Pagan Rage

by Sam Taw

  Ren stepped up to defend me. “She’s right. They are not warriors; they don’t deserve to die.”

  “Then we shall take them as slaves and burn down their roundhouses.” Blydh growled. I closed my eyes and took a slow breath. He was becoming more tedious to deal with every day. Every discussion was a battle, every sound idea met with objections. I soon realised that there was nothing I could say that he would accept.

  We all had to rely on Ren to be the voice of reason. He turned to the scout. “Was the horse enclosure close to the roundhouses?”

  The scout pulled a face. “Not right next to them, but fairly close.”

  “And the doorways shuttered against the cold?”

  The scout frowned thinking for a moment and then nodded.

  With a beaming smile spreading across his salt-worn face, Ren said; “There you have it. They’d be slowed down just removing the door panels. We can take their horses before they realise we’re there. As long as we let all of them bolt, it’d take days for them to raise any kind of alarm.” The fact that this was Ren’s suggestion and not mine, made it more than palatable to the twins. It was hardly different from what I would have suggested myself.

  Blydh did argue a little, trying to convince his brother that it would be better to capture and torture their young, forcing them to divulge the best routes across country, but Ren reminded him that there was no need. All we had to do was to head south-east until we hit familiar trails towards our own borders.

  We waited until it was fully dark and then left the boats tied to stakes pushed into the soft mud. I hoped that they would go some way to making up for the theft of the homesteaders’ livestock. Tallack mentioned to his brother that they would need to compensate Clemo and his kin too. We had intended to return both his nephew and his boats safe and sound. Hellyer was a brave young warrior who, like the others, missed out on a tribal farewell and ritual pyre. There was nothing of equal value to the heir of their clan that could be given.

  We sent the scout ahead of us. He knew the way and could warn us about any wild animals or birds that might take fright and alert the Duros to our whereabouts. I hid with Endelyn in the long grass at the edge of the homestead boundary. Tallack and Ren sneaked closer, sending the scout and another lithe warrior to fetch two of the tame horses at a time from the pen.

  Taking their time, the scout whispered to the ponies, gaining their trust and keeping their whickers to a minimum. On their third trip to lead another two over to Tallack and Ren, Blydh grew restless.

  “Come on, what’s taking so long. Just open the kyjyan gates and have done with it.” He yelled at the top of his voice. The door panels to the houses squeaked and groaned as they were removed. Light poured out of the huts from the fires.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Barking dogs spilled out of the roundhouses, closely followed by their owners. Tallack and Ren mounted the horses and held out their arms for the scout and warrior to vault up behind them. Before the scout could grasp Tallack’s forearm, an arrow whistled through the air and caught him in the neck. The tip poked out of his throat. Great spurts of frothing blood spilled down his front as he fell choking. He was dead before his head hit the ground.

  Ducking low against the manes of their ponies, they rode towards us with the dogs snapping at their heels. We scrambled onto the horses at the boundary to their property and fled. Blydh took delight in swinging his axe into the dogs’ paths, cleaving the head of one in two. It gave a single horrifying yelp as it died and tumbled along the rocky path.

  We galloped for some distance before we dared to slow down. The horses tired quickly, most carrying the weight of more than one of us at a time. Endelyn shared a pony with Blydh, although others offered to share with her. She was determined to stay by his side, foolish girl.

  Ren’s horse struggled with both he and another heavy man on its back. The only sensible solution was for the warrior to take my pony. As Ren said at the time, I was nought but skin and bone anyway. His steed seemed to prefer the lighter load, trotting along easily with the both of us.

  Even with the stolen horses, we were still two full days ride from our borders and another half day on top of that to make it back to the compound on the Exe. We’d lost too many young men on a failed quest. None of us were looking forward to the explanations we’d have to give to the families of those slain and left on the wayside.

  We were a sombre crew for the whole night of riding. At dawn, we rested and watered the horses and foraged for what little food we could find. It was risky, but we did make a small fire to cook a little broth from two fat wood pigeons and some bulrush roots. It was warm and welcome, considering the scant meals we’d had since leaving the northern shores of our land. As soon as we’d eaten a small portion each, Tallack kicked dirt over the flames and ordered us back onto the ponies.

