The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

by William Meikle

  “I think you are meant to lie inside it, laddie,” Campbell said to him. “It is one of their magic rituals, so I hope you’re not going to tell me that your religion forbids it?”

  Sean managed a throaty laugh.

  “I haven’t had any religion since I discovered the Pastor in the byre with a washerwoman. If it works, I’ll believe anything they want me to,” he said, and climbed onto the stone. He lay down flat on his back, and it was as if the stone was enveloping his body. When he dropped his head back he could see only sky.

  Panic began to take hold, and his breathing became fast and shallow. He tried to sit up, but was held tight. The stone had him in its grip.

  “Campbell?” he said, almost shouting. “I cannot move.”

  “I’m here, laddie,” the familiar voice said. “And I’ll stay beside you until it’s over. But hush. The stone has you, and it will be so until it is over.”

  Sean felt a hot gush at his wrist and realised that his wound had been reopened. Once more he tried to squirm free, but still the stone gripped him.

  The gathered throng began to sing, a deep bass chant at first that caused the stone around Sean to vibrate and hum. The song began to rise, and the power thrumming through the stone rose with it until even the air around him seemed to be singing.

  Colours spun in front of his eyes, colours that swelled and bloomed in time with the music. Swirling patterns of blue and green moved so fast that it brought a wave of nausea to Sean’s throat. He closed his eyes, but that was no better, so he opened them again...he needed to face what was coming. He could feel heat build inside him, at first focusing on his wrist, then spreading through his body. The combination of the warmth, the colours and the vibration were almost enough to send him to sleep.

  But then the people’s song hit a climax and the voices of the women, Gwynneth in particular, began to take precedence. The heat rose inside him, and the vibrations speeded up. A wind arose out of nowhere, and the clouds parted. Suddenly sunshine bathed the stone, and Sean screamed as pain leapt through him.

  Lennan’s voice cut through the rest of the noise, seeming to speak directly in his head.

  “Remember what Camp-Bell said. Pain is just a sensation, and our souls can control all sensation. Empty your soul. Discard the Other along with the pain.”

  Sean was incapable of speech. The pain was huge inside him. Once, when he was aged twelve, he had broken his arm falling out of a tree. The pain then had seemed to fill him, but this was something else entirely. This drove everything else out and became everything that mattered, everything that ever would matter.

  The sun was almost directly overhead, a raging fire that melted his flesh and bones until all sensation was just a red mist in which he burned. Dimly, in the great distance, he heard voices. They were in heated discussion, and he knew that he was the subject, but for now only the heat and the pain mattered.

  “The Other is too strong. We fail,” Gwynneth said. “Best to use the stake and let the stone and sun take him.”

  “No,” Campbell replied, his voice almost a shout. “The laddie is strong in himself. Give him time.”

  “No time,” Gwynneth said. “You can see that the blood has been taken by the Other. The boy is already lost. It will be mercy to give him to the stone.”

  Another voice joined the argument.

  “There is yet time,” Lennan said. “I will help the friend of Martin of the stone city. My blood will calm him.”

  This time it was Gwynneth who shouted.

  “No! The gods will fill your soul, and your people will lose you.”

  “All will be as the Father wills it,” Lennan said. “Camp-Bell...will you lend me your sword?”

  Sean heard the rasp of steel as the sword left the scabbard, then a sound he would never forget as the blade met flesh.

  Gwynneth screamed, and Sean felt a weight fall across his chest. There was a splash, and a smell of copper, then the heat suddenly left him. The sun still shone down on him, but now it was just a gentle warmth.

  “See,” Campbell said. “The boy recovers.”

  “Aye,” Gwynneth replied. “But at what cost? A soul has fled today.”

  “Nonsense,” the Scotsman replied. “Not enough blood has been spilled here for that.”

  Sean felt the weight being lifted from his body. He was able to open his eyes just in time to see Lennan’s dead eyes staring back at him as Campbell lifted the woodsman away from the stone.

  “How is this possible?” Campbell said.

