by Jacky Gray
The cheeky mental sparring was abruptly curtailed as the bearded man drew a long, cruel blade and pressed it to Slater’s throat.
24 – Talnach, the Evil Shaman
‘Is it wise to kill the boy?’ Lunella’s voice managed to sound bored and scornful at the same time. ‘What if he tells the truth and the chief does know him? He has Roldan’s fiery hair. Will your chief be pleased if you have slaughtered one of his own?’
The men holding Slater pulled him back from the lethal blade, the shorter one muttering something about letting the chief decide his fate. The bearded man was obviously upset, but one of the others pointed to the lightening sky in the east. The approach of dawn apparently persuaded him.
It was a short matter to secure Slater’s wrists with a strong twine. His ankles were loosely shackled to prevent him running off and his mouth was stopped with a crude gag. He watched dispassionately as they raised Lunella from the pit with the help of a leather harness which she willingly put on. His amusement grew at her simulated compliance, seemingly intimidated by their threats of violence if she did not.
Slater was struck by their ignorance – she was in a strong position to cause damage to their little band if she was of a mind to. It would have been an easy matter to resist, then one or more of them would have to descend into the pit where her strength and quick wits would have provided many opportunities for her to disable them.
‘For Lunai’s sake, stop giving it away – your thoughts are so loud even they might hear them.’
Slater mentally flinched at her disapproval, but maintained his cold face as they restrained her. They were much more careful about binding Lunella, using many different means to restrict the movement of her hands and arms. She warranted a gag, blindfold and large sack covering her head and shoulders, which they then tied round the middle with several loops of heavy twine.
Blackbeard held the end of the rope, shoving her forward, and then pulling on it so she stumbled. Laughing, he poked her with the tip of his sword. ‘Dunno why they’re so scared of her – just a dumb woman.’
Slater remained impassive, not wanting to give anything away. He was allowed to walk on his own; they must have reasoned that the shackles would stop any escape attempt. Clearing his mind of everything except putting one foot in front of the other, he listened as the wicce outlined her strategy in a voice only he could hear. Despite the professor’s warning, he was once more about to be instrumental in changing the course of history – if her plan worked.
‘What do you mean if? My plan must work. It will work, whether or not you help me.’ This was the last thought she placed in his head as they entered the largest of the wooden huts. Several men were waiting for them, and Lunella was taken to one side of a large dais and thrown to the ground. The rope they’d led her with was bound securely to a wooden framework. Slater thought this looked as though it was meant for tethering horses – maybe belonging to important visitors during meetings. A cage was lowered around her and large wooden stakes driven into the ground to secure it.
Slater was merely tied to a large wooden pole in front of the dais, but on the other side. He was obviously not considered to be dangerous. Four large, silent men were left guarding them as the others disappeared.
Despite several attempts to contact her with his thoughts, Lunella remained silent. One look at the guards suggested they could be in for a long wait. The sun had risen enough to peek through the door, adding its gentle morning rays to the glow from the torches sitting in sconces around the room. Slater’s gaze was drawn to walls hung with artefacts designed to impress: several huge skulls and other enormous bones; half a dozen large hides complete with hooves and tails, and a few smaller, rarer pelts.
In between were complete sets of battle armour, including a child’s padded surcoat, leggings and helmet. The weapons, however, were the biggest clue to the hut’s function: highly polished and exquisitely decorated shields, arrays of bows, axes and spears. Slater shuddered as he imagined the gruesome uses of some of the more unusual weapons with strange spikes of metal. One of the guards noticed and grinned in a manner suggesting he would take great pleasure in using the weapon for its intended purpose.
Slater ceased his scrutiny of the hut’s interior, focusing instead on the block of light coming in through the doorway, trying to work out the direction of the sun and the movement of the shadows. But these mental calculations could only keep his brain occupied for a short while and he slumped against the pole, trying hard to stay positive about his predicament. He reasoned Lunella must be asleep and worried that she might suffocate in the hood. Her instruction about not worrying repeated in his brain and he tried to empty his mind of all thoughts.
A noise outside snagged his attention. The sun’s angle had moved by an amount which suggested they had been waiting more than an hour. The stiffness in his limbs suggested it was closer to two hours. As it got closer, the noise resolved into the sound of horns blowing and the steady beat of a drum. It was loud enough that he could make out voices and people clapping and stamping; it sounded like a celebration.
A number of dirty, half-naked creatures burst in through the doorway, howling and shaking bones and other rattles. They cavorted round the room, spreading incense, followed by two drummers and three men blowing horns who took up position at the side of the dais. A group of well-drilled soldiers formed two lines, holding their spears up high, crossing to form an arch through which the rest of the villagers entered. At the front of this grand procession was a priest, but he bore very little resemblance to the terrifying Tauroch.
He was obviously far more than just a shaman – unlike the younger priests, he was fully dressed in a fine robe of highly treated hides, dyed and stitched as Mondilla’s had been. With well-groomed hair and carrying a richly decorated staff, he looked far more like a chief. The only visual signs of his profession were the belt of animal tails and pouches round his waist and the necklace of small bones and teeth. Another clue was the chant he intoned as he sprinkled dust which sparkled as it caught the light from the torches. Also, the gestures he made as he performed a complex, sedate and ritualistic dance. Two slave girls followed behind, spreading a layer of rose petals for the tall, red-haired man who was the exact image of the chief Slater met in his first adventure.
