Mythago Wood - 1 (35 page)

I dropped to a crouch, then ran to a small boulder and ducked behind it. I
saw no more movement and stepped cautiously into the lee of a stooping,
carbonized oak.

He rose from the ground like a wraith, no more than five paces from me, a
shadow emerging from the shade. I recognized him at once. He was holding a
long-bladed sword. He was dripping with sweat and had stripped down to a
saturated dark-grey woollen shirt, opened to the waist, and loose cloth
trousers, tied at the calves to stop them flapping. There were two recent cuts
on his face, one of which had gashed across his eye. He looked vile and violent,
grinning through the dark beard. He held his sword as easily as if it was made
of wood, and came slowly towards me as he spoke.

'So you've come to kill me, brother. You've come to do the deed.'

'Did you think I wouldn't?'

He stopped, smiled and shrugged. Ramming his sword into the ground he seemed
to lean on it. 'I'm disappointed, though,' he said evenly. 'No stone-age spear.'

'I left the sharp end in your right-hand man. The Fenlander. Back in the
woods.'

Christian looked surprised at that, frowning slightly and glancing beyond
Peredur's stone. "The Fenlander? I thought I'd sent him to the Underworld
myself.'

'Apparently not,' I said calmly, but my thoughts were racing. What was
Christian saying? Was he implying that there had been a civil war within his
band? Was he alone, now, alone and abandoned by his troop?

'I must say, Steven, I'm impressed by your doggedness. I thought I'd hanged
you at Oak Lodge. Then I sent six men back to settle with you by the river. What
happened to them, I wonder?'

"They're all face down in the river, well eaten by fish by now.'

'Shot, I suppose,' he said bitterly.

'Only one,' I murmured. "The rest just weren't good enough swordsmen.'

Christian laughed disbelievingly, shaking his head. 'I like your tone, Steve.
Arrogant. That's a strength. You really
are
determined to be the avenging
Kinsman.'

'I want Guiwenneth. That's all. Killing you is less important. I'll do it if
I have to. I'd prefer not.'

Christian's slow circling motion stopped. I held my Celtic blade menacingly
and he cocked his head, examining the weapon. 'Nice little toy,' he said with
cynicism, scratching his belly through the dark grey material of his shirt.
'Useful for vegetables, I don't doubt.'

'And Hawks,' I lied.

Christian was surprised. 'You killed one of my men with that?'

'Two heads, two hearts . . .'

For a second my brother was silent, but then he just laughed again. 'What a
liar you are, Steve. What a noble liar. I would do the same myself.'

'Where's Guiwenneth?'

'Well, now. There's a question. Where's Guiwenneth? Where indeed?'

'She escaped from you, then.'

Relief, like a bird, had begun to flutter in my chest.

'Answer me, Chris! Or I swear I'll cut you down!' Anger made me sound
ridiculous.

'I've had a little trouble, Steve. I let her go. I let them all go.'

'Your band turned against you, then.'

'They're turning in their graves, now.' He chuckled coldly. 'They were
foolish to think they could overpower me. They hadn't been reading their
folklore. Why, only the
Kinsman
can kill the Outsider. I'm honoured,
brother. Honoured that you've come this far to put an end to me.'

His words were hammer blows. By 'let go' he meant killed. Oh God, had he
killed Guiwenneth too? The thought overpowered my reason. Already hot enough to
drop, I felt only anger, and the red heat of hate. I ran at Christian, swinging
my sword wide and hard. He backed away raising his own blade and laughing as
iron rang on steel. I struck again, low down. The sound was like the dull
tolling of a bell. And again, at his head - and again, a thrusting blow to his
belly. My arm ached as each stroke was parried with a jarring, ferocious blow
from Christian's own sword. Exhausted, I stopped, and stared at the flickering
shadows cast by the fire across his savage, grinning features. 'What's happened
to her?' I said, breathless and aching.

'She'll be here,' he said. 'In her own time. A handy little girl, that. . .
with a knife . . .'

And as he spoke he pulled open his dark shirt and showed me the spreading
bloodstain over his belly that I had taken for dark sweat. 'A good strike. Not
fatal, but close to fatal. I'm draining away, but of course ... I shan't
die
.
. .' He growled as he spoke, then. 'Because only the
Kinsman
can kill
me!'

I was shaking like a leaf, my lips slack, my mouth dry with shock.

