And the wind took us and blew us apart like pebbles in a stream until our people were scattered far from the Father and our souls were filled with fear.
And still the wind blew and still our people were tossed and turned this way and that, until we came at last to rest in this place we now inhabit. For long years the wind blew and the ice grew, and many perished, but there came a time when the wind began to lessen.
And in the darkness, as the wind abated, we could hear the cries of our Father, but we could not come to him, for he was locked deep in the ice, in a place we could not reach.
So we gathered and we built tall monuments to our Father’s glory. And we met at the stones, and our songs brought warmth to him, there under the ice. But still we could not come to him. And still the wind blew, although it was much lessened and the ice began to retreat. And from the north, where the ice was thickest and the darkness deepest, we became aware of shadows that moved as fast as the wind itself. And they caught the slowest of us, and took them from the Father. And some they sent back to us, much changed, so much changed that their songs had gone in the wind forever.
Slowly we learned how to fight them, and we learned how to kill, but every time we killed, or were killed, our souls became a little more full, and we became a little further from the Father.
Until there came a day when we could no longer hear the Father, and our warmth no longer reached him. And our people met, in a great gathering, and decided that we would kill no more, and neither would we allow the shadows to take us.
So we took ourselves out of the sight of the shadows, and after a time our songs began to warm the Father once more.
Since then we have walked with the wind, but we know that the day will come when we will once more be one with the stone. To prepare for that day we empty our souls, and we keep to the old ways and we sing our songs.
We do this in the sure and certain knowledge that the wind will one day die, and our Father will have us back there with him, in the bosom of the stone.
The chant changed to a slow song, but this was in a language that Sean could not begin to understand. The heat that enveloped his head was making him drowsy, and his eyes began to close.
“No,” the woman said, and stood quickly, letting his head fall heavily on the stone floor. “No sleep. Must stay here with Gwynneth, else the Other will have control.”
She shook him, hard.
“Sleep bad,” she said, staring deep into his eyes once more.
Sean nodded.
“If I stay awake, then the Other cannot come?” he said.
Gwynneth looked at him, her eyes suddenly sad.
“May come anyway. Other is strong. Only the stone will tell.”
She spat in her palm and rubbed the spittle on his wound, muttering a few soft words under her breath. To Sean’s amazement the wound stopped bleeding.
Gwynneth pointed at the bowl.
“The Other is here,” she said, then pointed at Sean. “And also here. It is divided and weakened. Empty your soul. Fight to keep it so.”
She turned to go, but Sean called her back.
“Wait,” he said. “What can I do?”
She looked sad again.
“Wait. Rest. Be vigilant. If the time comes you will know. What will come will come.”
She lifted the furs and once more covered herself in them.
“No sleep. No food. Later you will be one with the stone, and then your soul will be empty.” Sean didn’t have the strength to quiz her further as she left.
The bowl of blood beside him steamed slightly in the cool cave air, and he was dismayed to see how much she had bled him. He hoped that this was to be the only bleeding. If any more were taken from him, he would have little left to sustain life. There was a noise from outside and Campbell came into the cave once more.
“You have made a conquest, laddie. Gwynneth has bled you herself. According to Lennan, that makes you special.”
“She is somewhat special herself. Have you ever seen her like afore?”
Campbell smiled.
“No, nor even anything near. Although there was a wench in Dublin once who ran her close. I hope you were able to keep yourself under control?”
Sean almost laughed aloud, but the cords around his chest were so tight that even that hurt.
“Can we not loosen the ropes somewhat?” he asked, but the Scotsman was suddenly solemn again.
“I’m sorry, laddie, but we cannae. If you were to turn you might run, and we’d have no chance of saving you.”
“And you think there is such a chance? Have you ever seen anybody cured from such a deep bite?” Sean said.
“Not cured as such,” the Scotsman said. “But you are forgetting my daughter. Mary has been bitten these three months, and yet is not turned. If that can happen, I am willing to believe there is hope for you.”
“And you think this is the way to be about it?” Sean said, motioning with his head to the still- steaming bowl. “I can not afford to lose many more bowls as full as this one.”
“I have heard of bleeding being used before now,” the Scotsman said. “It was said to be effective at keeping the Others at bay in the distant past.”
“Aye,” Sean said derisively. “And old Menzies always says that any doctor who has to resort to bleeding is little more than a charlatan. Are these woodsmen any better than horse doctors?”
“Don’t mock what you don’t understand,” the Scotsman said. “For did these same ‘horse- doctors’ not mend your new Thane?”
“But he wasn’t bitten by an Other. Unless the woodsmen have some new trick we have never heard afore, then I am greatly afeared.”
“I know not what they have in store for you,” Campbell said. “I can only urge you to be patient.”
“Aye. That’s easy for you to say,” Sean said. “For you are not the one trussed up like a pheasant waiting to be hung.”
“No,” said the Scotsman, and Sean saw, too late, that the man was angry. “But I am the one who must sit here and baby-sit a bitten Englishman while his only daughter is in the hands of the Others and gets ever further away. Now be quiet. And do not even think about sleeping, for I am under orders from Gwynneth herself to keep you awake until they are ready.”
