His legs were caked with dirt, straw, and who knew what else. They itched incessantly from gnat bites that tormented him more than the occasional kicks from his guards. At that moment, he longed to luxuriate in a steam bath, to shave off his facial hair, and to crawl into a soft bed. His only raw emotion was hate for the barbarians making him rot next to the pigpen. The rattling of the chain reminded him that he could be butchered as easily as the swine bathing next to him. The gruesome image of one of his guards chopping off his head and throwing it to the pack of boars for them to fight over made him shudder. The sun now sinking in the western horizon was an intimation of what could possibly be his fate on this forsaken isle.
Marcellus clasped his hands and prayed, “Almighty Apollo, I beseech you. Give me the strength to endure my suffering and the insight to recognize my pathway to freedom. In return, I will offer you a bull and serve in the Roman Legion with the same distinction as my great-grandfather, Mark Antony. Your likeness will be emblazoned on my chest armor in remembrance of the mercy you shine on me today as I slaughter my enemies as an offering to you.”
At that moment, Catrin’s image floated into his mind. Her hair hung almost perfectly on her shoulders, the thin braids weaving through her golden tresses, except for the rebellious strand she kept pushing back out of her face. Her blue-green eyes sparkled. It had been more than one month since he had last seen her. For some reason, her image lifted his spirits and gave him hope.
But his optimism faded when he saw Belinus and another guard approaching, both of them with chains in hand. His contempt for these painted savages boiled to the surface. He knew his acerbic tongue could be met with a fist to his jaw, but unable to contain his words, he sneered, “Please take me to the queen. I wish to personally thank her for my new quarters.”
Belinus snorted, “Enough of your pig shit!”
Marcellus blurted, “You are right. I do have enough. Let’s bring some to the queen for her bath.”
Belinus grimaced and barked to the other guard who Marcellus tagged as “the Lion” because his disheveled coppery hair and beard was like a mane around his face. The barbarian cranked Marcellus into a head lock. Infuriated, Marcellus gripped the warrior’s arm and used it as a brace to kick Belinus in the groin. Marcellus’s delight at hearing Belinus scream in agony was quickly replaced with his own agony as the other guard, grabbing him by the hair, ripped clumps out of his scalp. The Lion then hurled him headfirst into a wooden beam.
Stunned, Marcellus saw dots flash before his eyes as he lost consciousness.
Gasping, snorting, Marcellus thought he was drowning in a tumultuous sea when he awoke. With water all over his face, he was bewildered to find himself lying on his back and gazing at a domed roof. His skull felt as if a spear had been pierced through it. Groggy, he wondered if he had been cursed to the bowels of the Underworld. If so, who paid his passage across the River Styx?
To his consternation, the chained shackles around his ankles restrained his movement as he sat up. Looking around, he wondered why he had been moved to what looked like one of the thatched-roof round houses. It was barren of furniture and the central hearth was dead with cold ashes. His heart shuddered. This could be the final spot for his execution. Without some kind of tool to snap the chains from his shackles, it would be impossible to escape.
If I am to die, he resolved, I will go down fighting.
The sudden movement of a shadow overhead startled him. He blinked several times as the winged figure swooped over him and landed near the central hearth. Shocked to see the raven, he cursed, “Damn the gods in Hades! Not that thing!”
Anticipating the raven might peck at him, he flinched when it hopped over. To his pleasant surprise, the raven cocked its head and gurgled softly. When he noticed that the raven’s eyes were the same blue-green color as Catrin’s, he wondered if he was hallucinating. He recalled the tribune saying, when they first landed at Britannia, that the Druids could shape-shift into animals.
Is it possible that Catrin also has this power?
He extended his hand in a welcoming gesture to the raven. It waddled next to him and nuzzled against his side. Relaxing, he allowed the raven to perch on his crossed legs. As he stroked its iridescent plumage, soothing warmth radiated into his fingertips.
