The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2)

by C. M. Gray

  Uther opened his eyes. It was Maude, his protector who sat at the foot of his bed, while beside him, his eyes turned, it was Morgana le Fay, or Morgana the Witch as many had called her, yet now she was Abbess, yes… he knew that. Uther felt a wave of confusion for Morgana, why was she here, did she care for him, was that it? She was the child born by his own wife, Igraine… that was true, but she was no child to him… his mind was whirling, it was difficult to make sense of anything, where was he?

  'Uther, sit up a little. Here, let me help you.' Morgana reached down, looming into his vision and lifted him so that Maude could place a bolster behind him allowing him to sit up straighter. His head floated for a little as the two women fussed beside him, and then a bowl and spoon appeared in front of his face, and a little broth ladled into his mouth… it felt good, and then he remembered that he was at the Abbey and that Morgana was caring for him, how had he forgotten that?

  'You were telling me about the voyage to Erin,' Morgana was saying, 'it sounds as if you were not a born sailor, my Lord.'

  'I… at first, I did not enjoy being at sea this is true.' Uther slurped upon the proffered spoon and then coughed as the warm broth caught in his throat. After a moment he was able to take another spoonful and then he put his head back and stared at the dark beams around the small window, his mind wandering. He still felt the need to talk, despite being so tired, and to explain about the voyage to the Isle of Erin, so many years ago, so strange.

  'Once the sickness had passed, I began to enjoy being on the boat, the fresh air and vast expanse of the sea. I remember it smelt good.' He looked up at Morgana and frowned, 'Why am I telling you this? It was so long ago… so long.' Morgana brought the spoon to his lips one more, and he drank the liquid down, the spoon returning several times as he gazed up at her trying to make some sense of his situation.

  'Why don't you tell me of you, Morgana? I have spoken plenty; I am still tired, and it is now your turn to tell me of your life. I remember so little about you as a young child. When I… when I took Igraine, your mother, for my wife… you would have been some thirteen summers I think.'

  Morgana spooned another measure of broth into the King's mouth and looked at him for a moment before speaking. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but something was going on behind those dark eyes.

  'Very well. I had had fourteen summers when my father was… when my father died. He had sent me south of Tintagel hill fort to live in the nunnery at Laherne,' the words seemed to spill out as if they had been shut up for years and were only now being given wing, he saw her lip tremble at the released memory. 'It was not an easy transition as you may imagine, from cherished daughter of a royal court to fresh novice with a religious order with which I held no affinity nor understanding. My father had tolerated the new religion, allowing the monks and nuns to preach and gather converts, but I had no understanding of them or their faith until I was forced to leave one cold winter morning, placed upon a horse and taken to Laherne.'

  Setting the bowl upon the low stool, Morgana uncovered a small pot and held it to her nose. Uther could smell the familiar fragrance of the infusion she had been giving him. She poured a small bowl and then placed it close to his lips, but he ignored it. Instead, he looked up at her and tried to see the girl she had once been that day on the beach.

  'Forgive me, Morgana, and that is for many things, I know. But please, tell me how you came by the name Le Fey… I have heard many stories, not all of them kind and surely not true, yet you carry the name and have never tried to spurn it, as far as I am aware.'

  She ignored him, tipping the bowl to his lips until it spilt and ran down his chin and onto his chest. Then she frowned at him as if about to rebuke him like a small child.

  'Drink, my Lord, and I will tell you. I will tell you a most uninteresting tale of a lost and confused young girl who was so desperate for friendship and comfort, for there was none to be found at Laherne, that she took to the woodland and danced with the wild Fey of the trees and learned their ways…or so the whispering tells… is this the story you would hear?' She tipped the bowl once more, and Uther drank deeply, content to listen to her words…

  Life with the nuns was hard beyond anything that anyone could think possible. Woken at various times during the night, the twenty or so young girls were ushered into the small chapel and then made to kneel on the cold stone floor where they were led in prayer. They were forced to learn the responses that the priest would call without every fully understanding the meaning or reason behind them. That is, beyond enduring long enough to be allowed to return to the small cells that they shared, three to each cell, and there to steal a few hours of sleep on a rough straw-filled pallet. It was a long way from the rooms she had occupied in the fortress at Tintagel, or at one of her father's other strongholds.

