by Simon Lister
Most of the Wessex warriors were sick during the crossing and could not fathom the delight the Anglians seemed to take in their battle against the winter seas. Only Morveren among them took any pleasure in the journey. They watched in puzzlement as she became more carefree, laughing at the waves that often enveloped the boat, climbing the masthead to adjust the storm sail when the rigging became entangled. It seemed her small frame would be easily washed overboard or blown away like a leaf from the heights of the mast but she was surefooted and entirely at home as if she were in a no more foreign or dangerous a place than her roundhouse on Whitehorse Hill. With her long, black hair blowing freely in the wind and her laughter ringing clear and strong it seemed to those seeing her that the past was being unwritten as she storm washed away the horror of losing her companions and friends, leaving her clean and whole again.
Elwyn, who had not paid too much attention to her before, watched her take delight in the storm and he approved of the way she took it as a personal challenge to her ability to overcome it. He readjusted his opinion of Wessex seafaring just enough to admit that at least she knew what she was doing on a boat. And as he watched her, he found himself wondering, much to his surprise, if she were married or spoken for.
Arthur faced the storm in a different manner and in a different mood. He too was sick from the constant rolling and pitching but he remained at the prow, tightly gripping the railing to either side and facing each wave as it bore down on the small boat. He cursed the storm and railed against it, but he was also cursing whatever fate had claimed the warriors that had been lost to the enemy. He cursed at the deaths that had been and the deaths that would surely follow. He cursed the fate that took Trevenna, Cei and Merdynn deep into the Shadow Lands. He cursed the king for wanting him dead. He cursed the fate that only allowed him to love Seren in such times as these. But most of all he cursed the Adren and whatever it was that had led them to the edge of his kingdom. As the waves crashed around him and the longboat ploughed its way onward he was unaware that he was already regarding the land before them, somewhere in the darkness, as his kingdom.
Balor had regained consciousness but wished he had not. His vision was blurred, the wound on the top of his head burned incessantly and he spent the entire journey retching from an empty stomach. He swore at Saewulf and Elwyn and told them to turn round so that he could find a decent death with his axe in his hand rather than drown like a rat or retch himself to the grave.
Mar’h was not in a much better state and whenever he did manage to slip into a fitful sleep he dreamt of a young Uathach girl with dark eyes, chained in an Adren hut and pleading for him to stop. Over the years his similar dreams had become less frequent and he hoped that perhaps they had left him altogether but since the Adren camp he had only stopped thinking about her when he was in the midst of battle. He could not even bring himself to think of his wife, Della, or his children. His guilt felt like a wet leather shroud shrinking around his soul.
They had spent four dark days entombed or revelling in their individual worlds when Elwyn saw Arthur shouting to him from the prow as the boat climbed up the side of a swelling wave. He dispatched Saewulf to see what it was that Arthur was pointing at while he remained at the rudder, as they were about to switch tack.
Saewulf joined Arthur at the prow and looked down into the sea where Arthur was pointing. The longboat seemed to hang balanced between cresting the wave and sliding back down the slope it had just climbed, and then it tilted forward and lurched towards the next trough. Saewulf could plainly see what was concerning Arthur. The sea around and before them was littered with ice, broken panes about six inches thick and a few feet across.
Saewulf nodded and passed back down the boat, stopping to warn people as he passed them. He was not concerned for the boat, this ice would not trouble the hardened oak planks that made up the hull, but there was a very real danger from the ice if the wind-riven waves sent it flying over the sides of the boat. Some of the warriors took heed and clasped their shields about them as they huddled miserably in the freezing wetness. Others, like Balor, would have welcomed a death by scything ice and ignored Saewulf’s warnings.
When Saewulf told Elwyn they both smiled for it also meant something else; if there was ice in the water then land could not be far away. Saewulf went back to join Arthur on the prow and together they scanned the darkness ahead for any further sign that they neared land.
Gradually the ice sheets grew bigger and more numerous, the mountainous seas lessened to hills and they saw kelp and seaweed frozen into the ice. Saewulf reckoned land to be near and reported back to Elwyn. Arthur stirred his despondent warriors with the mixed news that land was not far off but that they would be rowing for it. The thought of getting off the longboat outweighed the dread of returning to the oars and they retook their positions on the benches and fed the long oars out to the sea as the Anglians finished furling the storm sail.
Saewulf set up the chant once more and the oars trimmed the top of the sea, turned, dipped and dug back through the water. The pace was steady with none of the frantic effort and burning pain of before as they nosed their way blindly towards the shore.
The lookout on the prow saw the white crests of waves advancing ahead of them as they rolled their way to the unseen land. Elwyn had no way of knowing exactly where they were landing. They had seen no stars to guide them across the sea. He had measured his speed and kept his timer turned but the rest was down to instinct and experience. He did however know that the rollers ahead of them and the way they were breaking meant that a sloped beach lay ahead of them and not the cliffs he had feared and which would smash his longboat to driftwood in seconds. He watched for any break in the rolling waves that might indicate rocks or outcrops. There were some to their right but none that lay ahead. It looked safe but in the darkness there was really only one way to find out what lay before them.
