The Circle of Stone: The Darkest Age

by A. J. Lake

  ‘But how will we reach them in time?’ Elspeth demanded. ‘If they’ve already embarked, and we’re still here? They can’t wait there for days while we follow them.’

  ‘You are not in the kingdoms of men here,’ Roslyn said softly. ‘We have many gateways that lead to Wessex.’

  Cluaran narrowed his eyes. ‘You told me . . . Ioneth was still with you,’ he said. ‘Will she be ready?’

  Elspeth gazed at his face and Roslyn’s, her eyes pricking. She shook her head. ‘She hasn’t spoken to me since we left the Snowlands. I can feel that she’s there, but I don’t know how to call her.’

  Cluaran reached out suddenly and took her right hand between both of his. Elspeth felt a surge of energy shoot down her arm to her burned palm. She let out a small cry, but Cluaran seemed not to notice.

  ‘Ioneth!’ he whispered. His voice seemed to echo around her, and an answering whisper sounded in Elspeth’s head. ‘Ioneth,’ he said again. ‘Come to us – help us! This is what you gave yourself to do.’ His voice fell until Elspeth could barely make out the words. ‘This is why you left me.’

  And the voice was in Elspeth’s head, clear for the first time since Loki’s cave.

  Cluaran! I’m here . . .

  Cluaran gasped and dropped Elspeth’s hand. For a moment she thought he must have heard the voice too – then she saw where he and Roslyn were looking, open-mouthed.

  Her hand was glowing. White light spilt from the palm, stretching towards Cluaran. It grew longer, defining pale edges, forming the shape of a blade. For an instant, Elspeth held the crystal sword again: translucent; almost solid. Then the light faded to the merest shimmer in the air, and was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  They must be halfway to the coast already, Edmund thought.

  It was a different journey, now that they had transport. The donkey, recovered from his bolt after a rest and a rub-down, took to the road with a will, apparently unworried by the extra burden in his cart.

  ‘He had full crates and barrels to drag on the way up,’ the carter explained. ‘You three won’t tire him.’

  He was not as old a man as Edmund had thought at first: his hair and beard were mostly black, though streaked with grey, and his movements were vigorous. But he was thin to the point of emaciation, unkempt and poorly clad, in strange contrast to his trim cart and well-conditioned animal.

  They had told him that they were travellers heading to the coast to take ship to Wessex. The carter introduced himself as Fardi.

  ‘You’re Frankish, then?’ Cathbar asked. ‘That name means “wanderer”, doesn’t it?’

  The man’s face closed. ‘It’s what my master calls me,’ he said. ‘All the wandering I do nowadays is along this road, to sell his wares.’

  By early evening they were approaching a more populated area: a rise in the road revealed cultivated fields and rooftops in the distance. Around the next corner was another ruined shrine. The wooden statue of the god had been smashed to splinters and dust, and the face of the Burning Man was scrawled on the one wall still standing.

  ‘It’s a danger to believe in anything, these days,’ Fardi said quietly.

  ‘Do you have a faith, Master Fardi?’ Edmund ventured.

  ‘Not any more,’ the man said shortly. He slowed his donkey to an amble and led it off the track, on to a patch of rough grass adjoining a sheep-pasture and backed by woods.

  ‘It’s not safe to travel after dark,’ he said. ‘We’ll stay here tonight.’

  He went into the trees to hunt for supper, taking Cathbar with him. Edmund and Eolande collected branches, then Edmund built a fire while the Fay woman searched the hedgerow for early berries.

  ‘A strange man, our rescuer,’ she remarked, laying out her small haul on a cloth while Edmund coaxed sparks from his flint.

  Privately Edmund agreed, but he said, ‘He saved our lives. And he’s been good to us: he didn’t have to take us all this way.’

  Eolande nodded. ‘He does seem like a good man. But there’s a darkness in him.’

  The men came back with a hare, and Edmund forgot his uncertainty in skinning the beast and improvising tripods of sticks to balance the spit. But later, as they sat around the fire beneath the cold stars, he found himself watching Fardi. The carter ate little and said less, and he seemed ill at ease when asked about himself. He worked for a fisherman in the coastal town of Harofluet, he told them, selling the catches from his master’s boat and the ale his mistress brewed. He was a bonded man, tied for life to his master’s service. Cathbar exclaimed at this.

