The Circle of Stone: The Darkest Age

by A. J. Lake

Wulf seemed to know when he was beaten. He shrugged and turned back at once, running past Cluaran as if he knew the way perfectly, slipping through the prickly branches with ease.

  ‘I expected more sense from you, Elspeth,’ Cluaran told her. ‘Wulf is a child – but what were you thinking of, losing yourself in the forest at night?’

  ‘Wulf ran off,’ Elspeth said defensively. ‘I went after him to bring him back.’

  ‘And never thought to wake anyone?’ Cluaran demanded. ‘Your fondness for the boy is addling your brain! What use is this journey – is all that we’re doing here – if you get yourself lost or killed?’

  That was the reason for his anger, Elspeth realised suddenly. When Wulf had run off into the trees earlier that evening Cluaran had been unworried: it was the danger to her that had scared him.

  Or not so much her, as the fear of losing Ioneth again.

  Half abashed and half angry, she said no more while they made their way back to the camp. Cluaran had shown friendship to her before – of course he had, she told herself – but never this much concern. This must be because she was his last link with his beloved. She had told Cluaran that Ioneth was still inside her head – and it was true, even if the voice no longer spoke to her. Those dreams she had been having, of the small girl in the ice caves, they must come from Ioneth. A scene from tonight’s dream came vividly back to her: sitting at the loom, helping to push the heavy shuttle back and forth. The melody from her dream filled her head.

  Cluaran gave an exclamation, and she realised that he was staring at her. ‘What are you singing?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, just a tune,’ she said, embarrassed. ‘I heard it somewhere.’

  He shot an odd, intense look at her, but said no more.

  Wulf was waiting for them when they reached the camp, unabashed and unharmed by the adventure. It was almost daybreak, so Cluaran busied himself scattering the remains of the fire and Elspeth helped the boy to roll up his bedding while the others roused themselves. The morning dawned grey and cold, and they moved on as soon as there was light to see by.

  Wulf was the only one of the party in high spirits. The boy ran on ahead to inspect another wayside shrine and look for squirrels, and chattered about them to Elspeth and Edmund. Cluaran stayed close to Eolande; both of them seemed to have lost the pleasure they had taken in the forest the day before. Elspeth was still out of humour with Wulf for last night’s escapade, and even Edmund was tense, answering Wulf in very few words. It seemed that a cloud hung over all of them.

  ‘Have you noticed how quiet it is?’ Edmund asked Elspeth after a while. ‘No birds.’

  He was right. When they moved off at dawn the trees above them had been full of birdsong. Now there was none at all.

  The path widened, and abruptly emerged from the trees to join a larger road, running towards the south-east. They stood at the roadside, staring.

  The mud of the road, and some of the field beside it, had been churned up by men’s feet; many of them. There were dropped hunks of bread in the ditch along the road’s near side, and a torn piece of grey cloth lay in the mud, stained with what looked like blood. Further along, at a spot where the travellers seemed to have made camp, the roadside trees were scarred and blackened, their lower branches ripped off. A young sapling had been torn up by the roots and partly burned, and the rubbish included smashed barrels and animal carcasses, some of them half-eaten.

  Cathbar bent to look at the footprints. ‘I reckon they stopped here yesterday; maybe last night,’ he said. ‘They won’t be close enough to hear us now, but they’ll be camped somewhere ahead of us. Several dozen of them, I’d say: look how they’ve covered the road.’

  ‘Who do you think they are?’ Edmund asked. ‘Would bandits walk in such a big group?

  ‘Not normally, but these are not normal times and I’ll wager these bandits are certainly more than they seem.’ He frowned at the pile of debris, and the slaughtered animals. ‘I think we should go carefully,’ he said.

  They kept to the ditched side of the road, walking in single file; accompanied all the way by the massed footprints and the scraps that the men had dropped. Then Cathbar, in the lead, stopped with a muffled curse. In the ditch ahead of him, a man lay face down.

  Elspeth ran forward, hearing the others close behind her. But Cathbar was shaking his head as they came up.

  ‘He must have got careless, for all his talk of caution,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m sorry we weren’t with him.’

