by Kris Kramer
“A wolf saved my life this morning.” I hoped mentioning the strange occurrence would prompt something meaningful from him, or that he could explain how a beast from my dreams could find me in this world.
“Good for you,” was all he said. Our conversation ended at that point.
Just before sunset, I heard footsteps behind us. I turned to see four of Cullach’s men approaching, carrying bags or baskets of claimed treasure. They stopped just inside the walls, talking amongst themselves while eyeing the two of us suspiciously. A few minutes later six more men arrived, followed by another dozen shortly after that. Eventually, Cullach’s entire army waited on the roads behind us, and just as the sun reached the western horizon, Cullach himself appeared. His men made way for him as he approached us, and Arkael and I stood to meet him.
“Well,” Cullach said, “show me this tunnel.”
Chapter 31
Of the sixty horses Cullach brought with him, only twenty-eight remained that were still fit to ride. A few had been killed in battle, a few more wounded and put down, but most of the rest were taken by Ruark and Lorcan. Arkael made it clear that Cullach’s horses wouldn’t fit in the tunnel, but Cullach refused to leave them behind. Instead, he loaded them down with all of our supplies and the treasure from the raid, and walked them with us to the tunnel entrance. Once we reached it, he would unload what he could, and leave nine men behind under Trian’s command to ride the horses somewhere to the south and find a local lord willing to house them for the winter. Then, Trian would send two riders back north to either tell Cullach where they’d found shelter, or to learn that Cullach’s raid had failed. Either way, Ruark would get no more of Cullach’s belongings. Trian nodded stoically at the plan, and I marveled at the faith Cullach had in him to take charge of everything he had left in this world. Most men were not that trusting.
We left the city in a long, precise line, with soldiers watching our flanks for any sign of betrayal or attack. Torches could be seen in the forest far to our right, and the men around me speculated that Rhodric’s men were gathering there, his scouts watching our retreat. They grumbled at the shame they incurred by leaving, but one man, who I would learn was named Cael, vowed to come back and squash both Rhodric and his army. It was at that moment, when I felt the fury in Cael’s vow, that I realized I didn’t know what had happened to make Cullach and Rhodric such fierce enemies. I would have asked, but I was still uneasy about drawing the attention of Cullach’s men, especially when they were this riled up. I decided if we survived this journey, I’d ask later.
Once we reached the forest, torches were lit and we moved hastily through the tenebrous wood, following Arkael’s lead. I thought about Sefrid while walking through the brush, and I wondered if she might still be out here somewhere, though I doubted it. She’d mentioned someone who could help, and I hoped she’d left to find him. Although once she did, I had no idea how she would find me. Eventually, we reached our campsite from the previous night – I recognized the batch of clearings we used and the remains of our fires – and turned to the west. The forest was dense here, much more so than the rest of it, with gnarled, low-hanging branches and thick, tangled bushes that slowed our progress to a crawl. Cullach asked if we were close, and when Arkael said yes, he signaled Trian to gather the horses and his nine men. After exchanging well-wishes for a glorious battle, Trian left, and the rest of us continued on, deeper into the forest. Eventually, Arkael stopped in front of a fallen oak that lay at an angle, its top resting on both the remains of its branches and a vine-covered log. He stepped over the oak and reached down into the brush, grasping blindly at the ground until he pulled out a thick rope. A tug on the rope pulled free a wooden panel in the ground covered with dirt, grass and moss, and exposed a hole.
“Here,” Arkael said. “The tunnel is only wide enough for one person at a time, so we’ll travel in a line. I’ll go first.”
“Yes,” Cullach agreed, peering over the oak. Arkael climbed down, and a torch revealed a ladder just inside the hole. “You next,” Cullach motioned to me. I climbed over the oak, took a deep breath, and swung my legs over into the hole, feeling the rungs of the ladder against my feet. They felt slippery, probably overgrown with moss. I gripped the sides carefully as I climbed down, feeling the same slickness there as well. I could see Arkael reach the floor below me and move to the side, waiting. I counted twenty-four rungs on the ladder before I reached the ground. Solid ground.
We stood in a small room, surrounded by flat stone walls and standing on a stone floor. This wasn’t natural stone, though, like a cave. It was made from finished square bricks, as if cut by a stonemason. It reminded me of a Roman basement, only the stonework was even more marvelous. A straight line of dwarvish runes were carved into the wall about waist high, but those were obscured by the crude markings that covered the rest of the walls. Various symbols adorned the stone, some made in ash or charcoal, others from what I grimly suspected to be blood.
"Druid symbols," I said out loud, but no one responded. Perhaps this was where Sefrid disappeared to. Cullach, who had climbed down after me, walked to the open doorway at the end of the room, and peered up and down the main tunnel.
“It goes south, too?” he asked. “Does it go under the town?”
"Yes," Arkael said, "but this is the closest entry. There aren’t any ways into the tunnels from the cities. The point of this place was to avoid the people above ground.”
“So we go north then?”
“Yes.” Arkael looked over at me, the torchlight flickering across his determined face. “We go north.”
