Issa laughs. ‘That’s what I like about you, Ruth. You’re wise beyond your years.’ Chloe re-enters with a fresh loaf. ‘Thank you Chloe. This will serve us for lunch as well!’ Issa wraps the remaining food into a package with his handkerchief. He gets up and goes to our host, kissing her once more on the cheek. ‘It was wonderful to meet you, my dear.’
‘The pleasure is all mine. Be sure to pass this way on your return.’
‘That is a promise.’ Issa puts his hand out to help Ruth up. ‘Shall we be on our way? I expect Sirrah Weed is anxious to drug himself once more.’ Issa holds his hands out in front of him and stumbles to the door like a man in a stupor. Ruth follows him outside smirking foolishly.
A moment later, Jessica re-enters from her wash. Her black curly hair glistens and her face is reddened from the cold water. She approaches me, teasing her freezing hand against the nape of my neck, and laughs when I cry out. ‘There are some things that I miss about London. It’s been a while since I had to share a trough with a horse.’ She comes and joins me on the bench and takes my hand in hers. ‘Weed, I have told you that my people are from Cornwall. Our Cornish language is not so unlike Welsh. That’s why when you dreamt of this Bryn Celli Ddu place, I knew that the bryn part meant hill. But I’ve been thinking about the rest. Bryn Celli Ddu, it sounds like ‘hill of a black hollow’ in our tongue. It does not sound very welcoming.’
I gaze at Jessica for a moment, losing myself in her deep dark eyes. I want to reassure her. ‘I have seen visions of a cairn called Bryn Celli Ddu. And I don’t think it is a dark place. It is rather a prism of light. A lens to focus the sun.’
‘You have told me that you were a lens for the sun yourself at Soutra Aisle and in St James’ Park too. Perhaps it is right that you go there.’
‘Connell told me that I would be that lens again.’
‘Hmmm. Connell, the half-drowned Druid.’ She pulls me up from where I sit and whispers in my ear. ‘Come on then, Weed. I hear we’re going to Anglesey now. To see your ex-girlfriend, a witch who corrupts the very heart of nature. Connell, Malina and poor Hannah. And I thought that I had the market cornered on unfortunate choices when it came to selecting lovers.’
Chapter 35
June, Waning Gibbous Moon
We travel at speed to Anglesey. I am concerned about what we will find when we get there. I know that Malina hunts the Adder Stone; she may have already found it. Whatever damage she does to herself or others, I am culpable for. I assisted her in stealing the root from Medcaut, which set her on this path. Yet why drag so many others with me? Ruth can hardly be blamed for her part in the theft; she’s still only a girl. Issa? What debt does he owe to me to be paid with such a price. And my dear Jessica? It would kill me if she were hurt or injured on this errand. The first seed of Gwirdrych showed me that which Malina seeks. The second revealed that others have hunted the Adder Stone. The third seed is all that remains.
Our carriage runs along the rutted gauge of the dirt track and already Chloe’s guesthouse is far behind us. I look at my companions and their faces are set against the horizon. Our purpose is grim but their steadfast nature true. Ruth looks up at the sky and says to me ‘Weed, it’s getting worse. See up there? Those are owls. They shouldn’t be around in daytime. That’s unnatural and it’s a bad omen. I think that if you’re going to eat the final seed you should do it now. We might need you alert and ready sooner than you think.’
Jessica takes my hand and holds it hard. I lie down, my head against her lap, and take out the pod that has weighed me down for almost two months. It will be good to finally be rid of it. I squeeze the last seed into my palm; it has grown black and rotten. Casting the pod husk into the track, I place the third kernel between my teeth, chew and swallow.
I fall again but this time the sensation never seems to stop. My chest tries to gulp air but I can’t catch my breath. I feel like I’m suffocating, drowning. Panic starts to take me and my heart thunders in my chest. I remember Gwirdrych warning me not to eat the seeds at once or they would prove too strong. Perhaps I have taken them too quickly and I am destined to die here on the road. At least my death would save my companions from this quest. Let Malina have her prize and be damned for it. I should have taken Gwirdrych’s advice. I should have just laid low and waited for the whole sorry mess to blow over.
