The Age of Scorpio

by Gavin G. Smith

  Tangwen watched anger spread like fire across Britha’s face. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the haft of her spear more tightly. This had been coming since Britha had killed the boy. Tangwen understood why she had done it – it was kinder – but Britha had done it so coldly.

  ‘What I care about—’

  ‘A cruel jest, Fachtna.’

  Britha and Tangwen looked towards the now familiar, strangely accented voice of Teardrop. Tangwen turned angrily on Fachtna.

  ‘Why would you say that?!’ she demanded.

  ‘Because its true. My friend Teardrop is no more.’

  Tangwen was confused by Fachtna’s words. Was he in another impassioned warrior sulk? She turned to Britha, who was staring at Teardrop suspiciously.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. Tangwen turned back to look at Teardrop and noticed his eyes. They were a silver colour and multifaceted like the gems the richest of the traders from across the sea wore on their fingers. All the veins on his head stood out as if they were gripping his head tightly. ‘What are you, for you are no man?’

  Tangwen took a step back. Holding her bow in her right, her left hand moved to the quiver that hung from her hip. Teardrop turned to look at her. There was nothing of Teardrop there, only something strange and monstrous.

  ‘Still want my power?’ Teardrop asked, looking back to Britha.

  ‘I want weapons to fight Bress and this Crom Dhubh,’ she said more cautiously.

  ‘This is the price,’ Fachtna said. Teardrop looked at him but said nothing.

  ‘Will he stand with us?’ Britha asked. Fachtna just nodded. ‘Then let us go and see this king.’ Britha walked past Fachtna, heading deeper into the hill fort. Teardrop looked between Fachtna and Tangwen as if examining them both, as if he had never seen either of them before, then turned and followed Britha.

  Tangwen and Fachtna were left. The silence grew.

  ‘It’s difficult to mourn your friend when his body still stands among you,’ the warrior finally managed. Tangwen was shocked to see tears streaming down Fachtna’s face. The warrior sank to the mud. Tangwen knelt next to him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him as sobs racked his body. She felt tears come to her own eyes, though she wondered how either of them could cry among all this madness.

  The track branched into three and the middle path branched into two more routes further up. One of the two central tracks led to a gate in the west wall that had been blocked up. Britha and Teardrop took the other. They walked past granaries raised on stilts to keep out vermin. There were guards on the granaries. Not the professional warriors of the Cigfran Teulu, the Family of the Raven, the Atrebates cateran, but rather doughty landsmen with staves. The landsmen here did not seem to carry spears, Britha noticed with disdain. This must be a soft land, she thought.

  To their left were a number of roundhouses little different from those Britha had left in Ardestie. The people watched the two strangers pass, women, children and men. They looked gaunt, haggard and more than a little frightened. They stared, but when Britha stared back they did anything to avoid looking her in the eyes. There were still some sheep, pigs, a few cows and chickens, so the siege had not gone on too long, but just looking at the animals reminded her of the hunger that gnawed away at her. She felt like she was being eaten from the inside and her blood burned. I am as much monster as you now, Cliodna, Britha thought.

  ‘A fine salmon leap,’ the creature that was trying to contain itself in Teardrop’s body said, referring to her killing of the bear creature.

  ‘What are you?’ Britha demanded. She had seen the thing sprouting out like a vast crystalline plant from his body, reaching to places that didn’t make sense to her. It hurt for her to look at him, pain through her skull so bad it made her feel sick.

  ‘An explanation would do you no good.’

  ‘Why don’t the others see you as you are?’

  ‘Fachtna can, obviously. The rest do not have the potency in their blood that you do. Blessed by the Muileartach and Crom Dhubh, by life and death. That is why you can see, but sadly you will never understand.’ Britha felt like she was being insulted but chose not to rise to the provocation. This thing was unknown but seemingly powerful, and she did not wish to provoke it. ‘Because of your slaying of the bear, they think that you are one of us.’ Britha realised that he was talking in the language of the Pecht, her language. It had similarities to what was spoken by the southron tribes, languages which she now somehow instinctively understood, but was different enough so that any of the Atrebates who were listening would not understand.

  ‘They think I am from the Otherworld?’