*****
Traveling through the tunnel was a slow and tedious process, and we marched through the darkness for an impossibly long time before reaching another entrance. The tunnel branched off to the east here, but we didn’t take that route. Instead, Arkael led us back above ground, and we found ourselves in the hills south of Snowdonia, sometime the following afternoon. The entrance opened up into a small grove of trees in a shallow, rocky valley that appeared to be a difficult place to stumble upon by accident. The north and south slopes of the valley were more jagged than smooth, making for a dangerous trek in and out of the area. That meant we were safe for the night, so everyone relaxed. Arkael said we were about a day’s walk from the fort, so Cullach had us camp here. The men were grateful to be back in the fresh air, and we used the opportunity to settle in, eat, and get some sleep.
None of Cullach’s men wanted to be near Arkael or myself, so we ended up on our own that evening. He picked a spot at the east edge of the camp, sitting on a flat rock that seemed to magically jut out from the ground. He had his boots off, cleaning them yet again. I wandered over and found a patch of soft grass to sit on. He didn’t even look at me, which annoyed me to no end. I tired of this game, though, so I decided to get right to the point.
“You know, I’m out here because I went looking for you.”
Arkael glanced up at me briefly, then continued to brush the sides of his boots. “I told you to stay home.”
“Stay home.” I shook my head. “How could I do that? After what you did back in Rogwallow, how could I stay there and pretend to just go on with my life?”
“Do you consider this to be a better use of your time?”
“I do,” I said, which caught Arkael’s attention. “I could die tomorrow, and I’ve found myself saying that a lot lately, but at least it wouldn’t be in vain. I’d be trying to help people. That’s why I followed you. I thought that’s what you did.”
Arkael set his boots down. “And what do you think now?”
“Do you remember when we were in that cave, and I told you about my time in Rome, about how I was asked to leave because I asked too many questions? Do you know why I kept asking questions?” He looked at me, waiting. I stared off through the trees. “The other priests, the monks, the teachers, everyone I’ve ever met in the Church who really belonged there, the ones who really, truly believed, they’ve all experienced something
that I never felt. They can all tell you about that moment when God spoke to them. They can describe feeling His love and His grace surround them, and that’s what keeps them doing God’s work. They don’t question it, because deep down, they know. They understand.” I shook my head. “I don’t. I grew up surrounded by church walls and crosses and wreaths and holy water and I never once felt God speak to me. Not as a boy, not as a student, not even while traveling the world. Not until Rogwallow.”
“When you showed up that day, and you saved my life, I thought I’d finally experienced that moment all these other men told me about. God was speaking to me, and His love and guidance would show me the way.” I shrugged. “Then you left. And I followed. I left the only place I ever really felt comfortable at because I stupidly believed that’s what I was meant to do. And it turns out I was right. But not because of you.”
Arkael cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow. It was the clearest indication I’d ever seen from him that he was curious about what I would say next, and I had to admit, having his full attention was intoxicating.
“You were the sign. But you were not the word.” I pointed west, toward our destination. “The word of God finally came to me from a woman who can’t even speak. Avaline, she is my calling. I’m here to help her find her way back to us, and to save her from whatever is in that dungeon.”
Arkael looked back down at his boots, but he didn’t clean them. He just stared with searching eyes.
“Do you remember the story I told you that night with the merchants?”
“Of course I do. In fact," I clenched my hands together nervously, "I’ve spent every day since then wondering if that’s why you left.”
He frowned at me, but continued. “I’ll tell you another one. The same warlord, in the same village, he meets with the chief after they surrender. The chief had a beard that went past his belly, braided, and adorned with feathers and trinkets. It was a sign of power to his people. But the warlord wanted the chief defeated in every possible way before meeting with him. It wasn’t necessary, and it probably just made things worse, but this warlord never thought of practical things. He only thought of breaking everyone around him. So the chief was brought before the warlord, naked, whipped, and completely shaved, like a shivering baby. Worse, the warlord held this meeting before the entire village, so they could see their leader humiliated. The warlord made his demands, and the chief had no other recourse but to accept them, but even that wasn’t enough. The warlord-”
“Who was he?” I asked.
“The chief? I don’t know his name.”
“Not the chief. The warlord. Who is the warlord?”
Arkael stared at me, and for the first time I saw recognition, a sense of understanding. I knew what he’d been trying to tell me all those nights ago before he left. I could see the pain and the regret he was trying to hide.
“He…” Arkael began to say the words, but then stopped. He stared ahead, but I suspect it was his own memories he saw. “He was a weak man, who traded everything that was decent about him for nothing more than lies.”
“Surely there’s something worthwhile…”
“That man is dead,” he said. “He died long ago. Broken. Deceived.” He paused again, thoughtful. I said nothing, letting him have his thoughts in peace. “But you’re right,” he continued, looking up at me with a steady, piercing gaze. “Everything you said about me was right. I haven’t been fulfilling my oath. I’ve been hiding from it. And I will do so no longer. If what you say is true, and God help you if it is, then things will change.”
“Why do you say that? You make it sound ominous.”