'So this is the great Kinsman,' he roared, irony and anger tainting the
words. "This is the warrior who came to kill his brother. Knees knocking,
teeth chattering, a pathetic excuse for a soldier!'

There was nothing useful to be said. The hot blade was gently cutting more
deeply into my neck. Christian's eyes seemed almost literally to blaze.

'I think they'll have to rewrite the legend,' he murmured with a smile.
'You've come a long way to be humiliated, Steve. A long way to end up a
grinning, flyblown head on his own sword.'

In desperation I flung myself away from his blade, ducking down and more than
half hoping for a miracle. I faced him again and was shocked at the death mask
that was his face, his lips drawn back exposing white teeth that now glowed
yellow. He swept his sword from side to side, a blur of speed and wind, as
regular as a heartbeat. Each time the point passed by, the tip touched my
eyelids, my nose, my lips. I backed steadily away. Christian stepped steadiiy
after me, taunting me with his skill.

All at once he tripped me with the sword, dealt me a stinging blow to the
buttocks, then lifted me to my feet, the sharp edge below my chin. As before, in
the garden, he pushed me back against a tree. As before, he had the better of
me. As before, the scene was ringed by fire.

And Christian was an old and weary man.

'I don't understand.'

Christian hesitated for a moment and then, to my surprise, released me and
backed away. He walked a few paces towards the fire. I remained where I was,
clutching the tree for support, but aware that my own sword was close by.

With his back to me, stooping slightly as if in pain, he said, 'Do you
remember the boat, Steve? The
VoyagerT

'Of course I do.'

I was astonished. What a time to get nostalgic. But this was no mere soft
memory. Christian turned back towards me and now he glowed with a new emotion:
excitement. 'Remember when we found it? The day with the old Aunt? That little
ship came out of Ryhope Wood as good as new. Remember that, Steve?'

'As good as new,' I agreed. 'And six weeks later.'

'Six weeks,' Christian said dreamily. 'The old man knew. Or thought he did.'

I pushed away from the tree and gingerly stepped towards my brother. 'He
referred to the distortion of time. In his diary. It was one of his first real
insights.'

Christian nodded. He had let his sword relax. The perspiration poured from
him. He looked vacant, then in pain. He seemed almost to sway. Then his focus
sharpened.

'I've been thinking a lot about our little
Voyager,'
he said, and
looked up and around. 'There's more to this realm than Robin Hood and the
Twigling.' His gaze fixed on me. 'There's more to legend than heroes. Do you
know what's beyond the fire? Do you know what's through there?' With great
difficulty he used his sword to point behind him.

'They call it
Lavondyss,' I
said.

He took a difficult step forward, one hand on his side, the other using his
sword as a stick.

'They can call it what they like,' he said. 'But it's the Ice Age. The Ice
Age that covered Britain more than ten thousand years ago!'

'And beyond the Ice Age, the interglacial, I suppose. And then the Ice Age
before that, and so on, back to the Dinosaurs . . .'

Christian shook his head, contemplating me with deadly seriousness. 'Just the
Ice Age, Steve. Or so I'm told. After all -' another grin - 'Ryhope Wood is a
very
small
wood.'

'What's your point, Chris?'

'Beyond the fire is the Ice,' he said. 'And within the Ice ... a secret
place. I've heard stories about it, rumours. A beginning place . . . something
to do with the Urscumug. And then, beyond the Ice there's the fire again. Beyond
the fire, the wildwood.' And then England. Normal time. I've been thinking about
the
Voyager.
Was it scarred and damaged as it sailed through the realm?
It must have been. It must have been here a lot longer than six weeks! But what
happened to that damage? Maybe . . . maybe it fell away. Maybe as it came
through the wood the realm took
back
the time it had imposed upon it. Do
you see what I'm saying? You've been here, how long? Three weeks? Four? But
outside, only a few days have passed, perhaps. The realm has
imposed
time
upon you. But perhaps it takes back that time if you go through it in the right
way.'

'Eternal youth . . .' I said.

'Not in the least!' he exclaimed, as if frustrated by my failure to
understand. 'Regeneration. Compensation. I'm fourteen, fifteen years older than
I would have been if I'd stayed at Oak Lodge. I think the realm will let me shed
those years, and the scars, and the pain, and the anger. . .' He suddenly
sounded as if he was imploring me. 'I've got to try, Steve. There's nothing left
for me now.'

