Caledonii: Birth of a Nation. (Part Two; The Druid's Plan.)

by Hall, Ian

  Warunt carried on his performance. “But does he know what to do with his wee dirks?” The crowd now laughed and cheered at each statement. “Kat’lana’s got a big sword!”

  “Aye!” came a shout from one of the crowd. “An’ we know that she knows what to do wi’ hers!”

  The remark was met with a loud cheer.

  As the onlookers amusement grew, Calach’s embarrassment, which had been dwindling, came back again.

  That’s right... twist the knife, why don’t you.

  It was Kat’lana’s turn to continue the ridicule. “So who’s this legless dwarf?” She sneered down at him. “Who’s the dwarf who comes runnin’ straight from his bed, sleep still in his eyes?” Calach found the lilt in her voice unrecognizable. Perhaps it was Votadin, but he thought not.

  “Oh no!” Kat’lana’s face contorted with mock disdain. “It’s not a dwarf! It’s a man on his knees!” Again the crowd burst into laughter, loving every moment of the spectacle.

  She applied upward pressure to her sword tip. “Stand up. Let’s see you properly.”

  With the sword following his every move, Calach got unsteadily to his feet. As he took in the mood of the crowd and his two opponents, his embarrassment began to wane. He deduced that the crowd saw this as a piece of harmless fun, and made up his mind to do the same. He relaxed and stood casually, his hands on his hips, awaiting her next move.

  Calach was amongst the tallest in his own clan, and was well used to looking down on most of the other male warriors, but this girl/woman was standing in front of him and their eyes were level. He quickly took in her figure, what little he could see beneath her tunic. He glanced at her striking wild red-brown hair and had a glimpse of her long bare legs then, as she flicked the sword at his throat, he remembered his training and turned his attention to her eyes. Her multi faceted brown, green, hazel eyes.

  “The swordsman never takes his eyes off his opponent!” She whispered, her sword still held unwaveringly. “Isn’t that correct Calach, o’ clan Caledonii?” she continued.

  Put off guard by her knowledge of his name, he again bit back any reply. She was keeping him mentally off balance, keeping the advantage with her. He recognized sword training at work; a masterly performance. Not for the first time, he began to speak, then held his tongue.

  Then Kat’lana smiled. “We’ve a man here Warunt.” A smile spread across her face. “A highland man.”

  Again, an answer died on his lips. As she smiled, her face changed from hard warrior to that of a beautiful woman. Calach swallowed hard against the cold iron sword. He was unsure if it was the beauty in her eyes or the fact that he might slit his own throat on her sword that cut short any retort.

  Deliberately she let her sword drop, tracing a slow circuitous path from his chin to his waist, then round to his side, touching his hand. She stepped cautiously forward.

  Then, as gracefully as she had advanced towards him she slowly pressed the edge of her sword along the back of his neck. She leant forward as if to whisper in his ear. Still mindful of the sword’s position, he remained very still.

  Then she quickly changed her direction, moved close and kissed his lips, lingering for just a moment.

  Calach was dumbfounded.

  Before he realized what she had done, she was gone. Her sword held high, running through the crowd with an almighty shriek.

  “Aaaaaaaayyyya!”

  In awe he stared at the running figure until she was out of sight, his mouth slightly open, until some quick-witted individual passed comment. “You’ll catch flies, son!”

  Calach abruptly closed his mouth. “Eh, who was that?” He suddenly found the ability to speak again.

  “You’ve just met Kat’lana, son.” Warunt said, his face grinning widely.

  There was some laughter at the remark.

  “Looks like you’ll be seeing her again!” Another said. The crowd dispersed with more ribald comments and knowing smiles.

  Calach grabbed Warunt’s sleeve.

  “Who’s Kat’lana?” He said, already thinking that he liked the strange name.

  “Who am I to say?” Warunt said, bending down to pick up Calach’s dirks. He handed them to the spellbound Caledon warrior.

  “An’ where would I see her again?” Calach continued.

