by Walt Socha
With a groan, Larry sat back down and looked around. “So tomorrow, we pack up and check out Matuso’s new home. It’s not too far from the bay. But we’d need to establish a lookout, probably on that mountain to the west. The one between here and the bay. It was visible from Ros’s peninsula and while we were sailing.” He looked west before turning to Cassan. “What is that mountain called?” Larry pointed to the peak, a rounded peak a bit north of the setting sun.
The youth shook his head.
“Sui Finn, we call it,” Marcan said. “Named after an old warrior hero who is said to be buried there. I've never been to the top.”
“Well, you may get the chance to join us,” Larry said.
Matuso noted that the man puffed up a bit at being included.
“Got a name for this place we are going to?” Gatanu asked. “Assuming it works out?”
No one spoke for several minutes.
“Sanctuary.” Matuso looked around at the weary men and hopeful refugees. “Seems appropriate.”
“And the Lord provided for his people,” Ivar said.
“Don’t know about your lord,” Larry said, a slight growl in his voice. “But I thank you and Matuso for scouting it out.”
* * *
Larry watched as the last of his men slipped away from the dimming light of the dying cook fire and into the dark with their blankets and skins. The families had already laid their bedrolls close together, kids next to their mothers. Both Deirdre and Anya kept themselves separated from the other women and each other. The two slave women, Maeve and Niam, had formed a temporary family, although Larry suspected that the attention of the men would soon change that. He’d ask Gatanu and Matuso to keep an eye on the Icelanders who had grown up with casual access to slave women. Ivar and Marcan still sat in the fire circle, talking low together. Ivar’s companion got up and walked into the shadows. Probably to piss.
Ivar stood and walked around the dying fire.
“I would talk with you, sir,” Ivar said, stopping in front of Larry.
“Sit, you are blocking the light.” Larry gestured to the ground at his right. He didn’t know yet how to regard the young priest. Seemed harmless enough.
A spark exploded in the remains of the fire followed by a sharp intake of breath at Larry’s side. “What troubles you?”
“I believe that Innisfallen Abbey lies a few days’ journey to the west of here.”
“Matuso mentioned that. And?” Larry said after a moment’s silence.
“It is expected that newcomers present themselves to the Abbot for his blessing.”
Larry turned to his companion. “What if we don’t need his blessing?”
Silence followed, broken only by another puff of sparks and a small explosion from the fire.
“The Abbot also serves to protect his flock. A tithe is expected for this service.”
“Maybe we’ll just leave once my ship returns.” In the dim light, Larry allowed his eyes to roll. He’d been expecting some sort of foolishness from this man. But this didn’t sound too crazy. Easy enough to ignore.
After another long silence, Ivar continued. “There is also the matter of payment to Fillen, the man you sent away. For the loss of his wife.” Ivar’s voice sped up. “Compensation is required for the loss of property.”
Larry closed his eyes. Crazy after all. “His compensation is that I did not kill him.” Opening his eyes, Larry shifted to face Ivar. “No one is property of another person.” Larry allowed himself a smile, proud that he had not lost his temper.
“A woman is the vassal of a man. She belongs to her father. Then she belongs to her husband.”
Larry put his hand on Ivar’s shoulder. Squeezed. Watched Ivar’s face stiffened in pain. He squeezed harder. “Men exist to protect women. Not to own them.” He let go. “We follow Haven’s rules no matter where we go.”
Larry stood, allowing the rising anger to banish the pain in his knees. He looked down at Ivar. “Never insult the memory of my dead wife by calling her a possession.” His pulse pounding in his ears, Larry turned to seek solace in the darkness.
Chapter 10
July 15
Larry leaned into the rudder and smiled as the steeper mountains framing the southern section of the lake passed. The crisscrossing game trails along the upper reaches of the heather covered western slopes stood out like minute spider webs. Towering oaks dominated the mid-slopes while ash, pine, and willow crowding the lake shoreline. After a half hand of time, the land flattened to form a large bowl framed by even more distant hills and peaks. Hopefully a safe land.
