Gemini Thunder

by Chris Page

  His horse bucked him off.

  Struggling to his feet he shook off the attentions of the twins, who had dismounted to help him, put his head back, and let out a thunderous bellow of rage. The chieftain rings around his crown rattled, the tattoo-covered veins on his dirt-encrusted neck and face stood out like cords of ten-twist jute, and he clenched and unclenched his big hands in a demonstration of frustrated rage, the likes of which none of the Celts had ever seen before. Then he kicked the horse viciously under its belly, with which it took off and galloped toward the Celtic lines. Bellowing curses at the rapidly retreating animal, Guthrum snatched the reins of Go-uan’s horse and with the clumsiness of a seafarer mounted it. If that animal had so much as twitched he would have throttled it with his bare hands.

  Alfred, de Gaini, and Twilight sat quietly through this demonstration of violent-tempered behaviour, each thinking just how much the leader magnified the savage, brutal, berserker characteristics of his men. As he watched the display of bellowing fury, Twilight was sorely tempted to rid this turning earth of the demented Guthrum there and then and worry about the twins afterward, but it would have to wait another day as they were honour-bound under a truce arranged by him. The twins would probably get in a retaliatory strike at Alfred before he could deal with them, so he waited.

  His turn would come.

  King Arthur cleared his throat.

  ‘We would like some time to remove our dead from the battlefield,’ he said in a neutral voice.

  The twins translated Alfred’s English for the benefit of Guthrum and Ove Thorsten.

  Still obviously seething, Guthrum couldn’t bring himself to respond. Ove Thorsten growled a reply.

  ‘How long would you like?’ asked the twins.

  ‘The rest of today should suffice,’ said de Gaini. ‘It would also give you time to remove your warriors and, perhaps, bears.’

  Go-ian translated for Guthrum and Thorsten. This set Guthrum off on another tirade of virulent bellowing. When he had finished Twilight translated.

  ‘He says that they have so many Celtic heads that taking them back home in their longboats, as is their custom, will be difficult. So he has ordered each Viking warrior to fashion his own amulet pole, carve a middle section of skull bone from each head he takes, cut a small Norse rune to Tyr on it, and put it over the pole. These poles are also beginning to get heavy, but there will be many more amulets to come and many more full poles. He is also waiting for the time when each of us, particularly me, adorns one of these poles.’

  King Arthur looked at de Gaini and then Twilight, then spoke softly but with intense venom to the twins.

  ‘There is nothing to be gained here. This wrathful slaughterer doesn’t have the merest spark of human morality. All he is capable of seeing is mindless gore.’ He looked directly at Guthrum and pointed his index finger at the glowering face. ‘Tell him also that one day soon I will leave his poisonous, dirty, hideously ugly corpse on the field of battle as carrion for the ravens.’

  As the twins translated, Guthrum, with every last sinew straining, opened his mouth to start bellowing again.

  And for the second time was bucked off his horse.

  As the Celtic party wheeled and began to slowly trot back to their lines, the bellowing, horse kicking, and twin punching began in earnest behind them.

  As Desmond said when he’d been captured, one day this particularly violent Viking would explode in a storm of malevolent bile. ‘Were you responsible for Guthrum falling from his horse?’ asked Desmond later. ‘And if so, why didn’t the twins stop it?’

  ‘Removing air from a windbag is a great leveller,’ answered Twilight obliquely, ‘and yes, the twins did try to stop it, but they spread their power between Guthrum, Thorsten, and themselves. I only used a little power on the minds of Alfred and de Gaini, and had plenty to spare for getting through the defences of those two.’

  ‘Edward de Gaini told me you and Guthrum exchanged . . . er . . . pleasantries in the Norse tongue.’

  Twilight chuckled.

  ‘That’s one way of putting it, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Obscenities and invective would be nearer the truth.’

  ‘What did he call you?’

