“Where did you hear it?”
“Fairground gossip, it is not to be taken seriously.”
“I hope so, Morgund said. “What exactly is it that you have heard about him?” Morgund couldn’t subdue his fear.
“Nothing more than that. The king’s father, William, was a sovereign true and honest, I guess his son will most likely take after him. It takes time for maturity to make the man.”
“But you have heard he is untrustworthy?” Morgund pressed.
“Aye.”
Morgund wished to dispel his concern. “He will be good enough.”
“I hope that is so,” Duibne replied. “In any case be not worried he may be gone from Edinburgh when you arrive as he is setting off into England.”
“Why?” Seward asked.
“I do not know … something regarding a certain charter or treaty.”
“It is important that I see him,” Morgund said.
“Then I hope you catch him before he leaves and that you find his favour,” Duibne replied.
An hour had gone and it was darker and colder. Duibne’s eyes swept around suspiciously. “I feel a presence.”
“Yes,” Morgund replied, “Obviously,” mustering some confidence, adding sarcastically, “Ourselves.”
“Not you two, another, a spiritual entity. One not of the flesh.”
“Who?” Morgund asked.
“Him,” he said, pointing with his two fingers beside his head, “The devil.”
Duibne’s eyes looked warily around the walls as he spoke. “This ruin is a former pagan temple. The Romans worshipped Cybele here in secret. It keeps its secrets but I will have them to be my own.” Duibne raised his voice addressing the building itself, but seemingly speaking to Seward and Morgund also. “It keeps its power. Yet, whatever I seek to enslave, so it is, enslaved. The standing stone atop the mountains. I am their keeper. The priests of the Christ-God choose not to venture here. I pray to the older, darker Gods.”
He shouted again looking to the walls. “Three wayfarers who only seek shelter.” He smiled then, “Sleep, you be tired I see it clearly.”
Morgund whispered. “Seward he frightens me, he is strange. He could gain our confidence, and whilst we are asleep he could kill us. We should go.”
Seward looked out upon the scrubby landscape of tortured heather with red-sided seams of sandstone, he acknowledged that to be away here would be harsh. They were in an amphitheatre like place. Out in the open the wind would beat down on them. It was not a landscape to favour the traveller. Seward nodded to Morgund, “A word with you, outside.”
“I can think now,” Seward said. Seward gazed away at the hills. Should they stay or go. Could they listen to what the mage had to say? What harm was in that, none that he could see. Morgund was timid, overly so, because of the trauma of having come so close to death. It was natural, he reasoned. To leave would deny him an answer to why the man had waited and how he knew him. Seward felt there was more then mere coincidence to this. This man had some prior knowledge of them, Seward was sure of it. Strong winds roared, another reason to remain sheltered. He brought his hand down onto Morgund’s. “We’ll rest inside to warm ourselves a bit.”
“The devil with you,” Morgund responded, “Stay here to get my throat cut not likely!”
“I suppose you’re right.” Seward realised his young friend had been through so much, that his fear of Duibne would make him leave and Seward was not prepared to see him go unattended. “Morgund, at your suggestion, we will depart forthwith.”
“What is this Seward?” Seeing that he could influence Seward made Morgund’s eyebrows arch. “Seward, are you prepared to heed of me?”
“I cannot afford to be at odds with the young Earl of Ross Morgund. The MacAedh, himself.”
“I am not that,” Morgund replied.
“Your father held the lands thereof. He gave himself the style of it. It is yours by right of inheritance. If the king sees fit to grant you the title it will be yours again truly.”
“I am not a nobleman Seward.”
“Nobility is not easily extinguished, Morgund. You are descended of kings.”
Morgund was brightened by this talk, which was Seward’s intention. “Gather our gear so we will away Morgund,” Seward said.
Duibne was distressed when he saw Morgund picking up their gear,” What do you do? No harm is here.”
“Ignore him Morgund,” Seward held a steady gaze upon Duibne. Morgund remained aloof to as they walked out.