“And what happens then?” Sean asked, but the big man did not reply, only moved away and sat once more at the mouth of the cave.
For the first time since waking Sean had time to fully contemplate what had happened to him. The thought filled him with dread. All his life, his biggest fear had been loss of control, loss of what made him Sean Grant. And now it was no more than a short breath away. He had seen how quickly a bite could work its devilish way in a body—for had he not had to fight his fellow officers only minutes after the Others attack? He wondered why he himself had not turned sooner. It was long past due.
And he could feel it in his bones. It was as if he could hear the Other chittering away deep inside him, just waiting for nightfall for it to emerge and take him over completely.
He almost wished that Campbell had indeed staked him when the Other had first gripped him. But then he remembered Mary Campbell, and his vow to protect her. He resolved that he would try to bear whatever the woodsmen had in mind, bear it and live to see Mary Campbell once more. But he was tired. So very tired.
“Campbell,” he said. “I fear you are going to have to talk to me. Otherwise I will be asleep all too soon.”
The Scotsman moved towards him.
“And what pleasantries shall we utter to one another?” he said. “Until I am sure you are once again man and only man, I cannot trust you.”
“Then don’t speak with me,” Sean said. “Speak at me. Tell me one of your tales, sprout poetry, sing even, I care not. Just do not let me sleep. I mean to see your daughter once more before I die.”
The Scotsman’s eyes sparkled, and a thin smile showed at his lips.
“Aye, for you have another thing in common now that you are bitten. I will not
speak of such dark things. For all that we are in a dark place, I have been in darker. But let me show you how far into the dark you have fallen.”
Campbell took the heavy silver cross from around his neck and lowered it on its chain towards the blood in the bowl.
The blood began to bubble and seethe, and at the same time Sean felt his body rebel in turmoil. It was as if a nest of ants had suddenly come alive inside him, scurrying and running through his empty spaces. He could almost feel them burrowing deep into his tissues. Fresh sweat poured from his brow and he twitched violently inside his bonds.
Campbell dropped the bottom half of the cross into the blood, and there was a hiss and the sudden smell of hot copper. Lancing white-hot pain shot through Sean’s body, fire running in his bones. He screamed, twice, and an echo rang loud in the cave.
“Stop, man! For pity’s sake, stop!” he said.
The Scot lifted the cross and the blood stopped seething. Steam rose from the silver as the last blood was boiled off.
Sean felt his heartbeat slow to near normal and the trembling in his body subsided. The memory of the pain was slower to depart, but it too faded in a few seconds.
“So. Do you now realise the danger, laddie?” Campbell said.
“Yes,” Sean said, and there were sudden tears in his eyes. “Release me from my vow to your daughter, and stake me. I will not live like this.”
“Ah, but you will, boy. At least for now. And your vow holds. Lennan has seen that you and her share a destiny in a future that may yet come to pass. How, and when, has yet to be seen, but I trust the woodsman. Now will you be patient?”
Tears were still running down Sean’s face.
“As patient as I can be. But promise me, you will stake me if the woodsman’s magic does not work.” “I am ready for it,” Campbell said. “I made the wood while you slept, and I used your own sword. If the time comes around, it will be fast and as painless as I can make it. But the time may never come.”
He sat at Sean’s side and stared deep into the youth’s eyes.
“Trust the woodsmen. If there is still that within you which is man and only man, then fight. Fight as you’ve never fought, for time is short, and the Other is strong.”
Sean stared at the Scotsman, but couldn’t find any words to say. They looked at each other for a long minute before a noise from the other end of the cave caused Campbell to turn away.
A small man that Sean had never seen before called across the cave.
“It is time. Bring him out. The stone will try him.”
Campbell lifted Sean into his arms as if he weighed no more than a child and carried him out of the cave. Sean blinked in the sudden daylight and it was several seconds before his eyes adjusted.
At first all he could see was the Scotsman’s shoulder, but by twisting his head he was able to see the scene around him.
The cave he had just left was set high in a rocky escarpment above a deep valley. Campbell was carrying him down a narrow set of steps cut in the rock wall. Both in front and behind, they were accompanied by small, tattooed people who sang as they walked.
The day was overcast, and the valley floor was cast in deep shadow, but Sean saw that it was mostly deep forest, with only the occasional clearing. In the clearings were small hut circles, thin wisps of smoke rising from their roofs. The buildings were no more sophisticated than the summer byres they kept the cattle in back in Milecastle, but the thatch looked new and none of the buildings showed signs of dereliction. There were no signs of any domesticated animals; no cows, sheep, goats—not even a dog—but the skins and furs of many animals were hung on long poles, drying in the sun.
Groups of the small people were streaming into the main clearing. This space was much larger, and surrounded a circle of tall stones. The path that Campbell was following seemed to be leading them directly to it.
“What is this place?” Sean said.
“It is the home of the woodsmen. We are honoured, laddie—I think we might be the only people not of their tribe to have been here in a very long time, if ever.”
“That is not what concerns me,” Sean said. “It is what waits for me down in yon clearing.”
“It is not you they wait for. It is the Other that concerns them,” Campbell replied.
