Stone Keeper

by Beth Webb

  Sabrina exchanged a glance with Owein. ‘We’ll come. I don’t think the queen will miss either of us today,’ she said.

  The White Hill

  On the hill of Lundein, autumn winds span golden leaves in a dancing frenzy. The rotting thatch on the scattering of tumbledown roundhouses showed the place had been deserted for several winters.

  Sabrina went to gather firewood while Owein led Tegen inside one of the stronger looking buildings. From his satchel, he produced bread, mead and handfuls of little yellow apples.

  When their midday meal was finished, Tegen sat staring into the fire. ‘I see danger coming,’ she said at last. ‘Suetonius is far from defeated.’

  ‘I don’t think even Boudica would argue with that.’ Sabrina replied, heaving another log into the flames. She dusted off her hands and sat beside Tegen. ‘To be honest, I’ve a mind to assassinate her.’

  ‘What?’ Tegen gasped.

  Owein crossed his arms and scowled. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘But she’s ruining everything. We could finish Suetonius off now,’ Sabrina urged. ‘Boudica says the time isn’t right. If she was out of the way and we sent a few crack warriors like me and that hulking giant from the Durotriges after him, this’d be over in half a moon. We’ve got good spies along the route, we know where the troops are …’

  Tegen snapped a twig irritably. ‘Then why doesn’t she just get on with it?’

  Sabrina rolled her eyes. ‘Because she’s after a glorious showdown that bards’ll sing about for years to come. I can understand how she feels, but a decisive victory is what really matters.’

  Owein threw a rotten apple into the ashes. ‘I can see your point; she has no chance of winning a head-on battle with the Romans. She doesn’t bother to understand how they fight! She’s drinking too much and alienating everyone, but it would do more harm than good.’

  Tegen looked at Sabrina thoughtfully. ‘Would you really do it?’

  Sabrina and Owein exchanged glances.

  She nodded.

  He shook his head.

  ‘If Boudica dies, then the alliance will fall apart overnight,’ Owein warned.

  Sabrina’s fingers played with her dagger. ‘But with her out of the way, our Catuvellauni and Dobunni warriors combined can finish the job. We can worry about tribal in-fighting once Suetonius is carrion.’

  ‘But you’ll be put to death before Boudica’s corpse is cold,’ Owein warned. ‘It’ll cause mayhem.’

  Sabrina sighed and slid her blade back into its sheath. ‘What do you see, Tegen? Would it help to kill Boudica?’

  Tegen rested her chin in her hands and stared into the fire. ‘Do you see that log in the middle?’ She pointed. ‘The one that’s almost burned through? That’s the British alliance. The root end is holding it together, that’s Boudica. We need her a little longer. But she will die, of that I’m certain.’ Tegen looked up at Sabrina. ‘How long before Suetonius can get enough troops to face us?’

  ‘The biggest garrison is Deva,’ she replied. ‘He’s probably nearly there. He’ll have sent the people he rescued to friendly villas, then ridden like a hellhound to pick up more troops and return.’

  Owein nodded in agreement. ‘We have wasted three days since the fall of Londinium, Suetonius has a five day start. We don’t have long – maybe a half moon at most.’

  Sabrina scowled. ‘I’ve told Boudica all of this. She just laughs. She really believes the golem will make her invincible.’ Sabrina got to her feet and leaned against the roundhouse door. ‘Look out there.’ She waved her hand towards the sprawling British camp. ‘There’s thousands and thousands of us now and it’s getting worse by the day. We’ve got more children and elderly than warriors.’

  ‘We ought to build base camps for the families and keep our warriors moving,’ Owein suggested.

  Sabrina shrugged. ‘Boudica won’t do it. In fact, she’s actively spreading rumours of families being raped and murdered if they’re left behind. I suspect she likes having handy hostages to threaten, should anyone argue with her – like she did with Claudia and Ula.’

  Tegen sighed. ‘So we go more and more slowly, and meanwhile Suetonius can build up real strength at his leisure?’

  ‘It’s worse than that,’ Sabrina warned. ‘As Owein says, in a face-to-face battle, we’ll not stand a chance. We fight best in ambushes and short forays: chariots in, drop the warriors, fight, then substitute fresh muscle. The Romans tire but we don’t. We dart from flank to flank, picking off troops at the rear with surprise attacks.’

