling breath easing the further inland we rowed.
A dark mass of dense trees lay ahead on both sides of the river. It would either provide the perfect cover for attack, or shield us from our enemies’ view. On we sped in silence, but for the swish of the oars through the muddied waters below.
Ren pulled on the tiller, taking his boat closer to the east bank. Tallack copied his actions, steering into a deep section of the flow. The additional shadows made it impossible to see the flock of geese, bobbing at the water’s edge. Our oar splashes disturbed enough of them to cause panic, sending them honking and flapping into the air. If the scouts hadn’t seen us before, they would now.
Instinctively, the men rowed harder, riding the tide deep into the wooded area. I closed my eyes, expecting a flurry of arrows at any moment. Other than the snap of twigs and branches, I heard nor saw anything to suggest that we were found out. On we travelled until the arms of our men tired. None would admit that their strength was spent, yet our pace slowed and their timing faltered.
When at last, we were close to the end of the tree cover, Tallack insisted that he took a turn with the oars. Tapping one of his crewmen on the shoulder, he stood up and balanced in the rocking hull, readying himself to swap places with his Chief. Just as Tallack sat down and picked up the oar, the first bolt flew past my ear and into the sailor’s gut. He crumpled into my arms; spilling blood faster than it could be staunched. Tallack roared at the men to row harder. Ren glanced back to see us floundering. The more the men sculled, the closer we veered toward the Duros arrows.
I had two options. Press down on the warrior’s gut to keep his humours inside, or take hold of the tiller and steer us to safety. It was not a difficult choice, leaving one man to bleed in order to save a boat full of our people. It had been a long time since I’d taken charge of a vessel, but I was quick to learn its ways. The hardest part was keeping my head down beneath the sides of the boat while maintaining our path behind Ren.
Arrows thudded into the wooden slats of our vessel, others fell short and plopped into the water behind us. I wasn’t sure how long our men could hold out, rowing at full speed until we were beyond the Duros easy reach.
At the time, all I could think about was how much easier the whole trip would have been, if we’d waited until we’d heard from Senara about the possibility of meeting up with the Duro elders. A negotiated peace treaty would impact all areas of our lives, including the safe passage across their lands.
I could understand why Tallack and Blydh would be reluctant to deal with our neighbouring tribe. The grudges and hatred spanned generations. All our people were brought up thinking that Duros should never be trusted, making my plan harder to sell to my tribe.
When we were safely among the marshlands and reeds, the men slowed our speed and rested. There would be more opportunities to show their worth when the currents were against us once more. Tallack took over at the helm, while I tended the wounded warrior. I knew from the smell of him that the bronze tip had pierced his stomach. Vile humours and bile leaked out of him along with the blood, making it almost impossible to see the damaged flesh in the dark.
At any other time, I would have insisted that we docked, built a fire and taken my time to work my magic with a hot blade and a few lengths of soaked cattle gut. With a deep sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that this poor young man would probably bleed out before I could help him.
I packed his innards with dried moss, leaving the shaft from the arrow sticking out of him. I figured that more harm would result from pulling it out.
With a chunk of willow bark to chew on, I wished that Blydh hadn’t polished off all my poppy resin. This fellow would enter the Summerlands a whimpering warrior and that would not impress the gods one bit. I cradled his head, bunched up together at the back of the boat, until he drifted off sometime in the middle of the night. His blood dried in sticky patches on my skin and clothes, but still I held on. How could we mark his death with dignity, stuck between enemy lands with no end in sight?
I lost track of the twists and turns in the river. When the force of the tide no longer carried us, Tallack ordered the oars back in the water. At a more sedate speed, we cruised through the night keeping a keen eye on the bank side for our foes.
When my dead patient lost all warmth, my nephew leaned into my ear. “He has to go overboard, Aunt Mel. We will make an offering to the gods on his behalf when we reach the springs.”
If we reached the springs, I wanted to say, but kept my mouth closed. Tallack chose a straight length of the river and ordered the closest warriors to help him lift the stricken man overboard.
“Rest easy, my friend. May you find the crossing to the Summerlands at sea.” Tallack said. I watched the solemn faces of our men, heads bowed in deep respect. We had nothing to offer to the Lady of Lakes and Seas for his passage; the Belgae had stripped us of all our valuables. That fact prayed on their minds; I could tell.
“The arrow was bronze tipped, perhaps the Lady will accept that on his behalf.” I spoke softly, hoping it would ease their troubles. As I said it, the clouds broke overhead, revealing the moon in all its luminous glory, along with a lone rider standing on the cliff top on the eastern side of the gorge. A Belgae scout was watching us.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
There was no point in hiding, the scout could see us clearly. Our white banners would be useless to us now that we’d defied their Chief’s orders. The men and I looked at Tallack, waiting for his instructions.
“If I had a bow or throwing dagger, we’d stand a chance of bringing him down before he could ride off to their camp.” He scratched at his stubble, in deep thought.
Hellyer looked agitated. “Put me ashore, Chief. I’ll run the kyjyan down for you.” The hubris of youth, bless him.