Looking over the loaded ship, Larry’s smile widened as six oars dipped and pulled to the rhythm of the clapping hands of Matuso and the kids. They had gotten over their fear of the Havenites through a combination of full bellies and smiles. He signaled Garvan to move to stern and help with the steering oar. The girl—Fennore—lost her smile as she watched the slightly older boy make his way through the passengers, animals, and cargo.
“Fennore, you, too.” Larry shifted further aft, one gnarled hand always on the worn wood. “Garvan, show her how to hold the steering arm,” he added as he saw the flicker of a frown flash across the boy’s face.
With extra hands at the steering pole and the former slaves Maeve and Niam now helping Matuso clap, it was only minutes before Seabird entered the mouth of the wide but shallow upper Caragh River that fed the lake. “Keep rowing,” Larry said. “We have the width. The river must be sixty paces wide. But keep a watch on the bottom.”
At the bow, Matuso nodded before returning his attention to the clear water of the river. As they moved upstream, the banks overflowed with alder and willows. Birds erupted from bushes and insects buzzed then quieted. Beneath them, silver flashes darted between the rocks.
In a quarter mile, the ship scraped the bottom. “How far to the abandoned farmstead?” Larry asked Matuso.
“Less than a half-mile.”
“Stow the oars except the two shortest. Use them to pole.” Larry nodded to Gatanu and Nanisu. “You two ashore, shields and swords. Pace us from the banks.”
After another quarter mile, the Seabird scraped bottom continuously. “Men out with rope and start pulling.” He turned to Garvan and Fennore. “Thanks for helping. The men will guide the ship.”
The two kids returned to their seats, where Fennore’s gaze bounced between the landscape and Larry.
As they passed a small island, the river bent sharply left to reveal a long stretch of shallow rapids and large boulders, Ivar called out “This is the old farmstead.”
Waving, Nanisu appeared in the overgrown field to the right.
As the men pulled the Seabird against the right bank, Larry secured the rudder. “Everyone on shore. And get them shitting sheep and pigs off the ship.”
Several men slipped into the water to help the women exit Seabird as the two older kids scrambled over the sides on their own. Even the sheep started bleating in anticipation of release from their version of a floating hell.
“Matuso, set out guards.” Larry paused to look around, catching each person’s eye in turn. “Everyone else, let’s finish unloading. Then look around but stay within earshot. Meet back in an hour. One hand of time.”
* * *
A shrill whistle cut through the misty drizzle as Matuso unrolled his sleeping skin, and covered his pack with it. After placing rocks at the edges to keep the wind from exposing his belongings to the weather, he stood and looked around.
The injured Hatimu sat next to the cook fire, and Deirdre’s copper pot steamed in the cool air. Hide covered piles of belongings dotted the trampled clearing, which was now filling with Havenites and refugees. Chasing a loop made from a sapling while keeping it upright with sticks, Garvan and Fennore wove in and out of the assembled adults trailed by their younger siblings
Another blast of Larry’s whistle, and the kids stopped their play to join the adults milling about Hatimu and his cook fire.
“He
re’s the plan,” Larry said, his eyes sweeping the gathering. “Except for those on guard duty, the men will work on a temporary shelter for the women and kids. Hopefully, you'll get it built by tonight.” He turned to the women who, except for Deirdre, stood around Keelin. “Can you scout the fields? See if there’s anything edible growing.”
Matuso heard Deirdre’s snort at his side. As Larry turned to face her, she shrank back, her lips a thin line.
“Gatanu and Fistav, you take a hike to that pass Matuso found. That spot he called Bald Hill.” Larry stopped to glance upward at the dripping clouds. “Forget it, you won’t see anything. But Cassan, you and me will take a walk and try to figure out the source of that smoke that Ivar and Matuso saw yesterday.”
As the crowd broke up, Matuso turned to Deirdre. “How are you doing?
