On the left wall hung the skulls of bears, various horned deer, and huge, fanged cats. One of the creatures had the broadest antlers he’d ever seen … five feet of sharp points with the ends shaped like clawed paddles.
But the right wall took Merlin’s breath away. Upon it hung the jawless skulls of fifteen men, some with cracks and holes bashed into their craniums. That was when Merlin noticed that the Jarl had a large war hammer leaning against the wall behind him.
The big man took a seat across from them, the bench complaining under his weight. Torsten sat next to him. The exit behind was blocked by the men. The Jarl spoke first, and Kensa translated for everyone. “So. I am telled o’ yer rudeness. Ye vish us to row ye to Mara-Hoven Isle across de bay. Es dis de truth?”
Merlin nodded.
The Jarl laughed. “En dis weather?”
Merlin nodded again.
The Jarl stopped laughing, and a furious discussion broke out amongst the men. Some of them yelled. A few put their hands to the hilts of their blades. Finally, the Jarl smoothed out his beard and raised his hands, and when he spoke, the room thankfully quieted so Merlin could catch Kensa’s translation. “Ve vill nott do dis for ye. Ett es nott worth de risk. Ve already risk much to live so close, and vill nott risk anything more. Be on yer way, den.”
The Jarl stood.
Kensa jumped up and, to see the Jarl properly, cocked her head back on the end of her hunched-over spine. Swifter than Merlin expected, she brought forth a knife.
The Jarl and Torsten stepped back, knocking over their bench.
She raised the knife up … and stuck it into her hat, lifting it from her head. She slipped the sharp tip into a seam and began ripping. A gold coin fell out. Then another. This continued until her gaudy purple hat lay in shreds, and fifteen gold coins lay on the table.
The funny thing was that although the gold coins had been molded with flat, featureless sides, the shape of a large cockroach had been scratched into the surface of each one.
Kensa smiled in triumph despite the strange expression on the Jarl’s face. His lip twitched as he leaned forward and grabbed not the coins but Merlin’s head on both sides. His massive fingers, smelling of sweat and fish, pressed against Merlin’s skull. Merlin braced himself. The man could break his neck in one quick twist.
The Jarl kissed Merlin on the forehead. Then he kissed Kensa the same way, and taking up the coins, passed one to each of the men, leaving seven for himself.
“Ye see?” Kensa said. “I does more dan just ettin’ bugs. I catch dem andd hides dem in me hat!”
“Can you ask them for swords? Can that be included? We need three.”
Kensa negotiated with the Jarl, and he agreed. But when the blades were brought, they appeared to be cast-offs. Peredur’s blade was bent. Garth’s, though serviceable, wasn’t quite long enough to be called a sword. And Merlin’s handle was loose and the blade badly notched. He hoped it could hold up in a fight and that he wouldn’t have to rely on his knife.
Then, just as silently as the village’s men had come, they slipped away and disappeared back to their houses. Within a short while each one showed up with thicker cloaks tightened about their necks and warm fur hats. The Jarl led them down to the harbor, where boats of various sizes lay upside down for the winter on wooden blocks. In no time they had the biggest boat flipped and brought down to the water, and promptly outfitted the craft with oars and a small sail.
Kensa led Merlin and the others to the boat. She was practically skipping. What would he have done without her? Arthur would shortly be dead without her help, for the newly risen moon had only the slightest sliver of white left in it. They were nearly out of time.
The voyage across the inlet took many hours, despite a good wind and the aid of the oars. Thankfully, the hired men did the hard work, letting Merlin and the others rest.
Upon entering the immense bay between some islands, the men furled the sail, took it down, and stowed it.
“Won’t we go faster with the sail?” Merlin asked through Kensa.
“Ya, but de sail might be seen. Stealth ess better.”
But Merlin didn’t care about stealth. It was so dark. Who would see them? And the moon was nearly black — they needed to hurry. He tried to explain this to the Jarl, but the man just kept rowing along with his men down the long bay.