  The dead man was the pedlar, Menobert. Cathbar had turned him over, and he lay now with his eyes open, a surprised expression on his face and a great wound in his chest.

  The pedlar’s murderers had not even robbed him. The purse of coins still hung from his belt. And beside his body his pack lay split open, slashed by sword-strokes, its cloth packages and tin bracelets spilling into the mud.

  Chapter Seven

  The snow had melted, but the ground was too hard to dig a grave for Menobert, even if they had had the tools. They collected stones from the pasture walls that the bandits had destroyed in their passing, and Edmund helped Cathbar and Cluaran to raise a cairn over the pedlar’s body by the roadside.

  ‘It’s the least we could do for him,’ the captain said, as they finished the work. ‘The first friend we met in this land, he was – and a good companion on the road.’

  They stood for a moment by the makeshift grave. Elspeth had thrown back her fur hood, gazing intently down on the stones, and Edmund heard her murmur something under her breath. She covered her head again as they moved on. ‘The prayer for the dead,’ she told Edmund shortly. ‘He was a Frankish man – a Christian, like my father.’

  She lapsed into silence. There had been neither prayers nor a burial marker for Elspeth’s father, Edmund remembered.

  They followed the road for most of the next two days. Edmund found its emptiness oppressive: there were no other travellers, only the muddy track, churned with the feet of the men who had gone before them, strewn with their leavings and lined on each side with the damage they had done.

  Once, on the second day, he did find some human eyes to look through, over to the east, deep in the forest. There were women and children among them, Edmund reported, and no sense of immediate threat. Cluaran wanted to keep going but Cathbar insisted that they needed supplies, and asked Edmund to lead the way into the forest.

  It was a tiny community: not more than half a dozen houses, a flock of goats and a barley patch in a clearing. The people were frightened and suspicious: bands of brigands had been passing that way for several days or more, they said, tearing down trees and shooting arrows at anything that moved. The men had crashed through the forest only ten feet away from them, hunting some poor animal, but had not found their homes. A day or two later, hearing a great uproar in the distance, two of their young men had ventured out of the forest and met fleeing people on the road: families who spoke of a whole village destroyed, and bandits who killed for the sake of killing. The next time armed bands tramped into the forest the settlers had abandoned their homes and hidden in the trees, not daring to move or speak until the men had passed.

  ‘Keep to the forest paths, if you must travel!’ one of the women begged them, looking fearfully at Wulf, who sat cross-legged at their feet, shredding the leaves from a twig. ‘There’s nothing but murder on the roads. You can’t take the poor child into such danger!’ She put out a hand to stroke the child’s red-gold hair; he endured her touch indifferently, not looking up from his task.

  Cluaran gave the woman an appraising look. ‘Mistress,’ he said, ‘we must go on, but the child need not. We found him abandoned, and have been searching for a safe haven for him. Perhaps you... ?’

  ‘No!’ Wulf was on his feet, the stick cast aside. ‘No! No! I must stay with Elsbet!’

  The forest woman smiled and shook her head, while Elspeth soothed Wulf.

  Cluaran shrugged in defeat. ‘If he must come with us, he must,’ he grumbled.

  Th
e forest dwellers offered the travellers the hospitality of their branch-built huts for the night, saying that it was too dangerous to travel by dark. Edmund was glad to sleep under a roof again, though on a hard floor next to two snoring boys. But he could tell his hosts were uncomfortable at the presence of strangers. He didn’t blame them. It sounded as if Loki was doing a fine job of encouraging men to murder and plunder. They had exchanged their smoked meat and bread for a silver coin, and allowed the guests to fill their water bottles at the stream beneath their shrine – but they looked askance at the two men, and spoke little even to Edmund. When the party left at first light the next day, the forest dwellers were clearly relieved to see them go: even the woman who had taken an interest in Wulf stood in her doorway only a moment to bid them farewell. Edmund, walking at the back of the party, looked back once: the little circle of huts had already merged into the forest, as still and silent as the trees themselves.

  He sent out his sight more and more often as they returned to the road, but for all the massed footprints and debris around them, there was no more sign of human life.

