by C. Mahood
They were once several fishing villages on the coastline of the island but people disappeared regularly. On discovering a village of Goblins the rangers were sent to eradicate the beasts. While they were fighting the townsfolk left the islands, abandoning the rangers on the island with no means to escape. It was thought that the problem had been solved either way. Either the goblins defeated or the rangers lost but either way the island was abandoned and re-named Goblin Island.
When news of Kain-Finn’s defeat reached his people, Mattock was taken to grieving. Renir was Mattock’s homeland before he was a ranger. His heart always belonged to that town. He and Kain had been great friends; they spoke much and exchanged tales of warfare whenever their company permitted.
That the tales of Kain-Finn’s conflict with Daragh came as second-hand whisperings gave him pause for thought: that vengeance alone could remedy his friend’s disgrace.
After many messages back and forth from the mainland Mattock’s men learned that Kain-Finn had only been imprisoned in Lochlann Keep, deep within Daragh’s territory. A Kingdom of grey walls meeting grey stone floors. A joyless place of empty values, silent halls and empty churches. A city lost and consumed by its own desire to conquer all in the north.
Word of Kain-Finn’s capture had reached many but nothing of his death had been heard. Mattock knew it would take more than a simple capture to kill Kain-Finn it would take a cataclysm to wipe that great man from this earth!’ Mattock’s confidence in his friend and his sense of duty to his once thane heralded his troops. Mattock, however, would not charge into battle recklessly.
Weeks of surveillance were rewarded when scouts brought news of Kain-Finn’s location. As there was no heir in line to the throne, Renir had fallen progressively into ruin, and Mattock negotiated – quite brilliantly – a day’s acquisition of that throne in exchange for the full strength of his troops upon the advancing Daragh. Emaciated and without hope Kain-Finns stewards agreed to those terms. Grateful for the Rangers return to aid them although very wary of his true intentions. Still, they amply prepared. Trained by the rangers in the courtyards in stealth, speed, stamina and archery. The Rangers were strong, disciplined and through many shared experience in guerrilla warfare and daily skirmishes to survive on the Goblin Isles they were fearless of men and fearless of death. Much unlike Kain-Finn’s troops, Mattock’s were capable of levying tremendous damage, skulking about in shadows and striking from the cover of night. In only a few weeks, he trimmed Daragh’s army noticeably. By following them on every small manoeuvre or training exercise they learnt the way they fought, defended and made strategical manoeuvres. The Rangers were able to infiltrate the barracks on several evenings, slitting the throats of the sleeping soldiers, and leaving a simple red hand print on the face of each dead soul. The Red hand was the banner of Laughlin before Daragh came to power. He saw this as a taunt at first. A threat the second and third time and eventually he saw it as a call to war by the 4th time. His numbers were shrinking considerably by now. The Rangers, were taking our garrisons, envoys, convoys and even palace guards almost every day there were reported casualties. Not to mention the men lost due to messengers joining the pile of corpses. The Black’s advances slowed to a halt. Daragh was furious and his rage had wrestled his sound mind to the depths of his soul. His blind desire for revenge and the fear consuming him won over his sound strategy to conquer the North. This is when the final strike occurred. Messengers provided word of Daragh’s most terrible habit: a burning love for ale and spirits.
