by Jon Jacks
The dead were too nonchalant, too confident.
Siren curved down, humming the chords of a triumphant chorus. Its glistening blade cleaved through spectral flesh, ghostly bone, an odd, wraithlike spirit.
The rider fell from his horse, striking the ground hard yet, curiously, without a sound.
From the watching column, however, there were gasps of surprise, cheers, and an elated rattling of spears and shields.
No one had ever seen anything like it. A soldier of the dead, brought down. Killed.
It was possible after all!
As King Cadeyrn’s men had roared their approval, his rapidly swirling sword had already brought down another rider. This one slumped forward on his horse, his head hanging loosely, then slowly slipped to the floor.
The dead troopers had been too complacent.
The king’s remarkable strength and suppleness, the swiftness and power he brought to his blows, had taken them by surprise. Even more surprising to them, of course, was that Siren could actually hurt them, kill them.
Realising this, the remaining warriors of the dead at last began to fight back. They urged their dark mounts to surround the king, hacking at him with their own grey swords, having cast their spears aside. For a brief moment, it looked as if the king would be submerged beneath such a vicious onslaught.
Once again, though, Siren sang. Its great blade whirled, spun, slashed, plunged home.
One of the attacking warriors fell aside, dropped backwards out of his saddle, struck the ground as quietly as his already twice-dead companions. A second joined him a moment later.
Despite this, the third fearlessly continued his attack upon the king.
Did the dead ever realise when their position was hopeless? Prytani wondered. Did they ever care?
Do they still believe that they will rise again?
This last warrior of the dead managed to land a few more of his own fierce blows on the king before finally falling to a sweeping strike from Siren. His fall from his horse to the ground would no doubt have been every bit as silent as the others but for the jubilant melody emitted by Siren.
King Cadeyrn whirled his stallion around. Facing his men, he rose as high as he could in his saddle, raising Siren high into the air.
Siren sang.
The king’s men sang and cheered along with it.
‘Strange, isn’t it,’ Nechtan grumbled fearfully alongside Prytani, ‘how men welcome the oncoming of a war they can’t possibly win?’
*
Chapter 24
The waters of the ford to the otherworld spumed around the king’s stallion as he proudly rode back to the bank of the living.
Behind him, on the shores of the dead realm, there now lay five twice-dead men, the pennants of their fallen spears mutedly fluttering. Riderless, their mounts galloped off into the surrounding forests, doubtlessly heading back towards the legion they’d originally set out from.
What would the dead say, what would they do, when these horses returned minus their riders?
No one alive could possibly know. No one alive had ever seen or heard of it happening within living memory.
As Nechtan had worriedly hissed, it could only mean war. A war the living couldn’t hope to win.
Even Siren couldn’t hope to kill all the dead.
‘You said that the king’s tale of how he acquired Siren isn’t quite true?’
From her high position seated in her saddle, Prytani looked down at Nechtan. The wizard smiled wryly.
‘I see my warning about curiosity has fallen on deaf ears, girl! But, in answer to what I suppose is a reasonable question…let’s just say he shouldn’t have said sirens. It should have been mermaids.’
‘There’s a difference?’
Once again, Nechtan gave a droll chuckle.
‘You heard how the sirens turned into vicious beasts? Well, mermaids can only transform into women who are half fish when they’re attacked. And oh yes, they were the ones attacked!’
Nechtan smiled warmly at the king as he glanced their way. The king was still wearing his wolf pelt, accepting the roaring congratulations of his men with great satisfaction. His squire was cleaning Siren, who whispered sadly now he was about to be returned to his sheath.
As more men came up to compliment the king, causing him to look away, Nechtan continued his tale.
‘These mermaids had actually saved the king and his men, setting out on the astral waters to help Hafren find their isle. A mermaid in human form suffers great pain, such that they can’t maintain the guise for long; yet still they welcomed and entertained the king’s men.’
