Slater (Hengist: People of the Horse Book 4)

by Jacky Gray

  ‘Slater great shaman. Solah send Slater, help Aurala.’

  Roldan’s eyes narrowed when she mentioned shaman and he glared. ‘Slater harm Aurala, Roldan slay Slater.’

  Slater shook his head, his tone earnest. ‘Aurala help Slater, so Slater help Aurala and Roldan.’ He risked a suggestion. ‘Aurala love Roldan.’ The chief’s son looked agitated, as though trying to decide on a suitable response. Finally, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, and then held it up to Slater. Bracing his legs to take the strain, Slater pulled him up.

  The chief’s son bowed and put his hand on his heart. ‘Roldan, son of Rufus.’

  Slater echoed the salute. ‘Slater, son of Mason.’

  ‘Roldan thank Slater.’

  It was Slater’s turn to bow. As he straightened, Palita handed him a torch and as he took it, hers flickered, on the verge of going out. She shielded it from the draught gusting through the hole where her brother had spoken to Roldan.

  There had been a break in the pounding. When it resumed, a different sound resonated through the tomb. Max was obviously trying a different tool or technique. As they helped the groggy man down the narrow corridor, Slater could tell the constant pounding was having an effect on the stability of the structure. Some of the stones were loose, particularly in the ceiling where they overlapped to give an arch. Suddenly, one of the chambers collapsed with a huge crash, filling the tomb with dust and splinters of rock and bone.

  10 – Trapped

  The first chamber had borne the brunt of the vibrations from Max’s pounding. Slater and the others were deep enough inside that none of the rubble reached them as it crashed to the ground. Unfortunately, the giant did not know that, and his voice was frantic with concern. ‘Slater, speak. Palita harm? Roldan harm?’

  ‘Max. All good. Stop now. No more hit stone.’

  Max was obviously not happy, hammering against the slab. Slater guessed at his frustration at being left outside and feeling helpless.

  ‘Maxoli?’ Roldan’s voice expressed his surprise.

  ‘Chief.’ The giant put so much emotion into that one word; there could be no doubt where his loyalties lay. He obviously didn’t care that Roldan’s position had not yet been recognised.

  ‘Maxoli bide. Roldan come out.’

  Picking his way past the rubble, Slater worried about the rumblings. It seemed the ceilings of some of the other chambers were trying to decide whether they should join in the game and fall to the floor.

  When they reached the doorway, Palita pointed to a blackened mark above a crevice between three stones. Slotting her torch in, she pointed to another one for him to do the same.

  Slater recommended she wriggle out first to show Roldan who could copy her twisting, sliding method. But despite the inch Max had managed to gain, Roldan could not get even one shoulder through the widest point. He was sturdily built, with powerful arms and a broad chest.

  Max wanted to continue pounding, but they could not risk more chambers collapsing, so Slater shouted through that Palita should run back to the village and get some animal fat to grease the gap. He asked Max to find some fresh water. Passing the empty skin out to Max, Slater noticed Roldan examining the opening on the other side, looking for the widest part, using his two fists with the thumbs touching as a measure. He went back and looked at one of the burial baskets; they were much wider than the span of his fists.

  Roldan suggested that the door slab must open a lot wider for the baskets to fit through. There must be something stopping it, maybe an extra locking mechanism only the shaman would know, so he could hoodwink the mourners into thinking he was more magical than he actually was. They found no obvious blockage at the top of the stone, but several bits of rubble on the floor would definitely cause problems if they tried opening it now. They cleared them away, throwing everything in the collapsed chamber, uncovering the original obstruction.

  A stone had been buried about halfway along the door way, leaving a wedge shape which had effectively stopped the slab from moving, despite only being the width of his hand. It was very simple, the more they pushed, the harder it would stick and the only way to get it out would be to close the door a little way. Slater called out. ‘Max, we need to close the door a bit.’ There was no reply so Roldan tried.

  ‘Max need shut door. Slater Roldan push, Max help.’ Still no reply. Slater wondered aloud if he might not have returned from getting water. The two of them got into position and pushed, but the wedge was doing its job well and refused to give up its heavy load.

