‘Flann!’ cried the girl, as she saw the beast’s head poised to launch an attack once more.
Flann was still on the ground trying to get up. This time he twisted round just as the serpent’s head reached his body, and smashed out with his shield, hitting it against the nose. The impact caused the shield to buckle a little and throw the young warrior backwards. However, the impact must also have caused the creature some surprise and hurt. It recoiled back a moment and in that moment Flann scampered away and rose to his feet.
There is a strength in this beast that I fear,’ he called to the girl. Try to keep away from its jaws.’
‘Have no fear, Flann,’ replied Scáthach determinedly. ‘Fear is your only enemy. In fear there is death.’
She moved forward now, javelin to the ready, shield raised to protect her body.
The serpent’s attention was still on Flann and it slithered towards him once more.
Scáthach moved closer and pricked at its writhing coils with the tip of her javelin in order to distract its attention. It issued a tremendous hiss and its flat head moved, its black bead-like eyes searching for what had discomforted it.
Fixing its gaze on the girl, it turned its coils towards her.
It lashed out with its tail, almost catching her. She had nearly forgotten that such a creature was able to use both ends of its obscene body as weapons. She leapt aside and the tail went crashing into the wall, shaking the building and causing dust to rise and debris to fall about them.
The girl ran round, out of the range of the tail, and went towards the head.
The maw of the beast was twisted back in an almost evil parody of a grin, yet she realised the grin was but a product of nature’s whims for the pleasure of an anticipated kill was a feeling produced in one species alone … man. Measuring the distance with her trained eye, she watched the movements of the creature’s head as it swayed now and then from side to side, its mouth open and closing, hissing as it did so.
She, too, began to sway her body, in rhythm with the beast, feet firmly planted on the ground, but swaying to and fro, to and fro, until Flann wondered whether the girl was being mesmerised by the creature.
Then the creature struck, mouth open, incisors ready to catch on to its intended prey.
And it was then that Scáthach struck, pulling back her javelin and launching it with all the force she possessed. It flew straight and true into the open maw of the beast, right through the upper mouth, through its tiny brain and split the upper skull so that its blade appeared through the top of the head.
The thing gave a terrifying hiss and its great coils began to writhe and twirl like a massive whirlpool of muscle.
Scáthach turned.
‘Get back, Flann,’ she warned.
Together they ran for the passageway entrance by which they had come into the hall. While it was useless as a means of an exit because of the iron grill which now blocked off the passage, it was useful to act as a means of protection from injury by the terrifying threshing mass of the dying beast.
They stood, breathing heavily, watching the thing in its death throes. The brain had died but the body took a longer time to accept the fact of death. It twisted and lurched, smashing against the walls, causing dust and debris to fly everywhere, tearing down the tapestries.
Finally, all was quiet.
Flann rubbed his nose reflectively.
‘I wonder what other means of protection this crookback Cruitin employs?’
Scáthach grimaced with distaste.
‘Truly did Bolga call him a lord of darkness. Come, Flann, we must find this lantern and shed some light on this valley of darkness.’
Flann nodded assent.
‘However, we still have the same problem,’ he pointed out. ‘How to get out of this hall. I am somewhat glad we didn’t find that secret door in case we entered and found that thing lurking behind it,’ he gestured to the dead serpent.
The girl pointed to the window.
‘As I said, there is our means of exit.’
‘It’s fifteen feet above floor level. Even if you stand on my shoulders, you should not reach it nor could I come with you even if you did.’
Scáthach moved to the carcass of the serpent and, using her sword, cut the javelin out of its skull.
She measured the height of the window and then the length of the hall with her eye. Finally, she made up her mind.
‘Flann, help me clear the carcass of this beast aside,’ she ordered, gripping the tail and hauling. It was a strenuous job to shift the great coils to the side of the hall.
‘What are you going to do?’ demanded Flann.
‘One of the feats that my father, Eola, taught me was called the feat of the Salmon’s Leap. He made me practise it many times until I perfected it.’
‘I have not heard of such a feat,’ Flann said.
‘It was my father’s speciality when he was a young warrior and few could emulate him. May the gods give me that ability now. Stand aside.’
Flann watched her in bewilderment while she went to the far end of the hall opposite the window and stood for a moment breathing deeply. She had slung her helmet and shield on her back and her sword as well. But she held her javelin like a pole in both hands before her. Then she raised herself on tip-toe and began to take some giant strides, increasing her pace, racing towards the wall until Flann thought she was going to smash into it, but then she stamped down the shaft of the javelin onto the flag stones, twisting her body, heaving it off the ground until she went up feet first, arching up.
Flann gasped.
Incredulously he watched as the girl sped through the air with what seemed ease, letting go of the javelin and curving up through the window and landing in a crouch on the other side of it.
The young warrior blinked in amazement.
‘Are you all right?’ he whispered, gazing up.
Scáthach’s smiling face showed at the window.
‘Had it been any narrower I might not have made it,’ she confessed. ‘Hand me up the javelin.’
Flann picked up the discarded javelin and handed it up to her. She took it.
‘I’m in a corridor,’ she said, ‘I’ll try to find something by which you can climb up.’