The first thing is noise. My consciousness is kindled amid a cacophony of howls and screams. I blink hard and will myself to see. When my eyes open I look around and the land is thronged with warriors so thickly that it is hard to find bare mud between them. Armed with clubs and swords, their fierce look denotes rage and a willingness for pain. Naked women dash among their ranks, frenzied like furies with dishevelled hair. They wave burning brands and slake the men’s thirst with mead. Scattered among the hordes stand Druids, dreadful to behold, dressed in purest white, with hands lifted to the heavens.
A Priest wielding a great sickle steps away from the swarm and the crowd roars its ferocity. He speaks from beneath a grey beard. ‘The seers have shown us by their augury that the Romans come to Menai this morning. They come on Midsummer when we observe the blessing of the Sol Invictus, our glorious protector. They hope to steal from us that which is most holy, the Adder Stone. What do they want from the stone? The ending of the world. What do they want from us? Our lives, and those we give freely.’ As he raises his sickle to the air the multitude erupts in furious bellowing.
I watch and, floating in the strait nearby, in flat-bottomed boats, stand further Druids. They pour forth dreadful imprecations against the coming enemy; they curse them and curse their Gods, and they sing of the glory of battle.
‘Men come to Menai, eager with laughter, attacking in an army, cruel in battle. They slay with swords without much sound. Fresh mead is their feast, their poison too. Men come to Menai, mead-nourished, sturdy and strong. War hounds fight fiercely in tight formation! Of the war-band of Menai! To leave any in the shape of a man is a burden. Men come to Menai. They make it certain biers will be needed. With blades the cruellest in the world. A blood-bath and death for his enemy.’
Across the strait we see them coming: the Romans with their great siege weapons, their armour shining in the morning light. They pelt us with flaming barrels but our ground is too high for their shot to meet its target. We watch the burning shrapnel explode beneath us like sparks from the blacksmith’s anvil. The seething crush howls its loathing, mocking its enemies, degrading their honour.
The Roman legion stands agape, in horror of the Celtic rabble, but prodded by their officers the rank and file wade across the sound. Swamped in quicksand and sinking mud their front line is desperately drowned, choking in the bog. Our boat-born Priests wield their sickles mightily, hacking grimaced faces and grasping hands. Soon the Menai Strait runs red with blood, its frothing waves gory on the tide. But their numbers are great and urged by their generals’ appeals they use the bodies of their fallen comrades as a pontoon. First a trickle, then a stream and then a mighty wave of Romans crosses the strait and ascends the hill towards us.
Our hardy band lacks their stoic discipline but we overmatch them in spirit. The horde roars, frenzied, down the hill to meet its foe with blade, club, fist and tooth. The fighting is a fever of violence with men, women and sainted Priests attacking with ferocity. Those boat-bound Druids still standing sing their holy curses louder and take up bows and crossbows to fire arrows at the enemy. And yet in the battle I do not move to join my comrades. Instead I watch the approaching Romans, looking carefully for something, I know not what.
Then I see it. A breakaway group of five men in mufti cleaves from the formation of the Roman soldiers and, skirting the bloody skirmish, head eastward towards some hidden goal. I follow them through the gorse and heather, keeping low and silent. Though my mind bears only dumb witness, my body finds well-hidden concealments and cover as I chase them across the plain.
We are far from the battle now and the air feels still and silent. A grove of t
rees appears and I know instinctively that we have reached our destination. The group approaches the grove and halts very suddenly. Four men stand guard while the fifth man, shorter than the rest, throws off his cloak and places a wreath of laurels on his head. He advances into the trees alone. I know a secret path and I edge around, closing on the guards. I think that I am about to attack, but instead I stay still, watching from my hiding place a little distance away.
I count seconds inside my head. Nothing moves; the earth seems to hold its breath. Then the silence is rent by a great cry from within the circle of trees. The guards turn to look but they keep their positions; they are well trained. A moment later their master emerges, stumbling. He holds his head in both hands and his eyes are red as if he weeps blood. He motions to one of his men, and says something but I cannot hear it. The guardsman hands his master a sword and immediately the weapon is turned against the minion who is gutted brutally. The others are shocked, beginning to flee, but the master is too fast. He wields the blade until the bodies of two other guards lie dead on the grass. He shouts loudly then and the remaining man halts in his retreat, returning warily to the circle where his master is howling. I hear him. ‘Kill the Druids! Burn the Island!’