They passed three tall ridges on their right, each one like a colossal finger reaching out into the ocean to grab their tiny ship and crush it. Ahead of them lay a lone island with a snow-capped mountain upon it, and the Jarl pointed to it. This was their destination.
They approached slowly, the white mountain rearing up above them and blotting out the low stars. The Jarl directed them to the left and followed a channel a little way in. There, they brought the boat up on the strand, and the Jarl told Merlin and the others to get out.
“So this is the mountain?” Merlin asked.
The Jarl shook his head. “No … yerr hoven is de far one.” And he pointed farther down the island — past the immediate mountain, across a flat plain of snow-covered rocks and trees — to a smaller mountain. Specks of lights glinted from its far summit as if men roamed there with torches.
“Der is yerr place,” the Jarl said.
“This is too far away. Row us closer. We’ve paid you good coinage.”
He shook his head and twisted his long beard. “Ve go no farther.”
“But why?” Merlin asked.
No one answered Kensa’s translated question. The faces of the men were tense, and their glances anxious. Every one of them had their hand on their blades as if a giant slept on that very beach, ready to rise up and smash their heads together. Sweat dripped down their cheeks and onto their beards. The nearest rower’s hands flexed nervously.
Fear. Merlin could sense it. Something about the island made these men quake. And there must be a reason behind it, for they lived nearby. Merlin had hoped to persuade them all to join in rescuing Arthur. Nine stout warriors would have greatly helped. Hadn’t Kensa paid them enough for such service? Back in Kernow a poor man might sell himself into slavery for a year for such a sum.
But it was not to be, for the Jarl pointed at the shore and gnashed his teeth.
Merlin directed everyone off the ship and helped Kensa out last of all.
The men heaved the boat away from the shore and rowed off. Merlin watched them until they were lost in the darkness and waves.
He and his companions were alone now. Abandoned. And the moon had risen farther into the sky with only the thinnest sliver of white to tease them. Touching the hilt of his knife once more, he envisioned it lodged in Atle’s gut.
Following the beach, they found a way to climb to the snowy plain that led to the distant mountain. On top, Merlin could see the lights even better. There must be many men up there.
“Come on!” he called. “There’s no time to lose.”
Setting off at a jog, he ran through the snow as quickly as he could. A league or more he ran, the others trailing behind and sometimes running ahead. To his left lay a broad bay whose dark waves roared and lapped against the shoreline. Around the bay he ran, turning toward the mountain. The heads of large rocks stood in the snow, and here and there a wind-mangled tree had fought its way up toward the dark sky.
Merlin’s strength waned. His lungs began to hurt. And then his cold and numb legs tripped over a sharp rock hidden in the powder. He fell.
Bedwir, his breath an icy swirl in the wind, helped him up, and then ran on ahead.
Merlin’s shin was bleeding, and his ice-crusted trouser was torn. He stumbled on, and now everyone passed him — even Kensa with her wobbling, bent-over gait. He looked down, being more careful of his steps, and kept plodding in the tracks of the others, forcing each foot to lift and carry him forward yet one more painful step.
The time passed achingly slow, and even if he didn’t look up through his slogging, he was thankful that each stride and ragged breath brought him closer to the mountain and Arthur.
Then he heard cries. Birds. Ravens. There must be hundreds, by the sound of it.
Merlin looked around. He had descended onto a shallow, frozen lakebed at the foot of the mountain … and trapped in the iced-over lake stood the devastated remains of an old city. Broken pillars and smashed walls reached out of the ice, all part of once opulent buildings. He tried to pick up a broken stone with a masterfully carved fish on it, but it was frozen in place.
And the city must have fallen to ruin long ago, for great trees had grown up and taken over so that the place now looked like a grove — a dead grove. For the ice had killed the trees and cracked the trunks, and their dead limbs clawed skyward in mocking sneers at the heavens. Had the land sunken since the trees had grown? How many generations had passed?
And this is where the ravens had gathered.
Bedwir faced him, mouth agape, and Peredur beside him. Garth and Kensa suffered the sight from the left side. Caygek, alone on his knees, had vomited.
