“Do you mean it? You will let me go in peace?”
“I do. I have survived that shipwreck. I have seen enough death for one day. Go back and look after your family.”
“Maybe I should avenge my brother.”
“You won’t,” I replied, and Wolf growled again. “You will join him. Then who will look after your wife and the child she is carrying for you?” he looked up at me, sharply. “Will she thank you for leaving her a widow, with a baby on the way?”
“How did you know?”
“I have the Sight. I can See these things.”
“Can you see if I will prosper?”
“I can See that you will not, if you try to fight me.” He thought a moment longer and sheathed his sword.
“I will take my brother home. That’s a fine horse you have. I could have used it to carry him back. And the others.”
“These two are mine. There were another two on the ship. If you find them, good luck to you. I will have no argument with you. I think there is one over there - another seems to have survived the wreck.” Indeed there was - a horse was running around, aimlessly, a couple of hundred yards away. Lost in fear and confusion. It couldn’t even see any grass or drinkable water. I Sent my thoughts over to it and calmed it down, giving it a picture of the man before me and linking him with images of grass, oats and drinkable water. It slowed down, its panic ebbed and it began to walk in our direction.
“Go and get it,” I said, “It will be pleased to see you. I have told it you will give it food and water.” He looked at me suspiciously.
“You can do that? Talk to the animals?” I nodded.
“It’s not that hard. They are mainly concerned with food and fathering youngsters. They don’t use words so I use pictures with them.” He made a sign against the evil eye, which I found a little disappointing. I had spared his life, after all.
“May I know your name?”
“No,” I said. Then thought again. A feeling, nothing more. “Yes. You can. I am Prince Ciaran. Known as Prince Ciaran the Damned. If you know what’s good for you, you will keep that to yourself for a few days. If anyone comes looking for me too soon, I will know the source of their information.” He blanched - my name seemed to mean something to him. “Have you heard of me?”
“Yes, my lord.” He was bowing, now, his hat in his hand. “The British talk of you. I thought you were one of their legends, nothing more.”
“And here I am, alive, in the flesh, and walking unharmed from the wreck of the ship that brought me to this shore.” He nodded, nervously.
“I will not tell anyone until Church on Sunday,” he said. “May I leave you, now?”
“Yes. But one more thing. Give the dead a decent burial. All of them, not just your own. Now, take your horse, your dead brother and your sleeping neighbours over there. You are lucky, today. You have faced Prince Ciaran the Damned and live to tell the tale.” He backed away a few steps, then turned and ran off towards his new horse.
I whistled for Onion, who ambled over calmly. I sent Wolf to look for Sage and in a moment he came back to the top of the shingle bank, barking to get my attention. I had started towards him when Sage appeared. The two of them made their way carefully down the sliding, hissing stones and onto the beach. Together we collected my belongings, starting with the bag of Frankish treasure and my saddle, which the scavengers had already found. My bag of clothes was washed up on the shore as we were looking; it was absolutely sodden, and so were its contents. There was no sign of my tent or bedroll, nor of the smaller bag of coins. I wondered if they might still be on the boat and said as much to Wolf. He whined, as if saying ‘seriously? You are going to go out there?’
“Yes, I am going out to the ship. You can stay here if you want.” He gave me a look as if I was stupid. I stripped down to my under-linen and the two of us started out into the sea. We were expecting to have to swim for most of the way, and we weren’t disappointed. The beach sloped away quite sharply. It took a few minutes to reach the ship, against the swell and the longshore drift. There was no sign of the fourth horse, so maybe it had made it to the shore. I found three more dead crewmen, one of whom had already been attended to by scavenger fish - Here are the pearls that were his eyes - another was the steersman. The third I recognised but I didn’t know his name. I moved his body in order to get at what had been my cabin - and there was my bag of coins, along with the bag that contained my all-important post-Vision medicine. Just in time. As I turned, the one I didn’t recognise opened his eyes and grabbed my arm.
“When you play the Blood Red Game you will lose,” he said. “Have a care, Prince Ciaran the Damned, or you will soon be joining me.”
The tent flap was open, revealing men gathered around a table, looking at something laid out on it.
“You. I only sent for you a day ago.”
It is the witch-king! He said, reaching for his sword.
Looking down from where I was flying, I could see the Land was ablaze, from end to end.
You must stop this. I will. How can I stop it? Not yet. You may be broken but you will be remade.
There was the child. The ball of wood was unravelling. It was smaller than it had been but it was not fully unwound. You will be remade. The corpses were piled around like a wall. Their empty eye sockets accused me. “Why did you kill me, brother?” You are not my brother! The blood flowed out of them and gathered around me, reaching out and growing like a forest, a tangled web, a spider’s undergrowth. You will be remade. You must stop this - the Land is ablaze. Blood flowed like a tidal wave, from one end to the other. You can stop this. You must. “Even if it costs your life,” the child said. “You will be remade.”