“Is that you, Catrin?” he asked. “Where have you kept yourself these past weeks?”
The raven bobbed its head and cawed.
Marcellus chuckled. “How stupid of me to think I could actually talk to a bird.”
The raven pressed a claw against his belly. Looking down, he noticed a tiny scroll adhered to the bird’s leg with a metal band. He pulled the message out.
It read: “Be ready.”
Be ready for what?
His heart rattled as questions rumbled in his head.
Did Catrin write the message? If so, is she working with the Romans?
What if she did not write it? Am I being set up for a trap?
What in Hades am I up against?
The raven suddenly plopped against him and stiffened. Alarmed, he examined the bird’s eyes which now appeared as black beads. He pulled on a wing, but it remained limp. Then he fixed his eyes at the entry door, readying himself—for what, he wasn’t sure.
The entry door clicked open.
The listless raven suddenly sprung to life and darted to a ceiling beam.
Senses heightened, Marcellus crouched and focused intently on the door. He squinted, but couldn’t make out the shadowy figure coming through the entryway—friend or enemy?
He only had a brief moment to imagine how relieved he would be to see Catrin when Belinus strode through the entryway with a plate of food. The raven then dove at Belinus with outstretched talons, its shrieks slamming off the walls.
Belinus flung the platter, scattering food all over. The raven’s talons viciously jabbed at him as its black wings flapped around his face. He threw a punch at the raven, but it averted the blow and swooshed through the doorway. Screaming indiscernible words, Belinus also dashed through the entryway and disappeared into the darkness.
Marcellus, panicking, yanked hard on his chains to pull them out of the wooden post.
No luck.
When he heard shuffling feet and clanging noises outside, he again stared at the entrance.
No motion.
Drums beating in the background mixed with what sounded like a scuffle. He assumed the crazy savages were in a mock fight as part of the celebration.
He heard a loud thud. Then Catrin suddenly appeared in the entryway armed with a shield strapped to her shoulder. In her hand was a helical key.
The excitement of seeing her made Marcellus’s heart race with excitement. He embraced her, but she pulled away and said, “I need to get you out of here!”
“Good idea,” he said, smiling.
With a steady hand, Catrin inserted the key into the manacle, twisted it, and unlocked the spring mechanism. Marcellus helped her unwind the cuffs from his wrists. Legs cramping, he staggered to his feet as she steadied him.
“Can you run?” she asked.
He nodded.
She motioned for him to follow her.
Outside, near the doorway, Marcellus noticed Belinus lying motionless on the ground. Looking around, he thought it odd there were no other guards. He glanced at Catrin in bewilderment, and she pointed toward the town’s center. Between the thatched structures were people dancing around a raging fire. A woman, whose head was covered with a wolf pelt, was interweaving between the revelers.
Marcellus assumed it was Agrona inciting the natives.
Unfamiliar with the village’s set-up, he looked to Catrin for her lead.
He trailed her, both scurrying from one structure to the next. His senses on alert, he darted his eyes all around for any unexpected motion before bounding to the next structure. After passing
several dome-roofed houses, they at last reached the outer spiked wall where some wooden planks had fallen, leaving a narrow opening.
Catrin shoved her shield through the gap, then squeezed herself through the opening. Marcellus did the same, forcing himself between the splintered wooden planks that ripped his trousers and scratched his legs.
On the other side of the walled fortress, he saw the silvery moon escape the cover of clouds and illuminate a raven swooping down an escarpment.
Catrin tapped him on the shoulder. “We need to follow that raven.”
“You go first,” he said, his voice rasped from rapid breaths.
He watched Catrin sprint down the hillside and leap over a rock as gracefully as a deer. He quickly surveyed the shadowy hillside, wondering how he could ever navigate the unfamiliar landscape at night.
Am I crazy?
No time to ponder.
He chased after Catrin and clumsily maneuvered the first concentric ditch surrounding the hill fort. He reassured himself. Only two ditches to go!