He shouted out for them to maintain their speed and the oarsmen swept the boat onwards. Just as he could make out the shore they ran aground. Fortune, at last, favoured them. They had found a sound landing place on the first attempt and were spared the work of searching the coastline for somewhere to put in.
The oars were shipped with some relief and the ramp put down into the shallows. Wearily they unlashed and unloaded the horses that had spent the entire journey in a state of panic. Arthur sent a group out under Mar’h to briefly scout the area and gather what firewood they could. The others struggled ashore with their meagre supplies.
Mar’h reported back that nothing stirred around or beyond the beach. They camped down in the snow-layered sand dunes and began the arduous task of lighting a fire from frozen driftwood unearthed from the grip of winter. The land behind the beach was flat fen land and the wind from the West blew across it in a constant ill-tempered gale. It did not buffet or swirl or lessen, it just cut across the fens intent on flattening all that had the temerity to raise its head above the long rushes. The dunes offered some protection but the gale sought out the intruders on the bleak landscape that it owned and cut through their soaked clothing, seeking to freeze them to the ground.
Elwyn organised a group to help him drag the longboat up onto the shore beyond the storm line. They used the stored wooden rollers in the longboat and a team of horses and they finished the job about the same time that the others finally managed to light, and keep alight, a fire. Once they had lit one they started lighting others until small groups sat around five fires among the dunes, everyone inching as close as they could to the flames to dry and warm themselves.
They cooked what they could and had their first hot broth since before the raid on the Adren camp. The talk around each fire was much the same. Where exactly were they? Did the other boats make it across the sea and where are they? Who saw what happened in the battle back at the cove? What happened to friends they had lost sight of and did all the boats even make it out of the cove? The questions were as many as the answers were few.
Arthur made it c
lear to everyone what the next step was going to be. The Anglians had moved their main camp down to the Causeway and that was south. That was where they would be heading as soon as they had some sleep, something to eat and dried themselves out. They could rest properly and eat properly once they were there. For the time being they had a few hours here to recover from the sea crossing.
Arthur decided to use that time by scouting up the coast to see if any of the other boats had landed just to their north. As he was saddling his horse, Morveren joined him and started to saddle hers.
‘Mar’h looks in a bad way,’ she commented. She finished saddling her horse first and began to help Arthur with his. Arthur looked across to where Mar’h was slumped by a fire. ‘Could you finish this?’ he asked Morveren.
She followed his gaze to Mar’h and nodded. Arthur walked back to the fires that were partially obscured by a fine snow that was being stripped from the fens by the incessant wind. He sat down next to Mar’h who did not move or acknowledge his presence.
‘Mar’h?’
He looked up at Arthur and his dark eyes had a glazed, distant quality. Most of the warriors around the fires had the same expression and after what they had been through in the past few months Arthur was not too concerned about it. What did concern Arthur was the hunted look that had stolen into Mar’h’s eyes since the Adren camp and the discovery of Caja.
‘What you’ve done is in the past, Mar’h. Neither you nor I can change it. You were young and stupid and the raid was badly led by a man who was a curse to those near him. An evil act does not necessarily make a man evil. You are not an evil man. You’ve tortured yourself over what you did and if you allow what we saw in the Adren camp to re-ignite that torture then you will descend into a pit of recrimination and there you will die. If you choose to follow that path then you turn your back on Della, you turn your back on your children, you turn your back on the people who depend upon you in this war band and you turn your back on me.
‘It’s not a path you have to take. You can choose another. You’ve done much that is good and much that is necessary since that raid. You can choose to continue doing so. If you turn your back on this choice too then you compound what you did back then. You’ve paid for your crime by all you’ve done since. Your debt is paid. And do not think that what we saw in that hut has anything to do with you for it doesn’t.’
Mar’h was staring at Arthur as he spoke and Arthur could see the guilt-driven doubts behind his eyes.
‘Leave your guilt here on this beach Mar’h and let the wind take it out to sea or walk instead into the depths carrying it close to your heart and end it now. Choose before I return for I will not watch you tear your soul apart for one wrong act deep in your past. Remember Della and your children, you fight to protect them and all like them, even that Uathach girl you now fight to protect. Remember we fight to prevent what we saw in that Adren hut. Remember that you are no longer a battle-crazed youth lead by such as Saltran. Remember the good you have done and can continue to do. Forget this and the Adren can claim one more victory because it will be four good people who died in that Adren hut, not three.’ Arthur put his hands on Mar’h’s shoulders, ‘Choose.’
He returned to where Morveren waited with both their horses.
‘Is he still grieving?’ Morveren asked.
‘Yes, he is,’ Arthur replied.
They started north up the beach that stretched before them in the darkness. The wind whipped at them and Morveren shook her long hair from her face.
‘You enjoyed the crossing didn’t you?’ he asked her.
She looked out across the bay’s water, the waves still rolling shoreward despite the wind that skimmed the tops off the hooked rollers, trying to push them back.
‘I love the sea. I always have, for as long as I can remember. I grew up on the fishing boats that sail the seas around Wessex. There’s something dispassionate and pure about it. It seethes and storms but not in rage and not caring for anything caught in its tempest. It’s the closest to the gods we can reach and to ride such storms, it’s like riding the anger of the gods.’
