Fallen Empire

by Keith McArdle

  “I too, sweetheart.”

  * * *

  “There is still time, you fools!”

  Miriam sniffed and looked up at the Wiccan, glaring down at them from the wagon.

  “What do you mean? He’s dead.”

  “Oh he’s dead,” the Wiccan chuckled. “Well and truly.”

  She felt Griff burst to his feet beside her. “Stop toying with us, Witch! This man has passed across the Frost River, his time is at an end. All needs to be done is to bury him.”

  The older woman scoffed. “Witch, is it? I haven’t heard that word for some time now. I heal and help people, yet I am a foul, evil witch? Please yourself, young man. You take this warrior away from here and entomb him to the care of the earth, it matters nothing to me.”

  Miriam pushed herself to her feet and wiped red-rimmed eyes with wet hands. “Are you saying you can still help him?”

  The Wiccan burst into laughter and leapt down from the wagon with lithe agility. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. He may be dead, but he has only recently made the journey across the Frost River. If we move with speed, there is still time. I may be able to summon him back from death.”

  Griff grunted but remained silent.

  “Really?” asked Miriam, hope re-entering her being.

  “Oh, I’m sure.” The Wiccan pointed a finger at Griff. “You! Help me.”

  “What do you need, Witch?”

  I wish you’d stop calling her that, Griff!

  The old woman chuckled. “Anything I decree, young man.”

  “Drive the horse and wagon on through to my cave.” The Wiccan gestured.

  Miriam turned to follow the older woman’s hand and noticed the mighty boulder, once blocking their path, was nowhere to be seen.

  How is that possible?

  Griff stood staring, and Miriam could only presume the same thought was drifting through his mind.

  The woman stepped forward and shoved Griff. “Don’t just stand there, idiot! I said drive the wagon and horse on. Time is not a luxury we have, boy.”

  Miriam climbed onto the wagon’s seat. “I’ll do it.”

  “Good girl.” The Wiccan chuckled. “Leave the hard work to a woman, she’ll get it done while the men stand idly by.”

  “Sorry, it’s just that,” Griff fell silent. “It’s just that…well…”

  “Shut up, boy!” The Wiccan spat. She turned and followed the wagon trundling down the path away from them.

  Miriam wiped her nose. She flicked the reigns. “Good boy,” she said as the horse picked up the pace.

  I hope she isn’t raising false hopes in me. Gulgon, stay with me. You’ve been with me, now stay with me, Great One. Please!

  She glanced over her shoulder, but Vyder didn’t look any less dead.

  When the wagon rolled past an oak tree wider than a tall man lying down, Miriam caught sight of the cave mouth yawning open in the near distance. It was massive. The wagon would easily fit inside with plenty of room to move. She craned her neck, her gaze following the oak’s mighty trunk, which disappeared through the canopy of the forest.

  “Geldrim is his name.”

  Miriam jumped at the Wiccan’s voice and glanced down to see the older woman was striding along beside the wagon.

  She’s silent! I had no idea she was there.

  “My apologies, girl, I did not intend to frighten you.”

  “No it’s fine.” Miriam smiled, or at least she tried to, but her brow creased instead. “Whose name?”

  “The tree, of course!” The Wiccan pointed at the huge oak. “It’s his name.”

  His?

  Miriam nodded and looked back at the older woman walking beside the wagon. “And yours?”

  “I am Endessa.”

  “Miriam.”

  “A pleasure, Miriam. What is that stupid boy’s name?”

  Where is Griff?

  She noticed the doctor had clambered up onto the rear of the wagon. He muttered something under his breath. “It’s Griff!” he called and rolled his eyes.

  Miriam smirked and looked at Endessa.

  “Miriam?” the Wiccan asked, she glanced up. “What’s his name?”

  “Oh, it’s Griff. Sorry I thought you heard him.”

  “Griff,” Endessa muttered. She tutted to herself. “Stupid, stupid name. Silly boy.”

  “Oh, for Gulgon’s sake, I’m right here, Endessa! I can hear you, you know?”

  Endessa clasped her hands behind her back as she walked and began to whistle.