Tallack hid his grin. “Not on foot you can’t. He’ll be well away. No. The best we can do is out run them.” He straightened his back and raised his voice. “Ren. How long would it take for him to get word to Chief Rawley?”
Ren thought for a few moments before he shouted his answer. “Not long at a gallop. Paxton and his men could take a shorter route across land than this winding river. We’re about a half day’s walk, quarter day’s ride ahead. Maybe more if we pick up the pace.”
Blydh knelt in the forward boat and peered back at us. “We’ll make it easy. If not, we’ll dispatch those kyjyans and take their heads and their metal in compensation.”
No one agreed with him. We all recognised the voice of the brash spirit in charge of our Chief. Blydh would never have suggested anything so reckless. With little time to spare, the men finished their farewells to the fallen warrior and took to the oars. These men were tough, but I could see the strain showing on their brows. They heaved and lurched in perfect time with one another, ignoring the weeping blisters bubbling on calloused hands. Nothing short of death would stop them from delivering their Chieftains to the sacred springs.
Throughout the night, the men alternately rowed and rested, until we passed into a huge valley with a wide, flat marshland at its base and steep grey stone hills either side. The sun peeped over the Belgae region, illuminating our path in between the reed beds and boggy lowlands. I knew that we were close, there was a faint smell in the air of rotten eggs. Ren steered the lead boat towards a jetty on the east shore. He bent low to alert Blydh and the men to the possibility that we could be greeted by irate t
ribesmen.
Two of Blydh’s Head Hunters hopped out of the boat and searched along the ground for potential attackers. When they were satisfied that there were no threats to our safety, the rest of us came ashore. Tallack gave out his orders at speed. Ren and Hellyer went in search of food and living offerings to the gods, now that all our metal and jewels were confiscated. The Hunters found long poles of willow in place of weapons.
I looked in my kit for a blade to use in the ceremony, but Rawley’s men had taken my knives. They were all I had left to remember the twin’s father. Aebba made a gift of the set to aid me in healing others.
Tallack heard me cussing. “I promise that I’ll have the smith make you some new knives when we get home. Even better than your original ones.” He put his arm about my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. To his Sea Warriors, he said. “You’ll be hard pressed to find flint, and even luckier if you can nap them into sharp edges for us.” They took this statement as a challenge, but in the swampy rushes and thick mud, it was doubtful they’d succeed.
All the men were busy collecting, gathering or searching except for Blydh. He clung to Endelyn and whispered into her ear. She squirmed, pulling away from his clutches. I presumed that he’d forgotten who she was again. His former lover, Kerensa would have tolerated his lust-filled advances but we all knew that she was dead, including Blydh when he was in his right mind.
I walked in a large arc around the pair of them and followed my nose to the hot springs. Just as Ren had said, it was not far to walk and there was a well-worn track to a safe entry point. The Belgae had certainly left their mark. Carved tree trunks the size of boats stuck up at regular intervals, each one painted with smears of dried blood. Some bore strings of bones and feathers, like Paxton’s spear and necklace. Others had notches scored in neat little rows, as though they were using it to keep count of something.
In front of the poles was a familiar altar stone propped up on two slabs of rock. It was obviously well used, since the central portion of the stone was worn into the shape of a bowl. At one end, they had cut a groove to let whatever fell inside the chance to drain away. Having witnessed a fair few of the priestess’s ceremonies, it was my best guess that it was to catch the blood from their victims.
By the time our party caught up with me, I was already transfixed by the pool. I couldn’t see where the spring gushed, as the old priest had described, but I guessed that the Belgae had dug out the surrounding mud and clay, allowing it to fill so that Rawley’s people could bathe.
The wisps of steam rising from the hot water into the cool morning air gave it a magical feel. I had to pinch myself to remember that this was a dangerous place, not one of curious beauty. I recalled the words from the old priest friend of Endelyn, who warned us that if we failed to perform everything according to his exacting instructions, there was the possibility of letting more spirits out from the Underworld. It was bad enough dealing with one of the kyjyan things, let alone more.
I crouched down to the edge and bowed my head over the stinking water. There was not a breath of wind, nor ripples to disturb the spring. As the sun rose higher into the sky, I saw an image forming before me; a woman of some years, with clouded eyes and messy white hair. It was some moments before I realised that this was no threatening apparition sent by Cernonnus to capture me, but a likeness of myself. It was clearer even than when I saw myself in the polished copper disc belonging to the twin’s mother, Cryda. She was the only one in camp vain enough to keep one. Aebba the Wild indulged her and had it made.
The warriors were more cautious in their approach, each of them jumping backwards as their image loomed into view. It took all my powers of persuasion to convince them that it was not a trick, nor a mean spirit taking on their form, but instead the magic of truly still water.
We couldn’t afford to delay. There was no way of knowing when the Belgae would catch up with us and we still needed to perform two rituals; one to placate my nephew, the other to truly banish the wicked demon back to the Underworld. I hoped that our journey had given Endelyn time to think about how she would achieve both without alerting Blydh to our ruse.
