Ross Lawhead (27 page)

“Remember,” Godmund said, reiterating the plan for the umpteenth time, “there are many paths through the Wild Caves that will take you to the Slæpismere—and all of them bend downwards. Once across the Slæpismere, look for any sign that might lead you, but remember that which you are pitched against is devious and diabolical.”

They were waiting for Ealdstan, and he was not soon in coming. From time to time Daniel glanced up at the large metal horn—the Carnyx—suspended in its small, blunt fortress. The great horn possessed an oddly attractive power. It was captivating, hypnotic. They would tear their eyes away, only to be unwittingly drawn back to it again.

Daniel wondered how many knights would wake up and where they'd be if ever the horn was blown. How would they know what to do?

Freya, however, was wondering what sort of enchantment empowered it and how it worked. Perhaps there was a rational, scientific explanation. Perhaps it was a vibrational thing.

A bell tolled from across the city, signaling the change of the watch, and Godmund made his good-bye. He embraced Swiðgar and Ecgbryt and wished the “fair lifiendes every good fortune and preservation on the journey,” which he hoped would be swift. He shook hands with them awkwardly and left.

Frithfroth puffed out his cheeks impatiently and scuffed his feet against the close-set green and red marble flagstones.

Removing his pipe and placing it in a small leather pouch, Swiðgar cleared his throat. “Time marches on,” he said firmly, “and so must we.”

“Hold,” said Modwyn. “He approaches.”

They turned to see Ealdstan striding across the square, a scowl on his face. He met them and turned his weary eyes to Daniel.

“Destroy it, boy,” he commanded. “Destroy whatever houses Gád's mortality—whatever the soul box contains—and all his spells and sorceries will unravel.”

Freya didn't appreciate being ignored in this exchange but was glad she didn't have to talk to the mean-spirited wizard. Daniel returned Ealdstan's gaze with a fixed face and gave a solemn nod.

“I won't let you down.”

Then, with a mournful look, Ealdstan sighed. “I truly wish it was not necessary for you to become involved.” He raised his hands and uttered in a steady voice:

“May the Hand that Makes guide your hearts, May the Light that Illumines shine on your path, And the One that Goes Between aid your steps.”

He dropped his hands unceremoniously.

Then he offered one final piece of advice. “Follow the water,” he said, and turned away. Modwyn frowned after him and turned to Freya. As she opened her mouth to speak, the alarm bell tolled violently. She stiffened, startled.

“Another attack!” Frithfroth exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear. He bowed quickly to Daniel and Freya. “Good-bye, children, may you return swiftly and whole, your task complete.” He rushed away with the two servants behind him.

“You must hurry,” Modwyn said, pushing Freya and Daniel towards the Carnyx building. “The entrance to the Wild Caves is within.” They dashed into it, closely followed by the knights, passing under a low archway, next to which stood several anxious guards. Once through the arch, large metal doors were swung shut and locked behind them.

The inside of the building was like a small maze. The walls and paths twisted and branched, making, supposedly, the centre easier to defend. The knights very quickly led them through the narrow passages. Looking up, Freya saw that it was the central chamber that housed the Carnyx suspended above their heads. Set into the wall was another pair of stone doors a foot wide, tilted back at an angle, like the doors to a bunker or storm cellar. Ecgbryt and Swiðgar flung these open, revealing a tunnel that sloped downwards.

Grabbing two silver lanterns and passing one to Ecgbryt, Swiðgar hurried them inside. With tremendous effort, he pulled both the stone doors closed. They met with an earth-shaking
thud
and sealed so that they were neat and flush with the other stones in the wall—as if there had never been a doorway there at all.

CHAPTER NINE
Trolls in Morven

1

Now . . .

Alex moved carefully among the loose rocks and stones that formed the base of Morven's northern slope. Its name could be translated from Gaelic as either Big Mountain or Big Hill. Its technical classification was a “graham,” but its name fit either way. At over seven hundred meters in height, it was certainly a big hill, though on the small side for a mountain. However, in contrast to the otherwise level plain of Caithness, it seemed enormous, being the only feature in an otherwise completely flat landscape.

The ascent was relatively gentle. Alex walked beside Reverend Maccanish, who had insisted on accompanying him and being his guide to the area once Alex had more fully explained what he expected to find, and what he would have to do once he found it. It took the reverend little time to change into hiking clothes and rubber boots. Alex changed into some heavier gear—motorcycle gear, actually. Tough, padded leather trousers and a padded leather jacket, reinforced in the forearms, upper arms, chest, and back with metal plates. He also grabbed a rucksack with different sorts of emergency provisions and a long black object, which he slung on his back. He finished by lacing up a pair of army-issue, steel-toe boots. And they set off.

They had walked only about forty-five minutes and had made it about halfway around the graham. It was a little after noon, so they stopped for a break.

“Are you sure it's a cave you're looking for here? I know of none around here.”

“There will be . . . something,” Alex answered. “But incidentally, do you know of any caves or other rock formations in the area?”

“No, nothing like that. Why, do you think it more likely we'll find the . . . creature there?”

“No, it's probably here,” Alex said, offering another oatcake to Maccanish. “We just have to keep our eyes open. And our ears.

Even our—” Alex paused. Even as he was about to say it, he caught a whiff of something rotten on the wind.

“What is it?” Maccanish asked, slightly alarmed, twisting around. “Do you see—?”

“No, it's alright,” Alex assured him. “Finish up,” he said, taking a long drink from his bottle of water. He packed his things together and brushed his hand over the long rectangular object wrapped in black that lay in his lap.

“Do you mind if I see it?” Maccanish asked, gesturing.