At last, the squire was helping the victorious King Cadeyrn to remove his wolf pelt. As the king became a man once more, the column of men erupted in yet more gasps of surprise: as a human, he was at last revealing the wounds he’d received in his epic battle. This made his victory all the more notable, for he had been badly gashed a number of times. The swords of the dead had their own particular sting, too. Even a minor wound could fester if left untreated, as if the flesh had somehow been tainted by the underworld, and was already beginning to rot.
Nechtan’s expression was a strange mix of pleasure and disgust, one that seemed to say he thought the king deserved these wounds.
‘On the mermaid’s isle, the king flattered himself that it would be good sport to wear his wolf pelt too. He and his men had decided that these beautiful women had been provided purely for their baser pleasures. Those mermaids who managed to transform in time would at least have frustrated their attackers’ original desires. Unfortunately, I’ve heard, the queen wasn’t one of them: the Wolf King had been far too quick for her.’
‘Wizard! The king needs your skills! Urgently!’
The king had slipped to the floor, sweating badly. Indicating that he wanted Prytani to get down off her horse and follow him, Nechtan turned to head towards the fallen king.
‘Besides,’ Nechtan said as a last hissed aside, ‘it doesn’t sound too good, does it? A sword called Mermaid.’
‘Those damn swords of the dead!’ the king exhaustedly declared to Nechtan as they drew closer, Tamesis keeping by Prytani’s heels. ‘They hardly touched me, would you believe? Yet look at me! Brought low by trickery and charms, not fair fighting!’
The grey stallion had also now crumpled to the floor. Men were tending to it, but it was shivering uncontrollably, its eyes wide and globular with fear.
‘Behold the victors over death!’ the king laughed sardonically. ‘Is this how they reap their revenge? Not with the sword, but with a vengeful pestilence?’
As he knelt down by the king, Nechtan shook his head doubtfully.
‘Your mount is simply suffering the final effects of the venom, my lord. I did warn you that–’
‘Yes, yes.’ The king didn’t appear concerned by the suffering of his horse. ‘What a tale it will be though, hey wizard? My brave warhorse, dying beneath me in battle!’
With a last quivering snort, the stallion’s head dropped to the ground with a thud.
‘He’s dead my lord,’ one of the men sadly announced.
The king looked up, gazing directly into Nechtan’s eyes.
‘What really concerns me, wizard, is: will I die?’
*
Lying between if just slightly beyond the dead mount and the king, there was a large stone, carved with the portrayal of an almost naked woman. She was standing on a lion, holding lotus blossom and serpents in her hands. Above her head, there was a disc and crescent.
‘Girl?’
From his kneeling positon by the king, Nechtan was looking up at her questioningly.
‘Yes?’
‘The king? Can you answer his question?
Will he die? How was she supposed to know the answer to that. He appeared close to death, that was certain.
As she couldn’t be sure if he would live or not, she was about to shake her head in answer to Nechtan’s query. She stopped herself; a shake of her
head would be misinterpreted. It might be taken as an indication that the situation was hopeless: that the king would die.
‘I can check tonight when I–’
‘Tonight?’ The king glared at her as if he thought she must be completely stupid. ‘Do you really think I can wait until the morning, fearing throughout the night that the dead I’ve just killed will be coming to claim me at any moment?’
His voice was rasping. His face was white, almost drained completely of blood.
‘I thought you said this girl had special abilities?’ he snapped accusingly at Nechtan, his breathing heavy and forced.
‘You will know your fate, my lord,’ Nechtan assured him. ‘And before the sun sets too!’
He glowered at Prytani, while still reassuring the king.
‘She does have special abilities, my lord! She just hasn’t realised them all yet! She remains unaware that there are means of inducing a journey to the otherworld.’
Slinking between Prytani’s legs, Tamesis whimpered anxiously.
Asking permission from the king to leave him for a moment, Nechtan rose to his feet. Slipping an arm around Prytani’s shoulder, he led her away from the sorely suffering king
‘It’s his spirit that’s wounded.’