For before them — in the trees — hung forty or more corpses. Not old, rotting corpses, but fresh ones. With their red blood frozen to their limbs. Each one had been impaled upon a great branch, and the ravens greedily devoured their flesh.
After endless dreams of fire smoldering within the marrow of her bones, Ganieda awoke. The world was dark, wherever she was, and it clutched at her with a viselike grip, cold and breathless. She screamed for air and clawed upward. Buried; someone had buried her. She fought, lifting her tired knees and kicking down, ever downward, until her head rose up to freedom. She sucked it in and found it to be salty and sick, but at least it was air.
A dead face leaned toward her. She screamed, for she knew where she was now — the druid pit. Pushing away from the dead man and his thin, ruddy beard, she found the wall of the pit and grabbed upward. Anything. Anything.
She kicked herself sideways, and there her hand found a root. She pulled herself up, but halfway out, it snapped. She fell back. There were more roots. She grabbed one, and pulled, then another, and tugged upward. She lifted a leg onto the freezing ground, grabbed the trunk of the tree, and slid her whole body to the top. Her shoes had been lost in the muck, but she didn’t care.
She sat up, and the stink from the pit and from her own clothes stung her nose. Taking handfuls of snow, she rubbed her clothes with it to wipe off the grime.
Then she remembered the giant wolf. She whipped her head around but didn’t see it. Where had it gone? The beast might come back, and then what would she do? Ganieda stood on shaky legs and ran off into the snowstorm that swirled and pulled at her cloak and hair.
The thin trees ended and she came out onto an open hillside. Where was her grandfather? And then she stumbled. Weariness had pulled her down, but she forced herself up and kept moving. Her legs felt so weak, she needed to rest somewhere out of the wind.
Trees … just ahead. A thick grove. She ducked under the leafless branches and picked her way forward. Before her — at the edge of a clearing — loomed up a massive stone. She trudged to it, leaned against it, and found its shelter kept the snow from blowing in her face. She slumped down, determined to rest for awhile.
She laid her head down, and covered herself with her cloak. She would get up soon, she told herself. Darkness and sleep embraced her, and she embraced them back.
CHAPTER 37
THE TEMPLE OF ATLEUTHUN
Merlin turned away from the dead bodies — not wanting to gag and not wanting to see them any longer. But mainly, he didn’t want to see if Arthur was there. Were they too late?
“Is … is he there?” he choked out without turning to look. “We need to make sure.”
Merlin sat down on his haunches while the others searched the grove. He prayed for the first time since the storm at sea.
Someone crunched across the ice and snow and came to stand next to him. He looked at the boots and saw the person’s big toe sticking out of a hole. It was Garth. “Art’s not here, but we scared off two wolves before we found this … hangin’ on a branch.” He passed a red cloth to Merlin, torn but not bloody. It was a small tunic — the one Arthur had last worn at the feast, and the same one Merlin had seen in his vision.
Maybe there was still time.
Merlin looked up at the moon, now nearing its apex in the southern sky. The thin white line that had been there during their journey across the plain had become nothing more than a glow around the rim.
Merlin stood, and a new strength filled his legs.
They had to get up the mountain.
Now.
But what if they were captured before they could rescue Arthur? Then their weapons would be taken, including his sword and knife. Arthur might die because of the noise of one footfall. The glint off a sword in the wrong direction.
But what if Merlin could keep his knife? That might allow him a second chance. He pulled the short blade out from his belt and compared its length to the rolled-up leather map still in his bag. It would fit. And so, lacking any better place to hide it, he opened the bag, slipped the knife into the roll of leather, and tied the bag once more to his belt. No, the knife wouldn’t be immediately available to him, but he still had his sword. And besides, with all the torches swarming the upper mountain, their best chance was stealth.
Meanwhile, the others had all been talking about how best to approach the top.
“Can’t we climb?” Bedwir asked. “They won’t expect us to do that.”
“No, no,” Kensa said. “Ett’s too steep, so take de path up. But den nott all o’ ye are wanted. Ah, but we’ll make de best o’ ett.”
“Won’t they see us coming?” Peredur asked.