Alex thought for a moment and raised the black object— almost four feet long—and handed it to him.

Maccanish fumbled with it for a few moments and then found its rubberized handle and withdrew it from its scabbard.

“It's like no sword I've ever seen,” Maccanish said, holding it upwards. It had just one cutting edge, which sloped and tapered at the top so that the blunt end was completely straight to the tip. It had a grey, brushed finish, which meant it didn't shine or glimmer, except along the sharpened side. It was nearly five inches thick at its widest point and would have been heavy because of this, except that it had three irregularly spaced oblong holes to cut down on mass. A rivulet ran parallel to the cutting edge.

“It's the latest modern design,” Alex said with an ironic air. “I had it custom-made and designed, as well as stress-tested. I told them I was being commissioned by a Hollywood movie studio. I said I was making a vampire movie. It's high-strength, low-alloy steel that's been subzero treated and coated with a synthetic fluoropolymer. It cost a bloody fortune.”

“I can imagine,” Maccanish said, sheathing the sword once more. “And you've actually used this thing?”

“Just a couple times. When circumstance warranted it.”

“Would not a rifle or machine gun do better?”

Alex shook his head. “Not for what we're hunting.”

“My uncle has my great-grandfather's old Claymore, but I wouldn't put that up against this,” Maccanish said, handing it back to Alex.

“Ready?” Alex asked, standing up.

The reverend gathered his things together and stood. “Ready. Lead on.”

They set off again along the side of the mountain where the ground became firmer and covered with heather and ferns. The stench that Alex had smelt was still in the air and getting thicker.

“Do you know what that is?” he asked Maccanish. It was obvious what he was referring to.

“Something died. Maybe several things. Is it what we're looking for?”

“Could be. What's this crevice up here?”

It seemed as if there were a fold in the mountain, running from the peak to the foot. It showed bare rock where rainwater washed the plants away.

“It's just a burn. It fills to no more than a trickle when it rains.

There couldn't be anything there.”

“Listen, do you hear that?”

Maccanish tilted his head. “It's a sort of . . . buzzing. What does it mean?”

“It means it's worth a look.”

They started down the smooth, embedded rocks. The smell was almost overpowering now, the sick, sweet stench of rotting flesh—it felt like it was sitting in their throats. Bones, still yellow with brown decaying flesh on them were wedged in between the rocks, which a mass of flies were feeding and breeding off of.

“Disgusting,” Maccanish said.

Alex unslung his rucksack and flung it to the side. He kept his sword hitched up on his back. He was getting close, he could feel it. He tried to focus his mind as he descended farther; he tried to clear away any unnecessary thoughts from his consciousness.

It was the body of a cow that indicated the cave. It was sticking out, head and forelegs, from a clump of ferns, still mostly covered in skin but with bits of bone showing around the crown of the skull and the joints. On closer, and more gruesome, inspection, it was revealed not to be just half of a carcass but a whole one that was sticking out of a cave mouth, about four-by-five-feet wide and tall.

“You should stay here,” Alex told Maccanish, “if you're uncomfortable.”

The reverend didn't say anything; he came and stood closer to Alex.

“Well, in any case,” Alex said, drawing his sword and tossing the scabbard to the side, “stand a little farther off.”

Maccanish nodded and hung back as Alex advanced. It was good the reverend was here to see this. Someone in the village should see this being done, even if no one would believe his account—that is, if he even told anyone. Someone needed to bear witness.

Alex pulled a glow-stick from his pocket, snapped it, and hung it from his coat's lapel. The green, iridescent glow was eaten by the walls and reflected on a floor covered with skeletal remains and desiccated corpses of animals. The bones bore regular gashes along them, clustering on the knobby ends. “See that?” Alex said, indicating them. “Tooth marks.”

“Teeth of what?”

“At a guess? I'd say troll.”

“You're kidding. What, billy goat's gruff an' that?”

“Close enough to.”

“Are they . . . big?”

“Like you wouldn't imagine. Massive arms and hands. But slow at least. Stay out of reach and you'll do fine.” Alex shifted his weight on the uneven ground and kept his sword in front of him. He was sweating. He willed his heart to slow its humming pace. The cave continued and bore to the right. As Alex banked to the left to see down as far as possible, he noticed something was slumped up against the bend that he had mistaken for an outcropping.

“Wait,” he said, motioning. He stepped closer to it. It was as still as a stone, and as cold. Its bullet head was slumped forward onto its barrel-like chest. Arms the size of tree trunks were splayed outwards, palms up, fingers curled inwards. It had laughably small bowed legs and large flipper feet. But where its potbelly should have been was a gaping, sticky void. Dried entrails hung out of it, torn out and torn apart, gutted. Something had made a meal of it.

“It's dead,” Alex said, straightening. “Go on, take a look.”

“I wouldnae ha'e believed it,” Maccanish said, a thicker accent creeping into his voice. “How long has it been here? It couldnae have been here the whole time. Where did it come from?”

“It's odd, but I honestly don't know. There's some as say they grow from the rocks or that the peaty bogs birth them from the skulls of thieves and murderers. It's possible that they burrow up here, but from where, I have no idea. They like solid rock, though, that's true enough. They're related to the giants, you know.”

“Incredible. So is that it? It's dead—are we finished?”

“Unfortunately not. See, it's been killed, probably by something bigger. They usually go in pairs so it's poss— Oh, wait. Here we are.”

Alex had stood and was creeping farther into the tunnel.

Around the corner and slumped on the opposite end of the tunnel was the body of another troll. Not bigger this time, but smaller. It was likewise eviscerated, but its massive trunk-like neck was also torn up, nearly cut through completely.