The Circle of Stone: The Darkest Age

by A. J. Lake

They left the sailors who brought them standing on the quay, arguing. The men had been alarmed to find their own boat – the newly made and newly rescued pride of their village, which had carried the hero here – abandoned at the quayside, with no sign of its master or crew. Their enquiries brought little result: the boat had arrived more than three days ago with eight men aboard; all eight had walked into the town the same day, and had not returned. That means they sailed here in only a day! Elspeth thought. It was too fast to be natural.

  It seemed there were a number of visitors to the town just now: the only inn of any size was crowded, with barely space for the five of them. The hostess told them that a healer had just arrived in Alebu: he had cured the town’s richest merchant of an ague, and word had spread. She had not seen nor heard of any party of boatmen who arrived three days ago, but assured Cluaran that there was nowhere else in the town where so large a group could have stayed together. ‘They could have gone for work inland, with one of the farmers, maybe,’ she said doubtfully. ‘Though there’s not much work to be had this time of year.’

  Elspeth suddenly realised that the woman’s voice was becoming fainter, as if the speaker had moved away from them. Her head felt heavy and her legs weak; she reached out to Edmund for support.

  ‘Your young one looks all in!’ the woman cried. ‘Let her lie down – you can search for your friends later.’

  They found her a pallet by the fire in the smaller of the inn’s two rooms, and she slept almost at once. She woke only once before the next day: it was dark, lit by nothing more than the fire’s embers, and other guests were sleeping around her. On the pallet next to her lay Eolande, but the Fay woman was not asleep: she had pulled herself up on her elbow, and Elspeth caught the dark glitter of her eyes, as if the woman were watching her. She must have stirred, for Eolande turned away at once, and Elspeth was quickly asleep again.

  Next morning, her head was still heavy, and Edmund gave her an anxious look as they sat round the hostess’s table eating her barley bread.

  ‘You’re still not well,’ he said. ‘We could rest here today, perhaps, before moving on.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Elspeth insisted, alarmed at the thought of any delay.

  ‘You should take her to the grethari,’ the hostess said, ladling water into cups. ‘The healer. They say he has great skill: he goes from place to place, and cures all that he touches.’

  ‘Let’s seek him out!’ Edmund said eagerly.

  Cathbar looked at Elspeth. ‘Maybe we should, at that,’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine!’ Elspeth said, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. She could not be ill; couldn’t they see that? ‘We need to get moving!’

  But for now, there was no trail for them to follow. Speaking to the inn’s other guests, they learned that today was market day, and the usual influx of traders to the town had been swelled by people hoping to see the grethari. But there was no word of a party of strangers from the north; nor even of one man, handsome and commanding, with the bearing of a hero. It seemed that both Loki and his fellow travellers had vanished into the air.

  ‘We need supplies,’ Cathbar said. ‘Maybe we’ll learn something in the market.’

  The market was small even by the standards of Elspeth’s home town of Dubris. They bought bread, dried fish and blankets for the journey, and Cathbar spent a long time in discussion with a smith, and came away with a narrow package. Then, passing by a Frankish pedlar’s stall with Edmund, Elspeth heard the news she needed.

  ‘No word of a lie, mistress,’ the man was saying to a customer, as he carefully detached a tin brooch and two needles from his hoard. ‘A forest fire, not ten leagues from here, and in weather as cold as it is today! I saw it with my own eyes.’

  He repeated his story to Edmund and Elspeth after the woman had gone, and asking around the other traders confirmed it. It had happened only the day before yesterday, they said, in the great forest to the south: lightning must have struck a tree, as sometimes happens in the winter storms, but there had been no storm, and the fire had spread till the smoke could be seen for leagues. Several traders had seen it, or smelt the smoke, as they made their way to Alebu for the market, but no one could guess what had made it spread so disastrously, particularly in winter.

  ‘It’s still burning, as far as I know,’ said a farmer. ‘I heard that lightning had nothing to do with it and that bandits may be to blame.’

  ‘I have never heard of bandits in these parts.’ The pedlar looked concerned.

