by Walt Socha
“More coming.” Teltina’s voice sounded along with the whistle of one of her arrows. “Go left.”
Larry staggered to his feet, facing left. Two men, screaming, broke through a patch of heather, one moving directly toward Larry, the second moving to the side. Dropping the axe, Larry grasped the slick hilt of his sword with both hands and shifted left to meet the flanking man. Swinging in a wide arc, he broke the man’s charge and turned to face the first. Lunging, he parried and thrust, driving him backward. Swinging his sword over his head, Larry leaned into his blade, hacking through the attacker's weaker iron sword and into his leather helmet. The man crumpled.
Jerking his sword from the deformed skull, Larry looked over his shoulder. Twenty strides away, Teltina stood on a rocky outcrop, bow drawn back, facing away from Larry. Beneath her, a man in the leather tunic of a Wildling rose up from a patch of heather.
Larry inhaled and froze. Too far away. He tried to scream a warning but could not exhale.
In a flash of motion, a body sailed through the air and crashed into the assailant.
Breaking into a charge, Larry reached the pair as the second man rolled off the Wildling and struggled to rise. The Wildling rose faster and lunged toward the second man, knife in hand. As Larry’s sword cut through the Wildling’s knife arm, an arrow shaft blossomed from the man’s back.
Heaving air into his lungs, Larry’s eyes rose to meet Teltina’s. Her eyes shifted downward.
“You two…” a familiar voice said between gasps of air. “Are too dangerous to be left alone.”
Swaying in pain and exhaustion, Larry looked down at the speaker.
Rising to one knee, a bloodied Ivar panted. “I have killed Christians,” he said, his voice cracking.
Larry gazed around. They stood halfway to the summit. Uphill, men from Sanctuary looked open-mouthed at Larry. Downhill, a trail of contorted bodies, some spouting Teltina’s shorter arrows, marked their path. Weariness and pain clouded his thoughts and the ground slammed into him.
* * *
“You old fool.” Fergus squatted, looking down at his father. They were in the area set up for the wounded on the north side of camp.
Larry’s eyes fluttered. Opened. Age and pain looked up at Fergus.
“I must be in hell,” his father said. He winced as he tried to rise, then gave up.
Fergus shook his head. “Some may call it that, but most of us just call it Bald Hill. And you look like shit. A few nasty gashes but mostly you’re just not as young as you try to act. You’ve been out for a couple of hours.” At least the now familiar weight of death didn’t include his father.
Larry’s eyes cleared. “Teltina?”
“She’s uninjured. Had quite a reunion with Agnes. They’re both helping with the wounded.” He glanced over to where they worked alongside Matuso. “We lost three men. And have four wounded, one seriously.” He could almost see pain etch additional lines in his father’s face as he spoke their names.
“Wiggle your fingers on your left hand,” Fergus said, staring at his father’s hand. “You got a deep gash in your upper left arm. Took a few stitches but Matuso was worried about nerves.” He nodded once as Larry’s fingers moved. “Good. But both that and a bad slice in your right thigh need rest. You hear?”
“No respect,” Larry said before he nodded.
“We routed a shield wall attack from the south.” Fergus shuddered as he described the battle. “It was a diversion. Their bowmen carried the shields. But carrying them over the rough ground kept most of them from their weapons. Which let us overrun them. Almost.” Fergus paused; two of their fatalities had been caused by those Ur Neill bows. “Most of their sword and axemen were in on a flanking attack from the west.” He stared at his father. “Someone warned us with three smoking fires.”
His father raised one eyebrow.
“That flanking attack was slowed by the terrain. And broken by a couple of idiots picking off the men at the rear. Totally confused them.”
His father raised the second eyebrow.
“Not many got away.” Fergus paused. Should he add to his father’s burden?
“What’s wrong?”
“The children…” He stopped as Larry tried to sit up. “Stay down.”
“Tell me,” his father demanded.
“We also lost Cellach.” Fergus blew out a long breath. “They were watching the east side. A couple of Wildlings slipped away from the other two groups and tried to do a secondary flank on that side. All the men on the hilltop had moved to the west to counter the main flanking thrust.”
