The Shadow Ruins

by Glen L. Hall

  ‘They’re going to try and stop us at the head of the estuary!’ he called.

  He turned to Eagan, who seemed oblivious to anything other than striking the oars into the murky waters.

  ‘Eagan!’

  Eagan began to feel the boat slowing down once more. He could see Sam standing and facing the south bank, which was cloaked in darkness. He felt the hot wind again and the strange feeling of electricity sending subtle vibrations through his body. Whatever had attacked them a few moments ago was going to strike again.

  The boat came to a complete stop and Eagan could no longer set the oars against the current. It felt as if they had hit a sandbank. The boat was now still and Eagan was sliding his long knives out into the night and moving to stand beside Sam and Emily.

  ‘What is it, Sam?’

  Sam didn’t take his eyes from the south shore as he replied, ‘They are there waiting. And I can no longer hear the voice of the Fall. We are alone.’

  High above them came a short caw that sounded like a command.

  On the south shore a roar answered the call, and only then did the companions understand the scale of the horde that was hiding in the grassland over a mile in length.

  Eagan thought of the Forest Reivers who had faced this horde in the confines of Birling Wood and his heart sank.

  Emily’s voice died in her throat as she caught sight of a winged fiend, scaled and feathered. Eagan had seen it too, circling the boat just on the edge of his vision like a giant vulture.

  But the first attack came against Sam. The beast hurled itself out of the sky, missing him by inches as he twisted away from its claws, and went hissing away over the dark waters. It would only be moments until it came again, and he knew if he fell, it would attack Eagan, and then only Emily would be left. Didn’t that prove this was all about her?

  Then the creature was back, flying lower this time. Once again Sam swerved, but he wasn’t quick enough A wing caught him and he fell backwards, with all his strength knocked out of him, and hit his head on the wooden bottom of the boat.

  Out of the night came the feathered beast once more, this time aiming for Eagan. He raised his knives. It flew low, trying to rake his face with its long grasping claws, but he twisted and rolled across the floor of the boat, slashing the fiend with all his fear and might combined. It swung out across the estuary and met the jeers of the crow-men, who were now entering the waters a second time, desperate to reach the boat. A poisonous reek burned Eagan’s nostrils.

  The beast wheeled round and continued its attack. A low claw wrenched one of Eagan’s knives from his grasp and hurled it into the water. Steadying himself, he gripped the remaining knife with both hands. As it turned again, he drove the knife up into its chest with all his strength.

  There was a horrifying wail that for a second silenced the horde. Then the creature fell, landing on the prow of the boat, a hideous abhorrence that should not have been amongst the living. But it was still amongst the living. As Eagan stood staring at it in horror, a claw reached out to the knife protruding from its scaled and feathered chest, and with a sickening movement, pulled it out and tossed it almost contemptuously into the sea.

  ‘I seek the girl.’ It was the chill voice that Eagan had heard in his father’s garden.

  ‘Why do you seek the girl?’

  Eagan was standing between the creature and Sam and Emily. He did not want to feel the poison in his blood, but neither would he run. Emily kept her face turned away, huddled down in the boat and holding on to Sam, who was floating in and out of consciousness.

  ‘She is in danger,’ came the surprising response. ‘The Ruin has sent its servants into your world and you cannot hope to stop them. My mistress is her only hope. The Otherland is coming and winter will come to the Fall in her last days. They are not far off now. My mistress is not your enemy, as the Keepers would have you believe. She will be here soon.’

  Sam’s head swam. He could hear a voice that sounded like the one he had heard beneath the Fellows’ House. Was this real? His head was pounding and he was finding it difficult to think straight.

  ‘The girl isn’t going anywhere,’ Eagan said flatly.

  The beast looked straight through him. ‘Say what you like, Eagan Reign, the Ruin’s servants are coming. Even the Druids cannot stand in their way.’

  ‘How do you—?’

  There was a horrible thud and suddenly a white-feathered arrow was protruding from the creature’s throat.

  It staggered back, stunned, its long hooked claws grasping at the arrow. Then a second arrow took it though the heart. Its wings began to flap, but it was lifeless as it crashed into the water.

  Instantly the Celtic Flow sprang back into life, and Eagan didn’t waste any time grabbing the oars and putting his back into escaping from the estuary. Cutting through the waters, he found the mouth of the Aln blocked by thrashing crow-men, but there were deadly arrows coming in now from both the left and the right. It was as if they were opening up a path through the horde, and Eagan seized his chance.

  Emily was sitting holding Sam’s head, pale with fright. They were now approaching the closest point to the southern shore and both she and Eagan could see the horde gathered there. More were crashing into the water, desperate to reach them.

  ‘There are so many of them!’ Emily wailed.

  Then a single horn blast sounded somewhere in the night.

  ‘Over there!’ Emily twisted round, pointing.

  Eagan raised his eyes for a split-second. A line of ghostly figures, bows held against their faces, was still firing arrows back towards the estuary. Even in the darkness, their skin shone silver.

  ‘Who are they?’ Emily cried.

  Wordlessly, Eagan shrugged.