  “He has given life to the friend of his friend,” Gwynneth said in a dull monotone. “Rejoice and be happy.” Sean sat up. The stone was now only stone, and released him from its grip. There was a singing in his veins and, although his limbs were streaked with blood, there were no visible wounds on his body. Even the bite at his shoulder had disappeared.

  “What just happened here?” he asked.

  “Later, laddie,” the Scotsman said. “These people have some grieving to do.”

  Lying at Campbell’s feet was what looked like a large tanned animal hide, but when Sean looked closer he saw the tattoo marks and the mop of black hair. The drained husk lying on the ground was all that remained of the woodsman Lennan.

  Sean was about to speak again, but saw the look in the Scotsman’s eye and held his peace.

  Gwynneth motioned, and six woodsmen came into the circle of stones and lifted Lennan’s body, reverentially and carefully. Sean dropped himself from the stone and made to follow them as they left, but Gwynneth stopped him.

  “This is time for men of the woods to empty their souls. Leave them be.”

  “I merely want to pay my respects,” he said.

  “Respects must be earned,” she said. “Take yourselves to the cave and wait. I will come for you when the new king asks for you.”

  “New king?” Sean said, but Gwynneth had already turned her back on them and was waddling away after the men carrying Lennan’s body.

  Sean turned to Campbell.

  “No questions now, laddie,” the Scotsman said. “We’d better get up to yon cave. Have you not seen the way these people are looking at you?”

  Sean finally noticed what Campbell meant.

  Some of the people had left to follow Lennan’s cortege, but the rest were still standing around the circle, staring at Sean with a mixture of hate and fear. There were no weapons in sight, for which Sean was glad, because if there had been, Sean had no doubt they would have been used against him.

  “Lead me to it,” he said to Campbell. “It looks like we are not wanted here.”

  “It’s not me they’re feared of,” Campbell replied, but motioned for Sean to follow and left the circle. Before following him, Sean had a last look down at the stone, and was surprised to see that it was bare, with not even the slightest hint of blood staining the surface.

  After the bright sunlight the cave mouth looked dark and unwelcoming, but the people had followed them up the track and stood in a throng just outside the mouth, making sure there was nowhere else for Sean to go.

  “Come away in, lad,” Campbell said. “There’s little we can do against this many.”

  Reluctantly Sean turned and followed him in to the cave. Campbell was standing in the centre, waiting for him.

  “Well, this is a fine pass you’ve brought us to,” he said. He took Sean’s head in his hands and checked the skin where the shoulder wound had been.

  “It seems the woodsmen’s magic is potent. For that you must be thankful. But you’ll have some explaining to do to your Thane. He has lost a friend afore the friendship was even forged.”

  “For the loss of the woodsman, I am truly sorry,” Sean said.

  “It was the man’s own choice to aid you,” Campbell said. “You are not to blame for his passing. But I regret you did not get the bite looked at after the battle. Your teachers surely taught you better?” “Aye,” Sean said. “And if I ever see old Menzies again he’ll have my guts for the mistake. But co
me. Tell me what happened out in those stones. Am I man and only man, or am I Other?”

  “Truly, I don’t know,” Campbell said. “For I have never before seen the like of what I saw out there.”

  “Tell me,” Sean pleaded. “What occurred after I laid down in the stone?”

  “First, let us see what we can find in the way of sustenance,” the Scotsman said. “I need a drink.”

  To Sean’s surprise, there was a small table set in the corner of the cave piled high with fruit, berries and dried meats alongside a large pitcher and two rough cups.

  “They feed us? Even knowing that I might be Other?”

  “Aye,” Campbell replied. “For just as you aided me in Milecastle, so these people aid you now. They are not the barbarians you take them for.”

  “No, my friend,” Sean said. “And you are not the barbarian I took you for when I saw you before the gate. My apologies for that slight.”

  Campbell merely grunted and made straight for the pitcher, but Sean was surprised to find that he was hungry. The first berry he tasted seemed to open a gate inside him and he attacked the rest of the food with gusto.