Nechtan had waited until they were out of the king’s hearing before speaking.
‘It can only be treated in the otherworld. The swords of the dead cut cleanly through his flesh, injuring only the spirt. But his spirit is so wounded, his flesh is already effectively dead: it only seems alive to us because we’re being given glimpses of his spirit. We have to restore the spirit; and then the flesh will grow around it once more.’
He pulled a small leather pouch out of the inner fleecing of his jerkin. Loosening its thong and opening it, he poured out into his hand two dark-red pills.
‘If you take these, you’ll soon be transported to the otherworld.’
Prytani recognised them immediately. They were the same kind of pebble-like pills that had been forced on the poor stallion.
The dead stallion.
‘They…they’ve just killed a warhorse!’ a horrified Prytani stammered.
‘That was the venom, fool! Not these! These lessened the effects of the venom.’
‘So they are the same pills you gave the horse?’ Far from being reassured by Nechtan’s words, Prytani was more frightened than ever. ‘And it died anyway!’
‘You saw how I was forced into a hurried, inadequate treatment!’ Nechtan angrily protested. ‘You haven’t just been struck by a serpent, girl! That’s what killed that poor stallion! Not these pills!’
He forced one of the hard pills into her hand.
‘Think about it!’ He was insistent. ‘When a serpent devours its prey, why isn’t it poisoned by the presence of its own venom?’
Nechtan’s explanation implied that Prytani’s suspicions had been correct.
‘They’re made of serpent venom?’ she gasped.
The wizard raised his eyes in exasperation.
‘Yes, yes: of course!’ he answered irately. ‘But it’s venom mixed with the serpent’s own blood, together with the blood of a horse that has recovered from its bite!’
Prytani’s eyes widened with a mix of sudden understanding and growing fright.
‘The horse I saw being deliberately killed with serpents!’
‘Not killed! What would be the point of that? It’s nursed back to good health. Then we set the serpents on it again–’
‘Again! How many times?’
‘As many as we deem necessary, depending on the size of the horse. Then it’s sacrificed–’
‘So you do kill it!’
‘Will you stop interrupting, girl? We’ve got a king who’s dying, or have you forgotten that? How many animals do you think are sacrificed in religious ceremonies, placating this god, or that god? This sacrifice allows us to speak to the gods!’
‘How?’ She stared doubtfully, worriedly, at the crimson pebble she held in her hand. ‘How is a strange little stone like this supposed to aid you meet with the gods?’
‘How many shamans do you know who use potions, extracted from the hawthorn, or mushrooms, or whatever other plant they know can help them ascend to another plane? But this is far more potent than any of those!’
He held up the pill he still held in his own hand, observing it with awe.
‘It’s said a serpent’s immortality and fertility comes from consumption of the Tree of Life. It can only die if struck violently, otherwise it consumes itself at its appointed measure of age. Someone long, long ago must have been bitten by a serpent, thinking his end was near. Instead, he soared up to the gods! And he recovered, and wanted to emulate that incredible experience once more. And this, girl, is the result: a pill of dried and hardened venom and blood!’
‘I don’t need them to–’
Nechtan glared furiously at her.
‘No more refusing, girl!’
He leered at Tamesis.
‘If you’re no use to me in this way, then neither is your pet – unless I make her into a rather nice pelt to keep my shoulders warm!’
Prytani glanced down at Tamesis. She saw in her bright, anxious gaze that she was far more worried for Prytani than she was for her own life.
That made Prytani’s decision easier.
She swallowed the pill.
*
Chapter 25
As Tamesis, Prytani found herself standing on a winding flight of stairs.
She dimly recognised it from the time the lady – Olwen? – had taken her down and down uncountable steps until they had drawn up alongside a confused looking Cructan.
The stairs were ridiculously busy, however, a seemingly endless flow of traffic consisting of every type of creature Prytani had seen, heard of, or never, ever encountered before.