  Emily watched the archers for long moments as the boat was jostled by the incoming waves, but Eagan didn’t stop rowing until the small boat was through the last of the dying crow-men and moving beyond the estuary and out onto the dark sea.

  The Dead Wood

  Brennus knelt on the edge of the Dead Water, stunned and unable to stand. He held his hand out as the old man approached, stepping gently through the now calm waters.

  As the old man took him in his arms, he found himself brought to tears. The old man tenderly took him by the arm and led him from the chill waters back to the stony beach.

  Brennus could barely speak for the burning poison that was moving through his body.

  The old man placed his hand on Brennus’s head. He began to hum, then speak words that Brennus did not understand. The words changed and became vibrations coursing through his body. He couldn’t help but weep as a burning pain took hold of him, but the old man held him close until the agony left his body and his head fell forwards, sinking into the warmth of the old man’s robes.

  ‘Brennus, Brennus, my child, forgive me, but such poison cannot be left in a man’s body.’

  ‘I remember you,’ whispered Brennus. ‘All those years ago, you and Oscar brought a child to me. But now I have betrayed your trust and come on a fool’s errand. I have let my brother sacrifice himself. And for what?’

  He looked into the old man’s eyes and was overcome by their kindness and understanding.

  ‘All is well. I met that child only yesterday.’

  Brennus looked up, his grey hair and beard dishevelled, but a look of hope in his eyes.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On the outskirts of the Otherland searching for the Garden of Druids. I could not stay too long, because I needed to be here. There is another who will come through this place before the day’s end and you must be gone when she does. She is fully awake now and I have not felt such energy for a very long time.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’

  ‘You will understand soon enough. But first there are others who are approaching these waters.’

  He st
ood, leaving Brennus kneeling on the short beach, and turned back to the lake, striding into it until it was almost to his waist. He raised his hands and called out. Brennus could not make out the words, but he knew the voice was no longer that of an old man. He knelt there, taken aback by the voice that thundered across the lake and out into the boundless Northumberland night.

  It wasn’t long before the Dead Water answered the call. The water around the old man began to tremble, then light flickered from its surface and merged with the spray of geysers shooting up into the air. Brennus could feel and taste the energy as the old man directed the light and water until a figure appeared, silhouetted against the shimmering light. He was a giant, dressed in what looked to Brennus like armour. He seemed strangely out of place as he emerged from the swirling clouds of rainbow light and towered above the old man. His skin was black, as if charred by fire, his head bald, his face hidden behind a singed beard that had once been neatly trimmed.

  In his arms he was holding an unmoving figure.

  ‘Fer Benn.’

  When he spoke, his voice seemed to rumble from the depths of a bottomless cavern.

  ‘The Rower is wounded.’

  Brennus couldn’t help but edge into the lake, trying to get a closer look at the unmoving figure, but the light and water obscured his view.

  ‘Bring him to me, friend,’ said the old man.

  The knight walked towards him.

  Once more the old man lifted his hands high into the air, the brown sleeves of his tunic falling back to reveal thin and wrinkled arms, but Brennus could see and feel energy coursing through the frail figure. The waters began to tremble again and then shoot high into the night. Soon the Dead Water was roaring back into life, sending up great spouts of frothing water until the man and his unmoving charge were veiled in fizzing energy with a magic that seemed to run through every molecule.

  When the water fell back, they were gone.

  The old man stood for long moments looking out across the dark waters, then turned again to Brennus.

  ‘Make haste to leave this place. The Ruin’s servants are again in the world of men. In the end you cannot hope to outrun them. You must prepare to make your stand. There is a talisman that was taken from the unknown tree and given to Oscar by the Elves. It is known as the Staff of the Druids. You will find it in the last house of the Druids on Holy Island. That staff is your only way into the Darkhart. The Druids used it to create the Dead Wood – there is no way in without it.’

  ‘The Staff of the Druids,’ Brennus repeated.

  ‘Yes,’ continued the old man. ‘The last of the Druids will need it to unlock the energy, the magic, of our beloved First Light in the heart of darkness. If this is not done, then the Fall will perish and the Ruin will come again into the Three Kingdoms.’

  ‘Where exactly is it?’ asked Brennus eagerly.

  But the old man did not answer, as the calm of the Dead Water was broken by a flow of light and water that came sharply together. A woman was emerging slowly from the dark waters, her face pale and her hair blood red.

  ‘The Morrigan,’ Brennus said to himself. He was entranced, his weariness forgotten.

  As she rose from the waters, he saw she was cradling a form against her bosom, and this time he saw it clearly.

  ‘Drust!’

  He tried to move forwards, but the old man held out a hand to stop him.

  ‘Be still.’

  The old man turned back to the woman.

  ‘Father, I could not leave him.’

  Her voice was musical, yet strong and forceful. The sound echoed through Brennus, yet she seemed not to notice him as he stood there waist-deep in the water.

  ‘Daughter, bring this child to me, for I must at least free him from his journey.’

  Brennus watched as the form dressed in light approached the frail elderly figure. He could see Drust clearly now. His clothes were torn and bloodstained, and he was pale and still.