  Warunt grinned. “Go an’ see Winnie before you do that.” The enigmatic smiles were beginning to disturb him. “She’ll tell you a’ about Kat’lana.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Calach had spent the rest of the day asking for Winnie, and to his annoyance, she arrived at the same time as Sewell.

  “How do you feel?” Sewell looked deeply into Calach’s eyes, his fingers pulling his eyelids painfully apart.

  “Not bad, but not good,” Calach shifted his head in protest. “My head still aches an’ I feel dizzy when I walk for any length o’ time.”

  “We’ll have to build you up a bit before we set off for Lochery.” The dhruid looked northwards over the valley to the estuary. “But we have to get you home quickly. One days rest will have to do.”

  “One day?” Calach groaned. The thought of a repeat of their journey made him weak at the knees.

  “Well, perhaps I can stay two. No more, though. With Kheltine’s death, there are things we dhruids must do.”

  “Hmmph.” Winnie said sharply. “Are you sure that’ll be enough time Sewell?”

  Both Calach and Sewell looked askance at the woman.

  “It’ll have to be.” Sewell cut in quickly. “I’ve got duties which won’t wait. We leave the day after tomorrow, no later.” Calach knew from Sewell’s tone that the matter was closed.

  “Perhaps Calach can stay on a bit wi’ us here?” Winnie countered, “He needs rest after what he’s been through, not another hastened journey.”

  “I must be elsewhere within a few days. The dhruids will need to meet very soon!” His tone was insistent.

  “But Calach doesn’t need a journey yet! Especially one which’ll start wi’ another boat trip an’ him throwing up for most o’ the next day. You know what he was like coming over here.”

  Calach looked at her diminutive figure.

  She’s talking back to a dhruid. There’s more to this old woman than meets the eye.

  The reference to his lack of seamanship, cut off Calach’s immediate protest, and he glanced sideways at his voluntary matron. Before he could add his words to Winnie’s, advocating an extended stay in the Votadin capital, Sewell had continued.

  “No Winnie I don’t think that’s an option.” His voice was dismissive. “Calach has to return as soon as possible, it was a hastily arranged trip and he is ill prepared for a long stay. His presence will be required at Lochery for the ceremony of Midsummer. He will have another finger tattooed then.”

  Sewell marched off decisively.

  “I can....” Calach spoke to Sewell’s retreating back.

  “Don’t worry Calach,” Winnie interrupted strongly, her words easily carrying to the dhruid. “I’ll talk Sewell into it, don’t you fret.” Again, he was put off by her casual dismissal of the Caledon dhruid. She added under her breath, just for Calach’s ears. “You’ll have more than a couple o’ days son, leave it to me.”

  With her finger on his lips to prevent further outbursts, she led Calach away from the entrance to her hut. “Let’s get you other clothes to wear, son. These smell o’ sick!” She bustled him along, pointing to a trader’s cart. “Then we’ll get some food down you. See that you keep it down this time!”

  ~ ~ ~

  She ushered Calach firmly towards the main kitchen area, where she sat opposite him as he ate the first proper meal for two days. As his meal progressed and the conversation took its turns, he found her both attentive and incisive; a contrast to her matronly appearance. Not for the first time, Calach realized that there was more to Winnie than met the eye.

  As they shared some fresh strawberries, Calach tactfully asked the question he had wanted to ask all day.

 
; “Tell me about Kat’lana?”

  A slow smile spread over her face and her eyes seemed to sparkle.

  “Kat’lana.” She looked up into the rafters of the hut and scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Now where would I start.”

  “From the beginning would certainly help!” He cut in cheekily.

  She looked up at him and closed her eyes, smiling.

  Winnie took a deep breath, then closed her eyes slightly, giving her a soft far-away look. “The story o’ Kat’lana is like those told to you when you were a wee boy. It’s full o’ dark secrets an’ mysteries. Let me tell it my way.”

  “Very well, go on then.” Calach resigned himself to her performance.