  After a little more sleep, they were woken to follow the candlelight procession of sleepy girls back to the chapel for more prayers until daylight. Then the nuns would share a meagre communal meal before chores, followed by more periods where they were encouraged to pray alone.

  It was only after being at Laherne for two full years that Morgana discovered both route and opportunity to leave the nunnery between nightly prayers and make some time for herself.

  Once outside the main building she would flee across the fields, or walk the lonely path along the cliff tops, a favourite destination when the nights was clear and she could gaze at the moon as it reflected upon the sea.

  Often, when it was too windy, cloudy or raining on the cliff top, she would walk to the edge of the forest, at first, to peer into its dark, soulless depths enjoying the smells of rich earth and decay and then on later visits to lose herself in its emptiness. She listened for the sounds of the night where the hunters of the animal kingdom prowled and life and death were just fleeting moments. As her courage and curiosity grew, she began to enter, to walk the paths when lit by moonlight and to leave the world of man behind.

  The night she met the Fey was one that found her at her lowest ebb. She had developed a sore upon her knee that was becoming worse with every passing day. When she had shown the nuns, their answer was that she must have sinned in the eyes of God and that she should drop down and pray for forgiveness and healing, they forced her to her knees and stood over her while the pain flared, and she prayed in a loud sobbing voice, but the sore became worse, and her prayers went unanswered.

  After several days, one of the friendlier sisters brought her a poultice made up of leaves, wet straw and mashed onion that had been steeped in vinegar. It was applied to her leg, bound in sackcloth and her hopes rose, but it was soon apparent that the poultice only made it worse. The sore became even larger and swollen, making her leg stiff, difficult to bend and therefore to kneel. A yellow puss oozed behind the poultice causing her great pain, and now she had the added worry that she might now lose her life.

  Although she was greatly in need of as much rest and sleep as she could find, Morgana continued to escape the confines of Laherne. After prayers late one night with tears still drying on her face, Morgana opened the shutter in the storeroom window that she knew to be unobserved, and slipped carefully down into the darkness and limped across the fields towards the forest beyond. Beneath her bare feet the grass was cold and wet, yet this brought her no discomfort, only joy; it was such a blessing to be free and away. She shivered and wished she had thought to bring her shawl as it was a cold night, but knowing it would be more sheltered by the trees, she hobbled on, looking back from time to time in fear she might be seen from the Abbey.

  Once at the treeline she relaxed and took a deep breath. There was no moon visible, yet its light from behind the clouds was enough to find the fallen tree that she knew made a comfortable seat. She fussed with the poultice for a moment making sure it had not come loose in her haste to be away. And then she stopped, looked up towards the forest as she felt the eyes of something… or someone was upon her.

  'You are hurt, child.' The voice came out from th
e darkness. It was accompanied by a soft fluttering. Morgana tried to locate the sound, her hand coming up to her mouth to stifle a scream.

  'Fear not, we are not here to hurt you… although we would be quite capable of doing so should we wish.' The voice was dry, like a whispered breeze dancing through the branches of the trees. 'We have watched you here before and have come to know you, but now you come to us in pain, this draws us.'

  'Yes, my leg is hurting… who… who are you?' Morgana rose from her seat and took a step back as the sound of wings flapping came once again from the dark depths of the trees. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, but she managed to restrain the impulse to turn and run. Instead, she strained her eyes, trying to see into the blackness of the forest, but it was hopeless, there was nothing to be seen.

