Age of Iron

by Angus Watson

  The dog turned on its side in mid-air as an arrow thumped into its flank. It flew past him and thudded squealing to the ground.

  Lowa stood at the edge of the trees, already loosing another arrow. An instant later the second dog was smashed to the ground, ploughing a furrow in the long grass. The power of that bow! The dogs were punched from their paths like they’d been hit by flying tree trunks. He’d never seen anything like it. No more than three heartbeats after the second dog had gone down, the third was somersaulting with a squeal. Now came the fourth. It was slower, a good thirty paces back from the others. Dug relaxed, smiling smugly at the dog about to die.

  Nothing happened. The dog was still coming. It was the slowest because it was the biggest. By far. Come on, Lowa! Dug looked over at her.

  She waved at him. He nodded towards the dog. She smiled and shook her head.

  Badgers’ fucking bollocks! Dug readied himself for the dog. It bounced its last few steps almost lazily and leaped for his face. He stepped to the right and swung the hammer. His weapon crunched bone. The dog was dead before it hit the ground. That wasn’t so hard, he thought, almost collapsing with relief.

  Two of the dogs weren’t moving. One was yipping like a puppy and trying to scrabble to its feet, biting at the arrow sticking out of its shoulder. Dug walked over, said, “Sorry, dog” and caved its skull in.

  “Shame, really,” said Lowa, sauntering over from the trees. Dug remembered the human pursuers. He spun. The meadow was empty.

  “They ran when the second dog went down,” said Lowa. “They’re probably watching us now. No point following them into the trees; they could ambush us too easily.”

  “Yeah. And thanks. Nice shooting.”

  “Not really.” Lowa squatted to twist her arrow out of a dog’s flank. “I can hit a running squirrel at twice that distance every time.”

  Dug made a Well, aren’t you clever? face at the back of her head and said, “How did you get here so quickly?”

  “While you were trotting, I was sprinting. I would have taken the dogs earlier, and the men, but there were brambles and other obstacles so I couldn’t get out of the woods quickly enough.”

  “And the fourth dog?”

  Lowa looked up and smiled. “I wanted to know if you could best a dog.”

  Dug fought his rising blush. “I could have bested all four of them.”

  “Sure!” Her dazzling smile seemed to leach the strength from his very bones. By Toutatis, she was attractive.

  They both looked round at the sound of approaching hooves.

  “You killed the dogs!” Spring reined back. For someone who’d been crying minutes before she looked very composed.

  “That was your old gang,” said Dug.

  “Yes. And those are Ogre’s dogs. The big one’s called Titan. The other three are Half-Titan, Anvil and Nipper. Do you keep your name in the Otherworld? Nipper was a girl. The other three were brothers. There was another one – Juniper. I wonder where she is?”

  “Your old gang?” Lowa raised an eyebrow at Spring.

  “Sort of.” Spring looked away.

  “Zadar must have contracted them.” The arrow Lowa was pulling from the first dog’s shoulder came out headless. She grimaced unhappily, and reached to her belt for her knife.

  “Yes, he must have done.” Spring dismounted and headed for the injured horse, which had limped down to the river for a drink.

  Dug turned to Lowa, who’d plunged a hand into the dead dog and was reaching about for her arrowhead. “So you were…”

  He was interrupted by a triumphant bark from the river.

  It was the fifth dog. It must have come unseen along the other side of the river. It was charging at Spring, just paces away now. Spring’s horse bolted limpingly, but the girl stood, frozen in terror.

  Dug was far too far away. Lowa pulled her hand from the dead dog and dived for her bow, but it was too late.

  The dog leaped and Spring disappeared beneath it.

  Chapter 27

  A few miles outside Maidun Castle, Elliax the Barton druid was walking beside his wife. They were joined by a light double slave collar – two iron hoops connected by a wooden rod. He was shorter than her, so he bore most of the pole’s weight and it chafed his neck. Vasin could have stooped to relieve his burden, but she was walking tall with all the haughtiness that had grown over their years of marriage. If anything, she was striding faster than she usually did, rather than slowing down to allow for his shorter legs.