‘And that means you can tame them?’ Arthur asked smiling at her.
‘Oh no, not tame them. But if you can ride their anger then you no longer need to fear them. Perhaps you can even use their wrath. Isn’t it possible to harness the anger of the gods?’ Morveren looked at Arthur as she finished, unsure how she had arrived at the point where she had disclosed so much and afraid that he would scorn her.
‘I don’t doubt you could ride their anger and use it too. I saw you on the boat and you seemed to be part of the storm. It fed something inside you and I can understand that,’ he replied and thought of the storm above the Winter Wood and how he had cursed the storm at sea too. Then he continued, ‘But I don’t believe in the gods and I don’t believe in fate either, though it doesn’t seem to stop me cursing both.’
They rode on discussing the gods, fate and people’s superstitions. Morveren was enjoying talking to Arthur in this way, a way she had not done so before. She had been aware of the rumours that Arthur was her true father before she had joined the war band but back in her village no one had ever voiced the speculation so openly to her. The warriors of the war band didn’t seem to have any such compunction about putting such questions to her directly. She found the best way to silence them was to tell them to put their questions to Arthur. She did not believe the rumours were true and resented the implication that she had only been accepted because she was Arthur’s bastard. She had always been more than a bit scared of the Wessex Warlord and feared he thought of her as little more than a girl who could ride a horse quickly and only useful for sending messages. Whether Arthur was her father or not, he was her warlord and she wanted his respect. She knew the chances of talking to Arthur in such a manner would be limited and she sought to continue the conversation, ‘Why then do you curse them, the gods and fate?’
‘I curse the gods and I curse fate for the same reasons I curse storms. I don’t really believe in them because I can’t batter them down and I can’t defeat them. I don’t trust something I can’t understand, control or defeat. It makes me angry that such things should exist.’
The tone in Arthur’s voice sharply reminded Morveren why she was wary of the warlord.
‘They scare you?’ she said then shut her mouth, appalled that the thought had been spoken aloud. She looked at him quickly, her eyes wide in fear. Arthur smiled at her but the corners of his mouth were turned down, it was more a smile of derision, ‘There’s only one thing I’m scared of.’
Morveren had to ask and did so in a voice that barely carried above the wind, ‘What?’
‘Horses. This horse particularly.’
She laughed in relief that the moment had passed.
‘They’re itching for exercise. Let’s give them a run.’
They cantered up the beach, the horses’ hooves sinking first through the snow then the sand beneath. Arthur marvelled to himself how Morveren could be so light-hearted after the deaths of Elowen and Tomas. They had been a tight-knit group. He was surprised too that their friend, Ethain, had chosen to go east with Cei. Perhaps he had discovered a newfound courage. Perhaps the storm had torn the grief from Morveren. Perhaps they were just young. That was one of the problems of getting older, he thought to himself, you remembered being young and the things you did when you were young but you could not actually remember what it felt like to be young; to be immortal.
It was strange though, Arthur thought, Ethain had been scared, very scared yet he took the bravest choice. Elowen had been far from a generous person yet she had thrown her life away just to stand by Tomas at his death, she must have known he could not be saved. Caja, who had been an innocent village girl, raped and tortured beyond sanity only to die by the sword meant to protect her. Mar’h, who was the most pragmatic of his warriors, spiralling into a pit of regret and guilt. Ceinwen, a healer yet unable to understand why he had ended Sawan’s pain. Even h
elping the Uathach had been an unseen turn of events. He dwelled for a while on Cei and the others before putting the thought of those going east from his mind and his thoughts settled instead on Seren and the Veiled City. Much had changed in just a few months and he wondered how much more would change in the coming months, and how much of that would be for the good.
He spurred his horse to gain ground on Morveren who was some way ahead. The tattered clouds were tearing apart and the half moon looked to be sailing through them as it sent long shadows racing across the fen lands and out to sea. Arthur could see Morveren heading back towards him. His own horse whinnied a greeting and trotted towards her.
‘There’s a fire ahead!’ she shouted as she drew near. ‘You can see it from the next headland!’
Together they made their way to the headland at the end of the long beach. The fire looked to be over the water and some miles distant.
‘It must be a beacon,’ Morveren said, for it must have been a large fire to be seen from where they were. Arthur studied the sweeping bay they would have to follow to arrive at the fire.
‘Let’s see who it is then,’ Arthur said and they set off, side by side, on the long trip around the bay to the next headland where the beacon burned brightly.
They rode mostly in silence across the even ground, not pushing their horses too hard as they were still weakened by the journey across the sea. When they did speak it was Morveren who began the brief conversations. She talked of Talan, Tomas and Elowen but she was not morbid about their deaths, she talked of the good times they had shared. Arthur contributed enough to encourage her to continue, thinking it would be good for her to talk about them but his mind was on other matters.
‘Do you think Ceinwen made it away from the cove?’ Morveren asked after a quiet few minutes.
‘I don’t know. Hopefully she got away with the wounded just before the Adren fell upon us.’