  The second night, we stopped in a sheltered dell and roasted a whole mallard. The men told stories about those who’d fallen, singing their lament to the gods. Endelyn performed a brief ritual in their honour, asking the Morrighan to carry them to the Summerlands from battle, and to forgive their inability to pay the gods for their passage. Tallack repeated his promise to make a generous offering as soon as we got home.

  After we’d all bedded down next to the smothered embers, I looked up at the stars and tried to count the number of lives given since that fateful night when the Duros smashed Blydh’s skull. Any other man would have died right there on the spot. Since then, our tribe’s misfortunes have doubled. Surely the gods would tire of testing us and move on to torment another tribe in our stead?

  When the moon had begun its descent in the sky, I heard faint mumbling near to where the horses were tethered. Fearful that we were being watched by Duros, I wrapped my cloak about me and went to investigate. The shadowy figure of my nephew was unmistakable; Blydh was standing between the ponies. I crept closer, listening to him speak. He didn’t see me.

  “I know, you’re right.” Blydh said, nodding slowly. “Can’t trust her for a moment.”

  He faced the bay mare he’d ridden for a couple of days, still nodding. “That’s what I said, but you know my brother. He just won’t believe me. It’s obvious when you think about it, she makes the perfect spy in camp.”

  Was he talking to the horse? My foot dislodged a pebble, sending it skittering across the dry earth. He snapped his head around.

  “Who’s there?” He growled.

  I hurried back to the fireside and covered myself over before he could return to accuse me. This was a bad sign indeed. My nephew was addled in the head. More than that, he truly believed that the horse was his friend.

  In the morning, Endelyn once again insisted on sharing Blydh’s pony. She clung onto him around his middle, as though she had captured her prize. I don’t think she fully understood what she was taking on. The ritual was a spectacular failure. Blydh was unlikely to ever recover. If she thought that he would suddenly return to his old self and make her the Ruvane of our tribe, she was sadly mistaken.

  We pushed on at some speed, keeping to the valleys covered with woodland and avoiding the flat expanses where we thought Duro scouts might lurk. By late afternoon, we crossed the River Sid at a narrow point and stepped onto our own land. We’d been extraordinarily lucky to pass through the Duro region without encountering further problems.

  Ren suggested that we make camp and rest up, with a view to continue on to the compound at sun up, but Tallack overruled him. Either he was still in pain from his injuries, or he sensed that Blydh was getting worse. After a short break, we walked the horses on through dusk. The trails were so familiar to us, we were hardly slowed by the darkness.

  I have to admit, I craved my warm bunk and furs. I’d barely made use of my hut all spring. As we reached the final stretches of the forest to the north of the island, I began to wonder what had occurred in camp since we left. Would Kewri still be at the agreed meeting point with Senara, awaiting news from the Duro scout? Had Cryda and Treeve manag
ed tribal affairs in our absence without coming to blows?

  I was soon to find out. Tallack called up to the guards in the watchtower, who in turn signalled for others to lower the bridge and open the gates. Ren took the horses to the enclosure, while Tallack and I sneaked into the rear entrance of the Long Hut.

  All was quiet and orderly, much to my surprise. There were no fights, nor evidence of rebellion; just a few warriors drinking next to the central fire and eating the Chief’s supplies with Treeve sitting in the Bear’s head chair.

  There was no sign of Cryda at all, but then it was late. She’d probably retired for the night with the baby Delen. Blydh dismounted and swaggered to the front entrance of the Long Hut with Endelyn close behind. She slipped her hand under his elbow just as they walked in together. All those inside cheered to see them, stamping their feet and thumping the tables welcoming them home.

  Endelyn puffed out her chest and lapped up the attention. She had assumed the Ruvane role without any need for a formal binding ceremony. I watched Treeve’s reaction. He seethed from the top table, pouting and glaring at the priestess, making no attempt to move from the lauded spot. It was only when he saw Tallack that his temper eased. He shot out of the carved chair, treating our Chief to a disarming smile.

