by Jason Malone
“A barrow,” I muttered. “Well done, Matilda.”
She smiled, but I could feel her shaking and see the nervousness in her eyes.
“The question is, can we cross over to it?”
“Maybe there is a boat,” Matilda suggested.
“I doubt it. Come on, let’s walk around this pool and see if we can find somewhere shallow to cross.”
But in that moment, Matilda and I stopped in our tracks and stood motionless. For a voice, as if shouted to all the world from the Heavens, boomed loud and deep across the land. It only said one word, but that word filled our hearts with dread.
“No.”
Matilda tried to run, but I grabbed her arm. She slipped over and fell to her knee, but I pulled her back up again.
“Who are you?” I shouted. I let go of Matilda to draw my sword, and she just stood there in fear.
“Go away,” the voice howled. The branches in the willow trees whispered.
“I come as a friend,” I said.
“I have…no friends,” the voice called back. I sheathed my sword and held up my hands.
“You do now. My name is Edward. Why do you have no friends?”
“All…are dead. All betrayed me.” The voice echoed through the marsh, but I had a feeling only Matilda and I could hear it. It was a woman’s voice, deep and menacing, but tormented.
“Is that your barrow over there?” I asked.
“Yes…”
“Who built it?”
“My sons… They feared my wrath.”
“Is that why you rest in this marsh?”
“Yes.”
“Why have you haunted me and my friends? We seek only rest for the night.”
“I wish to warn you, Edward of Winterhome.”
I stepped back. How did it know my name? “Warn me of what?”
“Your triumph and your doom. The Immortal King and his…unholy horde shall return for the last time. This is…unavoidable. A chain of events has already been set in motion by a man in black…you know of whom I speak.”
“Hakon,” I mumbled.
“Who?” Matilda hissed. I ignored her, and the voice continued its warning.
“The Grey Dog will be awoken by you and you alone…child of Winterhome. The man in black is naught but a tool that you shall use…and you are naught but a tool of Fate. This is my warning to you,” said the voice. Its harsh, hissing sound sent shivers down my spine.
I glanced back at Matilda. She was frozen, and her knuckles were white as she clutched the torch. “How do you know this?” I asked the voice.
“The dead are allowed truths withheld from the living… The Gods have allowed me to know this, for I was there when Godwin bound the king.” I heard the water move but saw nothing. There was something in there watching us.
“You were there? Who are you?”
“I am the queen betrayed… Godwin listened not to my advice, and now his heir shall release the Horde once more. Kneel, Edward, and let me spare your world its fate.” The water moved again, louder this time, but the willows went still.
“Matilda,” I said. “Give me the torch.”
She did as I asked, saying nothing. In the light, I noticed she was deathly pale, and her jaw was clenched. The feeling — that sense of unease — had welled up inside me and grown into one of pure dread. It was neither instinct nor fear giving me this feeling, but my gift.
“Get back to the village. Now,” I said.
Without hesitation, she began to run, and after taking only three strides, she slipped and fell forward into the mud, falling onto her hands and knees, and I drew my sword and swung back around to the lake, from whence came a loud splash. The willows hissed again — or at least I thought they did.
But only for a second, because in the torchlight I saw it. An enormous snake had emerged from the water. Its eyes were white, its fangs dripped with venom, and its wet, black scales reflected the flames. It reared its head and hissed, jaw wide open. I froze. It was as tall as me, but that was only the part it had raised off the ground. The rest of its body sat in the mud, and its tail trailed off back into the pond.
I waved my torch at it. “Back, creature,” I snarled.
It spat at me and hissed, then it pulled its head back.
“Die…” the voice boomed.
As if on command, the snake lunged at me, and I twisted to avoid it and waved the torch in its direction, but it was too fast. A searing pain shot through me as the snake buried its fangs in my arm, and within seconds my whole body felt as though it was on fire.
My hand went numb, and I dropped the torch, but I raised my other arm and swept down, my sword making contact. I sliced its body from its head in one swift motion, and it fell lifeless into the mud with a loud splash, then slid back into the water. Its head went limp and broke away from the fangs, falling to the ground.
I dropped my sword and tried to pull the fangs free from my arm, but they were stuck deep. I felt no pain, only the intense urge to vomit, but nothing would come up. My mouth was dry, my head heavy, and I felt incredibly dizzy. I looked up and saw the stars had returned, felt a thud, and suddenly my back was soaked with mud. I tried to get back up, but I was too weak. I tried to call out, but my lips were swollen, and my tongue felt like feathers.
I looked down at my arm where the snake had bitten me, and maggots were beginning to eat at the wounds. The world was pulsating, throbbing. A hundred drums beat and beat and beat deep within my ears. The willows danced. The sky spun around me. I heard my name. I heard drums.
I heard my name again.
Matilda. Matilda was there.
I heard drums, I heard my name, and then the world went dark.
I watched myself standing out in the fields. It was winter — my seventh winter. I was out there in the middle of a snowstorm wearing nothing but a pair of woollen trousers. Blood dripped down from my nose and my forehead. I had a hoe in my hands, and I was scraping at the hard, cold soil.
