by A. J. Lake
‘But the scoffers,’ the speaker’s voice was suddenly deeper, ‘those who will not take him into their hearts, they will be cast out.’ As if on cue, the three men raised their knives – but Cathbar was there in front of them, taking the bewildered old man by the elbow and propelling him away from the crowd. One of the men gave a roar of anger, and all three started after Cathbar, but Cluaran stepped into their path.
‘He was not worthy to hear your words,’ the minstrel said. ‘Speak to us instead.’
The men stopped, looking bewildered. Eolande stepped up to join her son, and Elspeth followed with Edmund, holding Wulf tightly by the hand.
‘Who are you?’ one of the knifemen asked suspiciously. The preacher on the cart had stopped speaking and all eyes were turned on them.
‘We’re travellers,’ Cluaran replied. ‘We passed this way by chance, and were caught by your leader’s golden words. Tell us more!’ he called to the preacher.
But the man on the cart scowled. ‘Beware of the stranger,’ he warned the crowd. ‘Beware of those who invade our land from outside, bringing evil customs. Let no such man into your midst!’ The villagers began to mutter, and one or two of the men turned threatening stares on Cluaran.
‘Praise the Burning One!’ It was Eolande’s voice, loud and piercing. ‘Praise him, night and day! Tell us your words, and save us!’
The women by the cart joined in: ‘Save us!’ and the crowd turned back to the preacher. After a moment the man began to speak again. Elspeth shot a grateful look at Eolande.
The next time the preacher demanded that his listeners follow him, the men all yelled as one, punching the air and stamping in their eagerness to volunteer. Elspeth joined in the general clamour, and worked her way around the side of the crowd until she reached one of the ragged women standing by the cart.
‘Now we follow the Burning Man, where will he lead us?’ she asked.
The young woman turned to her as if in a trance. ‘We follow the preacher’s word,’ she said. ‘We go wherever he does.’
‘But where?’ Elspeth persisted. The woman seemed to consider her question for a long time.
‘South . . . west, maybe . . . Some will sail to other lands. What does it matter? The Burning One is here; he’s all around us.’ She looked at Elspeth with bright, vague eyes. ‘Can you not feel him?’
Elspeth had to repress a shudder. While she tried to think of a reply, the young woman took hold of her arm. ‘Why do you ask so many questions?’ she said. ‘Are you with us? Only call on him – he will put an end to all your searching.’
He might, at that, Elspeth thought with a flash of panic. Suddenly she wanted to be away from these people. She thanked the woman and returned to the back of the crowd.
‘It’s useless,’ Edmund sighed. ‘I asked one of them if they were going to meet this Burning Man, and he told me that he is everywhere. They don’t know where he is, Elspeth.’
Elspeth nodded. ‘They say they might go south, or west – and to other lands. There was nothing useful.’
‘The men who attacked the villages were heading south,’ Edmund said. ‘I’m for carrying on that way – but not with these madmen.’ Elspeth nodded vehemently.
‘In that case, we should leave now, while they are distracted,’ Cluaran said quietly.
He pointed to a clump of trees on the other side of the road, where Cathbar was standing, signalling to them. The preacher’s voice had risen to a shriek, and his hearers were shouting back at him. Elspeth grabbed Wulf by the hand and the five of them walked quickly into the trees, the preacher’s fervour fading behind them.
Elspeth’s mind raced as she walked. They had risked their safety and gained nothing useful. If only they could find someone who had met Loki – who could describe how he looked now!
Cluaran was behind her, speaking animatedly to Eolande – no, arguing. His voice was irritated; his mother sounded anxious.
‘There are those among them who have the power, certainly,’ Eolande was saying. ‘But you know they don’t want to get involved this time.’
‘But what about Ainé? Surely she...’
‘She least of all!’
‘She fought Loki before. And her loss was no greater than yours,’ Cluaran insisted. ‘She would listen to you, if you asked her.’
‘No,’ Eolande said, and her voice was choked. ‘You can’t ask that of me. I cannot go back.’
Cluaran shrugged. ‘Then I’ll go myself,’ he said.
