A Quantum Mythology

by Gavin G. Smith

  Her hand dropped to her stomach. What had Bress meant when he told her to kill it? She glanced up as they rode. It took her a moment to find the moon hidden behind dark clouds. It was little more than a sliver. Britha cursed.

  The last part of the journey was so thickly wooded that they had to lead the horses through on foot. Following Guidgen’s directions, Tangwen led the column down a steep slope into a narrow valley choked with undergrowth packed between the trees. It was pouring down with rain, but the ground underfoot hadn’t become boggy yet.

  As they made their way along the concealed muddy track, Britha felt as if she was in a different land. Suddenly there was a break in the greenery. They came to a deep, muddy ditch with sluggish water running through it, and beyond that, on a large mound of earth, was a hill fort.

  ‘I had not thought to see this here,’ Britha admitted quietly to herself.

  Madawg was looking all around him. ‘This is foolish – the trees are too close to the fort,’ he said. The others had mostly been ignoring him because of his conduct in Oeth, the Place of Bones.

  ‘Assuming you can ever find it,’ Guidgen said.

  ‘And after you had been harried all the way through the woods by people who know the land,’ Tangwen added.

  ‘Not even those we have brought here will be sure of the way,’ Guidgen said, nodding towards the open gates of the fortress. The survivors of the wicker man and those who had joined them fleeing the Muileartach’s spawn had set up camp within the wooden walls of the fort. ‘Though doubtless Bladud will have tried to memorise it.’

  ‘It is still folly,’ Britha said irritably. ‘These people can’t stay here.’

  Guidgen looked over at the other dryw. ‘How much further do you think they can go, and to where?’ he asked.

  Britha was becoming more and more frustrated. Guidgen had placed the Red Chalice in the centre of the gwyllions’ fort, drawn a circle around it in the dirt and then poured salt around the circle. Finally he placed the skulls of some of the gwyllions’ strongest fallen warriors and greatest enemies at regular intervals around the circle. A ghost fence. Bladud was furious when he saw what the elderly dryw had done.

  All were summoned – warriors, landsfolk, the survivors and the gwyllion. When Britha looked around, most of the gwyllion were standing on the palisades, looking into the hill fort which was now teeming with people. Most of them carried casting spears, bows and slings.

  ‘Aren’t we under hospitality?’ Britha asked.

  Guidgen looked over at her. ‘I hope you’re not questioning our hospitality,’ he asked softly. ‘It may have been a while since we allowed strangers into our home, but I think we still remember the laws.’

  Britha assumed he deliberately left unsaid the obvious consequences of anyone else breaking their hospitality.

  Bladud was on the other side of the circle from where Britha was standing by Guidgen. He was wearing his robe, hood up, surrounded by the bearskin-cloaked warriors of the Brigante. She looked around and found Ysgawyn sitting on the steps leading up to the palisades. Madawg and Gwyn were standing above and below him, respectively, still armed. Ysgawyn had been told of Madawg’s actions in Oeth. If Ysgawyn reacted to the news, it had not been publicly. Like the Brigante, the Corpse People were in full armour and carrying weaponry. The Muileartach’s spawn were less than half a day away. As the survivors became increasingly exhausted, they had slowly been losing ground. That was why Bladud had agreed to bring them to the gwyllions’ fort.

  Bladud was beside himself with grief when he heard about Nerthach.

  Tangwen had been nearly silent on the way back. The young hunter and warrior had changed a lot in the moon since Britha first met her, but she supposed she had as well. Britha could read the grief over Kush’s death in Tangwen. She had also liked the dark-skinned foreigner. He had helped save her life in the wicker man. She wondered how close Tangwen and Kush had become.

  Britha had also seen Germelqart weep for his fallen friend when he thought no one was looking. With both Hanno and Kush gone, the Carthaginian was on his own in an unfamiliar land.

  ‘It is obvious to me that the Red Chalice should belong to the Brigante,’ Bladud said. The muttering in the crowd started straight away.

  ‘Quiet!’ one of the Brigante warriors shouted, playing the role of Nerthach for Bladud.