He dismisses the last guard, who sprints away in the direction of the battlefield. The master is left alone among the trees. I can see his face very clearly from where I stand. I watch as he stares with his eyes wide open at the blazing sun above him for minutes. Then he brings his hand to his mouth and bites it hard, moaning as he does so. He turns in my direction and approaches me. I see madness in his face. I fear that I am about to be discovered but he walks directly past me, snorting to himself, a bubble of snot forming at one nostril.
Once he has disappeared from view I run into the grove. My eyes look to the north and the familiar grass-covered cairn. I approach it carefully and slowly, hunting for the hidden entranceway at its base. I see it and halt: a shadowed arch that leads inside the cairn. Except the shadow is not still. There is wild black movement within the hollow, like darkness playing on darkness. Tendrils of grim shade lick at the doorway and I can hear a thumping like the beating of many wings. This body’s breath is coming in frightened gasps and the strange heart thuds in my chest. As I advance on the cairn the sound of wings grows frenzied and I see flashes of sharp teeth gnashing in the shadow. Whether a vision or not, I do not want to go any further towards those teeth and whipping shades.
I look up to the clear blue sky and see that the sun is reaching its zenith. My gaze returns to the dark cairn and I watch as a shaft of brightness shines through its roof, cutting the shadow like a hot knife through tar. Further rays of light stab through darkness, rending the jagged shades until they dissipate. I hasten just within the chamber and observe the plinth. The small stone, the Uroborus, is sitting undisturbed on its rostrum. Just beside it and lying crumpled on the ground I see a laurel wreath, torn and bloodied. The haunting shadows of teeth that protect this place have deserted it for now but they have eaten today. I remember the deranged eyes of the Roman as he cut down his fellows. Those hungry spirits have left a bloody smear across his mind.
I feel a sharp tug on my sleeve then. A tug that becomes more insistent until it is yanking me out of the cavern. Now there are many hands, pulling and dragging me away from the cairn. A final sharp jerk and I am wrenched from my body. I see a man, still standing at the entrance to the grass-covered mound, getting smaller in the bright sunlight as I am snatched away from my vision. I open my eyes in darkness to feel myself hauled through thick undergrowth. ‘What’s happening?’ I spit groggily.
A hand covers my mouth and lips are against my ear. ‘Be quiet, Weed. We’re in trouble,’ It’s Jessica’s voice.
Chapter 36
‘I don’t like dogs!’ Issa whispers hoarsely in the night. I am flat on my stomach at the bottom of a grassy incline. There are gorse bushes shielding me on all sides and I feel dirt ground into my face; I smell its earthy scent in my nose. This is no dream or vision. It is as real as the fear in Issa’s voice. ‘Give me ten men to fight but no dogs.’
‘You may have your wish, Issa.’ I think I hear Ruth ahead of me in the darkness. My mind is still foggy from the vision. ‘Weed? Is he awake finally?’
‘I am.’ I move my arms and legs and hear them cracking loudly.
‘Sssh!’ Hisses Issa.
‘Where are we?’ I feel around, touching root and soil. I am behind Jessica; I think Issa is in front of her with Ruth at the head of our party.
‘Just outside of Conwy.’ Jessica breathes into my ear.
‘Where’s the cart?’
‘Burned. We fled the town on foot.’ Ruth replies. ‘Come up ahead, Weed.’
I crawl towards Ruth’s voice as quietly as possible, climbing the rise of the grassy bank where we are hiding until I join her at its lip. Together we peer over the top of the hillock. ‘What are you looking for?’
There is no moon in the sky and I stare out into the black night. At first I see nothing. Then two yellow pinpricks move in the dark ahead of us, appearing and disappearing just as suddenly. ‘What’s that?’
‘A wolf. There are others around.’
‘I don’t like dogs!’ Issa moans behind us.
‘We’re so close to our destination, Weed. The Menai Strait is west of here but I fear that the bridge at Bangor is impassable.’ Ruth’s voice is so low I can barely hear it.
‘Why?’
‘There are strange people in the country hereabouts. We lodged at Conwy. The town was almost deserted and there was a pall in the air, something threatening. We woke in the middle of the night to see our carriage in flames. Wolves padded the streets and there were men who walked with them.’
