by Kate Forsyth
The only sound was the wind rattling the branches, the angry roar of the river and the occasional clink of metal as one of the horses shook its mane or stamped its foot. Then Edithe sighed and said facetiously, ‘Very reassuring, thank ye, Nina.’
‘My pleasure,’ the witch answered, not smiling, and shook the reins so her patient horse leant into the weight of the caravan and began to draw it forwards once more.
The town reeve reluctantly unlocked the barricade for them, after shaking his head and telling them sternly it was his duty to warn them that the road that passed the ruined Tower of Ravens was not safe and he hereby abjured all responsibility for them. Nina thanked him with a strained smile, then one by one they crossed the bridge, the horses baulking at first, then shying nervously at the flying spray and the thud of storm-wrack sweeping against the pylons. The reeve locked the gate behind them.
It began to rain again half an hour later. It came down in long slanting lines, beating at their backs. There was nowhere to shelter and so they rode on, enduring in silence. The clouds were so dark and heavy it was like dusk, and all they could see ahead of them were the long, empty, winding road and the closing ranks of steep, bare mountains. They passed a ruined croft, its windows gaping like blinded eyes, its roof fallen in. A little further on they passed a broken fence, the fallen slats covered in brambles. The road was treacherous with mud and rocks, and the horses had to pick their way carefully, sometimes splashing into puddles so deep the water was up to their withers.
The riders had all unconsciously drawn together close behind the caravans, the hoods of their cloaks drawn over their heads. Rain spat in their eyes, and trickled down their necks.
‘I do no’ like this place,’ Landon said nervously.
‘It doesna inspire ye to poetry?’ Cameron jeered, though it was clear he was edgy too from the way he turned his face from side to side, scanning the misty horizon, his hands fidgeting with the reins.
‘I do no’ like it either,’ Fèlice said. ‘I wish we had no’ come this way.’
Blackthorn pranced uneasily, tossing her head and refusing to go forwards. Rhiannon leant forward to pat her neck. ‘What is it?’ she murmured.
All the horses had to be urged onwards, and Rafferty had to tug hard on the lead rein before Maisie’s fat little pony would submit to following him. Ahead was another abandoned croft, its garden and orchard choked with weeds, its gate hanging off one hinge.
Blackthorn shied sideways, banging into Edithe’s mare Donnagh, who reared and plunged sideways.
‘Keep your horse under control!’ Edithe snapped, bringing her mare round smartly with a vicious dig of her spurred boot, the reins drawn so tight the mare’s chin was forced in to her breast.
Rhiannon’s nostrils flared. ‘Bad smell,’ she said.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Edithe demanded coldly.
‘Bad smell.’ Rhiannon nodded towards the abandoned croft, her brows drawn in over her nose, breathing in deeply through her nose. She dug her heels into Blackthorn’s side, so the mare leapt forward into a canter. ‘Us get away from here.’
‘What is it?’ Lewen asked, as she cantered past him, leaping over the ditch beside the road to the rough soil of the untilled fields.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. ‘Bad smell. Bad feeling. Something hungry. Us better get away.’
The other apprentices were alarmed and began to try to urge their horses forward, but they all plunged and reared, fighting the rein.
Suddenly, a pack of snarling, yammering dogs came hurtling out of the gate, skeleton-thin, with hunger-crazed yellow eyes.
Maisie screamed, and kicked her wooden clogs into her pony’s sides. The pony bucked violently and Maisie fell off. The dogs leapt upon her, jaws gripping and tearing, and the shrill sound of her screams rang through the air.
‘And I looked and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death.’
Revelations, chapter 6, verse 8
Everyone shouted in horror and alarm. The caravans were all over the road, the big carthorses rearing in terror. The other horses were neighing loudly, and bucking wildly. Edithe and Cameron’s horses both bolted, the apprentices clinging desperately to their pommels. Iven was almost run down as he leapt to the ground, his unsheathed sword in his hand. He had to press himself to the side of the caravan to avoid being trampled.
