‘Jessica!’ I hiss as loudly as I dare.
‘I’m here. Wait a moment. It’s woody over here. Just stay there and keep quiet.’
‘All this waiting around is making me hungry.’ Issa grumbles. ‘I wish we had kept some of Chloe’s bread.’
‘Shut up, Issa. You finished that two days ago,’ whispers Ruth.
‘Don’t tell me to shut up. I can’t help it if I’m hungry.’ We hear a sound then, something being dragged along the ground. It is coming from the other side of the rift. ‘Jessica, what are you doing? You’re making a lot of noise.’
‘Issa.’ There’s a sound of wood scraping against stone. ‘Come to the lip and feel across. I’m pushing a log to you.’
‘Hold on.’ Issa leans out into the crevasse and hauls something back towards us. I watch as he lays the end of a solid log on the ground by him. ‘Good God, Jessica. You’re brilliant. It’s thick. I think it’ll take our weight.’
‘Come on then.’ Ruth fearlessly hops onto the log and runs deftly across. She’s nimble and light; I remember her climbing a tree like a cat in the woods at Lindisfarne.
Issa is a deal more wary. I hold the log steady on my side and Jessica does the same on the opposite. He crawls across on his hands and knees, keeping his balance steady. Once he makes it across it is my turn. I do not like it. I cannot see where I’m going and as I place my hands on the bark the blackness of the rift yawns up to meet me. I try and breathe evenly and calmly, placing one hand in front of the other, concentrating on the movement of my limbs. My heart leaps into my throat as I feel the log start to move and roll. Jessica and Issa can only steady the trunk on the far side and they cannot keep it from spinning. I grip it for dear life as I wheel slowly around. I hear a sharp crack in the wood.
‘WEED!’ Jessica whispers. ‘Oh, God. Are you there?’
‘Yes. I am hanging on.’ I hug the barky surface to myself, afraid to move.
‘Come on, Weed. You’re safe.’ Issa says. ‘Just go hand over hand and pull yourself along. You can do it. We’re ready to pull you up on this side. Just hurry. I don’t know how long the log will hold for.’
I hear a loud howl and gasp. ‘I think the pack have heard us.’
‘Yes, but we don’t know which side they’re on.’
The baying of the wolves puts haste into my hands and feet and I shuffle up the log, ignoring the sound of the wood splintering and creaking under my weight. I meet the crevasse wall and feel hands on my shirt, hauling me above the rim.
The night’s darkness has lightened to a shade of dark grey and I can just make out Issa looking at the sky to get his bearings. ‘Come on, people. Join hands again. Dawn isn’t far away and when daylight breaks it will give our pursuers an easier task.’
With the howl of wolves in our ears we follow Issa as he leads us further to the west. Soon I can smell the salt of the sea on the breeze and the countryside starts to cant downwards. We stumble along together and the insistent wolves are getting louder. I pray that we are nearing our destination.
‘Stop a second,’ says Ruth, and she listens hard. ‘They’re too close. They haven’t been halted by any crevasse or rift. I think they must have our scent.’ I hear a hiss just ahead and two eyes appear out of the murky darkness. Before I realise what I’m seeing a great howl pierces the air. The first glimmer of dawn washes a tone of black out of the sky and I watch Ruth as she approaches the beast.
‘Be careful, Ruth.’ She holds her arms out to the animal but it doesn’t lay its muzzle in her hand as at Soutra Aisle. Instead it pelts away from us, barking madly.
Ruth looks back. ‘I think we’d better run.’
Issa is the first off the mark and we sprint after him. It is growing lighter by the minute and it is easier to keep our course. The salt smell in the air is getting stronger but so is the sound of the howling wolves that pursue us. I listen and hear the shouts of men join their chorus.
‘I can see the sea. We are close,’ Ruth pants. The incline is levelling out but the ground beneath us starts to soften. Soon our running feet are throwing up thick clods of sticky brown mud. It sucks at my boots and our pace slackens as we battle against it.
‘This is going to slow us down,’ says Issa.
I remember my vision of the battle of Menai and the grisly sight of Romans drowning in the sinking mud and sands at shore. ‘Wait. It might do more than slow us down. This is sinking mud.’
