Shadow Lands Trilogy

by Simon Lister

  Arthur drained his drink and stood up saying, ‘Perhaps you could show me to a place where I can rest?’

  They all stood and Andala said, ‘Of course, you’ve journeyed far. You’ll join us for the Lughnasa festivities later?’

  ‘Yes. Until then,’ and Arthur took his leave of those at the table and followed Andala down the hall. Ceinwen watched him walk away, once again alternating between the shadows and shafts of sunlight.

  Once Arthur had left the hall, Narlos put a hand on Ceinwen’s shoulder and said, ‘Don’t fret yourself yet, a year is a long time and much may change before the next Gathering. Besides, he left it up to you to decide.’

  ‘Did he?’ responded Ceinwen, clearly not believing so. Bernache mumbled something about checking on Jac and his work on the wains and hobbled from the hall. Narlos sat back down and within minutes his chin was resting on his chest as he nodded off. Ceinwen sat staring sightlessly down the hall her hands twisting together where they lay in her lap. Caja quietly moved out of the shadows and left the hall by a small back door.

  *

  Andala led Arthur along a path that bisected an enclosed crop field towards his roundhouse, which was built over the lake. Serried ranks of carrots, onions and potatoes had already been harvested from either side of the path. There was a pasture field to one side of the crops with the bright yellow of buttercups strewn through the long grass.

  ‘You can rest in my house. It’s away from the noise of the village so you won’t be disturbed,’ Andala said.

  Dust rose from the path about their feet as they neared the bridge to the roundhouse. Both the bridge and the house were supported by cut tree trunks sunk into the lakebed. Logs were laid out laterally along most of the bridge’s short span but in the middle was a section of ten-foot logs set end by end. Unlike the others, they were not lashed in place and could be easily removed and on this section the intertwined hazel-latched sidewalls of the bridge could be pulled back too. Several dugout canoes lay on the stony lakeshore, beached for the winter and secured by thick ropes to the supports of the bridge. Inside the canoes were the village’s fishing nets, freshly mended and folded away. Everything about the village spoke of departure.

  Arthur studied the roundhouse. Around the walls of the stilted house ran a wooden platform about three-feet wide, which served as a walkway encircling the roundhouse with a low wall of hazel-latched fencing to the lakeside. The conical, reed-thatched roof spread down almost to the platform surface, overhanging the circular walls that were constructed of double layered tight bound trellising, daubed on the outside and filled with fern insulation between the layers. He recognised the many similarities to the homes in Britain, particularly Wessex, although he had rarely seen one built over water like this.

  Andala held the door open for him and he entered. It took a while for his eyes to become accustomed to the dim light. As Andala cleared some belongings from one of the partitioned rooms Arthur gazed around the house. The floor was carpeted with dry fir needles and green fern bracken making it soft underneath his boots. In the middle of the roundhouse was a raised clay square centred by a large hearthstone. Three stout branches, tied at the top, formed a tripod above the fireplace and an iron cauldron hung above the embers suspended by strips of blackened leather. On the stones surrounding the fire oatcakes and unleavened wheat bread slowly cooked, filling the large room with the familiar smell of baking. By the hearth was a wide flat stone to grind the wheat on and a fireboard of pinewood together with the strung bow and oak spindle used to fire embers. There was no hole in the thatching above the fire but as the roof was so high above the hearth the smoke rose and dissipated through the reeds without filling the room.

  Four small rooms faced the central hearth like open-ended boxes also made with, and separated from each other by walls of interlaced hazel branches. Andala gestured to the room he had been clearing where a low bed laid with soft fern and sheepskin could be seen through the goatskin hangings that draped across its open front. The roofs of these small inner rooms afforded extra storage space and bundled reeds and various farming tools, many old and needing repair, were stacked high enough to reach the thatching of the roof. From oak crossbeams hung leather gourds, pots, tied bundles of juniper to scent the room, and the various clutter accumulated by a family.

