“Look, sire.”
Martin raised his head, suddenly aware that he had been staring at his feet for miles now.
They were coming down from a hill and the ground fell away in a long slope ahead of them. Off to their left, about a mile distant, was a thick stand of trees, and a brook ran off to their right. There was no sign of life, not even of cattle or sheep. All was quiet and still.
“What am I looking for?” he said.
Menzies gave an exaggerated sigh, the kind that Martin recognised from school lessons years before.
“The fields. Look at the fields.” And then Martin saw. The ground had a recently ploughed look, but patchy in places, with swathes of grass left in some patches, and great mounds of earth in others.
“What caused this?” he asked, and was answered with another exasperated sigh.
“I believe we have found how the Boy-King hides himself by day. And his army as well.”
Martin stared at the disturbed ground.
“What can we do?”
“Nothing at the moment, sire. I fear that two men would not make enough of an impact if we tried to open them up to the sun.”
“I agree,” Martin said. “But the method of his hiding is information that the Protector might use to track the Boy-King. We must get it to him in all haste.”
The old doctor turned Martin so that his gaze was directed to the stand of trees.
“I think haste is needed now,” he said.
Pale figures were coming out from beneath the trees, more than twenty of the Boy-King’s mind slaves. They weren’t moving fast, but they had obviously noted the presence of Martin and Menzies, and were heading straight for them.
Martin went to draw his sword.
“No, sire,” Menzies said. “There are too many. And the Protector needs our new information.”
Grudgingly, Martin agreed, and the pair of them turned and moved away, faster as they realised they were being followed even after they had left the area of disturbed ground.
Chapter 3
THE SOUTHERN UPLANDS OF SCOTLAND 4TH NOVEMBER, 1745
Sean came awake slowly. He was lying on his back, and it was as if a heavy weight sat on his chest. Thin watery light was coming from his left hand side, but he was barely able to move his head toward it, and when he did all he could see was the dim shape of a figure between him and the source of the light. He tried to speak, but all that came was a thin, wheezing croak.
He looked up, but above him was only rock, grey and moist. From the echoes around him he guessed he was in a cave, but he had no recollection of getting there. In fact, the last thing he could remember was leaving Milecastle with Campbell the day after the battle.
He had a feeling that some time had passed since then. His body felt like it was a mass of new bruising. He felt like he used to after a long day of weapon practise...as if he had taken a battering from the wooden stave his fencing master used instead of a sword.
His mouth was dry, and he was unable to work up any spittle to relieve it. His eyes stung as if he had been standing too close to a pipe smoker, and there was an acrid stench in his nostrils, like burnt hair.
His stomach let out an involuntary groan, and Sean wondered how long it had been since he had last eaten. He let out an accompanying groan as his belly rumbled once more.
The dim figure moved, letting light in from the cave mouth. A lumbering shadow came towards him, and Sean cringed. But then a ray of sunlight fell on the face of the shadow...the face of Duncan Campbell.
Sean tried to sit up, to greet the Scotsman, and that was when he discovered that he was bound so tight that he could barely move. By twisting his head he was able to see thick, green cord wrapped in three tight coils around his chest.
He tried to speak, and this time he managed to get some strength into the words.
“What is the meaning of this?” he said. “Come man, untie me.”
Campbell moved, stretching his back as if he had been sitting in the same position for too long. His face was grave as he replied.
“I cannot untie you, lad. The woodsmen have allowed you to live only if you are tied like a hog. You must be thankful you have even this much freedom.”
“What? Is this how you repay my trust in you at the gate? Is this how you treat the man who watched over your daughter? Who killed for her?”
“It is for her sake, and for the sake of the friendships I forged in Milecastle, that I let them spare you. You are bitten, laddie. Bitten and nearly full turned.”
“Nonsense. You saw me after the battle. There was no bite,” Sean said, but something was worrying him at the back of his mind.
“I never saw you until the morning,” the Scotsman said. “And there was so much blood on you it could have come from anywhere. But this doesn’t lie.”
Campbell leaned forward and tapped Sean lightly on the shoulder. The youth felt a sudden flare of pain where the man touched him. He had been prepared to argue, but now he well remembered the bite to his shoulder. There had been no time to have it treated during the heat of battle, and after that he had told himself that it was of no consequence as he had not turned. All his training should have led him to report to the doctor, but—and it had probably been the Other already moving in him—he had left the wound to fester. The implications of what the Scotsman said were slowly sinking in.
“I am truly turning?” he said, and the Scotsman nodded.
“Aye. Last night you showed your first desire for my blood. The woodsmen have slowed the turning with some of their herbs and potions, but that’s all they have done—slowed it. I fear that you will be full turned by tonight if nothing can be done.”
“Then in Jesus’ name, stake me now and have done with it! I will not live as one of them!” Sean said, almost shouting and bringing a rough, rasping, soreness to his already tender throat.
“I wished to do so...” the Scotsman replied, “...and I told Lennan as much last night. But he has other plans I am not yet privy to. Just be thankful they found us when they did, for I was just about to stake you there on the riverbank when you jumped at me.”
