Warrior of Woden

by Matthew Harffy

  Acennan began to know despair then. They were close to the hills; the broken land before the earth rose into the mighty peaks of Rheged. But the horses were blowing hard. Acennan's mount stumbled and for a moment Acennan thought it would not win the struggle to keep itself upright. If the men were exhausted, the horses were close to collapse. He could see no way out from this. To turn and face the Waelisc would bring certain death, but soon that would be the only option open to them. The horses would not last much longer.

  They were following a well-trodden path now, a track worn in the earth that stretched northward into the hills. They had seen thin wisps of smoke on the eastern horizon not long before and this track was almost certainly what the locals used to take their cattle and livestock to pasture and grazing. The packed earth of the track made the riding easier, but also signalled their route to any follower. Acennan glanced back. Their followers were strung out into a line now but at their head rode Gwalchmei on his huge black steed. Was it possible it could be Sceadugenga, the stallion he had stolen from Beobrand? It was no matter. It was only a horse. Acennan could never understand why Beobrand felt so strongly about the animal.

  The path led them up an incline and into a valley between two steep hills. The air was suddenly cool here, shaded from the sun that dipped in the west. As they entered the shadow, Acennan's horse stumbled again, tripping on an unseen rock. It staggered for several paces and then fell to its knees. There was a moment of confusion but there was nothing that Acennan could do. He soared over the horse's head. He saw a flash of clouded sky and then the jarring impact as he crashed into the cool, hard, dusty earth of the path.

  For a moment Acennan could not breathe. The air had been forced from his lungs. His vision blurred, darkening at the edges. And then, without warning, Attor was by his side, reaching for him and heaving Acennan to his feet. Attor slapped him hard on the back.

  "There now," he said. "Get some breath back in you."

  Acennan gulped in a shuddering breath of the cool air and looked about him, dazed and confused still from the fall.

  Attor, seeing that Acennan would not collapse, rushed over to his leader's horse. With the practised skill of the natural rider, he calmed it with soothing sounds, holding out his hand for it to nuzzle. The horse dipped its head and Acennan snatched up the reins. The beast quivered and shook, snorting and blowing. Its chest heaved from its exertion and the fear from the fall. Acennan cast an experienced eye over the creature.

  "It won't run much further," he said, "but it is not lame."

  Acennan shook his head to clear it. His thoughts were jumbled. Ástígend and Garr had both reined in their horses and were waiting patiently for their leader to remount. Attor led the shaking horse back to Acennan, handing him the reins.

  "Can you mount?" he asked in a quiet voice meant only for Acennan.

  Acennan nodded.

  His thoughts were clearing now. There was no time to waste. They could not tarry here. Not with their pursuers so close behind. Anxiously he looked back down the path in the direction from whence they had come. The hillside hid Gwalchmei's band from view. But he knew they were there. All too soon they would round the skirts of the hill and be upon them.

  Acennan swung himself back into the saddle. The horse whinnied and trembled.

  Savagely, Acennan kicked his heels into the horse's ribs. The beast lurched forward and rolled its eyes. But there was nothing for it. He would push the beast to its death, if he thought he might be able to lead the men to sanctuary. And now, with the shadowy valley rising into the tumbled, craggy land ahead, Acennan thought there might just be a chance of that.

  He urged his horse into a gallop. The others followed him and they sped into the hills, as fast as their tired mounts could carry them. They crested a rise and the path dropped down into a broad meadow, surrounded by hills. And there, in the distance at the end of the meadow, he saw what he had been looking for. His moment of luck. The slim chance of saving the men.

  He rode close to Ástígend, but before he could speak, the gaunt man said, "Yes, it is a good place for what I'm sure you have thought of. I will join you."

  Acennan did not stop to ponder how it was that Ástígend had known what he planned. After all it had been the messenger's idea that hiding would only work if their pursuers did not know where they hid. And who was he to question the luck that God had sent him?

