by Hall, Ian
“But I would have been more gentle...”
“Shh. Listen Calach.” Kat’lana said, “Hear the earth’s song. It’s singing for us.”
He lay with his head in her lap, both now fully clothed against the cool evening air. His gaze went upwards, but his thoughts were directed inwards as he tried to visualize what Kat’lana was trying to teach him. He listened hard , but was unable to hear anything past the squawking of the gulls and the breeze through the trees. He leant his head to one side, his ear to her breast, and looked up at her face, staring into the evening. The sounds of nature were soon muffled by the loud beating of her heart
“I can’t seem to get the hang of what you’re saying Kat’.” He said. “Maybe warriors aren’t meant to feel such things.”
“But you have this “feeling” for game and animals. Don’t you?” She looked at him closely. “You have a hunter’s sense.”
“Yes, the ‘hunter’s eye’. But “seeing” game and feeling the inanimate earth are two different things.” He let his gaze drift back to the blue, cloudless sky. “I can’t feel a thing. It’s just dead to me.”
She stroked his long hair, letting her fingers run through the strands. “You’ll feel it one day, my chief.” She sighed. “One day.”
I just hope that it’s not too late by then....
~ ~ ~
The days passed all too quickly for Calach. First there was Sewell’s reluctant leave taking, allowing the young Caledonii to remain in Kat’lana and Winnies care. He had not even said goodbye. Sewell was in Tra’pan one day, then gone the next. Then there was the feast of the Midsummer Day; the longest day. Calach had stood in the long queues like every other young person in the village to get one more finger tattooed. Well, everyone except Kat’lana; she was exempt from the tattooing, but she stood by him whilst he waited. It would be his first finger tattooed on his left hand, his sixteenth year. He paid the tattooist a small coin, and showed him the complex patterns on the fingers of his other hand.
“Can you do it like this?”
The man smiled, examining Calach’s already tattooed fingers.
“Yes, Lud. That will be no problem.”
He winced as the ink was forced into his finger with the sharp needle, but watched and admired the skill of the artist. Calach and Kat’lana exchanged glances, the Caledon warrior pleased and relieved that, as the pattern developed, the tattooist was equal to or better than the ones in Lochery.
It was the first time that Calach had spent the feast out of Lochery, and it was interesting to see how the feast changed from clan to clan.
In Lochery, they all feasted and danced the afternoon and night away after tattooing. Here in Tra’pan, there was a sense of anticipation as night fell, and only after the sun had officially set could the dancing begin. From the dark cupboards in every house and hut came flutes and drums for musicians of every standard to make as much rhythmical noise as possible. Everyone joined in to chant the well-known songs, and everyone listened in reverence as Winnie and other bards sang the important songs.
Calach drank freely, the first time since arriving in Tra’pan that he had allowed himself to do so. Kat’lana was a constant companion, her arm intertwined in his, her property marked for all other available females to see; and some had been paying particular attention. When the sun began to rise; a beautiful sunrise over the waters of the sea, the remnants of the crowd cheered and took it as a sign to either have another drink, or retire for some well-earned rest. The two lovers did the latter, making no pretense in doing anything else, they simply walked hand in hand to the guest hut and pulled the drape closed after them.
~ ~ ~
Pell’s expression stayed blank, giving the older dhruid no inkling of the emotions within. “But, brother Sewell, I thought that the whole idea of being a dhruid was for the betterment of ‘the soul, the brotherhood and the clan system’.”
“If the same happens to us, here in the Norlands, we won’t have any spirit to worry about.”
“But surely there is no room within the dhruid system for corruption.”
“There’s no corruption here!” snapped Sewell.
“But brother, there is!” Pell countered. “And it comes from you.”
“I only act in the interests of....”
“Of yourself! And Quen’tan, of course.”
Sewell laced his fingers together, tapping his thumbs nervously. He looked at the younger dhruid, barely twenty years old. This meeting had not gone as planned. He had arrived ill-prepared and tired from his journey. From the beginning, he was on the defensive against his young colleague.