Blood Red Game lose eyeless sockets why did you kill me brother the Land is ablaze Blood Red flows over it like a tide the children, the children - where are the children? And I was in the forest, naked, and I knew at last that I was mad and I didn’t want it any more.
You will be remade.
You will lose.
I came to with a start and reached for my precious medicine. It had not been polluted by seawater although my stock of herbs was ruined. Three drafts and the headache receded. I peeled the corpse’s hand off my arm. That had been quite an experience; the dead don’t usually get involved. I checked to make sure he really was dead, and yes he was.
By the looks of the light and the strength the Sun above the thinning clouds - I had not been Away for long. I salvaged some rope, tied together some reasonable lengths of wood and created a raft that was robust enough to support the belongings I piled on it. The local scavengers were welcome to whatever else was left in the ship. Half an hour later I was back ashore. It would be some time before my clothes were dry, so I helped myself to the garments of one of the deceased, who I judged to be about my size. The dry clothes were humble but they felt quite luxurious after a day of dampness. And now it was time to go, if I didn’t want to become an unwilling guest of some village or other. Sage took easily to his saddle, even though it was wet, and Onion bore his burdens stoically. As I mounted Sage I took a moment to look back, towards the island to the south-east and the wreck of the Picard in the bay to the south.
“I wonder who has got it in for us, Wolf,“ I said. He looked up at me. “Every force, for the light and for the dark, and all the gods seem to be conspiring to throw obstacles in our way. It’s hard to know who to have faith in, these days.” Wolf snorted what could have been agreement, and went off to scout for interesting smells. “But how I managed to survive all that…” I muttered to myself, before tugging on Sage’s rein and urging him away down the beach. We headed north-west, away from Chesilton. I didn’t know where the British pair had come from but I expect that their village wasn’t far. We would stick to this strange beach for a while; over the shingle bank was a lagoon, of whose depth I had no idea. It might have come up to my ankles or it could have drowned the lot of us. The hope was that this weird bank would meet the mainland, and not too far away - bu
t far enough further west for us to be closer to British territory. I had a recollection that the Summer Lands and Ynys Witrin, the Isle of Glass, were inland, pretty much due north. That would be where we would aim for. The pebbles on the bank were getting smaller as we headed north-east; when they were little more than sand and the lagoon had shrunk to a narrow channel that we could just about jump over, we left the beach and turned north.
Chapter Fifteen
The Isle of Glass
It was afternoon the following day by the time we were approaching Ynys Witrin. Its great guardian hill, the Tor, had been visible since the morning as we approached from the east, keeping to the higher ground for as long as we could. It was an island and yet not - like Innisgarbh, it was surrounded by marsh and fen. And, like Innisgarbh, it frightened and intimidated those around it. We were approaching the edge of the fen when a guard rose up. He was armed only with a spear and he was leaning on it, rather than pointing it aggressively. His demeanour was more like a guide than an aggressor, although I got the impression that he could handle himself if need be.
“You won’t want to be going that way, sir,” he said. “That way lies the fens, marshes and the island of the fairy king, and his gateway for the damned.” Fens and marshes I knew about - but gateway for the damned? That was a new one. The man spoke English so he could not be expected to know in depth anything of the Lady of the Lake and the Isle of Glass. I dismounted and took a couple of steps closer to him, giving Sage a calming pat as I did.
“That is the way I must go, I’m afraid. I have to get over to Môr Hafren and it is over the other side. I understand there is a jetty where boats can come right up to the foot of the island, and there are even tracks through the fen, known to some local guides. Would you be such a guide?” I pulled my cloak back a little, to reveal the small bag of coins hanging from my belt. But he had stiffened when I said “Môr Hafren” and was taking a more aggressive grip on his spear.
“Do you mean the Severn Estuary, sir? That Havven word is barbarian talk.” I took a step back and spread my hands, palms down.
“I meant no offence. It is some time since I was in these parts. I merely called it by the name I was brought up with.” He was not satisfied.
“You have been on the island already, have you?” I agreed that I had. “I don’t know of anyone who has gone in and out of the island of Glassenbere who was not in league with dark forces.” His spear was now pointing at me.
“Hold, hold up now,” I said. “Dark forces?” He nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“See that?” He demanded. “The fairy king is visiting the witch-queen. They are hatching some devilish plot to take souls to Hell and ruin God-fearing folk.” I looked over his shoulder and was rewarded with the sight of what looked a lot like a castle, hanging in the air. As I watched it shimmered and changed shape, losing coherence and then resolving itself into something that resembled three huge, dark houses, upside down and stacked on top of each other. Then it became a strip of land, with trees clearly visible. These were Morgana’s Castles. They are nothing more than illusions, mirages that occur when the weather conditions are right. But they are obviously terrifying to those who do not know and it is easy to see why they been called gateways to the Netherworld - to Hell. The belief that they were the fairy king’s glass castle gave the place its name - Ynys Witrin, the Isle of Glass. It would be a good idea to disabuse him of the idea that I might be a fairy king, come to commune with who he described as the witch-queen.