  The meadow was lush with cropped grass. Scattered dark droppings of sheep attested to its use as a pasture by local shepherds. They galloped down the incline towards what he had seen. There, running across the path from east to west, flowed a broad, shallow, rocky stream. The earthen path they followed continued on the far side, winding upwards before it turned east and was lost from sight behind a spur of the hill. As they neared the stream, Acennan could see that God must surely have led them here. Perhaps it was as they had said and Ástígend's steps were guided by the Christ. For the stream ran from the right of the path and in each direction it was shadowed by trees and bushes and the streambed was hidden from view as it curved down the rocky course it had carved between the crags.

  Acennan cast a glance back up the slope behind them. No sign yet of Gwalchmei and the Waelisc riders.

  "Garr, Attor." Acennan barked their names. This was the voice of the shieldwall, of command. There was no time for argument. "You will both ride along the streambed to the east. Do not stop. Ride until you are out of sight of this place and then, when you can, head east and north. Find Beobrand and the others at the agreed place."

  "And what of you?" asked Attor. His glowering expression showed he expected the worst for the stocky warrior and the wounded messenger.

  Acennan looked again up the slope. Time was short. If the Waelisc saw them here, their only chance would be gone as quickly as a handful of snow thrown onto a hearth fire.

  "Ástígend and I will follow the path into the hills. With luck they will follow us. And if God is watching over us, we will escape them and join you at the meeting place."

  "But if they catch you," said Garr, his voice coarse with emotion. "You are only two men."

  "Then pray they do not catch us," Acennan spat. His shoulder and neck hurt from where the horse had thrown him. "Four of us, or two of us, against more than a score of Waelisc. I fear the end will be the same. But there is no time for talking. Go, now! Godspeed, friends."

  For a heartbeat Garr and Attor hesitated.

  "Now!" yelled Acennan, making the horses flinch. "Ride!"

  Attor and Garr needed no further prompting. They pushed their horses into the stream and splashed their way eastward.

  For a moment Acennan watched them go before swinging his mount's head towards the north and kicking the horse forward into the burn. Ástígend was at his side. The water splashed up around them, cold as winter on their skin. As he crossed the stream, Acennan looked to his right. Already Garr and Attor were lost to sight. There was no sign of their passing. For an instant, he wished he had said more to them before parting ways. There were words he could have spoken that they could have carried back to Eadgyth and the children. But it was too late for that now.

  The horse clambered out of the stream and he smiled to see the wet tracks that Ástígend and he had left in the dried earth of the path. Without speaking they both wheeled their horses once more into the stream and then, turning full circle, they cantered out of the water and up the path into the hills.

  For the first time that long day, Acennan hoped that Gwalchmei and his warband would find the trail and follow them.

  Chapter 44

  For a time Acennan thought they might actually be able to shake off their pursuers. His horse laboured on, breathing heavily, but eating up the distance with its lumbering canter. Ástígend, dour and grey faced, rode silently at his side. They travelled into the hills for some time and whenever Acennan glanced over his shoulder, there was no sign of the Waelisc warband. The sun slipped towards the horizon in the west and Acennan began to hope. If they co
uld remain unseen until nightfall perhaps they could escape their followers.

  As the land rose so the wind picked up. It shook the stunted bushes of the hilltops and drove tears from Acennan's eyes. If only they could ride until dark, then surely they could make their way stealthily away from this place, and if their luck held they would be free of pursuit and able to join Beobrand and the others.

  His horse stumbled once more. It had done so many times now. Its breathing came in great rasping gasps and Acennan thought he saw flecks of blood around the beast's nose and mouth. He would be astounded if the animal lasted until night. Looking at Ástígend, Acennan noted how the wounded man was hunched in his saddle, gripping the reins with white hands. His face was drawn and pallid and, not for the first time, Acennan marvelled at the man's strength of will. Even if their horses made it to dusk, Acennan could see no way that Ástígend would survive much longer. But what did he know? He had thought the man would be dead long before now and here he was, still riding without complaint. Whether the Christ god directed his steps, or it was simply the man's savage warrior pride, Acennan did not know. But Ástígend defied expectation at every turn.

