Dark Age

by James Wilde

  Lucanus narrowed his eyes. ‘The second?’

  ‘This … all this …’ Myrrdin swept an arm out to indicate the bonfire, the stone circle, the giant figure, the rapturous crowd, ‘is for your child.’

  Lucanus stiffened, and he sensed Catia doing the same beside him.

  ‘This is an old rite, Wolf. As old as these stones. Fire and sacrifice and carnal pleasures. Lo, a new king has been born, named and baptized before the eyes of the gods. And once this ritual is done, the word will travel to all parts of this land, and beyond. The bloodline is restored. The Dragon has risen. And soon the Bear-King will be with us.’

  Lucanus’ eyes widened as he looked around the festival. ‘For Weylyn?’

  ‘For the new king.’

  The Wolf pulled the gold crown out from under his cloak and thrust it towards the druid. ‘Take it. We don’t want any more of this.’

  ‘The title of Pendragon is yours – it cannot be taken away once it has been given. And it will be handed down to your son, and your son’s son. The House of Pendragon has risen once again, and it will be known by the sign of the dragon eating its own tail. The never-ending circle.’

  ‘Those are the games you play, wood-priest. Not me.’

  ‘You’ve brought hope, Wolf. As we watched you, and listened to the counsel of those who know you best, we learned the qualities that had made you leader of the Grim Wolves. But you’ve grown far beyond our wildest imaginings. Head of the Dragon, yes. And Heart of Britannia too. Don’t turn your back on that.’

  Lucanus flinched. ‘Who counselled you?’

  Before he received a response, he felt Catia brush his arm. ‘Listen to what he has to say,’ she whispered.

  ‘The wood-priest can’t be trusted. How many times has he shown us that?’

  ‘Weylyn is well. Our family has been reunited. This is a new dawn.’ Catia heaved in a deep sigh. ‘The hardships we’ve both endured in our lives will only mean something if we embrace this destiny.’

  ‘Myrrdin would say anything to see his plan bear fruit.’

  She smiled, sadly, he thought. ‘Our lives are over, Lucanus.’

  ‘No. I won’t allow it.’

  ‘Our lives were over a long time ago. Stolen from us, yes, but gone. All that we have left is to try to shine a beacon in the darkness that’s coming. That is our only salvation. We write the ending to our story. Not the wood-priests. We do it. And that ending will be a good and honourable one, not for us, but for those who follow us.’

  The Wolf felt his stomach knot. He looked at Catia and no longer saw the wolf-sister who ran with him in the Wilds, but someone more powerful: untamed, almost regal. He felt a swell of pride, and then a stab of grief.

  All he could do was nod his agreement.

  A moment later he was easing his way through the throng behind the wood-priest. He paused by one of the stones and rested the palm of his hand against it. The megalith was barely shaped, unlike the stones of the great circle they had paused in on the journey from the north.

  ‘This is a dracontium, Wolf. A home of dragons. One path snakes in, another snakes out, and the circle at the core is endless,’ Myrrdin said. ‘Larger than the Heartstones that you saw in the summer. Greater. Here, there is always magic in the air. Here, the Otherworld is only a whisper away.’

  The forest folk spun past him, lost to the dance, eyes fixed on inner horizons. The women tore at their clothes in their bliss, and in the shadows beyond the firelight he could see bodies heaving in congress.

  ‘This is what Britannia was like before the Romans came,’ the wood-priest said. ‘Madness and joy.’

  Lucanus craned his neck up, but the eerie face of the wicker man was now lost to the gathering gloom. ‘Jupiter?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what you Romans called him. Taranis is his true name. God of the sky and the storms. He is one of three. Esus, lord of the forest, and Toutatis, bringer of magic and fortune, are the others. Three, Wolf, the number of power. Heaven, earth, and the waters. The beginning, the middle, and the end.’ He paused, then added, ‘Body, soul, spirit. They will watch over your son and ensure he achieves his destiny, and Taranis will strike down any who dare stand in his way.’

  ‘Witches come in threes.’