  'I am the one they call the Morrigan in the tales and stories told upon cold and moonless nights. I am one of the Fey, and I have watched you and know you well. You and I shall come to know each other well, Morgana, very well, but first, we must attend to the wounds of your flesh before we might feed the needs of your mind. Enter the forest my dear; I would have you meet my kin.'

  Small dim lights appeared floating close by and Morgana felt herself step forward into the forest and the world of the Fey.

  As she entered, the lights seemed to gather her up. Her mind filled with light, and she could see the trees and branches around her glowing with a rainbow of colours, pulsing with the energy of their life force. What she had at first perceived to be but dim lights, were now golden. They spun her round, and she smiled and felt the joy of her being. As they moved through the trees, the Fey, for that is what they were, whispered with their voices high and musical. They talked to her and instructed her in the nature of all things, constantly moving, dancing and spinning, twisting and turning, around and around until, with a start, Morgana was back at the edge of the forest, dawn was breaking, and a bell was tolling calling the faithful to prayer.

  The bell… oh heavens, the bell….she was late… as she ran across the fields she didn't notice that her knee was now healed, nor did she see the black crow that flew over her having now claimed her as one of its own, a child of the Morrigan and the Fey.

  'I visited the Morrigan and the Fey for many years, learning their ways. She still talks to me, teaches me, and helps me with the needs of my life, Uther. You cannot understand the knowledge and gifts that were bestowed upon me.' Morgana tipped more of the infusion into the King's slack lips; his face lost to the story and the power of the brew.

  'And now once more it is your turn to speak. Earlier, you mentioned someone called, the Stranger. Uther, did the Druids make you meet with him? Tell me more of what took place before you were able to visit the stones? Was this Stranger one of the Druids?'

  Uther's face split into a huge grin, and his eyes focused for a moment. His hand came up and pushed the bowl that Morgana had been pushing to his lips, to the side.

  'The Stranger, when we met him, was no Druid, Morgana, no, not a Druid…' His face was now a huge smile that slowly crumpled until a tear rolled down his cheek. 'The Stranger was not a Druid nor an ordinary man; he was a monster, a terrible, terrible monster that caused such awful pain… much the same as your Morrigan, he was not something of this world.

  Chapter 11

  Uath The Stranger

  'The people of Difelyn made us very welcome.' Uther took a few laboured breaths and licked his lips before continuing. 'I had feared that once they knew we were in their lands to take the stones, to take away what must surely have been a holy place to them, to remove it… that they would become hostile. But at that time, of course, we had not even seen the stones, nor considered what a task it might be, so they were welcoming.' Uther leant forward and sucked the infusion noisily from the proffered bowl. It felt good as it slipped down his throat. It was sweet with honey and had a flowery taste edged with a strange mustiness that was not unpleasant, after another breath he continued.

  'The people of Difelyn were not angry that we had arrived, they were intrigued. Their stories told that one day men would come and attempt to take the stones. I suppose they didn't really believe it because the stones were so huge, massive, and they didn't see how it could be accomplished. The very idea of us picking them up and leaving must have sounded so ridiculously absurd, so of course they weren't worried we were going to run off with them. I think they were just interested to see what we might try and do. They allowed a hundred of us to rest in Difelyn, they fed us, shared their fires with us and gave us enough of their ale and clear spirit drink that we all lost our heads in the celebration. We awoke late, all feeling the ill effects of the Erin brew, and the next day they took us to see the Druids.

  'What type of drink hits so hard that it makes a man wish he was dead?' Uther staggered over the loose stones of the path and rubbed at his head as he walked.

  'I think we may already be dead and all this is just an evil dream. There is a taste in my mouth that even my dog would spit out… and my head is still pounding with the sound of those infernal drums.' Duc Gerlois hawked up a gob of phlegm to emphasise his point and then stopped to clasp his temples. 'Ohhh… where are we going and why could I not stay sleeping?'

  At that moment, Merlyn strode past the two men, swinging his staff and smiling happily. He gave them a little wave. 'We go to visit the Druid camp upon the mountain, my Lords. Isn't it a beautiful morning? Breathe deeply, enjoy the experience of being close to this land.'