“Pell, I came here to ask you for your support at the choosing of a new arch-dhruid.” He said. His voice sounded calmer than he felt. “I came here to act for the good of the order. If some of us can ally and ensure the order can survive in some form or other in these changing, troubled times, then we must at least make the attempt.”
“And who in particular would I lend my aid to?”
“Well, Brother Quen’tan and I will probably be the most powerful candidates.”
“And I would do this act of kindness for what reward?”
“Why, brother Pell.” The sarcasm heavy in Sewell’s voice. “For the survival of the brotherhood, of course.”
“There is more to this than an act of survival Sewell.” Pell replied. His face was still impassive. “I must ask you to look at me and see the dhruid, not the youth. You can not bend me with your twisted wordings; I am not as amiable to your manipulations as you would presume.”
“Brother Pell, I did not mean to do anything of the sort.”
“Well, Brother Sewell, that is the way it came across to me.” The younger man’s face twisted slightly as he spoke. “You ask for my support for you when you know the way the arch-dhruid will be chosen!”
“I only seek to prevent inner schisms....”
“You only seek power!” Pell roared across the room.
Slowly Sewell felt the will to argue being sapped from him. He was tired after four days of hard riding, and the business with Kheltine, and the journey with Calach. He was simply exhausted.
It’s not tiredness! It’s Pell! He’s too strong for me.
Sewell made a move to rouse himself. “We seek an ally Brother, nothing more.”
“What you seek to do, Brother Sewell, is discard me from the selection process by assuming that I’m less powerful than you!”
Oh by the gods themselves! He’s attacking me?
Gradually Sewell slumped in the large armchair. Although he made every attempt to stay alert, his shoulders loosened and his legs felt heavy. He relaxed, temporarily forgetting Pell’s presence. His breathing became deeper and his eyelids felt leaden, trying to close further every moment.
“Sewell!”
With a start he found himself looking into Pell’s eyes. The young dhruid had crossed the room as Sewell had been dozing. Pell now stood over him, nose to nose.
“Sewell. You listen to me and you listen well!”
The older man found himself unable to do anything else.
“The office of arch-dhruid will go to the most powerful dhruid in the Norlands! That is the law. That is the old way.”
I seek only continuity....
Do not flatter yourself Sewell! I see inside your head as easily as that of a rat!
“Brother Sewell. Listen to me. When the dhruids present themselves at the ‘Torch’ there will be no factions fighting for power, no alliances to aid a brother. I will not allow it! I will not allow it because I will be there to take command!”
Sewell? Do you understand?
“Yes Brother Pell.” He said, his voice weak and forced.
“Sewell, I need no help in being elected to the post of Arch-dhruid. I am powerful enough to do it on my own.”
“But we only....”
“And you and Quen’tan both know it.”
Sewell’s silence proved Pell’s point.
“I have abil
ity beyond my years, ability beyond your ken, and wisdom beyond anything you understand.”
Despite his dhruid training, Sewell felt fear. He shivered slightly.
Then Pell smiled and began to pace the floor.
“But I will thank you for your thoughts, and thank you for your support.”
“You are most welcome Pell.”
“And you are mostly going to your bed Sewell!”
Sewell was on his feet before he knew it. Startled a little by the younger man’s ability, he walked to the door.
I have a lot to tell Quen’tan when I see him next.
~ ~ ~
“I’ve got something to ask you Calach.” Kat’lana said without warning. It was their final day together; the last of ten they had shared. Although Winnie had done her best to continue Calach’s stay, the dhruids had organized a boat for midmorning, and an escort on the other side to take him through Venicone lands.
Calach and Kat’lana lay, bodies entwined, in her secret woodland retreat; they had needed somewhere quiet to say their goodbyes. Although it was now common knowledge that she and Calach were intimate, they had fled the village early in the morning for some privacy.
