The Way of Wyrd

by Brian Bates

  ‘But Wulf, you spread this paste all over my body to protect me. Why isn’t it working? How did my soul escape?’

  Wulf shook his head slowly. ‘Normally the substance I prepared is sufficient to keep out any kind of force and I applied it very carefully. We must be dealing with very powerful spirits indeed.’

  ‘But you said you could talk to the spirits. Well, talk to them, tell them who I am, tell them I am not ready yet.’ My voice shook with emotion and I thought I was going to break down again. I fought to maintain control and some semblance of dignity. Fleetingly I thought of my family and my home and wondered whether I would ever see them again. Despite my efforts to disguise my fear, I felt my face puckering to cry.

  ‘I’ll abandon my mission,’ I said, my voice breaking into sobs. ‘I am serious this time. Take me back to the settlement. I will return another time, another year.’

  Wulf crouched in front of me and gripped my arm.

  ‘It is too late for that,’ he said firmly. ‘There is no means by which we could get out of the forest safely, now that the spirits are after your soul. You are too vulnerable.’

  ‘But what can we do then?’ I whined, wringing my hands in anguish.

  ‘I am going to look around, Brand. I want to be sure that the spirits have left us. I shall plant a web of power around this clearing runes buried so that no forces may gain access to your soul while you are within their circle.’

  Wulf jerked his head towards the shelter. ‘Stay inside the shelter while I am gone and on no account open the door until I return. If you venture outside the shelter before I have planted the rune-sticks, you will be exposing yourself to great danger.’

  He walked with me to the shelter, pulled open the wattle door and ushered me into the dark confines beneath the sloping roof. He crawled in with me, placed his hand on my shoulder briefly, then slipped out and shut the door behind him I heard the rope latch slither into place and his footsteps padding into the distance. Then I lay alone in the shelter.

  The little room was dark with shadows, though gradually my eyes sought out chinks of grey-light which seeped in through the cracks, and light from the camp-fire flickered around the door frame. I sat in the blackness feeling numb and confused, but after a time I began to reflect on my behaviour. In particular, I was puzzled and a bit afraid of my wild swings in mood. Days ago, before embarking on this mission, I had dedicated myself to the service of the Lord and prayed for His protection. Yet a short time ago I had been crying to be released from this forest. I felt ashamed and a surprising quality entered my sense of shame the awareness that I did not want Wulf to be disappointed in me. He seemed to be making a sincere attempt to lead me to his gods and I did not want to let him down.

  Anger surged through my stomach; anger at myself for having been so weak and unworthy. And with the anger came renewed confidence, determination, will. I rolled over and crawled around the floor of the shelter searching for my bag. When I found it at the back of the shelter I fumbled blindly inside until I found three candles, fine-quality altar candles which I had brought with me all the way from Mercia Clearing away piles of moss, I pushed the bases of the candles into the earth floor. It took me a long time to trim the wicks in the dark, the knife feeling cumbersome in comparison with the small wick cutters we used in the monastery.

  When the candles were ready, I pulled one from the ground, crawled to the door and lifted the latch cautiously. Wulf’s warnings were in my mind, but I knew that I would have to light the candle from the camp-fire outside. The door creaked slightly ajar and I peered through the crack. Night had settled, but I could see the area immediately surrounding the fire-pit. Swinging the door open, I ran to the fire, doubled over in some absurd attempt to remain unseen, and lit the candle from the flames. Then I turned, cupping my hand around the candle-flame, and scuttled back into the shelter. The door clattered flimsily behind me and I stayed still for a moment on my hands and knees, gasping with relief, listening for sounds of spirits. There were none.