  Sabrina shook her head. ‘One day we’ll meet a whole cohort of Romans in deadly formation in a terrain of their choosing. Our tactics won’t work and we’ll have to protect the hangers-on as well. It’ll be like fighting with the whole of Britain strapped to our backs. It’ll be slaughter, not glory.’

  ‘What do the other chieftains think?’ Tegen asked.

  Owein laughed wryly. ‘They are too busy squabbling over loot. At this rate, we’ll have destroyed ourselves before Suetonius throws the first pilum. But I agree with Tegen, assassinating Boudica now will leave a deadly vacuum.’

  Sabrina stood tall. ‘I’m happy to die to save our cause. If we get rid of Boudica and proclaim Owein as king of the Catuvellauni the people will flock to Caractacus’ son.’

  He threw up his hands in horror. ‘You know I’d be useless. Anyway with my bad leg the tribes would never accept me. The body of a king has to be perfect.’

  ‘Times are changing,’ Sabrina urged.

  Tegen looked up from prodding the fire. ‘No, Boudica has to live – for now.’

  Sabrina rolled her eyes in despair. ‘We have to do something, this rebellion is falling apart.’

  ‘What else does the fire tell you?’ Owein asked, peering over Tegen’s shoulder.

  A twig crumbled, scattering embers on the edge of the hearth. ‘I’m not sure, maybe …’

  ‘It’s too late for maybes,’ Sabrina snapped. ‘You have to be sure. Tell us what to do.’

  A second crack of a burning branch sent more sparks flying. ‘If we sent a fast group of warriors towards Deva now, we still might win,’ Tegen replied. ‘But I don’t know how we persuade Boudica.’

  ‘Could we make the golem tell her? She’d listen then!’ Sabrina suggested.

  Tegen buried her face in her hands. ‘No, it must never speak aloud. That’ll make it truly alive – and free. That’s why I gave it no mouth. Anyway, I can’t control what it says – it’s the demon speaking.’

  Owein shrugged. ‘Maybe you could tell her what you have seen in the fire – you’re still her battle druid after all.’

  ‘She doesn’t trust me.’ Tegen sighed. Then joining Sabrina by the door, she looked across at the camp.

  Owein scratched his stubbly beard thoughtfully. ‘As there are so many people here, would Boudica know if a few Dobunni warriors slipped away after Suetonius?’ He winked at Sabrina.

  She grinned back at him and clapped her hands. ‘I don’t think anyone would notice at all. What do you say Tegen?’

  ‘I think you must hurry!’ she smiled. ‘And may the Lady Goddess go with you.’

  Bowing formally to her friends, Sabrina strode cheerfully back towards the camp, singing a battle song at the top of her voice.

  Owein poured a beaker of mead for them both. ‘I need to talk to you Tegen – about this hill we’re sitting on.’

  ‘It’s Lundein? The ancient settlement that was here before the Romans came? It feels very magical.’

  Owein nodded. ‘It’s also called the White Hill where the head of Bran the Blessed is buried. As you know, his head will still give wisdom to anyone who asks. Perhaps he can tell you how to get rid of the demon once and for all?’

  Tegen’s eyes brightened. ‘Do you know where Bran’s head is buried?’

  ‘No, but when Sabrina returns, we’ll stand guard if you want to stay here for the night and dream, like you did in the wight-barrows.’

  ‘But,’ Tegen frown
ed, ‘won’t she have gone after Suetonius?’

  ‘No, Boudica would miss her and smell a rat. Sabrina will probably send a war band discretely, then feast with the queen and slip back here this evening.’

  Tegen looked around the warm, fire-lit roundhouse. ‘Then when Sabrina returns, I will sleep here – and dream of Bran.’

  The Third Command

  That evening, Lundein glowed in a blood red sunset.

  At the top, Tegen made a circle of pale stones and danced her evening ritual.

  Owein poured the fresh spring water into the sacred bowl and lit the holy incense for the spirits while he intoned the prayers in his rich, melodious voice.

  At the most northerly point, Tegen laid her stone egg and blessed it. They bowed to the four quarters and closed their circle.

  ‘You’ve got a druid’s egg!’ Owein exclaimed looking back. ‘It’s a nice one too!’