Indeed, beyond the window Scáthach stood in a fairly wide corridor of the same granite stones with which the hall was constructed. Torches burnt in their holders along its walls.
She gave a quick wave to Flann and moved off down the corridor. There were no doors leading off its long stretch until it turned at right angles and ascended by means of steps into another, wider and more brightly lit, passageway. Along here several tapestries hung and suddenly an idea came to the girl. The tapestries were hoisted on the walls by means of thick cords of silk and these were tied into position on hooks protruding from the walls. She drew her sword and slashed at them, causing one tapestry to drop to the floor. It was work of a moment to cut off the silken cords and tie them into a workmanlike rope which she judged to be long enough to reach the floor of the hall behind. Then she turned back to the window.
Flann was still waiting below.
‘I have a makeshift rope,’ she called, ‘I’ll find something to fix it with.’
The obvious thing was the iron holder for one of the torches of the corridor. She tied one end of the rope to it and threw her weight on it. It held firmly. The other end she threw from the window to the waiting Flann. In an instant the young warrior was beside her.
‘Where now?’ he asked.
‘In search of the lantern,’ she replied. ‘This way.’
She headed off again to the right-angled turn and led the way along this corridor.
‘There are plenty of rooms leading off here,’ Flann pointed out. ‘Which one would Bolga’s lantern be in.’
Scáthach paused and bit her lip.
Then she closed her eyes and forced her body to relax. The soft voice of Buimech seemed to echo in her mind. ‘When in doubt let your innermost instin
ct be your guide. Instincts do not betray you.’
She opened her eyes and gazed at the doors.
‘Not here,’ she said. ‘This way.’
She led the way down the corridor, twisting and turning until it began to lead downwards again and finally ended at a small door.
Flann gazed at her dubiously.
‘Here?’
She smiled.
‘I feel that it is here,’ she said, reaching for the handle and turning it.
The heavy wooden door swung open on its hinges. The room beyond was in total darkness. They could not see anything.
‘Get a torch, Flann,’ she commanded.
The young warrior turned along the corridor and took one of the firebrand torches from the wall.
It revealed a windowless chamber, small, no more than fifteen feet square. A small table stood in the centre and there was no other furniture in the room. On the table stood a silver lantern, attractively wrought with all manner of strange beasts carved into its casing. They saw that the lamp itself was visored by a piece of silver worksmanship which was held in place by hinges.
‘The lantern of the lords of light,’ whispered Scáthach.
Flann whistled in wonderment at the exquisite craftsmanship of it.
‘Remember not to lift that visor,’ he suddenly warned as Scáthach drew nearer. ‘Bolga warned that if you lifted the visor from the lamp it would not only blind us but destroy all who gazed on it.’
‘I remember,’ the girl replied quietly.
There came a movement behind them.
Cruitin stood there, his parchment-like face twisted in an evil smile.
‘Well, you are both warriors of excellent mettle to have reached thus far into my fortress of darkness,’ he piped in his thin, reedy voice. ‘You have slain my cat, four of my best warriors and the beast who guarded my hearth. For that, of course, you will pay. But before you do so, warriors, I offer you my respect for your accomplishment. It is good to have opponents worthy of contest.’
Flann moved forward, sword ready, but the crook-back held out a hand to him, pointing with one long finger, its nail long and dirty like a talon. The man said nothing but looked at Flann, simply frowning.
Flann hesitated and then dropped his sword point.
‘Flann!’ cried Scáthach in alarm as she saw the young warrior’s face dissemble into a mask of utter misery.
‘Black!’ cried Flann. ‘Despair! Nothing! There is no hope. No future.’
He dropped onto his knees and began to wail like a baby.
‘What have you done to him?’ demanded Scáthach.
Cruitin gave a shrill chuckle.
‘I am the lord of darkness, all things dark and evil obey my command.’
The girl saw that Flann was totally under the evil one’s spell. She tried to recall the teachings of Buimech. She used the druidic technique of meditation just as she felt the first waves of chill darkness emanate from Cruitin’s mind towards her. Using all her willpower she forced out the waves of black despair which began to encompass her mind.
The evil one frowned as he felt the power of her mind.
‘So? You are not like this one,’ he gestured to the cowering Flann. ‘You are possessed of the knowledge … yet, yet you are not of the knowledge. You have a weakness. What?’
Scáthach fought back the probing blackness. Sooner or later the evil one would discover her fear of the Place of the Dead, of monsters conjured from the shadows, of her childhood fears which she had yet to deal with.
Dimly she was aware of Flann cowering in a corner of the room sobbing; he was kneeling, his head turned into the corner, hands over his face, like a child.
The waves of cold blackness were sweeping over her. She fought hard, knowing that the moment her guard was down Cruitin’s thoughts would overwhelm her and send her into the black pit into which he had sent Flann. She must hang on.
She must concentrate on something: on the smiling face of Buimech her mother. Buimech was trying to tell her something, tell her …
Fighting to keep the black tide of evil at bay, she turned to the table, towards the silver lamp which stood on it.