  ‘They will.’

  Britha was about to ask more but they had arrived at a large circular stone structure in the north-west corner of the fort. It was raised on a mound and its walls were about eight feet high, though with regular square gaps in the stones. There was a large opening in the southern part of the wall.

  ‘What is this?’ Britha asked.

  ‘A holy place.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘A place dedicated to their gods.’

  ‘But it’s huge. They could build many roundhouses here, or granaries, graze animals or train warriors.’ Britha could just about understand why god-slaves would have small shrines in their roundhouses to bargain with their gods for favours, but this extravagance seemed like insanity.

  ‘They are a rich tribe.’

  ‘They are moonstruck.’ Britha would have said more but they had passed through the gap into the circular structure. Inside was a large stone pool of what looked like very stagnant water. In the centre of it was a stone statue of an exaggeratedly pregnant female figure with an oversized vagina.

  ‘The Muileartach,’ Britha whispered.

  ‘Here they call her Andraste,’ the thing that wore Teardrop told her. Though he spoke the language of the Pecht, Andraste was a southron word, and as he said it one of three figures turned to look at them. The figure was tall and thin and wore the brown robe of a dryw. Britha found his stare more disconcerting than she would have otherwise as he wore an enchendach, a feathered bird mask, in the shape of a raven’s head. Britha pointed at him.

  ‘That is ill done. What has this one to hide?’ she said, mistrusting the mask.

  ‘Eurawg does not hide; he honours the gods,’ the second figure said, stroking a thin black moustache streaked with white. He looked old and grizzled, and had gone to seed, but it was clear to Britha that not long ago he had been fit and physically powerful. His clothes were of fine quality, the dirk at his hip even had some kind of precious trade stone embedded in its pommel. His voice had sounded reasonable enough in tone but she could hear the pain in it. He was sitting on a pallet of straw but was clearly not comfortable, the result of the two mangled legs that stretched out in front of him. His eyes spoke of intelligence; his scars spoke of a willingness to fight; and the expression on his face was one of interest and bemusement. This is no fool, Britha thought. She also thought she could see the faintest trace of fire running through his blood.

  ‘I honour the goddess and I honour her daughter.’ The voice from the mask was little more than a whisper. Britha did not like the voice and did not understand the reference to the daughter of the goddess. She glanced at Teardrop suspiciously.

  ‘This is Rin, rhi of the Atrebates.’

  Britha nodded to the man on the pallet.

  ‘So this is the daughter of Andraste?’ the third figure asked scornfully. She spoke with a voice obviously used to wielding authority. At first Britha had taken the figure in battle-scarred armour to be a man. On closer inspection it was obvious that the powerfully built woman had once been handsome, though never beautiful. Now she was all hard edges, scar tissue and broken teeth. One of her eyes was a white mass surrounded by scarring; her left ear was missing; no hair grew around the wound, which was still raw, though it had obviously happened many years ago.

  Britha was about to deny that she h
ad any connection to any god when Teardrop said, ‘That is correct. Britha is the daughter of Andraste, and I am her herald.’

  Britha turned to Teardrop, but his features remained impassive and he did not look at her. With the silver crystalline eyes he looked more Otherworldly than ever before. It was hard to imagine he had ever been just a man.

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I do not immediately accept this,’ the woman said.

  I don’t blame you, Britha thought, but decided to remain silent, waiting to see what Teardrop was going to do next.

  ‘Morfudd!’ the dryw in the enchendach hissed. ‘You would deny the word of your goddess!’

  ‘Shut up, Eurawg,’ the woman said.

  ‘You cannot speak to one of my rank like—’

  ‘Shut up, Eurawg.’

  ‘What would you have of us?’ Teardrop asked.

  ‘Proof,’ Morfudd said. Britha had to admit that she liked the warrior.

  ‘You do not demand—’ Eurawg started but Morfudd turned on him.

  ‘I will not blindly follow anyone who turns up claiming to be the daughter of Andraste, and stop trying to sound sinister, Eurawg. You’re not fooling anyone.’

  ‘They’re family,’ Rin told them by way of explanation and apology.