“What are you doing?” Duibne asked, as they were mounting. “Do you leave?”
“Your hospitality was not to our taste,” Seward remarked without turning to face him, said more to the night than the distant fellow for within moments Duibne was lost to the distance and encroaching darkness.
Duibne spoke, thus: Although well out of hearing range, he cast his words after them. “You commit a great wrong.”
The snowflakes soft and feathery became large and icy, inflicting pain with each stab dealt. The landscape was difficult to navigate by, featureless. Upon a plateau that offered no geological discernments, they rapidly found themselves engulfed in a blizzard with visibility decreasing by the second.
This ethereal bombardment demanded they find shelter speedily. It was frighteningly and dangerously cold. What they could see was of no help, only a short distance. Always there was danger that they might pass over a cliff or travel in an endless circle until they succumbed to the cold. Then they saw Duibne running out of the snow. How had he caught them? The two travellers saw the figure moving in the snow pacing forward relentlessly, despite the crippling cold. Did he exist? Was he real? Had their minds became unhinged by the conditions, or he was some mirage caused by the glare.
They both knew the surreal nature of this had affected their thinking, they didn’t see how it could not. He was closer to them now. It was Duibne. Seward was reassured and his heart beat a touch slower. He hadn’t been sure it was not a figment of their disturbed minds racing towards them. What would he of done, if it was, he didn’t know.
Their collective mentality gone, no future existed here where they needed their wits to survive. That there was no, insanity, emboldened Seward. “Hold stranger, you have come far enough. Tell us your intent.” Seward said.
Although they now regretted their decision in leaving the shelter offered by Duibne they were still wary of him. Just staring, Duibne did not speak. After long moments in which crystal vapours wafted about and of noisy breathing, he spoke with great clarity given the conditions, he made of Seward a hero who would perform great deeds.
Then to Morgund. “Boy, I knew your father, he was a good man, as shall you be, perhaps.” He approached closer to Seward whilst addressing Morgund. “Keep mind and sword sharp though, Morgund. For to do less, is your death.” His eyes were on Seward. They were not eyes, Seward thought. They are glowing coals, they are evil, possessed eyes, a madman’s eyes.
Duibne spoke to Morgund, “If you survive Morgund you shall found a great family.”
“Go away, strange one.” Seward pointed towards the depths of the night. The storm lessened immediately on Duibne’s appearance.
The sun almost peaked through the swirling clouds. It was as if Duibne somehow had control of the elements. Seward put this thought from him, deeming that luck was with them and the worse part of the storm, they had already seen. They could see higher ground not so far away now. “Strange men are better left in the company of others, like themselves. To your own kind, I say.”
Seward looked to Morgund for support, a slight movement of brow and tightening of his lips registering some indignation at Morgund’s fear. “Was he forever afraid, afraid of everything,” Seward thought. Although in terms of physical ability Morgund showed promise as a swordsman he must develop character, poise, and courage. Controlling his fear if he was ever to be worthy.
The weather swarmed, chilly skies releasing their icy white shavings. Duibne remained unmoved, sta
ring into Morgund’s eyes enjoying the impact he made, the fear Morgund had of him. The snow fell heavy upon them but none moved. Seward worried for Morgund. Morgund looked like a maiden on her wedding night, desperate eyed, a maid best suited to stay a maid. Gentleness Morgund had but only by ruthlessness could he ensure his life.
The village knew he was placid, amongst some in the village he’d been the subject of laughter, they thought him a weakling, and if he had the time Seward would have made a change in Morgund and Morgund would have gained their respect.
“Remain calm Morgund,” Seward ordered.
“Seward do you know what to do?” Morgund replied.
“Aye I do.”
Then the snow enclosed them in its world, taking Morgund’s thoughts away to where Duibne could not reach, to his father, that kind loving man. Morgund remembered no crease of unease in that face, happiness, hardihood, only.