  ‘Aye. They do.’ Myrrdin pulled something from the leather pouch at his waist. When he opened his hand, Lucanus saw the shrivelled remains of the sacred mushrooms on his palm. ‘Eat these. You’ll see with new eyes; see what everyone else sees.’

  Lucanus remembered the wonders and terrors of his night in Goibniu’s Smithy and hesitated. But then he popped the dried remnants in his mouth, chewed and swallowed, grimacing at the iron taste.

  ‘I only want my son to be safe, Myrrdin. I’ll kill anyone who wants to harm him.’

  ‘I only want the same, Wolf. Believe that.’

  Lucanus looked back up the soaring frame of the wicker man. No, he couldn’t trust the wood-priest. He was sick of being led by the nose.

  When he looked back, Myrrdin was gone.

  Mato felt a warmth flood through him when he glimpsed Catia nestling Weylyn to her breast, protected by Bellicus, Comitinus and Solinus. There was a time on the trek west when he had feared he would never see such a sight again. But then he found his gaze inexorably drawn from the mother and child to the monstrous figure that towered over them all. The very air around him seemed to sing, as it did before a summer storm, and the hairs on his neck prickled erect.

  ‘Stay close together,’ Aelius commanded. His eyes narrowed as he searched faces for any sign of threat.

  ‘This rite is all that matters to the forest folk,’ Amarina said. ‘They feel the eyes of their gods upon them. We are as nothing beside that.’

  Aelius studied her for a moment, then nodded and sheathed his sword. Vindex barked an order and the rest of the men followed his lead.

  Mato slipped beside Aelius as they pushed through the throng into the centre of the stone circle. ‘No smiles? No relief?’

  Aelius scowled. ‘The worry has passed, true. Weylyn is safe. Now I only feel anger. Give me a moment with the wood-priest and I’ll teach him a lesson for putting Catia through such anguish.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I’ll stay by her side, of course. She’ll need all of us for the rest of her days, as will Weylyn. The threats will never go away. Find yourself a saviour and half the land want to follow him and the other half want to kill him or take him for their own.’ He sighed, but there was a wry smile flickering on his lips. For all the danger, he had come alive with this new purpose.

  Mato glanced past him. Figures had separated from the wild dance and were coming their way. As the orange light of the bonfire washed over them, he grunted. They were young women, grubby from the dirt of their country living, their dresses little more than filthy rags, but they were smiling and holding out wooden bowls.

  His nostrils wrinkled at a musty smell when one was thrust in front of him. A dark, oily liquid sloshed within.

  ‘They want us to drink it,’ Apullius said, turning his nose up.

  ‘An offering of friendship?’ Mato eyed the woman in front of him. Her pupils were wide and black. ‘Part of this ritual?’

  As he reached to take the bowl, fingers closed around his wrist. Amarina leaned in and sniffed the drink before flicking her hand to wave the women away. ‘A brew made from the sacred mushrooms,’ she said. ‘You would drift away to the Otherworld until the sun rises. My advice: keep your wits about you. Catia may yet need your aid.’

  ‘Wise counsel,’ Aelius said. ‘You know more than you would have folk believe.’

  ‘Always.’ Amarina fixed an eye on him. ‘And never forget it.’

  Mato felt a hand tugging at his wolf pelt and looked down at Morirex. He’d expected the Mouse to be unsettled by the strange circumstances in which they’d found themselves, but the lad seemed to be growing as brave as his brother. ‘What is this?’ he said now. ‘I’ve never seen the like.’

  ‘This wor
ld was always hidden, little one. A secret place, side by side with the one we knew. When Britannia first became part of the empire all those years ago, some followed the rule of Rome and made their life along the great roads. But others, the pagans, the country folk, disappeared into the deep forests and the high peaks and the moors. They took their old gods with them.’ He looked around at the festival and then felt his eyes once more drawn to that soaring, judging figure. ‘The old ways never truly vanished – they merely slept. And now that Rome’s grip has weakened, they have woken once more.’