‘Then stop,’ Issa commands and we halt dead, though our hunters seem closer than ever. ‘Don’t go any further.’ Through the grey light I can see the water’s margin across a brown field of mud barely a hundred foot ahead of us.
‘It’s so close! Oh, God! Just listen to those wolves! Do you think we can make it over the flats?’ Ruth looks desperately towards the Menai Strait.
‘If it is sinking mud then it will take us before we get there. We’ll be drowned,’ warns Issa.
‘Then what can we do, Issa? They’re coming.’ I look behind and sure enough like hell’s riders a pack of wolves bears down on us, and men wielding clubs and sticks run with them.
‘Get down on your stomachs. Like this. And keep your arms and legs spread.’ Issa quickly lies on the muddy earth, extending his limbs away from his body. ‘Don’t put too much weight at one point in the mire or you’ll sink. Push yourself along like you’re swimming.’ He begins to make a breast stroke motion and I watch as he glides across the mud like a frog.
The three of us dive to the ground and copy his motion. It is slow progress but as the light brightens I see branches stuck fast in the thickening mud; Issa grabs at these and uses their anchor to propel himself faster across the slime. We follow his example and soon we are half way to the strait.
Covered from head to toe in mud, Ruth whispers: ‘This will help to camouflage us from the wolves.’
‘It will certainly cover our scent,’ says Jessica, trying to keep her face out of the sludge. The water is just a dozen feet from us and I can see the island of Ynys Mon on the other side of the sound. When we reach the salty waves it is a relief to slowly let it bear my weight off the treacherous flats and we swim from land to sea.
Jessica is the strongest swimmer and as such she is very quickly ahead. I see her stop midway on the surf and, treading water, she turns back to check on our progress. She points behind us. ‘Look!’
I turn my head and see the men who chase us with their feet and legs stuck in the mud. They are sinking fast but they keep coming for us nonetheless. ‘Why don’t they halt or turn around?’ asks Jessica as we catch up to her.
The four of us are staring together now and Issa says, ‘They are either brave warriors or foolish children.’
‘They are neither. Malina is making them do it. They will chase us until they are dead. The wolves at least are not so stupid.’ Ruth indicates the pack of animals as they pace warily back and forth at the mudflat’s borders.
We turn to face the looming island of Ynys Mon. I remember the geography of the land from my vision and am pleased that it is unchanged. There are no mudflats on the far side. Instead a hill rises steeply from the water. We swim slowly across the strait but I cannot stop myself from occasionally looking back. I can see the men clearly now in the morning light. Even as they sink to their waists in the mire they struggle on, their eyes fixed on us.
Jessica is the first to reach the island and she hauls herself out of the water to sit at the foot of the grassy hill. As we reach her in turn, she pulls us out of the sea until finally all four of us are on dry land. We huddle together for warmth and gaze at the grisly sight opposite. Several of the men are up to their necks. I can see a hand poking out of the ground, its owner completely submerged within the mud. I shiver, knowing that none of them will stop and none of them will survive.
Chapter 37
We take a moment’s pause on the grass by the shore to collect ourselves. I regard my companions. With hair dripping and clothes clinging to their bodies, they look like half-drowned rats
. They’re exhausted and yet I see in their faces exhilaration at having outmatched our pursuers. Jessica turns to me. ‘So we are here at Anglesey at last. And what do you expect to find here, Weed? What have your dreams told you of this place?’
I meet her gaze. I have had no time to think since emerging from my latest vision but I tell my friends what I know. ‘There is a grass-covered cairn to the east of here called Bryn Celli Ddu. It is well hidden and it houses within it a stone, called the Adder Stone. Malina is hunting for that stone and I have dreamed of it. But in my dreams there’s evidence that it might do her some damage. She may even be dead.’
‘No. She is not dead. Those men and wolves were under her authority. Why else should they attack us?’ Ruth uproots a handful of grass. ‘Weed, is there anything moving in the earth? Are there any voices to tell us what we will find on this island?’
‘I’m afraid not. I have been trying ever since I woke in the night. These lands are dead to me. It is like when I first met you on the heath by the fire at Soutra Aisle. I cannot hear them.’