  I lit the other candles and the room became lightly scented with the comforting aroma of beeswax. I placed two of the candles side by side, took the crucifix from around my neck and laid it on the ground between the candles. It seemed to glow in the soft light and spread a warmth around the room I bent over and kissed the cross gently; then, grasping the third candle, I crawled to the rear of the shelter and stuck the base firmly in the ground; it drove away the menacing shadows that lurked under the angle where the sloping roof met the earth. As I straightened up, I felt a tickling sensation on my side and thinking that a spider had crawled inside my tunic, I slapped hard at the spot. Then I realized that it was a rune-stick. Delving deep inside my clothing I pulled out the stick and examined it closely under the candlelight. It looked crude and clumsy, yet as I turned it towards the flickering flame the stick seemed to take on a warmth of its own. The carvings leaped into relief as light and shadow moved across the flat part of the stick and the shapes seemed to me to be deeply familiar, as if I had carved them aeons ago. I rubbed my forefinger along the runes and felt a pleasurable tingling in my fingers. Carefully, I dropped the rune-stick back inside my tunic and tied shut the open neck of my clothing. In this land of spirits, even a pagan amulet offered some comfort.

  * * *

  Night thickened and still there was no sign of Wulf. My thoughts were forced to turn to more mundane matters: I had not relieved myself since early afternoon and now I needed desperately to urinate. At first I stalled, sitting in discomfort and waiting for Wulf to return. He had warned me not to leave the shelter and I had already risked one foray outside to light the candle from the fire. I considered—and dismissed—urinating in the shelter, for it would be utterly humiliating if Wulf were to find out. But as my need became even more urgent I resolved that I must go outside. I pressed my ear to the crack between the birch upright and the wattle door; I could hear nothing except the soft whisper of the night breeze and the familiar sound of night animals. Very slowly I pulled open the latch and peered out through the narrow slit. Black clouds crawled across the face of the moon and shadows crowded close to the fire. With a pounding heart I pulled open the door, stepped into the dim pool of firelight and, humming loudly, hurried quickly around the side of the shelter. I did not go as far as the cesspit but instead ventured only a few paces into the trees and stood there for several minutes. The forest was full of sounds and I could not urinate.

  Suddenly there was a loud crack, something moved under my right foot and the bushes shuddered and trembled. Immediately I scrambled back into the shelter and slammed the door, almost pulling it from its hinges. I sat hugging myself, rocking back and forth in anguish, taking in deep, shuddering breaths to reassure myself that my soul had not been snatched again.

  After an eternity the latch clicked and the door swung open. Wulf smiled at my startled expression.

  ‘Did you think the spirits had got you?’ he teased.

  I tried to cover my embarrassment with humorous banter: I told Wulf that his idle warnings had cost me much discomfort, and explained that out of respect for his dire predictions, I had debated for hours whether to go outside to relieve myself.

  The door rattled shut behind him

  ‘You went outside?’ he said, obviously shocked.

  ‘No. That’s why I am so pleased to see you,’ I lied.

  ‘You did the right thing’ Wulf said gravely.

  He turned and opened the door quietly, stepping out in front of the shelter. I could see him framed against the night sky, swivelling his head slowly from right to left, surveying the area beyond the firelight and into the surrounding darkness.

  Gesturing for me to follow him, Wulf walked away from the shelter towards the trees. Hurrying after him, I crossed the clearing and went to the place we used as a cesspit. I stood in the bushes and Wulf posted himself directly behind me, his back against mine, staring out into the surrounding darkness. The whole situation was absurd, but I was too apprehensive to p
rotest.

  When I had relieved myself, we walked back to the camp. Suddenly I felt a loud banging in my ears, as if a hammer were inside my head.

  ‘Wulf, I can hear the buzzing again!’ I yelled in panic. ‘It’s really loud.’

  He grasped me by the arm and hustled me back towards the fire. In a hoarse whisper, he instructed me to sit with him, back to back, on the patch of ground between the shelter and the fire.

  ‘We must let them come,’ he hissed. ‘You must see them. They cannot hurt you here, you are protected by a web of power. Runes are planted all around the clearing.’

  I trembled violently. ‘But Wulf, I’m terrified of the spirits; what will they do?’

  ‘Sit still,’ he grunted, settling his back firmly against mine. ‘As long as you stay within this patch of ground, the spirits cannot now touch your soul.’

