The door posts of Thor’s temple were richly carved with snakes that seemed to writhe as they passed between them. His chair, made from a witch oak grown near-Blokula until smitten with the lightning of Thor’s hammer, at first seemed empty.
As they came beneath the lintel of the door they saw that this was not so, for in it sat, intently staring at them, what they first thought to be a shaggy man, until he rose and it became apparent that, if he were at all human, it was from his waist up to his curly crown. Below that, he was beast. His legs bent the wrong way and hooves clacked on the flagstones. As he moved quickly toward them, tittering, his yellow eyes gloated upon the girl.
Gwalchmai lifted the lid of the dish and held it out to the clutching hands. The satyr’s gaze dropped. He snatched and snuffed with flaring nostrils at the steaming contents. He plunged his face greedily into the depths of the dish.
Gwalchmai spoke in soothing tones. “See, Mimingus, we are friends. We bring food for poor, hungry Mimingus, whom everyone neglects. Everything good is for Thor—the baked meats, the boiled meats, the rich pastries! Who thinks of Mimingus, but we who are his friends?
“Eat, dear friend Mimingus. Here are hearts of beef and sheep, hearts of mouse and mole and toad—all tasty food to make you happy and strong. Here are hearts of flying things, seagull and thrush and peewit—all fit to lift your spirits—and hearts of snake and fish and eel. When you eat the delicious morsels, you will feel a kinship with all living things, for all living things, in this way, will become a part of you. Because we love you, we give you our best and you shall have it all. Eat, Mimingus!”
And eat the satyr did, hunkered down on the stones, stuffing himself avidly, cramming his mouth full with greasy hands, casting his goat eyes from side to side in quick glances, lest this generosity be regretted and it be taken from him.
Only once, he muttered, “Dear friends, when you come again, remember—man’s heart is best of all!”
Gwalchmai stepped softly to Thor’s chair. Hanging upon its high back, waiting ready should the Thunder-god desire to wear it, was the heavy golden torque the three had come to seek.
As he laid hand upon it, lightning flashed distantly from a cloudless sky. Thunder grumbled far away, but Gwalchmai seized the torque with boldness and twisted it in a spiral around the biceps of his left arm. Then, chuckling with impish humor, he scratched a long-armed cross upon the back of the chair with the point of his sword. Under it he traced the monogram of Merlin, as it was carved upon his ring.
The thunder did not peal again, but the three hastened away to their boat, leaving the satyr still feeding, back turned to them. By morning, they were far from the Faroes and on the way to Mona.
Skirting the Shetlands, the knorr put in briefly at the Orkneys, where Lavran Harvaddsson, Thyra’s uncle, gave them good cheer and they stayed at Stromness a short week. After they were rested, they sailed on southward through the Minch, without seeing kelpies or water-bulls or those dangerous Blue Men who delight to sink ships in that narrow gut. They made landfall again on the island of Barra, in the Hebrides.
Skarphedinn, the aged brother of Lavran’s wife, sheltered them for a day and night, and kept them up late with gossip, for he also thought well of Thyra Skeggisdatter. When they left this island, they also left the edge of Viking-controlled waters.
When they entered the North Channel, it was after dark and with trepidation, for neither the men of Erin nor the Scots would give anything but scant mercy to a single Norse boat. They made most of the journey by night, hid on a little island during the next day, and by the time it was morning again they had reached the isle of Eubonia.
By traveling thus rapidly, it seemed that although they had incurred the anger of Thor they had thus far avoided the consequences, but now a terrific storm burst upon them. They had no difficulty in finding Eubonia—they ran into it
Fortunately they grounded on a fine beach where they were able to pull up the boat without damage. The next morning they were offered shelter by patrolling sentries in Jarl Orry’s service when they found that the travelers were not loyal to the King of Norway.