  She hadn’t spoken to him all day, and he did feel a twinge of guilt when he looked at the bandage that covered the wound where Felix had cut a small chunk from her arm. So he’d eaten it. So what? He didn’t have a choice. She had plenty of fat to spare and they had to show willing now that they were among Zadar’s upper echelons. Besides, he’d been hungry.

  He was startled from his musings by a pained squeak from somewhere near Felix, who was riding next to them. The head druid’s dark scowl slowly turned into a broad smile as he looked at something furry that struggled in his hands. Once it was still, he chucked it into the roadside ditch, cursing unhappily. He kicked his horse into a trot and rode away towards the front of the line. Elliax saw that the furry thing was a rat. It looked like it had had the life squeezed out of it. What the Fenn had that all been about? Nothing good, that was for sure. He shivered.

  Chapter 28

  Ragnall woke and wished that he hadn’t. He thought he must have been poisoned and beaten with hammers. As the memories of the fight and the beer the night before pushed their brutish way through his mind like blunt knives through filth-sodden wool, he realised that he wasn’t far wrong.

  Drustan brought him water, then sat on the end of the bed and, as Ragnall drifted in and out of ill sleep, told him the story of the great flood.

  “Many many years before even your grandfather’s grandfather’s grandfather was conceived, the gods went to war for a thousand years. Toutatis, god of weather, took to warring with particular enthusiasm and neglected to change the seasons. Kornonos, god of animals, was another keen war maker. He forgot to control the beasts. So the whole world froze in a winter that lasted a thousand years, the beasts became monsters and walked the land, and the magic that came from the gods was lost.

  “Herds of hairy dragons with horns longer than a man gored or crushed anyone in their path. Great white bears, long-fanged cats and packs of enormous wolves hunted people. It was a bad time to be a human. Hunting parties were themselves hunted and eaten by beasts. Anyone leaving a village to forage on their own had little chance of returning. Soon animals began to attack the villages, smashing through walls, snatching babies from cots as the people fled.

  “Thousands upon thousands were sacrificed to the gods in an effort to halt the scourge. Mothers sacrificed sons, daughters sacrificed fathers. All to no avail. The gods were busy with their war and had no time for the bleating of humans.

  “Finally a wise old woman called Sara travelled from tribe to tribe, calling on them to unify, to flee the cold and the beasts. Desperate and dying, the tribes listened to her, and she led thousands south to lower land, where the frost was less severe. Under Sara’s direction they built a wall, miles around, too high and too strong for even the largest beasts to breach. In a coming-together of tribes never seen before or since, they founded the city of Tans Tali.

  “Sara showed the people how seeds produced plants, so they stopped foraging and fed on crops grown within the walls. She showed them how to rear herds of cattle and sheep, so there was no need for hunting. Outside the walls the animals howled and roared in the snow. Inside the walls all were safe and well.

  “Sara said that the gods had forgotten humans, so humans had to look after each other. We don’t need their magic, she told them. The people saw that she’d saved them from the cold and the beasts, and began to worship her instead of the gods. Tans Tali became a place of peace. Every life was sacred. There was no fighting and no murder. Animals were well looked aft
er. When they were killed for food, it was done as swiftly and kindly as possible. No creature nor humans was sacrificed.

  “Thousands of thousands flocked to Tans Tali. All who entered saw the town’s inhabitants growing fat and old. Compared to life outside the walls it was a paradise, and almost all new arrivals quickly grasped Sara’s ideals of peace.

  “Some didn’t like it. They said that Tans Tali was against the gods, and stubbornly stayed on the higher land, fighting the animals and the cold, making sacrifices that the gods didn’t see and trying to use magic that the gods no longer gave to them. Their numbers dwindled as many were killed, or seduced by the comfort of Tans Tali. But some survived.

  “Tans Tali grew. Walls were added to walls. Soon the city was a hundred miles around and still growing. All lived in harmony and all the tribes became one tribe. Before Sara died at the age of six hundred, she arranged for her successor to be chosen by the casting of lots. Every man, woman and child in the city had one lot to cast for the leader they favoured. This became their way after every king or queen died, so only the great and good were ever chosen to lead. Tans Tali flowered.

