Stormrider

by David Gemmell

  Outside the light was fading. If the bear did come now . . .

  Fear touched the young Rigante, and he tried to quell it. 'If it comes I'll kill it,' he said aloud. The strength of the words calmed him, though only momentarily. Finbarr and Ural had discharged weapons at the beast. They had not stopped it.

  Kaelin added more wood to the fire. His Emburley pistols were more powerful than Finbarr's weapons, and his musket was new. Picking up the weapon he rubbed at the mechanism with a fire-warmed cloth. Once it was working he loaded the musket and left it on the floor within easy reach. Warmer now, he began to relax a little as his strength returned. There was a bitter breeze blowing through the ruined wall. Kaelin found Finbarr's box of tools and began to make temporary repairs. The bear had torn out the timbers to the right of the door frame. The frame had buckled and snapped, tearing off the door and causing the roof to drop. Timbers had bent inwards, and the bear had struck them, snapping two completely as it entered the cabin. There was no way to repair the frame properly, but Kaelin managed to force some of the timbers back, and nail them, reinforcing the repair with sections of wood from the broken table. By the end of two hours he had created enough of a barrier to prevent the worst of the weather from freezing the cabin. Were the bear to return, however, it would be a matter of moments before it tore its way in.

  Kaelin recovered Finbarr's musket and pistol, found the man's powder and shot and reloaded both weapons. Then he went to his pack, and removed some of the food he had brought to share with the family. There was a round of cheese, a section of honey-roasted ham, and two pottery containers of plum preserve, which the children loved. Sadness swept once more over Kaelin. They were good boys, and would have become fine men. Adding fuel to the fire he sat quietly, eating slices of ham.

  Then he heard a noise. Rolling to his feet he snatched up his musket and cocked it. The sound had come from the bedroom. His heart began to beat more rapidly. Moving forward, he flicked the latch of the door and threw it open. There was no window here, and no way the bear could have gained entrance. Kaelin stepped inside. The room was empty. Dropping to one knee he bent and looked under the bed. A pile of folded clothing lay there. Kaelin rose, and scanned the small room. Apart from the beds there was a chest of drawers and, by the other wall, an ancient trunk, covered with carved symbols. 'Get a grip, Kaelin,' he told himself. 'Now you're hearing things.'

  As he spoke he heard a soft sob coming from the trunk. Leaving the musket on the bed he knelt by the old chest and lifted the lid. Red-haired Feargol was curled up inside, still in his nightshirt. His face showed his terror. 'It's all right, boy,' said Kaelin, softly. 'It's Uncle Kaelin. You are safe now.' He reached into the trunk. Feargol squeezed shut his eyes and tried to burrow down through the clothes it contained. Kaelin paused. Instead of picking up the child he gently patted his thin shoulder. 'You've been very brave, Feargol. I am very proud of you,' he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. 'I think you should come out and have some food with me now.'

  Leaving the boy he gathered up his musket and returned to the fire. He sat for some time, waiting, but Feargol did not come out. With a sigh Kaelin added more wood to the fire. The boy had moved beyond terror. He had listened to the roar of the bear and the screams of his parents. He had heard the snapping of bones and the rending of flesh. His world had been torn apart by the talons and teeth of a crazed beast. If necessary Kaelin would go and lift him from the trunk, but he knew it would be better for the boy to make his own choice.

  Years before, when Kaelin was just turned twelve, he and the giant Jaim Grymauch had taken part in a search for a lost Varlish boy. It was believed the child had wandered into the low woods, and search parties started out to find him. Jaim had doubted the prevailing wisdom, and, a long coil of rope on his shoulders, had set off into the hills.

  'Why are we heading here?' Kaelin had asked him.

  'It is said the boy was troubled, and fearful. Other boys had threatened him. In the woods you can hide - but you cannot see an enemy coming. Up in the hills you can also hide, but there are high vantage points. From them you can watch your pursuers.'

  They had searched for most of the day. Often Jaim would stop and squat down, listening. Kaelin remembered it well. The big man would crouch, lift the band of black cloth around the socket of his ruined left eye, and scratch at the puckered, stitched skin of his eyelid. It was something he always did when he was worried. Towards dusk Kaelin heard a faint sound, and the two of them found a fissure, where the ground had given way. Moving to it Jaim called the boy's name. He was answered by a cry for help.