  ‘A lifetime is long to spend as a slave!’ he protested. ‘And you have the air of a freeborn man, Master Fardi. Would this master of yours not allow you to earn your liberty again?’

  ‘I gave it of my own free will,’ the carter replied. ‘I owe him my life, such as it is.’ He bent his head over his meat, and the talk turned to other things.

  As they prepared to sleep, Edmund took Cathbar aside and told him what Eolande had said to him earlier: that Fardi was keeping something from them. The captain seemed unperturbed.

  ‘Well, and what if he is?’ he said. ‘A man has a right to his privacy. Do you mistrust him, after he saved our lives and shared his food with us?’

  ‘Wulf found us food, too,’ Edmund pointed out.

  Cathbar frowned. ‘So we must suspect every stranger we meet, in case he’s . . . that one in disguise? But that’s what he wants – to set each man against his neighbour. Go down that road, and how can we unite against him?’

  ‘At least say nothing of Elspeth or Cluaran while we’re with him,’ Edmund urged. ‘Even if Fardi is truly helping us, there’s no saying who might overhear.’

  ‘There’s sense in that,’ Cathbar agreed. ‘We’ve spoken of Wessex already – but not of who we’ll meet there, or why.’ He turned away to lay out his blanket, and Edmund thought his face looked troubled.

  The carter was no more talkative the next day, though Edmund caught the man looking at him once or twice: sidelong glances which Edmund could not read. He told them all to stay on the cart, sending the donkey along at a brisk pace. The heavily trodden mud at each side of the track, and the whiff of burning that came to them when the wind changed, told them the marauders were still around them. At one point, as they approached a bridge over a river, Fardi made them lie flat on the fish-smelling boards while he covered them with sacks. But it seemed the bridge’s guards were local men, known to the carter; Edmund, lying still in the reeking darkness, heard friendly-sounding voices and laughter before the cart rolled on again.

  Fardi released them from hiding further down the road. ‘We’re in the Frankish kingdom now,’ he told them. ‘The border guards say that some of those cursed wreckers got over the bridge, but nothing the emperor’s men can’t contain.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ Cathbar muttered.

  Edmund crouched at the back of the cart, watching the road unroll behind them. The road grew wider and for the first time they passed a number of other carts: one or two of the drivers greeted Fardi. The track veered to the west, and suddenly Edmund could see the pearly haze of the sea.

  ‘We’ll be there before nightfall,’ Cathbar said, and Edmund felt his heart lift.

  Harofluet was the largest settlement they had seen since Alebu, and like that town, all its life eddied around the harbour. Many of the houses were caulked with tar to protect them from the biting sea-winds, and the sharp scent mingled with the smell of fish as they rattled past. Fardi halted the cart outside a house that was larger than most and introduced them to his master, a red-faced elderly man who spoke only Frankish. Cathbar seemed to understand the language well enough, but Edmund could pick out only a few words.

  Both the fisherman and his wife looked nervously at their unexpected guests, and the man drew Fardi aside to ask him rapid questions in Frankish. But the carter must have given his master and mistress a good account of them, for at the end of the conversation the old woman tu
rned to them with a smile, and beckoned them into her house for a meal of fish soup and ale. As they sank gratefully on to wooden stools by the fire, Eolande asked Fardi to pass on their thanks.

  ‘You told us your master owns his own boat,’ she added. ‘Do you think the three of us might buy passage on your next voyage? We’re anxious to return to our homeland of Wessex.’

  ‘No!’ Edmund started to protest, but Eolande shot him a warning look.

  As Fardi relayed the request the old fisherman’s face fell, and when he replied his voice was angry. Edmund tensed, wondering if they had given offence. But Fardi, too, was grim-faced as he translated.

  ‘My master says he would gladly help you,’ he said, ‘but he has no men. A week ago a band of rabble-rousers came to the town, recruiting for a cult, and many of the young men joined them, stealing boats to set sail with their new companions. His fishing boat is still here, but half of his crew have run off with the madmen.’