‘Tamed wolves? The only tame wolf I ever saw was at Soutra Aisle, in your company.’
‘And who do you think taught me that trick? I can feel them out there, Weed. Wolves and other creatures hunting for us.’
‘How many?’
‘I don’t know. I do not fear the wolves but more it is the men who shepherd them.’
‘It’s pitch black. How do you know there are any men out there?’
‘I can feel them too.’
‘I thought your skills lay with the wild animals of the field.’
Ruth shifts where she lies to look at me. ‘I know, and that worries me. These men are under Malina’s influence. They walk beastly.’
‘Gah!’ We turn to see Issa biting his bottom lip in terror as a snake winds up his leg. Ruth makes a subtle noise, clicking her tongue in the back of her mouth and the snake rears up briefly before darting away. ‘We can’t stay here.’ Issa hisses. ‘Forget the bridge. Let’s make a run for it. We can reach the Menai Strait and wade across the water.’
‘Which way is west?’ It is impossible to make anything out in the moonless sky.
‘I can navigate at night.’ Whispers Issa. Ruth and I crawl carefully down the knoll to join him and Jessica where they crouch at its bottom.
Jessica murmurs. ‘Take a hand each. We can’t lose each other in the darkness. Issa, how do you know the way?’
He points to the sky. ‘Ursa Major, The Great Bear. It indicates the North Star. For west we turn to the left. Now, swiftly and quietly; let’s go.’ Issa hastens ahead, pulling Jessica behind him with Ruth and me skirting along the ground at the tail.
Ruth speaks lowly. ‘I am pleased you’re finally awake. Dragging you though the undergrowth was a noisy business and the wolves have sharp ears.’
‘And sharp teeth too. So keep silent,’ Jessica chides us both. We creep though the undergrowth, treading as carefully as possible. Linked together in a chain, when one of us stumbles and falls the others follow. It is hard to judge time and distance in the pitch blackness but we seem to progress at a steady pace. The howl and hiss of wolves is ever present on the cold breeze, sometimes close, sometimes farther away. They search for us at random I realise; they don’t have our scent.
‘Whoa.’ Issa
stifles himself. ‘Stop. There’s a crevasse here.’
‘Can we go around?’ I ask.
‘There’s no way to know how far it stretches without a light.’ Issa kneels to the floor, feeling the margin of the rift, he sighs. ‘What do you want to do with this headache?’
We join him on the ground, crouching at the rim of the fissure. Jessica takes a stone from the soil and lobs it into the rift; we listen as it tumbles down, clattering distantly into the deep. She whispers, ‘We can’t climb down.’ Jessica takes a second stone and throws it further; this time I hear it hit the wall opposite and bounce back, falling into the crevasse. The third stone she pitches further still and we hear a soft thud as it lands on turf on the other side. ‘I’d say it’s about six feet across.’ She throws another stone. ‘Maybe five feet. I can make it with a run up.’
I grab her hand in mine. ‘Jessica, are you mad? If you fall you could break your neck.’
‘Or your leg,’ offers Ruth.
‘And then the wolves would get you,’ adds Issa glumly.
‘I may not be as strong as Issa or Weed but I’m fitter than both of you. I’m a professional actress. It’s not just sitting on your arse reciting lines, you know. I can run straight, I can leap and I’m tall. I know I can make it. The hardest part will be jumping before I hit the edge. Issa, come here.’ Jessica pulls Issa to his feet. She takes three steps backwards. ‘Stand there and don’t move. Hold your hand out limp like this. I’m going to run past you; when I feel your hand brushing against me, I know it’s one more stride and then the leap.’
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Of course, Weed. Have some faith. Now you and Ruth make sure to get well to the side. I won’t be able to see you, so keep out of my way.’ I hear Jessica pacing back as Ruth and I shuffle to the left. I pray that she will make it. For several long moments there is just chilling silence in the air. I begin to worry that she has backed into a waiting wolf, or worse, when suddenly I hear the sound of feet beating against gorse. She runs so fast that I feel the wind as she passes us. I hear a delicate grunt and then the thud of Jessica’s landing on the far side of the rift.
Weed: The Poison Diaries Page 23
