Contact (Crossover Series Book 2)

by Walt Socha

  “Continue training,” Fergus said, looking around at the staring faces and nodding to two. “The men from the south are recovering and Donngal and Trian have already joined in on a few of the less strenuous exercises.”

  Larry returned his attention to his breakfast. It just got worse and worse. Now they were training not only women and kids, but also injured ex-slaves.

  Chapter 29

  August 18

  The sun had risen halfway to its zenith by the time Ivar came in sight of the peninsula that jutted out toward the abbey’s island. The trail he’d been following was now a road, connecting the farmsteads that dotted this side of Lough Leane. He continued inland, past the peninsula. Ahead he’d find the small village that surrounded the dock where the abbey’s boats tied up. And maybe something to eat; the hunger in his stomach nearly overshadowed the ache of moral uncertainty.

  Others trod the road, carrying produce, straw, wood, or leading animals. Ivar kept his crucifix exposed, content to blend into the abbey’s traffic, blessing any who met his eyes.

  By noon, the edge of the village came into view. Ivar hesitated. Should he worry about being recognized? Uaine, Brocc’s widow, could link him to the Havenites or the Abbot’s men might wonder why he was back. He hadn’t left the abbey on the best of terms. Being assigned to ‘wander preach’ was really a punishment for questioning the Abbot’s use of the female slaves. A way to get him out of the Abbot’s sight. He continued walking. At least he didn’t look like a total stranger, which would set tongues to wagging.

  As the road veered toward the dock, larger buildings appeared—storehouses for the grain and wool paid as rent by the surrounding farmsteads to the abbey. A few years ago, before Ivar had been exiled, the village had teemed with women and children. Now, other than a few farmers with their wares, mostly hard looking men with weapons moved about. With Ur Neill colors on their shields. Ivar’s heart pounded as the muddy road opened onto the dock area. Armed men guarded the ramps to the docks and boats that provided access to the island-bound abbey. He slowed his step.

  Ivar caught the odor of a privy. He turned, eyes picking out the shed, closed on three sides but open to the road. He slipped into it, hefting up his robe. Emptying his bladder, he contemplated his options. Stay or leave? He wanted to talk with the Abbot. Ask his guidance. But if he was supporting the Ur Neill, then Sanctuary needed to know.

  “Father, glad to see you using it for something.” The voice startled a choke out of Ivar. A large body appeared next to him. A steady stream of steaming urine splashed into the elongated pit at their feet.

  “Blessing on you,” Ivar said, voice squeaking in spite of his efforts. He dared a sideways glance. The man wore a sheathed sword and reeked more than the pit.

  “Your blessing on my sword, Father.” The man shook his worm. Something wet warmed Ivar’s cheek. “We have some killing to do up in the mountains behind the lake,” the man said.

  At the sound of a sword slipping out of a sheath, Ivar turned, dropping the hem of his robe. The tall warrior held a sword, dinged and rusty, upright. Ivar shivered. Had he been identified with the Havenites?

  “Your blessing, father,” the man said again.

  Ivar forced his tongue to move. “May the almighty Son of God give you a long life and may he give your sword the gift of death.” He moved his right hand in the sign of a cross.

  “And may God give you something to do with your worm besides pissing.” The man laughed as he left.

  Ivar drew rapid shallow breaths.

  * * *

  Larry swung. A clang reverberated as his hammer hit the edge of the glowing sword, sending bright sparks flying.

  “What will you use this for?” Garvan asked between pants. He stepped from one foot to another, forcing the leather bellows to force air into Larry’s hellish pit of glowing charcoal.

  “I am shaping the tip of this shit sword into a rod. When it's cool, I will use it to form other pieces of captured weapons into a tube.” Larry grunted as he swung again. “Then I close and sharpen one end. Slip it over a stave and we have a spear. For larger pieces, I could even weld on an axe head and make a halberd.”

  “Purpose?” Garvan asked, sweat pouring from his body in the heat that radiated from the glowing pit.

  “An axe head on the end of a long spear makes it easy to whack a swordsman from a distance.”

  “Take a break,” a voice said in English from behind them.