  The wind gusted, tugging at his cloak with chill fingers. Several crows flapped and cawed against the windswept clouds that rolled in from the north. Acennan sniffed. Perhaps it was raining in the north. He wondered whether it was raining near the Tuidi. It was getting late in the day and Eadgyth would have already prepared the evening meal. Would Athulf and Aelfwyn be bickering as they so often did when hungry and tired at the day's end? Their moaning whine always rankled him. And yet now he thought their voices would be the sweetest of sounds. It had been so long since he had seen them. Had they grown? When he had left with Beobrand all those weeks ago, Aelfwyn had been ill with a hacking cough. Every night, before he slept, he offered up a silent prayer that they were all hale and that Aelfwyn had recovered from her illness. It was stupid he knew; the girl was young and strong. And yet he could not keep himself from worrying. He still remembered all too keenly the sharp pain of loss when his first wife and their son had both died of the pestilence. He had never thought to know such love again. For many years he had thought he would grow old alone with nothing but the company of his lord and his shield-brothers. But who could fathom the ways of one's wyrd?

  Beobrand often said to Acennan that he thought he was cursed. Perhaps Beobrand was. Who was he to say? But to Acennan it seemed his friend had so much. And he was grateful for the share of Beobrand's good fortune that had come to him. He never would have believed that he could find one such as Eadgyth. Let alone that she would marry him. Her raven hair and piercing blue eyes all but stopped his heart whenever he looked upon her. That she would give him two strong children was a gift beyond all measure. He loved them all and he was proud of the hall he had built for them. Stagga, he had called it and above its broad doors he had lofted the great antlers and skull of a huge stag.

  He still recalled clearly when he had first seen the magnificent beast. He had taken Eadgyth to view his new lands and the stag had been standing near the charred ruins of Nathair's hall. It was as though it warded against intruders. The land had been wreathed in fog and the animal had bellowed at them, its breath steaming as it roared its defiance at Acennan. It had turned away and been swallowed by the mist. After that day, Acennan had scarcely been able to think of anything save the huge creature and how it had stared at him. It had felt as though it had been waiting for him. As if, within that shaggy-haired animal, there resided some malignant spirit; perhaps that of Nathair, the Pictish lord who had once ruled there.

  It's only an animal, Acennan had told himself, and yet he could not shake the strange sensation that the stag was a malevolent force.

  After a few days, Eadgyth had sent him out to hunt the beast.

  "You're no use to anyone," she'd said with a smile, "while you dwell on that deer. Go. Hunt it, and bring back its meat. Only when we have eaten the thing will you know peace."

  It had taken them many days to stalk the creature. The stag was old and cunning and led them far into the hills and moors to the north. But his new people, the Picts who had once served Nathair, had brought hounds, great savage beasts, closer to wolves than dogs, and they had eventually run the stag to ground. The tall, defiant animal had bellowed again as it was brought down by the hounds. The dogs tore at its flesh and it had struggled and swung its great antlers, snapping the spine of one of the pack, before Acennan had rushed in and pierced its chest with a stout spear. It had looked at him as it had died, and Acennan had known sorrow then. He had slain many men in bloody battles throughout Albion and Hibernia and he had seldom cared for the death he wrought. But on that bleak moor, as the light of life left the eyes of the majestic stag, Acennan had felt sadness for the life he had taken.

  He had brought back the venison to Eadgyth and all the people of the settlement had feasted on the flesh. They seemed to enjoy it, and the Pictish hunters told the tale of the hunt and how Acennan had killed the creature. To Acennan, the meat had lacked flavour. It was tough and had stuck in his throat. He had eaten sparingly and had been pleased when the feast was over.

  When his new hall had been finished, there was no question of what would adorn the lintel of the building. Whenever he returned to the hall, he would look up at the massive skull with its spreading antlers and offer silent thanks that it now watched over his family and folk.

  Acennan looked into the north, narrowing his eyes against the bitter wind. The crows cracked and cawed, flapping and buffeted by the wind. How he wished that Stagga, with its stag's head watcher, were just over the next rise and not many days' ride to the north and east.