Although his face had identical contours to Roldan, the expression on it was very different. Whereas the first chief was strong, kind and intelligent, this man looked weak, mean and not very bright. His gaze was dull and his movements were sluggish, as though he had drunk too much strong ale. With a growing sense of unease, Slater watched him stumble onto the dais and slump onto the large, fur-covered chair. Taking the other, slightly smaller chair, the shaman’s piercing eyes swept over Slater long enough to dismiss the boy as insignificant. Instead, his gaze settled on Lunella’s cage, where it remained as the rest of the audience shuffled in and sat on the floor.
When they were finally settled, the shaman stood and raised his staff for attention, which was instant and complete. His pleasure was evident as he addressed the gathered crowd. ‘People of Durren, we gather here today to consider the fate of our worst enemy, the wicce Lunella.’
He paused as a ripple of anticipation spread with muttering and murmuring, again holding up his staff for silence. ‘But before we start on the main event, I, Talnach, have a mystery to solve. This boy,’ he pointed the staff with such ferocity that Slater cringed back, ‘is her ’prentice, sent to help perform her wicked deed.’
Aware of many pairs of eyes on him, Slater fought to hide the tremble in his reply. ‘I am not her ’prentice.’
The shaman looked surprised by the calm response. His voice was a hiss. ‘What were you doing at the wicce’s pit?’
Straightening, Slater met his accuser’s eyes with a level gaze. ‘I was lost in the forest and I nearly fell into your bear pit. I saw a body in there, lying as though injured. I was working out how to get down and help her.’ As with the best lies, he kept close to th
e truth.
‘What were you doing there in the first place? You are not from here.’
‘No, I come from far away.’
‘Where is your horse? Or would you have us believe someone with your fine clothes walked here on foot?’
Slater worried about this part of the story; his skills did not lie in making things up, but Lunella had given him some ideas to make it more credible. ‘He was taken by a band of thieves but I escaped into the forest.’
‘A scrawny boy like you, outwitted raiders alone?’
‘My servants fought bravely but the convey insisted I should slip away so they would not get the ransom.’
It was a master stroke. As soon as he realised the boy might be worth more alive than dead, the shaman’s eyes glittered with greed, but he did not seem satisfied by Slater’s tale. ‘You have not said why you are in Durren.’
Slater lowered his voice so Talnach had to lean closer to hear it. ‘I have come with a message from Albion about the stone temple.’
The people closest to him gave a collective gasp and the words were repeated back through the lines.
‘A message from Albion?’ The shaman’s voice was full of scorn. ‘Tell us this message.’
‘I cannot. The words are for Roldan’s ears only. No one else may hear them unless Roldan decrees.’
25 – Roldan, the Warrior King
While Talnach interrogated Slater, the chief’s eyes were gradually clearing and he straightened in his chair.
Lunella had been clearing the fog which dulled his brain. She blessed the darkness of her prison as it allowed her the privacy to summon the earth’s healing energy. As she transmitted this to the chief, it freed him of the effects of the shaman’s enchantment. Roldan’s perception of reality had been altered by years of programming. A subtle blend of controlling herbs had been fed into his body over many years to make his mind receptive to Talnach’s suggestions. Roldan was little more than a puppet.
As Lunella drew out the deeply buried memories which had been shrivelling the chief’s heart, she replaced them with a pure, loving light which restored his sunny nature. It was a delicate operation. She needed to enlighten him, whilst ensuring he did not awaken abruptly and confront the shaman with his misdeeds.
She was surprised to find Talnach was once his greatest supporter. As a youthful friend and confidant, he had once only known love for Roldan. But the shaman’s heart was poisoned by jealousy after Beyana, the only girl he’d loved, refused his advances because she was in love with chief’s son. This girl was the key to breaking the bond between them, so the wicce examined each memory for clues.
Digging deep into Roldan’s past, Lunella saw images of the three of them as youngsters. Beyana’s courage and skill matched any boy’s and the three of them were inseparable. They shared many adventures – teasing, laughing and daring each other into more outrageous and dangerous exploits. As they grew older, the friendship changed.
Lunella saw the adolescent longing of the shaman for Beyana and she for Roldan. But the young prince saw her only as a friend; he was not interested in romance with any girl. His mind was filled with the things he would need to know in order to take over from his father. Lunella felt the corrosive strength of feeling as Talnach’s passion turned from a tentative, hopeful love to a burning, insane jealousy.
The shaman had studied many healing methods and the beneficial and influential effects of plants and crystals on the human body. During these studies, he had discovered a number of potions which would persuade a person to fall in love. In his eagerness to gain her affection, Talnach combined several spells together. Unfortunately, his lack of expertise in the use of powerful magic, caused his beloved Beyana to become unbalanced by her emotions.