  ‘Let me see now . . . ‘ Twilight suddenly rattled off a stream of unintelligible Norse.

  ‘That’s not fair! What does it all mean?’

  ‘I am a poison-wielding dung beetle with a dirty village whore for a mother, a mire-wraith for a father, and a spite-witch for a wife. My children are the spawn of slime worms, my acquaintances decomposed maggots, and all my ancestry came out the back end of a rat. Within days we will all be dead, along with all the other cowardly blood sacks who call themselves Celts. His glorious warriors will stack our worthless bodies into a pile of headless flesh and then set it on fire. When the bonfire of our worthless flesh has turned to ashes, they will urinate them into a putrid bog where nothing will ever grow again.’

  Desmond’s eyes had grown larger with each sentence.

  ‘What a mouthful. What was your reply?’

  ‘I replied in kind. It’s the only way that a sub-human disease like Guthrum will ever understand anything.’

  Twilight again rattled off a stream of unintelligible Norse. This time it was longer.

  ‘I said that I had looked deep into his soul and could only find void. It was as barren as a desert wind. The same with his heart, nothing there but cowardice and fright. His vaunted Viking fighting skills were nil, a complete pretence that would be shown for its incompetence the moment he took to the battlefield, which as a coward he would never do. His entire presence was a sham hiding behind the bellowing of fifty stuck pigs, and none of the gods whose images he was covered in acknowledged his presence on earth. He was a nonentity, nothing he was purported to be, a shell of nonexistence, a fickle-faced avoider who hid behind the deeds of others, a timid, repulsive, repellent cowerer taking refuge in arrogance, an apostate whose devotions were false, a nonbeliever always trying to convince others of his sanctity, a cold and unwelcome deviate in his own Norse deities, a yellow-belly, misfit, and a dribbler hiding behind and protected by a culture he was incapable of following . . . and his men knew it, his gods knew it, his woman knew it, his family all knew it, and, worst of all, we knew it.’

  Desmond’s mouth had dropped open in total astonishment well before Twilight finished.

  ‘No wonder he fell from his horse,’ he said eventually with a shake of the head. ‘You attacked him in his own language, right where it hurt, the founding stone of his elitism, the warrior, deity, brotherhood, courage bit.’

  ‘I was very taken with the idea of removing him permanently,’ said Twilight. ‘For various reasons I didn’t, but it was close for a moment or two.’

  ‘What do you think the twins have done with Sir Valiant and Scroopy?’ asked Desmond, changing the subject. ‘Now I’ve got the bears back it would be nice to have those two as well.’

  ‘Killed or left alone on Steep Holm,’ replied the miracle-maker.

  ‘Can we check?’

  ‘Yes. We can go there now.’

  Desmond was already reaching for Twilight’s hand.

  A series of quick raids by the Viking at the weakened points in the Celtic lines, followed by another full-frontal, eyeballs-out howling attack, soon saw the defenders giving ground until Edward de Gaini was forced to call the retreat. As Twilight and the twins exchanged many thunderbolts, Celts scattered in small groups far and wide and headed west as fast as their horses or legs would carry them. The swarming Viking warriors took over Chippingham and prepared for a great celebration. King Alfred of Wessex had lost the battle of Chippingham as well as Winchester and the lives of nearly nine thousand men.

  Guthrum now ruled Wessex.

  Before the rout, King Alfred had issued an order to his remaining commanders to be passed down to every man. In the event of the
Celts being overpowered by the Viking, each soldier was to make for his home or a place of known sanctuary, bury his weapons, and lie low. Winter was coming. By the spring of the following year, Alfred would gather together another army and rise up again to strike back at the invader.

  Gode of Combe, along with the remnants of the troop she had arrived with, was sent back to her father to warn him of the imminent arrival of the invader. With these men as his escort he was to move west immediately, regardless of his health. She would then rejoin Alfred to begin the long process of rebuilding his army.