  For a long while, they trailed around the standing stones. The mad rite never ebbed, the crowd of dancers whipping themselves into even greater frenzies. The drums pounded louder still. Logs were thrown on to the bonfire and geysers of sparks soared up almost to the giant’s head. Wild-eyed men and women tore at chunks of venison, their mouths slathered with grease. On the edge of the light, rows of couples fornicated like beasts in the field.

  ‘I can’t see Lucanus any more,’ Apullius said with a note of unease.

  ‘Lucanus can look after himself,’ Amarina replied.

  Aelius was scanning the trees that surrounded the vast stone circle, always the general, never at rest. ‘I want to know what’s out there, if anything.’ He turned to Apullius and the Mouse. ‘Nobody will pay you any attention. Scout the edges of this place, as we taught you.’

  Apullius grinned and nodded his head, and the two lads raced off towards the forest.

  Hands grabbed Lucanus, spun him away, and for a while he felt his head spin as fast. Sparks and stars and flames, and the vast black canopy of night as the sun crashed below the horizon. A creamy moon, full and bright. And always the terrible judgement of the wicker man hanging over him.

  Finally he dragged himself away from the torrent of bodies. In the centre of the circle, he felt oddly calmed. Blood pulsed in his head, and a sapphire light limned the stones; the druid’s mushrooms no doubt working their magic.

  The throb of the drums fell away, and there was only the thump of his heart.

  Beyond the megaliths, the flood of bodies still surged. Lucanus glimpsed some of his men. Bewilderment was giving way to acceptance. Chunks of hot beef were thrust into their hands before they were pulled away into that wild dance. He searched for Catia and his son, for the Grim Wolves, and then Amarina, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  He was alone, the watcher on the boundary between worlds.

  The voice of the ancient past whispered around him. He thought he heard his name and he lurched away, towards the winding path that led out of the circle, the head of the dragon that Myrrdin had described.

  As he stood with one hand on another cool stone looking out into the night, he glimpsed a sentinel standing in a pool of moonlight beyond the festivities. Hands resting on a longsword, a helmet on its head. He thought that it almost seemed to glow with an emerald hue. Was this the Lord of the Greenwood, who had helped his friends so many times now?

  The figure was watching him, he was sure of it.

  Lucanus pushed out of the circle. By the time he’d taken a few steps the figure had drifted away into the dark. Yet his neck was prickling and he felt himself gripped by an irresistible desire to know more about this warrior. Man or daemon, or a messenger from the gods, as the wood-priest insisted?

  Stumbling away from the tumult, Lucanus crashed back into the woods.

  ‘What do you want of me?’ he called.

  For what seemed like an age, he lurched among the trees until he felt the grip of panic. He was lost.

  ‘Be at peace.’ The rumbling voice echoed around him.

  The hammering of his heart stilled and he gripped the rough bark of an oak to steady himself. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I am with you at all times, even if you do not see me.’

  Lucanus searched the shadows, punctured here and there by circles of moonlight. Nothing moved. ‘What are you?’

  For a long moment, he thought the Lord of the Greenwood was not going to answer, but then the disembodied voice drifted back. ‘A friend.’

  ‘Of this world? Or the Otherworld?’

  ‘Heed my words,’ the voice continued, ignoring him. ‘Heed them, for you will hear no better advice. Find the strength to go on, though the road ahead is hard. Become what you can be. Protect your woman, and your child. Then be the protector of all those who will suffer in this coming age of darkness. This is the work we have been given, and it is good work.’

  ‘Did Myrrdin send you to tell me that?’

  ‘The wood-priest has no power over me. I do as I will.’

  Lucanus rested his hand on Caledfwlch. It seemed to sing under his skin as if it were alive. ‘And where is my reward?’ he called, but the night swallowed his words and no response came back.

  Hearing a whoosh and a roar, he whirled. An orange glow was wavering through the trees. Angry that he had been left alone again, he strode towards it.

  Flames surged up the torso of the wicker man. Fleeing shadows twisted the features into a grotesque display of fury. Lucanus could hear the howling of the beasts in its belly. Unwitting sacrifices to a greater destiny.