  Larry wiped the sweat from his face with his left sleeve, leaving streaks of soot and charcoal. “Almost done.”

  “Can we hurl?” Garvan asked in his own language. “It’s close to supper.”

  “These points ain’t gonna make themselves.” Dropping his hammer, Larry withdrew a large piece of cloth from his tunic and ran it over his face and hair.

  “Take a break,” Matuso said again. “It’ll be dinner soon anyway. I’ll finish up here. Sigfus can handle the bellows.” Matuso gestured to the Icelander who stood behind him.

  “I can finish it faster.”

  “As your medical resource, I’m prescribing recreation.” Switching to Eire, Matuso turned to Garvan. “Take Larry to your field and run his muscles loose.”

  Stretching his aching back, Larry stared at Matuso. These young ones were getting more and more argumentative.

  Matuso stared back, head cocked slightly and eyebrows up.

  Larry caught himself thinking of Teltina. She had similar mannerisms. He shifted his gaze to Garvan. The boy met his eyes. Shit, the boy tilted his head also. “All right.” Larry removed his leather apron. “Running around senselessly may actually relieve some of these aches and pains.” He switched to English. “Matuso, the next time I see your father, I’m gonna tell him what a pain in the ass you are.”

  Larry turned to face Garvan and switched back to Eire, “Let’s go, but you’ll never score against me.” As he followed the running boy, Larry wondered yet again what would happen to this kid after he and the other Havenites left.

  Chapter 30

  August 19

  Larry’s eyes followed Garvan and Rory as they raced around the cook fire area, each bouncing a leather ball on their bats, or what Garvan insisted on calling hurleys. After a couple of circles, they veered off toward the playing field. Larry tightened his jaw, trying to remember what it was like to be young and free of worry. Maybe he could get in an hour of play after this meeting. He glanced up. The sun had fallen midway to the horizon. If he was to play, he’d better hurry; supper would be in an hour or so.

  “Sui Finn safe enough?” He looked at Fergus, who sat between Jessie and Matuso. Around the fire itself, Niam, Keelin, and Sigfus prepared dinner.

  “This side of our lookout has a lot of cover.” Fergus tossed a twig into the fire. It flared for a few breaths. “But if our lookout is attacked from this direction, we’re already screwed.”

  “Coming up the Caragh River?”

  “If anyone taking that route doesn’t want to be seen, they won’t.”

  “Any good news?” Larry said. This whelp took after his father too much.

  “Obvious routes tend to be used.” Fergus tossed another twig into the fire.

  Larry lifted his eyes from the fire and swept the village. Other than today’s cooks, the other Sanctuary inhabitants had decided to stick to their chores rather than be anywhere near him. Shit, he probably came across even grumpier than usual lately.

  All eyes around the fire looked up as a running man broke from the trees near the river. Larry’s hand dropped to his waist, fingers wrapping around his knife. “Now what?” he asked, muscles relaxing as Fistav slowed and stopped in front of him. The sweating man leaned over, took a breath and straightened, leggings dripping water.

  “Ivar’s back,” he said, drawing in another breath. “He’s maybe a hand of time behind me.” Fistav glanced back toward the trail that entered the village from the river. “I met him at the East Pass. After talking with him, I decided to report immediately.” />
  “And?” Larry asked, dreading the answer.

  “What I understood from his babbling is that the Ur Neill are at the abbey and planning to attack.”

  “We’ll gather everyone when he gets here.” Larry sagged. More death was coming.

  “Should we talk to him privately, first?” Fergus asked, eyes locking onto Larry’s.

  Larry returned his gaze for several breaths. “No, I ain’t keeping anything back. Everyone deserves to know what shit’s coming down.”

  * * *

  Matuso watched Ivar slow as he entered the cook fire area, the man’s eyes flicking around the assembled crowd. Most of the villagers were present, sitting on the benches and logs that surrounded the simmering pot of supper. All stared at the young priest.

  “Sit and have a drink.” Larry waved a hand toward the open space at his side.

  Matuso filled a mug with cooled mint tea and handed it to Ivar, leading the man with his left hand to a seat next to Larry. “Take your time. We can wait for your story.”