She reached for her helmet and took it off. It was a struggle, a slow procedure against the vibrations from the evil one who stood head bowed, concentrating his whole energy on overcoming her mind. It seemed that he was so intent that he had closed his mind to what she was physically doing, concentrating solely on the possession of her mind.
She turned her helmet back to front and put it back on her head so that the metal came down before he eyes, blinding her.
She moved to the lamp, standing behind it, and suddenly dropped to her knees behind the table. Closing her eyes tightly, she reached forward, feeling for the latch and hinges. Then she held her breath and opened the visor.
A terrible light sprung from the lamp. Even cowled as she was and with eyes tight-shut she was aware of a blinding flash.
Somewhere she heard a ghastly shriek.
She waited a moment more, feeling the light as overpowering as she had felt the blackness of Cruitin. Then she slammed back the visor and waited for several long breaths.
She heard a groaning sound but nothing else. The black waves which had tried to encompass her mind were gone.
Scáthach stood up, opened her eyes and took off her helmet.
Before the table Cruitin lay stretched on his back, one arm flung backwards, his eyes wide and staring. Across his parchment-like flesh the skin was blistered as if he had been terribly burnt. He was clearly dead. The girl turned to the corner where Flann had been. He was still on his knees groaning.
‘Flann!’ she cried in alarm. ‘Are you all right?’
She bent down and raised his head.
He blinked several times before opening his eyes and trying to focus on her.
To her relief he finally was able to focus.
‘The light … ’ he mumbled. ‘The darkness … ’
‘Rest awhile. You are all right now,’ she smiled comfortingly.
‘What happened? There was a terrible blackness … Where is Cruitin?’
He made an attempt to rise but she held him back.
‘The crook-back is dead.’
Suddenly, far off, Flann heard the ring of metal on metal; like three hammer blows. He frowned and gazed at Scáthach.
‘What was that?’ he demanded.
‘What?’ she asked puzzled.
He was about to explain when he recalled what Goibhniu had said.
‘One day, and that day will soon be here, you will thank the gods for such conjuror’s tricks … on that day you will hear a smith’s hammer ring thrice to remind you of your doubt.’
A look of understanding crept across Flann’s face and he swallowed at the realisation.
‘You used the lantern?’
Scáthach nodded.
‘And we may now take it to Bolga.’
Shaking his head, Flann climbed to his feet and ran a hand through his hair. He felt embarrassed.
‘I was of little use to you, Scáthach.’
‘That is the gloom of Cruitin talking. I could not have accomplished the task without you.’
‘Yet I could not withstand his … his mind probe, while you could.’
‘I was taught by Buimech, my mother,’ replied the girl solemnly.
Flann pursed his lips.
‘Goibhniu said that one day soon I would have reason to be thankful for a druid’s magic.’
‘Not magic, Flann,’ corrected the girl. ‘Knowledge. To those who do not have knowledge, many things seem like magic.’
She sighed a little, saddened at the shadow of resentment on Flann’s face, and turned to pick up the lamp. Then she realised that he had a warrior’s pride, believing that there was nothing which was beyond his understanding. What saddened her more was the thought that he had a male pride which meant he felt it unseemly that knowledge held by a woman should be denied to him. She hoped that he did not feel that
way for in that pride lay a foolish vanity which was the self-esteem of ignorance.
Meanwhile, Flann recovered his weapons and distastefully gazed down on the body of Cruitin. Then he shrugged and followed Scáthach from the room.
Chapter Eleven
The day was hot with scarcely a breeze whispering in the tall trees. The sky was blue and cloudless and the sun hung still and bright, high above the horizon. There was a silence in the woods as if all the animals had wisely decided it was too hot to expend energy and had found shady places to curl up to wait for a more cool period in which to hunt or scavenge for food. Now and then a sleepy cry of a bird was heard.
Three figures on horseback moved slowly along the forest pathway.
Scáthach led the way on a large, high-spirited white mare. It was fitted with a rich saddle and brightly decorated bridle and harness. Among the weapons slung across her slim shoulders were her sword, javelin and the fearsome spear of Bolga — the gae-Bolga. Her helmet was slung from the pommel of her horse and her sword was at her side. Behind her, on a roan, came Flann, while behind him Ruacán the Wizened rode a quiet black pony.
Bolga had been generous indeed when Scáthach and Flann had returned from the fortress of Cruitin the crook-back with the lantern of the lords of light. Not only had he kept his word to present the girl with the gae-Bolga, his fearsome hunting spear which made one wound when it entered the flesh but, once penetrated, would open thirty barbs so that it could not be withdrawn, but he had offered further gifts. The gifts of horses were his to enable their journey to Lethra to continue at a faster pace. He had fed and entertained them in his encampment and they had proceeded on the next morning with his words of praise echoing in their ears.
The three rode confidently now, more sure of themselves, their ability to face adversity and danger. Even Flann, though still suspicious of the druid Ruacán, seemed more at ease in his company and smiled a little more often than he had before. Ruacán was as enigmatic as ever, however, smiling softly as with a hidden knowledge. He was content now to let the others lead, offering words of advice only when consulted; content to follow in the rear. After all, Scáthach had now proved herself as a leader, as one equipped not only to fight with arms but to fight with her mind.
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