  ‘Rest well. I’ll send Caja to wake you when the feast starts,’ Andala said.

  Arthur settled down on one of the low beds. The roundhouse was still and he could hear the gentle lapping of the water fifteen-feet below as he drifted into sleep.

  *

  Caja was looking for Breward. She searched through the crowds that had gathered to take their midday meal in the main square before the hall but to no avail. She wandered off to the crafts buildings on the far side of the village, once again without success. Finally she asked the stores master and someone who overheard the question said Breward and Jac had gone out the East Gate before the midday bell had been rang. She went to the gate and saw them sitting on the grass with their backs against a cartwheel, watching the late autumn sun as it hung suspended over the flat, harvested crop fields of the narrow valley to the East. She strode across to them. They both turned to see who approached. She smiled inwardly at their contrasting faces, ‘Don’t worry Jac, I haven’t come to nag.’

  ‘Good. Want to sit down with us and steal some food then?’ Jac stretched across Breward and offered her his plate. She took it gratefully and quietly.

  ‘Gods, she’s gone quiet. Doom is at hand if the wind’s gone from her sails,’ Jac said.

  ‘Jac! Gods man, you can’t say things like that with the journey across the Western Seas at hand,’ Breward said sounding genuinely appalled then turned to Caja, still frowning, ‘What’s wrong Caj?’

  ‘That bastard in there wants to send me to Eald for next year’s Gathering,’ she replied.

  ‘Language girl,’ Jac admonished idly and picked an apple off Breward’s plate.

  ‘Father told me off earlier for saying that, cuffed me actually – I’m a bit too old to be cuffed aren’t I?’

  ‘And you’re old enough to know not to use that kind of language in front of your father,’ Jac said then added, ‘He’s a braver man than me mind.’

  Breward was still staring at her, ‘What do you mean ‘go to Eald’?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure. He’s angry that Eald messed up their timings again. They weren’t ready so he wants me to go and help them.’

  ‘Organise them more like,’ Jac said.

  ‘He can’t just decide that. You’re too young. He doesn’t even know you – he’s only been here an hour!’ Breward did not sound any less appalled but to his surprise Caja jumped up and with a muttered ‘thanks very much’ she strode off back to the village gate.

  ‘What did I say?’ Breward asked in exasperation.

  ‘Well, first you said she was too young to do it and secondly that if Arthur knew her better he’d realise she couldn’t do it,’ Jac answered.

  ‘No I didn’t, I just said... but Eald, that’s miles away – she can’t want to go that far?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought she did but she’s probably feeling quite proud that a warlord could just walk in here, take one look at her and then suggest it to her parents.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You stick to ropes and wains my lad, you know where you are with them.’

  ‘I’d better go and explain,’ Breward said half-heartedly.

  ‘Explain it later at Lughnasa, wine always makes things clearer. Less painful anyway,’ Jac said then they lapsed into silence. The sun disappeared behind a bank of growing clouds coming towards them from the North East and a breeze whispered around them. They both noticed the drop in temperature immediately.

  ‘Looks like Lughnasa will be held inside. It’ll be raining and colder in a few hours,’ Breward said.

  Jac stood up and brushed the crumbs from his front before saying, ‘Typical isn’t it? Two fine weeks then the day b
efore we head off a storm blows in. We’d better make doubly sure the wains are all secured and watertight. Come on.’

  They walked back to the gate, the long grass around them swaying in waves before the stiffening breeze.