Ren appeared with a single duck tucked under his arms. It pecked him a couple of times before he could grip its neck and shift its body into the dip of the altar stone. Tallack’s men were not successful in their search. They sidled in behind the carved poles, hoping that we wouldn’t notice their failure. We had no blades with which to perform the ritual. Endelyn stepped in front of the wooden idols, faced us all and lifted a metal comb from her hair. It bore two long, sharp prongs on one side.
With a smile fixed on her freckled face, she said. “This will work. Chief Blydh, come and stand by me.”
Poor dazed dolt did exactly as he was told, rocking gently backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet. I listened carefully, wondering whether Endelyn would combine the Ritual of Eternal Solace, meant to dispel the demon, with the blessing to Airmed asking her to heal Blydh.
While Endelyn prepared the altar and arranged things to her liking, I scooped up a little of the hot water in my cupped hands. My thirst was raging, but it smelled so rank, I was scared to drink. The heat was quite amazing. I let the water trickle through my fingers and scooped up a fresh batch, daring myself to stick my tongue into the murky liquid. “Well, here goes. If I keel over and die, you’ll know that we’ve all been lied to.” I gulped at the hot water and swallowed quickly. It was disgusting. My face contorted into a shudder, making everyone laugh.
Endelyn was not amused. She scowled at me for outshining her.
“Sorry. Please continue.” I tried to sound contrite, but it was difficult with all the men smirking and hiding their smiles. I’d never tasted anything as peculiar as that in my life. To my mind, it was more likely to kill than cure, but Blydh was determined to go through with the ritual.
Her words blended into one incoherent sound for a few moments, babbling the way that priests do. Within moments, she took her hair pin and rammed the spikes into the throat of the duck. Its blood spurted a little, but the poor creature survived, squawking and flapping and making a rasping noise through the holes in its gizzard. Before Ren could offer his services, the priestess dropped the comb into the basin and took the neck of the bird in both hands, wringing the life out of the beast.
I looked at its green head, its pale beak and glassy eyes and started to worry. The old priest at the Seven Children’s Stones had given us a clear warning; make sure that your offering is generous. One waterfowl was not a generous offering. It would barely account for an Airmed blessing, let alone convince the great Cernonnus to release my nephew from his torment.
Endelyn seemed to read my thoughts straight out of my head. She dabbed a little of the duck’s blood onto Blydh’s forehead, and then a little on his eyelids. Taking the comb in one hand, she grasped Blydh with the other and walked to the edge of the water. With a little dip in the knees, she lobbed the comb high into the air and watched it plop into the centre of the pool.
“Airmed, hear our plea. Bless this man with the gift of good health. Restore his sight and relieve his pain.” The priestess flicked off her shoes and led my nephew into the steaming water. He followed her without a murmur, as compliant and accepting as a child. When they were waist high, Endelyn continued her speech. “Airmed, wash away all his troubles, all his strife and give him the strength of his forefathers, the kindness of his foremothers and the courage of his tribe.”
The priestess reached up to the top of Blydh’s head and pushed down gently on his helmet. He bent his knees, allowing her to submerge him beneath the surface of the warm water. I expected it to be just a quick dunk, but Endelyn held him under with both hands. While his ears were muffled to her voice, she began the incantation to Cernonnus.
“God of the Forest and of Death, release this great man from the wicked spirit sent to torment us all. He is a faithful servant to all the gods and an important leader of the Dumnonii.” Those were the words I remembered,
the rest came out of her as a long torrent of babble; her head thrown back, her eyes rolled and showing only the white. It was quite a performance.
The longer she intoned, the more suspicious Blydh became. His arms flailed about in the water as the air ran out in his lungs, but Endelyn redoubled her efforts to keep him submerged, forcing all her weight down on his head. It must have been painful, putting that much pressure on the tender wounds of his scalp.
I closed my eyes and sent my own little plea to the gods, begging them for their assistance in persuading Cernonnus to set my nephew free. When I opened them, Blydh sprang up with all his strength, coughing and snorting out the stinking water. As one last gesture of faith, I too removed the small metal rings from my hair and threw them into the pool, hoping that all our collective offerings would be sufficient.
“Are you trying to drown me?” Blydh choked. Endelyn moved closer to stare directly into his eyes, but Blydh pushed her away. She completed her ritual intonation alone in the middle of the pool. Tallack held out his arm to Blydh, pulling him out onto the bank. The twins sat together with their legs dangling into the steamy water. Blydh cupped a hand over his good eye, testing to see if his sight had returned in the other.
“Well, brother, has it worked?” Tallack whispered. Blydh turned to face him and gently shook his head. Both peered down at the sacred pool. “Perhaps it needs a day or two to fully take effect.” Tallack was all kindness and forbearance, but I couldn’t see Blydh taking this development lightly. If his sight did not return, I feared that his current mild manner would fade fast.
Ren wandered closer to me, noticing my pained expression. “You know, legend has it that Bladud, son of Lud Hudibras was cured here. He was blessed by Airmed for a raging disease and lived for some time after when all had given him up for dead.”