‘What are you planning, Cluaran?’ Elspeth asked when they stopped to rest. ‘Do you know of someone else we can ask?’
She could not read Cluaran’s expression as he looked back at her. ‘You heard that, did you?’ he said.
‘Well, do you?’ she persisted. ‘If there’s someone who can help us, we have to find them!’
‘It would not be as simple as that,’ Cluaran said. ‘But yes, I may have a better way to find Loki.’
Edmund and Cathbar looked up from laying the fire, and even Wulf put down the stick he had been shredding.
Cluaran looked pointedly at Eolande, who sighed and nodded. ‘My mother and I have . . . countrymen who might help us, if they choose,’ Cluaran said. ‘We will have to continue through the forest for another day.’
‘Do they live there?’ Elspeth asked, surprised that he had not mentioned kin living among the trees before.
‘Let’s just say that I can reach them more easily from there,’ the minstrel said.
Cluaran led them rapidly through the trees, heading south. ‘We’re looking for water,’ he said.
The sound of running water drew them to a muddy trickle which Cluaran followed upstream until it joined a wider brook. They followed the brook while the blue sky overhead gradually paled and the sun sank out of sight below the tree-tops. At last they came to a river: still narrow enough to jump, but flowing swiftly between deep banks. Cluaran struck his hands together in satisfaction and quickened his pace.
The ground began to rise as they tracked the river to its source, and the trees around them were smaller and more widely spaced. Soon the water was bubbling over broken stones. Then they were climbing beside a small waterfall. As they reached the top of the rise Cluaran exclaimed in triumph.
It was a rocky outcrop, flat-topped and ringed with hawthorn bushes instead of trees. Standing on the bare rock was a small ring of stones, smooth and round, and within them a larger, flatter stone with some kind of design scratched on it, worn almost away with age.
‘This will do well,’ Cluaran said.
Eolande was still tense and silent, but she came up to examine the stone, running a light hand over it. ‘The Water Maiden?’ she asked, and Cluaran nodded.
‘I think so.’
They camped nearby, on the thin grass beside the ring of stones. As the others laid out their bedrolls, Elspeth went to inspect the design on the flat stone. The lines were so faint they might have been accidental scratches, but when she stood where Eolande had been, she could see an image in them: a long-haired woman, who was pouring water from a pitcher.
Wulf came running over, looking at the stone with interest. Cluaran looked up from his pack. ‘Come back over here,’ he said sharply. ‘There is still much to do before nightfall.’
Elspeth exchanged a puzzled glance with Edmund. They would only be staying here one night; what more was there to do beyond setting out bedrolls? But she left the stone and took Wulf by the hand to lead him over to the half-built camp. Wulf dragged his feet, glancing over his shoulder at the scarred stone.
‘When will you meet your friends?’ Edmund asked Cluaran.
The minstrel did not look up. ‘Tonight, if they are willing,’ he said.
It was evening now: the circle of sky above their little rise had turned the colour of slate, and the light was reddening through the trees to the west. A chilly breeze had sprung up, and Cathbar grumbled as he pulled his cloak more tightly around him.
‘It’ll be draughty when the night winds
blow,’ he complained. ‘Still, no doubt we’re safer from the wild beasts up here. Any wolves about, Edmund?’
Edmund stiffened. ‘I won’t be using the gift again,’ he said.
‘Not using it!’ Elspeth exclaimed. ‘Why?’
‘Because I gave my word,’ Edmund replied. ‘I promised my father to act like a king.’
‘And that means never using your skill?’ Elspeth was incredulous.
‘Yes! The Ripente serve kings – they don’t rule.’
That was your father’s belief, not yours. And he was wrong! But she looked at Edmund’s unhappy face and held her tongue.
‘It’s men we have to fear, not beasts,’ Cluaran said. ‘And the ones who threaten us most will not come here. This is a shrine: a very old one,’ he explained. ‘There are hundreds of years of faith here: even Loki could not turn this place to his own worship all at once.’ He stood up. ‘It’s time for me to go. I’ll return tomorrow before sunset. Wait for me here, and if you have to leave this spot while I’m gone, stay close to the river.’