  The old man clapped Fardi on the shoulder. Edmund guessed he was praising the carter’s loyalty and bewailing the untrustworthiness of the runaways. Edmund did not even pretend to follow what was said. Fardi had said that some of the men stole boats – might they be in Sussex by now, attacking his home? He had a sudden urge to jump from his seat; to use his father’s name and money to get them a boat at once. But how could they rush home when he had promised to wait for Elspeth?

  There was no opportunity to talk to Cathbar or Eolande while they were under the fisherman’s roof, and Edmund felt he was on fire until they could leave the next day. Eolande seemed to share his urgency. At first light, she thanked the old couple for their kindness. ‘We must not add to your burden,’ she said, ushering Cathbar and Edmund to the door.

  Once outside, she led them towards the seafront. Edmund saw Fardi looking up from his wood-chopping to watch them go. Eolande took them past the harbour, along a deserted stretch of sand where no boats were tied. When the last hut was out of sight she turned to them. ‘Edmund,’ she said, ‘I want you to use your sight now. Make sure that nothing overhears us – not so much as a bird or a beetle.’

  Edmund was so startled by her tone of authority that he obeyed without protest. When he had checked in all directions and nodded, Eolande went on.

  ‘Cluaran told me to wait only three days for him and Elspeth to join us – three days from the time we left them. If they’re not here today, we must take ship tomorrow.’

  ‘But how could they possibly catch us up in that time?’ Edmund cried, outraged.

  ‘They don’t follow us on foot,’ she said. ‘If we are not here when Cluaran arrives, we have agreed to meet in Wessex.’

  ‘Where in Wessex?’ Cathbar asked, but the Fay woman shook her head.

  ‘It’s best not to name it. We think that the Chained One can tell wherever Elspeth is when she’s in the world of men. He’ll attack her as soon as he can. This is where we mean to draw his attack: to a place where his power will be weakened. He must not know where we’re going until we are there.’

  She turned and began striding back towards the harbour.

  ‘You coming, lad?’ Cathbar said to Edmund. ‘It goes against my nature to be led blindly, but if you think what the creature might do to stop us if he knew where we were going...’

  Edmund thought of the sea journey that lay ahead. Loki had nearly drowned him once; would he try again? But this was his best – his only – hope of seeing Elspeth and his home again. He nodded and followed Cathbar down the beach.

  They found Fardi waiting for them at the harbour with Eolande. He called to Cathbar as they approached. ‘My master has a smaller boat that could make the voyage with only six oarsmen, and three of his crew are still here and in need of work. If you and the boy would be willing to take an oar, he says he’ll hire you boat and men for a good rate.’

  ‘It’s a generous offer,’ Cathbar said. ‘But that’s only five rowers.’

  The carter spoke stiffly. ‘I’ve served my master without pay for half a year now, and gladly. When he saved me from drowning, I swore I’d never go to sea again. But the truth is, he never wanted me as a bondsman. He says he’ll release me if I wish to go. And I can handle an oar.’

  Cathbar looked astonished. ‘You’ll go back to sea? We’d be grateful to you, of course – but man, we’re strangers to you!’

  ‘He’ll likely have no work for me anyway, until all this trouble blows over,’ the carter said. ‘But the truth is, it’s this boy here.’ He gestured at Edmund, who looked at him in bewilderment. ‘Maybe he reminds me of someone . . . I’ve a wish to see him safely home, that’s all.’ When Cathbar did not answer at once his strained expression turned to a scowl. ‘If you don’t trust my seamanship...’

  ‘No!’ the captain said hastily. ‘We’ll be honoured to have your help, Master Fardi.’

  ‘It’s settled, then,’ Fardi said. ‘I’ll fetch the men, and my master will show you the boat. When do you want to leave?’

  ‘At dawn,’ said Eolande.

  Beneath Eigg Loki, the fire dragon writhed.

  Smoke hung about the mountain and cloaked the ground for leagues around it, and still the fires poured forth. The dragon roared flame; spat rage and frustration, and yet his prison would not be consumed.

  But something was changing, out there in the world beyond the coils of smoke. The fiery point that was his master was always there, darting at the edge of the dragon’s awareness. Now there was a pull – a voice that tugged him towards that distant point – and for the first time since he had awakened the dragon felt the sense of freedom just above him, limitless space, waiting for the flames to burst out and fill it.