  'That Druid is infuriating,' growled Gerlois as he watched Merlyn stride ahead. 'It was he who kept pouring the little bowls for us, and I am sure he was drinking as much of it as we did.'

  'No doubt he has some potion or other, some root or herb he is sucking on that clears his head and stops his stomach from churning so.' Uther stopped and watched as the Druid passed Cunobelin, slapping him on the back as he went. It appeared as if the young Trinovantes lord was suffering as much as Uther and Gerlois because he staggered under the Druid's blow as if he had been struck by a Saxon battleaxe. As they reached him, Uther gathered the young lord under his arm and the three helped each other along, still complaining irritably.

  By mid-morning, the warriors of Difelyn had brought them through the foothills and up onto the lower slope of Mount Killaraus. For those that could summon the effort to look about them, the path had taken them from the settlement, up through woodland and past numerous smallholdings where family groups gathered to scratch an existence from small tilled fields. They passed through some cool, dark woods and then emerged from the low treeline to the sight of sheep scattering, leaping and calling in fright at the unexpected appearance of the long line of warriors. The low clouds that had covered the earlier part of their trek with layers of mist had all but disappeared; the sun was now making an appearance and the day was warming. The view out across the land towards the shimmering sea was enough to bring many of the warriors to a halt. They stopped to rest and skins of weak ale were passed back and forth.

  'Are we close now, Merlyn?' shouted Uther. 'Is there much further to walk, because I for one am about to lay right here on this soft green grass and fall asleep.' There were many calls of agreement as others lay back delighting in the fact that it was the King himself who had called the halt. Uther shaded his eyes and watched as the Druid strode back towards him.

  'You choose a good spot to break your journey, because we are close, worry not.' Merlyn squatted down leaning on his staff. 'You can rest here for some time should you wish. The caves are just a short walk further through the trees,' - he pointed further along the path - 'and I am told they have a hall being prepared for our arrival.'

  'Our arrival, how do they know we are coming?'

  'They are Druids, Uther; they know we are coming.' Merlyn stood and turned at the sound of a horn being blown, floating as it was carried to them on the wind. It was deep and seemed to make the whole mountain and everything around them vibrate. Every head turned to the distant trees where their guides had just di
sappeared.

  'This seems a little ominous, my King,' rumbled Duc Gerlois. 'Should we perhaps form a shield wall or maybe be ready for an attack of some kind?'

  'They are Druids, Duc Gerlois; there will be no attack. They seek to welcome us, nothing more.' Merlyn turned to Uther. 'I shall go ahead and prepare the way. Remember that we are here to be tested, it shall go well, I have no fear of that but do be ready, may the spirits be with you, King Uther.' Merlyn rose and walked away towards the trees without waiting for Uther to reply, and Uther lay back content for a while to allow the sun to warm his face.

  Unfortunately, Uther didn't get a chance to fall asleep, though he was close. His mind was drifting, just imagining that he was back near his village, at the lake with his friend Cal. They were talking about going for a swim… which seemed like a good idea, but then he was brought out of his reverie by a shout from down the line that someone was approaching.

  Uther sat up and rubbed at his eyes, blinking them and shielding them from the sun's glare as he tried to see who it might be. A figure had stopped by a group of warriors further down the path and he could see them pointing back towards him.

  Wearily he rolled to his side and heaved himself up. 'To your feet, my Lords. I believe we are about to meet our first Erin Druid.' The others roused themselves and after a few moments, they were all waiting in some sort of readiness as the Druid came walking towards them.

  He wore the usual long robes of a Druid, his were a dirty grey, had his hands clasped before him as he walked and a smile set firmly upon his face, but he was young, Uther noted. He had started to think that all Druids were old with long grey hair and even longer beards, but this one appeared to be not much older than Arthur, and his beard was dark brown and cut short to his chin, but he still wore the same, idiotic Druid smile.