by Walt Socha
“Probably ought to fence in another field for the sheep. The hell with the pigs. I don’t see them leaving the valley.” Larry stopped and looked northwest. “Maybe take a break and hike up to the lookout on Sui Finn and work on the shelter up there. Also, we need to take up wood for signal fires.”
“Nice break.”
Larry turned to note Matuso’s upturned eyebrow. “It rains too much. Gotta have a shelter up there.”
“Two weeks is the minimum,” Matuso said. “No way Stormchaser will be back before then.”
“Yeah, but we still gotta keep an eye open for those fucking Northmen.” Larry forced a smile. “And their Ur Neill buddies. Who’s up on Sui Finn now?”
“Fistav. Cassan left to relieve him before sunrise. A couple of hours ago. So we should have an update any time now.”
“Hopefully it’s quiet on the bay.” Larry bent to accept a bowl of porridge from Hatimu. “Cassan’s a good kid. Still working with him on the bow?”
“About an hour a day on the longbow with target arrows. His muscles are getting stronger. Probably should have him start exercising left-handed to keep his spine straight. We need to start making real arrows.” Matuso turned toward the rising sun. “What of the east pass? From Bald Hill, scouts don’t see much but isolated smoke plumes out in the eastern lands.”
“Points will be a problem. Haven’t seen any rock worth knapping. Need to fix up a forge.” Larry turned and gazed toward the low mountains, really not much more than hills that framed the eastern skyline. The sun felt warm on his face but the clouds were moving in. “Let’s keep the pass manned another week. It’s a rough trail and apparently unused, but there are people on the other side.” He visualized the terrain, the already low mountains tumbling to rocky outcrops. “After we get whatever looks like crops established, let’s start clearing paths. In case we need to move fast.”
Matuso laughed. “Before or after we build a shelter for the men?”
Larry ignored him and glanced around the cook fire. Most of the refugees were eating their breakfast of boiled grains, a few of the Havenites among them. He smiled at the kids whose faces broke into wide grins. He’d miss them when they left.
The older girl, Fennore, held up her bowl with her left hand. Her right patted her stomach, a wide grin stretching her face.
Larry returned her grin. Yes, he would definitely miss them.
After Hatimu handed Larry a steaming mug of herbal tea, he sat, suppressing a groan as his knees protested. “Think you can brew up something for the knees from the willows?” he asked as Matuso joined him.
“Will do,” Matuso said. “I’ll also ask the women if they know of any local herbs for the joints. And speaking of women, I haven’t heard anything about or from Teltina. Think she’s still in the valley?”
“We’ve stayed out of her little stream’s drainage. No reason to think she’s gone. It’s only been a few days.”
“Cassan told me she looked pretty experienced with that bow.”
“Yeah and she's good looking also,” Larry said. He glanced at Matuso’s smirk. “What?”
Matuso’s smile faded. “So why do you think the abbey destroyed her farmstead?”
“No idea.” Larry gazed around the camp. “But maybe someone here might know.” He waved at Ivar. The man looked around before pointing to his own chest. Larry nodded and waved him over. “He’s been silent whenever someone mentions Teltina’s name.”
“Been meaning to ask you about Teltina,” Larry said as Ivar lowered himself to the ground on the other side of Matuso. “She said that your Abbot destroyed her home here. What do you know of that?”
Ivar glanced at Larry and then stared at the cook fire. “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said after a long pause. “It could be that Teltina’s family are Druids. The Abbot is very vigilant in suppressing the old pagan ways.”
“And what ways are those?” Larry willed his jaws to unclench.
“They practice sorcery and offer human sacrifice to false gods.”
“You know this for a fact?” Larry closed his eyes, forcing his breath in and out.
“So it is said.”
Larry opened his eyes and inspected the priest. Ivar continued to stare at the fire. His boyish beard contrasted with his dark sunken eyes. “Do you believe that?” he asked in a quiet voice.
“The Abbot is a holy man.” Ivar’s voice pitched higher than normal.