  Miriam chuckled, but not so loud that Griff would hear. She stroked the whip against the flank of Vyder’s horse. “Good girl. You can rest soon. We’re nearly there now.”

  The wagon rumbled inside the cave’s mouth and, within moments, the dim light of the forest was replaced by almost complete darkness. However, the horse continued in a calm manner, much to Miriam’s surprise. She thought she could hear Endessa whispering strange words to the animal but couldn’t be sure. The area was huge. She looked at the walls, where shelves, bolted into the rock face, sagged under the weight of many hundreds of thick tomes. Dull, flickering candles were scattered about the floor, providing scant light. But as they wove their way deeper into the cave system, the light returned as they neared what must have been Endessa’s main living area.

  The horse snorted, flattened its ears against its skull, and threw its head. It was wary and frightened. The wagon slowed to a halt. She watched Endessa approach the animal and touch its shoulder, whispering. Miriam strained to hear what was spoken but was sure it was either gibberish or some unknown language. The animal’s ears flicked forward, and the tension in the beast disappeared, flexed muscles relaxing. It nuzzled the Wiccan and plodded onward.

  Incredible!

  They entered a narrowing section of the cave, and after rounding a sharp bend, the area opened into a huge room. Griff whistled softly behind her. She searched for the ceiling but was presented with only fading light, and then utter darkness beyond. If there was a ceiling, it was must have been more than a hundred feet above them. Mighty flames danced within a fireplace some fifteen feet tall. But it was not the sheer size of the hearth that drew her attention, but upon that which the fire fed. The logs were tree trunks cut into lengths, each taller than Vyder and wider than a wagon wheel was round. She looked at Endessa with new light and a little fear.

  How in the name of the gods does that small, frail old woman carry in trunks that size? It’s impossible.

  “Twenty men couldn’t lift those tree trunks,” Griff’s whispered words broke her reverie.

  Miriam’s eyes narrowed as she watched the old woman whisper to the horse.

  Endessa is not all that she seems. That’s not a bad thing, though. She turned in her seat and looked at Vyder. His skin was more ashen than it had been the last time she checked. Maybe this Wiccan really can bring Vyder back. There is still hope, Miriam! There’s still hope, now get a hold of yourself, woman!

  She took a deep breath and jumped from the wagon, thudding onto the ground, the impact jarring her legs, but she ignored the dull ache emanating from her knees.

  She whirled to see the young doctor still perched upon the rear of the wagon, leaning back, searching for the elusive ceiling.

  “Griff!”

  He jumped and looked at her.

  “Can you please get down here and help me with Vyder?”

  “Yes, of course.” He leapt from the wagon.

  Endessa limped past Miriam. “I’ll help, you need not worry yourself.”

  Griff puffed out his chest. “Yes, Miriam, she and I can lift the highlander.” He gestured at the Wiccan.

  “Not you, idiot!” Endessa pushed the doctor out of the way. “You’re weaker than a day old puppy. Miriam, help me with him.”

  “I am not weaker than a day old puppy, I’ll have you know.”

  Even in the dull, flickering light thrown by the distant fire, Miriam
could see the younger man’s face flush bright red.

  “In fact, I’ll have you know—”

  “Oh shut up, boy,” the Wiccan snapped. “You’re wasting our time. Now step out the way. There’s a good boy.”

  Miriam heard Griff growl, his face glowing with fury.

  She walked around to stand beside Endessa, the tray of the wagon reaching her chin. She had no idea how she and the old woman were going to carry her giant master down. Before she could voice her concern, the Wiccan had clambered up onto the wagon like a monkey, straddled the dead man, and dragged him to the rear edge of the tray with ease.

  How in Gulgon’s name? Miriam stood, staring mesmerised at the sheer strength of the old woman.

  “Don’t just stand there, dear, take his legs.”

  Miriam snapped out of it and nodded. “Of course, yes.”

  She clasped a hold of each boot and helped drag Vyder out of the wagon until he was in a sitting position. Endessa crouched behind him, her arms under each armpit, and her hands clasped together over Vyder’s breastbone.