'You've destroyed the realm,' I said. 'I've seen the decay. We have to fight,
Chris. You have to be killed.'

For a moment he said nothing to that, then made a sound halfway between scorn
and uncertainty.

'Could you really kill me, Steve?' he asked, with a quiet tone of menace in
his voice.

I made no answer. He was right, of course. I probably couldn't. I could have
done it in the heat of the moment, but watching this wounded, failing man, I
knew I could probably not strike the blow.

And yet . . .

And yet so much depended on me, on my courage, on my resolve.

I began to feel dizzy. The heat from the fire was exhausting, draining.

My brother said, 'In a way you
have
killed me. All I wanted was
Guiwenneth. But I couldn't have her. She loved you too much. It destroyed me.
I'd looked for her for too many years. The pain of finding her was too great. I
want to leave the realm, Steve. Let me go - '

Surprised by his words, I said, 'I can't stop you going.'

'You'll hunt me. I need peace. I need to find my own peace. I
must
know
that you won't be behind me.'

'Kill me then,' I said bluntly.

But he just shook his head and laughed ironically. 'You've risen from the
dead twice, Steven. I'm beginning to be afraid of you. I don't think I'll try it
a third time.'

'Well, thank you for that at least.'

I hesitated, then asked quietly, 'Is she alive?'

Christian nodded slowly. 'She's yours, Steve. That's how the story will be
told. The Kinsman showed compassion. The Outsider was reformed and left the
realm. The girl from the greenwood was reunited with her lover. They kissed by
the tall white stone . . .'

I watched him. I believed him. His words were like a song that brings tears
to the eyes.

'I shall wait for her, then. And thank you for sparing her.'

'She's a handy little girl,' Christian repeated, touching his stomach wound
again. 'I had very little choice.'

Something in his words . . .

He turned from me and walked towards the fire. The thought that I was about
to bid a glad adieu to my brother stopped me thinking about Guiwenneth for a
moment.

'How will you get through?'

'Earth,' he said, and reached for his cloak. He had piled soil into the hood.
He held the garment like a sling; with his free hand he gouged a handful of dirt
from the ground and flung it into the fire. There was a splutter and a sudden
darkening of the flame, as if the earth had swamped the conflagration.

'It's a question of the right words and sufficient dirt to scatter through
the flames,' he said. 'I learned the words, but the quantity of Mother Earth is
a problem.' He glanced round. 'I'm a pretty poor shaman.'

'Why not go along the river?' I said as he began to swing the cloak. 'That's
your easiest option, surely. The
Voyager
made it through that way?'

'River's blocked to people like me,' he said. The cloak was swinging in a
great circle around his head. 'And besides, that's
Lavondyss
beyond the
fire.
Tir-na-nOc,
dear Steven. Avalon. Heaven. Call it what you like.
It's the unknown land, the beginning of the labyrinth. The place of mystery. The
realm guarded not against
Man
but against Man's curiosity. The
inaccessible place. The unknowable, forgotten past.' He looked round at me, as
he swung the heavily laden cloak. 'When so much is lost in the dark of time
there must be a myth to glorify that lost knowledge.' Back to the fire, stepping
forward as he spoke. 'But in
Lavondyss
the place of that knowledge still
exists. And that's where I'm going first, brother.
Wish me luck!'

'Luck!' I cried, as he flung the dirt from the cloak. The flames roared, then
died, and for an instant I saw the icy lands beyond, through the charred corpses
of trees.

Christian ran towards that temporary pathway through the surging fire, an old
man, heavily built, limping slightly as his wound jarred painfully. He was about
to achieve something that I had committed myself to preventing -save that he was
alone, now, and not with Guiwenneth. And yet I could scarcely bear to think of
what would happen to him in timeless
Lavondyss.
From hatred I had come
full circle and now felt an uncontrollable sadness that I would probably never
see him again. I wanted to give him something. I wanted something of his, some
memento, some piece of the life I had lost. And as I felt this, so I thought of
the oak-leaf amulet, still around my neck and warm against my chest. I began to
chase after him, tearing at the necklet, ripping the heavy silver leaf from its
leather binding.

'Chris!' I shouted. 'Wait! The oak leaf! For luck!'

And I threw it after him.

He stopped and turned. The silver talisman curved towards him and I realized
immediately what would happen. I watched in numb horror as the heavy object
struck him on the face, knocking him back.