  She took a deep breath. “Once upon a time...” Winnie smiled at her traditional beginning to the tale. “There was an old hermit; an old man with a long grey beard. He lived in a cave a’ by himself at the far southern edge o’ the lands o’ Votadin. Now, being a hermit, no one came to visit, so by an’ by, he got used to the lack o’ company. Slowly, as the seasons an’ the years went by, he began to talk to the animals an’ the birds.”

  “Over time, the hermit’s words began to sound as if they were mimicking the animals; his speech became more chirps an’ barks than words themselves. It came to such a stage that he found it difficult to remember what words were.”

  “Then one day, he heard crying from a part o’ the beach that he knew well. He slowly went closer to the sound an’ eventually came across a little girl, lyin’ under a large piece o’ driftwood. She was crying, an’ although the hermit’s first reaction was to leave her be, he went closer to her, an’ comforted her. He quickly saw that her leg was broken an’ that was why she was crying, but there were no tracks in the sand besides hers. She had crept ashore alone, maybe clinging to the driftwood.

  “She looked about five years old, but her toes weren’t tattooed at all, so he couldn’t tell for sure. Like I said, his first instinct was to leave her alone to lie there an’ die, but there was something about this girl that made him stand an’ look at her. Then the animal-like sounds o’ her weeping reminded him o’ his animal friends an’ he felt sorry for her. Wi’ a pitied look in his eyes, he lifted her up an’ took her back to his cave, where he re-set her broken leg, an’ gave her a meal and put her in his bed to sleep.”

  Calach found himself transported into the story, her additional descriptions vivid beyond belief. He knew then that he was being told Kat’lana’s story by the ‘story teller’ of the Votadin; a woman so well versed with the power of words, having so many memorized stories, that she held a position of prestige in the clan.

  Through the long winter nights, the story teller’s art was invaluable.

  “As the hermit was kind to her an’ was helping her to recover, she started to trust him. At first she began to talk to him, but that made the hermit very angry because, even though he could still remember what words were, hers were strange on his ears, an’ this made him feel uncomfortable. Her strange words made him feel that she was making fun o’ his old life. The little girl soon worked out that if she tried to speak words, he would become angry an’ vindictive to her. Time passed an’ with every new day, she found she knew some o’ his words; sounds which he did not mind her reciting. Before long they spoke to each other in grunts an’ chirrups, but the girl could not rid herself o’ the voices which spoke to her at night. Every morning she tried to forget the words in her dreams, but every night they returned.”

  “Many summers later, a hunting party from the nearby clan stumbled on his cave. They saw the girl an’ called out to her. Frightened, the girl ran into the cave to hide, squealing at the top o’ her voice. This brought the hermit running to defend his cave an’ his little girl. He made such a commotion trying to keep the hunters out o’ the cave, that eventually the hermit was killed defending his home. The hunters entered the cave an’ found this strange animal girl, wi’ no fingers tattooed, but obviously about ten or twelve years old. By making gestures, a woman wi’ the hunting party made it clear that they meant her no harm, an’ that she wanted to take the girl home wi’ them. Eventually, wi’ the girl holding on to the woman warrior’s hand wi’ a grip o’ iron, the party headed for home.”

  “When she arrived here, she couldn’t talk or interact wi’ any o’ the clan’s children; she was an enigma. She refused to let go of the woman warrior’s hand for days, an’ eventually the woman adopted her as her own daughter.”

  “That woman was me, Calach. Kat’lana’s been my daughter ever since.”

  “No one knows where she came from, although I’ve got many ideas. When I taught her to talk again, she learned much too quickly; it was obvious that I was just teaching her a new language, not how to talk. No one knows where she got her accent from, but one thing to be sure of; it is not Votadin. No one knows her true age, but alone in the clan she has permission from Kheltine not to tattoo her fingers. When she arrived here, she did not have a name. Kheltine called her Kat’lana. Literally “lost” an’ “found again”. She has been Kat’lana ever since. She has lived in the clan for five summers. She is now considered as much a Votadin as anyone here.”

  Calach was lost in reflection.

  That’s why she did that theatrical thing this morning! She’s a storyteller’s daughter! That kind of performance would be second nature to her.