  ‘We really could do with that grease right now, or an extra couple of hefty shoulders.’ Slater didn’t expect a response and started digging below the wedge to lower it slightly, but it was buried deeply.

  ‘Max here. Try again.’ Roldan pointed at the animal skin which had been pushed through the gap, then called out to the giant. ‘Max, need shut door. Max push.’

  Slater had an uneasy feeling. He would have expected Max to protest about closing the door, it would have seemed wrong to him without seeing the wedge. But Roldan didn’t notice, shouting, ‘One, two, push.’

  The slab was determined to show its reluctance, hanging on, teasing them to use more and more strength until finally it gave up and the door slammed shut with a bang which rattled many of the stones and blew out the torches. Roldan pulled Slater down the corridor as one or two more stones dropped, falling on the floor with little bangs. They took a few minutes to recover and it became obvious the little bangs were nothing to do with stones falling, but hammering at the door.

  ‘Max? What go on? Speak now.’

  They recognised the huge roar, but the following sounds of a commotion sounded like one man against many. There was another roar, then a short pause and the hammering resumed. As a piece of wood appeared in the gap Max had widened, Slater pointed to it in alarm. In the same instant, Roldan understood the significance and the pair of them put their weight against the slab, but it would not budge. They had been locked in with several wedges of wood, hammered into the gaps around the door. A shadow darkened the sliver of light coming through the side and a gloating voice hissed from the outside. ‘When Solah die, Aurala die and Max and Palita die.’ The shaman cackled as he gave orders for the men to follow him.

  Slater’s cries to open the door persisted until Roldan acknowledged the futility of shouting with no one there to listen. Stubbing his toe on the buried slab, Slater spent his frustration by attacking the sand with an antler until he had cleared enough to move the offending stone.

  Roldan joined in and when they had dug it out, he hurled the slab at the door in anger. ‘Slater shaman? Work magic on stone.’

  ‘My magic is fire, not stone. If we had something more to burn I could at least give us some light.’

  ‘Torches burn.’ He pointed to the ceiling where the last few blackened twigs were propped.

  ‘I know. But they were almost finished. It would be a waste of a fire-stick.’ Slater was so despondent he forgot to modify his speech.

  Like Aurala, Roldan seemed to understand or ignore the extra words. Standing, he felt along a ledge and brought out two moss-primed torches, holding them out.

  Using one of the precious fire-sticks, Slater lit them and they gave a welcoming light as the chief’s son replaced the burnt out ones in the makeshift sconces.

  As he looked at the spent torch, an idea formed. Slater stripped away the burnt twigs, leaving him a stout-handled branch thin enough to slide into the gap around the door slab. Using this tool, he located the wedges of wood used to lock them in. Now all he needed was some way of knocking them through, something sturdy enough to take the force of a hammer stone.

  He positioned the point of Max’s knife against the obstruction. It was too sharp and lodged itself into the wood when he banged the end with a stone. Rocking the tip back and forth until it released, he decided it was not clever to use their only weapon, in case it broke.

  ‘Knife sharp. Need dull stone.’ Roldan tried scraps
of stone, but they were all too thick or too short. He picked up a long white object, thickened at one end making it easier to hit with the hammer stone. The other end was broken to a sharp point, so he scored it with the knife then broke it off to give a flat end, far less likely to dig into the wood. Handing it to Slater, he took one of the torches into the first chamber to look for another.

  Slater looked at the device with concern – it was a human bone. Kneeling, he gave thanks to the person whose death had provided the tool, and prayed it would do its task well. Sensing Roldan was watching this curious display, he held up the bone. ‘We give thanks to things before we use them.’

  Roldan held out two more. ‘Slater thank bones.’

  Repeating his short blessing, Slater was curious why folk who were so superstitious about evil spirits could be so unemotional about the remains of the dead. As they worked to hammer out the wedges, he asked about it.