Jarl Orry had taken the island from the Welsh, but later set up an independent kingdom there. When he learned the strangers’ errand and that Gwalchmai had a smattering of magic, he would have liked well to keep them with him. It would have pleased him much to hold the land under mist to bide it from Harald Fairhair, as Mannanan-Beg-Mac-y-Lheirr had done, before Arthur’s nephew Maelgwyn expelled the Scoti. However, when he found that Thor bore ill will toward them, he no longer urged their staying, but provisioned their boat in all haste and set them on their way again.
They made southerly coasting until nightfall, then steering by the stars struck out straight south into the Hibernian Sea. Just before morning, they made a safe landing upon Mona, having seen no boats during this run of over fifty miles.
They poled the knorr into a shallow winding channel issuing from a marsh, lowered the mast, and covered all with reeds. Then they set out to find the barrow of Ge-tain, where lay the entrance to Elveron.
Fortunately they were in friendly country, for Mona was under the rule of the Prince of North Wales. Because the Irish were presently at peace and wandered the country freely, Flann had no difficulty in obtaining directions from a pretty cowgirl he met Most women admired his tall figure and he had never been tongue-tied with any except Thyra.
He traded a copper coin for a piggin of milk, having bought pitcher and all for it and could have had a kiss to boot had he pressed his good fortune. He went away whistling and found the others where they were hiding, for until then they were not sure of their welcome—Corenice, because of Thyra’s golden hair, and Gwalchmai, by reason of his clothes. Still, the latter was again among a dark people and only his height set him apart.
“We are in great luck!” announced Flann. “Only an hour’s fast walk from here there are two cromlechs called the Twins and passing between them, sighting toward the east, lies the Sea-King’s barrow. Can you not tell us why you must go there? Hie girl said no one goes near it and it must be a dree place.”
Now if Flann had known that this was a country of the Sidhe, as the Irish called the little people, had he any choice he would not have come this far. And this both Gwalchmai and Corefüce knew. Corenice had kept this one fact from Thyra’s mind, lest she tell him, though in all other matters those two had no secrets and were in sympathy with each other.
So Gwalchmai made answer only that there the spae-wife had bid him take Thor’s torque and place it in Getain’s tomb, from whence it had been stolen, his errand once accomplished, their mission would be at an end and he could go on alone.
With this Flann was satisfied. He had not liked being in company with the purloined necklace, for he felt that luck was not in it Moreover, to be alone with Thyra and free to go anywhere at all was his greatest desire and much more than he had hoped. So he made no objections, but went back after more milk and likewise bought a black hen, for Gwalchmai had need of both.
When they came to the cromlech Twins, they saw that these were the only standing stones of what was originally ‘a large circle. Gwalchmai knew at once, from his readings hi Merlin’s books, that this barrow was incredibly ancient Getain might indeed have been laid there, but it was not a howe that had been built for him.
As night approached there were stealthy snuffling sounds without the circle and a padding of huge soft feet or paws, which continually trod heavily some round of their own, just beyond their limits of vision, though as it grew darker, the sounds came closer. Occasionally they heard the click of long nails upon bare stone and thus they knew it was no trick of fancy, but that some actual presence was there, guarding the entrance to Elveron. Yet they felt that they were in no danger, provided the entrance was left undisturbed.
Without coming closer to the high mound of the barrow in the center of the circle, Gwalchmai cut off the head of the black hen and let the blood flow into the pitcher of milk. When the win
gs had ceased flapping, he threw the carcass far outside the circle and instantly he heard running feet, a deep growl, and a crunching, as the hen was snapped up, bones and all, by the unseen guardian.
Flann whispered fearfully; “The Dogs! The Loathly Dogs of Annwn!” He made his ax ready and peered about, waiting for the attack, but none came.
Gwalchmai stirred the blood thoroughly into the milk and ran with it toward the barrow. As he did so, Flann and the girl felt a great sinewy body bound between them following after, hurling them to either side. It ran across the greensward without noise, and somehow this was more frightening than the sounds of stalking that had dismayed them while they Waited for the proper hour of sunset.