  “Great houses became palaces. The farms became towers, with mobile mirrors reflecting the sun to feed the grass and crops inside. The palaces became places of learning, where men and women would write and read long scrolls. These written words had one main theme. They said that there were no gods and that man was the supreme being. Freed from worshipping the gods, the arrogance of men and women knew no bounds.

  “People have to worship, however, so they worshipped each other. The strongest, fastest at games and most beautiful were made into human gods. The masses aped their ways, copying their dress and behaviour. They could not offer animals or human sacrifices as Sara had forbidden it, so instead they gave their time and belongings to these imitation gods.

  “After two thousand years Danu and Bel were triumphant. The other gods bowed to them, then returned to their duties.

  “Toutatis saw that Tans Tali had conquered the weather and was enraged. Kornonos saw that Tans Tali had subjugated the animals and was consumed with anger. Makka, god of war, saw that fighting had ceased in Tans Tali and was choked with fury.

  “All the gods saw how men and women had forgotten them and turned to worshipping themselves. Warring, hunting, foraging, sacrificing – this was the way of things. Most of the gods did not like to see anything changed, particularly when it wasn’t their idea. Some argued that they should adapt to the new ways. After all, had not the gods forgotten the people first?

  “Toutatis, Makka and Kornonos were having none of this. Tans Tali was low-lying, now spreading hundreds of miles along a river in a broad valley. North of the city were sheets of ice two miles high, stretching for thousands of miles. Toutatis set about melting the ice with sunlight, lightning and hot rain.

  “Danu saw their plot. She called the three gods to her, listened to their arguments and saw that they were right. Humans needed to be punished. But in her kindness she sent a signal to warn mankind of the coming doom. She mixed the sun and the rain to create a rainbow. Every day for a hundred days she made a rainbow above the markets, palaces and farms of Tans Tali.

  “Almost everybody ignored Danu’s sign. The gods had not been worshipped for hundreds of years in Tans Tali. The very concept of divine beings had become risible, food for intellectuals’ mockery. But the few outlanders left in the wilds had kept the gods. They saw the rainbows and knew what they meant. Many fled to higher ground. A few went to Tans Tali to warn the populace. Most of them were laughed out of town. Some, however, with charisma and the power of their oratory, persuaded people from Tans Tali to leave with them, and small groups headed back to the wilds.

  “While Danu had been making rainbows, Toutatis had made a broad deep sea far to the north of Tans Tali, held on its southern shore by the two-mile-high dam of ice.

  “At dawn on Samain, at the end of summer a year from the end of the war of the gods, Toutatis destroyed the wall of ice with bolts of lightning. The sea flooded over Tans Tali, obliterating it and all who lived in it. More people than all those who live in the whole world today were crushed and drowned in an hour. The sea made by the flood is still there, separating Britain from the rest of the world and filling the ocean to the west. Everywhere else – in the lands of the black men, the yellow men, the red men – the sea level rose by a hundred paces. Countless other cities and tribes were obliterated.

  “The tribes who’d escaped the destruction saw what had happened and swore never to forsake the gods again. They returned to the old ways of hunting and foraging and the gods were pleased. All writing – the pernicious symbols by which mankind had argued itself away from belief – was banned. To keep belief in the gods strong, it was decreed that all learning must be passed from mouth to mouth, from generation to generation, so for as long as people exist, the gods will be remembered. Despite this, the unforgiving gods now deemed humans unworthy of their magic. To this day, only a few men and women are able to access the gods’ powers.

  “The message of the gods remains today alongside their revenge. We must remain hard, we must war, we must hunt, we must forage and we must never write. We must accept that adversity is the way of the gods. When we lose those we love, we must remember that they are in the Otherworld. They are not lost and we will see them again. But there is no point in looking for them in this world.”