  Cathbar was leading them now. The road had veered westwards, and the hills which might hide an army were clearly visible ahead of them. The track began to climb and dip, making their progress slower. As they toiled up a particularly steep slope in the dull morning light, the captain halted them.

  ‘Something ahead, on the other side,’ he said tersely.

  Edmund checked the road ahead, finding nothing but a flock of crows. He borrowed the eyes of one as it scanned the rutted ground for carrion, then hopped forward and pecked...

  ‘Oh,’ he said.

  It had been a ferocious battle. The road, and the field alongside it, were churned to indistinguishable mud, and strewn with men’s bodies.

  ‘They’re all dead!’ he gasped. ‘We have to go some other way...’

  ‘There is no other way,’ Cathbar said, grim-faced.

  The sight and the smell hit them together as they reached the top of the hill. Edmund gagged. Elspeth, suddenly white-faced, pulled Wulf to her side and covered his eyes, while he wriggled to get away.

  ‘An uneven fight, I’d say.’ Cathbar’s voice was sombre as he swept the ghastly scene with a professional eye. ‘Those in leather armour, look, there, and there – they have shields, and better swords. They’re the foreign army, no doubt: some lord’s men, by the look of them. Few of them dead, and many of the others; they’ll be the victors here.’

  ‘Then why haven’t they buried their dead?’ Edmund asked hoarsely.

  Cathbar gave him a kindly look. ‘It hits you like this, the first few times,’ he said, ‘but you get used to it. Come on – we must keep moving.’

  He strode down the hill and began to pick his way through the bodies. Edmund looked at Elspeth, who was pale and wide-eyed. She moved closer to him, still clasping Wulf by the hand, and together they followed the captain.

  ‘Look there,’ Cathbar said to Edmund, pointing to the forest which lay to their right, a little way back from the road. ‘See all those footmarks? The losers ran – tried to hide themselves in the trees – and the foreigners ran after them. That’s why they’re not here now.’

  He was talking to distract them from the horror at their feet, Edmund knew, and he was grateful – but something had caught his eye; something on the shield of one of the dead men. Revulsion made him faint and dizzy, but he stopped to look closer.

  ‘When they’ve killed all the enemies they can reach, they’ll come back to honour their fallen comrades,’ Cathbar was saying. ‘Unless they’re barbarians, of course, with no sense of respect...’

  ‘No. They’ll come back.’ Edmund’s voice sounded far away to his own ears. He gestured at the shield beside the dead warrior. Instead of a boss, it had the image of a bird incised in the steel: a great seabird with outstretched wings. Edmund fumbled at his throat to reveal the brooch he always wore beneath his furs: the same bird, cast in silver.

  ‘He was a thane of Sussex,’ he said. ‘These are my father’s men.’

  ‘What are they doing here?’ Elspeth demanded.

  Edmund had been asking himself the same question. He had not seen his father for two years: the thought of meeting him here was like a strange dream. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  They had walked over a league from the battlefield, and were resting at the foot of a steep hill that offered some protection from the evening wind. Wulf was feeding sticks to the fire: alone of all the party, the child seemed unaffected by the horrors they had seen, and Edmund wondered again what he could have gone through in his short life. Cathbar and Cluaran were arguing about the route, both sounding more angry than was warranted, Edmund thought. Eolande had been hardest hit of all. She had moved rigidly through the slaughter, led by her son, until she stumbled, at the very edge, on the body of one of the Sussex dead: an older man, barrel-chested and grey-bearded. She had stood gazing at him as if turned to stone, until Cluaran dragged her away. She had refused all his attempts at comfort, and now sat alone with her head in her hands, keening softly to herself.

  Cathbar’s voice rose. ‘I tell you it’s only sense, man! He can give us protection – help us find the creature.’

  ‘What makes you think he’d believe us?’ Cluaran demanded. ‘Or that he’d let his son go haring off after demons? We’ve no time to spend persuading him!’

  ‘They’re talking about your father,’ Elspeth said to Edmund. ‘Do you want to look for him?’

  ‘Of course!’ The answer burst from Edmund before he could stop himself. ‘I mean . . .’ he faltered. Elspeth was avoiding his eyes, and the joy he had felt at the thought of seeing his father suddenly seemed like disloyalty.