Cathbar stood too, and offered to go down into the trees and hunt for some supper.
‘I’ll go with you,’ Edmund said, and Elspeth offered to take Wulf to collect firewood. As she followed Wulf back into the trees, she heard Cluaran speaking to Eolande in tones she had not heard from him before: almost pleading.
‘There are many there who still miss you: they would welcome you back.’
‘No,’ Eolande said. ‘I don’t belong there any more.’
‘Where do you belong, if not there?’
‘I don’t know.’ Eolande’s voice faded behind her, but Elspeth could hear the sadness in it. ‘Maybe nowhere.’
Wulf seemed eager to run deep into the forest, but Elspeth stopped him, collecting their sticks as close by as she could. When they returned, Eolande was leaning against one of the round stones and gazing blankly at the ancient image in the centre of the ring.
Cathbar and Edmund returned late, with a single small bird. ‘All the animals seem to be elsewhere tonight,’ Cathbar said lightly, but he did not look at Edmund, and Elspeth wondered if he blamed her friend for refusing to use his gift to help with the hunting. Edmund said nothing at all.
They lay down around the small fire. To Elspeth’s surprise, Eolande offered to keep watch, saying she could not sleep. She sat straight-backed beside the shrine, and Elspeth’s last memory before she slept was of the Fay woman’s dark eyes looking at her intently. Or as if there’s something about me she fears. She was wondering what it could be when sleep overtook her.
They woke hungry and chilled. After last night’s unsuccessful hunt, their food rations were running low, and after their sparse breakfast of dried meat Cathbar set off to try again. He did not ask Edmund to come with him.
Elspeth sat with Edmund, looking out through the trees. They had made up their packs and scattered the ashes of the fire, and now there seemed nothing to do but wait. She could not remember when she had last been so idle.
‘I wonder how Cluaran visits his people,’ she said.
Edmund considered. ‘I think there’s a secret entrance to their kingdom somewhere. But it’s best not to try to find it – from all I’ve heard, they’re prickly people.’
Elspeth nodded. ‘Do you think they’ll really be willing to help us?’
‘Eolande’s helping us,’ Edmund reminded, looking over to where the Fay woman still sat by the shrine. As if she had heard her name spoken, Eolande looked up.
‘Where is the boy?’ she asked, her voice uneasy. ‘We should stay close together.’
‘Wulf? He’s by the river,’ Elspeth reassured her, getting up to check. She stopped at the edge of the little outcrop, just above the spring. The water bubbled out near her feet and spilled into the stream below, surrounded on both sides by bushes, and further away by beech and linden trees. Wulf was nowhere to be seen.
‘I don’t know why you chase after him like this!’ Edmund complained as they trudged through the forest. ‘He’s been nothing but trouble since he joined us.’
‘Wulf doesn’t see danger the same way we do,’ she said.
‘I think he’s used to foraging for himself,’ Edmund said. ‘The people he was with before plainly took no care of him.’
‘But they were his family!’
‘Perhaps not.’ Edmund’s face was thoughtful. ‘He said they were traders. We know they had a cart, and goods to sell. Could they not have afforded proper shoes for their own son, living on the road, in such cold weather?’
Elspeth thought of Wulf: his mischievous smile and boundless energy. But Edmund was right: when they first met him he had been a scrawny, shivering waif, with pitifully thin clothes and rags around his feet. ‘You think he might have been a slave?’ she said.
Edmund nodded. ‘Some traders keep them. And it would explain why Wulf never talks about his family.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Elspeth admitted. Perhaps he never even knew his family! she thought, with a stab of pity for the outcast child.
‘I think we’ve found him,’ Edmund said. In the soft ground by the water’s edge was a small footprint. Next moment, Elspeth heard a skittering from the bushes nearby and saw the boy’s face peering at her through the leaves.
‘Wulf!’ she cried. ‘Why must you keep running off?’
‘But I found berries, Elsbet! Come and see!
‘They can’t be eatable, Wulf,’ Edmund said. ‘It’s still spring.’
‘Come and see!’ the boy insisted. Elspeth and Edmund exchanged a glance, and followed him.
