Islands in the Mist (Islands in the Mist Series Book 1)

by J. M. Hofer

  “No. Our dogs are vigilant through the night, and our men take turns keepin’ a small watch, but other than that, we’ve returned to our normal lives, thank the gods.”

  I wonder if they’re still in the North, but hiding underground. He chose not to mention this until he knew more. He changed the subject.

  “And Buddig and the children?”

  “All good. The boys favorite game these days is ‘kill the forest-beasts’—they have all manner of knives and weapons strapped to their arms and legs that they never take off. I daresay they like the excitement. The little one insists on sleepin’ in our bed, though.”

  “Glad to hear they’re safe.”

  He glanced down at Madoc, ever at Maur’s heels, and gave the dog a scratch behind the ears. The Northerners bred their dogs with wolves, and hand-fed them from the time they were pups. When Northern children reached the age of seven they were given a pup to train, both the boys and the girls, and from that day forward they were inseparable. A Northerner’s dog was a faithful companion until death, often giving its own life protecting its master.

  Gareth walked over and then crouched down to pet Madoc as well. “What’s our next move, now that our Northern brothers have joined us?”

  “And your Eastern,” Neirin announced, approaching the party. “I am ready to track down these worms and put an end to them,” he boasted.

  “Yes,” Gareth added. “I’d wager we’ve got enough brains and steel in this hall now to destroy any enemy ten times over.”

  “Agreed,” Neirin adjusted his tunic. “There’s nothing I’ve ever failed to track and find, dead or alive. I don’t intend to start now. Based on what I saw last night, I’m sure they live south of here.”

  Bran hoped the young man’s skill matched his ego. It would make it much easier to tolerate his arrogance. Bran’s first instinct was to caution the youth against taunting the gods with his pride, but he decided against it. I have enough to deal with.

  “We look forward to seeing your skills tomorrow, Neirin,” he said instead. “It’s good to have you among us.”

  Neirin gave him a graceful nod. “I am honored to be here.”

  Bran turned toward the group. “I would speak to you all as one clan,” he began loudly.

  Everyone ceased their conversations and looked up.

  “First, a warm welcome to our Northern brothers. We’re grateful you’ve come—even more so now, as we have reason to believe the enemy may be living in caves. We all know your clan possesses great skill at navigating underground places.”

  This puzzled and alarmed most everyone present, with the exception of Aelhaearn and Lucia’s companions, who knew of this disturbing development already.

  “Tomorrow I’ll set out with Lord Neirin and a company of men to track our enemies and take the fight to them—we won’t wait here in fear any longer—these vermin must die so our women and children can sleep in peace again.”

  The men cried out, raising their cups and demanding blood, the women cheered and the dogs howled, filling the motherhouse with the formidable mingled sounds of man and beast. The sound stirred the warrior within Bran and he felt the urge to leave right then.

  When everyone’s questions had been asked and answered, Aelhaearn approached Bran. “What would you have me do?”

  Bran could not tell if he had asked the question in earnest, or if he were baiting him—but either way, he felt it best if he and Aelhaearn saw as little of each other as possible.

  “Stay in the village to protect the women and children. It’s possible the enemy is close and may attack while we’re away.”

  “As you wish,” Aelhaearn replied without argument.

  Why is he so agreeable now? Bran was wary, but he could not fault Aelhaearn for his obedience. He would have Seren keep an eye on him.

  ***

  Bran slept very little that night, anxious for the morning. He rose at the first sign of dawn and gladly roused his men, starting with Gareth. “Let’s go,” he said to Gareth’s groggy face. “I want to reach the foothills by mid-morning.”

  Gareth stretched and rubbed his eyes, widening them in the darkness. “Everything is ready. We just need to saddle the horses.”

  “Good. Wake the others.”

  In addition to Gareth and Neirin, Bran had asked Maur to come and bring two of his men. Maur had chosen Heilyn and Eurig, both young and strong, with keen eyesight. Lord Neirin was of course coming with two of his clansmen as well, the brothers Owain and Urien.

