Origin of Druid

by Mark Philipson

  “Do you see anything?” Osker asked as he walked up.

  What Osker said sparked an idea in Kermode’s head. “Osker, bring me some ropes from the tool shed?” Kermode said. While Osker went into the shed Kermode walked back into the house. He avoided the blood and removed a lamp hanging on a hook. Kermode stuffed some long matches in his pockets and stepped outside.

  Kermode tied a line to the handle of the lamp. He unscrewed the cap. Kermode struck a match on the ragged stone work of the well and set fire to the torch at the base of the lamp. Kermode untied the dip bucket line and retied it to the handle of the lamp.

  Kermode lowered the lamp. The glow lit up the moss covered stones of the shaft as it passed.

  Kermode continued lowering. He saw light from the lamp being reflected back. That must be water, he reasoned. He slowed the descent of the lamp. Then he saw something. Something that looked out of place. Where the water level rose he saw a body lying on a rock that jutted out over the surface of the water. This must be the rock that he’d felt the dip bucket touch more times than he could count.

  “You see that,” Kermode said to Osker.

  Osker leaned over and peered down the shaft. “I see it,” he replied.

  “I’m going down there,” Kermode said.

  “What?”

  “There is something down there and I’m going to find out what it is.”

  “Very well,” Osker said. The determined look in Kermode’s eyes must have swayed Osker from trying to talk Kermode out of it.

  “Pull the lamp back up, Osker,” Kermode said.

  Kermode rooted around in the tool shed. He found two leather harnesses and returned to the well. He placed the straps over his shoulders and under his arms. Osker fed the end of a heavy line through the brass rings positioned in the middle of Kermode’s back. He tied a twelve segmented knot and pulled it tight.

  “What happens when you go over the edge?” Osker asked. “I may not be able to hold your weight.”

  “You won’t have to,” Kermode nodded. “I’ll be using the edges of the stone work to climb down on.”

  “Gods go with you, Kermode,” Osker said. He wiped his nose with his hand and brushed a tear away.

  “Many thanks,” Kermode said. He sat on the edge of the well and looked down. “I hope the god of the well is stronger than the demon,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Osker cupped his ear.

  “Nothing, give me some slack in the line and lower the lamp to light my way down.” Kermode held onto the lip of the well and let his legs dangle until his feet found the edge of a stone. He slid down and jammed his toes into the rough joints between the stones.

  With the lamp guiding him Kermode crawled down the shaft. He forced his fingers into the cracks between stones and let his feet search for footholds between the stones that lay beneath him. The raw skin of Kermode’s fingertips bled. Burning pain shot out of his toes and ran up into the back of his leg.

  Kermode looked down. He recognized Idellsa’s tunic stained red with blood. He set his feet on the big rock at the bottom of the well. He knelt over Idellsa. Her throat had been sliced open from one ear to another. Her legs had been smashed and bent behind her from the fall.

  Kermode took off his tunic. He wound the tunic and wrapped it around Idellsa’a neck gently. “Osker!” he called out through cupped hands. “Make the line fast and keep it taut, I’m coming back up. Give me two tugs when it is ready.”

  Kermode felt the two sharp tugs on the line. He climbed back up the shaft. Osker kept the rope holding Kermode taut. He raised the lamp to match Kermode’s climb back up.

  Osker tied off the rope and reached out. He extended his hand to Kermode and helped him up and over. “Is it ...” Osker trailed off.

  “Idellsa,” Kermode said. He looked at the ground.

  Osker turned his head and stifled a sob.

  Kermode walked up and set his hands on Osker’s broad shoulders. He pulled Osker close in a tight bear hug.

  When they released Osker asked, “What now?”

  Kermode took a deep breath. He looked around. “We need a hoist to bring Idellsa to the top,” he nodded.

  Osker scratched his head for a few moments then said, “I know just the thing. I’ll have to go back to my house to get it.”

  “Very well,” Kermode said. “I’ll be right here.”

  Osker left. Kermode sat by the edge of the well. With his head held in his hands he dozed off. He woke when he felt a hand shaking his shoulder. “Osker, let’s get to it,” Kermode said. He jumped to his feet.