No wonder his father had been angry with him for his ineptness at arms. He had no choice but to become a warrior now. His father had seen that. How important it was then, when he hadn’t realized it. Try, he would. He wished his father could be there to be proud if he succeeded. It caused him sadness knowing his father wouldn’t be. Snow flicked his eyes.
Through the hazy darkness, two dark shapes moved, Duibne and Morgund. Duibne moved closer, stood next to Morgund. Morgund looked at Duibne. Duibne returned the look with interest. In that moment Morgund knew he would not lose control of himself again and Duibne knew it and respected him for it. The unlikely fate he foretold for Morgund now seemed not so unlikely. For the first time Duibne could see a trace of his father in him. Morgund could see his father’s face. The outline of it appeared out of the snow. Morgund could not bring himself to speak for memories of his father would disappear if he did.
Duibne extended his hand, “Young men, share a fire with me, what food I have is yours. On the morning I will take you on to a lodging made for kings. Trust me.”
Duibne’s words were wasted on Seward. “I don’t see the need to listen to your ramblings, let us depart Morgund.”
Duibne continued to follow them. “You misread me. I meant no harm.”
“Be off with you, or feel the flat of my sword, move.” Duibne was warned by Seward. If he didn’t heed the warning he would make him senseless in the snow. The pair rode off.
Then a booming voice, echoed behind them. “Seward Gunnerson we will meet again and icy coldness will clutch at you. You have insulted Duibne to your peril.”
Thick snow, they could barely see because of it. Straining to penetrate the murk, Seward made out the vague outline of hills. Saw them again, between the snowflakes. Riding forth the trees grew darker. Luckily they found a cave amongst the timber growth. They made a fire, surviving the storm, listening to it blasting.
In the morning, Seward noticed a leather thong fastened around his neck, a gold medallion was on it, which bore the image of a horned nymph playing a flute. Seward touched it and it felt good, like it belonged there, he hid it from Morgund tucking it in his tunic. Seward thought Morgund would tell him the coin was better gone as anything associated with Duibne had to be a bad thing. Duibne must have placed it there when he brushed beside him.
Morgund drew his attention to the mouth of the cave, “Look, the sun is out, the storm is gone Seward.”
They did not waste time and departed quickly and that day they met the first people they had seen since coming into the mountains and Seward inquiring about Duibne was told, “Yes, he comes here. But a more silent brooding man I’ve not met, he doesn’t waste his words on the likes of us.”
At another place they were informed, “He is a nuisance, always begging ale. Some say he is learned, having been a priest, holding that he can see into the future.”
A man interjected. “An invented tale, to win the coin of superstitious wives.”
Yet another thought differently. “Do not underestimate him, he is what he says he is.” This speaker was not keen to elaborate, for when questioned, he had remained silent. It was a strange night.
In the hut this man shared with this young family it was like Duibne’s magic had followed them and that he, in invisible spirit, had seen fit to spend the night with them watching them, his energy seemed to inhabit the dwelling with them. They talked of Duibne and the events in the mountains. Seward couldn’t get his mind off the mage, he was deeply intrigued at the man’s origin. Morgund was just happy to be away from him and the scene of such.
“I can tell from the cut and design of your clothing that you come from the north.” Their host said. Neither answered. “Are you Rossman?”
“Aye, you are correct.” Seward ventured feeling this man could be trusted. “We are of Ross.”
“And come from the far side of the mountains, a route that designates you are desperate men.”
“Desperate enough,” Seward said and from then on their host was silent and made them feel they were better gone. It was late, so they rested and kept their weapons close.
The day following, topping the summit of these mountains and looking downward. At the foot of these mountains, isolated farmer’s huts and fields. They looked back to the wilderness, from whence they came. Far distant, weathered rock folded in and out, dark-reddish where the light caught, occasional dwarf trees clung tenaciously to the rock. Lower down, to their front, creamy limbs seemed to cast looks between themselves, swaying branches in communication which was almost perceptible to man. Taller, spindly trees grew in numbers, in the lower fields. And further down again, a narrow stream flowed over a drop, then going on to the lower pine covered slopes where openings in woodland gave sight of the sparkling water.