  *

  The wind softly nudged at an unfastened wooden shutter in the roundhouse where Arthur slept. The door opened slowly and Caja entered. Ceinwen had sent her to close and fasten the shutters in the roundhouse. Everyone knew what a wind from the East brought at this time of year. She crossed to the shutter and latched it firmly closed. She glanced across to the small room where Arthur slept and walked softly across to it, annoyed that her father had shown Arthur to her room. She turned back the goatskin curtain and crept in to collect her dress for the festival. She looked at Arthur and saw he was sleeping soundly. With her back to Arthur she quickly stepped out of her trousers, unbuttoned her top and shrugged it off. Reaching for her dress she pulled it on over her head and moving her long hair to one side, fastened it at the back of her neck. She glanced at the sleeping figure and started with surprise when she saw Arthur staring back at her. She took a step backward, her heart racing and she nearly clattered into a chair against the wall. Arthur’s stare did not follow her. For a brief moment she thought he was dead but the covers across his chest were rising and falling with each breath. She realised he must be sleeping with his eyes open. She shuddered and quickly and quietly left the room. She wiped her suddenly sweaty palms on her hips and tried to control her breathing before crossing to the entrance and hurrying back across the bridge.

  Arthur woke about an hour later. It took him a second to remember he was in a soft bed in Andala’s roundhouse and that it was Lughnasa. He automatically scanned the room to find his weapons and then noticed the wind had picked up outside and was buffeting the wall of the house. The eastern wall. The roundhouse was filled with the roar from the wind-driven waves of the long lake. He cursed and swung his legs off the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed both hands up his face and through his hair. Then he remembered the dream. He wished he had not. It was about Caja, but not the redheaded, untroubled, laughing girl who was no doubt already celebrating the festival. No, the Caja in his dream was in wretched misery, tormented beyond sanity. He crossed to a basin of water and splashed cold water on his face but the image remained and he sighed looking down into the water as his reflection reformed. He cursed and picking up his weapons he put out the oil lamp and left the house to find Andala.

  As he stepped outside the wind whipped around him, snowflakes were already being blown horizontally out across the lake and through the air around him. It was snowing heavily further to the East and the water below the house was being driven against the stilts. Arthur strode across the bridge and back into the village, head down and leaning into the wind. He looked around the main square as he strapped his sword to his side noting how dark and gloomy it was even for this time of year. People were scurrying between the wooden buildings, all dressed in their best clothes and heading towards the main hall. Various foods and ewers of wine were being brought into the hall and everyone seemed carefree enough despite the sudden turn to cold. Arthur decided to check on his horse and caught sight of the new wain master, Jac, making his way to the hall. He called out to him but the wind snatched his words away.

  Arthur ran across to him, nearly crashing into a small group of scampering children. They saw who it was and fled into the hall. He caught up with Jac by the doorway and put a hand on his shoulder. Jac turned and his already cold face froze further.

  ‘My horse!’ Arthur shouted above the wind, ‘Where is it stabled!’

  Jac pointed to a hut near the East Gate, ‘The stables are by the gate, Lord!’

  Arthur nodded his head and made his way to the gate, the wind wrapping his cloak around him. He reached the stables and slammed the door behind him. He looked around the stalls, it had become gloomy outside but inside it was almost dark. His horse was at the back. He untethered it and walked it up to the entrance and put the reins around a hook close to the door. He searched around in the dark and found his saddle and a spare saddlebag. He filled the bag with feed and saddled his horse. He checked the longbow was fitted correctly and that the quiver was full of arrows. He checked the horse’s shoes then stood beside her, his hand absently rubbing his forehead. Uncharacteristically he patted the horse’s neck. As he left the stable the horse gave him a look of deep suspicion.

  He made his way to the main hall battling against the wind. Fewer people were now making their way in. Arthur assumed most were already inside. As he reached the doorway a small figure bumped into him. It was Caja. He opened the door and she dashed in, throwing back her hood and dusting the snow from her cloak. Arthur followed and stood his shield and sheathed sword against the wall.

  ‘Mother had just sent me to the roundhouse to wake you! Gods it’s getting bleak out there! But you must have already woken because you weren’t there and I couldn’t find you...’ she spoke too quickly and fumbled with the clasp of her cloak. Arthur reached out and unfastened it for her. She was wearing a simple flowing white dress under the cloak. Caja felt even more nervous under his gaze and gestured awkwardly for Arthur to join the gathering at the top of the hall.