Issa speaks then. ‘I don’t claim to understand exactly what you mean when you say you speak to the earth, Weed, although little Ruth has tried to explain it. Old Cao once told me that the world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our five little senses to sharpen to a sixth. But whatever its cause, I feel something odd here. There’s something strange moving in my bones.’
Ruth looks worried. ‘Malina never used to be able to hold sway over men, Weed. Whatever she has found on this island has changed her somehow. Perhaps we are in danger simply being here. If you find her and this stone, what will you do?’
‘If she has it then we must wrest it from her and replace it in the cairn. At midsummer the sun’s light will touch it there and make the stone tame.’
‘Weed? The summer solstice was two days ago.’ Jessica tells me and my heart sinks.
‘Then I will face her and do whatever can be done to limit the damage she causes, even if it means my death.’ The thought of Issa, Jessica or Ruth falling prey to whatever corruption roots here is more chilling than the Menai waters. ‘My friends, let me finish this journey on my own.’
‘Sod that for a game of soldiers,’ says Jessica quietly. ‘Do you really think that I’d slide through mud and swim in the sea just to forget about it and turn around now? Besides, how are we going to get back with wolves and madmen dogging the path? When you’re going through hell, keep going, I say.’
‘I’ll freeze if I sit here very much longer,’ Ruth says through chattering teeth. She gets off the damp turf and pulls Jessica to her feet. ‘If we can get to the top of this hill then we’ll be out in the sun. That’s a start.’
Issa and I follow Jessica and Ruth, grabbing handfuls of shrub as we climb the steep slope to quicken the ascent. I try to remember my vision of the land hereabouts and hope that when we reach the summit I will recognize the path eastward to the cairn of Bryn Celli Ddu. Through foreign eyes I saw the Romans battle here many centuries ago, yet the earth does not change as men live and die. I remember Gwirdrych’s words regarding the natural world at Alnwick Castle:Time is meaningless to us.
‘Oh my!’ I hear Jessica before I crest the hill, and when I reach its peak I see what makes her cry out. The sun is huge in the sky, hovering just above the horizon, but there are great dark clouds amassed in front of it and others dotted about the heavens. It looks as if we may have rain, but then I notice that the clouds are moving oddly. They seem to ripple and swirl in odd formations, sometimes splitting apart and then coming together again. I’m reminded of the schools of fish I saw swimming beneath Connell’s boat. Then I watch as the massed cloud blocking the sun wheels to the west and Jessica murmurs: ‘they’re birds.’
‘Wrens,’ says Ruth firmly. ‘They’re congregating here. I’ve never seen such a number at once.’
‘Get down,’ says Issa, pulling me to the grass. ‘There!’ He points to a group of four men walking eastward at the foot of the hill. They make a motley band: fat and thin, old and young, and dressed in diverse attire. Two look like farmers, carrying a hoe and hay fork, but a third wears gentlemen’s breeches and wields a pistol, while another is clad in a butcher’s apron and holds a cleaver in a meaty fist. They do not look like fellows you would often see walking together.
‘I wish I had Tunde’s scimitar with me,’ whispers Jessica to me as we hug the ground.
‘And I wish I had her pistol,’ agrees Issa.
‘This is no good. How will we find our way with these numbskulls dotting the path?’ asks Ruth. ‘I’m sick of scurrying around and hiding in ditches.’
I carefully peek my head over the hilltop. The men seem to have gone. When I chased the Romans in my vision, I kept low and out of sight. I look closely and see echoes of the nooks and hiding places still etched into the land. ‘Keep close behind me.’ I whisper to my companions as I proceed latterly down the hill, using the lee of its crest as cover.
At its foot there is a small stone quarry, long abandoned, and we regroup in its shelter. ‘The cairn is not far away; half an hour’s course at most. I’m sorry, Ruth, but there’ll be a deal more scurrying before we reach it. The land slopes downward near the Island’s coast and if we keep low then anyone walking along the plain shouldn’t see us. But we must bolt from here to reach its safety.’
I take Jessica’s hand, and she takes Ruth’s, who holds fast to Issa. I look to see that the way is clear and leap from the lip of the quarry. We are sprinting southeast, heading for the incline, when I hear a roar from behind. I turn and see the four men from earlier pelting down the hill towards our group.