  ‘Morfudd leads the Cigfran Teulu,’ Teardrop told Britha. ‘The warband is sacred to your mother, hence their leader must always be a woman.’

  ‘The Cigfran Teulu is only sacred to Andraste in her aspect as the hag,’ Morfudd said. ‘But then as her daughter you would know that.’

  The dryw all but tore off his enchendach. He was young: he could not have left the colleges in the groves all that long ago. Britha wondered why there was no older or more experienced dryw to treat with them, particularly as she was the daughter of a goddess, apparently.

  ‘Rhi Rin, I must protest. We have—’

  ‘Enough,’ Rin said quietly. ‘There is no denying that you have power and we thank you for coming to our aid last ni—’

  ‘The fort would have surely fallen—’ Eurawg began.

  ‘It is not for you to judge military mat—’ Morfudd began.

  ‘Don’t talk over your king,’ Britha said quietly. Both of them fell silent.

  ‘Will you stay and fight with us?’ Rin asked.

  ‘What news from the south?’ Britha responded. Morfudd and Rin exchanged looks.

  ‘I—’ Rin started.

  ‘Do not poison your words; speak truthfully,’ Britha told him, but it was Eurawg who spoke.

  ‘To the south-east there is a stretch of water between three islands. That stretch of water is sacred to your mother, Andraste. We take those of the Atrebates who have been touched by the moon to the two islands closest to the shore. The Regni to the east do the same.’

  ‘Did the same,’ Morfudd corrected him. ‘They have been attacked from the sea, perhaps destroyed.’

  ‘The black ships?’ Britha asked.

  ‘What do you know of the—’ Morfudd started suspiciously.

  ‘Let the boy finish,’ Rin said gently. ‘I mean the dryw.’

  Eurawg looked less than happy as he continued with his story. ‘There is a special order of the dryw who care for those afflicted by the moon. One morning, not more than ten days hence, we found one of them, a young man, a foundling, a child of the mad who had been raised by the dryw on the island. He was bloody, exhausted, near dead and nearer madness. He told of the black ships. He said that they came from the Otherworld and that they were planning something.’

  ‘What?’ Britha asked.

  ‘The waters are sacred. The border between this world and the other is weak there. They would pervert what is sacred to your mother and they intend a summoning.’

  ‘A summoning of what?’

  ‘He did not know, but he said they intended a great sacrifice.’

  She had known – at some level she had known – but it still rocked her. During the worst times, the times when mere survival meant a payment of blood to the land, the black-robed dryw were capable of sacrificing many, but this beggared belief. They must have hundreds on both boats by now.

  ‘The Llwglyd Diddymder,’ Teardrop said. Britha translated the words into her own tongue: the Hungry Nothingness. She wanted to ask him what it meant but didn’t dare show ignorance in front of Rin and his people.

  ‘What is this?’ Rin asked.

  ‘An ancient evil from the darkness beyond the stars,’ Teardrop pronounced in tones that made Britha want to laugh.

  ‘Can it be fought?’ the crippled rhi asked.

  ‘Not by us, not here. You need to stop it before it is summoned,’ Teardrop explained.

  ‘Well, she is the daughter of Andraste,’ Morfudd said, gesturing dismissively at Britha. ‘It should not be difficult for her to lay waste to the Corpse People and the demons on these black ships.’

  ‘I am not the only servant of the gods abroad right now,’ Britha said. She cared little for the deception but she was not willing to break it either. ‘Where is this shepherd of the moonstruck? May we speak with him?’

  Eurawg answered: ‘Whatever he had seen had driven him mad. He spoke of demons in the flesh, dead gods in his head, hearing singing from the night sky and that the sea wanted him. It was too much for him, and he died trying to cut his own face off.’

  ‘Tell them the rest,’ Rin said quietly.

  ‘Essyllt, my predecessor, she went to the Isles of the Moon—’

  ‘With ten of the Teulu as escort, ten we sorely need right now,’ Morfudd interjected.

  ‘And you have not seen them since?’ Britha asked, almost knowing the answer. It explained why a dryw so obviously young and inexperienced was here to treat with them.

  ‘Oh, we’ve seen their faces,’ Morfudd answered, her voice bitter and angry.