  Osker wheeled the hoist he used to raise and lower heavy sheets of metal in his blacksmith shop up to the well. He locked the big wooden wheels by kicking wedges in place.

  Kermode untied the makeshift harness and rigged it to the chain that hung from a thick braided rope. The rope ran down the arm of the hoist to be wound around a wooden drum. A handle extended out of the side of the drum.

  Kermode dropped a line over the edge of the well. He tied it off to a crossbeam on the canopy. He worked his way down the sides of the well. Light from the lamp Osker lowered guided Kermode’s crawl back down the shaft.

  Kermode stood on the narrow space between the shaft wall and the water. “Lower the harness!” he called up.

  Kermode reached up when he saw the silhouetted shape of the harness hoist rig approaching. He pulled Idellsa’s shoulders forward. He shuddered when he touched her cold skin. Kermode fought back a wave of tears as he wrapped the harness around Idellsa.

  “Raise slow!” Kermode called out to Osker.

  Idellsa went limp as the hoist rig pulled her off the big rock. Kermode climbed back up. He guided Idellsa’s body on its journey back to daylight.

  At the top of the well Kermode climbed over the edge. “Perhaps you should not see this,” he said to Osker. Kermode clutched Osker’s upper arm and squeezed hard.

  “I’ll stay,” Osker replied. “She is my daughter.”

  “Very well,” Kermode said.

  Kermode and Osker carried Idellsa inside. Kermode set Idellsa on the raised mat they slept in. Kermode turned to Osker, “I’m going to straighten her legs as best as I can,” he said.

  “You can do that?”

  “To a certain point.” Kermode held on to one of Idellsa’s ankles. He reached up and grabbed her calf. He pulled forward. Bones cracked as her leg bent forward.

  “What did you do?” Osker asked.

  “I had to break her knees,” Kermode said. “I couldn’t stand seeing her legs like that.”

  “I see,” Osker said. He stood back while Kermode pulled Idellsa’s other leg into position.

  Kermode pulled Idellsa’s long tunic back down over her legs.

  “What now, Kermode?”

  “We clean the body and wrap her in white linens.” The finality of the situation hit him. Idellsa was dead. He would never hear her voice again. He would never look into her eyes or feel the warmth of her skin under his fingertips.

  Kermode unwrapped the tunic he put around Idellsa’s neck. When Osker saw the gaping wound crossing her throat he cried out then turned and ran outside. Kermode heard the sound of retching. “Do you feel better now?” he asked. Osker grunted. “This is the wound that killed her,” Kermode said.

  Kermode looked at Osker. He just stood there staring at the slash. Kermode reasoned that it would be a good idea to give Osker something to do. “Osker, heat a kettle of water on the hearth.”

  As Kermode pried his fingers into the wound and peered at Idellsa’s severed windpipe he noticed a small trickle of dried blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. Kermode pried Idellsa’s clenched teeth apart. He made sure Osker’s back was turned then he tilted her chin back to catch the light. Kermode looked inside her mouth for signs of a self-inflicted bite mark. He saw nothing. Then he noticed a clot of blood on her teeth. A small piece of skin was wedged between two teeth. Kermode eased out the crescent shaped sliver. This does not look to be fr
om the flesh of the mouth, Kermode reasoned.

  Kermode straightened up and walked over to Osker. “How is the water?” he asked.

  “Almost ready to boil,” Osker replied. A light mist and shimmering air rose off the kettle.

  “Very well.” Kermode walked over to a cabinet mounted to the wall. He opened the door. He pulled two glass bottles off the shelf. One held a gray powder. One held an amber substance. “We’ll use the potash powder to clean Idellsa. I’ll add it to the water.” Kermode handed Osker the bottle. While Osker turned to set the bottle on the table Kermode opened the cork on the other bottle. He reached in and dug out a clump of plant wax with his finger. Kermode pressed the sliver of skin found in Idellsa’s mouth into the wax.