Larry watched as the young man bit his lip. “We were ambushed at Ros’s by a bunch of Ur Neill. One of them wore a cross. I would say that you Christians kill your share of people. And sacrifice innocents as you worship gold and plunder.”
* * *
Larry squatted at the side of the Caragh River and splashed water over his face. The cold water stung but removed at least some of the sweat and grime of the day, reminding him that he should build a sweat lodge. But a splash would be all he could manage for this day’s dinner. There’d be soap when Stormchaser returned. His stomach sank as possibilities flooded his mind. Crossing the ocean was risky. And with Stormchaser undermanned, it would only be more so. He shook his head and banished those dark thoughts.
He stood. The river gurgled by, providing a peaceful, even idyllic, scene. Upstream, the Caragh broke through boulders half the size of a man, boulders so close together that one could almost hop from one to another to cross. On the banks, gnarled oaks leaned over the water, waiting their turn to topple. Downstream, the longboat rocked in sync with both the water and a light wind. If not for the ship and the collection of huts not more than fifty strides to his right, this could be virgin land, unspoiled by man and his petty concerns.
Raised voices brought him back to now. He turned to find Garvan running his way.
“Fistav is back.” The boy stopped halfway and pointed back to the center of Sanctuary.
Larry blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and moved into a jog.
At the cook fire, men milled around Fistav. As Larry approached, they parted and Fistav turned to face him. “There are ships in the estuary.” The warrior paused to gulp a mug of tea. “At least I saw two objects about the size and shape of longboats. It’s not a good view from Bald Hill and the distance is great.”
Larry stopped, the temporary peace of the river fading as he took in Fistav’s anxious face. And the matching faces of the other men.
Chapter 12
July 19
Larry jerked and slapped his belt as a bird exploded out of a bush along the trail. His fingers only found his knife. Maybe he should have carried his sword. Ahead, the small stream cut through a miniature valley of rock and scattered gnarled trees as it flowed from the southeast mountains. Mountains. He grimaced. Would he ever see real mountains again? It had been over two decades—and a thousand years in the future—since he’d followed Joe into the Montana mountains and into a new life. A good life that had ended when Sesapa died.
Memories of his wife avalanched through his thoughts. Sesapa’s shy smile when he helped her with the clay for her pottery. Her laughter at his attempts to shape a bowl. Her soft sighs when they made love. Their shared pride at the birth of Fergus and then Kaylin. Then…her death.
He released a deep sigh. All he had left were memories. And a son and a daughter. Heaviness pulled at him. How was Kaylin? He hadn’t seen her in two years. Maybe married. He could even be a grandfather. And was Fergus still in Iceland? What would his son do once Stormchaser returned to Iceland? If his ship made it.
Larry shook himself. ‘Be here now,’ Potts would have said. Ahead, the thick copse of trees came into view. “Hello,” Larry said in a loud voice. “Teltina, I wish to talk.” He stood still for several breaths as his eyes scanned the terrain. No movement except for the taller trees swaying barely a hand's width in the light wind. Larry kicked a rock as he resumed walking. Then another. No way did he want to surprise a lady who carried a well-used bow. He slowed as he approached the thicket of vines that formed a fence around the
copse. Almost invisible from a distance, it appeared to provide some protection, at least from animals.
Shouting out another greeting, Larry stopped and turned in place. Maybe she had moved on. He shrugged as disappointment pulsed though him. She was just a crazy woman with a bow.
Movement distracted his musing. A small boy, maybe ten or twelve years old, appeared from behind a boulder. His head was large for his scrawny body but his eyes were a bright green and his skin sun-darkened but clear. He stood, posture erect.
“Hello,” Larry said.
The boy brought his hands to his face. Fingers flew, moving from eyes to ears, ending pointing to his chest. He appeared clean, his clothes mended with tight, neat stitches. Familiar stitches. Larry touched his chest, his eye and pointed to the boy. He just stood there. Larry drew in a deep breath and put his hands on his hips, his right forefinger brushing his knife sheath. Words weren’t working. Neither were gestures. Hands moving in slow motion, Larry unfastened the sheath. Slipping the knife out, he stepped forward and placed both on a flat rock that protruded from the ground between them. Moving backwards, Larry pointed to the knife and then to the boy.
