Pathways of the Druids

by Christopher J. Pine

  “You’re standing outside the temple of Aengus mac-Og, he who journeys through the world of souls, guiding their lives by sending them many dreams of their future. The gods will only require a small donation from you for crossing their paths here this night.”

  Charrideen turned back to his companions. “Sirarch, I have no money on me tonight. Please give a generous contribution for us all. Place it in the dish there, underneath that lamp.”

  Sirarch carefully dropped several bronze bars into the silver dish.

  “There, it is done,” said Charrideen. “Perhaps we should not be travelling through here disturbing the gods’ peace at night. But we’re in such desperate need of speed that we would ask their tolerance tonight.”

  “The gods are always tolerant of needy travellers,” observed the man. “Your offering is well received. And I can assure you that your hostel is safe, though damaged. I have also looked at your companions’ future, and I see danger ebbing around them. They must be gone from this place before tomorrow is halfway ended. Heed my warning, and farewell, my friends. Do not delay. Travel quickly and study your dreams.”

  The man then turned round without another word and walked into the shadows of the temple, disappearing back into the night. The four birds quickly flew after him, as an unseen hand snuffed out the lights of the temple.

  “What a strange man,” said Rronish. “But where did he go? I can’t see any doorway there. And what did he mean, we have to leave here?”

  Shallmar was sitting upright on a chair in the centre of the room. He was holding his mace and shield, and he was perfectly still. His hair was matted with blood and his right thigh was bleeding heavily where he’d been wounded. But he was showing none of the pain that he felt. As long as he was alive, he would never show weakness. Mercenary honour was far too important for that. The broken bodies and furniture around him testified that he had won the fight. The pain was just a part of life that he accepted, he tasted its bitterness and it told him that he was alive.

  In the now darkened room, through the smoke he could just see the smashed furniture and the door hanging off its hinges. One of his attackers was lying in the doorway with his head at an unnatural angle. Inside, crumpled on the floor, were another three bodies. Nothing moved now in that room.

  As he looked around, he smiled, knowing that Mumsy would be very proud of him. The fight had been vicious and short, his attackers fuelled by drink and greed rather than by skill. They had just been cheap thieves who could easily be hired by anyone with enough liquor and coin. Only one of them had shown any real skill, a magician who’d been dressed in a black hooded robe, and who with one spell had shattered the door. Then on entering the room, he had quickly stepped to one side of the doorway as the four men with him, armed with long daggers, rushed past into the room and swiftly attacked the mercenary.

  Shallmar had been lucky. His crystal pendant had countered the magician’s magic and he’d managed to injure him by swiftly throwing a dagger into his chest before grasping his mace and shield to fight the other four men. The magician had flinched with pain as the dagger hit him. Then with a final burst of magic he had extinguished all the lights in the room. But Shallmar had fought in mining tunnels and could fight well in the dark. The magician staggered, turned and fled, leaving his unlucky hirelings behind to continue the fight and to die.

  After the fight, two of the hostel’s waiters had entered the room to see if they could help him. But with a howl of rage the mercenary suddenly took a dagger from the back of his shield and threw it at them. They quickly ducked, running out as the dagger narrowly missed them, leaving it stuck fast in the doorframe. Shallmar laughed under his breath as he’d only meant to scare them away while he savoured his moment of victory. This fight was over now, but Shallmar still had a job to do and he would not let anyone enter the room until his master had returned.

  Elsewhere in the city, three shadowy figures silently moved along a darkened alley, stopping at the back of one of the small houses. They silently entered it by a door at the back that had been left slightly open. A single candle was alight on a small table in the main room, and in the far corner of the room a shadowy figure was sitting slumped in a chair. The three figures walked into the room and the smallest of the three slowly pulled back the hood of her dark red velvet robe. A middle-aged woman with brown hair and sharp dark eyes, she stared straight at the figure in the chair.

  “On behalf of the Sisterhood, I have come for the centrepiece, Bor. I trust that you have been successful in this?”