“I am just a merchant, trying to get to the fairs across the water, in Gwent. Here, let me show you my wares.” I turned my back to him, giving the impression that I was going to open a pack. He wavered for a moment - which was all I needed. I whistled to Wolf, who snarled and leaped towards the guard. I pulled out my sword and smashed down on the spear. He was disarmed in a moment. I touched him and he fell to his knees, eyes wide open and his legs turning to jelly. I stepped round him and pulled his head back, intending to cut his throat, when a clear voice came from somewhere in the reeds. I had been aware of another presence but it was not a big thing and intended no harm. I had got the impression that it was a bird and had taken no notice. But this was no bird. A young woman stood up and stepped out of the undergrowth.
“Don’t kill him. There is no need,” she said. She was dressed in a grey cloak over a grey shift. The hood had been pulled up but she lifted it and let it fall away. She was in her late adolescence, just entering into full womanhood. There was something familiar about her but I could not recall having met her before.
“He will report my passing through here. I do not wish to be reported,” I replied, and made to complete my self-ordained task.
“But that might be for the best. If you kill him, his absence will be noticed and his village will come looking for him. That will be trouble, for several days at least. And it will further stoke up the suspicion of Ynys Witrin.”
“But if I let him live he will tell his neighbours that a fairy king came through. Or something.”
“He will tell of a warrior who came through and overcame him, that is true,” she said. “He will embellish the tale - he will not wish it to be known that he was overcome in a moment. Is it not better for you, now, if people are afraid of your reputation and avoid you? Will that not make your passage easier?”
I had to concede her point. I sheathed my sword and let him go. He remained kneeling, his eyes wide open. What he was seeing was obviously frightening. The young woman spoke again.
“Can you not release him from his nightmare? Send him to sleep for a few minutes. That will be enough for us to be on our way.”
“You are to guide me?”
“That is what I was sent for. I have been waiting for you.” With a touch, I released the man from his fears and sent him into a deep sleep. He would wake within half an hour with a profound headache, but otherwise none the worse for his experience.
“I am expected?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Who sent you?”
“The Lady. She knew you were coming and sent me to wait for you.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“About an hour. You stopped for something to eat, I think.”
“Yes, I did, of course. It was noon and I was hungry. So were the horses. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.”
“You are here now. Come, follow me. No -” she interrupted me as I made to walk alongside her. “The track is narrow. We will have to go in single file. Will your horses agree to do that?” I said that they would. She nodded and set off immediately. I had to follow as best I could. I told Wolf to bring up the rear and to make sure that Onion didn’t stop to eat every other step of the way. He made clear that he wanted to be up front but I was firm.
“Will your dog do as he is told?” she asked.
“Yes, he is obedient. And quite intelligent,” I replied. “May I ask - you were sent to wait for me, so do you know who I am?”
“Of course, Prince Ciaran.” We were by now in the fen, with rushes rising above my head on either side.
“May I ask your name?”
“You may ask.”
“What is your name? I asked, after a moment.
“All in good time,” she replied. We proceeded in silence for a while.
“How is the Lady?”
“You will see when we get there.” I tried again.
“And how is the community?”
“You will see when we get there.”
“Does the isle flourish?”
“You will see when we get there.”
“And is there honey still for tea?” I asked, a bit exasperated. She made no reply. We went on then in silence, punctuated with warnings about even narrower sections of the path, or where it was subsiding and there was a risk that one of the horses would slip and fall into the fen, or of sudden deviations of the track - probably put in as defences to catch the unwary or unguided. The community at Ynys Witrin valued its
security. It took us the best part of an hour to get to the island proper but the last mile or so was made easier by being able to walk on dry land, at the foot of the Tor. At length, we arrived at the settlement at the centre of Ynys Witrin. The Christians would have called it an abbey or a monastery, but this was not a Christian group. The Lady of the Lake and her followers formed one of the last communities of the Old Religion on the mainland of Britain.
There was something about it. The trees looked to be autumnal. There were leaves carpeting the floor. Some of the buildings and walls looked unkempt, which was curious; one of the chief duties of the Lady - whoever held the position - was to maintain the complete health of the community, its fabric as well as its people. It was as if it was tired and fading. I barely had time to take it all in before my thoughts were interrupted. I had got so used to the silence in which I and the young woman had travelled that I was quite startled by the sound of her voice.
Lockeran (Prince Ciaran the Damned Book 2) Page 14