  ‘Only if we can, without holding up the search,’ he told her. ‘Finding Loki is the most important thing.’

  Elspeth sat silent for a moment, then looked up, her face serious. ‘You know your father better than Cathbar,’ she said. ‘Would he help us?’

  Edmund hesitated. How well did he know his father, in fact? He had last seen Heored leaving for battle: a stern man, taking it for granted that his wife and son would uphold their duty to his kingdom for however long he was away. What would he say to a son who now followed a different duty?

  Raised voices broke in on his thoughts. Eolande was on her feet, pulling away from Cluaran, who held her by the arm. ‘I cannot!’ she wailed. ‘I can’t see it again. Cluaran – how can you make me? Let me go!’

  ‘Go where?’ Cluaran shouted. ‘You think you can survive on your own out there! Cathbar – hold her! Help to make her see reason!’

  ‘He’s right, lady.’ Cathbar had regained his usual tone of calm authority. ‘We’ll be fine if we stay together. This is no country for a lone traveller. Sleep now; we’ll look for a safer path in the morning.’

  ‘You think I care for safety?’ Eolande protested, but she was already weakening. Cathbar and her son led her back to the fire, and helped her to lie down.

  While Cluaran covered his mother with the warmest of the furs and sat down to watch beside her, Cathbar began to shake out his own bedroll.

  ‘Best if we all turn in,’ he said, and Edmund felt tiredness wash over him like a wave.

  He woke in the grey hour before dawn, suddenly and completely alert. Beside him, Elspeth was breathing deeply, with Wulf curled up near her. There was no birdsong, and he wondered what could have woken him. He raised himself on his elbow, and gasped. On the far side of the dying fire, Cluaran sat hunched and fast asleep – but the fur blanket next to him was empty. Eolande had gone.

  There was a movement behind him, and he jumped up to see a figure darting away around the side of the hill. Edmund grabbed his cloak and started after her.

  The Fay woman walked swiftly, as if she knew where she was going. Edmund broke into a run, calling her name. As he rounded the hill he saw where she must be heading: a small stand of trees, not a hundred feet away. She’s always been happier in the woods, he remembered, and
quickened his pace. ‘Stop!’ he panted, but Eolande gave no sign that she had heard him.

  He caught up with her just as she reached the trees. When he grabbed her sleeve she turned and looked at him with a puzzled expression, as if she did not know him.

  ‘Please,’ Edmund said breathlessly, ‘you must come back. It’s not safe...’

  Recognition filled Eolande’s face, and she gave him a small, sad smile. ‘You are kind, child,’ she said. ‘But it’s no good. I must...’

  Then she was staring over his shoulder, her eyes widening in fright. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Oh no . . . The murderers . . . Edmund, run!’

  Edmund whirled. Three fur-clad men were running towards him, only a few paces away. He drew his dagger, lunging at the closest of them – and a fourth man stepped from behind the trees and pinioned his arms behind him.

  Eolande had disappeared. Edmund struggled and yelled, hoping his voice might carry back to the camp, until one of his attackers stuffed a cloth into his mouth, nearly choking him. He kicked out, and saw a flash of grey, darting away behind the men’s backs. It vanished around the hill as they knocked his feet from under him.

  Chapter Eight

  Elspeth woke with a start, shrill cries ringing in her ears. She threw out an arm for Wulf, her heart pounding. Ever since the child had refused to leave her, there had been a nagging fear at the back of her mind: how could she keep him safe, wilful as he was, among so many dangers?

  But Wulf was sleeping peacefully, curled up on his blanket by her side. The cries came from outside the circle of firelight – from Eolande, running towards them.

  ‘Edmund! Help him . . . don’t let them take him!’

  It was only then that Elspeth saw the empty space where Edmund had lain. Cathbar was already on his feet, his sword in his hand. Cluaran was rushing to his mother’s side.

  ‘We were under the trees . . .’ she faltered, ‘and bandits took him!’

  Elspeth had scrambled to her feet. Cathbar was running, disappearing around the hill with a speed Elspeth had never seen in him before. Cluaran lingered only a moment longer, his arm around the weeping Eolande.