  ‘Tonn gave it to me, it’s meant to enable me to argue in a way that no one can gainsay. I’m not sure it works though,’ she grinned ruefully. ‘Either that, or Boudica has a stronger one.’

  At that moment, hurried footsteps scuffed through the long grass. It was almost dark, Owein swung around nervously. ‘Who’s there?’ he demanded, one hand on his dagger.

  ‘It’s me!’ Sabrina called back breathlessly. Moments later she stood inside the round house, her face as white as ash. ‘Can you hear screaming?’

  Owein and Tegen ran outside.

  Somewhere nearby – women were howling.

  ‘I must try and help.’ Tegen snatched up her cloak.

  ‘You go ahead!’ Owein said. ‘I‘ll come at my own speed.’

  Sabrina grabbed Tegen’s hand. Together they made for the woods beyond the camp. The screaming intensified. Heart-wrenching wailing became a jagged wall of anguish.

  Tegen felt sick and dizzy, but Sabrina’s steady pace urged her on. More and more screams tore at the evening air, mingling with the sour stench of burning flesh.

  As they got closer they heard words – begging, pleading for mercy, answered by angry shouts.

  The trees grew closer, tangling branches with Tegen’s hair. She tripped, then gasped. ‘Must stop … got a stitch …’ Tegen folded.

  Sabrina ran on. ‘Catch up when you can,’ she yelled back, ploughing on through brambles and ferns.

  The screaming dwindled to exhausted sobs, then a new voice rose in agony.

  Sabrina stepped forward, dagger drawn and wary. Between the wet, dark branches firelight flickered and a dark, fiery shape strode to and fro.

  Sabrina trod carefully on the wet leaves, working her way silently closer, then she retched and turned back. Holding her arms wide, she caught Tegen’s shoulders. ‘Don’t look. It’s too awful.’

  ‘I’ve got to look. I must know …’

  ‘No you don’t.’ Sabrina tried to turn Tegen around, but she wriggled free.

  ‘I’m sorry Sabrina, but it’s my duty to know.’ She glanced into the clearing, swallowed hard and whispered, ‘Stay out of sight unless I’m in trouble. Better she thinks I’m alone.’ Then Tegen ran into the torch-lit clearing.

  Under the shadowy branches hung twenty or thirty mutilated, crucified woman.

  Between them strode the golem, glistening with blood.

  And by its side, swaggered Boudica.

  The queen saw Tegen and sneered. ‘Ah, my druid. Welcome.’

  Tegen gestured towards the dying women. ‘Those prisoners were dedicated to the Goddess, you had no right …’ Tegen fumed.

  Lifting a torch high, Boudica stomped through the red bracken towards her. ‘But I have given them to the goddess, and I am certain she is very, very pleased with my sacrifice.’ With wet, red fingers, she pinched Tegen’s chin. ‘This is what happens to collaborators. Did you imagine we’d allow your little pets to escape? How sweet!’

  Tegen jerked her head aside. ‘You were a collaborator once!’

  Boudica slapped her, ‘That’s a lie.’ She clicked her fingers.

  The golem’s eyes glowed white hot.

  Tegen stared at her creation in disgust. ‘Why does it obey you? I bound it.’

  ‘Dear child, you have such a lot to learn about real magic …’ Boudica held up a short, dark hair. ‘My second command was to give me what controlled it.’ She returned the hair to her waist pouch.

  Tegen’s eyes widened in horror. She had never imagined Boudica would have the magical knowledge to be so cunning. There were a few witches and spell casters in the camp, but no one with these powers. ‘Who helped you?’

  Boudica turned and nodded.

  Tegen peered into the gloom and saw a shifting dark shape. Aodh’s pale lips smiled cruelly, matching the dark slash of dried blood across his throat.

  ‘You didn’t think he was dead, did you?’ Boudica sneered. ‘You saw him bleeding, and thrown into the river, but that doesn’t mean a thing. I have so much power now, I don’t need you … In fact, maybe I’ll hang you up with those other sluts?’

  Tegen took a deep breath. It’s not Aodh, she told herself. It can’t be. It’s just a shade,

  ‘What was your third command?’ she asked aloud.

  Boudica laughed. ‘That it should obey all my commands, of course!’

  Tegen ducked away and fled.

  ‘Run!’ she yelled at Sabrina as she burst between the trees.