Larry’s hand clutched Fergus’s leg. Painfully.
“The children slung stones at them. Knocked one out cold. I hear it was Fennore’s stone. But the other Wildling took down Cellach. Luckily…” Fergus choked.
“Anyway, Niam and two of the Southern women—Ronnat and Brona I think—heard the children screaming and arrived in time to beat the shit out of him with staves. Then they cut both of the Wildlings’ throats.”
“Cellach?” Larry’s eyes aged.
“Died.” Fergus slumped. “When the men found out about Cellach, they killed the few prisoners we took. It was over before I knew what happened.”
“Probably not good. But saves me from doing so.”
“You rest.” Turning from his father, he scanned the summit. The beginning of several cairns occupied the center of the hill. Like most burial locations in this land of rock, the soil was too thin for a dug grave. Or was non-existent. Nearby, Keelin and several of the less injured men surrounded a cook fire. Twenty strides further away, most of the children sat in a circle while Matuso told them stories. Or lies. It didn’t matter, just so they could think of something other than death.
“But there is good news.” Fergus turned to face Larry again. “Cassan’s sister showed up as we swept the area for any remaining Ur Neill. Name of Orla. Another emotional reunion. She’d escaped from the Northmen and brought Hatimu out with her. He was too injured to travel very far, so she left him at the lake’s outlet. I've got men going to get him now.”
A smile flickered on Larry’s face before it faded. “Rory’s dead. The Northmen are moving toward us.” His father groaned as he pushed himself up on his elbows.
“I know. Teltina told us.” He had to give his father credit, he never stopped thinking. “We had hoped to flee into the eastern forest. But now I think we’ll have to hold here.”
“You’re probably right.” Larry collapsed back down with a grunt and closed his eyes.
Fergus stared at the old man at his feet. A tough man in a fight. Tougher as a father.
His father's eyes opened. “You did good.”
Something inside softened and Fergus smiled. “I had to. I’m your son.”
* * *
Pride vied with sorrow as Larry watched his son walk away. He’d been hard on the boy. He shut his eyes against a pain that had nothing to do with his injuries but caused a profound sense of loneliness.
“I am sorry for your wounds.” A small voice broke his painful musing. He opened his eyes to see Fennore kneeling at this side.
“Fergus told me that we lost your father.”
Fennore lowered her eyes as a single tear left a track down her left cheek. “I think he was happy to be with you and the other warriors.” Her mouth quivered but failed to form a smile. “It is hard to think.”
“Living is hard.” Larry struggled to find words. “But we go on and keep memories in our heart.” His throat closed on the words.
“My father told me that he thought you were Finn, come back from your grave on the mountain. To protect the people of this land.”
Larry inhaled. Any protest died as he searched the young girl’s open face. “Your father was a hero, and it was very good of him to think that highly of me. But I’m just a man. Maybe this Finn has been an inspiration to both your father and to me?”
A small smile softened the tightness in her face. “I listened as Matuso talked wi
th your warriors about the burden of living. He said that, without gods, we can only rely on ourselves and the people around us.” She sniffed. “That sounds hard. Is that what you believe?”
“Burden of living?” Larry wondered what tangent the young man had taken. “Well, we must go on. In honor of the dead and in hope for the future of our kids. We make mistakes but keep trying to make life better for the next generation.” He drew in a quick breath. Had he stopped trying to do that when he had escaped to sea because of Sesapa’s death?
“Well, I know what I want to do to make life better.” Fennore’s posture straightened. “I am going to be a great warrior.” Her hands dropped to the rope around her waist. A rope with a pouch.
Larry sighed. It was still an island of death. “It is better to be a healer than a warrior.”
“Without warriors, everyone dies.”
“Well, maybe if everyone was part warrior?” Larry floundered for thoughts. “But were also farmers, healers, iron men. Or iron women.”
Fennore scrunched up her face. “Be two things?”
Larry nodded.
