by Paul Lewis
The screech of pain that echoed around the ravine spurred him on. He dropped the sword — it was useless now — and grabbed more stones, throwing them one after the other. He missed his target as often as not, but when he hit it, he hit it hard, until the creature’s movements slowed and its blood fell through the air like red rain, making patterns in the dust on the ground.
Dodinal reached for more stones, scenting the kill. He drew back his hand to throw.
Before he could let fly, the creature coiled hard against the cliff and sprang across the ravine to the opposite wall, reaching out to grab a handhold in the rock. Dodinal shifted his balance to hurl the stone, and the creature coiled and pushed off again, hurtling through the air towards him. This time he was not fast enough. It crashed into him, slamming him against the cliff, and the back of his skull cracked against the rock. A burst of white light filled his head and he hit the ground.
His fury saved him, as it so often had, driving away the pain and clearing the ringing in his ears. Through streaming eyes, he saw the creature half-senseless, struggling to get to its feet, its body slick with blood from a dozen or more lacerations. Its mouth pulled back into a snarl as its malevolent eyes met Dodinal’s.
The sword lay where Dodinal had dropped it, beyond his reach. Even in his fury, he knew he needed it. He clambered to his feet and threw two more stones at the creature as hard as he could, before crouching to grab more, intending to drive it back until he could get to the sword.
The beast took him by surprise, leaping forward despite the hail of stones that opened up yet more wounds in its flesh. Dodinal lunged desperately to one side and fought to keep his footing, but the uneven ground defeated him and he twisted and stumbled headlong, throwing out both hands to break his fall, the impact tearing skin from his palms.
He spun around on the ground to face the creature as it slowly advanced towards him. Dodinal bared his teeth. He did not need a sword. He would tear this abomination limb from limb with his bare hands.
The creature threw back its head and howled victoriously.
There was a rush of air overhead, and the howl was abruptly cut off as an arrow buried itself in the creature’s throat. For a moment it did not move. Then its clawed hands flew up to its neck and it took a few staggering steps away as arterial blood began to pump around the shaft. Crimson froth bubbled up between its lips. Its fingers pulled weakly at the arrow but the barb was buried deep and the creature could not tear it out without ripping out its own throat.
Dodinal seized his moment, leaping to his feet and running to his sword, picking it up without breaking his stride. The creature’s movements became frantic; black blood cascaded down its leathery neck as it tried to work the arrow free, hissing in agony.
Then Dodinal rammed the sword into its chest, hard enough for the point to scrape against its spine before punching out through its back. The creature went rigid, clutching the blade that skewered its body.
Dodinal shifted his grip on the sword, holding it in both hands, and drove it down with all his strength. The blade opened the creature from sternum to groin, slicing cleanly through skin and flesh.
Stinking viscera slithered out of its belly in a glistening mass that hit the ground with a slap. The creature writhed and screeched and batted at the sword, trying to pull itself free, but its feet became entangled in the slippery mass of its guts and it fell heavily to its knees before him.
Dodinal kicked it hard under the chin, snapping its head back. Then he yanked the sword loose, hoisted it, stepped away and swung. A flash of metal, a flutter of disturbed air and the body tumbled one way, the head another. The torso danced its death throes, feet drumming on the ground, then went still. The head bounced and spun and came to rest, the neck stump still gushing blood.
Dodinal stood for a moment, gasping for breath, waiting for the red mist to lift. It was only then that he noticed the broken arrow shaft that protruded from the creature’s shoulder. He remembered Emlyn’s shooting when they had been attacked in the forest. Your aim was true, my friend, he thought with a heaviness in his heart.
Once his head cleared he hurried back to Gerwyn, who was sitting up with his back against the cliff, one leg stretched out, the other bent. He had his bow in hand and a dazed grin on his face.
“Emlyn was not the only one with a good eye,” he said. The grin faltered. “The others?”