“What riverbank? And I attacked you? Forgive me, sir, but I have no memory of it. And that’s the shameful part to me. For pity’s sake, man, stake me and have done with it,” Sean pleaded.
The Scotsman shook his head.
“It’s of no consequence. If you survive this day I’ll tell you the full tale and we’ll share an ale or two. And if you don’t make it through, I promise, on my vow to your friend and your Thane, to give you a quick sending. But I cannot stake you yet. Not when the woodsmen believe there is still a chance to save your soul.”
Sean felt sick to his stomach and his heart pounded heavily in his chest. Thick beads of sweat poured from his brow and his body shivered as if he had the ague. There was something in his body with him, something that was even now slowly eating away at his defences. He knew that it would turn him into a ravening beast no better than those he had so recently dispatched. And there was nothing he could do about it...not while he was bound and trussed.
“I feared my soul was in danger even before this,” Sean said. “In this past week I have killed four men, and two boys, and taken the eyes of another. Maybe I am only reaping the just rewards of my actions.”
The Scotsman slapped him, hard, across the side of the head.
“Now is no time for pitying yourself or for thoughts of what might have been. If you are to prevail this day, you must fight for your soul. But it might be too late. How can I trust you, laddie, when you have already tried to feed from me?”
Sean had no answer to that. At that moment he was having trouble trusting himself.
“I’m thirsty,” he croaked.
“Aye. I’ll wager you are,” the Scotsman said. Sean saw the look of distrust in the man’s eyes.
“No, man. I need water. Just water. My throat feels like I’ve been eating dry sand for a week.”
“And it will for a while longer
,” Campbell said. “The woodsmen have forbade you any food or water. I am sorry to see you in this state, but they have magic that may yet help you.”
“Magic,” Sean said, and spat in disgust. “It’s not magic I’m needing, it’s a bloody miracle.”
For the first time, Sean saw a smile creep at the edges of the big man’s mouth.
“Aye. One of them would be fine, as well. But you saw how the woodsman’s magic sustained your new Thane. Don’t be so quick to dismiss it.”
Before Sean could reply there was movement at the cave mouth and a bundle of fur entered.
“Time to leave, Camp-Bell,” a voice said from within it. “There’s woman’s work to be done.”
Campbell bowed, and there was suddenly a wide grin on his face.
“A pleasure to see you too, lady. Just don’t be embarrassing the boy too much. He has eyes for my daughter only, so don’t be trying to turn his head.”
“He may have eyes for your daughter, but he is nearly a man, and eyes do not matter when a woman’s flesh is pressed to him,” she said, and cackled loudly as she began to divest herself of clothing.
The fur fell to the floor, and exposed a small, naked woman, almost as round as she was tall— which was somewhere less than four feet. Her fat fell in folds around her belly, and her bosoms were huge, drooping almost to her waist. Every inch Sean could see was covered in tattoos, most of them faded with age. Her hair hung in long greasy tresses around her shoulders. When the hair moved he saw that her ears were small and delicately pointed. When she smiled, there were only three teeth in her mouth, but her eyes sparkled with life as she stared at Sean.
“I, Gwynneth, eldest of the stone. Your soul is full, but I will empty it.”
Campbell must have seen the quizzical look in Sean’s eyes.
“She is far older than Menzies,” he said. “And just as wise, if not wiser, in the ways of the Others. Lennan said she was master of great magic, and if it is greater than his, you would be wise yourself to trust her. If there is to be help for you, it will come from her and her like. Give yourself into her care.”
“But look at her. She is a barbarian,” Sean said.
Campbell laughed, but there was little humour in it.
“And just last week you included me and my kin in that definition, did you not? Your education is continuing, laddie. This ‘barbarian’ has an ancient wisdom we will never understand. And it may be that the only barbarian soul in this place at the moment is yours.”
The round woman started pushing Campbell towards the cave mouth. “Go now. Fill your belly. Tell tales with the old ones around the fire. Drink heather ale until you fall over. This you cannot see, this be secret thing for women.”
Campbell left, shouting over his shoulder.
“I will return later,” he said. “If I am allowed. And then we will see what the woodsman’s magic has wrought.” He ducked to avoid banging his head on the cave entrance just as Gwynneth finally forced him out.
She shook herself like a dog shaking off river water, then waddled back across the room. Her fat moved in time with her steps, and it was all Sean could do to keep his eyes off her breasts. She sat down on her haunches and looked at him.
“I be Gwynneth,” she said again. “I be first of the stone. The stone enfolds you and protects you. The stone is the bane of the Others. And the stone will try you and make you whole once more.”
Sean nodded. He had no idea what the woman was talking about, but he had heard Martin’s tale of the woodsman’s magic, and he trusted Campbell, even if the trust was all one way at this moment. He had to allow the woodsmen their attempt to save him, while he still had his own senses.
But suddenly he was worried about what would happen next. That worry increased when the woman reached out and stroked his cheek, then began to run her hands down his body. He realised that, apart from the cords around him, he was as naked as the day he was born. He twitched violently as her fingers brushed his manhood. She stepped back and looked him in the eye.
