by Brian Bates
I stared at him, thunderstruck.
‘He was right by your shoulder, and looking directly at you,’ Wulf went on.
I knew that I was listening to the histrionics of a heathen. Missionaries before me had confirmed the reality of such devils, but Wulf’s claim that I would encounter spirits at his bidding before his eyes, was absurd. Yet my fears were growing rapidly.
‘Was I in danger?’ I asked meekly, cringing with embarrassment as I heard my cowardly question.
‘Possibly. We do not yet know how the spirits will deal with you. If you become aware of the spirits near you, it is imperative that you hold your rune-stick out in your hand, like this.’ He held out his hand with the forefinger extended, as if along the length of the rune-stick; his other fingers curled under to grip the imaginary stick at its base.
I was aware that my fear was increasing by leaps and bounds, despite the fact that only moments before I had dismissed all concerns about the spirits from my mind.
‘But Wulf, why should the spirits wish to hurt me? I have done them no harm.’
He laughed derisively, startling me again and I bit my lip in an attempt to control my panic.
‘The spirits are afraid of you,’ he rasped. ‘You come here with a new god, belittle the spirits as devils and plot to replace me with shaven monks. The spirits will treat you warily; they will want to take you away, on their terms, in order to discover your true intentions. They will not give up their secrets unless they believe you are sincere in your quest, for if you are not then you will use your new-found knowledge against them.’
‘But Wulf, you said your spirits would show me the true depths of your beliefs. Now you tell me that they might reveal their secrets but that they are just as likely to be hostile towards me. What am I to believe?’
‘No one knows how the spirits will deal with them,’ he said gently. ‘Even our own people are sometimes rejected by them. Any attempt to enter the world of spirits is a risk. Death is always a possibility. But we shall go into the forest tomorrow and the spirits will come to you. One thing is certain: they sought you out in the paddock and they will seek you out in the forest. They are moving towards you along the threads of your web; all we can do is to try to ensure that you are as well prepared as possible. For if you fail to heed their messages, the spirits will capture your soul without your knowledge and, like a plant robbed of its root, you will wither and die.’
PART II Journeys into the Spirit World
The Wyrd Sisters
IN THE silver light of dawn, we slipped out of the house and walked through the centre of the settlement along the path leading North to the great forest. Roof-thatches dripped with night rainfall and rivulets of water still ran from sloping roofs and tinkled into deep-dug drainage ditches. Two lean watchdogs splashed after us, sniffing at our scent in the early morning breeze, then lost interest and dropped away. Soon we were clear of the houses and skirting open farmland, crop fields stretching away to the West, divided into strips by grassy baulks and bounded by headland bumpy from turning ploughs.
The sweet smell of wet, ploughed earth brought a sudden rush of memories. My random thoughts, still wrapped in the thrall of slumber, gradually give way to images of my father working the patchwork of fields surrounding the monastery. He farmed strips of common land also, but his summers were spent working the monastic fields with the help of my older brothers. When I reached seven winters I had joined them in the fields, proudly carrying out my hoe at dawn and trudging back tired and hungry at dusk. But I had been even prouder when, some years later, the monks had selected me for instruction in writing reading and—latterly—scripture. I loved especially the work in the scriptorium and, as I walked, the images of fields were replaced by the smell of ink and the feel of crackle-dry parchment.
Eventually the shrill music of early morning birdsong faded and the low mist slipped away to reveal a pink sky. Wulf threaded a path through thinly wooded glades bordering the forest and after a time began to track the course of a stream. Our progress was slowed by pools of enormous bankside ferns and huge shrubs of creamy-flowered elder forced us to make long detours.
We walked all day, stopping to rest only twice; the first time was at noon, to drink from a clear stream, then again later to sit in a shady spot and cool our feet in a still pool.
By late afternoon we were deep into the forest. Wulf led the way on to a riverbank and pointed into the trees. At the top of a sloping grassy bank, 20 feet from the water and hidden against a backdrop of alder and beech, nestled a small man-made shelter. I was astonished, for we were miles from the pig-droving road which cut into the forest from Cydda’s farm and I had been told that no other roads or trails traversed this part of the kingdom. Wulf explained that he had constructed the camp because this was a place of power and from here I would encounter the spirits.