His stamina weakening, he urged his metal-heavy legs forward to keep up with the light-footed princess. With the drums and wails quieting from the village, his gasps grinded in his throat as he climbed over the second trench.
Just one to go!
His lungs burned as if they were on fire when he dashed to the final ditch. When he reached the embankment, his legs gave out and he flung over the top, rolling down several feet before his head slammed against a boulder. Momentarily stunned, he gazed at the stars streaking around the full moon.
Then he felt Catrin’s arms wrap around him. “Move!” she ordered. “My people will soon know you have escaped.”
46
Unlocking Ancestral Powers
Resisting the pull from her ancestors to join them in the Otherworld, she cried out to the raven, “Let me go back, so I can shift the future.”
Catrin’s legs ached from fatigue as she scrambled through thorny bushes toward the raven’s shrieks. Lagging behind her was Marcellus whose breathing grated louder and louder with each step. With his head injury, she wasn’t sure how much further he could move without collapsing. Ahead, through the trees, the river’s surface lit up from the reflection of the full moon. Her people must surely know by now their human sacrifice had escaped. Her mother was still in the village convincing Agrona and her people that the Romans had helped Marcellus escape. She anticipated Cynwrig would join them at the cave by dawn. She stopped to wait for Marcellus to catch up and dropped her heavy shield on the ground.
He breathlessly staggered to her and gasped, “How much further?”
“A short distance from here is a cave. We can hide in there.”
“Then what?”
Catrin felt her throat clutch. Now was not the right time to tell him about the prisoner exchange. It would take too long to explain, maybe later at the cave.
Marcellus touched her arm. “Why don’t you answer? What will your people do if they discover you’ve helped me?”
“I don’t know,” Catrin said, wondering if any villager had yet found Belinus who Cynwrig clubbed and left unconscious.
Marcellus gripped her shoulders. “If you take me to my father, I can protect you from harm.”
Catrin looked at him in bewilderment. “What harm?”
“Vengeance from your people for helping me to escape. I could take you back to Rome.”
“Rome?”
“I could find a place where you could hide, and we could secretly meet.”
For some unknown reason, the invitation tempted Catrin, but she hesitated remembering her mother’s warning that she would be nothing more than his whore. “I would never leave my homeland.”
“But you may not have a choice.”
Catrin pulled away, drew a dagger from her belt, and handed it to him. “Take this. We need to move. Now!”
Marcellus inspected the blade and tucked it under his belt. “Will your people search for us tonight?”
Looking above, Catrin cringed at how fast the storm clouds were shrouding the moon. “They will most likely wait until dawn to begin their search. A storm is coming. We need to seek shelter.”
“Which way?”
Catrin pointed toward the river.
Marcellus waved his arm. “Lead the way.”
With the silvery moon disappearing behind thick clouds, she ran toward her squawking raven that was now guiding them through the shadowy maze. When they reached the dense woods, they descended a steep slope, Marcellus touching Catrin’s shoulder as she stretched her hands for unseen obstacles. The chill of the impending storm hovered over them.
Moments later, a light drizzle compounded the danger of their moving downward in the dark. Feet slipping on mossy rocks, Catrin could barely discern the trees. When lightning webbed overhead, a shiver bolted down her spine. Conditions were becoming deadly.
A fierce gale roared through the forest. Rain slapped horizontally into her eyes, obscuring her vision. As she took her next step, her feet were caught in a mudslide. She grabbed for an exposed tree root to stop her fall, but her hands slid over the slick surface and she fell into a torrential mud flow.
“Help me! Help me!” she cried out, panic setting in.
Marcellus appeared above her. He extended one hand while anchored by a tree branch with his other.
“Take it!” he shouted.
Catrin clasped his wrist. He leaned back and jerked her hard. She felt as if her arm would pop out of her shoulder blade when he dragged her over the jagged rocks. He pulled her up to his chest. They then struggled to higher ground under the pelting rain until they found shelter under a gigantic oak.
