Shadowland (10 page)

The Briton took a further step back as Hengist
emerged from the hut to tower over them both.

‘I do not mock you, brother. I pity anyone foolish
enough ever to mock you. Go now… hunt. Kill; and find Constantine’s brats.’ He slapped a hand down
on Horsa’s shoulder and the two brothers embraced, then Horsa turned and strode
across to his horse, mounted, and rode out of the Saxon camp. Hengist turned to
the Briton. ‘Come, Silus, we have much to discuss before I meet with your
master.’

****

So
far, the morning had been a pleasant one for Usher and Cal. Meryn, in contrast,
had remained sullen and silent since they had left Witney at first light. The
archer had drunk his fair share of mead and ale the previous night and was
obviously feeling the worse for it.

When Meryn had risen to a sober dawn, and realised
none of the others that had sworn their allegiance to fight the Saxons were
coming, he became moody and resigned to going alone. Then, when the boys had
asked to join him, he reasoned they would at least be company, and agreed to
their plan. They were, after all, old enough to make their own decisions.

They had said their goodbyes to Witney, with Bell
Dale gathering the children for a tearful farewell. Cal had promised Clarise he would return for
her, and that this was the best place for her until he did; she had reluctantly
agreed.

The weather was pleasant, with no sign of the
previous week’s rain clouds; instead, by mid-morning, a warm sun was blessing
their journey and the boys, at least, were in good spirits. They were making
their way along one of the main Roman roads that stretched west across Britain,
all the way to holy Glastenning, which was close to where Meryn believed
Vortigern was assembling the tribes. Usher and Cal were trailing behind,
practicing their sword play, lopping the heads from dandelions and stabbing out
at unarmed bushes, which they imagined were murdering Picts, when the sound of
running feet made them both turn around.

‘Cal!
Cal, Usher, wait for me!’

‘Oh no, it’s Clarise!’ cried Cal, crestfallen, as his younger sister
bounded along the lane towards them wearing a big grin. ‘Clarise, go back! You
can’t come with us.’ He spun around to appeal to the only adult in the group.
‘Tell her, Meryn, tell her to go back.’ Meryn cast bleary eyes to the boys, and
then at Clarise, and shrugged his shoulders. Dropping his pack, he slumped down
beside the road, clearly uninterested in offering any assistance while the boys
dealt with Clarise.

‘I’m not going back,’ said Clarise, stubbornly.

Usher put his hand out to stop her. ‘Clarise, you
really can’t come. We’re going to... ’ Clarise glared up at Usher, and, before
he could finish speaking, she kicked him, hard, in the shin. ‘
Oww
! You little... ’ Usher spun around clutching at his
leg.

‘I’m not talking to you, Usher Vance.’ She turned to
Cal and her
face resumed its soft, pleading look. ‘Please, Calvador. You can’t make me stay
back in that boring village.
We’re
the family now. I miss Mamma and Papa and I don’t want to lose you as well. I’m
meant to be going with you, I know I am.’ She continued to look defiant but her
lip was trembling. Cal
opened his arms and she ran to him, sniffing back a tear. ‘Let me stay, Cal. I won’t be any
trouble.’

Cal
sighed. ‘Oh, Clarise.’ He
glanced across at Usher but he was busy rubbing some life back into his bruised
shinbone.

They stopped at mid-day for a light meal of dried
fruit, bread and hard cheese, and then continued walking until late into the
afternoon. Meryn had fallen back, still sullen and non-talkative, while Usher
was ahead, leaving Cal
and Clarise time to talk.

The Weald was to the south of them with open
grassland to the north and the Roman road continuing to run ahead, straight and
true into the distance. Like all Britons, they walked the well-trodden path at
its side whenever possible. The feel of cut-stone setts underfoot was an
unwelcome disconnection from the earth and, therefore, the spirits it was home
to. It was also the major reason the Roman villas continued to remain vacant
long after any claim to them had passed.
 

It was as they were approaching a part of the road
where the trees were growing thick to either side around a large muddy puddle,
that their journey took a sudden halt.

‘At last! Thee have arrived!’