  Osker poured some of the hot water off into a wide bowl. He soaked a clean rag. Kermode dropped some of the potash into the bowl. He picked up the bowl and shook until the powder dissolved. While Osker scrubbed Idellsa down Kermode pulled a circular needle from his pouch. He ran a piece if thread through the eye of the needle. Kermode stitched Idellsa’s throat wound together. He tied the final knot and cut the strand of thread off flush with Idellsa’s skin.

  When Idellsa was clean and dry Osker and Kermode wrapped her in white linens from head to toe. Only her face and hands were visible.

  Eleven

  Battle by the Funeral Fire

  KERMODE BATHED AND changed into clean robes. With staff in hand he stepped toward the door. “Where are you going?” Osker asked.

  “There is the matter of Durst,” Kermode turned and replied.

  “Very well,” Osker nodded. “Try not to get yourself killed,” Osker told Kermode as Kermode walked out of the roundhouse.

  On the path to the sea on his way to the village Kermode stopped a man and woman driving a wagon pulled by oxen.

  “Do you know me?” Kermode asked.

  “Yes,” the man replied. “You are Kermode, Druid of the South.” He scratched the stringy long hair that fell from a bald spot on his head to his shoulders.

  Kermode stepped closer. “Do you know my son?” he asked. “Do you know what the boy looks like?”

  “I don’t,” the man replied.

  Just then the woman spoke up. “I do. He has blond hair and blue eyes like his mother.”

  Kermode winced. He felt a stab of pain as he heard these words.

  “We have not seen him.”

  “Very well.” Kermode continued down the path. He heard the man muttering something as he walked away.

  On the outskirts of the village Kermode came upon a roundhouse. “Gods to you,” a woman said as Kermode approached. The woman set the dipping bucket she’d just pulled out of the the well down.

  “Gods back,” Kermode said. “May I ask you something?”

  “Yes.” The woman slapped her hands together then wiped them on her greasy tunic. She stepped around the well as Kermode walked up.

  “Have you seen my son?”

  The woman brushed a strand of long blond hair off her face. “I haven’t seen Durst or Idellsa for days.”

  Kermode asked everyone he met the same question and he got the same answer. No one had seen Durst or Idellsa.

  Kermode passed by Judocus’ house. He didn’t see him in the boatyard. For some reason Kermode didn’t go up and rap on the door.

  In the square Kermode saw a group of fisherman. Judocus stood at the center of the group. Kermode walked up. The other fishermen made way as Kermode drew nearer to Judocus. “Gods to you, Judocus,” Kermode said. He noticed a bloody bandage wrapping Judocus’ hand. “What happened to you?” Kermode asked.

  “I cut myself with a netting spike,” Judocus shrugged.

  A vision flashed in Kermode’s mind. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Judocus reaching up and covering Idellsa’s mouth. What followed next in the vision was a blur of motion. “You should let me have a look at that,” Kermode said. He steadied himself after a wave of dizziness passed.

  “It’s nothing,” Judocus shook his head. “I’ve had worse.”

  “Perhaps you should let Kermode look at your hand,” the fisherman standing next to Judocus said. The others in the group nodded in agreement.

  Judocus looked around. “Very well,” he said. He held his bandaged hand out.

  Kermode unwrapped the bandage. He looked at the open wound still oozing blood. He leaned in. The word teeth echoed across Kermode’s mind. With one hand holding Judocus’ hand he reached with the other hand into a pocket. Kermode glanced at the wound. He set the piece of waxed skin on a matching area of the wound.

  “This looks very bad,” Kermode shook his head. He pressed the thumb of his left hand into the open wound. Judocus struggled to pull away. Kermode applied more pressure. At that moment Judocus moved in closer to Kermode. He reached up and placed his free hand around Kermode’s throat. As Judocus squeezed Kermode reached out with his right hand. He pulled Judocus’ knife from his belt. Kermode jammed the knife to the hilt in Judocus’ navel. Kermode twisted the blade and drew it upward through ripping flesh.

  When Kermode felt the grip around his throat weaken he pulled Judocus closer and said, “Where is my son?”

  Judocus shook his head.

  Kermode dropped the knife. He reached into the wound and felt around. When his fingers located a big, rope like length of gut Kermode twisted and pulled.

