Shadowland (34 page)

‘Are
you telling me we’re lost?’ chided Uther. ‘I thought that druids didn’t get
lost?’ His stomach growled again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not used to missing a meal.’

Merlyn
fished in his bag and pulled out a hard biscuit. ‘Stop apologising, and eat
this.’ He threw it across to Uther. ‘We’re not lost, we’re finding our way
perfectly well. It’s just a little hard to backtrack after so many years...
ahhh
, yes, this may well be what we’re looking for.’

After
a few paces, they could see a large clump of impenetrable brambles looming as a
dark shadow through the trees. When they got closer, Uther began leading his
mare around on a narrow animal path to the left.

‘No,
Uther, we’re not going round we’re going in. This is what we’ve been looking
for.’ Merlyn held up his staff, and then thinking better of it, lowered it
again and turned to Uther. ‘Watch the path for me, Uther. I thought I heard
riders just then.’

With
a frown, Uther turned and studied the trees; he hadn’t heard anything. He
strained his ears for any telltale movements that might announce someone
coming, but there was nothing. Merlyn coughed behind him, there was a rustle of
branches and leaves, and when he turned back, Merlyn was studying him
sheepishly. The druid quickly pivoted back to the brambles.

‘Oh
look,’ he cried, ‘a path! I hadn’t noticed that
before... had you?’

Sure
enough, slightly to the side of them was a path leading into the brambles.
Uther cast a questioning look at Merlyn, which the druid avoided as he
disappeared into the dim confines of a thorny passage. Uther followed.

For
about twenty paces, they had to be careful of thorns, and then the growth
thinned and they emerged into an open glade, which Uther immediately recognised
as a druid’s circle. He felt a rising sense of unease as they dismounted and
allowed the horses free reign to crop the lush grass.

Within
the confines of the brambles, large stones were set at regular intervals
defining the edge of a circle, each stone rising to about waist height.

‘Where
are we, Merlyn... and why are we here?’

‘You’re
perfectly safe, boy; trust me. We’re going to enter the circle. You may feel a
slightly... strange feeling as we do so. Don’t be alarmed. It’s all perfectly
natural and nothing here will harm you, I promise.’

Drawing
a deep breath, Uther stepped past the closest stone and onto the rich green
grass of the inner circle. A slight tingling travelled throughout his body and
a dry whisper filled his senses, it was almost as if the glade had suddenly
become host to a swarm of invisible flies. Gathering his resolve, he walked on,
taking comfort from an understanding look from Merlyn.

Together,
they slowly made their way towards a larger stone that dominated the centre of
the circle, the distance taking far longer to cross than felt possible. It was
like walking through a fevered dream. Uther raised his eyes to look out at the
surrounding trees. They were swaying, and it was hard to focus on them. Light
reflected in splashes from the leaves in bright sparkling patterns. It was as
if they were moving within a different time and space... and there was no other
sound than the whispering of the stones.

In
this dream-like state, Uther’s mind returned to the day, so many years ago,
when he had leapt from a high cliff and down into the deep, green depths of the
lake near his village. He had struggled towards the surface, gagging for
breath, his ears filled with a hissing rush of bubbles. He remembered gazing up,
there had been the same strange patterns of light, reflecting on the surface
above him, guiding him to safety, the same lights he was seeing now in the
trees around the glade.

The
whispering grew louder, drawing his attention back to the central stone. It was
of equal height to the other stones, was roughly square, and had a flat top
like a small table. Absently, he noticed a strange symbol standing proud on one
face. Then, unbidden, he felt his hands reach for Excalibur. He glanced at
Merlyn, and the druid nodded as he drew the sword.

‘All
is as it was meant to be, Uther.’ Merlyn’s voice echoed loud in his ears. ‘This
sword was a gift from spirit. It came to you at a time of need, and now you
return it for Arthur to claim when his time is right. Strike it deep!’

The
whispering vibration within the circle increased to a climax, and Uther felt
little more than an observer as, clutching the sword for the last time, he
raised it over his head and stabbed down and the blade slid half its length
into the centre of the stone. He heard a rasping sound as it entered, but felt
no resistance. It was more a sensation of acceptance from the stone as the
sword slid home.

Uther
found himself, one long moment later, staring at the sword embedded almost to
the hilt, as if he were waking from a dream. Glancing about, he realised he
could now see and hear properly again, the strange whispering that had filled
the glade now replaced by bird song and the breeze blowing through the
treetops.

‘Try
to pull it from the stone.’ Merlyn gestured to the weapon, once so familiar.
Regarding it closely, Uther now felt detached, as if something more than the
sword had gone from his side. There were no feelings of remorse or regret, and
he gave the hilt only one small experimental tug, knowing he would be unable to
free it.