“Dey’re busy,” she said, “and dey keep no lookout. Straight up and de trees vil hide ya. But we must hurry. Der’s no time!” Her voice was urgent, and she began to push Merlin forward.
Merlin held her off with a hand so he could look up and see what she was talking about. This hoven was very similar in size to Dinpelder back in Britain, except here the entire mountain was slanted on one side all the way to the plain, making a natural path to the top from the ruined city where they stood. And she was also right about where to hide — a stand of thick trees grew on both sides of the path just near the top.
“Let’s try it, and everyone be as quiet as you can. Keep your weapons under your cloak if possible.”
Peredur stepped up to Merlin. “May I pray?” he said in his humble, quiet way.
Merlin nodded, and hushed the others to listen. Peredur cleared his throat and prayed:
O bright, precious Father, in our thoughts, be present,
In our actions, be near, always in our hearts and souls.
Mighty Spirit, swift and sure, of the fragrance of heaven,
Of the running, happy stream, flow in our hearts and souls.
May your blessed Son, of the line of David,
Of the suffering cross, dwell in our hearts and souls.
Merlin thanked him, and Peredur blushed.
“It’s just a prayer o’ me father. He always prayed like that to begin our day training horses. I dunno if it’s appropriate for sech a task as this, but I s’pose it’s better than naught.”
Merlin led the way through the rest of the ruins and trees, trying not look at the corpses. The path up the mountain was harder than he had expected — relentlessly it rose, higher and higher, and Merlin’s tired lungs could hardly suck in the cold air.
Bedwir walked to his left, his blade hidden, but his eyes sharp, and Garth, wary, walked to his right. Caygek and Peredur followed behind, with Kensa bringing up the rear. Two things aided them — the darkness, which the enemy had desired for their own purposes, and carelessness, for no guard appeared to accost them as they climbed toward Atle’s temple.
When they reached the trees, Merlin gathered everyone together and instructed them all to be as quiet as they could and to watch their step. Thankfully, the woods were mostly filled with pines, and the thick layer of soft, wet needles muffled their
steps.
Merlin hiked upward very slowly, picking his way. He tried to keep them together, but it was so dark under the canopy, and the trees so thick that they spread out farther than he’d intended. Merlin could barely see anything at all.
When he finally reached the edge of the trees, he crouched down into the brush. What he saw took his breath away. Just a few feet away chanted and danced an assembly of over five hundred people — men, women, and children of all ages. Each of them held daggers in one hand and a small torch in the other. And their feet, as well as the snow, were stained red with the blood of their many victims.
The temple itself was in ruins. Ancient stone columns made a wide circle upon the crest of the hill, and the closest was no more than eight paces from where Merlin hid. The stone roof, which had once formed a dome over the columns, had somehow been knocked down, for a great pile of mason-cut rubble lay heaped up on the right side, and part of the dome was still intact. Many of the fluted columns themselves had either been shorn off or toppled.
Atle stood in the center of the circle, and Arthur was with him — standing stiffly on a low, stone altar with his hands tied by a thin rope held in Atle’s hand. He was bare chested, and fear covered his little face.
Then Merlin saw Kensa.
She stood beside Atle, holding her shredded purple hat and talking to him. He was nodding. Merlin looked behind him to where he had thought she would be, but only Bedwir, Peredur, Garth, and Caygek were with him. Merlin wondered if she had even entered the woods when they had left the road. She had probably set off straight to Atle.
Then he heard — back in the trees — the cracking of branches and the padding of many feet. She had betrayed them! Atle’s warriors jumped forward with axes. Caygek leapt up and gutted one with his spear, but two more appeared right behind. Bedwir barely had time to draw his sword before they were upon them. Peredur and Garth ducked.
Anger flared up in Merlin’s veins, and he took up his sword and swung it at the nearest warrior, slicing him through the ribs. Whirling, he slammed the pommel into the next one’s head, and the man crumpled with a scream. One of the warriors was swinging an axe at Garth, and Merlin slammed his shoulder into the man and knocked him down.
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