Dodinal shook his head. “They’re dead. I’m sorry. They were good men. They knew the dangers, knew they would probably never get through this alive, yet still they came. That takes a rare courage.”
“Fuck,”11 Gerwyn said, so softly it was little more than a breath.
“We were too quick to listen to the old man.” Dodinal crouched and ran his hands gently along Gerwyn’s leg, feeling for shattered bone. “We should have guessed they wouldn’t leave us to pursue them unchallenged. We knew those things don’t give up.”
Gerwyn’s body suddenly jerked and he moaned in pain.
“Try to keep still. It’s broken, but it could have been worse.”
“How?” Gerwyn gasped from behind his gritted teeth.
“The bone could be sticking out through your skin. Then you really would have something to cry about.” Dodinal continued to probe the injured leg. Gerwyn squeezed his eyes shut; his body tensed and the tendons stood out in his neck. By the time Dodinal was done, his face was as white as chalk and his forehead glistened with sweat. “You’ll live. But this is as far as you’re going.”
“To Hell with that. You cannot go after them alone. Not when we’ve come all this way. Not when…” He gestured towards the pile of rocks beneath which their companions were buried. “Not when our friends have died.”
“You’re in no fit state to travel with me.” Dodinal got up and searched about until he found his spear. “And I cannot stay here with you.” He took the spear across to the pile of rocks and used a heavy stone to smash off the blade. “Our friends are gone. We mourn their passing but we cannot bring them back.” He put the shaft over his knee and broke it into two. “So I don’t have a choice.” He snapped each half in two until he was left with four roughly even lengths.
Then he returned to Gerwyn and rummaged through the pack, pulling out a handful of the cloth strips that Hywel had brought with him.
“This is going to hurt,” Dodinal advised as he knelt alongside him. “Do you want something to bite down on?”
Gerwyn sighed heavily and lay flat on his back with the pack under his head, fists clenched. “Just get on with it.”
For all his brave intent, he could not help but bellow his agony when Dodinal lifted the leg to straighten it. He jerked bolt upright at the waist, his eyes bulging and rolling back in his head. He fainted. Dodinal slipped one hand under his head and lowered it to the pack.
Working quickly, he wound the strips of cloth above and below the knee at intervals, then slid the wooden quarters between them before pulling the strips tight and knotting them.
He leant back to inspect his handiwork. It was rough and ready, and Rhiannon certainly had no fear of competition, but the leg was rigid, fixed in place. As long as Gerwyn was careful and patient, it should mend with enough rest. Unfortunately, a half-buried ravine midway up a mountain was not a good place to rest.
He could not see the sun in the narrow strip of sky between the cliffs, so he hurried back down to the plateau. It was gone midday. They had spent six hours getting this far and he had no idea how much longer it would take to get to the valley. Certainly he did not have time to help Gerwyn to the village. There was nothing else for it.
Gerwyn was still unconscious but he quickly came around when Dodinal slapped his face, lightly but persistently. “I don’t know what you did to my leg,” he said groggily, licking his lips. “But it feels worse than it did before.”
“Are you a man or a baby? Come on. Sit up. You need to listen. Too much time has passed. If I don’t leave soon, I may not get to the valley before sunset. And you heard wha
t the old man said.”
Gerwyn eased himself into a sitting position, shrugging off the hand Dodinal offered to help him. “I’m fine. Get going. I’ll wait here. You can collect me on your way back. Then you can carry me down.”
“It’s not safe for you to stay here. You need to get back to the old man’s village. It still gets cold at night and you have no cloak.”
“You’ll have returned for me by then.”
“We both know that may not happen. There’s no point pretending it will. I’ll get you down as far as the plateau and then you’ll have to manage on your own.”
Dodinal bent to slip an arm beneath his shoulder and hoisted him from the ground. Gerwyn, sweating and swearing, stood on his good leg, bending the other at the hip to keep it elevated. It was ungainly, and without Dodinal to lean on, he would have fallen.
“And how do you suggest I get down the path?”