  “You’re home. It’s so good to see you.” The young crewman gushed.

  Blydh rolled his eyes, leading Endelyn to the Ruvane’s seat between the two tall chairs. “Kerensa, you sit there.”

  Tallack and I shared a look of dismay. Blydh’s senses were lost again. I made a hasty exit, leaving the Chiefs to bicker over which of their favoured folk deserved the seat most.

  My back clicked and crunched as I walked across the damp grass to my hut. Every part from my tail bone to my neck was sore from the ride. More than anything, I wanted a warm meal and my bunk, but I knew my fire would be stone cold.

  In the dark, I almost missed the shelter just beyond my house where I had laid Sorcha’s body overnight. It had proper walls and a door panel, a full thatch and shuttered windows. Someone had completed its construction. Puzzled, I continued the few paces to my house and lifted the door from the entrance.

  Much to my surprise, I found Kewri tucked up in his bed next to a roaring fire. My noise awoke him. He squinted at me, adjusting his sight to the low light.

  “Fur Benyn.” He almost jumped out of his bunk. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

  “Nor I you. How come you didn’t go with Senara to the meeting point in the borderlands?” I chuckled at his state; his black hair sticking up in all directions, the sleep still gluing his eyelids together.

  “I did ride out there. Stayed a couple of days but she got annoyed with me and um…”

  “She sent you back?”

  He nodded; his eyes cast down to the rushes. I guessed that her familiarity with the Duro scout, Perren had put a strain on their relationship. Poor fellow had managed to lose both his lovers in one season.

  Kewri milked one of my goats by torchlight, so that I could have some tasty warmed grains while I sat by the fire. The strain of the last few weeks had exhausted me beyond anything I could describe. I silently thanked the gods for delivering us home and vowed that I would do all I could to ease the suffering of those bereaved families left behind.

  The tribal tribute chests and secret stashes of tin were empty. My knives and the men’s weapons were all seized by the Belgae. It would take more than a full cycle to replenish the tin and jewels we gave as an offering. If the homesteader harvests failed come autumn, we’d have nothing with which to trade for grain.

  Our people would need to scavenge to feed their young, like in our ancestors’ times. My fears for our people were justified. A lasting peace with our neighbours was more important than ever.

  Kewri sat with me while I ate, telling me all the news from the compound; which of the women had squabbled, others who had recovered from illness and more who had not. I thanked him for finishing the shelter for my patients and healing herbs. He smiled with embarrassment.

  The soft-hearted giant was not used to praise. It wasn’t until then that I realised how much I’d missed him. He was not chatty, like my Jago, but his quiet manner and wit put me at ease. I’m fortunate indeed that the gods saw fit to send him to our camp.

  When my eyelids began to droop, I retired to my bunk. Kewri fixed the door so that there were fewer draughts and climbed in to his own bed. We could hear the warriors in the Long Hut celebrating the safe return of our Chiefs and the passing of our fallen into the Summerlands. I was glad that such things were not expected of me. I mourned their loss in my own way; in silence with the shedding of a few tears.

  Death of ones so young always provoked contemplation. Why had the gods spared me and taken the youth and vibrancy of others? As the oldest tribal member, every day I awoke was a surprise. I’d outlived wives, mothers, Chieftains, warriors, and lovers. I’d seen so many pyres, so many ritual burials, I didn’t think I could cope with any more.

  I recalled my beautiful white hart, and the solace it gave me whenever I spoke with him. It tickled me that the tribe thought I had the ear of the gods. When they discover that my blundering attempts to treat their Chief’s skull allowed a dark spirit from the Underworld to take him over, they would think it was done on purpose.

  Despite my extreme exhaustion, I lay awake listening to the crackles and spits of the wood sap on the fire, pondering my existence. It seemed to me that the rowdy warriors were getting louder. I waited for a while, expecting it to die back down.

  “Fur Benyn?” Kewri spoke softly. “Can you hear that racket?”