Usher jumped back into Cal, as the cackling voice
came from the shadows, and they collapsed on the road, both scrabbling to get
away from the strange little man that leaped out at them. Meryn, awoken from
the depths of his sore head, dashed forward but quickly sheathed his sword when
he saw the only threat might be the ripe smell emanating from the unwashed
druid. For his part, the druid didn’t seem the least perturbed by their
reactions. He jumped about in great excitement, waving a branch of mistletoe
above his head with one hand as he leaped from one bare foot to the other. The
other hand was wildly swinging a staff about; flicking mud into Usher’s shocked
face in the process. He suddenly stopped and offered a toothless grin to each
in turn.

‘Thee are most welcome to my grove. I’ve been
waiting for thee most patiently.’

****

‘I…
I must rest a moment.’ The old storyteller leaned forward on his chair and
cradled his forehead on his arms.

Calvador Craen turned from the fire and half rose
with a look of concern for his friend. ‘Please... some cold ale for our
storyteller.’ He laid a hand on Usher’s shoulder. ‘Are you all right?’ Usher’s
breathing slowed and he gradually sat back into his chair. His face was flushed
and his eyes darted nervously around the room.

‘We met the druid that day… he… he was waiting for
us. He knew we were coming.’ Usher accepted a mug of ale and nodded his thanks
to the serving girl. After taking a long drink, he turned to Calvador with a
tear in his eye. Then, glancing about him, he cleared his throat and seemed to
gather himself.

‘I am sorry, my friends. It has been a long time,
and much of my story comes back to me as I tell it. Our meeting with the druid...
I had forgotten, can you believe that? It changed many things. Scared the
spirits from us for a time, eh, Cal?’

Calvador Craen nodded, and returned to his seat. ‘Do
you want to stop, or rest for a while?’

Usher shook his head. ‘No, I’m fine. It was just the
shock of the memories returning. When they come back into an old head like
mine, they tend to come with a bit of a jolt.’ He smiled at the looks of relief
around him. ‘Let me tell you about the trouble with druids. This was one of the
strangest people we’d ever met… eh, Cal?’

Calvador Craen smiled; relieved his old friend was
once again himself. ‘Tell us your story, Usher Vance. Remind me what the druid
had to say that day.’

Usher nodded, his brow creased in concentration and
the story continued.

Chapter Six – That’s the trouble with druids

The
branch of mistletoe flicked towards Meryn. ‘Thee ’ - the druid’s voice was
shrill and dry, like the screech of a crow at the moment it took flight -
‘shall remember who thee are and save a king!

Thee, ’
 
hopping from one foot to the other, the
druid’s branch swished across to Clarise, who let out a squeal and hid behind
Meryn’s legs, ‘will one day lead the druids.’ The strange old man stopped,
smiled, then popped an acorn into his mouth, and for a few moments, as they
watched in open-mouthed amazement, he went into facial contortions manoeuvring
the nut towards his few remaining teeth.

‘Is he a bit… ?’ began Cal, in a whisper, but Meryn hushed him
before he could finish.

Crunching the acorn happily, the druid turned
towards Usher and, with dirty robes flapping, sprang high into the air. As he
landed, he flicked out the mistletoe and cried. ‘Thee,’ a spray of half-chewed
acorn splattered Usher, ‘shall become a dragon! And thee,’ Cal drew back, ‘will walk the halls of
death!’ The old druid smiled, nodding around at them, clearly delighted to have
delivered his prophecy.

‘Is that it? Is he done?’ Cal asked, helping Usher up from the mud. ‘I
don’t like the sound of the halls of death much. I wonder what type of dragon
you’ll become?’

Usher smeared a muddy hand down Cal’s grinning face. ‘I am
not
going to turn into a dragon!’

‘I don’t like him,’ said Clarise, with a whimper,
‘he’s scary.’ She gazed around Meryn’s legs at the druid who was once again
chewing acorns and beaming happily. ‘And he smells funny.’

‘We thank you for your prophecy, Oh... wise druid,’
began Meryn, ‘but ask for some clarity on your… ’ He let out a cry of
exasperation as the druid emitted a screech and scampered back into the trees.