  The farmer came over. ‘That may have been true once but I have heard strange tales this week, there is something in the wind. Some of us are travelling south together tomorrow, when the market ends – the townspeople of Eikstofn and the farms round there. Come with us if you want: the more the better, I’d say.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ the pedlar said. ‘I’ve no wish to go back that way alone if there really are bandits out there.’ The news seemed to banish Elspeth’s weakness. She and Edmund had exchanged glances as soon as they heard of the fire, and she was sure they had both thought the same thing: Loki is laying a trail for us. She wanted to set out at once, but Cluaran said they would wait until the next day, so they could travel alongside the returning traders and find out where the fire had started.

  Cathbar agreed. ‘They know this region,’ he pointed out, stowing the long parcel in his pack. ‘And in these parts, there’s safety in numbers, even without Loki.’

  They started before dawn the next day, rising with the other travellers who stayed at their inn and making their way through the grey light to the forest road. The Frankish pedlar hailed them on their approach, and fell in with them as they set off. His name was Menobert, he told them, and he was heading all the way south to Francia. He asked where they were bound.

  ‘South, as well,’ was all Cluaran said, and Menobert nodded amicably, not at all put out by the evasive answer.

  Menobert was a stocky, black-moustached man; cheerful and chatty. He told them of the drought and poor harvest last year, which had led to such hardship this winter, and that he wouldn’t be surprised if some folk had left their farms and turned to banditry. Elspeth saw Cathbar nodding grimly as he heard that, and checking the hilt of his sword.

  They took the main road to the south: it was wide enough to allow a cart, though few came down it. The road was rutted and icy as they set off, but as the sun rose the snow and ice underfoot began to melt. The muddy road beneath her feet felt wonderful to Elspeth after so long making her way across snow. They made good progress, and even Eolande, who had refused to walk across the ice fields, seemed to have no objection to going afoot here. At first there was little sign of the banditry that the farmer had seemed to fear, but before noon they met a couple of farm-women, sisters, who were very happy to travel in their company, for fear of being robbed. They had been to visit the grethari, they told Elspeth, the travelling healer, who was now staying in a tiny settlement just to the west of the road, and there had been an outbreak of looting and pillaging in the village that looked like it could spread. Elspeth realised that the healer must have left Alebu before she and Edmund even arrived there, and all the pilgrims who had filled the inns hoping to see him had had a wasted journey. But their innkeeper had said the man had not been there long.

  ‘He travels fast, doesn’t he?’ she said.

  ‘Truly, I couldn’t tell you,’ the younger woman said. ‘We only heard of him yesterday, from a traveller. But his name is already well known in this land. It has spread like fire.’

  ‘And with reason,’ her sister enthused. ‘He took the pain right out of my sore shoulder, just by laying his hands on it.’

  ‘And what does he charge for such a service?’ asked Cluaran wryly.

  ‘Oh, no money!’ The woman sounded shocked. ‘He says that his gift belongs to everyone; he cannot profit by it. He’ll take a meal with you, that’s all.’

  ‘Though he could have eaten twenty times over, if he’d had a
mind to,’ her sister put in. ‘So many people were in line to see him.’

  ‘One of these travelling holy men, eh?’ said Menobert dismissively. ‘There are too many peddling miracles these days. Sweet-talkers who pull in idle men and make them forget how to do a day’s work. Then they take to the road and live off charity, and find still more wastrels to convert.’

  ‘He’s not like that!’ The woman was indignant. ‘You haven’t seen him.’

  ‘I’ve seen many of them, though,’ maintained the trader. ‘I could find three new religions to follow in a day’s walk.’

  The first woman threw up her hands in mock-defeat. ‘Well, there are always some who won’t take a gift when it’s offered. For me, I’m glad there is such a man as the grethari, in these hard times.’

  They walked all day, stopping only briefly for a meal by the roadside at noon. Other travellers had joined them as they walked: another trader, and a young man who had also been to see the grethari, and shared the two sisters’ zeal for his healing powers.