  Ragnall stayed curled up, facing away from Drustan. His face was sore and his balls throbbed. He’d heard the story of the flood a thousand times, but he knew what Drustan was trying to tell him.

  But there was Anwen. He had to find her. If anything, the beating from the little man had been a blessing. He’d seriously thought he was just going to walk right on up to Maidun Castle, defeat a champion or two perhaps, and stroll away hand in hand with Anwen. Now he’d taken on one small man and received the beating of his life, the idea was less appealing. As a bonus, he’d also discovered that not all bullies were cowards.

  “Drustan.” Ragnall’s voice was harsh. He coughed.

  “Have some more water.” Drustan handed him a skin and he gulped it down.

  “You’re right. I’ll come to Dumnonia with you.”

  “Good. It is the only way.”

  It’s the only way at the moment, thought Ragnall. Yes, he’d set off with Drustan and maybe even go as far as Dumnonia, but he wouldn’t stop searching for opportunities to get back to Anwen and have his revenge on Zadar.

  Chapter 29

  “It died?” Dug scooped some dog spit off Spring’s shoulder and turned her round, checking for injuries. She seemed unharmed. The dog that had attacked her lay on the grass. It was dead, but its eyes still looked alive, blazing with hatred.

  “Its heart must have stopped,” said Lowa.

  “Bit weird,” said Dug. “And look at its eyes. I’d say it was under a glamour – controlled by a druid.”

  Lowa looked at him pityingly. “And is the druid watching us from its dead eyes?”

  “Maybe?” Dug reddened.

  “It’s not that weird. The heart pushes your blood around. If that stops you can’t move and you die. I’ve seen Felix prove it. Your heart pushes the blood faster when you exert yourself, and it’s more likely to break when it’s going faster. The surprise of a breaking heart is enough to give any creature a strange look on its face. There’s no glamour here.”

  “But just as it was leaping…?” Dug looked at Spring, who was walking towards her horse, making soothing noises.

  “If it’s going to happen, it’s got to happen some time. Why not just as it was leaping?”

  “You don’t think she stopped it with,” Dug whispered, nodding at Spring, “magic?”

  Lowa looked at him. Oh dear, she thought. “No. I don’t. I’ve seen enough failed healings and false prophecies to know that magic is a story for children. Nothing more.”

  “But druids—”

  “Are full of shit. One of their best tricks is
persuading people that coincidences mean something. They don’t. An eagle attacks a crow as an army lines up for battle and they all go ‘Oooooh’ and it’s some big omen. But it isn’t. It’s just something that happens, happening.”

  “Aye, I suppose so.” He looked a long way from convinced.

  “OK, so what were the chances of us meeting? Of all the people in the world who have ever lived and ever will live, how odd was it that we were both in that tavern at the same time? Certainly no weirder than an elderly dog with a weak heart happening to die after a long run.”

  Dug looked up at the sky, then shook his head. “Nope, don’t see what that’s got to do with it. We were just in the pub. It’s hardly the same as a dog dying when it’s about to kill a wee girl.”

  Lowa sighed. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before Ogre can report back.”

  Part Two

  Kanawan

  Chapter 1

  They found a caltrop in the hoof of Spring’s horse. With the three-spiked iron device dug from her footpad, the horse seemed happy enough walking with Lowa and Spring on board, but Lowa stole a third horse from the first homestead they came to. “Can’t have too many horses,” she said.

  An hour further north, she asked Spring to steal food from another settlement.

  “We’ll leave a trail,” Dug said while they waited for the little thief.

  “We will.” Lowa nodded.

  As the day darkened, she led them off the road. They dropped down a steep wooded bank and doubled back southwards, single file along a dark streambed. After a few miles they clambered out of the widening watercourse onto a road that headed west, away from Zadar’s territory.

  The crescent moon and starlit road wound around hills, forded streams and a couple of rivers, and plunged through forests of broad-leafed trees. They skirted three sleeping villages. The round huts with their conical roofs, blue in the moonlight, could have been haystacks for all the life they showed. The only large animals they saw were a family of beavers, who lolloped ahead of them along the road for a short time before disappearing into the woods.