There was a great rough stone upon the mound. On its upper face a sun wheel had been carved in ancient times and where its boss should have been a deep cup was instead hollowed out in the wheel’s center. Into this, Gwalchmai poured the milk.
At that instant he felt himself seized by a pair of massive jaws, which closed about his chest and raised him from the ground, shaking him like a rat, while the thing snarled in fury.
He heard Corenice and Flann running in toward him. He cried out, in gasping desperation, “Back! Back! For your soul’s lives!”
It did not stop them from coming to his rescue, but it halted them for a few steps, and in that time he brought up the arm holding Thor’s torque and laid it against the creature’s cold and scaly muzzle.
He heard it sniff at the gold; then the jaws released the terrible pressure, the giant head dipped and laid him gently down upon the ground.
Corenice and Flann came and lifted him. The thing whined and fawned upon them in apology, rubbing up against the group like a monstrous cat. They waited for what might befall. All this while they saw nothing, but soon they heard the sound of lapping, a long contented sigh, and the beast was gone.
The moon rose late that night, but when the rays fell cleanly upon the barrow the three rolled away the stone. Beneath it was an entrance framed in rock slabs and steps that led down.
Gwalchmai turned to the others in farewell.
“Here I must go on alone, but I shall return when I have done what I must do. Wait for me.”
They nodded, without speaking, for their hearts were full.
Torches had already been prepared, for Gwalchmai knew what he was to find. Now one was lit. He and Corenice exchanged one lingering glance. They did not touch each other and there was no other farewell. Close as they were, no embrace could have meant more to them than that look of understanding and union.
Then he was gone—down into that midnight world of Getain’s barrow.
They waited. Dawn came, but he did not return. The sun shone hot overhead at noon. They remained inside the stone circle but did not follow him down. Birds flew overhead, bees buzzed, and once a rabbit came and fed close by since they lay so quiet—waiting.
Through another night and another day they watched. They had nothing to eat or drink and the stars wheeled overhead and paled and it was the third morning. Then they knew, against all hoping, that some ill had befallen Gwalchmai and that he would not come.
Faint with hunger, they returned to the boat to find water and food for their bodies’ need and as the two walked despondently on, Corenice and Thyra communed.
Corenice said (but Flann heard no words), “Little sister, who are so much a part of me, I have kept my promise that I made you. It was a harder thing to do than you can know, but you are as you were and you can go to your lover with no loss of pride.”
It was as though Thyra whispered (but again Flann heard nothing), “I know what you have done and what you have not done, and I love you for it—but what you will do now, if I go, I do not know. I do not know and I fear for you, for you are also a part of me.”
Then it seemed to each as though the two embraced, understanding each other in this sad moment of parting more than they ever had before, and Corenice said, “I shall wait, as I waited before—as he asked me to wait, forever if it need be. What else can anyone who loves do for her man? Yet, before you and I leave each other, I will make you both a gift so that you will know no more sorrow.”
Then she spoke through Thyra’s lips and said, “Flann!”
And when Flann paused and turned, for he was walking ahead of the girl, he felt her palms against his eyes and suddenly he forgot what he had seen since he first landed in Iceland.
She placed her palms against his ears and he forgot what he had heard and felt upon all that long journey since he had begun it in the Faroes and had come upon the shores of Mona.
Then she stroked his brow and breathed upon it and new memories came to him—how he had stolen Thyra away from Biarki, who had slain Skeggi, and whom he hated. He remembered that they had fled in a small boat and now were not far from Erin and his ancestral home—but still he was not sure she loved him, for that was not a false memory any magic could-place in a man’s mind. Not even the very ancient magic of Atlantis.
Thyra felt herself alone, and a little fieldmouse scurried away into the grass beside the path they trod, but as it went it stopped and looked back briefly. All at once she knew the same memories as Flann had. She turned away from the mouse, for it meant nothing to her and Flann was now all her world. So they went on together, back to the boat, not remembering where they had been or why they had left it—and as they walked they did so hand in hand. After they had eaten, they poled the boat down the channel into the sea and the question was—where should they go?