  'Are you injured, lad?'

  'No. Please get me out.'

  'Can you stand? Are your arms still strong?'

  'Yes. Please come and get me.'

  ‘I’ll lower a rope to you. You must tie it round your waist.'

  'I can't,' wailed the child. 'Come and get me.'

  'I can climb down there,' whispered Kaelin.

  'I know,' said Jaim, softly. 'Maybe you will have to. Sit tight now, and be quiet while I talk to the boy.' Jaim transferred his attention to the fissure. 'I know you are a brave lad. So listen to me now. Up here the stars are about to shine, and the air is sweet. Have you ever heard of the magic eye?'

  'No,' replied the boy.

  And Jaim had told him a wondrous tall tale. 'Now my magic eye can always tell a hero,' he finished. 'And you, my lad, are a hero. A lesser boy would have died in this fall. I am going to lower the rope now. Let me know when you can feel it.' Jaim uncoiled the rope and gently threaded it down the opening.

  'I have it!'

  'Put it round your waist. Nice and tight. Shout to me when you have done it.'

  'Will you pull me up then?'

  'I'm not a strong man, boy,' lied Jaim. 'You'll need to climb a little. I might be able to haul you to the first handhold.'

  'I can't climb,' wailed the boy. 'It's dark and I'm not strong.'

  'Well, we'll see,' said Jaim. 'Is the rope tight?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Then you start to climb and I'll take in the slack.'

  It took about twenty minutes for the boy to make the climb. When he at last emerged Jaim clapped him on the back and told him how proud he was of him. 'You're a fine lad,' he said.

  After they had returned the boy to his home, and were returning to their own, Kaelin asked: 'Why did you torture him so? I could have climbed down there in a minute. And you are not weak at all. You are the strongest man in the highlands.'

  Jaim had paused in their walk. 'Ah, Kaelin, you have much to learn. There is no greater despair than to feel helpless. Had we merely pulled him out he would have carried that helplessness like a sack upon his shoulders. Any problem in his life would have seen him crying for help. We grow by doing, boy. We make ourselves men by our own actions. Yes, I helped him. But he climbed out. He took his own life in his own hands and he made a decision. It is a life lesson he learned today. He will be stronger for it.'

  Sitting now by the fire in Finbarr's ravaged cabin Kaelin began to sing an old song that Jaim had taught him many years ago.

  'Lost by the roadside, happy in my hideaway, Far from the troubles of when I was a runaway. No-one can catch me, and not a man can match me. I'm the cunning outlaw, all my troubles cast away.'

  He finished the song, and then called out. 'I have some plum preserve here for you, my little friend. And the fire is warm.' Then he began to sing again.

  Just when he was starting to believe he would have to fetch the boy he saw the little six-year-old step into the doorway. His blue nightshirt was stained with urine, and he was wearing his white hat, with the ear flaps hanging down. Kaelin reached out and lifted a jar of preserve. 'I think we should eat a little something, my friend,' he said, his voice soft and soothing. Feargol turned towards the ruined wall, and stood staring at the broken timbers.

  'The bear is going to come back,' he said.

  'If it does I'll kill it,' said Kaelin. ‘I’ll let no bear come close
to my friend Feargol.'

  'Did the bear eat Basson?'

  'No.'

  'But it ate my daddy,' said the child, beginning to tremble. Tears spilled to his face.

  'You and I are going to Ironlatch Farm tomorrow,' said Kaelin. 'It will be an adventure. You'll come and live with me and Chara and little Jaim. We'll be glad to have you. You know why? Look at me, Feargol. You know why?'

  The little boy turned his gaze away from the torn wall. 'Why?'

  'Because I like you. I think you are a fine boy. You are brave and you are bright. You are just like Bane. Come and sit by the fire. We'll eat, and we'll rest, and tomorrow we'll go home.'

  Feargol walked across to where Kaelin waited. Then he sat on his lap. Kaelin put his arms round him and stroked his shoulder. 'Are you frightened of the bear?' the little boy asked.

  'I was, Feargol. But not now. Trust me, boy. I'll not let it harm a hair of your head.'