  The Scotsman handed Sean a mug and filled it from the pitcher.

  “Have some of this, laddie,” he said. “It’ll put hairs on your chest”

  The smell hit Sean first—strong and cloying, like honey and heather on a mid-summers day. The taste surprised him; it was sweet and smooth, but more strongly alcoholic than the ale he was used to. He sipped at it as Campbell motioned him to the bundle of rugs in the corner.

  “Sit yourself down, lad,” the big man said. “Yon mead will go to your head soon enough anyway.”

  Once they were both settled, Campbell started to talk, and Sean tried to visualise how the Scotsman had viewed the scene.

  “The stone took you,” he said. “As if you had fallen in soft sand. It moulded itself around you until only your face and one arm was showing. I’ve seen bones embedded in rock before now, but never a living being. After a short time, your arm started to bleed...”

  “You mean somebody cut me?” Sean asked.

  “No. Nobody was near. The cut rose on your wrist as if an invisible blade cut you, and the blood flowed freely. The crowd sang, the sun came out, and your blood began to boil there on the stone. It writhed and squirmed like a fish out of water, and the stone took it...just sucked it in like water into dry sand.”

  “I was in agony,” Sean said. “I have never felt such pain.”

  “Aye,” Campbell replied. “And it showed. But your blood kept flowing, and it kept boiling in the sun. You were losing too much. I have seen blood spilled in battle, but never seen anyone lose as much as you and still survive.”

  He stopped and took a long sip from his cup. Sean did likewise, and felt the warmth of the brew reach his stomach.

  Campbell shook his head as he continued.

  “I think the woodsmen were hoping that the Other would be driven out with your blood, but it was clear that it was not happening. You were growing paler by the second. Your eyes had rolled back in their sockets, and the stone was taking you further into its embrace. The old woman turned away then. She would have left you to the stone.”

  “But Lennan asked you for your sword. Didn’t he?” Sean said.

  “You heard that? I thought you were already beyond our ken. Aye, the woodsman took my sword.”

  The Scotsman’s eyes looked haunted, and he refilled his cup before continuing, his voice now little more than a whisper.

  “He cut himself, across the arm, so deep that I saw bone. Then he bent over you. His blood mixed with yours, and it seemed that the blood no longer boiled. You began to emerge from the stone, and your colour started to return.”

  “You mean I took his blood? Then I am Other. Stake me now and have done with it.” Sean said.

  “No. You didn’t take it—he gave it to you. I think therein lies the difference. But the more he gave, the worse it went for him. I moved to lift him away from the stone, but Gwynneth held me back, though there were tears in her eyes.”

  It was Sean who refilled the cups this time. Suddenly he needed a drink. His throat had gone dry, and he was having trouble breathing.

  “He gave everything?” he said, and the Scotsman nodded.

  “Aye. It did not seem that he had shed too much blood, but he gave you more than just blood— he gave you the force that made him who he was...his soul. You owe these people a debt. Their king laid down his life for you.”

  “I didn’t ask for it,” Sean said. “But I will always hold his memory dear. But I did not know he was a king.”

  “It is their way. The king is the leader, but he lives the same life as his subjects. If all peoples lived that way then maybe we would not be having these troubles with the dark boy.”

  “And what happens now?” Sean asked. “I have eaten and drank, and I have no urge for the blood. Am I now a whole man again?”

  “As I said afore, I know not. But I’m sure the woodsmen will have an answer. I do not believe they will let us leave until they are satisfied. You have another test still to come.” Campbell said.

  “Then I hope it comes quickly, for the sake of our duty to your daughter.”

  “Lennan told me I would live to see her again,” the Scotsman said. “And his seeing has proved true so far.”

  Something lurched inside Sean, as if his blood had suddenly moved faster. He was still looking at Campbell, but the man had a livid bruise covering the left hand side of his face, and his right eye was little more than a red ball of blood.

  Sean shook his head, and Campbell was back as he had been, unbruised and unbloodied.