His eyes flicking between the knife and Larry, the boy moved forward one step. Another step.
Larry backed up another few paces, his gaze never leaving the youth.
The boy’s eyes widened as he picked up the knife and sheath. After a moment, his face reddened. He looked toward Larry, eyebrows narrowed. After several breaths, he slipped the knife into its sheath. He then lifted an object from around his neck with his free hand and placed it on the rock. With eyebrows high, he stepped back.
“Go ahead. Rory gives you a gift in return.”
Startled, Larry twisted to see Teltina standing behind him, an unstrung bow in her hand.
Larry moved toward the boy and, on reaching the rock, picked up a copper disk as big as his thumb. It was strung on a leather thong. Turning it over in his hand, he found three slashes impressed into in the metal. He lifted it over his head but the leather loop settled on his head. Too small.
“Allow me to help,” Teltina said from Larry’s side. He hadn’t heard her approach.
The brush of small fingers burned his hands as they took the amulet and leather chord. In a moment, the copper disk appeared before him as her hands lifted it over his head. A shiver ran down his back, as her fingers re-fastened the thong behind his neck.
“This is the Druidic symbol for male, female and the balance of the two. We call it Awen.” Her hands broke contact.
The boy stepped closer, one hand palm up and cupped. The other hand, still holding the knife, pointed to his mouth.
“Rory wants to know if you would like a cup of tea.” Teltina moved to the boy’s side and gazed at Larry with one raised eyebrow.
* * *
Larry looked around the small clearing hidden within the copse of trees. He sat on a three-legged stool under one of three thatched open-sided shelters that surrounded the main wattle and daub hut. Two worn paths led out of the living area through the surrounding trees, which shed a steady pattern of drips from the light Eire drizzle.
He loosened his jacket. At his feet, a small cook fire heated a copper pot that hung from iron stakes. Teltina perched on a second stool, humming an indistinct melody as she picked through a small basket of dried herbs. On a small flat rock next to the fire, four clay cups rested, each the size of her fist. Her fingers crushed the herbs into each cup. Her dark rust-colored hair fell on her right shoulder, leaving the soft curve of her bare neck.
Larry glanced at the four cups and swallowed a question. He and Teltina appeared to be alone, Rory having disappeared as Teltina lead Larry to her home.
“Your people have avoided this part of the valley. Why are you here now?” Teltina’s voice sounded over the pounding of Larry’s pulse in his ears as she turned to stare at him.
Taking a deep breath, Larry returned her gaze. “I just wanted to talk.” A warmth not from the fire spread through him as he saw the ends of her mouth turn up.
She turned her attention to the now steaming copper pot and ladled hot water into each of the clay cups.
“Agnes, come out and meet our new neighbor.” Teltina glanced toward the open doorway of the hut as she handed Larry one of the cups. “Wait a few breaths for the herbs to steep.”
From the doorway in the hut, a young girl emerged. Maybe six years old. A thick braid of red hair lighter than Teltina’s hung over one shoulder. She wore a tunic of coarse fiber—flax?—that hung to her knees. Shoes of leather laced around her legs halfway to the tunic. She glanced at Teltina before approaching Larry.
“It is my honor.” Agnes lowered her head.
“I am Larry.” Larry set his cup on the ground, stood and held out his hand.
Agnes put her small hand in Larry’s.
He folded his hand around hers and gave it one small shake as he dipped his head. “It is also my honor to meet you.” As he let go, Agnes rewarded Larry with a smile, eyes peering up from beneath a lowered head.
Larry tensed as a shape appeared on the path that led towards the western mountains.
“It’s Rory.” Teltina stood, laying a hand on Larry’s shoulder.
Heat radiated from her touch. Larry’s skin cooled as she withdrew her hand. He took a deep breath. “Hi, Rory.”
