Across the Sea (Islands in the Mist Series Book 2)

by J. M. Hofer

  “Maybe. This morning, I found a horrible thing made from the bones and entrails of animals near the edge of the forest. Islwyn said it was binding magic, made by someone who practices dark sorcery—someone who wants to curse the Grove, or claim it for themselves—he didn’t know for certain.”

  Gareth frowned. “Does my father know about this?”

  “He should by now. Islwyn went to tell him this morning.”

  “Let’s go!” Arhianna turned toward home. “I don’t want to miss this—Father might send out the warriors!”

  She took off toward the village, and the two boys were left to run in her wake, as they often were.

  ***

  There had been a successful hunt that morning, and the village was full of activity. Several cooking fires had been lit. Women were preparing the boar that had been speared that day.

  Gareth scanned the village for his father until he spotted him speaking to Einon. “Come on.” He strode over to where he was, with Arhianna and Taliesin following closely behind.

  His father saw them coming and gave them a smile, but it faded upon seeing their faces. “What’s the matter?”

  Taliesin’s anxious eyes searched all around for his teacher. “Greetings, Pennaeth…Has Master Islwyn not arrived?”

  “No. The new moon’s not for another week.”

  Gareth elbowed Taliesin in the arm. “Tell my father what you saw.”

  Bran turned expectantly toward Taliesin, his forehead furrowed with concern.

  “This morning, I found a dark altar at the edge of the woods. I took Islwyn there and showed it to him. He said it was not the work of a druid. He was sure it was used for cursing or binding. He was very worried, and left right away to tell you.”

  “And, we saw something this afternoon, lurking near the meadow!” Arhianna interrupted.

  Gareth nodded. “We did.”

  “Please, Pennaeth, he should have been here hours ago,” Taliesin beseeched. “Something’s happened to him.”

  Gareth noticed his mother making her way over. As always, she knew when something was wrong. She put her arms around him and his sister. “What’s happened?”

  “Islwyn’s missing,” his father told her. “We must find him before night falls.” He turned to Taliesin. “Tell the queen everything you told me.”

  “Yes, Pennaeth.”

  Bran turned to leave, but Gareth grabbed his arm. “Can I come, Father?”

  He noticed his mother shoot his father an icy glance.

  “Not this time, son.”

  Gareth did his best to hide his anger, which was fueled by the actions of both his parents—his mother, for her overprotectiveness, and his father, for deferring to it. Why doesn’t he trust me? I’m a man, now! Before he could protest, his mother looked at Taliesin, who began patiently explaining the events of the day a third time.

  “And Master Islwyn’s not yet arrived,” his mother concluded. She gazed toward the Hawk’s Nest.

  The Hawk’s Nest was a lookout ledge near the summit of Mynyth Aur. It was accessed by way of steep stairs carved into one of the fortress walls. The opening leading out to it had been small at first, but the Northmen used their mining tools to widen it and built a wall around the edges of the ledge. In the summer, he and Arhianna liked to fill the entire ledge with straw and sleep under the stars. Their mother liked it, as well, for the privacy and solitude it provided. “I’m going up to the lookout for awhile. Don’t let anyone disturb me.”

  After she was out of earshot, Arhianna whispered, “She’s going to ask for a vision, isn’t she? Her visions are always terrible. I hope I never have any!”

  “They can be helpful,” Gareth pointed out. But I certainly don’t want any, either.

  Taliesin sat down near one of the fires and laid his cloak across his lap. He brought the little fox out of his tunic and then arranged various things to eat in the middle of his cloak, letting the fox investigate each one and take what she liked.

  Arhianna must have forgotten about the fox until then, for she squealed as if she had just seen it for the first time. She went and sat down next to Taliesin to watch. Gareth sat down as well, knowing it would do no good to pace.

  “She likes the cheese the best!” Arhianna announced happily, smiling at Taliesin. “I’ll find her some more.” She jumped back up and ran off.

  Gareth patted his friend’s hand in reassurance. “My father will find him. Perhaps he fell. You know how steep that foot path is. With all the rain we’ve had, it might have been slippery. He’ll bring him back.”