Wulf led them away from the river. ‘We can’t go far, mind,’ Elspeth warned him.
Wulf nodded. He moved his head stiffly, Elspeth thought, and as he turned back to his path she was sure he winced. ‘Is something hurting you, Wulf?’ she asked. The boy did not answer, but his hand went up to his neck.
Elspeth stopped. ‘Let me see,’ she ordered.
The sides of Wulf’s neck were chafed raw. The thin little chain he wore had become twisted and it was cutting into his skin.
‘I’m sorry, Wulf,’ she began. ‘I know you love this chain...’
‘No!’ the boy said. ‘I hate it.’
‘But didn’t your father give it to you?’
‘The father put it on me, yes,’ Wulf said. His face clouded. ‘He was bad to me, Elsbet. So was his son. The real son.’
Elspeth let out a long breath. It looked like Edmund had been right. Wulf was a slave, and a poorly treated one.
‘They shackled him!’ Edmund exclaimed, behind her.
‘We’ll get it off him now!’ Elspeth said fiercely. The chain looked flimsy; with a thin blade, they could surely snap a link.
‘Here.’ Edmund was already at Wulf’s side, drawing his knife. ‘Hold still, Wulf.’
But Wulf ducked his head and backed away, wailing. ‘No!’ he insisted. ‘Let Elsbet do it!’
Edmund shrugged and handed the knife to Elspeth. As she took it, she felt the same sense of wrongness that had run through her with the sword Cathbar had given her. But this isn’t a sword, she told herself – and an almost forgotten shock ran down her arm, from shoulder to fingertips.
Ioneth?
Was there a stir of response? She felt a thrill of joy: if Ioneth was returning to her . . . But she must focus on the task now. Help me, if you’re here!
Wulf tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes as she touched the point of the blade to one of the links, trying to avoid his raw skin. The jolt shot down her arm again, painfully this time, but she ignored it.
‘Be brave, Wulf!’ she told him. ‘You’ll be free in a moment.’
‘Yes,’ the boy whispered.
His rough shirt was in the way of her hand, and she waited while Edmund fumbled at the fastenings and pulled it open.
‘I wonder if his owners did this to him as well?’ he muttered.
Elspeth looked down at the boy’s chest. A scar ran from shoulder to navel, deep red
against the white skin. Something about it seemed familiar . . . and then the pain came to her again, so fierce that she almost dropped the knife. A scene flashed before her eyes: fire and stone; a chained figure, and the white light as she struck with the crystal sword. And then Loki: the chain still around his neck; his chest slashed with red.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No. I did this myself.’
She snatched her hand back and thrust the knife behind her, away from the chain. The little figure before her stood like a statue – and for a moment she could not make herself move. ‘Edmund,’ she said, as clearly as she could, ‘take the knife and run. Get back to the shrine.’
‘But what...’
‘Just run!’ she cried, her eyes still fixed on the boy’s face. It was without expression, but the narrowed eyes had turned the colour of candle flame.
Elspeth turned and ran with Edmund. She did not dare to look back, but Edmund cast a glance over his shoulder as they pounded through the trees.
‘Elspeth . . . Wulf . . . he’s changing. He’s growing taller!’
‘Get to the river!’ Elspeth sobbed. Her legs would not move fast enough.
No thunderous footsteps came after them. Instead they heard a rush of air, and a crackling that grew louder and fiercer as they ran. They were almost at the river when smoke billowed over them, and a terrible heat knocked them to the ground.
Chapter Sixteen
Eolande had known that something like this would happen.
When she heard the distant cries, and saw the smoke billowing above the trees further down the river, her first response was guilt. She should not have kept the children here. Now they might all die: the strange, empty-hearted little boy; the young king, with all his promise . . . and Elspeth.
She used a skill she knew to cast her sight down the river. Two of them were in the water: Elspeth and Edmund. She drew a quick breath of relief. The flames were creeping towards them, but they would not consume them – not yet.
So she could still help them. And after all, she would have to return.
She walked into the stone ring, summoned her sense of the place and drew the doorway in the air. It came to her touch as if she had made the journey only yesterday: three lines of faint light, the air between them shimmering like the skin on water.