  ‘When the Corpse People attacked, they used the moonstruck from the island like the living use hunting dogs. The mad wore the flayed faces of Essyllt and her escort.’ It was Rin who spoke. Britha could hear the sadness in his voice. This was no tyrant. This was a king who cared for his people. He must be frustrated by his affliction, she thought. It would make what they had to try and convince him to do all the harder. ‘So what would you have of us?’

  ‘Your fight is not here, it is in the south,’ Teardrop told him.

  ‘They would corrupt the sacred waters of Andraste. This must be stopped!’ Eurawg said. Britha found herself wishing he’d put the mask back on and just stand there looking sinister, but doing so quietly.

  ‘And yet I have a fort full of people that I must protect,’ Rin said. Morfudd was nodding.

  ‘Which will not matter if this summoning succeeds,’ Teardrop argued.

  ‘The people here cannot come with us – they are not warriors. I take the warriors away, they will be massacred. The Corpse People do not care for captives or pillage. All they care about is destruction. Some say they even eat the dead. They are cannibal spirits, the restless dead of Annwn sent by Rhi Arawn to plague us,’ Rin said bitterly.

  ‘They are men – we proved that to you last night,’ Britha told the king.

  ‘You have not seen them pluck arrow and spear from their dead flesh; you have not seen their wounds heal in front of your eyes,’ Morfudd said angrily.

  ‘Which served them naught last night,’ Britha said.

  ‘We are not all the children of the gods!’ Morfudd roared. Eurawg glared at her.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ Teardrop said with the sort of quiet authority Britha connected to the dryw. It was how you made warriors and kings listen. ‘The magic is weak in your blood, but you have been touched by the gods.’

  Rin looked at the strange man with the swollen head and the silver eyes, trying to decide what to admit to.

  ‘It was true in my youth I could do things that others couldn’t before…’

  ‘In battle?’ Britha asked.

  ‘A cart, would you believe. I may be favoured of Andraste in battle, but not when I’m helping bring the harve
st in.’ Britha was impressed despite herself. Few mormaer would lower themselves to help with the harvest. ‘But this does not matter. If we leave the fort the people here will be massacred. In fact, if we leave the protection of the walls then we will all be massacred. If you have the means to fight the Corpse People then share them, and once we have defeated them we will go south with all haste.’

  ‘There is not the time,’ Teardrop said.

  ‘And you know this?’ Rin asked.

  ‘If both ships are there—’ Britha started.

  ‘Both?’ Rin looked to Eurawg.

  ‘The dryw from the Isles of the Moon said that there were more than two ships. Many more.’

  ‘How many do they plan to sacrifice?’ Britha asked Teardrop.

  ‘As many of the people of Ynys Prydein as they can find. They will make it Ynys Annwn,’ Eurawg said.

  ‘You must sneak out of here, no horses, no metal armour—’ Teardrop began.

  ‘If you are simply moonstruck, then you have our leave to go to the isles!’ Morfudd shouted.

  ‘There will be nothing left!’ Britha shouted, silencing them all.

  ‘I cannot and will not leave my people. It is pointless even talking about this any more.’

  ‘If you stay here the Corpse People will overrun you. They nearly wiped you out last night.’

  ‘Not if you share with us your ability to harm them,’ Rin said.

  ‘Which we won’t,’ Teardrop said with finality.

  ‘We cannot defy the will of the gods,’ Eurawg said. ‘We should do what they ask.’

  ‘Eurawg, shut up,’ Rin said. ‘So you would leave us here to die?’

  ‘You’re dead anyway,’ Teardrop answered.

  ‘We have no choice. The gods, our gods have spoken.’ Eurawg was pleading.

  ‘Eurawg, shut up! Have we not sacrificed enough, shed enough blood, drunk for you, feasted for you enough?’ Morfudd shouted at Britha, though it was clear that she did not entirely believe she was the daughter of their goddess. ‘You repay us by leaving us to die!’

  ‘How many times must I say it,’ Teardrop asked, letting anger creep into his voice, though something told Britha that was for show as well. ‘The people here are dead anyway. The only question is whether or not your warband dies at the same time or confronts your real enemy.’