Flann was unsure of himself still. It seemed that just beyond the edges of his memory there was something he had not quite forgotten and it perplexed and worried him.
Finally he said, “Are you sorry that you came with me? Would you rather I set you ashore or took you back to Stromsey?”
Thyra looked demurely upon him and said, “What is your will that I should do? Does a stolen girl have any choice where she may go? What would you have me do?”
Flann said, “My land of Erin is a green, fair land and there are not many girls in it with long golden hair and a beauty” such as yours. Surely there you would be as a princess and everyone would love and admire you and no one more than myself. Yet, if it is your wish, I will take you back to your home, for well I know that there is no such sickness as that longing.“
To this Thyra made no direct answer, but she said, “Do you still have the book from which you read me tales on our long trip?” (For this was one of the memories Corenice had left intact in her mind.)
When Flann had fetched the book she searched it for a picture she remembered and said, “Read here.”
And he read: “ ‘Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return ,from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.’”
He looked up and said, “Oh, Thyra!” But she only said, “Read on.” And he read: “
“Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.‘”
A sob came in his throat and he could not go on—so Thyra finished for him, as she had memory of the lovely words: “ ‘Not but death part thee and me.’ ”
He looked up and saw her as through a mist, but still he could not believe and he said, “Could you really love a man who has been a slave?”
She said, “Oh, Flann! There was never a time when I looked upon you that I ever saw a thrall!”
And after that, for a long time, the boat sailed on toward Erin, by itself.
6
The J^and of the J^ittle
When Gwalchmai reached the bottom of the steps, he found that he was at the entrance to a long passage. The slabs of rock forming the sides and roof were of megalithic proportions. The light of his torch did not reach the chamber he knew must lie at the end of the passageway.
He went forward with caution. He had some dread of this underground adventure, mindful of Merlin’s warning that in such places Oduarpa, Lord of the Dark Face, held greater po
wer than upon the surface. Remembering tomb mounds of Alata, in the valley of the Onion, and the traps set there for robbers, he felt his way step by cautious step.
He was alone. No one could follow to help him. Merlin’s books had told of the pyramids of Egypt and of tilting slabs that would drop the unwary to their death in pits of unguessable depths.
A passage such as this could lead to unknown horror, if Oduarpa was aware of his entry. Had a bat, or a mouse, gone ahead of him, Gwalchmai would have taken it for a psychopomp guiding his soul to the underworld, but nothing moved except shadows.
He was afraid, but he went on.
Suddenly he came into the chamber. The passage had been less than one hundred feet, but it had seemed much farther. He realized that he must be quite deep in the earth, for the mound above had not been of great size and it must be the domed roof of the chamber—a dome formed by overlapping the successive courses of the side walls, which here were formed of smaller slabs, untrimmed and un-ornamented.
The roof soared upward at least twenty feet above him and the room itself must have been thirty feet across. It looked? from inside, much like one of the beehive huts of the Culdees.
There was nothing in it but a stone burial kist. It was obvious that grave robbers had been busy, but long before Gwalchmai’s arrival. The stone cover of the kist had been tilted aside and the bones within scattered irreverently about the floor of the chamber. There were no articles of value to be seen—no rings, no bracelets, no amber such as the seafarers loved. There was not even a scrap of armor. Gwalchmai wondered if this was indeed the tomb of Getain, pirate and King.
He had an innate respect for the dead. He did not want to search the room and splinter the desecrated skeleton beneath his feet. Yet he must sedk out the entrance to the Kingdom of the Fay, which obviously lay still deeper. He picked up the bones and arranged them in the kist, in such order as he could.
An amused voice interrupted his labor. “Well! The old fellow looks better now than he has for many a year!”
Merlin's Ring Page 9