  “No, Tehbazile, I have not got it. Yes, you told me there’d be a guard, but you said nothing about it being a fighting mercenary who was out to prove himself. He was deadly. I was wounded in the fight and all my men were killed!” Bor twisted slightly sideways in the chair to answer her, holding the wound in his chest.

  “Even if it was a mercenary,” said Tehbazile, “you should have been able to deal with him!” Bor coughed a little before replying.

  “When did you last deal with a mercenary? When I’m ready I shall try again. But first I must see a healer and then I shall need some more men. It could take several days for me to put a new team together.”

  The magician picked up a cup of mead from the table and swallowed it in one gulp.

  “For tonight,” he continued, “send your sons to watch the hostel until I can make new arrangements. Don’t worry, it won’t get away from us, they only have to make one mistake and then the future will be ours.”

  “It seems to me that you’re the one making the mistakes and the excuses,” the woman said scornfully, “and yet again it’s I who has to clear up after you.” She turned to her son. “Whettam, go to the hostel and watch it discretely - be careful now, don’t be seen.”

  Whettam glowered at Bor. “Yes mother, but we’ve been travelling all day and first I need something to eat.”

  “All right, I’ll make something for you before you go. Phejos, after we’ve eaten go upstairs and get some sleep. At daybreak you’ll have to take over the watch from Whettam. And I’ll have to go out and find a healer for Bor.”

  Charrideen was not used to running and he was out of breath as he staggered up to the front of the hostel. Rronish and Sirarch stood either side of him, steadying him. Smoke was still to be seen but no flames. The town watch were there and they had organised a long chain of buckets to the hostel to fight the fire. The worst now appeared to be over. Timar ran down the wet steps to meet them.

  “Quickly, tell me,” demanded Charrideen. “Is the fire out? And what of Shallmar? Is anyone else injured? Well, speak man!”

  “Th-the f-fire is out,” stuttered the waiter, still shocked, “and Sh-Shallmar was the only one injured. But he st-still won’t let anyone enter the room. Ma-Master, you could f-feel the building sh-shake when Sh-Shallmar was f-fighting, and he killed f-four of the men, though one escaped. Later, w-when w-we w-went to help him, he even th-th-threw a knife at us!”

  “All right, Timar, you’ve done well. I’ll go inside now and see Shallmar.”

  Wrapping some damp cloths around their noses and mouths, the four of them hurried their way up the stone steps and into the smoke-filled building to search for Shallmar. After making their way through the corridors, they had to stop and move a body lying across the doorway. Once inside they found Shallmar still sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, holding his mace and shield. Rronish gingerly stepped over one of the bodies on the floor to open a window, and the smoke slowly began to clear from the room.

  “The healer is on his way, Shallmar,” said Charrideen. “Don’t worry, you can rest now. We’ll take over the duty. You’ve done very well.”

  “Fanks, boss. They tried to take it, but they didn’t get it, boss. I’d put the package under this chair. Boss, do you fink that girl I bought at auction and freed might begin to smile at me now? I buy her pretty things,
but she still won’t even look at me. But now she’ll know I’m a brave warrior and I can look after her. What do you fink, boss, will Soliel ever like me?”

  Charrideen smiled at Shallmar and sighed.

  “She might, I really don’t know. You could try taking her a single flower. Perhaps with time she’ll grow to like you.” Then he turned to Sirarch.

  “That priest was right, we’ll have to move really fast now. Quickly, get your gear together. I’ll pack some food and meet you in the yard at the back. The guards at the main gate know me and owe me a favour. I’ll get them to let you out of the city before Belenus climbs into the sky.”

  The wagon was moving slowly through the quiet streets as Nohj turned to Regor.

  “We’ve been very lucky. The tavern took all our core juice and then Charrideen even arranged to get us out of the city early. And all we had to do was give a lift to his important friends who are in a hurry - such an easy trade. You know, Regor, I really must be getting cleverer with age. I feel sure the gods are pleased with us.”