  The rallying point was to be Tintagel Castle in Kernow. The fight back would begin there in the spring. Wessex had lost the battle but not the war; they would return stronger and wiser.

  Gode and Desmond parted; the troubadour would stay with his animals and Twilight.

  Which, once more, included Sir Valiant and Lord Scroop, whom Twilight had transformed back from Steep Holm. They had not been killed by the twins.

  With a small escort party of soldiers under the command of a new cohort leader, Samuel Southee, and alongside Edward de Gaini, King Alfred rode hard to the west. Southee, who had earned a reputation at Winchester and Chippingham as a brave and resourceful fighter, had the added advantage of being born and raised in the middle of the Summerland Levels, an area he knew well and to where they were now heading.

  Behind them the Viking command heaved an enormous sigh of relief. It had been touch and go. If the last attack had been repulsed, they would not have had enough men to mount another, let alone survive. Through a series of carefully orchestrated moves, small parties of men had left the Chippingham lines well before the battle started and worked their way stealthily to Guthrum’s beached long ships at Hengisbury. At twenty-five men per boat, the minimum number needed to make any sort of headway against the channel currents, the thirty long ships set off to the Scilly’s. This had left Guthrum seven hundred and fifty men short in the force at Chippingham, and this was why it had been close. Those men had been missed. The plain fact was, as at Winchester, a few hundred hideously howling Viking warriors are a frightening sight and enough to cause chaos in the ranks of opposing defenders. Although the resolve of the Celts had been stiffened at Chippingham, many still turned tail and ran in the face of the onslaught. It was enough to give the invaders victory. But Guthrum now needed those three thousand marooned warriors desperately if he was to stay and form a real presence for the undoubted fight-back that would come.

  The other plus was Twilight had not noticed the stealthily departing men from Chippingham, or the boats now making their way slowly but surely toward the Scilly’s.

  The twins’ strategy of keeping him occupied had seen to that.

  As King Alfred and his small escort galloped toward the safety of the Summerland Levels, Twilight had something else on his mind. His biggest fear had come true.

  The venefical destiny stones at Avebury were now completely exposed to the invader.

  There was nothing between the Viking force and the stones, which were only an hour’s ride from Chippingham. For the time being the invaders were too busy celebrating, but it was only a matter of time before they found the ring of sarsens and destroyed them. For the first time in ten thousand years, the prophesy of the crimson pools of indestructible blood in place of the stones could be put to the test.

  He must do everything in his power to ensure it did not come about. Above all this was sacred, inviolate, untouchable ground.

  With Desmond, all four of the bears, Sir Valiant, and Lord Scroop in tow, he considered the problem from the top of Silbury Mound, which overlooked the stones.

  ‘This mound we are sitting on is man-made, isn’t it?’ Desmond asked.

  ‘Yes, many thousands of years ago. Must have taken a great many men to build it.’

  ‘Couldn’t you bury the stones under some earth? Make it look as if the entire site is just a rolling hill, a sort of wider, flatter Silbury Mound.’

  ‘Bury the venefical burial stones,’ mused the astounder. ‘Do you know, my clever troubadour, I think you have just come up with a solution? Cover them up with earth and growing grass to keep them safe underground until the heathens have gone away. Then uncover them. Desmond Kingdom Biwater, you are a genius.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Desmond, blowing on his nails. ‘Just so long as I don’t have to move the earth.’

  ‘Look,’ said Twilight. ‘It’s already done.’

  And sure enough, where the semicircle of ninety-nine destiny stones had stood there was now a grass-covered rolling hill.

  ‘I wonder if any of my venefical forefathers felt anything under their stone when that happened,’ said Twilight.

  Desmond gasped and nodded in disbelief.

  ‘When I see you perform huge miracles like that, I wonder how we could ever lose a battle,’ he said. ‘Surely you could have just killed all the Viking on the spot?’