Landon and Rafferty’s horses had shied sideways into each other, almost knocking Landon out of his saddle. The young poet grabbed his horse’s mane and hauled himself upright again as his horse leapt the ditch and galloped away over the rough fields. He had almost lost his seat again, his stirrups bouncing against the gelding’s sides, his reins flapping. Blackthorn flung open her magnificent wings and soared up into the air, as Rhiannon flew in pursuit.
Argent neighed a challenge and kicked out at the dogs, sending one rolling over and over, yelping. Lewen leapt from the stallion’s back, catching one dog by the ruff of its neck and hurling it away, fending off another with his arm as he laid about him with his long dagger. One of the feral animals he killed at once. Others turned to attack him, bearing him down onto his back, and he struggled to keep them from ripping out his throat. Argent reared above them, lashing out with his hooves.
Then Iven was there, his sword flashing and darting. He ran through the dog at Lewen’s throat and dragged the corpse away, so Lewen could roll over onto his feet, then turned to slash and stab at the dogs still tearing at Maisie’s flesh. Maisie had instinctively rolled herself into a ball, her arms about her face, so the dogs had not been able to get at her throat or stomach. Her legs and buttocks and arms were badly bitten and bleeding heavily, however, and one ear had been half-torn from her head.
‘Eà’s sweet eyes,’ Nina sobbed, flinging herself on her knees beside the moaning girl. ‘Help me get her into the caravan!’
Fèlice had been struggling to bring her panicked mare back under control. One big dog had leapt up at her, seeking to drag her down from the saddle, but although her skirt was rent and muddied, she had not been hurt. She slid down from her horse now and, keeping a tight grip on the reins, ran to help Nina.
Rafferty’s horse had slipped and fallen in the mud, but Rafferty had managed to fling himself free. Attacked by three dogs at once, he laid about him with his sword while trying to help his panicked mount to its feet. The rain made the ground so treacherous that he almost slipped and fell himself, but saved himself by hauling on the horse’s reins. His gelding heaved itself to its feet, and Rafferty managed to kill one dog and wound the others enough that they ran off, tails between their legs.
‘Someone, help us!’ Nina wept, another dog worrying at Maisie’s foot while she and Fèlice did their best to drag her away.
Rafferty let go of his horse’s reins and limped forward, seizing Maisie under her armpits and dragging her towards the caravan. His gelding plunged sideways, and Fèlice caught hold of its reins and held both trembling horses still. She was white as skimmed milk.
Driven off their prey by sword and dagger, the dogs prowled nearby, snarling. As one darted towards them, Iven lunged forward and drove his sword through its breast. At once another one leapt and closed his jaws upon the jongleur’s arm. Iven fell to one knee as Lewen fought to drag the dog away. For a moment all was confusion, Lewen stabbing the dog wherever he could, then at last its jaws relaxed and he was able to pull Iven’s bloodied arm free.
‘Iven, we need help!’ Nina called frantically. She and Rafferty were trying to lift Maisie up the steps into the caravan, but the dogs were lunging and snapping at them, and the brown carthorse was rearing in her traces, sending the caravan rocking wildly. Roden had brought the other carthorse under control, and was staring round at them with a white, horrified face.
With his hand pressed over the ragged wound in his arm, Iven ran to her aid. Lewen, left to face the pack of dogs alone, crouched down and drew Iven’s sword from the body of the dead dog, swapping his dagger to his left hand.
Nina and Iven together managed to lift Maisie into the caravan. ‘She’s been badly mauled,’ Nina said, wiping tears from her cheeks. ‘The poor lass! Lewen? We need to find the others, quickly.’
Lewen nodded, and whistled to Argent, who came up at an easy canter. Reaching up with one hand, he seized hold of the pommel and swung himself up into the saddle, no mean feat considering how very tall his big grey stallion was and how long his stride. Then they were off, galloping down the road.
Lewen caught up with Cameron fairly quickly, for his gelding Basta was generally a steady, well-mannered horse and had already slowed from his headlong pace. Lewen was easily able to catch his bridle and bring him back to a walk, acknowledging Cameron’s curt thanks with a nod and a rapid question about Edithe. Cameron, who was sickly white and clinging tightly to his pommel, managed to raise one hand and point down the road.