“I’m not sure there is a difference,” Sean said.
At that moment the sun broke through the clouds. It was only for a second, but when it struck him, Sean screamed. Pain surged through his body, raising a cold sweat on his brow and bringing tears to his eyes.
The woodsmen around him began to sing louder, their voices raised so high that the vibrations echoed and rang inside Sean’s head. The temperature dropped and the sun once more went behind the clouds. One of the tattooed folk approached Campbell.
“I am sorry, Camp-Bell,” he said. “The gods are not always with us, and our song sometimes falters.”
“It is all right, Lennan,” the Scotsman said. “The boy has suffered no harm, and the Other is not yet fully awake.”
“No harm?” Sean hissed under his breath. “I have never felt such pain.”
“Aye, maybe,” the Scotsman said. “But pain is only a distraction. It can be ignored. Remember what I told you, boy. Be strong.”
They kept following the path downwards. Once, on a steep section, Campbell’s footing slipped, and Sean found himself looking straight down a fifty-foot drop, but the woodsmen were vigilant and righted the Scotsman’s balance.
“Take care, Camp-Bell. The Other would survive, but even our gods could not patch you up if you fell from here.” Sean realised that they no longer thought of him as man and only man. His plight was dire—he had to prove that he wasn’t Other, for if he did not, he would not be leaving the woodsmen’s town. The trouble was, Sean wasn’t sure how much man was left in him.
Soon they reached the bottom of the steps and walked on the valley floor. The crowd around them began to swell as more woodsmen came out of the forest, until they were being followed by a throng of at least a thousand.
“They have an army of their own,” Sean said. “Why have they not fought the Boy-King? Why have they let him pass?”
Campbell said nothing, but Lennan stepped forward.
“We do not kill unless it is necessary. Not even the Others. Once we fought them, but we became too like them. Now we kill no longer.”
“Then what use are you?” Sean said.
Campbell was suddenly angry.
“Remember why you are here, boy. And remember your Thane, your friend. He would be dead now if it was not for this man’s help...help he is trying to bestow on you.”
Being reminded of Martin also reminded Sean of who he was. He was an officer of the Watch of Milecastle, and if he was to die this day, he’d die like one. He managed to turn his head and speak to the woodsman, remembering something Martin had said.
“Forgive me. My belly is empty and my soul is full.”
The woodsman’s face lit up in a broad smile, and suddenly Sean no longer felt quite so frightened.
“We will take the Other from the friend of the Grey-Shadow-Killer. And my soul will be empty and fly with the wind,” the woodsman said. There was a sad smile on the small man’s face, one that Sean couldn’t read.
“And if you do, I will be in your debt forever,” he replied.
“That you will,” the Scotsman said, interrupting. “And not just you. The fort of Milecastle will owe these people even more of a debt than they do already.”
“Then I vow to ensure that the debt will be repaid. In what way I cannot yet say, but I will try,” Sean said.
Having not made a vow of any kind in his life, he had now made two in as many weeks. He was coming to understand just how heavy such promises could hang on a man’s heart.
The woodsman seemed to sense Sean’s feelings and clapped Sean on the shoulder. “Then all will be well,” Lennan said. “Our peoples will feast together, fill their bellies, empty their souls, and tell tales into the
night. But first, we must deal with the Other. Are you prepared?”
At first Sean thought that the woodsman was addressing the Scotsman, but soon realised that he was expected to answer. His mouth was dry and a cold fear was bubbling just under the surface of his thoughts, but he managed to reply to the woodsman—he owed Martin that much.
“My soul is full, but I am ready,” he said.
Lennan nodded.
“As am I. Let us go to the stone and see what songs it has to sing.”
The woodsman led them into the clearing of the stones.
Sean realised he had underestimated the population—there were more than two thousand in the crowd around the circle. They stood, women, children, elders and woodsmen, all facing inwards to the tall spires of stone in the centre. There were somewhere around twenty stones. Sean tried to count them, twice, but got a different number each time and gave up the attempt.
The people parted to let Campbell and Lennan through, and Lennan led them into the centre of the stone circle. Campbell stood Sean upright and Lennan cut his bonds, letting him stand free. He had to lean on the Scotsman, and almost cried out as the blood rushed back to his arms and legs. Eventually the feeling of dizziness subsided and he pushed Campbell aside and stood on his own.
He still felt weak and faint, as if just recovered from a fever, but at least the ropes were gone. He thought of fleeing, but there were too many woodsmen, and besides, he was starting to believe that they might be able to help him.
There was only one other person within the circle. Gwynneth stood beside a large flat block of stone. She was again naked, but this time there was no smile on her face.
“What we do now has only been done twice afore now. First time, stories say it worked. Second time, the Other prevailed. That time the tribe lost its eldest. I will not let that happen here. If you are strong, we win, if you are weak, your soul goes with the wind. You understand?”
This time Sean’s mouth was too dry to let him speak. He merely nodded.
“The stone will try you,” Lennan said. “You must give yourself to its embrace.
Sean moved closer to the stone. He saw that it was concave on top, hollowed out with just enough room for a body.
The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition Page 29