The mountainside was a riot of varied shade and hue. The deep emerald pine boughs lightened to a greenish yellow at the tips, with new growth starting. The wild-berry bushes were populated with white and pink flowers. Scottish pines shimmering. All about the ground pale patches of snow reflected the light of the sun. Far into the distance the cliff face, from whence they had come, weathered and old, stared at them. Seemingly from a what appeared to be an old man’s mouth, the image formed by the play of light upon the rock and the rock structure itself, the suns rays cast upon its craggy surface so one might easily recognise the essential features of a stern man. A stream fell from the mouth, whereas other contours held an uncanny likeness to the brow and nose. The rock-man studied them intently, vast mouth agape as if uttering an eternal, silent scream. A narrow funnel of water found its way over and to the valley floor in a long ribbon of white phospheresant. The old rock-man looked as if he knew Seward and Morgund’s fate, that it would be unkind, it was trick of the light, but not a pleasant one.
NORTH TO SOUTH
BACK AT THE village Gormlaith discerned the cause of the depression that engulfed her. It was her rival, she was annoyed at the presumption. Suana had no business challenging her for Seward’s affection. Gormlaith hurt this much because she imagined herself missing out on winning Seward’s love and thus becoming the object of ridicule. Gormlaith decided to end Suana’s quest. Convincing herself she was doing it for Seward, and that he would thank her for it. Regarding the success of her mission, she deemed it assured. Wounding Suana, would be a just reward for the girl. One so low, should know her place. Gormlaith had a cruel aspect to her personality. She wept when Seward rode out but thereafter when she learned that Seward was enamoured of another, and that it was Suana who held his interest, it made her want to hurt the girl. Gormlaith made the leap into adulthood by being ruthless. Gormlaith came across the other dark haired girl, who was something of a wood sprite, alone in the forest.
“Are you seeking the friendship of creatures because no one wants your company?”
Suana didn’t reply. Some acted cruelly towards her. Her father was dead, her mother and herself had to be provided for by the other villagers, both contributed to the common good, however some chose to ignore this. Gormlaith was one. Gormlaith’s father was an important man, she liked to look do
wn on Suana, this was not the first cruel word Gormlaith had given her. Moments of pause were overtaken by Gormlaith’s mounting anger.
But as Gormlaith said it, she trusted, that it was necessary to be rid of Suana’s aspirations, to relieve Seward of her, and it was for the girls own good, for Suana was making a fool of herself. She’d find herself a pregnant girl, abandoned.
“Suana … Seward is not kindly disposed toward you.”
“That isn’t true?” Suana replied with a wounded look.
“He told me when he left that he didn’t like you because you are a sneak who is always watching him from the shadows like a goblin. Yes, that is what you are, a goblin … we laughed at your disfigurement.”
The attacker knew it was a lie, no disfigurement existed, but she knew that Suana would think it true. This would surely spare Seward the admiration of Suana. How could she even consider herself Gormlaith’s match. None were as good and clever as Gormlaith. She came of good family, was pretty, and was a good cook. And how dare Seward put Suana before her. Gormlaith’s detractors had sound judgement, for although she had the abilities she attributed to herself, they were aligned to a proud, rude, and arrogant nature. Suana buried her face in her arms and ran away.
Words followed that would haunt her. “Run you disgusting goblin, go into the woods and live with your kind, Seward doesn’t want you… nor do I, nor anyone else in the village.” Gormlaith gave no thought then to how badly she had hurt Suana, only caring that she was successful in turning her against Seward which she must accomplish ahead of all other considerations.
Gormlaith’s actions did foster a change of feeling that was difficult to put aside. This encounter led to endless days of torture for her. She did not want to blame him for thinking that which was only true, she shouldn’t hate him, she thought, on reflection, but as much as she tried not to, she always felt a dull thud of pain, when thinking of him.
Celtic Blood Page 7