  Ivar’s eyes moved, shifting from person to person like a trapped animal.

  “Relax,” Fergus said from across the fire. “We'll beat the shit out of you later. For now, sit and tell us your story.”

  Ivar’s eyes widened. After a moment, a smile cracked his face. He sat and lifted the mug to his lips. His throat twitched as he drained the mug. A hand removed the empty mug and refilled it. Ivar downed it also. “My apologies,” he said, after pausing to take several long breaths. “I decided to visit the Abbot, my confessor.” His eyes again swept his audience.

  Matuso nodded encouragement as Ivar met his gaze. The young priest had aged in the last few days. His face was haggard and paler than usual.

  “I entered the abbey’s village. It’s on the lakeshore and has a dock for the boat that serves the island.” He looked down at his hand. “I saw a large number of men. A couple dozen. Not regular inhabitants.” He sucked in a deep breath. Exhaled. “I tried to hide in a privy.” He looked up as several people chuckled. “An armed man entered. He spoke to me and asked for my blessing. He claimed he was part of an expedition moving into the mountains.” His eyes found Larry’s. “To kill us.”

  Us. Matuso caught several of the men glancing at each other. He wasn’t the only one to catch Ivar’s word use.

  “I returned immediately, before anyone from the abbey recognized me. Or the woman from Brocc’s farmstead.”

  “The men you saw,” Matuso said, “were they Northmen or Ur Neill?”

  “Only Ur Neill.”

  “So where are the Northmen?” Matuso eyes swept the gathered inhabitants of Sanctuary.

  * * *

  Matuso sat, mug of mint tea in his hand. “What are your thoughts?”

  It was late. Fergus squatted by the fire’s edge and tossed twigs into the fire, the resulting flares of light occasionally washing out the moon’s weak shadows. Larry and Jessie sat on the bench on the opposite side of the dim flames. Behind them, Hatimu looked at the recorder in his hands, frowned, and slipped it into a pouch.

  “Ivar, for all his silliness, confirmed what we feared.” Larry picked at a fingernail with his knife. “Thing is, we can’t fight them directly. We don’t know how many they are and they are likely to be experienced fighters. We only prevailed before…” Larry closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose. “Those of us who survived did so because we had surprise on our side.”

  “The ambush in the mountain…” Matuso started to say.

  “Was a lot of luck and we lost Pondusu.” Larry’s voice was low, but cut through a night broken only by the crackle of flames and the snap of collapsing wood. “And those were Ur Neill, not Northmen.”

  Matuso closed his eyes, seeing the cairn they had left behind in the mountains to the east of Ros’s farmstead. And the shallow grave at Brocc’s farmstead.

  “What are our defensive options?” Jessie asked after a long pause.

  “None.” Fergus tossed in an evergreen branch, which flared and illuminated drawn and haggard faces. “I’m thinking…” He turned to Larry. “What’s the word for hit and run fighting?”

  “Guerrilla warfare.” Larry moved his knife to his left hand, scraping the tip under the nail of the index finger of his right hand. “We need to monitor their movements. And attack and fade while they’re still far away from Sanctuary.”

  “Hello.” A voice broke from the dark. Marcan moved into the light.

  “Please join us,” Matuso said in Eire.

  “My family is sleeping. But I can not.” The man sat next to Matuso. “Anything I can do?”

  “Die with us.” Fergus poked at the fire with a stick, releasing a puff of smoke. “Or flee with your family.” Only the slight downward edges of his mouth betrayed his blank face.

  “Flee where?” Marcan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face cupped in his hands. “We are safer here than on our own. For their sake, I will wield an axe at your side.”

  Matuso raised an eyebrow at the man’s comment. Maybe they had underestimated the refugees. The southern men were certainly enthusiastic on the training field and tended to follow Marcan’s lead.

  “Well, I guess we fight.” Fergus leaned back, arms above him in a stretch. “And I would be honored to have Marcan at my side.”