  When the baby fox had eaten everything Taliesin had laid out for her, he stood up. “I have something I need to do.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Gareth offered.

  “No, I want to go alone. Besides, your father told you to stay here.” Taliesin tucked the little fox back into his tunic and headed for the village gates.

  Taliesin’s comment rekindled the sting of his father’s dismissal. He stood up and stabbed at the fire with a long stick. A few moments later, Arhianna came back, cheese in hand, and sighed. “Where’d he go this time?”

  “You know how he hates crowds.”

  Arhianna nodded and then knit her brows, her mood turning serious. “Gareth, what do you think we saw?”

  “I don’t know. Now, I hope it was a bear.”

  “Master Islwyn’s just an old man with nothing worth stealing! Why would anyone want to hurt him?”

  They talked for a long while about what it might have been. Arhianna’s mind was clearly spinning a web, for she was fingering her amber pendant as she always did when deep in thought. The pendant had belonged to their grandmother, Agarah, who had given it to Aunt Seren. Aunt Seren had given it to Arhianna when she became a woman, and she wore it from that moment onward. She clutched it and looked over at him, eyes wide. “Maybe Cerridwen’s returned!”

  Gareth shook his head. “Arawn took care of her.”

  “How can you be so sure? She’s the most powerful sorceress that ever lived!”

  “More powerful than Arawn?” Gareth raised his brows. “You must be kidding.”

  “Cerridwen’s not to blame,” a voice said from behind them.

  Gareth’s heart jumped into his throat, for he had not heard their mother approach.

  “You must both promise me you’ll stay in the village until we know more about what’s happened today, do you understand?” Although she was addressing them both, her eyes were firmly fixed on Arhianna.

  “Yes, Mother,” Arhianna promised, wisely foregoing her usual resistance. “What did you see?”

  “I can’t speak of it now.”

  Gareth grew concerned about his mother. She looked pale and shaky. “Let’s go to the motherhouse,” he suggested, taking her by the arm and leading her there.

  Once inside, Arhianna poured her some mead and brought her a hunk of bread. “Here, Mother. Eat. You know it helps.”

  Although his sister could be insufferably self-centered at times, Gareth was often impressed by how generous and loving she was. All the children in the village adored her, for she had endless ideas for games and never turned them away.

  Lucia obediently took a sip and then tore off a small bite of bread which she chewed and swallowed as if she had a terribly sore throat. “Every time I’m shown something, I think, maybe this time it won’t happen, but it always does.” She gazed sadly into the fire, her eyes glazing over, and shook her head. “It always does.”

  “What did you see, Mother? Tell us! We’re not children anymore,” Arhianna pried.

  “Knowing such things is a burden, Daughter. Just heed my warnings and do as I’ve asked.”

  “We will,” Gareth promised, shooting his sister a look.

  “Good.” She gave him a nod. “Now, pile up some furs for me. I must rest. Wake me when your father returns.”

  As if she had announced him, Bran and his party burst into the motherhouse, Islwyn and Taliesin among them.

  Their mother l
et out a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods. Children, please excuse us.”

  Gareth and Arhianna were reluctant to go, but she stared at them in a way that meant she was not to be defied.

  They got up to leave, but Arhianna grabbed Taliesin by the arm and dragged him out with them. “What’s going on?” she demanded, her patience expired.

  “Islwyn heard voices on his way here and went to investigate. He came upon two warriors and a seer of some kind—a hunchback wearing a black bearskin—“

  “So that’s why we thought it was a bear,” Gareth said.

  Taliesin nodded. “They were building another one of those horrible altars. Islwyn said he recognized one of the men—an old enemy of your father’s.”

  Father? Enemies? Gareth did not think his father had any enemies. He had only ever met men who loved and revered his father. “Who was it?”

  “A man named Aelhaearn.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Hraban the Terrible

  Aelhaearn sliced his hand open for the fourth time that day, letting blood drip down on the final altar the Seer had built. He then cauterized the wound with a quick burst of fire from his other hand. Finally, he thought with satisfaction. Finally, I’ll have my revenge.