  “Yes, maybe,” agreed Regor, “though it’s strange that Ffej doesn’t want to take any more core juice. He said he was only going to drink bramble juice from now on. But he did trade the pelts to us at a very good price. This is turning out a good trip. We got top silver from the tavern for the juice and he took our first price without any haggle. Then he insisted on helping us leave the city early so we wouldn’t have to pay the toll.

  “On the whole it’s been a very good day’s trade, yes. Strange, though, he was so keen to do business straight away after a fire. You know, I don’t remember him even tasting the juice. I suppose that for once, Nohj, even you might be right and the gods have indeed smiled on us.”

  As the wagon approached the city gate, Regor reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled a piece of red rag out, holding it out to the guards. The guards quickly opened the gate and waved them through. The wagon never even had to stop. In the back, sitting on the pelts, were Rronish and Sirarch.

  “Sirarch,” Rronish began, “what’s the danger that you’re running from? You must tell me, perhaps I could help.”

  Sirarch looked quickly towards the dwarves, but seeing that they were busy arguing he spoke quietly to the girl.

  “Yes, there is some danger. I’m moving an object of great importance for Charrideen. I shouldn’t have involved you but, yes, you might need that sword of yours.”

  Above the gatehouse, a hooded figure watched the wagon leave the city. As the city gates closed, he moved silently along the top of the wall until he reached a ladder. Hooking his feet on the outer edges, he quickly slid down the ladder and hurried into the city to inform Tehbazile of the party’s escape.

  “You’ve had very little rest lately,” went on Sirarch. “While we’re travelling you should get some sleep. I’ll wake you. Remember, Charrideen has personally vouched for these dwarves. He said they’re simple souls but honest, so I’m sure we can trust them.”

  Nohj was very good at his job, as many years of driving teams of donkeys over long distances had given him a deep understanding of them. The four donkeys trotted along for their master as they pulled the large wagon. Nohj was sure he even knew how they thought. But as they travelled, no-one noticed the small bird that flew over them and then landed on top of the wagon. The bird peered inside and, seeing the girl, sent her the dream. Rronish was resting in the back, listening to the steady rumbling of the heavy wheels. She could not fall asleep at first and was just dozing, then with the rolling of the wagon she began to drift deeply into the dream.

  With a start, she looked around her. She was alone and standing on a path in a forest. It was still dark but the light was beginning to rise and pierce the gloom. She heard a trickle of water and looked ahead, seeing a small stream that she knew and realising that at last her home was now close by and her long and difficult journey was nearly at an end.

  She felt a little thirsty and stopped to take a drink from the stream; the water was crystal clear and cold, just as she remembered it. After drinking, she gently sprinkled the remainder of the water onto the earth as a thank you to the goddess for being a provider. Then, packing the small metal cup away and checking that her pack was set firmly back upon her shoulders, Rronish walked alongside the stream to where a small path joined it. Having grown up here as a child, she left the stream and quickly followed a hidden path that she knew well. The pathway continued onwards through a small thicket of woods and upwards, leading onto a well-worn path towards her village. As she made her way towards her home, she smiled as many thoughts of her mother and her family entered her mind. What would her father say when he saw her? Oh, and there would be so many stories to tell her family. She wondered if her brothers and sisters had partners now, yes, perhaps even babies?

  Rronish was almost running as she left the dense woods behind her and began to walk up the track way heading towards her village. The weather was changing, becoming grey and overcast now, and she could hear the rain beginning to spatter onto the trees around her.

  “At last, I am safe, I am home.”

  The village started to come into view but it was far too quiet, and as Rronish came nearer the air began to smell with the bitter taste of acrid smoke. There was no life or movement to be seen; everything had been destroyed, only the charred and blackened stumps of the huts now remained. Then as she entered the gateway of the village, in front of her was a large flock of black carrion birds. They cawed and flew up around her, rising into the air. Now she could see that lying on the ground were the dead bodies of the men who had desperately gathered together to fight off the invaders. Entering further into the village, Rronish found another group of bodies, the remains of her father and mother and the elders of the village.