  “Demons to you, Judocus,” Kermode said. Judocus collapsed. Blood and guts spilled onto the ground.

  Judocus reached up and grabbed onto the amulet hanging around Kermode’s neck as Judocus slid to the ground.

  One of the stunned onlookers said, “You’ve killed him.”

  Kermode reached for his staff. “So I have,” he said.

  “What is the reason?” one of the other fishermen asked. White Druids had the power of life and death over the tribe.

  “I have reason to believe Judocus killed my wife and took my son.”

  “What reason?” “Who has seen Judocus doing this?”

  Kermode slipped away as the fishermen talked among themselves. He wiped blood and gore from his hands onto his robes.

  On his way back to his house he came across Kane. “What has happened to you?” Kane asked.

  “I killed Judocus the fisherman in the square,” Kermode sighed.

  “Why?”

  “He killed my wife and took my son.” Kermode said. “Have you seen my son, Kane?”

  “No, I’ve been away,” Kane replied. “Elgin sent me to Londinium to handle the trade of a shipment of wheat.”

  Kermode hesitated then asked, “In the course of your duties on the farm would you say Elgin sending you to Londinium is something that happens all the time?”

  “Never before,” Kane shrugged.

  Perhaps Elgin is a part of this, Kermode thought. He needed to gather his thoughts. He felt exposed out here on the path. He started to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” Kane asked.

  Kermode wondered if he should tell Kane where he was going. Would Kane tell Elgin? “Can I trust you, Kane?” Kermode asked.

  “I’ve seen what you can do and how you’ve helped the tribe. You can count on me.” Kane tapped his chest with his closed fist.

  “I’m going back to my house. I need to take care of Idellsa’s body.”

  “Very well, my friend,” Kane nodded. “I’ll come by later to see how you are.”

  Kermode and Kane parted. Kermode continued up the hill. Kane took the path to Elgin’s farm.

  ■ ■ ■ ■

  When Kermode returned to the roundhouse Osker had just finished loading logs onto Idellsa’s cremation stand. He place the first bundle of kindling branches on the center where the logs mounted an either sides of the frame came together. “What has happened?” Osker asked. He looked at the blood streaking down the front of Kermode’s robes.

  “Do you really want to know?” Kermode asked back.

  “Tell me one thing. Is it man or animal blood?”

  “Man,” Ker
mode answered after a few moments.

  “I’ll ask no more,” Osker nodded. He dumped another bundle of kindling on the log frame and spread the branches evenly.

  “You did this all yourself?” Kermode asked. He motioned to the cremation frame.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Osker shrugged big shoulders. He inhaled and said when he let out the breath, “I made my father’s then my mother’s then my wife and Idellsa’s brother.”

  Kermode gathered more kindling. Osker went into the house. He returned carrying Idellsa’s linen wrapped body. Osker laid Idellsa down. A bed of kindling supported her. Logs supported the kindling. Beams driven into the ground and crossing in a wide X pattern supported the logs.

  “It’s ready,” Osker said. He jammed an unlit torch into the fire pot. “Do you want to light the kindling.”

  “We’ll do it together, Osker.”

  Osker reached down with his left hand and grabbed the torch down along the shaft. Kermode held onto the space behind Osker’s hand with his right hand. Together they pulled the torch out of the fire pot. They jammed the flame in at the lowest point of the frame. Fire crept up into the kindling then spread higher. As the kindling burned away Idellsa’s body sank lower toward the flaming kindling.

  The two logs positioned where the frame met caught fire on the inner edges. A steady flame continued to keep the kindling lit. Sparks flew into the air. Flames leapt and crackled.

  The smell of oil rose then passed as the saturated linens Idellsa wore burned away. The smell of flesh and organs and fat filled the air.

  They stood watching the fire for hours. When Idellsa’s burning body collapsed into the core of the fire Osker said, “I’m going to get some sleep.” He walked into the house.

  Kermode looked down at his bloodstained robes in the flickering glow. He removed the robes then tossed them in the fire.

  Kermode turned away from the fire. He walked toward a stand of trees. Kermode stopped and stood by the burning frame.