  “It’s done, then,” Camulos proclaimed after giving some of his own blood in the same way. “You’ve seen for yourself what we promised Hraban, and we’ve sworn our allegiance upon all four of your damn altars. I hope you’re satisfied. Can we go now?”

  The Seer did not look at Camulos when he answered. He never did. “Yes, it is done,” he confirmed in a gravelly voice, looking with pride upon his grotesque work. “Earl Hraban will be pleased.”

  As much as Aelhaearn detested looking at the hunchback, he hated the raspy, half-choked sound of his voice even more—to listen to such a pathetic creature speak, while he could not, was endless torture. He did not care for Camulos, either. Theirs was a relationship built solely upon mutual gain. After the Battle of the Crossroads, he had been struck mute, Camulos had no allies, and they had both been exiled. As they were men of cunning and strategy, it had not taken them long to forge an alliance.

  As a result of his submersion in the Cauldron, Camulos had continued to grow in strength and ruthlessness over the past decade, becoming an ever-more formidable warrior. This, paired with Aelhaearn’s ability to command fire, made them a fatal pair. They had successfully sold their services as mercenaries to a great number of powerful men, earning a grisly notoriety among even the most hardened of warmongers.

  Their latest employer was known as Hraban the Terrible, and for good reason. He hailed from Jutland, across the sea, and dreamed of conquering a new land for his people. Some of his brothers had obtained land and fortune in Kent in return for their services as mercenaries to the Brython warlord, Vortigern. Although Vortigern had petitioned Hraban as well, he had refused his offer. He bowed to no one.

  Hraban’s brothers in Kent had remained loyal to him, in spite of their new ties to Vortigern. They returned home regularly with reports from the land across the sea. It was through them that Hraban had first heard the stories of the Dragon and the Wolf, as Aelhaearn and Camulos were known as, and sought them out. Hraban eventually learned that he and Camulos were in Gaul and sent a messenger, whom they agreed to see.

  “Earl Hraban insists he must, at any cost, behold the man who is rumored to command fire,” the messenger had said, and then made the mistake of throwing a skeptical glance in Aelhaearn’s direction. Aelhaearn smiled as he thought about how he had engulfed the fool’s cloak in flames to convince him. With the rumors painfully verified, the messenger offered them a great amount of coin if they would journey back with him to meet with Hraban in person. They had agreed, eager for a new venture.

  After seeing they were indeed as capable as their reputation suggested, Earl Hraban had made them an even more generous proposal. “I am no longer a young man, and cannot raid much longer. I wish to rule a land of my own—a new one, for this land will soon belong to the Danes. They push ever downward from lands in the north. I will not stay and live under their rule. I have been called Earl for too long to suffer being addressed as anything less. Find me land in Gaul, or in Brython—I do not care—but it must be rich. Lead me to it, and help me conquer it. You will be rewarded for your trouble with a share of the land and goods.”

  Hraban commanded the most formidable warriors Aelhaearn had ever seen. They were the height and girth of trees, and wielded axes, shields and spears with the strategy of Romans and the savagery of Picts.

  They had agreed to his proposal, of course. Hraban wanted land, and they knew where to get it. It was a strange, deeply satisfying twist of fate that had given them the knowledge they were able to offer him—one that promised him land richer than Vortigern or any of his brethren ruled.

  Some moons before, they had been hired by a Gaulish lord, who preferred to dispense with his enemies rather than risk negotiating with them. At a feast one evening, Camulos had been seated next to the Gaul’s wife, a beautiful young woman named Mererid. Camulos had kept her wine glass full, hoping to find out exactly how wealthy their new employer was. They had gotten much more than they had hoped for. She was young and impetuous, and lacked the discretion of an older woman. It was not long before she confided to Camulos that, although her husband was very rich and treated her well, she was unhappy.

  “But surely, a pearl as rare and beautiful as yourself, coming from such a respected family, could have any man she wished for a husband!” Camulos exclaimed, encouraging her with his flattery.