I was trying to turn it over for the next season’s harvest, but it was nigh impossible. The snow was falling too heavily, and if I did not dig fast enough, a new layer of the stuff would replace the old. My arms were weak and cold to the bone, but I persisted, determined to turn every inch of soil. I could not go back inside until I had finished, I knew, but the snow beat at my bare back and chest and tore cuts across my face, the blood from which would only freeze within seconds.
Across the field was a small cottage. My house. My childhood home. A man sat inside by the window. He was drinking. He had a long brown beard, a tight face, dark eyes, and short brown hair. He looked like an older version of myself. He was my father, after all.
He watched me work while he sat by the window, near the fire, wrapped in blankets. I watched myself look at him and lean against the hoe. He stood up, and I immediately began digging again.
I shivered uncontrollably, and my teeth chattered. My hair, which fell to my shoulders, was frozen; the sweat had been hardened by the chill wind. I looked to the house. The back door burst open, and a girl ran out from inside. She waved at me but seemed afraid. Her hair and eyes were brown like mine, and she had the same hard jawline. She waved and called my name. “Edward! Edward! Edward!”
I ignored it at first, but she kept shouting. The door was thrown open again, and my father — a big, towering man — appeared in the doorway. He grabbed my sister by the hair, and I watched myself shouting at him to stop. She called my name again, the world went black, then I opened my eyes.
“Edward,” Matilda said, shaking me. I looked up at her, confused, and then came to my senses. I was in the hut back in the peat-gatherers’ village. The small stone oven had a fire burning inside, providing little heat, and I was lying in the bed in the main room attached to the kitchen. A fur blanket lay over me. I was drenched in sweat but freezing cold. Matilda sat beside me. Her clothes, her hair, and her face were all covered in mud.
“Edith,” I mumbled. My arm was throbbing with pain.
“My sister,” I said. I tried to sit up but felt faint, so I lay back down. “Where is she?”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Matilda said. I rubbed my eyes and groaned.
“She was here. I heard her voice,” I muttered.
“Edward,” Matilda said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You passed out by the pond. Do you remember?”
I blinked and looked up at the rutted ceiling. I could not make sense of what had happened.
“We found a barrow in a pond out in the marsh. A voice spoke to us, and you told me to come back here so I ran, but I fell over and you started swinging your sword around at nothing. I thought you had gone mad. Then you screamed, dropped your sword in the mud, and started clawing at your arm. Then you blacked out. Do you not remember?” There was a look of real concern on Matilda’s face.
My memories began to come back. I lifted my arm to look at it, but there were no scars. No blood. Nothing. “But the snake… What happened?”
“Snake? There was no snake. I ran back here and woke Dughlas, and then he came, and we carried you back. I started a fire in the oven and put you in the bed because you were shivering,” she said.
“Thank you, Matilda. I think you saved my life.”
I looked at my arm again and rubbed it to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me. I did not feel the unease I had felt when we first arrived here, and my head was feeling better, so I sat up.
“You should get some rest,” I said.
“But I am covered in mud,” she complained.
I chuckled a bit. “I can see that. I don’t think you need to worry about dirtying this bed. We can wash properly once we get to the castle.”
“You are right, I should sleep. I am exhausted.”
“As am I. I’ll go sleep up in the loft there, and you can have this bed.” I started to stand, but Matilda gripped my arm.
“No,” she said. “Please stay with me.”
I looked into her eyes and sighed. She seemed afraid, but I knew there was no longer anything to worry about. Whatever had happened when I thought I killed that snake seemed to destroy the evil that haunted this place, at least for a time. But I could not leave Matilda alone and frightened. I nodded, and she smiled.
We both lay on our backs under the covers. There was space between us, and it was a bit awkward, but eventually Matilda fell asleep. I had trouble sleeping, as usual, so I lay staring up at the ceiling as the fire in the oven slowly died and the light dimmed to nothing. Matilda lay beside me, breathing slowly and deeply, at peace. She mumbled and hummed every so often as she slept, and eventually she rolled over and lay on her side, right next to me. I felt her soft breath against my neck, and her hand came to rest on my chest, and not long after that I too went to sleep.
We left the village behind at dawn the next morning. Philip had apparently slept the entire night without trouble, though he complained of a sore back for the rest of the day. Dughlas asked if I was all right, but he had learned not to pry too deeply into the strange things that happened to me.
As I predicted, Egil and Cubert were gone when we woke the next day. They had taken both their horses with them, some food, and the two servant men. The servant girls all stayed behind, either because they did not want to go or because Egil and Cubert considered them to be a burden. I did not ask.
The journey back through the marsh was much easier during the day, since we could see the dry patches and trails. We travelled past the barrow, and in the sunlight it was much less foreboding. The willows, the pond, and the mound were still there, and atop the mound was a tall standing stone I could have sworn was not there the previous night. It looked peaceful now.
I halted by the pond and told the others to go ahead. I was still puzzled about that snake. Was it all a vision? A dream? I scanned the ground for signs of the beast. The mud was churned up, but that was probably just from my struggle. I could see nothing, so I looked back up at the stone to try to make out its carvings.