“Will you teach me to be an iron woman?”
Chapter 36
August 26
A misting rain cooled the air, causing Matuso to shiver. He stood before all the Sanctuary inhabitants who weren't on patrol, all wearing layers of blankets and sleeping furs. The injured sat or lay on skins at the front of the assembly. Larry stood next to them, leaning on an improvised crutch. His face showed the years he'd added in the last few days.
Matuso turned to confirm the reality of five oblong mounds, the horror of the four larger cairns magnified by Cellach’s smaller one. The mounds only stood thigh high, moveable rocks being few on the barren summit of Bald Hill. They would build them higher when time allowed. “Today we remember our fallen heroes. Brave men willing to die to protect their blood and adopted families.” He paused to allow time for his eyes to sweep over each person in the crowd, stopping to gaze at Teltina, her hand tightly gripping her daughter’s shoulder. “And to remember two youths who became men fighting for the safety of their loved ones.” He then shifted his gaze to Cellach’s parents. The father, still recovering from injuries suffered in captivity, and his wife, heavy with a child of rape, embraced in sorrow.
Matuso swallowed and then drew in a deep breath. “We are united in remembering their sacrifice.” He withdrew a leather-covered book from a bag at his waist and, using a small blanket as shelter from the rain, opened it. “I read from my remembrances,” he said, turning to the most recent entries and reading short summaries of each of the four men and two boys. When he finished, he looked up at the crowd, noting tears and grim faces. And anger and determination. “Please come to me with additional memories. I will pen them in our book.” Placing the book back into his pouch, he stepped to the side and watched as Ivar moved forward.
“I give God’s blessing on these fallen heroes.” Ivar’s hand made a vertical movement followed by a horizontal one. He paused to scan the crowd, nodding to Matuso as their eyes briefly met. “Although of different religion and gods, each showed strength in protecting their blood and non-blood family,” he said, his gaze resting on Teltina.
Wondering what thoughts passed through the Christian and the Druidess, Matuso pulled the book back out of the pouch along with a small bowl and quill. He leaned over to shelter his efforts and penned Ivar’s words. Looking up, Matuso found Ivar’s eyes now on his book and the young priest’s eyebrows arched in surprise that his words were being recorded.
Ivar broke his gaze at the book and continued. “It is actions, not beliefs, that define a man.” He chewed his lip for a heartbeat. “Or a woman. God may be called by a different name, or maybe several names, but I believe he recognizes the good in all.” Ivar’s voice broke and his head drooped. Jessie stepped forward and, taking Ivar’s arm, led him back among the crowd.
After writing down Ivar’s last sentence, Matuso turned and took a handful of smaller rocks from a pile by the mounds. With slow, deliberate steps, he added one of the rocks to each of the mounds. Later, he would find and add a rock to Rory’s mound. Behind him, he heard others coming forth to do the same.
As he retreated from the mounds, Jessie intercepted him.
“Thoughts on the Ur Neill dead?” he asked. “We had piled up the first group. I checked the new corpses. There are dozens of dead bodies along there and to the west. They're going to be ripe in a few days. Everyone’s avoiding them.” He paused. “Except Orla.”
“Looking for a relative?” Matuso couldn’t figure how that could be possible. But there was a lot he didn’t understand about this island.
“Not likely. One of the guards reported that she searched until she found one particular body. On the flanking side. He said she just stood there for a long time before she spat on it and walked back up the hill.”
“Not sure I want to know what that was about.” Matuso looked to the west as if he could see over the curve of the hill. “We can’t just leave them there for the wolves. I’ll get a few volunteers to strip them of useful items and pile them up.” A gruesome task, but better than the alternative. “And maybe start covering them with stone?”
“Yeah, probably the best we can do. I’ll help.” Jessie laid a hand on Matuso’s shoulder. “I have a few words to write in the book.”
* * *
“Shit, I don’t know what to say,” Larry said to Matuso. They sat next to the cairns, and Matuso held the book of remembrances open on his lap. Between them, a small clay bowl containing a mixture of powdered charcoal and animal fat sat on three stones, smoke from a small fire drifting up around it.