  “I was in love, once.” She took a deep swallow of wine and whispered, “What a fool I was.”

  “With whom?”

  “I was betrothed to King Bran of the Oaks, who lives at the foot of a mountain of gold, but he broke his vow to my father and shamed me by getting a priestess of the Sisterhood with child.”

  Bran’s name, of course, had shot through Aelhaearn like a lightning bolt.

  “Well, children,” she corrected herself. “The woman bore twins, doubling my shame.”

  Camulos seized the opportunity and showered her with more compliments, saying what a great fool this Bran of the Oaks must be, and asked her more questions. Where was this mountain? What did it look like? How many people lived in the village?

  She had told him everything.

  Camulos, in turn, told Hraban the compelling story of Bran of the Oaks, who lived near a mountain of gold in a green valley with enough horses, women, weapons and crops for twice as many men as there were under his command.

  As expected, the idea appealed to Hraban immensely. Before he would agree, however, he insisted they take his hunchback to verify their claims. They reluctantly agreed to do so, on the condition they could blindfold the wretch for the better part of the journey. Once satisfied it would be worthwhile, Hraban would conquer Bran’s clan, take the land for his people, and reward them with a share of the spoils. Then, they would gain not only land and riches of their own, but revenge—the most alluring temptation of all to Aelhaearn.

  They had set out the following day, sailing west with some of Hraban’s men who were returning to Kent. From there, they traveled west along the Roman road to Londinium, then north to the former settlements of Venonis and Deva, and then further west to the land they had left over ten years ago.

  Now, they stood at the edge of the forest where they had both been cursed by Arawn. Being near it made Aelhaearn’s skin crawl.

  “Where are we?” the Seer demanded. He sensed something as well, but did not seem repelled by it.

  Camulos took off his blindfold, glancing over at Aelhaearn. “He’s worn it the entire journey—he cannot possibly know where we are.”

  The Seer blinked and rubbed his eyes, peering into the woods like a lecherous old man gawking at a young maiden, eager to defile her. “You fools!” he rasped, sliding off his horse onto his misshapen feet. “The treasure is here! Within these woods!”

  He ins
isted on exploring the forest, threatening not to verify their claim to Hraban if they did not allow him to. They had no choice but to follow him. He spent hours wandering through the trees until he found the Sacred Grove, where he nearly went into a fit of ecstasy.

  Aelhaearn felt disgusted watching the drool drip from the Seer’s mouth as he shuffled around the tree, probing her and shoving his hands between her roots, as if desperately looking for something.

  Camulos glared at the Seer, his patience expired. “We need to move on to the mountain. That’s why we’re here, is it not?”

  The Seer nodded. “After I see this mountain, you must bring me back here. I know magic that will claim the woods for Woden and ensure our victory. There can be no successful attack on this clan otherwise.” Again, he put his gnarled hands on the Oak. “She holds deeeeep power, like the Yggdrasil!”

  Aelhaearn knew Woden was the god of Hraban’s people, but he did not know much about him, and he certainly did not know what the Yggdrasil was. Regardless, he and Camulos had no choice but to agree to the Seer’s request.

  It took the rest of the afternoon to find their way out of the forest. They stayed hidden and made their way toward the mountain, giving the village a wide berth. To remain unseen, they could not take any of the well-worn trails to the summit. Instead, they climbed up the steeper side, hidden from the eyes of the villagers.

  The climb was nearly impossible for the Seer. His twisted bones and muscles were unsuited to the strain, and they had to stop frequently. Soon, it would dusk. Why couldn’t he have sent one of his warriors with us? Aelhaearn lamented. We’ll never reach the top before dark!

  “What’s this?” Camulos said from up above, interrupting his thoughts.

  Aelhaearn looked up to see him removing brush from an opening in the rock.

  “A tunnel!” he proclaimed.

  Aelhaearn scrambled up to where he was, grabbed a limb from the brush and fashioned a torch. They wandered in until they reached the heart of the mountain, where they discovered the rich veins of gold that Mererid had described.