  ‘We are the strongest of the tribes,’ Bladud continued when the crowd settled a little. ‘We have protected you, and we have paid the greatest price for the Red Chalice.’

  There was more angry muttering from the crowd.

  ‘Greatest price?’ Guidgen asked. Britha rolled her eyes. It was a question that would only bring strife, one designed to manipulate people against Bladud.

  ‘Nerthach fell,’ Bladud said simply.

  ‘So did Kush the Numibian,’ Tangwen snapped irritably. ‘And Sadhbh of the Iceni.’ Shouts of agreement came from the Iceni warriors in their lynx headdresses. ‘And Brys of the Corpse People.’ Britha glanced at the three remaining Corpse People, but Ysgawyn and the others remained silent.

  ‘None was so great as Nerthach’ Bladud said. ‘None had fought so many battles, won so many victories, harvested so many heads or had so many stories told of him. To him will go the hero’s portion in Annwn.’

  Tangwen bristled. ‘And Kush was his match,’ she said, her voice brimming with emotion. ‘I forget, Witch King – are you dryw or rhi? You appear to be one or other as its suits you.’ She ignored the threats from the Brigante warriors.

  ‘I am a rhi,’ Bladud told her, anger in his voice.

  ‘Then one more insult about Kush and I will take your head. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Brave words from one who has drunk of this one’s blood,’ Ysgawyn said, gesturing at Britha. Using neither her name nor title was a slight, but she let it pass. There would be strife enough for all in this gathering. She only hoped it would be over before the Muileartach’s spawn were upon them.

  Britha saw exactly what had happened here. Ysgawyn sent Brys and Madawg rather than go himself so he could court favour with Bladud. He had sought power and given the Witch King his support.

  ‘I meant no insult,’ Bladud said evenly. ‘Kush was a staunch warrior, for a foreigner, but I will drink from the chalice and then kill you, if you still wish it so.’ Tangwen opened her mouth to say something but Germelqart’s hand was on her shoulder, and he was whispering in her ear.

  ‘Carthaginian, in our lands it is not courteous to whisper when all have gathered to speak openly,’ Guidgen called, not unkindly.

  Germelqart bowed towards the old dryw. ‘My apologies. I merely said that Kush would not have wished for this. He had no interest in boasting beyond what was necessary to be taken seriously.’

  Britha sighed. She understood how difficult it was to get disparate tribes to cooperate, but had these people been hers and prepared to listen to her, she would be having stern words with them right now. This was not the time for warrior boasts and manouvering for power. Shouldn’t have betrayed their trust, then, she admonished herself.

  ‘We would not see the Brigante with the Red Chalice,’ Guidgen was saying as Britha started paying attention again. ‘It is tantamount to saying that the Brigante will rule us now and for ever.’ There was muttering among the crowd, and more than a few nodding heads, warriors and landsfolk alike.

  ‘We are merely showing courtesy here,’ Bladud pointed out. ‘I still remember how to break a ghost fence, and whilst I have tried to reason with you, we can take the Red Chalice whenever we choose. The songs of our fallen notwithstanding, we deserve it because we can take it, and hold it.’

  ‘You will be resisted,’ Guidgen said, sadly.

  ‘If we are to fall upon each other with sword and spear, it would be quicker for us to cut our own throats,’ Britha said.

  ‘Then stop being foolish,’ Bladud said.
>
  ‘It is not foolish,’ Guidgen said. ‘I think you would be a gentler Lochlannach.’

  There were sharp intakes of breath and Brigante warriors tensed. The gwyllion warriors on the palisade walls shifted, readying themselves.

  ‘This is poor hospitality,’ Bladud spat. ‘No more, I say. A dryw’s position is to advise, not to insult. Any more of this and I will strike you down and pay the consequences, and this is no hollow threat for the ears of the crowd. A man can only tolerate so much.’

  Guidgen walked towards Bladud. He dropped his staff, unhooked his sickle from his belt and dropped that as well.

  ‘I renounce the right of vengeance. There are to be no consequences to Bladud’s actions in this matter,’ the old dryw called as he approached the Witch King. ‘I thought only to speak what I believe to be true. If you believe you have been wronged under our hospitality, then strike me down.’