  The hall was packed with the people from the five villages and Arthur did not notice that Breward had watched the interchange by the door. Nor did he notice how people made way before him as he walked to the tables at the top of the hall. People were already eating and swilling down the harvest wine and he realised he must have missed the formal part of the ceremony and the blessings for the Harvest Gathering.

  Caja joined Breward who was sitting with Jac and Bri. She imitated wiping sweat from her brow, ‘Gods, I feel uneasy near him!’ she said to them, ‘He even sleeps with his eyes open!’

  Jac handed her some wine as Breward spluttered his out over his food.

  ‘What?’ he managed to say before Caja continued,

  ‘I had to close the shutters in the roundhouse and collect my dress and when I turned he was just staring at me with those dead eyes! My heart nearly stopped!’

  ‘But did your mouth?’ Jac asked, already having finished several cups of wine. He got a clout from Bri for his trouble and consoled himself by taunting a hopeless cat juggler from a nearby village.

  Bri scolded him for that too and pointed out, ‘He may be hopeless but it’s damned difficult and at least he’s trying. He’s quite sweet actually.’

  ‘Gods woman! He’s at least twenty years younger than you!’ Jac stood up unsteadily and went in search of more affable drinking company, muttering something inaudible about kitchen girls.

  Breward had recovered from his misapprehension and attempted to explain what he had and had not meant earlier when they spoke by the wain. He made heavy going of it. Caja elected not to tell him about undressing in front of the sleeping Arthur.

  Arthur joined those at the top tables. He greeted the heads of the other villages and sat down next to Andala with his back to the wall and facing the thronging hall. As before, Ceinwen, Narlos and Bernache were seated at the table. The table was piled with foods and more was being brought from the central hearth, now in full blaze. The hall was warm, hot even, and lit by burning brands lined along each wall. The wooden shutters were all down but not latched so occasionally they would lift slightly as the wind buffeted the hall. The snow was becoming thicker in the air outside.

  Arthur turned to Andala and asked, ‘Do you have any guards for this village or any warriors?’

  Andala shook his head vaguely, ‘Barely – we set watchers if there’s news of trouble nearby but any ex-war band are old like Narlos here or maimed. Ceinwen’s trained a few of the younger men in hunting and tracking but they aren’t really guards.’

  Arthur leant back and surveyed the carefree scene before him. These people had worked hard all summer to raise their crops and then harvest them and now they had an arduous journey to Caer Sulis before them, or even further on to th
e Haven and across the sea. This was their local celebration of Lughnasa and they feasted, as they should, in their own homes among their own people. The festivities at Caer Sulis would be far grander but they would not enjoy it as much, they would be among strangers there and they would feel unimportant. Yet, despite the casual celebrations of the villagers, he felt uneasy, uneasy enough to have saddled his horse and packed extra feed.

  Andala was watching him and growing more concerned as his own pleasant wine-induced shroud drifted away from him. ‘Surely you don’t expect an Uathach attack? In this storm? At Lughnasa?’ Andala asked softly but urgently amidst the din of the hall.

  ‘It would be an excellent time to do so. A drunk, defenceless village piled high with supplies...’ Arthur took a drink from his beaker of wine, ‘but no, we’ve spent the last two months in the North Country making sure that wouldn’t happen. Still... something concerns me here.’

  Ceinwen had noticed their quiet conversation and the look of worry on Andala’s face. She asked Andala what the matter was but to her annoyance he held up a hand to stop her questions.

  Arthur spoke again, ‘Get seven of your watchers or hunters, make sure they’re still sober, and put three on the eastern wall, one each on the other walls. Give them sheltered brands to keep near them but not so close so that they’ll be lit-up by them. Place one watcher in a central point and have them signal him regularly. Have another seven stay sober to replace them in four hours time. Do it quietly and do it now.’

  Andala got up ashen faced and went down into the throng of feasting villagers. Ceinwen took his vacated seat and leaned towards Arthur, ‘Is there something wrong, Arthur?’