Raindrops blasted against Catrin’s face as she sat against the tree. Cold water streamed around her and seeped into her trousers. Shivering, she could not stop her teeth from rattling. Marcellus cradled her head against his chest. She could feel him tremble as he shielded her from the downpour. She snuggled closer for his warmth, but the chill from her drenched clothing numbed her. Tighter and tighter, they held each other against the warring factions—earth, sky, and water—an omen of what was to come with the various political factions against the king.
Above them, lightning flashed the image of a skull. Claps of thunder rumbled through the forest as tentacles of bolts streaked closer and closer through the treetops. One bolt struck a nearby tree, splitting its trunk in half. Electrical charges skipped over the ground, zigzagged around Catrin’s fingertips and bolted up her arm. A burning charge weaved its way through her body and jolted into her head. She was then immediately transported to a deeper realm of the raven’s mind where a powerful force yanked her into a tunnel of brilliant light. Ancestral souls stretched out their arms and pulled her toward the portal into the Otherworld. Plummeting, she braced herself to burst through the black vortex, but was startled when she somersaulted off its flexible wall. As she careened up the convoluted surface, she saw images of humans flash as they entered the Otherworld. She realized death was waiting to snatch her, but the thin barrier was somehow barricading her entrance to the Otherworld.
She floated up to the rainbow archway where Marcellus’s life-thread lined up and fitted together like pieces of a puzzle. In one image, he was cradling her, rocking back and forth during the raging thunderstorm after the lightning struck. In another image, he was walking ahead of Cynwrig who was carrying her over his shoulder. The next moment, she held a sword against him as the Romans released her father and Trystan. The final images became surreal as the Roman soldiers transformed themselves into eagles and attacked a raven. As the raptors dragged the raven to a nest of ravenous eaglets, she saw Cynwrig shoot an arrow at Marcellus, the shaft piercing deep into his breastbone. Seeing his image dissolve into the black portal, she reached for his life-thread and pulled him back.
The surface of the multicolored wall ripp
led, extending the image of Marcellus for a short distance into the future where he was killed by a red wolf that Catrin recognized as Marrock. Marcellus’s image again dissolved into the Otherworld’s portal. For the second time, she pulled his life-thread from the portal, extending his life only a short time when he was struck dead by a cobra. This time she waited to see what would happen. His life-thread yanked back to its original position where he was originally slain by the death arrow.
Perplexed as to why the life-thread had returned to its original position, she asked the raven, “Why can’t I change his fate?”
The raven said, “Only the gods and goddesses have been divined the ability to weave human lives, but you have inherited other god-like abilities from your father that differentiates you from other mortals.”
“What are these?” Catrin asked.
“Your soul is a liquid essence that flows into other physical forms while you are yet alive. You are what Ancient Druids call a soul traveler. By merging with other physical forms, you leave bits of your soul in other living entities.”
“Is that what happened when I made love to Marcellus?”
“Yes, you left part of your soul in him,” the raven croaked. “That is why you are still connected to him spiritually. The bond is so strong that you can never love another.”
She curiously asked, “What other mystical powers do I have?”
The raven said in a man’s deep voice, “You can only unlock god-like abilities and universal truths at the time you most need them on your lifetime odyssey.”
“Right now, I need to save Marcellus from certain death at the prisoner exchange,” Catrin said, heart pounding harder. “I need to unlock the power to change his future.”
“As I told you,” the raven shrieked, “changing the future is a mystical power only for the gods and goddesses.”
Catrin paused, giving consideration on how to present her argument to the raven. “I was able to manipulate Marcellus’s life-thread on the Wall of Lives. I extended his life-thread into the future when he again faced death two times. Both times, I was able to save him, but then something strange happened. His life-thread returned to the original moment when he is killed at the prisoner exchange.”
Apollo's Raven Page 31