  ‘Mankind,’ replied Twilight in what Desmond was beginning to recognize as his oblique way of answering a question, ‘must ultimately be responsible for his own future, and whilst we venefici can influence, adjust, and even shape some of the events that will form this future, we must take care not to dominate every facet of it. We must be careful not to limit the horizons of man’s endeavours. Especially in wars because they, more than any other event, form the history and future of a region or country. Otherwise all history would be venefically created, and man would have learned nothing due to our domination and arrangement of events. The civilization of mankind must move forward under its own power wherever possible. Knowledge is all if the species is to survive and progress. The veneficus must never be seen as a god. We are human beings with some interesting and useful skills in order to protect and move small regions of mankind forward. Self-knowledge and progress for the people is paramount. That’s it. In my case it’s the Celts and Wessex.’

  ‘But you could have killed all those Viking without any loss of life to us.’

  ‘You’re forgetting the twins. They could have done the same with the Celts. It becomes a stalemate—we cancel each other out. The venefici wipe out everyone, and there is no need for a battle. Who gains anything, specifically knowledge, from that? Besides, by my reckoning I’ve accounted for about eleven hundred lowlanders in this war already, which, for an astounder who doesn’t like to take life, is a large amount.’

  ‘What about the twins?’

  ‘I can’t speak for them. Because they are Viking they will have an entirely different code and outlook. My guess is if they had the chance to wipe out all the Celts, they would take it. The only reason they don’t is because I’m here. Besides, they are on the side of the winners at the moment, so the Viking leaders will consider them to have performed well.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why you won’t kill them all,’ said Desmond gloomily.

  ‘Look at it this way.’ Twilight got to his feet and walked to the edge of the mound overlooking the now covered destiny stones and pointed. ‘Manipulating phenomena in nature such as I have just done with the stones over there hasn’t upset anything. No lives have been lost, and a minor adjustment of the habitat has taken place, but nothing more and nothing less. I will return the stones to their proper position when the threat of damage has passed. All will be as before, and the history of this region has not been altered in any way. Now, if the twins and I wiped out both armies before matters got to this stage, the history of these lands for this period would have been rewritten by our actions and so on for every other battle or war we manipulate. It is not my purpose in being here. Unfortunately, these battles and all the others like them going on all over the earth are necessary in order to move the entire family of mankind forward. Crazy old world, eh?’

  Twilight grinned at the puzzled look on his companion’s face.

  ‘Now, we must take care with your whereabouts. With the battle over, the twins will
have more time to track you through that kernel in your hair. I think it’s time we confused them a little, don’t you?’

  Go-ian spoke directly to his twin sister’s mind. They were sitting in a large settlement house in the centre of Chippingham. All around them Guthrum and his chieftains were celebrating their great victory with continuously raised drinking horns filled with the local mead, together with some better stuff that had been brewed by the druids at the Order of Lacock. The streets outside rang with the partying of the warriors. Tomorrow they would leave in pursuit of the escaped Celts, razing the town to the ground as they left. Tonight was for celebration, boasting, and toasting the Norse gods who had blessed them with a great victory. The only pity was the lack of inhabitants; all but one had left before the battle. The one left behind, an old and withered hag with no teeth and one eye missing, rushed around serving mead. Even by Viking terms she wasn’t worth the sword slash, so they put her to work . . . for now.

  Someone would kill her later.

  Kani has detected the aura kernel we placed in the jester’s hair. Where? On the island called Steep Holm where the beaten rune-slayer put the animals.

  They looked at each other, both having the same thought.

  Why would Desmond and Twilight go back there? They’d transformed that useless old nag and his stupid companion parrot back here and reunited them with the bears. What other reason could they have for going back?

  ‘His wife and children!’ they both exclaimed out loud. ‘He’s hidden them there.’ They began giggling.

  We’ll wait until the kernel shows them to be away from Steep Holm,

  then investigate personally. We’d better both go, stay together just in case we bump into him and need all our power.