  The rock was still there over his head, hateful and solid. But there would be a time when the rock would melt. The dragon would fly upwards; he would take the air to himself, and fill the world with his fire.

  Not yet, the voice whispered. But soon.

  Chapter Twenty

  Elspeth stared at her right hand, disappointment weighing in her stomach like a stone. The crystal sword had not reappeared since that first explosion of light, and Ioneth had not spoken again, for all their calling.

  ‘We’ve stayed too long already,’ Cluaran said. ‘Our companions will be on their way to Wessex, and we must meet them.’ He stood up. ‘We’ll visit Ainé before we leave,’ he told Elspeth. ‘She’s one of the three who left the Fay to join the fight against Loki when he last freed himself. She knows what it is we face: she may have some help for us.’

  He embraced Roslyn as they parted, and to Elspeth’s surprise the Fay woman kissed her as well.

  ‘Greet my sister Eolande for me, child,’ she told her. ‘Tell her I long to see her again.’

  ‘I will,’ Elspeth promised. ‘And thank you for healing me.’ Her hands no longer hurt, though since the momentary return of the sword her right hand had been filled with a strange prickling.

  Cluaran took her back into the trees, where the green foliage of summer was mixed with silvers, yellows and reds. The trees seemed to stretch around them for leagues in all directions, but only a few hundred paces later they emerged into fields again, with rolling hills in the distance. At the foot of one of the hills a small lake reflected the blue of the sky. A group of young men and women were swimming in it and lazing on its banks; the first people Elspeth had seen here, aside from Roslyn. She thought they might greet Cluaran, but they paid him no attention, and he hurried Elspeth past them.

  ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself,’ he said in a low voice. Elspeth shot a nervous look behind her, but the bathers were already a long way behind, well out of earshot. The hills were suddenly behind them, too: like the woodland, they had appeared much wider while she was passing them. Everything here is smaller than it seems. I wonder how far we’ve really come?

  She thought it must be half a day at least since she had awakened, but there was no day or night here; no sun or shadow; nothing but the steady, golden light of a perpetual dawn or early evening. Only th
e smallest white clouds drifted over the sky; only the mildest breeze ruffled the surface of the pools and lakes they passed.

  ‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Elspeth said. More green hills were unfolding around them now, dotted with purple and white flowers. She wondered how Cluaran could bear to leave it behind.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But we have no seas, Elspeth; no snowlands or deserts. . . and no journeying.’

  Ahead of them the grass stretched out in a rippling plain that seemed limitless, but suddenly figures appeared on the distant horizon and moved towards them, far too quickly.

  It was a group of young men, talking and laughing. Cluaran pulled Elspeth closer to his side. ‘Keep your eyes down,’ he murmured.

  The men had seen them, and one of them raised a hand in a half-greeting. His gaze fell on Elspeth and he let his hand fall back. One of his companions spoke to him in a low voice, his face twisted in distaste. Then all four turned to walk in a different direction, shooting glances of hostility at Cluaran as they went.

  Elspeth glared at their retreating backs. ‘What had we done to them?’ she demanded.

  Cluaran laid a finger to his lips. ‘Outsiders are forbidden here,’ he said. ‘Unless they’re brought as infants, as my father was – and even then, many do not tolerate them. You’ll meet the same reception, and worse, in the place where I’m taking you. They won’t offer you violence – most would not lay hands on you – but many will be angry. Do not look them in the eye, don’t speak unless someone speaks to you first, and return courtesy even to rudeness. Do you understand?’

  Elspeth had transferred her glare to Cluaran, but the seriousness in his face quietened her, and she nodded.

  Something else had appeared on the horizon now. Elspeth thought of ships’ masts until she saw that they were buildings: slim towers, some straight and others at strange angles. As they approached she saw that they were made of pale wood, gold- or silver-coloured, with generous shutterless windows which must let the wind in cruelly at night. Someone was sitting in a window at the very top of a tower, his legs dangling down; he did not look their way, but gazed out through the other towers. Elspeth could hear the sound of water splashing, and somewhere far off, someone singing.