  Gazing at his brother, Brennus felt the strength run out of his own body. Remembering how he had asked Drust to act as a decoy, drawing the Shadow to him on Hadrian’s Wall, he bent his head and sobbed.

  As the woman reached the old man, with great strength she held Drust out before her. In reply, the old man reached out and placed a slender hand on his forehead. Instantly a surge of electricity skipped across the waters. The old man then lowered his head as he spoke words that cascaded through Brennus, unfamiliar sounds that seemed to sting his face and leave him almost breathless.

  A rumble across the Dead Water answered the old man’s words. This time the water around him, Drust and the woman seemed to spin, then spiral upwards, shooting high into the night. Brennus stared, open-mouthed, entranced by the sparkling show of light and water as it turned on itself in the air and fell twisting back to earth.

  Then he heard a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Drust!’

  Stumbling through the water, he made his way to the woman. Shuddering at the intrusion, she turned her gaze on him and he felt it pass right through him. But his brother was coughing. Without a word, he took him from the Faerie’s arms and turned back to the shore.

  Breathing heavily, he reached the stony beach and placed Drust gently on the damp ground.

  ‘Drust, Drust, I’m so sorry… I never meant for you to come to harm. I know I asked you…’ He could say no more as his tears fell on Drust’s pale face.

  Drust was breathing more easily now, but he was still unconscious.

  The old man came to the edge of the water and stood there watching them.

  Behind him the woman had turned to look out across the lake. ‘Father,’ she called, ‘I don’t think we can stay here much longer, for the Otherland is in the water and in the air.’

  ‘I feel it too.’

  The old man turned to Brennus. ‘Watch your brother closely.’

  Brennus was only half listening, stroking Drust’s face. The colour was coming back into his cheeks.

  ‘Father, we have no time – they are coming!’

  The old man nodded.

  ‘Now remember, you must find the Druids’ staff. Without it, the way to the Darkhart will be closed. So, form a new fellowship. In seven days’ time you must be ready – the fellowship must be ready.’

  He turned away and started walking out to his daughter, who was standing waiting for him.

  Then Brennus felt hands grabbing hold of him.

  ‘Brennus! Where am I?’

  ‘Drust, wait—’

  Brennus put an arm round his brother, but his eyes were following the old man, who had now reached his daughter. They stood there together, reflected in the still water.

  The old man looked back at him. ‘You must go. Go!’

  Without another word, Brennus pulled Drust to his feet and led him up the short beach.

  * * * * * *

  Brennus stopped before the wall of twisted trunks, remembering his journey through the suffocating wood that bordered the lake and wondering how he would get himself and Drust over the steep mountain pass that he had come down only hours before. That had been bad enough and then he’d been fit and without his injured brother. Whichever route they took, there would be no easy paths from here. They were high up in the borderland and the journey to Holy Island would be tortuous.

  ‘Brother, where am I?’

  ‘You are at the Dead Water, but you are safe. The Faeries saved you.’

  ‘Ah yes, I remember. The Morrigan saved me.’

  ‘How do you feel? Can you travel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then we should go,’ said Brennus, but even as he said the words he couldn’t help but take one final look back at the old man.

  What he saw terrified him. On the dark horizon, shadows were rising from the lake’s surface, turning the water to ice. Then they too
k form. They were taller than any man, dark and heavy-set. He was horrified to think what the old man and his daughter were about to face, alone and without help.

  ‘Shadow Ruins.’ The words came from Drust.

  ‘What are they?’ asked Brennus. ‘Are they from the Underland?’

  ‘No. Come, we must go, brother.’

  Brennus’s eyes were fixed on the old man and his daughter. They were standing together, motionless, as both the figures and the ice moved inexorably towards them.

  ‘Is there nothing we can do?’

  ‘We cannot achieve anything here. We must find another way.’

  But Brennus was still staring at the spectacle unfolding before him. ‘Look at those numbers! The Faeries will never survive. They saved us both, Drust. Don’t we owe it to them to at least stand with them?’

  ‘Don’t underestimate them. Come now,’ Drust took his brother’s arm, ‘it’s time to reunite with Sam and discuss our next step.’

  With one final look, Brennus allowed himself to be led into the dense wood.

  * * * * * *

  A suffocating wind was choking him and roots were beginning to coil around his legs. His eyes were watering, his throat starting to sting.

  ‘Let’s get moving,’ he managed to say.

  ‘There is a magic in this wood,’ gasped Drust, leaning heavily against him. ‘We are not welcome here, brother. This place is weary of the living. The trees are fearful. They can sense the changes already taking place. Things are beginning to move – nothing can stop it. We must have some purpose as yet unrealised, or we would not be leaving this place.’

  ‘I am just pleased we are together again and can still help Sam. I have much to tell you, Drust, but let’s get out of here first. I can’t bear it a moment longer.’

  Brennus took them what he guessed to be north, but the wood was confusing. Its dark interior spread out before them like an impossible maze.

  ‘I really dislike this wood!’

  ‘It is an unnatural place,’ Drust agreed. ‘The wood and valley protect the Dead Water and the flow cannot reach here. Those who tried to use it would be helpless. I have never known anything like it.’