  Now what?

  “Now, you let go of his legs is what,” Endessa told her.

  It was as if the Wiccan was reading her mind.

  Miriam released her hold and stepped back. In the time she’d taken to move away, Endessa had leapt to the ground, taken one of Vyder’s arms, and pulled him so that he slumped down across her shoulders. Endessa’s legs almost buckled under the weight.

  “Oh gods, are you okay, Endessa?”

  “Of course, child.” The Wiccan grunted.

  The old woman stumbled towards the massive hearth, bearing the weight of the massive highlander. Miriam stood dumbfounded. She’d never seen such a feat of utter strength in her life.

  The Wiccan stooped and allowed the corpse to flop onto the thick, woollen mat near the mighty fireplace. She stood, stretched her back, and regained her breath.

  Miriam approached her and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. The fabric of her top was sweat-soaked. “Are you okay?”

  Endessa patted her hand. “Fine, Miriam, just fine. These old bones aren’t what they used to be. There was a time when I could lift men twice the size of the likes of him without breaking a sweat.”

  I’d believe it!

  Endessa pointed at the doctor. “You! Yes you, young man. No, I’m not pointing behind you. Get your backside over here and help me!”

  * * *

  If she treats me with disrespect one more time, I swear to the gods I’ll give her a piece of my mind!

  Griff stormed over to the giant hearth and knelt beside the dead assassin. He glared at the witch.

  “My name is—”

  “Boy!” She chuckled. “Is that it?” she scratched her chin and looked up in mock thought. “Or, is it…” she fell silent and held up a finger, “ah, don’t tell me, I know what your name is. Is it…” she leaned towards him, her steely eyes holding fast to his glare, “idiot? It matters not, if you want my help, you’ll do as I say, you hear, boy?”

  “I can just as easily walk away. This man,” he gestured at Vyder. “He’s not my master, nor my friend. I’m doing Miriam, aye and Vyder, a large favour.”

  “For a handsome sum too, I’d wager.”

  He clenched his jaw and snarled, fists clenched, face reddening. “I’ll not be treated like a common…” he stuttered, “like a common bloody fool!”

  “I can see you have skill with medicine, idiot…” she stood over him and pointed with a gnarled finger, “but you will learn humility.”

  The anger within him burned into fury, and he pushed himself to his feet to tower over the small, old woman.

  “Don’t hurt me!” she held her hands up and stepped back, eyes wide. “Don’t hurt me, please! I am but a frail old woman.” She cackled with glee, her hands falling by her side. She advanced to within inches of him and looked up into his face, the flint like glint hardening her already cruel eyes. “I just carried that man over my back.” She gestured at the dead body at her feet. “You think a scrawny little rodent like you is going to threaten me?”

  Rodent?

  He breathed out a sharp breath, his fists unclenching.

  “Yes, that’s what I said. Rodent.”

  Is she listening to my thoughts?

  Fury was brushed aside by the cold fingers of fear.

  “Now, you’ll do as I say, when I say it. Do you understand, boy?”

  He focused on the index finger hovering a hair’s breadth beneath his nose. “Yes, I understand.” He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Griff.” Her voice softened. “Humility is something that must be learned, young man. Being a good medicine man does not negate the fact you must also be a good man. Being an arrogant piece of dung will get you nowhere around here.”

  Fair enough.

  She nodded and turned away. “Very well. Now come and help me.”

  Griff knelt once more, with a slightly new attitude. He hadn’t decided whether he respected the witch or was frightened of her.

  “I’m a Wiccan,” she looked at him, “not a witch. A witch is a fictitious, evil entity you city folk burn at the stake because you don’t know any better. A Wiccan is a follower of Earth Power who uses his or her knowledge to help people. I’m a healer, a helper, a caretaker for the Great Mother. I am not a witch. Do you understand, Griff?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. Here, take this.”

  He took a small, clay bowl from her. It emanated warmth in his hands. Had it been any hotter, he would not have been able to handle it. It contained a dark, liquefied substance. He brought it to his nose and took a sniff.

  Oh gods!