  Bran went outside and was greeted by a cloudy grey sky. More snow. He made his way to the long stable and swung open the gate. Gethen whinnied a greeting as he entered. He soon had him saddled for the ride, and then led him out of the stable.

  He spied Neirin out in the meadow waiting for his falcon to return with her breakfast. He walked out to where the slender youth stood.

  “Good morning, Lord Bran,” Neirin said. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Not much,” Bran answered truthfully.

  “That’s a fine horse,” Neirin nodded in Gethen’s direction.

  Bran stroked Gethen’s muzzle affectionately. “He’s been a good friend for many years.”

  Neirin smiled. “I think often of how closely tied we are to our animal companions. Sometimes I feel as though I could more ably suffer the loss of a limb than my beloved Eirlys.”

  Noticing the boy’s softness toward his falcon made Bran feel a bit remorseful at having judged him so harshly the day before. “I know that feeling well.”

  As if she knew they were speaking of her, Eirlys flew their direction, sailing gracefully on the cold morning air, a fat mouse in her beak.

  “Successful hunt,” Bran observed.

  “She never misses a meal,” Neirin chuckled. She landed and ate her mouse.

  “We’ll leave as soon as the others have saddled their horses,” Bran motioned toward the stable.

  “My men and I are ready.”

  Bran walked back to the stable.

  “Mornin’, Bran,” Maur grumbled, mounting his horse. Snow had begun to fall, and Bran envied the man’s ample layer of muscle and fat, as well as his thick, mink-lined cape. “We’re ready to go. How long before we reach the foothills, do you think?”

  “We should be there by mid-day,” Bran swung himself astride Gethen. “Sooner, if we ride hard and have no trouble on the road. I want to give the trackers as much daylight as possible to search the area, and now we have this damn snow to deal with. It’ll cover the tracks. Let’s be off.”

  Lord Neirin and his men came riding up. “Let’s hope the snow remains light. We need to hurry.”

  Bran nodded, giving Maur a look that said, “See?”

  Soon the party was heading south, Lord Neirin and his men in the lead. After awhile, Gareth rode up next to Bran. “May I speak plainly?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  Bran raised his brows at his cousin’s formality. They had been like brothers from the day they were born.

  “Good,” Gareth got the message. “There’s been no sign of this Cerridwen or her son, or these so-called cauldron-born. Do you honestly believe they are to blame for what happened to Lord Cadoc and your mother? I’m sorry, but I find it impossible to believe in corpses brought back from the dead—and harder still that they would somehow be capable of uniting against us under the command of some bitch sorceress.”

  “Go on,” Bran prompted, noting his cousin had more to say.

  “Well, perhaps we’re just dealing with a strange tribe that’s made its way down from North of the wall. There are wild tribes up there, you know—tribes with strong magic.”

  “I admit I haven’t seen the enemy with my own eyes,” Bran said, “but I’ve seen those who’ve clearly been fed upon, and the bite marks were made by the mouths of men.”

  “That proves nothing,” Gareth argued.

  “Maybe not—but I trust the word of Talhaiarn. He was the one who consulted with Lady Rowan.”

  “As do I,” Ga
reth said, “but if that’s true, I don’t understand their disappearance. Why haven’t we seen them? Why haven’t they attacked any of our villages again?”

  Maur rode not far from them.

  Gareth called back to him, “You’ve seen the enemy, right, Maur? These ‘cauldron-born’?

  “Aye,” he grunted. “I have.”

  “What do they look like?”

  Maur grimaced in disgust. “Pale, stinkin’ men that wear nothin’ but their own skin, move close to the ground and can climb like spiders in the trees. You can nearly smell ‘em before you see ‘em.”

  Bran raised his eyebrows at Gareth. “I don’t think we’re dealing with ordinary men, my friend.”

  ***

  They arrived at the foothills earlier than expected, but still did not have much time before the sun set. The days were becoming shorter, and would continue to do so, until Lá an Dreoilín, the winter solstice.

  “Wait!” Neirin reined his horse to a stop. He dismounted and disappeared into the woods that flanked the trail.