  It was enough for me to drag my weary bones back out of bed and stand behind Kewri as he dislodged the door panel again. Wrapped in my bedding, I slipped my wooden pattens on and stepped outside to find a whole host of our men and elders gathered near to the Long Hut.

  At first, they were all shouting and jostling, those at the back straining to see over the shoulders of men in front. Within moments they all went quiet. Kewri and I moved closer. He stayed at the outer limits of the circle, I bobbed under elbows until I had a clear view. Endelyn lay on the ground in the mud, her hands raised in submission. Blydh stood over her, his helm askew, his mouth dribbling.

  “Tell me what you’ve done with her and I might spare your life.” He snarled.

  Endelyn scrambled to her knees, keeping her gaze low and meek. “Who, Chief Blydh? I don’t understand…”

  “Kerensa, daughter of the Alchemists, and fine warrior maiden in her own right.” He prowled around her as though she was his prey. “I know you priests and your wicked ways. Where is she?”

  It was obvious that he was having another episode, but Endelyn was unable to coax him back to reality. I glanced about the circle, looking for Tallack. He was the only one who could talk some sense into his brother. The Head Hunters and the Sea Warriors all hung their heads. Blydh’s behaviour was shameful.

  I tugged on the cuff of a man standing at my side. “Where’s Tallack?” I whispered.

  “He went off with Treeve, Fur Benyn.”

  I rolled my eyes, tutted, and shook my head. “Then go fetch him.” And when he hesitated, I raised my voice. “Now man!”

  “All I can say, priestess, is that you’d better not have used her for some vile sacrifice or you’ll answer to me.” Blydh thumped his chest. His eyes were wild, although it didn’t help that his blind eye was directed at odds to the other one. He was deteriorating fast.

  “Please, Chief Blydh. I have never known a Kerensa in my life. I’m truly sorry that she is missing, but it was not my doing.”

  “You lie!” Blydh reached forward and grabbed her fair hair, yanking her backwards. “You know what I do with liars?” His face was close enough to her that she blinked from the flying spittle. Endelyn clasped her hand to his, trying to ease the pull on her bunched locks. I could see that she was shaking from head to toe.

  Tallack forced his way through the crowd, still fastening
his clothes. He took in the scene and assessed his brother’s condition. “What’s all this, Blydh? Come and have a drink with me, brother.”

  “I don’t want ale. I want Kerensa. This kyjyan holy woman has taken her from me.” He raised his fist and was about to land a punch when Tallack stepped in and blocked him.

  “Kerensa went home, Blydh. Don’t you remember me telling you? We gave her a horse and she rode back to the Bentewyn mines.” It was better to lie than tell the truth, especially in front of so many of the tribe. Blydh scowled at Tallack. His expression slackened just a fraction and for one glorious moment, I thought that Blydh was persuaded. I was wrong.

  “You are too trusting brother. Can’t you see that we’re surrounded by spies?” He let go of Endelyn’s hair and leaned closer to Tallack. “She’s in league with the Duros. You can’t let them win. It’s precisely what Brea wants.”

  Tallack slid his arm about his shoulders, trying to turn him away from the priestess, but Blydh would not be distracted. Pushing the helmet square on his head, he shoved Tallack away and returned to his quarry. Grabbing her by the wrist, he yanked her along the grass, her knees and feet gouging tracks in the mud. Her cries for help grew more insistent as he made his way across the compound to his hut.

  His warriors stepped aside, leaving his path open. None of them dared to challenge him. Tallack ran to catch up, pleading with his brother to see reason. It fell on deaf ears. Blydh’s mind was set. If he couldn’t punish Brea, he would take out his fury on the innocent Endelyn instead.

  I scuttled along after them, not sure what help I could provide. We could all see what Blydh was planning to do to the priestess; a punishment that only a man would think to inflict. This had to be the work of the dark spirit in his head. Blydh would never sink to such depths, surely?

  When they reached his hut, she spun about on her behind. Despite Endelyn’s sorry state, she managed to fight back. She lashed out at his arms, clawing his skin and kicking against his shins. For someone who was normally so serene and composed, she turned into a wildcat of fury.