  'It has a horrible face, all scaly.'

  After a while Feargol ate a little of the ham and cheese, following them with some sweet plum preserve. Then Kaelin took him back into the bedroom and found some clothes for him. The boy was very pale, his eyes wide and fearful. Kaelin dressed him in a warm shirt and leggings, chatting to him all the while. Then they returned to the main room, and Kaelin found a container of lantern oil. Filling an old jug with it, he placed it on the floor.

  Feargol stayed close to him, watching him. Kaelin walked to the bedroom and cut a strip from a blanket. This he wrapped round a section of wood from a broken chair leg, and doused it with lantern oil. 'What are you doing?' asked Feargol.

  'It's a surprise,' said Kaelin. 'Now I think you should rest. We have a long walk tomorrow, and you'll need to be strong.' Gathering blankets he laid them on the floor by the fire. 'You just lie down. I'll keep watch.'

  Feargol did as he was told, but he didn't sleep. He lay very still, watching Kaelin.

  'Am I really like Bane?' he asked.

  'Yes. Very brave.'

  'I don't feel brave. I feel very frightened.'

  'Trust me, my friend. I know you are brave. I can tell. My uncle Jaim gave me a magic eye. I can always see the truth.'

  'Where did he get it?'

  Kaelin smiled, remembering the day Jaim told him the same story. 'He found it in a secret well, that could only be seen when the moon was new. It was left there by a mighty wizard.'

  'Where do you keep it?' asked Feargol, suddenly yawning.

  'Keep it?'

  'The magic eye.'

  'Ah! I keep it here,' said Kaelin, tapping the centre of his forehead.

  'I can't see it.'

  'That's because it's magical. You can only see it when the moon is new, and when a white owl flies overhead.'

  Feargol yawned again. 'I have a magic eye,' he said. 'Daddy told me not to tell anyone.' The room was warm now, and dancing fire shadows flickered on the walls. Kaelin sat quietly as the boy fell asleep.

  Kaelin Ring had no magical powers. He did not dream of future events, nor did he see ghosts. And yet he knew with grim certainty that the bear would return. It was not fear which filled him with this sense of foreboding. He knew that for sure. All his own fears had vanished the moment he had found little Feargol alive.

  The bear would simply come back to feed. In doing so he would scent Kaelin and the boy. Like all the local highlanders Kaelin knew the bears which roamed his territory. In this area there was only one huge grizzly. The locals called him Hang-lip. At some point in his young life he had been in a fight, and his lower lip had been half cut away. It hung now from his jaw, flapping as he walked. Kaelin had seen him often. He was big. On his hind legs he would reach almost eight feet - ten if he stretched his paws high. He lived alone. Finbarr had told Kaelin that Hang-lip had killed another bear in his territory - old Shabba. The news had saddened Kaelin, for Shabba had held a place in his heart. The old bear had once ransacked a camp of Kaelin's, and this had caused much merriment to Chara Jace, who, safe in a tree, had watched the whole scene. It was the first time Kaelin and Chara had been alone together. Old Shabba had ambled over to where Kaelin lay and sniffed his face before wandering off. And Hang-lip had killed him. 'I should have hunted him down then,' thought Kaelin. Bears would fight, but generally when one ran the other would let it go. Not Hang-lip. He was a killer. Now he had killed humans, and dined on their bodies. Jaim had once told Kaelin that in such circumstances bears developed a rare taste for human flesh, and would continue to hunt people. Kaelin had no idea if this were true. Jaim was a wonderful storyteller, and, like all storytellers, had a curious disregard for truth. What Kaelin did know, however, was that a musket ball was unlikely to kill such a beast instantly. The bear's ribs were immensely powerful, and any ball that struck one would bounce away. It would be a rare shot that found a way to a bear's heart.

  The night wore on. Kaelin kept the fire blazing, and moved his position so that he was close to the entrance. From here he could see the edge of the trees, and listen for sounds of the bear's return. He was tired now, and longed for an hour's sleep. His mind wandered, and he thought of Jaim Grymauch, recalling the great fight he had had with the Varlish champion, Gorain. What a day that had been. The Bishop of Eldacre had invited Gorain and another champion, the legendary Chain Shada, to fight at the Highland Games. The bishop had wanted to see the clansmen humbled, and reinforce belief in Varlish superiority. It would have worked, too. But the one-eyed Jaim had fought Gorain to a standstill before knocking him out of the circle and into the crowd. It was a colossal moment, and Kaelin would treasure it all his life.