  Britha couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. ‘Now who is speaking for the crowd?’ she muttered to herself. She glanced over at Tangwen. The younger woman looked irritated.

  There were more gasps when Bladud punched Guidgen as hard as he could. The blow knocked the old dryw off his feet and he hit the ground, the wind knocked from him and his jaw was hanging askew. Almost immediately there was a clicking noise as Guidgen’s jaw reset itself. Bladud stepped forward and offered the dryw his hand. Guidgen accepted it, and the Witch King pulled the much smaller man to his feet.

  ‘I was a poor student among the groves,’ Bladud said. ‘Go and pick up your staff and your sickle, you old fool. There is nothing between us.’ Guidgen smiled and retrieved his staff and sickle.

  ‘If not Bladud, then who?’ Anharad asked. Mabon was crouched close to his grandmother, silent, watching. The girl from Ardestie was also with the Trinovantes woman. Britha still felt an ache in her chest every time she saw the girl. Britha wondered who Anharad was backing in this. She was not aware enough of the politics of the southern tribes to know if the Trinovantes and the Brigante were allies or enemies.

  ‘It is clearly a relic of the Otherworld,’ Britha said. ‘We stole it from Oeth, in Annwn, from Crom Dhubh himself.’ Many spat and made the sign against evil. She did not because she didn’t think the gesture made any difference. ‘This chalice is clearly the responsibility of the dryw.’

  ‘Who? You?’ Anharad demanded. ‘You cannot be trusted!’

  ‘I will not warn you again,’ Britha told the older woman. ‘I will tear your tongue from your head if you speak to me this way once more. I do not care what you think of me, but you will respect my position.’

  Anharad opened her mouth to retort angrily but Ysgawyn spoke first.

  ‘You would be as well to say that we, as the children of Arawn, should look after it,’ Ysgawyn said from the steps.

  ‘Britha is actually a dryw,’ Tangwen pointed out. ‘You are just fools who believe your own lies regardless of the evidence of your senses. But try and take the chalice, and you will find that your skulls will not even be worthy of joining the ghost fence.’

  It was as direct a challenge to Ysgawyn as any had ever heard, but the rhi of the Corpse People just smiled. ‘All will be settled,’ he said. Then he pointed at Britha. ‘But this one served her own purpose in the Place of Bones, so I’m told.’

  ‘I did not say I should have the chalice,’ Britha said. ‘I have drunk from it already. I say only that its responsibility should fall to the dryw, who serve all, and not just one tribe.’

  ‘It would do little good on the Isle of Shadows,’ Bladud said. ‘And we would not see it in your hands, or Guidgen’s. I, on the other hand, was trained as a dryw.’

  ‘One thing or another, Witch King, or you’ll confuse us,’ Guidgen said. There was a little laughter. Bladud bristled but said nothing. ‘I am a good choice. We have no designs on power. We keep ourselves to ourselves, and we are well hidden.’

  ‘No,’ Bladud said.

  ‘I thought not,’ Guidgen said.

  ‘There will be no tomorrow for you all to fight over if we do not decide soon,’ Tangwen said.

  ‘And who gets to drink from it?’ Britha asked. All eyes turned to her. ‘They will be powerful, no matter who holds the chalice.’

  Immediately more arguments broke out. Britha cursed herself, but it was something they had to bear in mind. Bladud had a point, but so did Guidgen. The only way she could see it working was for the dryw to decide how and when the chalice should be used. The problem was that Bladud didn’t trust Guidgen, and nobody trusted her.

  ‘You would be slaves,’ Germelqart said quietly. Britha only heard him because her hearing was so much better since she had drunk from the chalice.

  ‘Quiet!’ Britha used the voice that cannot be argued with. It brought silence. She looked expectantly at the small Carthaginian, who in turn looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Do any of you know how to use it?’ the navigator asked.

  ‘Do you?’ Bladud demanded. Germelqart nodded. ‘How?’

  ‘Will you tell me the secrets of the dryw?’ Germelqart asked.