  Roldan explained the spirit was at its most powerful immediately after death, when it could cause harm. To bring peace, the remains were offered to the elements. The body was washed and anointed with essence of yew and raspberry to help release its soul. For the air element, the body was curled up in a willow coffer basket and left on a high platform. Birds and wild animals would remove the flesh allowing the soul to fly free to Solah.

  As he spoke, Roldan dealt with the obstacles along the top edge of the slab. ‘Some soul come back.’

  Slater nodded. His people also believed souls might return if their earthly business was unfinished. Working on the wooden blocks at the bottom, he reassessed the information. ‘But that’s only two elements.’

  Roldan grinned. ‘Slater must wait.’ He concentrated on a tight wedge, resuming his explanation when it was free.

  After a moon, a ritual was held to celebrate the person’s life with a great feast where songs were sung and tales told. After that, certain bones might be kept for use in magical rituals and potions. The coffer basket was taken to the sacred barrow for a final ceremony. Some families burnt the remains with the element of fire, but most chose earth and the family laid the body to rest in the rocky tomb. Gifts were buried for the afterlife, a water-skin and tools, weapons or rich objects for trade, whatever the family thought would be useful.

  They paused to drink some water, although Slater did not take much in case some of the drug remained. The final check was to run the torch twigs all the way round, making sure they moved freely before moving into position. With a brief prayer to Solah to give them strength, they pushed on the left side of the stone with all their might. As before, it moved reluctantly for a few inches, and then stopped, once more holding fast no matter how hard they pushed.

  Slater howled, giving in to the rage from the constant setbacks. Throwing himself at it in frustration, he tried to move it by sheer effort of will, but all he succeeded in doing was hurting his shoulder and he growled in pain.

  Roldan just laughed.

  11 – Escape

  The laughter was completely unexpected and had the effect of curbing Slater’s anger before he could do himself some real damage. It was not unkind and Roldan’s words confirmed he was merely sympathizing with the uncontrollable rage. ‘Slater wrath like young Roldan.’

  Slater could not imagine the possibility they had set another trap. ‘What more could they have done? They were only out there hammering for a short time.’

  ‘Look. Feel. Think.’ Roldan made a poking action with the twig to demonstrate what he meant.

  It was sound advice and as he followed it, Slater admired the man’s ability to keep calm under great pressure. More light came through now the slab had moved and it was obvious that whatever was stopping it wasn’t on either of the sides as daylight could be seen quite clearly. Roldan checked the top ledge while Slater made sure they hadn’t left any of the debris from the collapsed chamber. He tried squeezing his head round the gap on the right, but the opening was just too small at the three heights he tried.

  ‘Here. Feel.’

  Flattening himself on the floor next to the chief’s son, he slid the tool along until it snagged on the obstruction. A series of prods revealed this was not very wide, like the blocks used to seal the gaps. Of course. It was probably one of those wedges; they hadn’t been able to poke them far from the edge. Roldan had obviously come to the same conclusion, as he mimed closing the door again and poking them further out of the way. They found a long bone, and Slater held it in position while Roldan closed the slab slightly, so the obstruction could be nudged away. Before long, they had a good partnership going, moving four of the wedges away and gaining several inches on the gap. Just as he was mentally congratulating himself on their ingenuity, the worst possible thing happened.

  The tool started moving of its own accord and he heard a snuffling sound. Some wild animal had grabbed the bone and was worrying it like prey. Trying to keep his grip, he fought for the tool, but the thicker end outside the door gave a much better grip. He cursed loudly as he lost it.

  ‘What go on?’

  ‘Some dog has got the tool.’

  Then something even stranger happened, the bone reappeared, waggling about provocatively and he grabbed hold, trying to get a good grip. But it was much too thin and was ripped from his hand easily. A childish giggle sounded on the other side and it appeared again, this time disappearing before he even managed to touch it.

  Roldan was watching the sport and laughed at the show of frustration. ‘Wild dog play Slater.’

  ‘Slater. Roldan. No play. Must come out. Find Palita.’

  ‘Jenoti? Alive? Thank Solah.’

  Roldan clapped Slater on the back. It took a while to explain to Jenoti what they wanted, but by turning it into a game, they persuaded him to kick away all the wedges. With his bulk, there was no problem pushing the slab and it opened wide enough for the largest man.