  It did not decrease his desire to see her again.

  ~ ~ ~

  Warm.

  Warm, then cold and separation.

  Blood and fire.

  A lot of blood and fire.

  Winnie opened her eyes. She had been through the dream twice now, it held nothing new of interest for her.

  In furs, beside a long low stone, Kat’lana slept peacefully, her breathing easy and regular.

  Slowly Winnie walked round the prostrate Kat’lana. Numerous candle flames surrounding the girl danced on the soft breeze, making shadows shift on the circle of bushes surrounding them. Winnie’s secret place.

  “Uh!” Came the groan from the sleeping girl.

  Although the night was cold, perspiration covered Kat’lana’s forehead, glistening in the candlelight. With signs that the girl was recovering consciousness, Winnie judged it was time to return to the partial dark again. She walked around the circle, crouching in the short, wet grass at each of the flames, which she extinguished with a deft twist of her fingers. When all but four of the candles were snuffed out, Winnie knelt at the girl’s head, gently running her fingers over the girl’s scalp and brow.

  “Lie still Kat’lana.” She said softly. “Give yourself time to become fully awake.”

  Winnie could feel the remnants of the mental images still floating in her mind.

  The vestiges of Kat’lana’s dream.

  It was the farthest back Winnie had ever tried to take her. Back to her birth, back to her days before the hermit.

  Winnie knew that Kat’lana’s body would be taut with the straining she had undergone. She knew that Kat’lana’s mind would be in turmoil from the memory of the dream and that the voices were still echoing in the young girl’s mind as she slowly awoke.

  The memories from long ago, now shared between them, from Kat’lana as a baby were still fresh in Winnie’s perfect memory.

  But will Kat’lana remember?

  As Winnie leaned over her, gradually Kat’lana’s body loosened, her face visibly relaxing, and she opened her eyes.

  “Vanna, choist....?” Kat’lana croaked, unable to complete her intended phrase.

  Although the words were unfamiliar to Winnie, she had heard them from the dream.

  So she remembers! This is very strange.

  “Lie still Kat’lana.” Winnie recanted, “You need a few moments to come to yourself.”

  Winnie felt the onset of a dryness in her mouth.

  This should not have happened. I’ve been too hasty in taking her so far back! I should have waited.

  Slowly the dryness in her mouth decreased and she licked her
lips tentatively. She swallowed, allowing the moisture to clear her hoarseness of her throat.

  “Lie still Kat’lana.” Winnie fought the pangs of guilt which assailed her. “Lie still.”

  “What do the voices mean Winnie?” Kat’lana asked. Her whisper was barely audible. Her voice graveled and ragged.

  “Voices lass?” Winnie questioned. “Voices?”

  “Aye, the voices that told me about my mother.”

  Winnie cradled Kat’lana’s head in her hands, soothing her temples with massaging fingers. Winnie was troubled. This was going to be more difficult than she thought. In the past only Winnie had retained the shared dream’s content, Kat’lana had been unable to remember anything about them. Winnie had told Kat’lana later about the hermit and his finding of her.

  But I never heard the voices! I saw the dream. But I never heard the voices!

  Winnie was worried, but tried to keep her face impassive.

  I was there when her little body was covered in blood. But I missed the voices.

  She was caught between wanting to know what the voices said, and the thought of what damage would be done to Kat’lana by the remembrance. Then her choice was made for her.

  “What do the voices mean Winnie?” Kat’lana asked. “Why do the voices talk strange?”

  She is determined to ask the question.

  Winnie frowned, the only way was forward.

  She abruptly pushed her thumbs firmly into Kat’lana’s temples. The girl’s gasp of pain and surprise was stilled by the pressure of the thumbs forcing her back into unconsciousness.

  Damn the girl. How did it get this far?

  But no matter how reluctant Winnie was to continue, she had to learn of the voices.

  They may solve the riddle that is Kat’lana.

  “Tell me that you can hear me, Kat’lana.” She said, placing her lips close to Kat’lana’s ear. “Tell me you can hear me.”