  They made camp at sunset, in a field that seemed to be a regular stopping-place. A small copse of oak trees, though leafless, offered protection from the teeth of the wind, and kept off the light snow that fell during the night. For other protection, Cathbar and Cluaran took turns with the rest of the men to keep watch: however little there might be to tempt bandits here, it seemed that no one was prepared to take any chances.

  They moved off quickly when dawn broke and after some distance met an old man driving three goats, heading in the opposite direction. He warned the travellers of the dangers they might expect on the road ahead.

  ‘In all my years on this road, I’ve never seen so many ruffians together,’ he complained. ‘Swordsmen, brigands . . . They seem to have sprung out of nowhere. I hear there was even a bunch of pagans on the highway, kicking over a shrine.’

  ‘And so you are heading north for your safety,’ commented Cluaran, who had been listening. The goatherd nodded.

  ‘Keep your head down and your purse hidden,’ Menobert assured them all, as the goatherd took his leave. ‘That is the only way to stay out of the way of rogues. But these fires, now . . . you can’t sidestep those. Remember the one I told you of? There’s some here that say it’s still burning! Perhaps we could seek it out,’ he added drily, peering through the flurries of snow. ‘We could do with the warmth.’

  ‘Another forest fire?’ exclaimed a market-man, overhearing. Menobert obligingly retold the story of the tree struck by lightning, even when there had been no storm.

  ‘Oh, I heard about that,’ the man said dismissively. ‘That was days ago. There’ve been others since then! One only yesterday, much further south, in the woods down near Varde. They say,’ he lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘they say bandits are definitely laying them.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ asked one of the farm-women. ‘And why this sudden unrest?’

  A thought struck Elspeth. Could these new bands of bandits in the south have anything to do with Loki? The demon-god had headed in this direction and was expert in bending men to his will. Fire was a language he was fluent in.

  ‘I’ve heard that they wait at the edges of the fires, to rob people as they flee,’ the man said. ‘There are some folk who never care what they destroy.’

  The squall stopped as they walked, but the fields to each side of the path were still snow-covered, with only one or two distant, isolated houses to show that this was a place where people lived. As the day drew on the fields were increasingly dotted with trees, which grew nearer and closer together until the road was skirting the edge of a forest. A brisk wind started up, and suddenly there was the unmistakable smell of smoke. The travellers halted, avoiding each other’s eyes; no one wanting to be the first to speak.

  At last, the man who had been blaming bandits gave a short bark of a laugh. ‘There, now,’ he said. ‘I wager the charcoal-burners will be finding it too hot for them tonight.’

  Elspeth exchanged furious glances with Edmund, thinking of Grufweld, their generous host, and the destruction of his home. She was about to say something sharp, but Cluaran nudged her.

  ‘These children are tired,’ he announced to the travellers in general. ‘We need to stop here for the night. I thank you all for your company.’

  Their recent companions were horrified at the idea, and begged him to reconsider – especially Menobert. It was so close to the forest, and bandits could be in there. There was only another league to go to Eikstofn, the next village, one of the farm-women said, and if there was no lodging there, they could give the poor children a bed at their farm, half a league further on. But Cluaran was adamant.

  ‘Thank you for your kindness,’ he said. ‘It’s generosity to strangers that gives all of us hope, in these strange times. Maybe we will meet again on the road – but we must stay here tonight.’

  He put his hand on Elspeth’s shoulder, and she tried to look as if she was too exhausted to walk another step. The other travellers set off again, with many waves and backward glances from Menobert and the two women. Cluaran watched them out of sight, then briskly shouldered his pack again.

  ‘We passed a track into the trees, not a hundred paces back,’ he said. ‘There will be charcoal-burners, not a doubt of it; and they’ll be able to tell us more about these fires and whether they were started by bandits or lightning. Loki could still be behind either. Come on!’

  He was already striding back along the road, and Elspeth made haste to follow him.

  ‘Wait!’ Edmund called. ‘What if the fire’s still burning?’

  ‘All the more reason to help anyone we find in its path!’ Cluaran replied without turning his head.