‘Go back to the others, get them moving fast. Those dogs are starving and will attack again. I’ll try to catch up with Edithe afore that bloody skittish mare o’ hers throws her.’
Without any discernible signal, Argent began to lope forward again, moving quickly into his thunderous gallop. Mud and stones flew up from his hooves. Lewen leant forward, anxiously scanning the mist-wreathed valley ahead. Finally he saw the silhouette of the running mare outlined against the sky as she bolted over the crest of a low hill. His heart jerked as he realised the mare was riderless. With a low murmur and a pat on Argent’s shoulder he encouraged him to an even greater speed. Then he saw Edithe lying on the road before him. As he pulled Argent to a halt and jumped down beside her, she moaned and moved, lifting her hand to her head. He helped her sit up. Blood trickled from a nasty gash on her temple.
‘Can ye stand? Any bones broken?’
She tried to stand, with his help, and grimaced with pain. ‘Ow, my ankle!’
He helped her limp to the side of the road so she could sit on the low wall, then he knelt and took her foot in his hand. ‘I’ll have to take off your boot,’ he warned.
Edithe nodded. He tried to do it gently but she cried out and began to weep as he managed to wrench it off. Her ankle was discoloured and swelling rapidly. ‘I hope it’s no’ broken, only sprained,’ Lewen said. ‘I’m no healer, I’m afraid. Nina will ken better than me.’ He glanced back up the road but the rest of his companions were still out of sight on the other side of the hill. ‘Do ye have a dagger?’
Her pupils dilated blackly. ‘I? Nay, I have no dagger. Why? What do ye want it for?’
He bent and drew the little black dagger from his boot and passed it to her, hilt forward. ‘Just in case,’ he answered. ‘I must ride on and catch your mare afore she damages herself. I’ll be back, never ye fear.’
She nodded, her breath a little unsteady. ‘Ye expect trouble?’
Lewen gave her his lopsided grin. ‘Better safe than sorry.’
He vaulted into the saddle again, gathered up the reins and gave Argent a sharp tap in the sides with his boots. Argent neighed and took off, galloping down the road, ears pricked forward. The mare was still running, but was worn out with her terror and already beginning to founder. Argent was able to catch up with her before she plunged into a thick forest of dark trees that filled the bottom of the valley, where she might have hurt herself among the branches. Lewen caught her trailing reins and hauled her to a shuddering, blowing halt, her front legs stretched out before her stiffly. Her dark brown coat was scudded with sweat, and her breath was harsh.
Lewen dismounted slowly, not wanting to spook her into running again, and left Argent to recover his own breath as he sought to calm the mare. She was trembling violently and so he unpinned his cloak and laid it over her, damp and mud-spattered as it was, then began to coax her to walk slowly in circles. She stumbled wearily and he talked to her in a low, soothing voice.
As they circled closer to the forest he caught a whiff of something foul and wrinkled his nose. The mare smelt it too, for her nostrils flared in alarm, showing the red hollows within. She tried to shy away but Lewen held her firm. Argent whinnied and cantered round them in a big circle, as if striving to head them away from the forest.
Surprised, Lewen glanced towards the trees. He had thought the smell must come from some animal that had crept into the wood to die. Instead, with an instant shock of horror, he saw a half-rotting corpse shambling out from under the leafy shadows, one putrid decomposing hand held out as if in entreaty. It still wore the filthy tattered remains of a shroud. One shrivelled breast showed through the rags. Its eye sockets were empty, eaten out. Its hair hung down in long, dirt-caked waves. Slowly it stumbled towards Lewen, the stench coming over him in waves that made him retch.
The bay mare neighed and reared, tearing her head free of Lewen’s loosened grasp, and bolting back in the direction she had come. Knocked off balance, he fell to his knees in the mud, the dead woman lurching closer to him with each ungainly step.
Rhiannon crouched on Blackthorn’s back, forcing herself to watch as the ground fell away below her. Even after almost a week on the winged horse’s back, she had not managed to control the instinctive cower of terror as she felt Blackthorn’s muscles clench and release beneath her, felt substantial ground fall away and the precarious power of air lift and hold her. She had nightmares of falling, dreams so real that she would rouse with a jerk and have to open her eyes and reach out her hand and clench on to the roots of grass to reassure herself she was safe on the earth. The only fear more profound was the terror that the others might guess and mock her, saying she was no true thigearn.