The shelter was well built: a sloping roof, covered with turf, leaned against a heavy branch fixed horizontally between two conveniently placed birch trees. The entrance, facing towards the river, was screened by two wattle hurdles lashed to the structure by rope and chinked in with moss, reeds and leafy twig. One of the hurdles was attached to an upright stake with rope hinges and served as a door.
I helped Wulf to set up the camp, clearing debris from the fire-pit and flinging armfuls of fallen leaves and twig into the undergrowth. Then Wulf constructed a fishing pole from a long bough cut from a low-hanging willow and twine from one of his sacks, while I dug for bait in the soft earth above the river bank.
Before long I was fishing from a large, flat rock just above the waterline, while Wulf waded upriver in search of watercress and vegetables. Lazily, I threw the bait into the river and leaned back to wait for a bite. I felt relieved that the day had so far passed without incident, but I knew that I could not count on peace and quiet for long Wulf was a man of consummate confidence and assurance and he was adamant that I would encounter the spirits. I also knew that, having come this far with Wulf, I was committed to working with him on his terms. Whatever happened from this point on was surely in the hands of the Lord. I closed my eyes, slipped my hand inside the tunic, clasped my crucifix and murmured the Lord’s Prayer.
Eventually I lifted my heavy eyelids to see lengthening afternoon shadows sneaking out across the river and clouds of darting gnats emerging from the shelter of the trees. Brown-winged alder-flies struggled just above the water, buffeted by the gentle breeze as though it were a raging storm I watched the current gurgling past my feet, swirling broad and deep around a wide bend and disappearing under a dense overhang of black-barked alder. Across the water the opposite bank crowded with beech and willow, roots clawing the water-line like giant, curling toes, partly covered with clumps of spiky, purple balls of water mint and forget-me-nots. It was a beautiful and tranquil setting. Drowsily, my eyes sank slowly shut.
Suddenly I snapped fully alert, my body tensed, though I had no idea what alarmed me. The riverbank lay deserted and eerily silent; all birdsong had ceased. Then I heard, just barely, a low rumbling sound which seemed to float on the breeze from across the river. I stared wide-eyed into the undergrowth, but could see nothing unusual. Vaguely, I became aware of the fishingpole slipping from my grasp into the water.
Glimpsing movement upriver, I dug my bare toes into the rock ready for running but then I saw that it was Wulf paddling slowly under the willow and alder overhang his hands piled high with bunches of watercress. I swallowed hard, trying to regain some sense of composure.
Wulf splashed on to the bank and stood for a moment, examining me closely. Then he began to laugh.
‘Where is the fishingpole?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows in mock curiosity.
With a sinking heart I remembered that I had dropped it. ‘In the water,’ I said sheepishly.
‘You should not have been surprised,’ he said softly, suddenly serious. ‘The spirits have been following us all day. Did you not hear them earlier?’
I gaped at him. I knew that ther
e was no way he could have heard the buzzing sound from his position downriver.
‘Hurry up!’ Wulf said. ‘We have to collect firewood before dusk falls.’
In a daze, I paddled into the river to retrieve the pole and, collecting the one trout I had caught, hurried up the bank to join Wulf at the fire-pit. Under the shade of the trees, he had dug a food store; now we dropped the watercress and the fish into the hole in the ground, carefully covered them over and scattered leaves to camouflage the area.
Then Wulf led the way downriver and along a deer trail that cut deeper into the forest, collecting and stacking loose firewood on the way for us to pick up on our return to the camp. Eventually we emerged from a coppice of hazel into a long broad meadow. Setting sunlight slanted through the surrounding tree cover like golden javelins and around the perimeter of the meadow, birch, beech and occasional oaks floated in a sea of green and yellow fern.