‘This may take some time,’ he explained in a tired
voice. ‘That’s the trouble with druids. They give you a small piece of utter
nonsense, then you have to coax them into unravelling what it might possibly
mean. It’s like trying to milk sense from a talking goat!’ He shouldered his
pack and set off after the old man.

‘A smelly goat,’ added Clarise, as she took Cal’s hand. They
followed after Meryn who was already disappearing into the trees.

The druid had hunkered down next to a path that led
into, what appeared to be, the gloom of a deep hole. Trees and bushes crowded
close to the top, while above floated a halo of flittering butterflies.

‘This is a druids’ well,’ muttered Meryn, as they
approached. ‘It will be strong with the spirits.’ Usher drew in a deep breath
and placed a protective hand upon Clarise’s shoulder as she edged closer
pushing between him and her brother
.

The
druid was humming and chatting happily to himself, squatting down with his bony
knees sticking out to either side of his filthy robes, casting rune stones into
the dirt between his feet.
 
The thirteen bone knuckles, each
carved with a different symbol, bounced across the ground and landed in
patterns through which the druid could unravel the mysteries of life, or so they
claimed.

Approaching cautiously, Usher glanced about, taking
in his surroundings as the others gathered around him.

From what he could see, it appeared the druid had
called the grove home for a number of years. A shallow cave in a rock appeared
to be his sleeping shelter. There was a small pile of tiny animal bones lying
next to the ashes of a fire as evidence that he ate more than just acorns.
While the worn area where he now squatted was obviously a location long
favoured for casting his runes. Tied into the trees on either side of the path were
small pieces of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

‘I think these must be his offerings left for the
spirits,’ muttered Meryn, as he tore a piece of cloth from his tunic and tied
it amongst the others. Hoping he was doing the right thing, Usher did the same.
The druid glanced up, beamed at him, and then continued his incomprehensible
chatter.

‘Well, we know why his clothes are rags now,’ said Cal, studying the trees
in wonder. ‘Most of his stuff must be up there.’ Meryn frowned at him and was
about to address the druid when the old man leapt up and landed in front of
Cal.

‘Thou dost dream of wolves… thee have...’ he leaned
in, peering deeply into Cal’s eyes and didn’t seem to notice when Cal pulled
back, wafting his hand in front of his face after smelling the druid’s breath,
‘the affinity.’

‘No I do not! I don’t have any such thing.’ As if
challenging his denial, the howl of a wolf came from the distant forest. The
druid beamed as Cal’s mouth dropped open, then
held up a dirty hand and shook his head before Cal could dispute the claim any further.

‘They follow thee, waiting for thy dreams,’ keened
the druid happily.

‘Please,’ broke in Meryn. ‘We are unused to the
druid ways. Do you have some guidance for us?’

‘Unused
to the druid ways!’ the druid burbled happily, and then wiggled his branch of
mistletoe at Meryn.
‘I have told thee much, if
thou
would but listen.’ He rummaged in the folds of his cloak. ‘Though there is more
to tell. Thou, for instance, hast healing hands. Though thou art also a fine
warrior; brave, loyal, courageous, yet kind and somewhat… stupid at the moment.’
He chuckled as Meryn’s face flushed red and his hand twitched towards his
sword.

‘Take no offence, thou dost not remember thy true
self, and all are necessary attributes for a warrior such as thee. Here,’ he
reached back and, as if from nowhere, produced a cloth bag which he tossed to
the startled Meryn, ‘a gift.’ The druid watched, but went back to cracking
acorns, as Meryn reached into the bag and pulled out a silvery, shining helmet.

‘I hope we all get one of those,’ said Cal, gazing at the helm in
awe.

The druid cackled merrily. ‘Thou hast thy wolves… walker
of death!’

‘Lucky old me,’ muttered Cal.

Meryn carefully tried the helmet on. It covered his
head well; had a nose-guard of bronze and ear-plates hinged with more bronze,
cast in the images of boar.

‘The boar is thy companion, warrior. Its spirit
walks with thee, and like thee, it is … somewhat stupid and forgetful.’ His
face split into a near toothless grin. ‘But loyal to its own, brave, and when
cornered…
deadly
. Wear it well. For it
is made to be worn by thee and thee only.’