  A few moments later, he returned, grinning. “I think we’ve found them—there are tracks here, left by bare hands and feet.” He motioned to Owain and Urien, who slipped silently from their horses and followed him back into the trees.

  A quarter of an hour passed. Maur shifted in his saddle, grumbling a bit. He turned to Bran. “They must have found something. Should we follow ‘em?”

  “No. Let’s stay here. I don’t want to risk disturbing anything.”

  “Right,” Maur said, dismounting clumsily. I’ll be restin’ myself a bit, then.” Madoc ran up next to him, and Maur reached in his pack to give him something to eat.

  Not a bad idea. Bran and the others dismounted as well, and found some nearby boulders to sit down on. They shared some food and played with the dogs, waiting for the trackers to return.

  An hour passed.

  “Do you think they’ve run into some trouble?” Maur asked Bran. Although Gareth was skeptical about the existence of cauldron-born, Maur was certainly not.

  I hope not. Bran went over to the edge of the forest and peered in, looking for some sign of them. “I don’t know. Let’s give them a bit more time. If they’re not back by the time the sun reaches that peak,” he pointed, “we’ll go after them.”

  Before long, Neirin and his men reappeared up the road a bit.

  “Gods, there you are!” Maur looked up at the sky as if to thank the gods he had just addressed.

  “We found several trails, all over this area,” Neirin announced. “They lead to the base of a steep mountain with a deep cleft in the side of its face, about a hundred feet up. We’ll have to climb to reach it.”

  “Good thing I brought plenty of rope,” Gareth announced.

  “Bah!” Maur swatted an imaginary fly. “I prefer my feet on the ground, or in it. Haulin’ this belly up the side of a mountain is no easy task.”

  Bran laughed, patting him on the back. “Fate has saved you this time, brother. Lucky for you we need someone to stay here with the dogs and the horses.”

  “Gladly.” Maur took the reins of their horses. “I’ll see they’re all fed and watered. You all come back, do you understand? I’ll have a stew made.”

  “Gods, but you’d make me a fine wife,” Eurig teased. “Too bad you’re not prettier!”

  Maur shot him a dirty look. “Pity you’d make such a poor husband. I have it on good authority from the women you bed.”

  Heilyn laughed heartily and gave Eurig a smack. “Ha! Good one, Maur!”

  Eurig smiled, taking Maur’s comment in good sport. “I’ll be lookin’ forward to that stew when we get back, big man.”

  Bran smiled and shook his head.

  ***

  Neirin led them through the forest, pointing out tracks from time to time. Eirlys flew high overhead, making an appearance once in awhile. He led them to the foot of a mountain and pointed up toward its summit.

  “There—do you see the bushes around that long opening? The ones at the top have all their leaves, but the others, near the bottom, have very few. The branches have been grabbed or stepped on many times.”

  “I see it,” Bran said, squinting.

  “That’s a long way up.” Gareth observed. “I wish Aelhaearn were with us. His skills are invaluable when it comes to dark cold places—which that’s sure to be.”

  Bran thought back on what had happened two nights ago and felt a twinge of guilt. There’s no doubt Aelhaearn would indeed be a help.

  The mountain was steep, and they had their ropes, axes, hammers and torches to contend with. Bran struggled, unable to get his body into the places the others could. Neirin and his men moved as quietly as ghosts, and apparently weighed about as much—nothing cracked or even moved beneath their hands and feet as they scaled the slippery terrain up the side of the mountain. If I couldn’t see them, I’d swear they weren’t there.

  The higher they climbed, the steeper and more treacherous the terrain became. Bran gave up trying to keep up with the others and instead concentrated on his own steps and handholds. Everyone was waiting for him when he arrived at the top.

  “Do you want to rest a moment?” Neirin asked.

  “No.” Bran felt a wave of embarrassment. “Let’s go.”

  One by one, they squeezed into the cold, dark fissure in the mountain. Inside, they found many passageways leading in different directions.

  “Were these made by men?” Gareth asked Eurig, who was standing next to him.