The boy smiled and held up a large rabbit with brown hair, white underbelly, and small ears. Rory’s other had held the bow that had surprised Larry a few days prior.
“You just caught that?” Larry asked, pointing to the dead rabbit. Maybe he’d get to stay for dinner?
Smiling, Rory circled a finger and shook his head.
Looking from Rory to Agnes, Larry decided not to ask.
“He caught it in a snare,” Teltina said. “He carries the bow in case a fox disputes his claim.” She paused, a smile softening her angular face. “These are my children.” Teltina’s smile faded as she returned to the boiling water and filled the remaining cups. “My husband was executed by the Abbot four years ago. Rory witnessed his father’s death and hasn’t spoken since.”
Larry stared as Teltina placed the copper pot on a nearby flat stone. After a long pause, he remembered to breathe. “I’m sorry.”
He returned to his seat and retrieved his cup. Taking a sip to avoid thought, his mouth exploded with a bitter flavor. Swishing the hot liquid around in his mouth, he found the taste both refreshing and a reminder that he hadn’t been cleaning his teeth recently. As he drank, Teltina served the herbal mixture to the two kids, her face neutral, broken by a brief smile as each took their cup.
“Ah…” he started. Could he even ask, given the history of her husband? Her eyebrows lifted as she tilted her head in his direction. “Last evening, my scouts reported two Northmen ships entering the estuary.” Larry took another sip of herbal tea. A bit astringent but it left a pleasant, minty aftertaste. “I’m worried they may go up the river Laune to Lough Leane. The people along that river and the abbey could be in danger.”
Teltina turned her head east, eyes unfocused. “The enemies of my enemies are not my friends.”
Larry winced. “The lives of women and kids are at stake. The refugees with us are not sure of how many there are and where they live.” Larry sighed as Teltina’s face hardened. “I’m thinking I should warn them. I just need to know where and how many.”
“Women and children jeered as my husband burned.” She held up one hand, her fingers twisting. The two kids stood instantly and walked into the dark hut.
“You may go now.” Teltina’s eyes remained unfocused.
Chapter 13
July 15
Samatu shifted on the hard wood that served as a seat on Stormchaser and closed the logbook. He slipped the wristwatch back into its smooth protective fabric pouch and returned it to its box. He closed the container and secured the latch before stowing it and the navigation logbook in a compartment under his seat. “By my longitude and latitude calculation
s, we should be close. Could be minutes to a few hours,” he said, directing his attention to the gnarled old man working on the damaged port planks. A blood stained cloth wound around his head let only a few strands of gray hair escape.
“Good.” Torben met Samatu’s gaze. “These top planks won’t make it through another storm, not even a small one. By Hel, they may not even survive another starboard tack.”
Samatu forced what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Torben’s use of the Haven’s terminology was a rare concession. The old seaman was worried. Samatu stood, holding his left arm with his right. Another chore on arrival would be cleaning and possibly re-stitching the swollen gash in his upper arm. His smile faded as his eyes flicked to the prow where Ramotu lay silent. The infection in the young warrior’s thigh was spreading. Moving to the center of the boat, Samatu joined the bailing efforts of Ligasu and Brynjar. The two men shifted, giving him a better position to make use of his one good arm.
The mindlessness of the rhythmic activity soon allowed memories to surface of their escape from Ros’s farmstead. The frantic rush to set sails. The appearance of the Northmen’s ship at the mouth of the bay. Being rammed as they maneuvered to elude their attacker. With most of their numbers still ashore, they had only barely managed to escape, thanks to the surprise of the two flintlocks. They could only run, leaving most of their companions fighting at the farmstead that Larry said would one day be be a town called Dingle.
Samatu’s mouth tightened at the memories. Deserting the shore party dug at his gut, a reminder of his betrayal of Haven as a youth. And his subsequent disloyalty to his father. Would Haven think this was another betrayal? Would the Sky Goddess?
He watched Torben as the older man fussed with the top planks, his gnarled fingers lacing pitch-soaked rope through newly drilled holes. Yet even the older man had insisted they could only run, with two injuries and a death.