“Sit and slide down on your arse,” Dodinal told him as he half-carried him down the uneven surface of the ravine, talking all the way to distract Gerwyn, who was clearly in discomfort. “It’s not that steep. You should manage it in a couple of hours. Once you get down, start calling for help. The valley is narrow. Your voice will carry far. Even if the old man doesn’t hear you, Hywel will.”
They reached the plateau and Dodinal helped Gerwyn to the ground. Then he straightened. “This is where I leave you.”
He dropped the pack. “There’s a steel and flint in there, some kindling too. If you cannot reach the village by sunset you should at least have reached the lake. There’ll be enough fallen wood in the forest to start a fire. You may not have a comfortable night but you at least you’ll be warm.”
Gerwyn reached out and pushed the pack towards Dodinal. “You take it. You have more need of it than I do.”
“I have my sword and my shield. I need nothing else.”
For a moment, Gerwyn was silent. Then he looked up at Dodinal, squinting against the sun, and held out his hand. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but it does. I hope you return, Dodinal, for it will save me the trouble of having to tell your story to my sister-in-law and the rest of my people. I never was much of a storyteller.”
Dodinal clasped his hand. “I’ll do what I can. Not for your sake, but to spare Rhiannon your ceaseless prattle.” He released Gerwyn. “I think your father would be pleased with you. Go home. Your people need their brehyrion. Farewell, then. Until the next time.”
“Yes,” Gerwyn said. “Until the next time.”
Dodinal said nothing more. He nodded once, then turned and set off. The sunlight faded to shadow as the cleft in the rock swallowed him and the cliffs loomed over him again. His boots crunched and skittered on stone as he hurried along, anxious to make up for lost time. Even so, when he reached the rock fall, he paused to kneel and bowed his head with his eyes closed.
“Goodbye, Emlyn. You were a man of great courage and spirit. I know I will see you again. Goodbye, Madoc. You were a true leader of men. I will see you again too. And farewell, Gwythyr. You never got to avenge your son’s death. At least now he is safe with you. I will avenge you both.”
He got up and, with one last baleful look at the creature’s blood-drenched, headless body, he continued on his way. The ravine grew steadily steeper and narrower until his shoulders almost brushed against the cliff walls. He kept his eyes on the ground, wary of any uneven stones that could cause him to lose his balance or twist an ankle. He was Owain’s last hope. If anything happened to him, the child was lost; the girl Annwen, too. He refused to entertain the idea that they may be lost already, or else he might as well turn back and be done with it.
Time ceased to have any meaning well before he emerged from the ravine onto a wide rock shelf. His relief at seeing the light and feeling the warmth on his face when he finally left the shadows behind lasted only until he realised what awaited him.
Directly across from where he stood, the mountain face sloped up towards the empty sky. While imposing, it was hardly sheer, and its broken surface looked relatively easy to climb. The one drawback was that to reach it he would first have to cross the long, narrow ridge, which fell away vertiginously on both sides.
Dodinal leaned forward and looked down, wiped his palms on his shirt and stepped back. He did not like heights.
There was no point delaying the inevitable. He did not even consider attempting to walk across. The ridge was wide enough to stand on, but the surface was a mess of knobbly protrusions and wind-worn hollows; one wrong step, or a sudden gust of wind, would send him plunging to the ground far below. Instead he knelt at the edge of the ridge and began to crawl across it, keeping his eyes firmly ahead, feeling around with trembling fingers for handholds and pushing forward with his boots. It was undignified, but there was no one around to see him. Even if there had been, he would not have given a damn.
The sword banged against his leg each time he moved, and the shield strap dug into his shoulder, but he would not let go with either hand to deal with them. He was near the halfway point when he disturbed a loose rock, which shifted beneath his fingers, rolled to the edge and tumbled off into space. Seized by an irrational terror that the entire structure was about to collapse beneath him, Dodinal flattened his body against the rough surface and lay, eyes squeezed shut, pounding heart in mouth, for nearly a minute.