At this time, by some wicked jest on the part of the Gods, Roldan had suffered an injury while out hunting. As the shaman treated his wounds with potions, he noticed the normally strong man was weakened and his will was susceptible. Under normal circumstances, this would not have caused a problem, but shortly afterward, Beyana had succumbed to one of her strange, nightmarish dreams and thrown herself into a river. Lunella saw Roldan’s grief as he pulled the girl’s lifeless body out of the river, but it was nothing compared to Talnach’s devastation. He screamed and tried every trick he knew to try and save her.
When Roldan tried to comfort his friend, the shaman turned on him, punching, kicking and blaming the chief’s son for her death and cursing that he would suffer the memory of this for all eternity and never know true love.
Although upset by Talnach’s actions, Roldan put it down to grief and defended his friend’s appalling behaviour, hoping time would work its healing magic and the pain would diminish. He was pleased when Talnach returned from the bad place and became a rock when the chief was ill, supporting as a true friend. The wasting disease crippled the chief and Roldan would never have survived the terrible year without the tonics the shaman prepared. They were designed to prevent evil spirits from infecting Roldan with the same ailments that had afflicted his father.
By delving into the chief’s memories, Lunella was able to reconstruct the shaman’s methods and motivation. She saw how the potions were slightly different at the start and realised the shaman was varying the ingredients each time and noting the reactions. It took many moons of experimenting to isolate the correct combination to create the desired effect. The shaman was a patient man and the end result was a man in a position of power whom he could manipulate to his own ends.
The chief’s father had ruled fairly for many years and when he died, everyone who knew his son believed he would maintain the same standards of wise compassion. When Roldan took over, it was expected that he would make a few mistakes. No one suspected the occasional unfair judgement or unlikely demand was anything but inexperience. It suited the shaman to retain Roldan as a figurehead and continue his role as confidant and advisor. But it was obvious Talnach had become intoxicated with power and was now abusing the chief’s authority in ways which were causing real hardship.
The people of the tribes feared each of the chief’s new rulings and resented the increasing tithes on the fruits of their labours. The strongest anger was directed at the temple modifications; changing from a simple circular structure to a complex arrangement of wooden buildings with areas where only the chief and a few chosen men could go. The right of entry for everyone else was restricted to certain times of the year and the most recent edict was to limit the access by women to the outer area only.
Talnach decreed they were no longer allowed to celebrate the full moon esbats in a public place. He was obviously threatened by the way women could easily harness the full moon’s power, particularly when gathered together. So he took steps to reduce their effectiveness.
Lunella had seen enough to realise the shaman was trying to turn the tribe into a place where women were subjugated to the power of men. This fitted with the strange dreams she had been experiencing for many moons. Her priority was to restore the shattered chief to the man he once was. She hoped he would retain sufficient strength of mind to remedy the injustices his embittered friend had perpetrated. For each atrocity the chief had unwittingly approved, she replaced the bitter act with a loving intention to undo the wrong and ensure justice was done.
Lunella focused back into the room to watch the priest’s reaction as Slater refused to answer the question about Albion. Time had run out; she had to give control back to the chief, whether he was ready or not. She had a few moments to complete the reversal of the tenacious spell, while the shaman insisted everyone leave the room.
But first, for an instant, she focussed her efforts on the shaman’s tainted mind, ensuring that her presence in the room was forgotten.
26 – Albion’s Message
‘All right boy, the room is clear; you may proceed with Albion’s message to Roldan.’
A glance at the chief told Slater that Lunella’s task was not quite done. Although there was a distinct improvement in his
posture, his eyes were still as someone in a trance. Slater kept his tone humble. ‘Albion was very clear on this point. If I cannot tell only the chief, I must take the message to my grave.’
Talnach’s eyes flared with anger. Although this may have been his preferred outcome, common sense directed him down a gentler path and he adopted a softer, conciliatory tone. ‘As his closest advisor, I am privy to everything that Roldan hears. You may tell me boy.’
‘I’m sorry, but I could not, even if I wanted to. Albion has set an enchantment which will not allow me to speak the words to anyone but Roldan.’
The shaman stamped his staff and whirled around, muttering curses. Then, with an evident show of control, took a step backward, dipping into an elaborate bow as he gestured toward the chief. ‘Well if you insist, there is the chief, go ahead and tell him.’
Slater looked uncertainly from one man to the other, then took the largest step his bonds would allow toward the massive throne. He bowed deeply. ‘Greetings my lord Roldan, I have a message for you from Albion. He says …’ His mouth was opening and closing but the words would not come out. It was an extremely convincing performance. Slater turned to the shaman and shrugged. ‘I am sorry, but it just will not work if you are in the room.’
With a shriek of frustration, the shaman stamped his staff again, looking at the boy with loathing as though he was trying to decide whether he could undo the enchantment. Then he looked at the sleepy-eyed chief and his expression brightened. ‘You said no one else may hear the words unless Roldan decrees, is that right?’
Slater paused for a moment, hoping for a sign from Lunella, but there was none. He looked nervously at the chief. ‘That’s correct.’
‘Well that’s settled then; there will not be a problem.’ Turning to the chief, he adopted an obsequious tone. ‘My chief, the boy has some important information for us from Albion, but I cannot hear it unless you agree. Do you decree that I can hear Albion’s message?’