As she spoke, for some reason Calach felt a vaguely familiar pressure build up in his head.
“Say nothing!” Kheltine’s voice flooded his mind, and he winced in pain.
“Something about the first evening o’ your visit here.” She continued. “I know the dhruids are hiding something about you.” She felt Calach stir beside her, and smiled, oblivious to his torment. The pain within his head grew stronger the longer she spoke, but his tongue was firmly pushed to the roof of his mouth, he found that he could not make a sound. “But someone is hiding something. I can feel it in the air.”
“Say nothing!”
By this time, Calach had gripped his head with both hands and was squirming in dire agony. Kat’lana finally looked at him.
“What’s wrong?” She said to him, sitting upright. “What’s wrong Calach?” He mouthed silent words, and as he struggled, his eyes contorted his whole body sweating as he tried to come to terms with the dead dhruids force.
SAY NOTHING!
Quickly, yet unhurriedly, Kat’lana began a series of chants, running her fingers over his head in complex patterns, massaging his forehead. The chanting soon began to take a more structured form, the strange words taking shape, almost as they came from her lips. She continued the building of her song until it took the manner of a formal composition, whilst keeping the varied, unorganized pattern. Slowly, reluctantly, the dhruids words retreated in his mind until they seemed a vague memory, the only remnants of the experience he was left with was Kat’lana’s caressing and her tuneful mantra.
“Don’t say anything.” She sung softly, within her song. “Don’t say anything to me yet, just lie there and recover.” She continued to stroke his brow, soothing him.
“I can feel him.” She mouthed in the middle of her song, “I can feel the old man. Just lie still, relax. Listen to what I’m saying, but don’t answer me. Just lie still.” She continued to sing to him gently, the words blending into the relaxing incantation. “I can feel the old man telling you to do something. Look into my eyes if I’m correct.”
Calach opened his eyes and looked longingly into hers. The pain, which had been subsiding with her soothing, stung back again with vigour. His eyes winced closed again and his body felt limp in her arms.
“Ssshh, my love.” Kat’lana crooned. She continued her massage and her humming song until she could see the muscles around his eyes relaxing. Although he seemed to sleep, his body remained tense, she could feel the conflict which he was going through.
“When you came here, Calach,” She spoke the words to him through the song. “Everyone, including the dhruids, were o’ the opinion that Kheltine hadn’t talked to you.” The grimace of pain on his face at the mention of the dhruid’s name made Kat’lana increase her ministrations again. Intuitively she realized the import of the moment. “Are you saying that he did speak to you?”
Again his eyes closed as a wave of pain shot through his head.
Kat’lana’s eyes widened in shock. Kheltine had interfered with Calach’s mind, but somehow kept it secret from all the other dhruids. A secret which he had taken to his grave, as Calach was obviously unable to comment on the subject matter.
“Gently my warrior, gently.” She crooned. His look told her all she needed to know. Somehow the old dhruid had spoken to Calach before he died, and only Calach had the knowledge of their conversation.
“Is he speaking to you now?” She continued.
“SAY NOTHING!” Kheltine’s voice boomed into his brain, seemingly unchecked by her administrations. His body snapped rigid with the onslaught and he fainted again.
“From beyond the grave?”
~ ~ ~
Between sobs, Kat’lana shouted to the diminishing figure at the rear of the boat, now clear of the surf.
“I’ll never forget you!” She roared, her voice breaking. “I’ll meet you again. Winnie says so!”
The few Votadini clanspeople who had accompanied Calach to the shore quickly made their way off the sand, leaving Kat’lana alone with her grief.
Gradually, her tears abated, and she gathered herself and began to make her way back to Tra’pan.
“I’m going to see Winnie!” She mounted her horse. “It’ll mean a lot o’ training, an’ a lot o’ sacrifice.” She said as the horse sped inland towards Tra’pan.
Inwardly she was jubilant, euphoric with her decision.