‘It
waits now for Arthur. It will be here ready for when he needs it.’ Taking Uther
by the arm, Merlyn led him from the circle. They walked the horses through the
bramble path and only mounted once they were out amongst the trees of the Weald
again. They set off and Merlyn began talking of finding some food to break
their fast and of the new castle
that they should build in Camulod. Uther glanced back. There appeared to be
little sign of any path into the impenetrable brambles now guarding Excalibur
and his mind immediately began the process of questioning what had happened.

‘It’s
time we built a fortress from stone,’ continued Merlyn, breaking into Uther’s
thoughts. ‘The Romans left us plenty of material at Camulod. Of course, the
Saxons pulled most of their buildings down when they fought the Iceni, but the
stone remains. It would make a fine place for the
Pendragons
’
to rule from, and there are now masons among us able to construct it. I happen
to know that Berin is very keen to oversee the project.’

As
Merlyn chattered happily, Uther rode in silence with a growing feeling that his
time was now over. He had brought the land to a relative peace, the tribes
united under a ruling council over which he presided. The Saxon invaders had,
for the time being, become peaceful settlers. True, their numbers were growing,
and there were now Angles, Jutes, and Gauls joining them, but there were
representatives from each group sitting at the large round council table, and a
peace was holding while they all called themselves Britons.

Then,
of course, there was Arthur. The boy had been the centre of his happiness ever
since his birthing, one storm-lashed winter night. He had grown, as Merlyn was
quick to point out, to be a fine young man who would become a strong,
formidable king able to lead and inspire generations, there was nothing
remaining for Uther Pendragon to resolve. Maybe it was time for Usher to return
and see the land, to run free, and to live.

****

Calvador Craen stopped his
pacing and glanced round at his audience. ‘So there you have the conclusion of
this tale. Arthur, as I’m sure you all know, went on to be one of the greatest
kings this land has ever known, while Uther decided to slip away and live some
time as Usher, the village boy who had once been burned out of his village.
However, there was a problem for Usher.’

Cal
crouched down and laid his hands upon the old
storyteller’s knees. ‘When Merlyn saved your life, Uther, he interfered with
more than just your death. Do you remember what Clarise said before you fought
Horsa for the final time? She said that two would begin, unsure of their
future... that another would remain without knowledge of his past... and that
the vanquished would walk the shores of the shadowland, without hope of past,
present, or future.

‘Well,
both Merlyn and Clarise paid their price for their parts that day, by starting
their lives in ignorance of who they really were, the druids had to awaken
them. Horsa, even now, walks the shadowland as the vanquished, and you... ’ He
sighed, and then stared into the old storyteller’s eyes, searching for the
friend he once knew so well.

‘The
final judgment of the spirits that day was that you would remain in the land
you so loved without any knowledge of your past. Uther, you have walked this
land now for more than a thousand years, unaware of who you are, or ever were.
Arthur and his knights searched for you for nearly thirty years without ever
finding a trace of where you had gone.’ Calvador Craen stood up and stared into
the fire. ‘Merlyn entered the shadowland in search of me. I don’t know how he
did it but the spirits allowed me to return here to find you.’ As he turned
back, there were tears in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry it took so long, Uther... I came
here to guide you back to spirit, to those that love you and have waited for
you all this time.’ Both old men glanced across to the fire as if hearing more
than the crackling flames.

‘Help
me up, Cal.’ Uther held up an arm and Calvador Craen gently pulled him to his
feet where he swayed for a moment brushing loose tobacco strands from his
waistcoat before addressing his audience for the final time.
‘My name, is Uther
Pendragon... you have known me as Usher Vance. Mine, as you now know, has been
a long and some would say interesting life.’ Brushing back a strand of long
silver-grey hair, the old storyteller gazed about again at the small audience
of attentive faces and smiled. ‘I’m sorry, my friends, but I must now depart
your company. I thank you for listening to my story. I hope that this evening
will leave you with stories enough to fill your midwinter eves for many years
to come.’

The two old friends turned towards the fire and, as
they did, they began to fade. It was as if their bodies slowly changed to
grains of sand and,
grain by grain,
were being blown away upon
a breeze. The ghostly figures walked forward, the fire flared as they passed through,
and then died back down to nothing as they vanished, leaving the gathering
strangely silent before the cold dead ashes.

*****

Now,
so many years later, you can still go back to that village on midwinter’s eve
and join the villagers as they gather around the fire; it’s a tradition.
However, just you mind that as they tell stories about that night and the price
that Uther Pendragon paid for their land, you don’t take to sitting in the old
leather chair by the fire. You see; it always remains vacant on midwinter’s
eve. Out of respect for the old storyteller, and the hope that one day he might
just return.

The End.

Thank you for reading
Shadowland, I hoped you enjoyed it, if you did then please post a review on the
site where you bought it. If you didn't enjoy it then please let me know! An
author only improves when he knows what his readers really think. You can
contact me at the following links.

Email:
[email protected]

Blog:
www.flightofthegriffin.blogspot.com

Twitter: @cgray129

Also by
C.M.Gray
:

The Flight of the Griffin

Chaos Storm