  “Matuso, will you head up to Sui Finn early tomorrow? Check what the boys up there are seeing.” Larry turned to Fergus. “You to the east pass? Then let us meet mid-day. Decide on strategy. Maybe raiding parties.”

  “If we can cause enough damage, maybe they will not even enter Sanctuary.” Matuso stood. “I think I'd better get some sleep while I can.”

  Chapter 31

  August 21

  “It’s veering off to the south,” Matuso said. “That’s odd.” He stood looking east, scanning the coastal contour on the south side of the bay.

  “Odd good or odd bad?” Hatimu asked, moving to stand next to Matuso.

  “Bad.”

  Hatimu stepped forward as if to see better. “But maybe not so odd. The longships can land on an exposed beach if the waves aren’t too high. And that small hill blocks our view of that part of the coast. Great place to start a flanking action.”

  Matuso turned to face their small cook fire set between knee high walls of stone. He’d arrived at their lookout on Sui Finn mountain a few hours ago to find Cassan and Hatimu taking turns reinforcing the rock wall that formed the wind break for their small lean-to shelter.

  Cassan now sat tending the cook fire, their lunch simmering in a metal pot rumored to be one brought by Potts from the Far Lands. The Eire youth treated it as a sacred relic.

  “Cassan, how’d you like a run under this sun?”

  “Better than running in the rain.” The youth stirred the stew once before standing. “Let them know there’s a landing?” He moved to a clay jug and poured water into a small cup.

  “And ask for more sentries,” Matuso said. “I’m going down to scout them out.”

  “I should go,” Hatimu said. “You need to coordinate from here.” He chuckled. “And play with your map.”

  “Your leg isn’t healed enough to run.”

  “The goal is to not be seen, not to outrun a couple of sailors from the north.” Hatimu grinned. “And I need the exercise. So don’t argue.” He joined Cassan at the water jug.

  Matuso watched as the two drank their fill. Cassan kicked up dust and dislodged small pebbles as he sat to drink. Hatimu left prints but no noise and no dust. Even with his bad leg, he was the best choice for scouting out the Northmen.

  * * *

  Larry squinted into the glowing hell of the forge pit. He’d have to make a proper brick furnace eventually. He paused at that thought and snorted. If he lived long enough.

  “Will the women fight?” Face dripping, Garvan worked the bellows. Behind him, Rory and Cellach lay on the bare ground in exaggerated poses of exhaustion, arms and legs splayed outwards.

  “I hope they will not have to,” Larry
said. “Worse case, you, Rory, and Cellach take the women up into the mountains. You remember where we cashed supplies?”

  “Up the valley from Rory’s home then west over the ridge.” Garvan pointed southwest.

  “Look for stacked rocks. Cache is downhill a hundred strides,” Cellach added. Larry noted that the boy, one of the refugees from the south, had put on weight. And, in spite of his abuse in captivity, was now interacting with adults as well as the other kids.

  Rory lifted one hand, fingers moving. Beside him, Cellach squinted.

  “Larry strides, not ours.” Garvan translated for Rory.

  “Your job?” Larry said.

  “Scout out the terrain,” Garvan said. “Help the women. Defend them.”

  “Why is that important?” Larry nodded to Cellach and pointed to an iron rod. “Hold that.”

  “So you and the other warriors can concentrate on saving Sanctuary,” Cellach said as he held the rod with heavy leather strips. “Without worrying about the women and the little ones.”

  Larry nodded. And to keep you rascals out of trouble. He hefted his hammer and brought it down on the glowing sword fragment that rested on the iron rod. Sparks and debris flew and the glowing metal formed around the colder rod. “This should be the last of the spear tips. Wish we had time to form halberd heads.”

  “Look.” Garvan’s rhythmic steps faltered as he pointed toward the center of the village. “Cassan just ran in.”

  “Almost there.” Larry’s hammer rose and fell. “Another few hammer strikes and we will see what he has to say.”

  The squeak of the bellows died away, replaced by footfalls and labored breathing. Larry looked up. Garvan had stepped off the footpads of the bellows and stood facing Cassan. The latter took in one more deep breath and said, “A Northman boat landed on our side of the bay, just west of Sui Finn.”