  Around the circle, the dance had ended. The drums stilled, so that only the crackling of the inferno raged in the night. The supplicants filed into the heart of the circle, and then stood, silent, looking up at the burning figure.

  After a moment, a voice rang out. ‘A new king is born!’ It was Myrrdin addressing his congregation, but after that most of his words were snapped away by the breeze or lost beneath the roaring.

  Lucanus watched, entranced.

  In the ruddy light the shadows swooped outside the circle, and in their distorted movement he thought he could see figures drawn to witness this event. Cernunnos, who stands in the forest and howls. A flapping of black wings that signalled the Morrigan’s dark presence. And a blade of light, Lugh, the undying son, the king and saviour. All here to usher in a new age dawning.

  After a while, the giant creaked and cracked and crashed to the earth in a cascade of sparks. But as the roaring of the conflagration began to ebb, Lucanus stiffened at another sound rising up in the night. A rolling thunder rushing through the forest.

  Two familiar figures raced from the trees, yelling.

  Apullius? he thought. And Morirex?

  And then the rolling thunder broke into a tumult of battle-cries.

  The forest erupted. An army of barbarians surged towards the crowd gathered around the burning man, scores of them, swords glinting red in the firelight.

  Lucanus reeled.

  Shrieks of wild panic swept up in the cacophony as the forest folk churned in the circle. Some fell, crushed underfoot.

  Clawing his way through the trees, Lucanus gaped at the carnage. His thoughts raced, to Catia, and Weylyn, to the Grim Wolves and his men. And then he glimpsed the bound head of Arrist at the head of the charge, his blade swung high, and he felt his blood run cold.

  And on the barbarians roared, hacking down all who stood in their way.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Blood Will Have Blood

  ‘THIS WAY!’

  Catia felt Amarina’s fingers grip her left wrist. On every side, the forest folk surged, faces ragged with terror. Buffeted back and forth, she feared they would be torn apart, but Amarina held tight.

  ‘Weylyn!’ she cried above the din. Myrrdin had been holding the child during the baptismal rite. Now she couldn’t see him anywhere in the confusion.

  ‘Come, or stay here and die!’ The other woman’s eyes flashed.

  Dragged through the flood in Amarina’s wake, Catia searched for the druid and the babe; for Lucanus. Her heart thundered with desperation. But there was only the chaos of smashing bodies and ringing screams.

  Somehow she stumbled out of the crowd. Amarina didn’t relent. Away from the circle and the fires, into the trees, and on still she flew. Clambering up an incline, her breath burning in her chest. She sensed others fleeing around her.

/>   At the top of a bracken-crested ridge, Catia yanked her hand free, and spun back. The terrible sounds of slaughter tore through the night.

  ‘We have to find the others.’

  ‘Yes, why not? With that bow and your arrows, you can probably bring down three or four before they run you through.’ Amarina’s words dripped with acid. She seemed to sense Catia’s dismay, for her voice softened and she added, ‘The wood-priest will look after your child better than you ever could. Weylyn is too great a prize to be easily given up.’

  Though it sickened her, Catia had to admit that the other woman was right. She slumped to the base of an ash tree and stared at the battle. The forest folk churned in the centre of the stone circle as the barbarians herded them with a pincer movement. Some, though, slipped through the lines and scrambled away into the night and the trees. She prayed Lucanus and Weylyn were among them.

  ‘We can’t wait here,’ Amarina urged. She pointed to where a band of Scoti and Pict warriors were breaking away from the rest of the army to pursue those fleeing into the forest.

  Heaving herself up the tree trunk, Catia lurched away. Her legs felt like lead. Every now and then she’d glance back, tricking herself into believing she might see those she sought. But there was only ever the fire flickering through the branches, and beyond it the endless dark. As she made plans in her head to circle round and search for Lucanus and Weylyn, she looked up and saw Amarina stiffen. ‘What is it?’ she hissed.

  Her companion snarled a curse and raced away.

  Catia pounded after her. Whatever Amarina had seen, it possessed her. She scrambled over rocks and fallen trees, leapt a brook, and clawed her way up a steep slope without pausing for breath.