She stared back at him for several breaths. “I’ve lost everything.” She looked down. “I have no male family member to protect me.” She turned to look at the rest of the women walking in a line across the overgrown fields. “Unless you count Anya’s son. My half-brother.”
“We will protect you.”
“Until you leave.” She turned to face Matuso, her eyes spearing into his.
Matuso broke eye contact. True. Larry’s plan was only to survive until Stormchaser’s return.
“Now I’m just one more mouth to feed.” She turned and walked into the forest surrounding the abandoned field.
Matuso watched her until she disappeared. Then he turned to join the men constructing the women’s shelter.
* * *
As Larry hiked away from the derelict farmstead, he looked back to see Deirdre moving out of the forest onto the overgrown field to the east. She walked in a back and forth pattern, scanning the ground. Hopefully looking for edibles. He’d have to deal with her attitude if time didn’t take care of it.
“She’s lost.” Cassan followed Larry’s eyes. “In one day, her whole life turned to shit.”
Larry halted and stared at his companion. The boy—almost a man—had said, or shown, nothing of his feelings about his family since they'd escaped from his father’s farmstead. Or nothing but a faraway look when he thought he was unnoticed. “It is hard to lose your life.” Larry squared his shoulders. He knew that all too well.
Cassan turned slowly and met Larry’s eyes. The youth nodded and forced a small sad smile.
“Best find that smoke,” Larry said, turning to stomp through the tall grasses. Behind, he heard Cassan’s footsteps following. Game trails wove through trees and brush, skirting outcrops of stone.
After an hour of slogging through tall grass and thick brush, Larry veered off to climb a small rocky hill. From its summit, maybe three or four hundred feet high, he could see a small stream to the south-southeast that tumbled down from the eastern mountains and formed a shallow valley within the larger one. No smoke or signs of habitation broke the rugged landscape.
“What is that?” Cassan pointed southwest, along the stream.
Cupping his hand over his eyes to shield them more from the misty rain than the feeble light, Larry squinted. “What are you seeing?”
“Just an odd pattern of growth.” Cassan moved to Larry’s side. “Squat down.”
As Larry did so, Cassan held his arm and outstretched finger. “Sight down my arm.”
Larry followed the finger. Along the stream, a clump of uniform color betrayed itself. “Looks planted. Let’s work our way closer.”
Moving with care, they worked their way up the broken rock of the ridge that defined the east side of the stream’s drainage. Below them, the outcrop merged into stubby trees that lined the small, rocky stream. Across it and upstream, several shapeless low clumps of green, broken by points of color, interrupted the expanse of wind-bent trees.
“Disguised vegetable plots?” Cassan didn’t bother to point.
“Yeah.” Larry scanned the small valley. The trees grew shorter and farther apart as the ground rose. Except for a thicket of trees above the vegetable garden. “Those trees beyond the plots. With all those game trails.”
“Those are not game trails.”
“I think you’re right. Let’s approach it from upstream.” Larry turned left and eyed the rough ground along the broken ridge. “Lousy walking.”
Another half hour of scrambling brought them to a position slightly upstream of the plots of green. As they peered from behind a clump of berry-covered bushes, the suspicious thicket of trees became just several trees surrounded by interwoven branches covered with vines. Several trails radiated outwards.
“We’re going to scare the shit out of whoever is in there.” Larry loosened the sword in his scabbard.
“Maybe.” A voice spoke in Eire from behind them.
Larry twisted around, sword half-drawn. He froze. A thin woman in a dusty, hooded cloak stood behind a low boulder a few dozen strides away. One hand curled around a short bow. The other trembled with the strain of pulling back the bowstring loaded with a metal-tipped arrow, its fletching ragged with partially missing vanes.
“Good morning, my lady.” Larry slid the sword back into its sheath. The bow was small, not much more than a stride and a half long, but at this range could still drive that tip through his leather vest and deep into his chest.
“Good manners in a warrior.” The woman raised an eyebrow, adding creases to her wind burned skin. “Whom do you serve?”