  ‘We’ll more likely find those it’s left behind,’ Cathbar growled, but he and Edmund followed, leading Eolande between them.

  It was not yet evening, but the sky had been grey all day, and once among the trees it seemed almost twilight. These were not the conifers of Fritha’s forest home in the Snowlands: Elspeth recognised oaks, elms and lindens, although all the branches were still in bud; the old leaves reduced to mulch underfoot. The path that Cluaran had found was no more than a winding track through the trees where the leaf mould was slightly flattened. But he moved confidently, and once when he turned to check that they were all behind him, Elspeth was sure the minstrel had a look of contentment on his face, as if he were happier in these dreary surroundings. Eolande too, she saw, was showing more animation than she had done for days, not speaking but looking about her with something like interest. Cathbar was still leading her by the arm, but she walked with a firmer step now, and after a while he allowed her to follow on her own.

  Cluaran led them on and on through the featureless trunks. Elspeth thought the ever-present smell of smoke was growing stronger, but there was no haze in the air, and no sight or sound of burning. There were no sounds at all, in fact. Menobert had assured her that the forest was full of bears and wild boars, but she could not even hear birdsong.

  ‘Can you find any animals?’ she asked Edmund quietly. He had been walking for some time with the abstracted look that told her he was casting his mind around, feeling for other living things whose eyes he might borrow.

  ‘None near us,’ he said. ‘Some further off that aren’t threatening – deer, I think. But they’re scared, Elspeth. Wherever the fire is, it’s frightened them badly.’

  ‘It’s not animals I fear.’ Cathbar had caught them up, and Elspeth saw he was holding out the long package he had bought at the market in Alebu. ‘It’s very likely there are bandits in these woods and it is no coincidence that these bands of marauders have sprung up like weeds with Loki abound once again.’ Elspeth’s heart began to thump as she guessed what was coming. ‘I know you’ve no weapon now, girl, but you’re a fair fighter – I saw you with that shining blade. There’s no way to know whether these bandits are in the thrall of Loki but there’s fighting ahead of us, I’m sure of that. So, here.’ A little red in the face, he
thrust the package at her.

  Inside the heavy oiled cloth was a sword, sheathed in leather. ‘It’s not fancy,’ Cathbar said. ‘But the blade is good, and it’s light. I told the smith it was for a boy,’ he added, his tone apologetic.

  Is that what I must do now – walk about like a soldier, with metal at my belt? Ioneth – where are you? But there was no answering voice. Wordlessly, Elspeth took up the sword, trying not to wince as the unfamiliar hilt met her still raw palm.

  Cathbar nodded. ‘Good. And when we stop tonight, you can practise with it.’ He showed her how to fix the sheath to her belt, and then strode ahead to talk to Cluaran as if he had no more to say to her. But Elspeth saw him glancing back at her as he went.

  The light around them was fading when they reached the first signs of the fire. There had still been no sight or sound of flames. But suddenly Edmund coughed, and at the same instant Elspeth felt the familiar, acrid tang in her throat. An opening in the trees ahead showed the grey sky, yellow-tinged with sunset. Curls of smoke rose against the yellow – and there was enough light to see the first blackened trees on the far side of the clearing.

  Cluaran was bending over something, and when Elspeth saw what he was looking at her throat tightened painfully. What had seemed like a large stump or a mound in the earth was a building: the remains of a hut, part-burned.

  ‘This was a woodcutter’s hut,’ said Cluaran quietly. ‘There’s an axe blade on the floor. The clearing must have stopped the flames: there would have been snow on the ground here yesterday.’ He straightened. ‘We’re at the edge of the fire.’

  ‘Any sign of the man?’ Cathbar asked, his voice flat.

  Cluaran shook his head. He had broken off a piece of the charred wood and was sniffing it. ‘We can hope he escaped – but there’s no way of telling. The fire has been out for many hours, perhaps more than a day.’

  ‘We should go on, then!’ Elspeth said. The thought of walking into the blackness beyond the charred hut made her feel sick – but she had come this way to find Loki. ‘We need to find the source of the fire, don’t we?’