  We sat for a long time. I hardly dared to breathe and my body crawled with sensations. My left foot became numb near the ankle and then I developed a feeling of pressure and pain halfway down my back, on the right side. The muscles on my chest began to tighten. My buttocks became numb. The sensations grew in intensity until the back pain became unbearable, but I shifted position slightly and the pain disappeared.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Wulf whispered immediately.

  I told him that my back had become stiff and painful, but moving it had cured the discomfort.

  ‘You should have told me,’ he said irritably. ‘Do not take chances.’

  Shortly afterwards I felt a burning sensation in both buttocks which worsened until I could hardly stand it.

  ‘Wulf, my backside’s burning,’ I gasped.

  ‘Push on your leg and lift your buttocks from the ground,’ he ordered. Using Wulf’s back as a brace, I tightened my leg muscles and eased my bottom a few inches from the ground. Almost immediately the pain went away.

  ‘It’s all right now,’ I whispered and resumed my normal position.

  We had been sitting for perhaps half the night when I had a sudden fit of yawning.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Wulf hissed.

  ‘Yawning’

  ‘The spirits are here,’ he snapped, suddenly leaping to his feet.

  I fell flat on my back, arms flailing to regain balance and looking around wildly for some sign of the spirits; I could not protect myself from something I could not see. I rolled into a crouch and grabbed a heavy piece of firewood from the edge of the fire-pit, but Wulf took the club from my hand and tossed it to the ground.

  ‘We do not need weapons for this,’ he growled. ‘The spirits are testing you. Show them your rune-stick and they will understand that you are not yet ready. But try to attack them and they will either kill you or disappear never to return. Then you will have come all this way for nothing.’

  He helped me to my feet. ‘Now follow me, and you may get a glimpse of them.’

  Wulf crouched over and trotted out from under the tree cover on to the open riverbank. I stayed close behind him. At the water’s edge Wulf sank down on to his hands and knees and I did the same.

  ‘Stay absolutely still,’ he breathed. ‘One careless movement and they will be on top of us.’

  We lay motionless on the riverbank, the surrounding trees barely lit by a pale moon. I could not see, hear or feel anything out of the ordinary, but I was tense with apprehension and excitement.

  A cool breeze blew into my face and curved around the back of my raised head. It felt as if I were being pelted with feathers.

  ‘Can you hear anything?’ Wulf asked eventually, squinting at me through the darkness.

  I was not sure what sort of sound I ought to be hearing.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Only the breeze.’

  He gripped my arm and stared at me wide-eyed. ‘Did you feel a wind?’ he demanded, his voice urgent and anxious.

  I pointed ahead of us and to the right to indicate the source of the wind, near the down river end of the bank, just inside the tree cover.

  Wulf stared in the direction of my pointing finger. Suddenly he tightened his grip on my arm ‘Can you see them?’ he whispered excitedly. ‘In the crack willow?’

  I edged a little closer to him in order to look at the trees from the same vantage point, my eyes wide and staring unblinking. It was difficult to make out anything about the tree except its huge bulk. In the darkness the spread of the old tree was enormous, looming 20 yards high, its top branches cutting deeply into the grey night sky. I had seen the tree in the daylight and now I tried to recall details of its appearance. Two thick trunks were joined at the base, one leaning over at a steep angle towards the river, and the yellow branches were covered by a mass of feathery, silver-green slender leaves.

  Wulf rose slowly to his hands and knees. ‘Stay here and do not move,’ he whispered.

  ‘You are going to leave me here?’ I whined. The idea of lying alone on the riverbank terrified me.

  ‘Stay here!’ he repeated irritably.

  Bent almost double, Wulf started to creep noiselessly towards the tree. He seemed to be gliding over the ground. There was a dip in the bank near the tree and as he moved into it, I could just make out the hump of his back, his head and feet were out of sight.

  Suddenly Wulf screamed and bounded across the ground with enormous strides, then rose and flew into the tree like a bird. I raised my head higher, trying to pierce the shroud of darkness which enveloped the tree, and could just see Wulf clinging to the lowest branches, writhing and kicking. Then he screamed again, the tree erupted into a deafening explosion of cracking sounds and I saw dozens of black, screeching objects catapulted from the branches and swooping towards me like demons from hell. Gasping with terror, I scrambled backwards towards the riverbank, slipping and sliding on the grass wet with night dew, and stepped into the river, crouching down on the flat rock from which I had fished earlier.