  He brought a fist to his lips and dry wretched.

  Endessa laughed as she watched him. “I wouldn’t recommend doing that.”

  Griff lowered the bowl to the ground and took a deep breath of fresh air. “What is it?”

  “Never you mind,” she replied and limped to the hearth. “Never you mind. I’ll be busy here for some time. I want you to paste what’s in that bowl onto the wounds Vyder carries.”

  “Of course, Endessa. Consider it done.”

  Griff thought the Wiccan’s face softened for a moment before the hard scowl returned. “Good man, Griff.” She turned back to the raging flames before her.

  He looked about for some kind of tool with which he could use to paste the dark substance onto the skin of the deceased assassin. Aside from bare rock, tiny pebbles, and patches of sand, there was nothing that resembled anything like what he had in mind.

  Use your fingers. You can always clean them.

  He heard Endessa chuckle to herself as she squatted before the fire, her back to him. It was almost as if she was laughing at his thoughts.

  He sighed and dug the fingers of his right hand into the bowl. The substance was tar-like. He rubbed it over the cold skin of the dead man, covering the wounds he’d so recently sutured.

  * * *

  Miriam detached the harness from Vyder’s horse and waved the animal forward, away from the wagon. The wooden tongue of the wagon fell to the ground, and the animal stepped over the yoke, shaking itself. It turned and nudged Miriam.

  She smiled and stroked its nose. “You’re welcome, great one.”

  She found a bucket of water nearby and allowed the beast to drink her fill. Using her hand, she rubbed its back down, the fur wet with sweat. It stood motionless, silent, allowing Miriam to groom her. Using her hand was useless, she realised. Stepping up onto the wagon close by, she saw a small pile of straw bunched in a small clump in one corner of the tray. She grabbed a fistful of the straw and used that to rub the horse down. As she worked along the animal’s flank, she looked over at Vyder, lying motionless near the huge fire. Griff was kneeling over him, rubbing some kind of dark liquid upon his skin. She frowned.

  What the hell’s he doing?

  Her eyes were drawn to the hearth, before which the
Wiccan sat cross-legged, swaying back and forth. Miriam’s eyes narrowed.

  What the hell’s she doing? How is this helping Vyder?

  She clenched her jaw and returned her attention to the animal that stood before her.

  I hope Griff knew what he was doing bringing us here. It might have all been for nothing.

  She closed her eyes, arms dropping to her sides.

  Vyder is dead and Endessa might be doing nothing more than raising false hopes.

  The horse nickered.

  Miriam opened her eyes and noticed the beast was looking at her. She smiled. “Alright, I haven’t quite finished, have I?”

  She continued rubbing the animal’s fur.

  * * *

  Endessa stared into the fire, rocking back and forth. Her eyes drifted over the flames flickering and dancing across the wood upon which they fed. She hummed the first verse of The Calling. It had been so long since she’d been in need of the spell she almost forgot the tune. She watched the fire blaze upon the logs, flames stretching metres above her. When she reached the second verse, her lips parted and she began to sing. Squeezing her eyes shut, she struggled to remember the powerful Wiccan words, but somehow, they came to her and she moved with the song. Her eyes snapped open and she noticed the fire growing larger and hues of green and purple flitting amongst the flames. The song came to a close and she hummed the first verse of The Asking. Soon, she was singing the second verse, and before she knew it, she was humming the first verse of The Offering. The fire blazed twice the height of what it’d been, and as she reached the second verse, she sang, the words flowing easily.

  What do you want, Wiccan? a sibilant voice whispered in her mind.

  I need help. Who else is there Gorgoroth? I don’t wish to bother you.

  I’ll have to do, Wiccan. No other nature spirits are nearby. Speak quickly, before I grow bored.

  Gorgoroth, I need help from another. Maybe you could summon another for me?

  Laughter erupted in her mind. Am I not good enough? Now you really do have my attention. No one else is here. I will help, if I can. What is it you need?

  The ice-cold stab of concern swamped her stomach. She hummed the first verse of The Binding. Endessa stared into the fire, flames streaking towards the ceiling hundreds of feet above her.