  Panic gripped her and, feeling sick, she ran into the centre of the village to the blackened ruins of her father’s hut. A quiet voice entered and crept into the back of her head.

  “Sister, you are here too late, we are all lost to you. It was the Norsemen.”

  Screaming, Rronish awoke from her deep sleep, and heard the heavy beating of wings as the bird flew away from the top of the covered wagon.

  Between The Worlds

  A storm breaks out upon the Celts.

  It was a crisp, clear day now as Belenus rose into the sky, and the faint sound of riders could be heard approaching the main gate of the hill fort. As the Celts guided their tired horses through the gateway, one of the guards quickly stepped forward and grasped the bridle of Glisten’s horse, stopping him from crossing over the threshold of the second gateway.

  “What’s the news, Gliesten, how bad is it? You must be able to tell us! Are we not your friends?”

  “The news we carry is for the chief’s ears alone, not for yours,” Gliesten answered. “But I will say this, as a friend - the storm is close behind me. It’s time for you to get your family inside this fort, and I mean right now. Now, don’t delay me. Where shall I find Chief Cestrathax?”

  Soon they were standing in the main hut, reporting to the chief.

  “Well tell me what you’ve seen,” ordered Cestrathax. “How much time do we have?”

  “There’s very little time left to us - the Romans have force marched their legions through the night. Their cavalry are close behind us. They would have been here earlier but their progress is slow because they’re acting as a screen for their infantry. It’s already far too late for us to leave here. We’ll soon be completely surrounded and trapped in this hill fort!”

  Moments later, the sound of the carnyx could be heard alerting the hill fort and a drum started a heavy rhythmic beat, calling the warriors to arms. A large crowd of people started to move past the doorway of the hut. Some of them were warriors who were running to take up their positions, but many were just ordinary tribe’s people making their way to the highest point of the hill to look at the Roman
army as it approached.

  “So now the struggle begins and it’s time for us all to put our trust in the gods,” said Cestrathax solemnly.

  Enfys and her mother were among the crowd that had run up the pathway of the hill fort. Enfys took off her loose sandals and gave them to her mother to hold for her. She grasped the sandals tightly as she watched her daughter quickly scramble up the slippery earthen bank so she could stand on the wooden walkway at the top, ignoring the dark streaks of fresh grass and mud on her clean dress. She pushed between two warriors and stood on tiptoe, looking out over the palisade wall and into the distance. The chill wind was making her eyes water as it bit into her face, blowing her long brown hair in the wind. Enfys turned, calling back down to her mother.

  “Mother, Mother, in the haze I can just make out some horsemen. They’re far off now, but they’re moving towards us in long lines. They’re coming for us, Mother. They’re going to kill us all, aren’t they? Oh no, why do they hate us so?”

  “Quickly, get some men and fresh horses and search outside,” said Cestrathax, turning to Brennus and Gliesten. “Find as many stragglers as you can. Bring everyone back in here to safety before I’m forced to close the gates on them.”

  Brennus and Gliesten hurried from the hut, as Cestrathax turned to his wife.

  “Where’s Rynax? Make sure he’s safe, keep him close to you. I have a war to fight now and there’s much to do. I must know that he’s safe.”

  From out of the shadows at the back of the hut, the druid Mestrathax spoke as he walked towards him.

  “Chief Cestrathax, there is hope. What I have planned will work. But you must give me as much time as you can. You have to hold them off, at the very least until tomorrow’s dawn.”

  Shosterax was on the walkway at the outer gate and watched as Gliesten returned with the cavalry from searching the local area. They had managed to save a few lucky villagers from the advancing Roman army. Anybody left outside would not live to see the morning. Just as the last few entered through the main gate, the guards manhandled the heavy doors shut, barring them and wedging them firmly closed with large boulders.