Suddenly I saw Wulf standing rigidly upright, nostrils flared, sniffing as if for the scent of the wild boar. Nervously I scanned the surrounding trees and shrubs, but saw nothing of consequence. Then I heard, or rather felt, a faint vibration under my feet and stood rooted to the spot as the sensation grew into an ominous rumble. Wulf’s head jerked around and he pointed straight-armed towards the far end of the glade, directly under the shade trees. The ground shimmered with a thick covering of pale blue clover which was undulating like an incoming tide. As I stared at the spot, I realized that the movement was caused by a swarm of bees bustling in and out of the clover, droning just above ground level.
‘The Lord be blessed!’ I blurted out in relief. ‘It was only bees all the...’ Wulf silenced me with a frantic wave of his arm
‘Those bees are the Wyrd Sisters,’ he hissed. ‘Come on!’
Wulf started running towards the tree cover, his body bent double; I scrambled after him, hurling myself into the ferns at the edge of the glade. Wulf swept off his hat and knelt low, watching the bees through waving fern fronds. Craning my neck over his shoulder, I stared unblinking down the glade. The bees were at least fifty paces distant, too far away to see in detail.
‘The Wyrd Sisters have come to loosen your fibres,’ he breathed, his eyes still fixed on the bees. ‘That will make it possible for you to encounter the spirits by travelling along your personal web of power. Brand, you must go to meet them. Show them you are available and that you want to be helped.’
I half stood, determined to leave. ‘Wulf, I don’t want to. I cannot do it. Let us get out of the forest.’
But he gripped my arm in a grasp like an iron clamp.
‘We cannot do that, Brand. It is not possible. If you try to run they will know that you are not sincere in your wish to learn our secrets and they will kill you.’
He opened his mouth to speak again, but then turned away to glance down the meadow once more, keeping his grip on my arm
‘Now listen carefully,’ he commanded, spitting out the words in a hissing whisper. ‘Walk slowly and softly towards them. When you get close, within ten paces, turn your back on them and walk away. If they ignore you, then they are not ready for you! Do you understand?’
I nodded stiffly, my heart pounding.
‘But Wulf, what happens if they are ready for me?’
‘Then the Wyrd Sisters will loosen your fibres.’
‘How?’
Wulf ignored the question. He was again peering over the ferns towards the bees and I did not move.
‘Go!’ Wulf said, pushing me out of the undergrowth. I stepped into the clearing and stood rigidly, staring down the meadow. I had become accustomed to following Wulf’s instructions and, indeed, had accepted this as a necessary part of the arrangements by which I might enter and understand his pagan world. But as I stared at the seething swarm I shivered uncontrollably. I did not know whether I was approaching bees or spirits but, if Wulf did indeed discourse with devils, I could be facing death. I glanced heavenward, but the Lord’s Prayer stuck in my throat. I was approaching devils of my own free will and I had no right to ask for His help. I took a deep breath and began to steal slowly down the glade towards the bees. Twice I faltered and had to force myself to take further steps. Finally I stopped ten paces from the droning swarm, where I waited, holding my breath. Sweat ran freely from my temples and dripped from my chin. I stood for what seemed an age while the swarm rumbled monotonously, the low drone almost soporific. Gradually I began to relax; they sounded like a normal swarm of contentedly foraging bees and I could see nothing unusual in their behaviour. They did not appear to be at all interested in me. Either the spirits were not ready for me or, much more likely, Wulf had been mistaken and the bees were nothing more than they appeared. With a sigh of relief I turned on my heel and strode back up the glade. Immediately the droning grew louder and I darted a glance over my shoulder just in time to see the bees forming a dense cloud a foot above the clover. Simultaneously I felt a strong grip on my left shoulder and found that Wulf was standing beside me.
‘Walk backwards. Slowly,’ he ordered, his voice harsh and commanding cutting across the noise of the swarm. ‘Do not turn your back on them, Brand. Those bees have the power of the Sisters; they have come to loosen your fibres.’
We began to move backwards, Wulf seeming to glide noiselessly over the clover. I slowed my movements to match his and we moved away from the bees almost imperceptibly. But the bees swarmed higher, the drone rising in pitch until it filled the glade with a piercing whine. I was struggling with an almost irresistible urge to turn and run when Wulf signalled for me to halt.