  “I’ve seen that look before,” the Scotsman said. “It looks like the woodsman has given you another gift along with your life. But don’t tell me what you saw. I have had enough foretelling to do me for a while yet.”

  Sean’s head buzzed. The mead was taking effect, and that coupled with the exertions of the day made him suddenly dizzy. He sat back, hard, on the furs and rested his back against the cave wall.

  Campbell put the pitcher to one side.

  “Best if we both try to keep a clear head,” he said. “We know not what the night has in store. Try to get some rest for now. There is naught else we can do.”

  The Scotsman lay on the floor, wrapped his plaid around his body, and was asleep within minutes. Sean merely sat and stared into space, his mind reeling.

  Yesterday he had been on the road with Campbell, still man and only man. Now, he no longer knew what he was. The fear was still there, the fear that an Other was rampant within him. And now he had been given the sight of the future, and the blood of a woodsman was running in his veins. He supposed some of him remained the old Sean Grant, but he no longer felt like the boy who had taken Campbell’s daughter south.

  If truth be told, he felt old. Old and tired. He let his eyes droop and was soon asleep. There were no dreams.

  He was woken by someone shaking him roughly at the shoulders. He realised with a shock that it was dark outside the cave mouth, just before he looked up into Gwynneth’s eyes.

  “Come,” she said in a loud whisper. “The king fears you, and his soul is not as empty as Lennan’s. He comes to kill you, so you will go.”

  Sean was still coming awake, and he saw that Campbell was slowly getting to his feet. Gwynneth tossed him a bundle that fell open to reveal his clothes, and Sean dressed as quickly as he was able there in the dark.

  He had just pulled on the leather vest when the woman thrust something at him in the gloom. He stretched out his hand and took it without thinking. It was only then that he realised that he held his sword in his hand—silver hilt and all.

  Gwynneth nodded.

  “The Other has gone. Lennan’s soul flies with the wind,” she said.

  Sean didn’t tell her that the hilt felt slightly hot in his hand, or that there was a tingling like a bad cramp in his fingers. He forced himself to smile.

 
“My belly is full and my soul is empty.”

  She looked deep into his eyes. There was a grim look on her face.

  “You must be strong,” she said. “Lennan’s blood sustains you now. Do not lose it.”

  She went to the corner of the cave, retrieved a bundle and passed it to Campbell.

  “This belongs to the one who slew the Grey Shadow. Lennan wants him to have it.”

  She handed over a wolf-skin cloak and Campbell bowed as he accepted it.

  “He told me it was coming. The wind will speed me to him,” he said. The Scotsman put the cloak on over his own, suddenly making him look twice the size.

  “Now let us go,” the woman said. “For the night is young and you will be far gone afore they come.”

  “Maybe we should stay,” Campbell said. “For the woodsmen are great trackers and will find us quickly.”

  “No,” said Gwynneth. “Peredur An Lennan is not the man his father was. He will not chase. And he will listen to his father’s mother.”

  The enormity of what she’d said suddenly hit. Sean knelt before her.

  “I will carry your son’s blood well, and will always have him in my soul.”

  She ran her hands through his hair and looked him in the eye again. “You have great destiny,” she said. “My son saw it. He gave his soul for it. Now I see it too. Come. We must go now.”

  The men followed her out of the cave. The night was dark, clouds obscuring the moon. Gwynneth led them, not down to the stone circle, but up, over the hill above the cave. For a long time they didn’t speak, just climbed, ever higher until they felt cold mist in their faces.

  The way got tougher, their path little more than an animal track, until Campbell and Sean were scrambling on hands and knees. Gwynneth however stayed upright and bounded ahead, running backwards to try to speed them on.

  “Come,” she said. “Not far now.”

  Once he’d heard that for the fifth time, Sean was ready to despair, but that proved to be the last as they crested a hill and simultaneously rose above the cloud.

  The sky was a field of stars overhead, and there was only the merest hint of a breeze. They were standing on a peak that seemed to be the only one above the mist. Here at the top the ground was bare save for rock and a small cairn of stones.