At the end of each day, he summoned his grand guard to watch over him as he downed bottle after bottle of alcohol while sharing the company of his attendants. The guardsmen were slain quickly by a thousand roaring soldiers bursting through the covers of bushes, hidden in the thicket of night. The whole castle of Laughlin was on alert. Men ran through the halls, most, only half armed. Leaving heavy armour behind to reach the combat quickly. They were unprepared, excused and scared. They knew this would be the final assault. Many fled, or surrendered. The lucky ones lay at the front of their houses and locked themselves inside. The rest perished at the end of a northern blade. Mattock and 6 of his rangers entered the keep from the roof after a long and dangerous climb. It took them almost 5 hours to scale the wall. Long before the assault began. This was all planned as to coincide with the confusion in the city. Mattock was alone in the chamber. He, as always, had sent his guards outside as he conversed with his greatest adviser. One he could only find at the bottom of an empty whiskey bottle. He ran to the chamber doors to call his great guards but as he pulled open the doors three bodies fell inward and above them stood two more hooded rangers. More of Mattock’s Men. He was surrounded and he was drunk. He fell to his knees in defeat as Mattock approached him tossing his hood back to reveal his face. A scarred face, weathered and rough. A long blond beard with grey streaks flowing from the chin. Hair tightly combed back and set tight to his head with wax and sweat. Some rogue fringe hairs fell over his face but the sky blue eyes cut through the shadows cast by his sunken eye sockets, scars decorated his face, one through his lips and one vertically down his left eye. Leaving him blind and a milky white iris that was still fixed on Daragh’s.
Daragh knew he was done. His reign had ended but in the true fashion of the Black he spat in the face of death. Unfortunately for him the face of death was Mattock’s. The Ranger had many fables told of him, whispers among his men. None of which were stories of forgiveness or mercy. Daragh met a slow end. Pain was taken to new limits and beyond by the hands of Mattock and his rangers. Not until the rangers turned the key to Kain- Finn’s cell did Daragh know misery. For 3 long days revenge was taken on Daragh’s body. The once great Thane of Renir, who held virtue and fairness above all else, slipped into a dark place. He worked his demons into the flesh of Daragh and even as he cried for death Kain-Finn kept him alive. After the third day of torture Mattock stopped Kain-Finn from inflicting any more pain. Daragh was not a man any more. Nothing remotely human was left of him, blood and bone was all that remained. Just a breathing body left on the slab in Kain-Finn’s old cell. Mattock handed Kain-Finn his sword to cast the final blow but Kain-Finn refused. Part of his humanity was lost also after the experience he and Daragh shared. Mattock took his blade and ended Daragh without a second thought. No ceremony or dramatic words. Just one slice, severing head from body. Some say the spirit of the demon that resided in Laughlan was present those days. Reviling, growing, strengthening and preparing for something, something large and unspeakable. Kain-Finn left Lochlann that following morning leaving Mattock in charge in his stead. He simply wanted to return home.
The people of Lochlann succumbed to enamour and intimidation, hailing the man who had slain their army so mercilessly (and surely knowing they’d need a new protector) and nearly begging Mattock to replace the fallen Daragh on the throne.
This is where Mattock took up residence and his rangers also sat as his advisers on his council. Many years of peace followed and Renir and Lochlann established profitable trade routes between Northland and past the borders. This continued for many years until a young prince named Falair began to make his name echo through Northland but that my friends is a tale for yet another evening.”
Shaw sat back, stretching his back from his crouched storytelling position. The spell had worn off and we were back in the Rebel’s Rest. We looked at each other without saying a word. I was speechless and the others were basking in the feeling of reliving yet another recounting of the tale. This one much more potent than any before. I turned to look at Tessa who had somehow moved from my lap to Bonnie’s, who was stroking her head as one would with a scared child.
“Is she ok?” I asked,
“Yea just misses a woman’s touch by the look of it” She replied, giving a pitying grin. I smiled at the sleeping dog, glad that despite all the craziness that is going on, she is here with me. I noticed that Shaw was still staring forward. “Are you ok Shaw?” I asked.
“Yes, I am j
ust remembering how the Luchorpán sat silent and emotionless for a long time after the story teller had finished. Their faces drained of emotion. One by one, smiles began to appear on their faces. Never before had they experienced the tales of men. Especially not a tale so educational and exciting. They usually ended a story with a sting as they called it. A joke to help them dis-engage from the land of imagination. This time however they were left there. Minds wondering, imaginations full and the awareness of a night ahead filled with many dreams. The whisky was partly to blame, but also the lashing of the storytellers silver tongue. The smiles turned to claps and cheers. The story teller sat back down. The luchorpán crowded him pouring more whisky and requesting more tales. The night passed and many more tales were shared by the luchorpán and the storyteller. Deep into the night they continued until they were joined by the calls of morning birds and the sun greeted them with faint rays. Bringing fresh light to relive the glowing embers of the fire in front of them. It was like this night. Singing songs from your homeland. It’s just brought me back there. That evening. There is something about you Christopher. Some connection I have with you. Like singing a song back to the musician or reciting a poem to the author. Some connection you have with this land. I keep hearing a voice in my head, the voice commands me to tell you to search for the Luchorpáns.