  Eurig lit his torch and held it up to examine the walls more closely. “They were, and they’re more than savages, if they’ve managed to do this. I can see why we’ve not encountered ‘em—they’ve obviously been very busy.”

  Bran lit his own torch and ventured deeper into the cavern. “We need to map out these passageways.”

  “That we can do,” Heilyn assured him, looking confidently at Eurig, who nodded in agreement.

  “Hopefully without wakin’ ‘em,” Eurig added.

  “I propose we follow this one,” Neirin said. “It’s used the most.”

  They followed Neirin down the passageway. A foul odor increased with every step—an odor Bran knew all too well from his many days on the battlefield. Dead bodies. The passage finally opened into a small chamber where they were hit with the rank smell of rot.

  “I believe we can safely say they’ve been feeding,” Bran said.

  Neirin covered his face with his cloak. “There must be dozens of bodies in here.”

  Both animal and human corpses lay piled together in the chamber. Of the human, most were women and children—and, most disturbing of all, quite a few babes. Some of the victims were Romans, others were simple farm folk. It was clear the enemy did not discriminate by race or rank.

  “Babes!” Heilyn exclaimed in horror. “They feed upon babes!”

  Heilyn became increasingly upset as he surveyed the gravesite, to the point that Bran took Eurig aside and asked, “Will he be alright to continue? Or shall we send him back to Maur?”

  Eurig leaned in, no trace of his earlier joking manner, and whispered in Bran’s ear, “His wife gave birth to their first son but a moon ago.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  His heart, too, was filled with pity for all the new fathers and mothers whose children lay there in that terrible place. He examined each body in turn to see if there were any he recognized.

  Gareth came over and bent down to crouch beside him. “I believe you now.”

  Bran shook his head and put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Gods, but how I wish you’d been right about this.”

  “Me too.” Gareth grimaced and stood up.

  Owain had been silently examining corpses since they had arrived. He held up several pieces of jewelry between his fine long fingers. “Some of these people are from clans that lie east of our village. Why would they be traveling so far south? And so far from any road? There’s no reason for them to be anywhere near here.”

 
Neirin turned to Bran to explain. “Owain and Urien’s father trades regularly with several clans along the road to Londinium.”

  “Perhaps the bodies have been here longer?” Gareth proposed, covering his nose and mouth with his tunic as he bent down to examine them. “Preserved by the cold?”

  “No.” Urien shook his head. “These are but a few weeks old, if that.”

  Neirin and his men continued examining corpses until Bran became concerned with the time. “It must be close to nightfall. Let’s get back. We can return tomorrow.”

  “Wait!” Neirin grabbed Bran’s arm and motioned upwards. Bran squinted, and, being the tallest, held his torch up as high as he could. The firelight revealed holes in the rock overhead.

  “I saw something,” Neirin said with conviction.

  All the men followed Neirin’s gaze overhead, waiting for whatever it was to make itself known.

  “Take aim above my head,” Bran ordered in a low voice. “If anything appears, kill it—quickly, if you don’t mind.” He positioned himself beneath the largest hole and pulled himself up to the ledge. He sensed nothing but cold darkness.

  “Torch!” he whispered.

  Fire came his way and he caught it, extending it into the passageway he found himself in. It was very narrow—only wide enough for a man to crawl through—so for Bran, it was uncomfortably small. “I’m going to see where this leads,” he turned and said down to the others.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Gareth exclaimed. “You can’t go in there alone!”

  “Come with me, then.” He tossed a rope down. “Someone should stay there and guard the opening so no one enters behind us. I’ll kill whatever comes toward us.”

  He put a dagger between his teeth and crouched down, slowly making his way through. He heard the others follow. He did his best to keep panic at bay until the passage gratefully opened up into another chamber with an underground stream. He could not see it, but he could hear it. He felt around over his head, and realized with relief that he could stand up. There was a faint light coming from somewhere. Overhead, perhaps? He waited until he heard the others make their way out and then felt a hand on his arm.

  “Who did you leave behind?”