“I serve no man of this land.” Larry moved his hands away from his sheathed sword. At his side, he could make out Cassan’s hands rising.
“Whom do you serve?” The woman’s eyebrows narrowed.
“I serve the council of Haven.” Larry held his hands higher. “Haven is four weeks journey by boat to the west.”
“Elders say that only monsters live to the west.” Her eyes swept over his body. “Unless monsters have the appearance of men. With dark skin.”
“The only monsters I have met are human.” Larry’s eyes shifted, noting that several tears in her cloak had been mended with precise stitches. Red hair peeked from under her hood and leather shoes wrapped up around slender ankles. “Are you a monster?”
She pulled the bowstring back another finger width.
“We came to this land to trade.” Larry lowered his hands out in front of him. Better to lose a hand blocking an arrow than to have it puncture a lung. “We were attacked by men with a herald showing two lions and a hand.” Moving slowly, he turned to point back to camp with one hand. The other he kept toward the woman. “We came to this valley seeking shelter and safety. We also have a dozen refugees fleeing from those same men.”
The woman let out a long breath. Her right hand lessened the tension on the bowstring. “That is the symbol of the Ur Neill.” Her eyebrows once again narrowed. “Why would they raid this far south?”
“I do not know. I am unfamiliar with the politics of Eire.”
“Eire. An old name. Why do you call it that?”
Larry took in a breath. Now was not the time to get into his history. He exhaled. “We have prophecies that called this land so.”
“Prophecies are just lies dressed up in magic.” She turned slightly, the arrow now pointing to Cassan. “You appear to be of this land. Where?”
“I am Cassan, son of the Jarl Ros Suilman.” Cassan paused for several breaths before nodded toward Larry. “I voyaged with Larry to one of the lands in the west. On our return we found the Ur Neills at my father’s homestead. I do not know what has happened to my parents. My sister has been taken captive.” His voice cracked. “Another farmstead, a day's walk to the east, was also attacked. Those attackers we killed.”
“Are you a servant of the man-god Jesus?” The woman’s body language stiffened as she added tension to the bowstring.
“My family has allegiance to the abbey on the Island.”
The woman hissed and drew the arrow back an additional hand’s breath.
“But I no longer follow the foreign Jesus.” The words rushed from Cassan. �
��And my friend,” he turned to Larry, “follows prophets named Buddha and Potts.”
Larry moved sideways blocking Cassan from the woman. “What is your allegiance?”
“I have no allegiance. I serve the land and the people.” Her face slumped. “Or I did until the Abbot’s men destroyed our farmstead.”
Larry watched as the woman’s confident demeanor collapsed. The bow remained drawn but her arm shook with fatigue. “Did you live in the ruined farmstead near the end of this stream?”
The woman nodded. “What are your plans?”
“We wish to live in peace. We have no other plans except to protect any women and kids in our care.” Larry fixed on the woman’s eyes. He could feel the woman’s fear through her bravado. “Will you accept our protection?”
“I will accept your presence.” The arrow point lowered. “My name is Teltina. Please keep your people from this part of the valley. You may go now.”
Chapter 11
July 18
Larry tugged at his trousers as he re-entered the camp. Latrines. He'd better work on latrines. The areas set off for shitting were getting full and becoming odorous. He killed a frown as Garvan looked his way. Wearing a smile he didn’t feel, Larry walked toward the cook fire where Hatimu sat stirring breakfast in Deirdre’s copper pot. Larry’s weak smile faded as the sight of the pot triggered memories of their fight at Ros’s farmstead. And Stormdancer’s flight, which took their supplies—including all their cooking gear—and most of the trade goods. Samatu and the others simply had to have made it back to Iceland.
Matuso appeared at Larry’s side. “What’s the schedule?”
“Probably to continue clearing one of the fields. And weeding around whatever looks edible.”
“What about the sheep? They’re starting to roam. Haven’t a clue where the pigs are.”