It reminds me that time in the woods, years ago after hours passed, morning to noon and into the late afternoon before we awoke. Rubbing my eyes I noticed the silence of the camp. As I made my way to the clearing we had spent the evening in, we noticed the luchorpán had gone. There was no trace of camp-fire. No large opening where everyone had gathered.
There lay no barrels of whiskey that had been rolled out and emptied the night before. No remains of food or any embers or ash. No trace. The king and his men did not stop but we simply readied the horses. We made no mention of the luchorpán. Only commenting on the wonderful sleep we had. Falling into slumber as soon as we had escaped the rains. When questioned by others, we simply laughed and blamed the wine I usually kept in my satchel. They thought I was going mad or exhausted from the heat or the race from rains the day before, when I mentioned the evening of storytelling and luchorpán villagers sharing whiskey.
Dismissed by all, I reluctantly readied the bag and rolled up my mat. The party had set off and I collected the last of his things, and saddled his horse. When all was packed away I noticed a bulge under the ground sheet. When I reached under and pulled out the object I was struck with shock, disbelief but most importantly I recognised the object as a sign. A gift even. In my hand I held a small cup, engraved with intricate swirls and designs of vines and runes. It was too small to be a cup used by the king in his feasts or even by the dwarves. This cup would only fit the hands of something much smaller. A cup used to drink whiskey by a most secretive race. A handle too small for any man but the perfect size to be held by a luchorpán. I convinced myself all these years that the Luchorpán were only a myth, something people spoke about to sell trinkets, but something about you makes me believe again. You carry hope and magic with you. To a world you say you know little of, but it feels as though the world knows you so very well!”
Shaw sat back and ran his fingers through his beard. He lifted the flat cap from his head and sat it on the table. He drank the dregs from his cup and stood up. “I feel I must retire, catch a few hours’ sleep before opening in the morning, I suggest you do the same. Please choose from any of the available rooms, stay on my invitation. I would leave at first light if I were you. The roads towards Renir will be safer then, thieves are not awake in the morning. Please remember what I said. You need to seek out the Luchorpán. I’m sure they hold the answer of how to find you wife.”
“Yes, thank you Shaw, I will” I replied humbly.
Shaw made his way over to the bar, he walked around the oak slab and under the wooden flap. Before he entered his chambers at the back of the tavern he turned and looked me straight in the eyes. A sharp, direct, pointed glare. His eyes burned into mine.
“I meant it Christopher when I said that Renir is a dangerous place, betrayal and something darker resides there. Be on your guard. I hope to see you, Sarah and Tessa return here soon enough. Good luck.”
At that he turned and closed the door slowly behind him. Leaving me in silence. Only my thoughts spoke. In truth they shouted and screamed. My head was deafened while no noise entered my ears. Only a voice. It wasn’t just a thought but a very clear voice. No accent, nothing about it was similar, apart from the words themselves. “She is safe, for now.” The same words that old crazy crackpot Oisin spoke the day before. I know I heard it, but what was even stranger is that Tessa heard it too. Her ears were pointing up, her eyes darting all around, but her body was perfectly still. She heard it too.
Again it came to us.