‘They must have seen us, Weed! We were being stalked from the back side of the hill. All that clamour they’re making! I don’t like it.’ Before I have time to argue Ruth turns on her heel and rushes headlong towards the approaching enemy. I look at Issa’s shocked face; he can’t believe the child’s impulsive action and yet without hesitating we three rush after her.
Ruth is sprinting fast ahead and throws herself hard against a fat, hoe-wielding farmer, knocking him to the ground. His skinny fellow thrusts the sharp end of his hay fork at Ruth’s head but she ducks down quickly, saving her neck. Yet he backswipes and I watch in horror as its butt cracks against her temple and she crumples limply to the grass. These rags of men have felled a child and still there is no pause; the devil is indeed at work in them. I have been called a devil too and I once promised to protect Ruth, so I let them feel my anger.
The fat farmer knocked flat by Ruth’s first assault is attempting to find his feet and I seize his sharp edged hoe from the ground. I turn the blade against his skinny friend, slicing where life blood streams. The best veins are in the leg, neck and wrist for cutting deep; Femorals and Carotids gush in geysers. I turn to see Issa wrestling the butcher and Jessica darts beneath the rich gentleman’s fist to deliver a cracking elbow to his ribs. He fumbles for his pistol, but that weapon is a poor choice for close quarters. Before he can get off a shot Jessica uses her knee to deliver an explosive blow to his crotch.
Ruth is moving on the ground now but her eyes are still closed and the fat farmer is closing in. His lumpen legs and neck prove an easy target as I swing the hoe in a wide arc to let its edge open a gash in his throat. There is no great spout of blood; I have missed his artery. Nevertheless the injury would fell any man and I stare in disbelief as he walks towards me. His eyes are glazed and foggy. I remember the relentlessness of the men who pursued us to their death in the mud. These attackers will not stop while the machinery of their bodies may be set against us.
‘You must deliver them a fatal blow, Weed!’ shouts Issa. He holds the cleaver in his own hand and I glance down to see the butcher lying unmoving on the grass at his feet.
Ruth has rolled out of the fat farmer’s path and I swing the hoe again, but my aim is off and I bury the bladed edge in his flank. I can’t dislodge the weapon from his bulk and as he advances the hoe’s handle slips from my gr
asp. Left with no choice I ready my fists, doubtful against the approaching juggernaut. The farmer is bearing down on me hard when I hear a sharp rapport. It thunders through the air with such volume that the clouds of birds above us shimmer and shake. I look ahead and see a small, black hole in the farmer’s forehead. A tiny trickle of dark red blood wells from within and I watch as my attacker’s eyes sink into the back of his skull. He keels forward so suddenly that I am forced to jump back as he collapse to the ground.
I turn, looking back, and see Jessica, feet rooted to the ground, holding the smoking pistol fast in her grip. The gentleman she has taken it from lies on the ground, the butcher’s cleaver wedged in his skull. ‘I kicked him right in his balls and he didn’t even cry out. Thank God Issa came to my aid.’
‘Nothing to it.’ Issa is inelegantly trying to jimmy the blade free of the fallen gentleman’s head.
Ruth walks over to join us, rubbing her temple. She gestures at the skinny farmer who hit her. ‘These men are not easy adversaries. I’m glad that we avoided them last night.’
‘Are you alright, little one?’ I ask, retrieving my hoe from the fat farmer’s flank.
‘I’m fine. Just a little keen in the fight.’ She smiles up at me.
‘At least we now have their weapons to aid us.’ Issa is kneeling beside the well-dressed gentleman and searches in his pockets. He draws out two bags, one of shot, the other of powder. ‘Here, Jessica. You clearly know how to aim. Do you know how to load shot?’
‘Of course.’ Jessica takes the proffered bags and prepares her weapon for further use.
‘And I’ll keep this cleaver.’ Issa weighs its heft approvingly. ‘Weed, that hoe looks good on you. Makes you look like a real country lad.’
‘Thank you, I think.’ I take the hay fork from the ground and offer it to Ruth.
Weed: The Poison Diaries Page 24