He set off again, but his hands were so slick with sweat that he began to worry they would simply slide off the ridge. The gentle breeze that ruffled his hair suddenly felt as powerful as a gale, threatening to tip him into the void. Chiding himself that the villagers had made this same dangerous crossing, burdened with an old woman, a simpleton and eight bawling children, did nothing to repel the panic. It was only when he thought of Owain, stolen from his mother and no doubt terrified beyond comprehension as he was carried across this same ridge, that he became ashamed of his fear and summoned the strength to push on.
Finally he was across, reaching a rock wide enough for him to stand on, well away from the edge. Reluctant to give his muscles time to stiffen, he began to climb as soon as he had regained his composure. The going was easier than he could have hoped; the surface was broken, providing no shortage of handholds and footholds, and Dodinal climbed rapidly. Only once did he forget himself and look down. The sight of the ridge far below him, and the ground much further down than that, brought him out in a cold sweat. He reminded himself not to make the same mistake again.
It was steep at first, and his fingers became scraped and bloodied from gripping the sharp edges. When they started cramping he had to stop, balancing on his toes with his body pressed against the rock, flexing each hand in turn until the circulation flowed freely again.
After a while he found he was leaning forward as he climbed. The slope gradually levelled off until he reached a plateau; he was not yet at the summit but he sensed he was close. To the left of where he stood, taking deep breaths, was a narrow path, a goat track or some ancient trading route, winding up into the last stretch of mountain above him. He made his way across to it, relieved to feel firm ground beneath his feet again.
As he walked he looked up; the sun was approaching the horizon. The old man had said the route down into the valley was easier. Dodinal could but hope that was true. Time was slipping away.
He reached the summit without knowing it. Seen from the lake, the distant peak had seemed narrow, almost like an arrowhead, but in reality it was wide and round and flat. It was only when Dodinal became aware he was walking forward rather than up that realisation dawned. He stopped and stared, astounded by the view. Mountains stretched away in all directions, like pillars holding up the sky. The air was so clear he felt he could reach out and touch them. He smiled, thinking of his mother’s story about giants. Up here on the roof of the world, he could almost believe that was how it had happened.
He walked the broad circle of the summit until he could see the valley, an elongated bowl carved out of the earth, surrounded on all sides by almost vertical
hills, granite grey and patched with green. An ancient forest covered the valley floor. Even from a distance he could see the trees were dark and twisted with age.
From the rock wall at the head of the valley, a great waterfall tumbled into a narrow lake below, snaring a rainbow in its spray. Dodinal caught the glitter of water through the leafless branches; the lake extended the length of the valley.
This side of the mountain was nowhere near as steep or rugged as that which had brought him here. He sought out the way into the valley: another track, worn into the rock over the centuries by men or the beasts that dwelled in the high country, carving a serpentine trail across and down the face of the mountain.
The creatures were in there somewhere, in those aged trees. Even from a height he could hear them, strange cries and screeches that arose from the ancient woodland. There could be scores, maybe hundreds of them. He was one man alone, with nothing but his sword and his shield to protect him.
Dodinal grinned, daring fate. This was how it should be.
He set off down the track, striding with effortless grace, not once losing his footing on the rough surface. One hand rested lightly on his sword handle. Whatever awaited him, he was ready for it.
11“Goddes woundes,” in the manuscript, which carried a great deal more weight in Middle English than it would today, hence the idiomatic translation.
TWENTY-ONE
The cacophony grew louder as Dodinal descended, his fate rushing to meet him. He had sought peace and had come to believe that death would be the price of finding it. Then he had met Rhiannon, and found the peace he longed for, and for a short while at least it seemed to have come without a cost. Then he had learned, not for the first time, that nothing in this life was free, and that a man had to pay for the consequences of his actions. He had come to care for these people, but had failed to protect them. Now he would bring the boy home or die trying. Either outcome would be a form of peace.