“Do you know what we're about to face?” I shook my head. “I told you before, that angels and demons will go to extraordinary lengths over the fate of men’s souls. You’ve been to this dungeon before?” I nodded. “What did you feel?”
“It was… overwhelming. Sickening. I couldn’t even make sense of it.”
“What you felt in there was the mark of a demon. The same demon who touched Caenwyld, and Lorcan, and everyone else in this world like them.”
I squeezed my fingers into a fist, not even noticing the nails digging into my palms. “The demon is in there?”
“No. It’s his minion who stalks the depths of that place. Right now he’s lording over it like a bored king, who thinks his enemies are as dangerous as a stuck pig. That means he’s docile, quiet. But if I go there, he’ll wake up, and he will take us seriously. You,” he pointed at me accusingly, “if it learns what you can do, provided you aren’t lying to save yourself, then he will tear you apart. I’m the one who keeps the demon and his minions at bay, but it’s people like you who are his enemy.”
“Why?”
“Because you are the one who can cleanse souls of his mark. You can undo the damage he has wrought on everyone he lays eyes on. You are his true enemy.”
My stomach lurched as the weight of his pronouncement fell on my shoulders. I remembered Ewen's warning to me in Eoferwic, and I realized that every dream I'd had, every nightmare, every vision, I could clearly see the demon’s hand in all of them. The demon knew what I was, and worse, he'd known since Rogwallow.
"This will not be easy. No one would think less of you for staying behind, where it's safe."
"No," I said, trying to find my courage. "No, I can't. I have to save them. I can't let them down again."
"We still have some time before we get there. Think on it."
"I don't need to,” I said, hoping I meant it.
Chapter 32
We stayed in that valley most of the night, everyone getting what little sleep they could. Long after the sounds of snoring filled the air, however, I stared up at the cloudy, dark-grey sky, wondering if this would be my last night on this world. If so, I would have at least liked to see the stars. A storm threatened to blow in, but it had been threatening for weeks now. Maybe tomorrow would be the day it finally came.
I slept a few hours, only to be interrupted sometime before dawn by Cullach and Malador, who marched through the camp, rousing everyone awake. Cullach was eager to fight, and he said as much to his men, reminding them of Ruark’s treachery and Lorcan’s devil-spawned magic. When he came to us, however, the only words he spoke were “Wake up, priest. We move.” I groaned, sat up, and looked over at Arkael, who lay on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the mountain’s peak. I was reminded that I’d never actually seen him sleep.
We grudgingly resumed our tunnel march, and not too long after, we reached another branch that led west, taking it this time. After at least half a day of walking and a few brief stops to rest, we passed another entry point. Cullach asked where it led and Arkael told him it was the last one before passing under water and reaching Ynys Mon. Cullach and Malador debated going back up to rest, but I reminded them that we’d be close to Caernarvon, which was not only held by Rhodric’s men, but would probably be heavily guarded in anticipation of us returning to the island. Cullach reluctantly agreed, though I saw several of the men look longingly at that exit. I didn’t blame them. This tunnel, once our path of escape, had now become a dreary, stone prison.
The floor gradually sloped downward, and small drops of water dotted the walls. Soon, I was stepping in puddles and the air felt thick in my lungs. Word spread down the line that we were under the strait, and suddenly the tunnel seemed even more confining than before. Several of the Irishmen became agitated, and one yelled at the men around him, threatening to kill his compatriots if they didn’t get out of his way. A few punches to the side of his head calmed him down so we could start moving again, but the walls still threatened to squeeze us even tighter. I almost succumbed to panic myself, worrying that the ocean above might crash through the ceiling, drowning us in a watery tomb. But I kept my worries to myself, and my pace steady, no matter how much I wanted to sprint down the passage in front of me. Fortunately, this part of the trek didn’t last long. The floor leveled out for a while, then sloped back up, and once th
e air dried out, our nerves settled and we marched onward in weary, determined silence.
But then came the darkness. It was faint, hovering at the edges of my awareness, probing and prodding, looking to tear into my soul like a rabid dog once I came close enough. My face blanched, and I put a hand to my head.
"You feel it, too?" Arkael asked. I nodded grimly. "Don't try to fight it. As you get closer it will come at you like a strong wind, hitting you in gusts. Let it go around you. You don't walk straight and wide in a gale. You turn to the side and let the wind blow past. Do that in your mind, and it will be easier."
That was the trick. Don't fight it head on. Let it buffet you, or carry you about. I'd imagined a leaf carried by the wind the last time I was there, and it seemed to help. I prayed that it would work again, because from this point on, we’d only be getting closer to that horrifying place.
*****
“Here,” Arkael’s voice snapped me from my meditation and I looked ahead to see the end of the tunnel, and a square room to my left. I’d lost track of time after passing under the strait, focusing all of my effort on avoiding the nauseating sensation of the dungeon, so I couldn’t say how long we’d walked since then. Arkael went to the ladder leaning against the back wall and looked up at the hatch in the ceiling.
“We’re not far. This entrance opens up in a cave on the north end of the mountain. From there, it’s a short walk to the fort.”