  His own life had changed that night too. A girl who loved him had been murdered by a Varlish soldier and his nephew. They had raped her, then hanged her. Kaelin had found them both. In a night of bleak savagery he had killed them. Truth to tell he did not regret their deaths, nor his part in them. He did, however, feel shame at the way he had ripped at their bodies. Blind with rage he had cut off their heads and jammed them on the posts of a bridge.

  Kaelin jerked to wakefulness. He had dozed, his head resting against the wall. He rubbed his eyes and stared out at the tree line. There was nothing there, and no sounds of crunching bone could be heard.

  He pushed himself to his feet. Just as he did so a colossal black form reared into the opening, its huge head pushing over the newly repaired wall, its torn lip hanging. Kaelin hurled himself to the floor and rolled. Hang-lip let out a roar. Feargol awoke and screamed at the top of his voice. The bear lashed at a timber, which parted and flew across the room. Kaelin scrambled to the jug of lantern oil, grabbed the chair leg wrapped in cloth and held it in the fire. Flames leapt to the cloth. Carrying torch and jug he ran towards the bear, flinging the oil into its face. The beast lunged at him, but was hindered by a second timber, which groaned under its weight. Kaelin thrust the burning torch into the bear's mouth. The oil on its fur caught fire instantly, flaring up around its eyes. With a hideous roar it dropped to all fours and ran in flames towards the trees.

  Feargol was sobbing by the fire. Kaelin moved to him. 'He's gone,' he said. The boy was trembling and Kaelin drew him into an embrace. 'I am very proud of you, Feargol,' he said, softly. 'I would never have been as brave as you when I was your age. I was frightened of mice, you know.'

  ‘I am frightened of mice,' said Feargol, holding hard to Kaelin's shirt and pushing his head against the man's chest.

  Then we are alike,' Kaelin told him. 'Once I was frightened of mice - and now I fight bears.'

  'He will come back. I know he will. '

  Kaelin sat quietly for a moment. The boy was already terrified, and it was tempting to offer a small lie. It would relax him for a while. He dismissed the idea. 'Yes, Feargol, he will be coming back. He's not hungry any more. He just wants us dead. So I will have to kill him. But we will get to Ironlatch. I promise you.'

  'Can you kill him?' asked the child. 'My daddy couldn't.'

  'He took your daddy by surprise. Finbarr was a brave man, and your
mother was a fine woman. But I will be ready for the beast, Feargol - and you will help me.'

  'I can't fight bears, Kaelin. I can't!' Tears welled in the boy's eyes.

  'You won't need to fight him, my friend. You will help me prepare. I want you to go to the kitchen and find any long knives. Then you can fetch your daddy's staff. We are going to make a spear. Off you go.' Kaelin gently eased the child from his embrace and stood. Feargol waited for a moment, then ran into the kitchen. Kaelin gathered up his musket and returned to the opening. A spear was unlikely to be more useful than his own weapons, but it would keep the child occupied.

  The air was bitterly cold and it was snowing heavily. He knew the two of them would struggle to stay alive on the outside. If they set out soon after dawn they could reach the cliff cave by dusk. Kaelin had used it often, and had left a good supply of dry wood there. It would be a hard, strength-sapping walk. Yet what were the choices? When Hang-lip returned Kaelin would shoot him. Would the shots reach his heart? Perhaps. And perhaps was not good enough when he had a child to save. Picturing the long walk to the cliff cave he realized it was almost totally over open ground. If the bear came after them, as he feared it would, there would be nowhere to hide. The lack of options made him angry. To stay would be to invite disaster and death. To go would remove them from the only defensible position, and put them at risk from the awful cold.

  Then there was the problem of clothing. Dressing to keep warm would involve many layers of wool, and this would restrict speed of movement. His snowshoes would help over steep drifts, but he would have to carry the boy as well as the pack and the musket, and - perhaps - the spear. Kaelin swore softly.