“Men I have seen before. Many men,” the round woman said, and made an obscene gesture with her finger and her rolled-up left hand. “Too old now. Old woman, old flesh, all dried out. Too rough for the soft flesh of boys.” She cackled, and Sean found himself laughing along with her.
“Let me out of these cords and I’ll prove you wrong, milady,” he said.
She laughed again, then shook her head sadly.
“The boy I would like. Show him a few new tricks maybe. But the Other in you is strong. He must be bound until it is time to give him to the stone. Now hush. Gwynneth has woman’s work to do.”
She took his arm and felt with her fingers around the wound in his shoulder. Her touch was light, far lighter than Campbell’s, and this time there was no pain, only a dull ache. Then she dropped the arm and looked in his mouth as if he was a horse being examined for sale. Finally she stared deep into his eyes before sitting back on her haunches.
“Good. The Other is not here,” she said. “We are ready.”
She went to the bundle of fur she had left on the floor and came up with a piece of chiselled flint.
She shouted, a word that he did not understand. To Sean it sounded like a command, and once more there was movement at the front of the cave.
A small girl walked in, carrying a wooden bowl that was nearly as big as she was. Like Gwynneth, she was naked, and covered head to toe in tattoos. Unlike Gwynneth, her pictures were almost new, recently done in scarlet and black and green. Her hair was cropped short, and Sean saw that even her small pointed ears were covered in the vivid tattoos.
“This is youngest of the stone, who will be Gwynneth when I am gone to travel with the wind,” the old woman said.
The young girl laid the wooden bowl on the cave floor beside Sean and stepped back, but not before he noticed her gaze linger on his naked body.
Gwynneth gave her a light slap on the bare cheek of her bottom.
“Go,” she said. “He has no pictures, no stories. He is not for you.” The young girl left at a run, but she had a smile on her face, as had Gwynneth when she turned back to him.
“Mayhap you will have a story we will tell here,” she said, tracing the muscle of his upper arm. “Then I allow her to look at you. She is young. Leather still supple. Wouldn’t you like to put your hand in her purse?”
She cackled again, and again Sean found himself joining her, so much so that he barely noticed when, in one smooth motion, she bent and dragged the flint across his wrist. The wound gaped open immediately, and the woman had to be quick in positioning the bowl so that his blood flowed into it in a steady stream.
He struggled, and would have screamed, but Gwynneth moved behind him and grabbed his head and shoulders. She sat on the floor and lifted his upper body into her lap, taking care that the blood kept flowing into the bowl.
Sean watched the blood leave him. The wound was deep, and at right angles across his main vein, but the blood didn’t spurt as he would have expected—it was sluggish and slow. That more than anything else proved to him that the Other was already doing its work inside him. Gwynneth’s grip was so strong that he could not move his head at all, and he could feel warmth seeping into him from her thighs. She started to chant, and Sean was surprised to find that he understood, if not every word, at least the meaning of it.
Before the wind came there was only stone.
And the stone was alone, in the blackness, even before the light, even before any songs were written. The stone desired company, but there was only cold and dark and empty. And the stone cried.
Where the stone tears fell, they dug holes in the firmament of the night. And silver and blue fire came from the holes, a fire that blazed in the heavens and gladdened the cold heart of the stone. And so the stars were formed.
The stone sang to itself in the dark, and the stars came to listen. And the stone loved the stars so that he sent out to them for one to come closer, to warm him there in the dark.
And one came close, to better hear the song of the stone. And they sang to each other, the stone and the star. The star warmed the stone, and the stone cooled the ardour of the star. And from their love they made the world of light and stone together. And they brought forth the land and the seas. And they made a song to care for their creation. And he was the first, their son, our Father.
And there in the earth our Father grew strong in the love of the stone and the stars. But as he grew, he too became lonely. And he sang to the sun, and he sang to the stone, but they have their own song, one that he could not sing.
So the Father taught himself new music, tunes that made the earth move and give forth trees and herbs, fish and fowl. But still the Father was lonely, for although he loved his creations, none of them could sing for him.
So the Father took the sound of waves crashing on beaches and wind blowing through trees. And he took the whistles from the birds and the barking cough from the dogs. And from the cats he took the crying wail, and from the wolf, the Grey Shadow, he took the howl in the night. All these noises he took, and he blew them into the stone, and mixed them with tears from his own loneliness.
And for a whole tour of the earth round the sun he moulded the stone with his tears, and in the moulding he added the new song he had found. And slowly we his children were born, and our song with us.
In the stone we were held with the Father, and our souls were empty. And we were one with the stone and the stone was one with us. And so it went for long aeons. The Father told us tales of his youth, when even the stars were young, and he made us promises that we would always be with him.
But there came the day that Samdur the wind god came in a great rush, and with her she brought the great ice. The ice covered the whole world, so that even the Father was not safe from its ravages. And the ice leeched into us and through us and separated us from the stone. For the first time we were parted from the Father, and we stood alone before the force of the wind.
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