‘Take off your right shoe,’ he ordered, gesturing urgently towards my feet. I stared at him in panic, thinking that I had not heard him correctly. Wulf’s eyes narrowed to slits, his face taut with concentration.
‘Hurry! Do as I say.’
Immediately I dropped to one knee and began to unwrap my shoe. My hands trembled and the leather knots resisted my frantic fingers. With the straps half untied, I tore the shoe from my foot and flung it aside.
Wulf whipped off the thongs around his right leg took off his own shoe and begin pulling hard at the clover near his feet.
‘Clear a patch of earth and put your bare foot on to it. Fast!’
He was now having to shout in order to be heard over the whine.
Desperately I scrabbled at the clover, repeatedly glancing at Wulf and then down the glade towards the bees. He continued digging his fingers into the soil and piling earth next to him, then he slammed his bare foot on to the exposed patch of ground. I placed my own foot on the bare earth I had cleared.
The bees swarmed above head height and Wulf turned to me. ‘They are coming after you, Brand. Get ready.’
I did not know what I was supposed to do. I was rooted to the spot, kneeling on the ground with my bare foot on the earth and quite unable to take any positive action. I began to murmur the Lord’s Prayer, forcing it through clenched teeth, swallowing hard after every line. Then the bees came, moving slowly like a gigantic, deadly cloud. Crouching Wulf snatched up a handful of soil, leaped prodigiously into the air and in the same movement hurled the soil into the swarm. His voice was a hoarse shriek:
Settle, Wyrd Women,
Swoop to the ground.
Unfetter the bonds that lie around Brand.
The bees hurtled towards me like a quiver of screaming arrows. Panic stricken, I whirled around and plunged head long up the meadow, slipping and slithering on grass suddenly wet with pouring rain, running so fast that I could hardly stretch my legs far enough to keep up with my body. Rain arrows bit into the ground all around me and then something hit me hard from behind. I recoiled from the blow, spun around and the ground slammed into me. Rolling over and over, tasting blood, with the roar of the bees all around me, I landed on my back and saw the sky blackened by an enormous rain cloud. As I watched in horror, the cloud twisted and swirled into the shapes of three immense women, spitting flames across the sky. These monster women swooped screaming out of the sky
, spectres crowding through the air and heading straight towards me, crackling sheets of arrows pouring from their bellies and flashing into my body. The wind tore a scream from my lips and in desperation I snatched the rune-stick from my neck, grasped it tightly in my right hand and flung it at the women with all of my strength. With a great crack of light, the monsters swept away from me into the swirling sky, churning like some storming ocean. I looked around wildly for the bees, but they had gone. I sank back into the sopping grass, dizzy and sick; then darkness descended and blotted everything out.
When I recovered consciousness it was still dark. I tried to heave my self into a sitting position, but a blinding bolt of pain flashed behind my eyes and scorched down my neck. I lay still, breathing hard, allowing the nightmare to slip away into the soft embrace of darkness. Sweat lay wet on my face and neck. My body felt on fire and a dull pain throbbed down my left side. After a time I realized that my clothes were missing and I was wrapped up in a blanket.
Suddenly a painfully bright light pierced the darkness. I shut my eyes tightly and then felt something cool cover my forehead. Forcing my eyes open, I looked up into Wulf s smiling face. I tried to smile back, but a stabbing pain in my side twisted my expression into a grimace.
‘The Wyrd Sisters have loosened your fibres,’ he said, beaming ‘Your fibres can now move freely according to the tides and currents of wyrd, the positions of the stars, the pattern of the sun and moon and the most insignificant of distant events. With your fibres able to move freely, your soul can travel through your shield-skin to the land of the spirits.’
Although I could hear his words, his voice sounded tiny and muffled like the faint scratching of field-mice in a grain store.
Wulf removed his palm from my forehead and, in silence, peeled back the blanket. Gritting my teeth, I raised my hand and peered into the light to see what was causing the pain in my side. My body was covered with a mass of small red swellings concentrated especially across the stomach where they merged into one streak of red like an open wound.