  Grateful for the fresh air, Slater was happy to return Jenoti’s hugs, but Roldan pointed to the sun sinking in the west. The plan to rescue Aurala and the others required accurate timing to work, and it would take some time for the altar stone to be moved, so they set off for the village.

  They crept into the chief’s hut for hooded cloaks to conceal their arrival, but their stealth was unnecessary. Everywhere was deserted apart from a blind man who told them the shaman had gathered everyone at the meeting house to prepare for the journey to the temple. Leaving Jenoti to help guide the man on his way, the others approached the meeting house with caution. As they reached it, Tauroch was announcing the murder of their dear chief’s son. They listened in horror to the lies about how Max, Palita and her brother were involved and Jenoti had died for his part in the slaying.

  There were angry cries from the crowd: ‘Roldan slain,’ ‘Maxoli die,’ ‘Palita die.’ Then a single chant began to gain support: ‘Tauroch chief.’ Hearing this, Roldan whispered a slight change to Slater’s plan then slipped away to catch up with Jenoti and keep him out of sight. Jostling closer, Slater was aware of mixed reactions from the people: some were muttering that it was an evil omen and the stones were cursed. Others were certain the slaves were innocent, but a large number seemed to think they should die.

  Tauroch was stirring up bad feelings, capering around Palita and Max, pretending to fear their evil spirits. He was using the emerald dagger to bait them and the crowd were encouraging him.

  Aurala came forward and held out her hands for calm. The mood of the crowd was ugly; they wanted revenge for Roldan’s death and had the scent of blood.

  She tried to speak. ‘Solah not want more blood.’

  Several people in the crowd shouted abuse, but instead of speaking more loudly to make herself heard above their racket, she spoke more quietly. Her clever ploy made everyone quieten down to listen.

  ‘Stone temple for heal, not slay. Slater speak to Solah. Stone must move.’

  ‘Where Slater? Slater from Kenit, not Solah.’ The shaman paused in a dramatic pose, looking to the sky for an omen to support his clai
m, but none came. It didn’t matter, the accusations gathered force as they bounced round the crowd. “Slater Kenit.” “Harm Durren.” “Slater evil.”

  Aurala’s attempts to defend him were unsuccessful, but they drew Tauroch’s attention as Slater made his way inconspicuously through the crowd to the back of the platform where they were all standing. Palita noticed the movement and recognised him, just as her guard turned his head, so she groaned and pretended to faint, falling into him and drawing his attention.

  ‘Omen. Palita fall. Guilt take Palita strength.’

  It couldn’t have looked any worse.

  The shaman was triumphant in his victory, pointing his staff at the condemned group. He was finally sure of his place as leader of all he surveyed with no one left to thwart his plans. Turning to the crowd, he shook his bone rattle and sprinkled some precious glittering dust from one of his pouches, obviously pleased with the way everyone shrank away in fear. Sniffing the air, he looked over to the south, where the wind wafted over the smell of roasting pigs. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A huge, burning figure was heading toward him. Solah had sent an avenging spirit to smite him down for his sins.

  12 – Moving the Stone

  Slater couldn’t believe his luck. Standing behind the platform, the hood pulled over his face, he was enveloped by the smell of animal oil – it was a rough, peasant’s cloak and had not been scraped properly, so he knew it would burn up well. A large rowan cross, probably left over from Beltane had given him an idea. As Palita drew everyone’s attention, he draped the cloak over the cross; it was big enough to conceal most of his body when held in front of him. He touched a lit fire-stick to several places where dark stains of fat crackled up nicely.

  Everyone’s attention was on the shaman as Slater carried the burning cloak round to the front of the platform. He couldn’t see Tauroch’s face to know how he was reacting, but taking a chance the shaman was scared, he tilted the cross toward him. Hearing a shriek, Slater spun round three times and brought the burning cloak down onto the sandy surface. The combination of draught and sand weakened the fire’s hold and he jumped on the cloak, stamping out the remaining flames. Climbing onto the platform, he once more adopted the deep voice.