Queen Aelda the Cruel of Aedonn lies here, the stone read. This tomb is now her home. May she be cursed for eternity. May she wander this marshland forever, tormented by grief and regret. May she… They were faded after that, so I could not read the rest.
I had read about Queen Aelda. She ruled these lands before the Unification, and the pages of history had painted her as a cruel, deceitful, and cowardly woman. Supposedly, she tormented her subjects, instituting harsh laws, imprisoning people for the smallest insults, serving her prisoners and slaves as the main course at feasts, and even burning her own husband alive as a sacrifice to Vylan the Defiler, Lord of Thorns.
According to legend, Aelda’s three sons avenged their father by gutting Aelda in her sleep and throwing her mangled corpse into the river. But if this standing stone was correct, she was not thrown into the river, but buried in this marsh instead. Aelda’s sons must have known how to prevent their mother returning from the dead.
Legend becomes history after Aelda’s death. There are no scholarly texts that prove Aelda’s cruelty, only songs and poems, but there are many writings surviving that talk of how Aelda’s sons divided their mother’s kingdom equally between them and the three reigned in relative peace for a time before turning on each other. The older of the three brothers eventually defeated the other two, and then his kingdom was absorbed into Ardonn.
Lord Adalbert, the man who sat in Oldford Castle, is a direct descendant of Aelda’s victorious son, but there are rumours that their mighty line will end at Adalbert’s death.
It was Lord Adalbert we were on our way to see. When we first left my ruined home days ago, I wanted to seek out Adalbert’s hospitality so we would have somewhere to stay until I could afford new land, but after thinking over the words of Queen Aelda’s ghost — or whatever that thing was — I became curious about Emrys, the legendary king Hakon told me about in the Black Rose. The Gods only knew why Hakon wished to release Emrys from his prison, but that warning haunted me. I had no desire to release Emrys, so perhaps when the voice spoke of me releasing him, she meant that my inaction would allow Hakon to do so.
I was naïve in those days and thought Fate’s whims could be avoided.
I decided I should do all in my power to prevent Hakon from releasing Emrys, and the first step to doing that was to discover where Emrys was entombed, if he even existed. The answers to that puzzle might be found in Oldford Castle’s library, I thought.
I turned away from the pond and the willows and caught up with my companions. We went onward through snow-covered marsh and came to Oldford’s gates. We rode through those crowded streets, and Matilda grew gloomy again. She hated this town.
“I need your help,” I said to her while the others were out of earshot.
“Help?”
“Yes. Aside from me, you are the only one among us who can read. When we arrive at the castle, I want you to help me search the library for information on a man called Emrys.”
“Emrys,” Matilda repeated. She had heard the name before and nodded. “May I ask why?”
“Do not tell the others, but I believe the man who burned my home did so in order to find my sword. I spoke to him that morning in Oldford, when you were unwell, and he told me he needed my master’s sword in order to free Emrys from his imprisonment.”
“But you had your sword with you. I remember, you showed me in the elf-grove,” Matilda said.
“Yes, but I lied to him. His name is Hakon.”
“Ah.” The look of confusion disappeared from Matilda’s face, and I could tell the pieces were falling into place. “So, you wish to find information about Emrys to prevent this Hakon — or if what that voice said was true, yourself — from freeing him?”
“Yes.”
“All right, I will try to help,” Matilda said. She gave me a warm smile.
We passed under the north gate, and as we had done about a week earlier, we rode through the slums on the outside of the city. T
he snow was melting in the streets and mixing with mud, piss, and dung, and that foul mixture flowed through the gutters. Beggars came to our horses asking for money or food, and the guards pushed them away. Merchants also approached us, but we had to turn them away ourselves.
I rode beside Philip and gave him a smile. “How are you, Philip?”
“I am well,” he said. “Though I miss my family.”
“I felt the same when I first left home. It can be hard, but know that you will see them again someday,” I said. He smiled, and I ruffled his hair. I could not stop seeing myself in that boy.
At last, we reached the fork in the road. To our left, it went up the steep hill to Oldford Castle, and to our right, the Royal Way ran farther north. We went left and made the slow journey up the hill.
The castle was an impressive beast, surrounded by a steep, grassy slope on all sides that frequently muddied, except for the west side, which was a cliff face instead of a hill. The hill was high and could only be comfortably ascended by following a narrow, winding path that took seemingly forever to climb. The castle’s high, thick stone walls were almost unnecessary due to the steepness of the slope, but they added extra defence. The castle itself was circular, with three towers, one looking out to the northwest, attached to a keep, and two others on either side of the castle’s only gate. It was a small but high fortress, and I could recall no army in history that had managed to conquer it. Two dozen men could easily hold off ten thousand for years.
After our horses made the difficult journey uphill, we arrived at the massive iron gate. It was shut, as usual. We found ourselves faced with five bowmen who stood on the ramparts above the gate, their bows all drawn and pointed at us. A spearman stood beside them.
“State your business or leave,” the spearman called down. “Failure to do either will result in instant death. The choice is yours.”