  ‘Brand, get off that rock!’ Wulf screamed. ‘Get back on to the land.’

  I stayed on the rock and tried to hide below the bulk of the riverbank, but I saw the creatures circling over the treetops and plunging up the river towards me, their heads jutting forward like arrow-tips. Frantically I tore at my tunic, wrenched the crucifix from around my neck and held it high above my head. A tremendous gush of cold wind swept over me, my body shuddered with the rhythm of beating wings and at that instant I felt a terrific blow in the chest which hurled me bodily into the mud of the riverbank The crucifix flew from my hand and splashed into the river behind me.

  Wulf appeared at my side. He gripped my head in his hands and stared into my eyes, tipping my face towards the moonlight.

  ‘The spirits have stolen your soul!’ he howled. ‘You should not have stepped off the riverbank. The runes cannot protect you when you are in the water. That is why you were vulnerable.’

  Wulf put his left arm around my shoulders, hauled me to my feet and hustled me up the slope, past the fire-pit and into the shelter. I collapsed on my back on the pile of moss that served as my mattress.

  ‘The web of power protected the land around the camp, but you had to step into the river!’ Wulf muttered accusingly. ‘The spirits are waiting for the smallest error and you did not disappoint them.’

  He pulled at my tunic. ‘Take this off!’ he ordered.

  I did as he said and sprawled back on the moss as Wulf examined my body carefully, inch by inch, by the dim light. Suddenly he stopped and pressed his forefinger into my stomach. I gasped as a searing pain shuddered through my body.

  ‘What happened here?’ Wulf demanded. He was pressing the small patch of bare skin on my stomach, where I had wiped off the paste.

  ‘You removed some of the protective salve and your soul was stolen through that gap. It was no wonder that the spirits almost succeeded in taking your soul earlier in the evening and have now succeeded in stealing it. I gave you effective protection and you destroyed it.’

  Wulf sat back on his heels and gazed at me in silence. He seemed to be trying to reach some sor
t of decision. I lay in silence, unable to offer any excuses or arguments. When he spoke again, it was in a calm, quiet voice.

  ‘You are now an empty shell, Brand. Your soul has journeyed to the spirit-world. This is a special privilege, for the spirits will reveal to your soul the ways of wyrd. It has happened too soon; you are not able to be with your soul, observing all that is happening. If you can retrieve your soul, the secrets of wyrd will be yours, for the spirits will have imparted their knowledge. But if you fail to recapture your soul, your life will be extinguished like a fire in a rainstorm.’

  Hunting for an Ally

  A BREEZE sighed softly from the river and my whole body trembled like a dry leaf. I tried to take a deep breath, but I could breathe only in short, shallow, rapid gasps and I felt as if I were going to faint. Again, I felt strangely empty inside as I had done earlier in the evening.

  Wulf grasped me under the armpits and half-carried, half-dragged me to the fire-pit. I slumped against the fallen tree-trunk we used as a seat. I felt stunned and disoriented, my thoughts were confused and I was quite incapable of talking. Yet there was an important change in my state from the panic of a few moments ago; deep down within me, I knew that I would be safe with Wulf, if only I could show him that I was willing to accept the challenges he presented to me. If I could prove my worth to him, he would ensure that my encounters with his spirit-world did not kill me. I had confidence that, if necessary, Wulf could pull me from the brink of death.

  The breeze blew again and I shivered uncontrollably; I felt frozen as if a winter gale were blowing bitter barbs of hail through my skin.

  Wulf was moving rapidly in front of the fire-pit, piling wood on to the fire and raking it into a blaze. I pushed my freezing feet nearer the flames but could feel nothing they were like blocks of ice.

  He plunged a hand into a linen sack, dropped some herbs into two cups and poured over them hot water from the pot simmering on the hob.