“We can do this later, if that’s better.” Matuso trimmed a goose feather with a small knife. “I should recheck on the wounded. Jessie’s with them now.”
“Yeah, I’ll go with you. See if Kequit’s doing any better. We can deal with words later. When I can think.” Larry shifted, relieving one of his many protesting muscles. “They all deserve careful thought. Rory especially.” His voice cracked and he drew in a deep shuddering breath.
“I’m having trouble thinking, also.” Matuso rose and moved the ink mixture off the small fire.
“Help me up.” Larry rolled onto his side, placing his right hand on the ground. Grunting, and with Matuso's hand pulling up on his belt, he rose.
To the west, several men carried a litter with the injured Hatimu on it toward the area set aside for treating the wounded. A figure raced toward the men, and Larry recognized Maeve. Her low sobs carried over the hilltop. The young woman’s emotions stirred an emptiness in Larry. Could he ever allow himself that kind of connection to a woman again? Certainly not in this world of so many dead bodies. And was his yearning for the loneliness of the open sea just evasion?
Leaning on Matuso, Larry hobbled toward the improvised tents sheltering the wounded, the movement loosening his aching muscles. Two of the men had wounds in the arms or legs, but an arrow had pierced Kequit's abdomen. Jessie looked up from the unconscious man’s side and, with tight lips, shook his head.
“Hey Kequit.” Larry eased himself down besides the Icelandic warrior. “You were awesome. We're here for you." He went on to describe the hilltop, the dinner that was being prepared, and anything that came to mind. Kequit probably didn’t register a word he said, but Larry hoped the dying man would at least recognize his voice.
“The poppy juice is keeping the pain down,” Matuso said, settling next to Larry. “I opened him up to repair the internal damage…” He blew out a long breath. “But an alcohol wash is unlikely to suppress infection, given his level of injury.”
Larry stopped babbling and reached across to lay a hand on Matuso’s arm. “You did your best.”
They sat by Kequit’s bed for a few more minutes until Hatimu’s stretcher arrived, followed by Maeve.
Teltina and Deirdre joined the men attending the dying man. “Deirdre will watch Kequit with Jessie,” Teltina said, nodding to her compa
nion before facing Matuso. “Hatimu needs your skills, and I would observe.” She turned to Larry. “You'd best hear anything he has to report.”
Larry nodded his appreciation and, with Matuso’s help, stood and limped over to the stretcher.
As Maeve’s hands twisted in worry, the men lifted the wounded man onto a sleeping skin, their calloused but gentle hands cradling his head, torso and extremities. As the men retreated, Matuso and Teltina conferred in low voices.
Larry ignored them, his hand massaging Hatimu’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe now.”
Hatimu opened his eyes and smiled at Larry. Then Hatimu’s eyes shifted and he held his hand out to Maeve who took it in both of hers. After several minutes, he moved his gaze back to Larry. “I got caught scouting out the Northmen.”
“Yeah, you did,” Larry said. “You really need to stop getting wounded. Anything to report?”
“Three ships. Maybe sixty men. Landed behind the small hill to the west of Sui Finn.” Hatimu grimaced as Matuso moved his leg. “Sneaky bastards.”
“You rest.” Larry looked up to meet Matuso’s eyes and let out a breath as Matuso nodded, a small smile creasing his haggard face.
“No body cavity penetration and the wound is clean. Alcohol should be sufficient,” he said.
* * *
Ragnar stood, eyes on the rocky hill where all tracks led. “What did you find?” he said as footsteps stopped at his side.
“It appears that the strangers defeated the Ur Neill.” The scout frowned. “They are now burying the Ur Neill dead in rock cairns.”
“They share barbaric customs with the people of Eire.” Ragnar narrowed his eyebrows. But in their strange world that could be a sign of respect. “Our men?”
“In place around the south and west.” The scout waved his hand in those directions. “And moving into place in the forests to the north and east.” He turned to face Ragnar. “Will we attack at night?”