“She is ok, for now.” We looked at each other. A feeling of reassurance once again came over us. A feeling of hopefulness, excitement, adrenalin and drive. But two little words were like weeds tightening on the strongest tree, strangling the life from the once mighty oak. Two simple words…
“...for now”
Seven
Uncharted Waters
The morning came as quickly as I blinked my eyes. There was no restful sleep that night. It was the kind of sleep you have when you are so exhausted that even the thought of undressing before you get into bed was too much to fathom. I fell onto the bed face first. Stinking of sweat and ale. Guilt was my most foul odour however. The shame I felt on myself for getting drunk and listening to tales, Instead of searching for Sarah. I knew that I needed to build the trust of the people before they helped me but it all just felt to wrong at the same time. It was the feeling of being alone in the bed. The alcohol infused tears and sweat bringing my mood down to a desperate whimper. The moment I closed my eyes, for what felt like a blink, it was morning. The sun shown into the room through the cracked shutters. Wind was picking up and the chorus of exterior wooden shutters was like a war cry. The wind blew them open and slammed them between the window frames and the wall outside. Dust and dried wafer-like hay blew around the room. Dead leaves picked up in the corners and against the cabinet and the chest near the bed. The breeze was gentle and cool on my face as I was sleeping away from the window. Tessa must have noticed my stirring because only moments later she had climbed over me from the bottom of the bed, buried her head under my arm and crawled until her face was next to mine. She proceeded to lick my nose, ears and chin. No matter what way I turned my face to get away she kept licking. Relentlessly and unforgiving in her slobber of love. This was her way of saying, get up. Its time for a walk. In that moment I was jealous. To not have cares or worries, all she knew was, we were in a place with more open land than she had ever seen. A place abundant with sticks and twigs for her to fetch, ponds and rivers for her to swim, muck and muddy bogs for her to roll in and an endless amount of new smells. For a dog, Northland seemed like heaven. I noticed then that I had not noticed any Dogs since I had arrived. In all fairness my mind was pretty much focused on one thing the whole time I had been here.
On that thought, I could not justify wasting any more time in bed.
I had a mission and I needed to Find Sarah. It would have been at least two days she has been here on her own. I know she could take care of herself, as I had said before, she is the strongest person I know. She would find a way to get by in any situation. She did not need rescuing. It is more than likely that she is faring better than I am in this new world.
I rose to my feet, extended and stretched myself, inhaling deeply. I felt great, considering all the free alcohol and revelling I partook in the evening before. Then I exhaled and the weight of everything hit me like a train. The hangover had arrived and he had brought his good friends aches and pains with him for good measure. Everything hurt. There was nothing else for it though, the most important thing had spoken, My stomach. It gargled and blurted so loudly Tessa’s ears perked. I preyed to the God of morning food th
at Northland had ulster frys. I mean, I dreamt this whole place up in the first place. If I were God then surly I would have ulster frys. I gathered my things and opened my door with a stiff tug. The wooden frame creaked as I yanked the door open by the cast iron latch and handle. The wood must have expanded and contracted with the heat last night and the breeze this morning. Once I had pulled the door open the smell wafting from downstairs, made its way beautifully up my nostrils, tickled my tonsils and caressed my taste buds. My mouth watered instantly and uncontrollably, like a cartoon I felt my jaw would hit the floor and my tongue roll out in front of me like a red carpet. The Universal smell of hospitality was in the air. That scent that made the biggest problems seem ok. The smell of smoked Irish bacon. Maybe I am being bias while I recollect this story for you but please believe me when I say this was the best smelling bacon I had, and have since, ever encountered. After descending the stairs I saw Shaw and Bonnie both cleaning glasses, tankards and tables again. The wind had blown the shutters downstairs open and all sorts of debris and foliage had blown through windows into the bar. No damage but I hate doing the same job twice. Nothing worse than sweeping the floor in the morning, coming home and it needs done again. I hate that. Unfortunately there are no vacuums in Northland. It is a much simpler place, just brushes and brooms.
“Ah, so the dead have risen then eh?” Shaw shouted without looking up at me. Tessa was already down the stairs and begging by the bar, she had smelt the food too.
“Yea, just about.” I replied rubbing my eyes. The sleep dust was thick, more like sleep stones.