  ‘He might, if he thought it would earn him power,’ Guidgen said. Bladud turned on the elderly dryw. ‘I am sorry. You did not deserve that – ask of me what you will in compensation.’

  ‘It’s a foreign trick,’ Ysgawyn said nodding towards Germelqart. ‘Nothing more.’ He made it sound as if this was something that should be obvious to all.

  ‘The … magics in the chalice are still … attuned to the Dark Man,’ Germelqart said. ‘You must change this.’

  ‘Then we may drink from it?’ Bladud asked.

  ‘If you wish,’ Germelqart replied.

  ‘Or make stronger weapons? Weapons that could harm the spawn of Andraste?’ Guidgen asked.

  ‘You could do that now, though there would be a risk,’ Germelqart said. ‘The weapons would be … possessed by devils. They would speak to you, trick you, try to make you do their bidding. You see only the power, but there is a cost. The chalice could just as easily be the ruin of you.’

  ‘But you could save us from that? How kind of you,’ Ysgawyn said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  ‘I think that if we can attune it, then we can heal your land,’ Germelqart said. All eyes were on him.

  ‘At what price?’ Ysgawyn asked.

  ‘If you mean who should have responsibility for it, then I would give it to the one who’s showed the least interest in both the chalice and power in general. The one who has time and time again acted in the best interests of your people, no matter the cost,’ the Carthaginian told them.

  Britha found herself nodding along with Germelqart.

  ‘And who is this paragon?’ Ysgawyn demanded.

  ‘Tangwen,’ Germelqart said. All eyes turned to the young warrior. Tangwen looked astonished. At all the attention, her hand came up to cover her face, but Britha’s blood had healed the scar. Both Bladud and Guidgen were looking at the young woman thoughtfully.

  ‘Tangwen the young, Tangwen serpent-child. Tangwen serpent-tongue, more like. What foolishness is this?’ Ysgawyn spat. ‘I think not.’

  ‘Then isn’t it the way of your people to challenge her?’ Germelqart said. Britha was starting to think that not only was the Carthaginian very cunning, he had a seam of iron running through his backbone as well.

  Ysgawyn snorted with derision. ‘Aye, let me drink of her blood first’ – he nodded to Britha – ‘and we’ll see how much of a warrior she is when she faces someone on equal terms.’

  ‘Gladly,’ Britha said. This appeared to take Ysgawyn by surprise.

  Tangwen opened her mouth to say something.

  ‘Tangwen!’ a voice shouted from the crowd. It was Twrch, the timid but powerfully built Parisi metalworker.

  ‘Tangwen!’ another voice cried. It was Duach. His friend Sel was nodding in agreement. Both of them ha
d borne Essyllt’s litter. As Brigante landsfolk, both were defying their king. More among the landsfolk and the survivors were taking up the call and shouting her name. Britha found herself smiling. It made sense. She glanced over at Guidgen. He was looked happy with the idea as well.

  Bladud raised his staff and motioned for quiet. Eventually the chanting died down.

  ‘I cannot say this pleases me,’ Bladud said, ‘but I believe it is the best compromise we can come to on this day, in the time we have.’

  All eyes turned to Tangwen. Tangwen shook her head, looking less than pleased. Britha could see the fatigue in the younger woman.

  There were shouts from the sentries, warnings being relayed from scouts in the woods. Guidgen listened and then turned to the others.

  ‘They are not far now,’ he told them. The rain had stopped and the sun was trying to break through the clouds. A ray of light appeared in the sky. ‘I think Nodens blesses us,’ Guidgen said.

  ‘I think Nodens offers us hope, nothing more,’ Bladud said.

  A figure ran into the fort and collapsed in front of Guidgen, one of the gwyllion scouts. His mouth had distended and run around the side of his face to join with a hump. As they watched, the hump opened its multiple eyes. Guidgen looked appalled. He stepped forwards and brought the point of his sickle down on top of the man’s head. There was a crack and the curve of the blade pushed the point through the scout’s head and out of his mouth in a spray of red. Guidgen rested a foot on the scout’s shoulder and jerked the sickle free. The weapon had been washed in Britha’s blood. The iron was absorbing the blood, bone and grey matter on the blade.