I’m going to learn the old lore.
Winnie had hinted as much, many times and even told her of the teachings of the moon. But now Kat’lana wanted to learn, and that made it a joyous day indeed.
“I don’t care how difficult it is.” Kat’lana urged her horse faster, “It’s what I want to do.”
Kat’lana debated telling Winnie of Kheltine’s being inside Calach’s head, then stopped herself. She did not know why.
“The old man’s messed with Calach’s mind, and I’m going to find out why, if it means I’ve to learn every piece o’ the old lore to do it!”
Chapter 7.
The Conspiracy.
Early winter, 74AD.
Conrack stood on the battlements at Bar’ton, shivering against the cold, northerly wind. With a half-completed curse he pulled his cape tighter, his numbed fingers clutching the thick cloth to his throat.
Below Conrack, on the road down from the hill fort, Finlass rode to the east at a steady canter. Feigning interest in the oncoming weather, Conrack studied his brother; although he seemed at ease, Finlass looked around as he rode.
Finlass is up to something.
A wicked, confident grin spread across his face.
And very soon I’ll know what it is.
Earlier that morning, pretending disinterest in the conversation, he had listened as Finlass and Ma’damar discussed Finlass’s impending trip. His elder brother’s story had been far from convincing. “Scouting the eastern edges.” Finlass said.
“Probably has designs on some farm girl somewhere!” Ma’damar said to Conrack when Finlass had left, “Whoever she is, she probably won’t be the first to have Finlass’s bastard.”
Conrack had not been taken in by either story.
Finlass had used the same excuse the last time he had left, and on that occasion, out of sheer devilment, Conrack had followed him as he had journeyed east. From the way Finlass had ridden, constantly stealing furtive glances around him, Conrack sensed that his brother had something to hide. The tracking became a game to him.
Even if it was just some clandestine love affair, he wanted to know about it. Knowledge to a younger brother was power, but Conrack had sensed Finlass was attempting to hide much more than just a romance. Finlass had never hidden his sexual adventures before and it was the underhanded manner in which this latest affair was being done that had sparked Conrack’s curiosity.
&nb
sp; On the earlier occasion, after tracking Finlass for nearly a day, Conrack had lost the trail in the forest towards the settlement of Alland. He had been following so far behind Finlass to avoid being caught, that he knew there was a good possibility of losing contact altogether. If his theory was correct, however, Finlass was going off in the same direction, to the same location.
And I’ll know for sure tomorrow.
He watched Finlass ride slowly down the hill, then set off the road in a general easterly bearing. He had a bedroll strapped to the horses back, so he was obviously staying away for a day or so. As he reached the spot where he would pass out of sight from the fort, Finlass looked over his shoulder. The younger brother smiled in mock triumph as his hypothesis proved more and more correct. He could see that Finlass was suspicious, but he made no effort to move from his vantage position. Conrack would merely be a figure on the battlements. He waited for Finlass to pass out of sight, then climbed down from the parapet towards the stables. He was in no hurry to get his horse, he had plenty of time. If his calculations were precise, he had a day to ride north, east, then south, back to Finlass’s route and lie in wait near Alland, where he had lost him on the previous occasion.
Conrack grinned as he thought that when Finlass would be at his most watchful, his most wary of being followed, Conrack would be in the next glen north, far out of sight, riding hard to overtake him.
He thought of telling someone that he was going away, then decided against it. Conrack had no need to worry about being missed for a few days. No one would pay the least attention to his leaving, he was in the habit of staying out of the settlement anyway and he was not the eldest son, therefore no importance would be attached to his absence. That position, below Finlass, had its benefits too.
~ ~ ~
Two days later, in the last dying light of evening, Conrack crouched, huddled amongst bracken and bushes, in the rocks above the settlement of Alland. The simplicity of Conrack’s plan had been its strength; with false confidence Finlass had chosen the same route as before, and Conrack merely had to wait till his brother passed, then follow him to the village.