Blackthorn beat her long powerful wings, rising higher in the air. The wind was cold and made tears start to Rhiannon’s eyes. She pressed with her knees, directing the mare to veer left, as she rubbed away the tears, searching for some sign of Landon. Clouds were rolling down from the mountains, and there was a low insistent rumble of thunder. Rain washed over them, drenching them to the skin. The only sign of life was a raven flying high above the forest in the valley, occasionally calling out in his harsh, melancholy voice. Otherwise all was still.
Rhiannon crouched lower on the winged mare’s back as Blackthorn shivered, her wingbeats faltering. ‘No need to fear, my bonny,’ she murmured, stroking the damp black hide. ‘We just need to find Landon. Can ye see Nuinn anywhere?’
Blackthorn whickered and began to circle lower. Rhiannon leant forward and saw Landon below her, looking rumpled and muddy, leading his grey gelding back towards the road. Nuinn was limping badly. Landon heard the beat of wings and waved his hand in urgent greeting. Blackthorn landed lightly before him.
‘Nuinn hurt his leg,’ Landon said anxiously. ‘It’s bleeding. I dinna ken what to do, whether to make him walk on it or not.’
‘Storm coming,’ Rhiannon said. ‘We walk him back slowly.’
Landon nodded. ‘That’s what I thought too. Oh, Rhiannon, I do no’ like this valley. It makes me feel …’ He gave a little shudder and tightened his grip on the bridle. ‘I do no’ ken how to describe it. My skin is all a-prickle.’
Rhiannon nodded. ‘Me too.’
She dismounted and cast a quick eye over the gelding’s foreleg. Blood oozed from a long red gash, and it was clear it hurt the gelding to put weight on that leg. Then she looked up at Landon. ‘What about ye? Were ye thrown?’
Landon blushed and nodded. ‘I’m no’ a very good rider,’ he said miserably. ‘No’ like ye.’
‘Hurt
?’
‘Shaken up a wee,’ the boy said, ‘and bruised all over, for sure, but nay, no’ hurt. I just wish Nuinn had no’ been injured. If I’d been a better rider this wouldna have happened.’
Rhiannon shrugged, leading the way back towards the road. ‘All riders thrown sometimes. Dogs’ fault, no’ yours. Horses no’ like dogs.’
There was a quick flash of lightning, then a few moments later thunder growled again. The rain was coming in waves over the hills, flattening the grass and the brambles. A grey twilight hung over the landscape, and the encircling mountains were hidden in great, roiling clouds.
‘Bad storm coming,’ Rhiannon said sombrely. ‘Bad feeling here.’
‘I feel like someone’s watching us,’ Landon said with a shiver and pulled his damp, muddy cloak about him. They heard the raven cry again and looked up in sudden superstitious apprehension.
‘Something is watching us,’ Rhiannon said.
They felt very alone and exposed in the middle of that rough brown field, and unconsciously quickened their step, forgetting Nuinn’s injury. The raven flew over their heads, and then the rain swept over them as if tied to the bird’s black wings.
‘There’s the others,’ Rhiannon said, seeing the two caravans pulled up haphazardly on the road. ‘Let’s hurry.’
They ran forward over the tussocks of grass, Nuinn limping badly. Iven came out onto the caravan steps and greeted them thankfully.
‘We’ve driven the dogs away for the moment. Lucky for us Lewen can speak the language o’ dogs!’ he said. He glanced at the pack of feral animals crouching just inside the gate, their yellow eyes intent, the hair on their spines stiff. One crept forward a few steps, snarling. Iven frowned.
‘It won’t be long afore they attack again. Let’s get moving. Roden, ye and Lulu get in our caravan and do no’ come out for anything. Fèlice, ye go on in and see if ye can help Nina,’ he said. ‘Landon, ever driven a caravan? No? Och, there’s nothing to it, just hold the reins and Sure will do the rest. Rafferty, can ye help Rhiannon lead the other horses? We must get away from here, those dogs are gathering courage to attack again, sure as apples.’