  Some way off to the north, the lowering sun picked out the crumbling stone remains of a building atop a scarp. It was a fort, built many generations before by the men from the south who had once ruled this land. Such fortifications and buildings dotted the landscape. The crows flew ahead of them towards the ruins. Acennan looked back over his shoulder and his heart lurched. Some distance behind them, coming out of a stand of trees, Gwalchmei's white cloak stood out, stark and brilliant. And suddenly as water flows from an overturned cup, all hope of escape fled from Acennan.

  As if in answer to his despair, his mount slowed, it's easy gait gone, replaced by a staggering lurch. It made a deep, bellowing sound that reminded Acennan of the great shaggy stag. Ástígend pulled his own mount to a halt and turned to watch Acennan. He did not speak. There was nothing to say. They both knew what came next.

  Acennan swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground with a grunt. His shoulder, back and ribs all ached from the fall. Blood rimed the horse's nose and mouth now, colouring red the foam that bubbled there. The horse rolled its eyes and lowed again, more like a rutting deer or a cow than a horse.

  "Easy there," Acennan said in a soft voice. He gripped the reins tightly and, with his right hand he stroked the neck, soothing the animal. It whinnied in pain, and more blood speckled the foam at its mouth. Acennan slid his seax from the sheath on his belt. In the distance, approaching fast, came Gwalchmei and his band of Waelisc warriors.

  "You have been a good mount," Acennan said, "brave and proud. And you have carried me from danger. I give you my thanks." He plunged his seax into the pulsing throat of the beast, driving the sharp blade deep into the flesh. Blood gushed hot onto his cold hand. The animal stared at him, its eyes full of fear and sorrow. It dropped to its knees.

  "I'm sorry," said Acennan, feeling his throat close with emotion. It was foolish, he knew. It was only an animal.

  The horse lowered its head, letting out a shuddering breath. Acennan pulled the seax from the horse's throat with a great glut of blood. Quickly he pulled his shield, sword, and helm from where they had been tied to the saddle.

  "What now?" asked Ástígend. His voice scratched and croaked like the crows in the distance.

  Acennan looked to the south, gauging the distance to Gwalchmei. There was little time.

/>   "Let us see if your horse can carry the two of us just a little further," he said.

  Ástígend raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  Acennan clambered awkwardly up behind the wounded man. Ástígend winced as Acennan gripped his shoulder for support. The horse whinnied in disapproval at the extra weight.

  "Don't worry, girl," Ástígend said, "we won't be riding far now." And, without waiting for instruction from Acennan, he kicked his heels and sent the horse up the hill, following the crows towards the crumbling stones of the long-abandoned fort.

  *

  "We could have ambushed them," said Ástígend. He sat on a large heap of fallen masonry, gazing down into the valley below. The Waelisc had passed Acennan's dead horse and were now riding up the hill towards the fort.

  "No time for that now," said Acennan. There had been no further to ride. Ástígend's horse would not have been able to carry them any further even if they had yet believed they could outrun their hunters. Acennan pulled his sword from its fur-lined scabbard and rested it against the stone column that made up one side of the doorway into the ruin. This would be where he and Ástígend awaited their wyrd.

  Acennan sighed. The end of their tale would be short. In the west the sun had slid beneath the cloud and the red orb would soon touch the horizon. The wind whipped across this hilltop and it was cold in the shadow of the fort's entrance. Acennan shivered.

  He rubbed a hand across his face. By God, he was tired. He picked up his helm from where it rested on a stone and he placed it upon his head. With practised ease he quickly tied the cheek plates in place. The familiar muting of the world around him focused his mind.

  Beneath them, on the rock-strewn hillside, the Waelisc rode on. He could feel the thrum of their hooves through the earth. He reached for his black shield, grunting at the pain in his shoulder and back from the fall. He was getting old. He smiled grimly, looking at the two dozen horsemen who were almost within a spear's throw distance. He would not be getting any older, that was for sure.