Tigers, lions, horses, badgers, mice, other foxes.
Whales, dolphins, trout, salmon, mermaids.
Eagles, geese, swans, swallows, doves.
People of every colour, every size and type. Dressed in every way you could think of, from being fully naked to being decked exotically with feathers.
There were insects too, those flying such as butterflies, moths and dragonflies, those she had to be careful she didn’t step on, like sapphire coloured beetles, spiders, even ants.
The creatures she didn’t recognise included horses with stripes of black and white, massive grey animals with tails at either end, a gigantic bird with short wings and long legs, and what could have been a colourfully speckled deer with elongated legs and neck.
The confusion was made all the worse for Prytani because they merged and mingled endlessly, for none seemed to be aware of the other’s existence. They ran and flowed through each other as if nothing but images made of water.
For the first time ever in the tower – or at least, for the very first time she could remember – Prytani felt confused, lost. She was in a bewildering daze, where nothing would focus correctly, hardly anything seemed to make sense. Rather, it all faded in and out of her mind as if ultimately and forever intangible and elusive.
She attempted to recall how the tower was constructed, how the steps and the glowing orbs gave the correct direction, the right judgement.
It should have been obvious, of course. The steps led upwards, didn’t they? Yet, bizarrely, now that she tried to think where she should be heading, steps leading upward appeared around her shooting off in every direction.
She had been judged unworthy, not ready, she realised forlornly – and so her own judgement was badly clouded, imperfect. She might as well have been incarcerated in the most complicated maze ever devised.
‘Ah, there you are, little fox!’
A beautiful lady had appeared before her on the steps.
‘I thought I detected your presence somewhere within my tower,’ the lady added with a pleasant smile.
Prytani narrowed her eyes, furrowed her brow, hoping to see this lady more
clearly. Hoping her meandering, wayward mind could come back under her control.
‘Olwen?’
Prytani said it doubtfully. There was a connection between this lady and the name, but she couldn’t be sure how that connection worked.
Yes, that was right! This was the lady who had brought her down through the tower, down the countless steps!
‘Ah, so someone told you.’ The lady smiled again, this time a little sadly.
‘Is it true?’
Prytani wasn’t sure why she had to ask that. Her mind wasn’t working right. She knew she had to do some things, but couldn’t remember why.
‘Now that depends which story you were told, doesn’t it?’ The lady stared at Prytani with wry amusement. ‘I don’t eavesdrop on every conversation.’
‘My Lady Olwen sounds nice.’
‘Thank you; though you don’t really need the “my lady” part.’
Walking past Prytani, she continued heading down the stairs.
‘Come with me,’ she said.
‘Shouldn’t we be heading up?’ Prytani asked uncertainly.
‘What you seek today lies at the very base of my tower.’ The lady continued lightly tripping down the stairs. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best that you turned up so low down in my tower. It save’s you having to travel too far in your dreadful state.’
‘The base? Why would we need the base?’
Somewhere, deep in the back of her bewildered mind, a muffled voice seemed to be trying to tell her they had to head upwards.
‘The king?’ The lady turned around on the steps to face her. ‘You came here to save the king, as I recall.’
Turning back, she began to rush a little more quickly down the winding flight of stairs.
‘We don’t have much time, I’m afraid.’
*
As the lady had said, the king was at the base of the tower.
Only, it wasn’t the king that Prytani had been expecting: a mortally wounded spirit lying upon the floor, awaiting treatment.
Rather, this was the king broken apart into all his many characteristics. The boastful man, the secretly frightened man, the lustful man, the thoughtful man, the cruel man, the kind man, the cunning man, the fool – and many, many more, some stronger than others, some far, far weaker.
There were many that Prytani couldn’t accurately identify, those that she could being recognisable to her only because they glittered to differing degrees with rainbow hues of envy, anger, jaundice, tranquillity, and bile.