  Branches reached out like clawing witches’ fingers, roots rose to trip them and the darkness blinded them.

  With firm hands, Sabrina helped Tegen through the snagging brambles, over ditches, into the fields and towards the firelight on the White Hill.

  Behind them, the golem crashed through the wood, tearing down trunks and boughs, lumbering and smashing as it ran.

  Tegen’s lungs ached. Her stitch returned. Her leaden legs could do no more.

  She stumbled and coughed as the stench of burning grass and wet wood caught in her throat.

  Blistering hot plates grabbed her waist and swung her high.

  Tegen gasped as smoke billowed from her woollen robes. Flames licked her arms and back.

  Then she screamed and fainted.

  Bran’s Ravens

  Cold and wet, Tegen opened her eyes in the dawn light. Rain dripped through the remains of the autumn leaves above. Her hands and feet were tied, and a couple of old cloaks had been thrown over her. Her head ached. Where was she?

  Twisting her neck she looked around. The sight of cold, mutilated figures on crosses made her vomit.

  Boudica had threatened she’d be next.

  Wriggling around, Tegen counted three guards – all slumped asleep.

  All was still, except for the rough kark-kark as carrion crows circled.

  Tegen began to compose a spell against her bindings, but she froze. Someone was creeping up behind her, soft footsteps on leaves. She held her breath.

  ‘Don’t move,’ Sabrina whispered. ‘We gave the guards drugged ale – not sure how long it’ll last.’ Drawing her knife, she sawed through the ropes.

  Tegen clambered to her feet, swaying drunkenly.

  Sabrina swung her over her shoulder and marched into the woods. ‘Keep your head down!’ The going was hard between the closely growing trees and the rough, marshy ground. Sabrina tripped. Tegen rolled into the mud.

  ‘I’m sorry, ‘Sabrina gasped. ‘You’ll have to walk. Do you think you can?’

  Keeping low under brambles and sedges, they crept on until they crested a hill. Below lay the corpse of Londinium and the vast sprawl of Boudica’s camp. It was still early and only one or two wisps of smoke drifted between the waggons and tents.

  The golem was nowhere in sight.

  Sabrina pointed to Lundein’s low hill on their left. ‘Can you make it to there? Owein’s waiting for you. I’ll join you when I can.’

  Thanking every good spirit for the dimpsy light, Tegen picked her way across the treacherous marshland. If she could reach Bran, he would protect her. The river’s tide was high, leaving silver-mirr
ored pools reflecting the pale sky at her feet. There was no direct path and the way was slippery and treacherous. The White Hill lay just ahead – always just ahead. Never any closer. Tegen struggled to breathe. She stopped on a hillock to rest her aching limbs and clinging wet skirt. If only she could be safe and warm.

  She tried to imagine warmth, maybe she could magic her clothes dry again?

  Then warmth came, sudden, hot and very close …

  She rubbed her eyes. Trees. Burning trees … Walking burning trees …?

  She leapt to her feet and ran. The two stout trunks were the thick legs of the golem, pounding in her direction. Why hadn’t she heard the thudding steps, or the hiss of water boiling on its skin …?

  There was no time to wonder. Tegen flung herself pell-mell onwards. Slipping, sliding, grabbing at tussocks of grass, hauling herself along. Chilled. Soaked. Too scared to breathe. She willed herself to reach the sanctuary of the White Hill.

  She had no breath to call for help. What could Owein do anyway?

  The ground shook. Scorching smoke billowed. The golem was gaining, unperturbed by water or mud.

  Tegen tripped and fell. Clutching her sodden skirts, she ran again.

  A sizzling charcoal fist snatched for her head.

  She ducked.

  The golem swayed and lost its balance. With a hissing splash, it fell. Black waters boiled as it sank.

  ‘Keep it there, good spirits! Please!’ Tegen begged as she sprinted on. But slopping and gurgling, the golem rolled over and found its feet. It was gaining on her once more.

  Tegen skipped to her right, slid down a small slope and hauled herself upright just out of reach.

  Trying to turn, the golem swayed, and fell again.

  The mud shivered and wading birds rose screaming into the sky.

  Then from high above came the slow beat of raven wings. At least a dozen birds were circling and tumbling in the grey skies above her head.

  ‘Oh no!’ she sobbed. ‘Not them too! Now I really am lost.’