A Quantum Mythology

by Gavin G. Smith

  ‘Yes, then.’

  ‘Would you conquer us if we will not be ruled by you?’

  Bladud paused to think about the question.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with a strong tribe conquering a weak one,’ Nerthach said. ‘That is the way of things. In the long run, the weak one will benefit from the strength of their conquerors. There is no shame in power and skill at arms.’

  Guidgen was already nodding in agreement. ‘Indeed, but then you can’t blame the weak tribe for fighting back,’ Guidgen told the large warrior. Tangwen smiled, hearing her words echo back to her.

  ‘And if I made an agreement with you now?’ Bladud asked.

  ‘Would you? If we join with you, would you swear an oath never to return to Ardu, and to leave the gwyllion in peace?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which leaves us with two problems. You are an oathbreaker.’

  ‘Enough of this!’ Nerthach shouted. ‘Get back to the woods and we will hunt your people like the animals they are, and when we find your homes, we will burn them. The only blood that will water the earth will be your own!’ Spittle flecked the big warrior’s beard. He was furious. It was only with supreme effort that he had not drawn his sword.

  Guidgen’s expression turned serious. He turned on Nerthach, pointing at Bladud. ‘You see the robe he wears? Is he a dryw now? Does he serve his people as a dryw? Or does he wear armour and carry a sword? He stands between two worlds, lusting for power. And if you ever threaten me again I will use the blood of everyone you care about to paint the trees! Do you understand me, warrior who I will name brown-nose if he does not start thinking for himself?’

  Nerthach stared at Guidgen, appalled. A satire and a curse from a dryw were no small thing.

  ‘He speaks the truth,’ Bladud said quietly. Nerthach turned to stare at his friend and rhi. ‘I broke my oaths.’

  ‘Out of necessity,’ Nerthach said.

  ‘They were still oaths,’ Guidgen said mercilessly.

  ‘The council are sitting in judgement on this very matter,’ Nerthach said.

  ‘You know the punishment,’ Guidgen said.

  ‘And now you lie,’ Germelqart said quietly.

  Everyone turned to stare at the quiet Carthaginian. It was Guidgen’s turn to look angry.

  ‘Watch your tongue, foreigner!’ Guidgen spat.

  ‘Your threats mean nothing to me,’ Germelqart said. ‘I am in no less danger now than I was yesterday, or the day before.’

  ‘And I am not frightened of striking a priest,’ Kush growled. ‘Very hard, with an axe.

  ‘You do not care about this oathbreaking,’ Germelqart said.

  The anger left Guidgen’s face immediately, to be replaced once more by his wry smile. ‘That’s not entirely true.’ The wizened dryw turned back to Bladud. ‘You would make an oath with me today, but there will come a time when you will find a reason, a good reason to your mind, for why you had to come to Ardu and why you had to conquer us.’

  Nerthach bristled but Bladud held his hand up to quiet the warrior. ‘I never learned to foretell the future so I do not know what it holds, but you are right – that sounds like me,’ Bladud said. Guidgen was nodding. ‘Is that why you would see me given to the land?’

  ‘That – and a king, even a false king, is a powerful sacrifice.’

  ‘Surely being an oathbreaker would lessen the power of that sacrifice?’

  ‘But increase its necessity.’

  Tangwen couldn’t shake the feeling that she had utterly wasted her time going to see the gwyllion.

  ‘We will be enemies one day,’ Guidgen said. ‘But you have told the truth this day.’ Guidgen opened his mouth as if to scream, and instead uttered a sound like a raven’s call. The gwyllion walked out of the trees. Tangwen stared at them, appalled. She’d had no idea they were there. The others were also staring at them in shock. Even Germelqart and Kush. ‘We are with you.’

  Britha ducked under something that was half-tentacle and half-tree branch. Everything appeared to be moving so slowly. It gave her lots of time to react. She stabbed out with her spear, the red metal spearhead piercing the monstrous tree and releasing its own demonic venom into the idiot creature.

  They charged into the living woods and into a mass of monstrosity. She could actually feel the magic of the Muileartach in the air, attacking the magic in her own blood, trying to change her. Her Otherworldly steed carried her at full gallop as she stabbed down to the left, to the right, and even over the horse’s head. The horse snapped at anything that got too close.

  Ahead of her, one of the Lochlannach had been torn off his horse and lifted into the air. He was pulled apart. Tendrils of red filigree from inside the body reached for its constituent parts, but the damage was too great. He hadn’t even cried out. Britha rode through the shower of blood and viscera, laughing.

  They charged the unstoppable advance of the Muileartach’s spawn in a line and had been fighting ever since. She was aware of Bress hewing left and right with his long-bladed sword from the saddle of his own horse, surrounded by a near-constant arc of blood and ichor, moving with incredible speed to cut through the spawn even as they tried to mass against him.

  Another of the Lochlannach was overwhelmed by the creatures. His horse toppled and he disappeared under a surge of crawling, slithering strangeness. It was like watching maggots eat a carcass.

  Bress slewed his horse in front of her, hacking down with his sword quickly but methodically. Something like a fish or a slug with moss-covered, rock-like skin and tendrils around a mouth filled with rows of needle-teeth flopped across the changing ground on a bed of excreted slime. Bress’s horse leaped over the creature. His cloak billowed out behind him and Britha caught a glimpse of the circular leather case slung across his back. She had seen it before. It had belonged to Fachtna, and he kept a spear in it. A very powerful weapon that he had used to kill a dragon.

  Britha’s horse leaped over fish/slug thing. In mid-air, Britha stabbed down with her spear, felt it hit and penetrate the creature’s rock-like skin. Inside its flesh, the venom infused in her spear by the Red Chalice would war with the Muileartach’s healing magic.

  And then they were on the other side of the spawn’s advance.

  She looked around. Of the twelve riders who had accompanied them only five were left. They were all injured but healing quickly, though they would need to eat soon. One part of her was terrified, appalled at what had become of the natural order of things. The other side of her had never felt so alive as she had in that fight – and, if she was honest, she had felt a strange kinship with the creatures.

  If only she could remember the name of the little girl from Ardestie she had seen back in Bladud’s camp. She shook her head. That thought had come unbidden to her mind.

  They were on what looked like a very strange plain. Perhaps it had once been farmland, or even forest – until the trees grew teeth, or beaks, and started walking. The Otherworld had appeared more natural, though the sky had been the ground and the other way around. This ground had a skin like a fungus and much of it was covered in a kind of grey mulch. Pustule-like growths pierced the fungal skin, many of them moving. Some had tendrils sprouting from them, or long tongues wriggling in the air. Here and there odd, misshapen creatures wandered around the strange plain. Britha was overwhelmed by disgust.

  Bress wheeled his horse around and trotted towards her. He was looking past her, and she turned in the saddle to see the monstrous line moving away from them.

  ‘I don’t think they have a mind or even know they are attacking anything,’ Bress said. ‘I think they just attack whatever is in front of them. Maybe all they want to do is turn the things they meet into whatever they are.’

  Britha suppressed a shudder. ‘You’re carrying Fachtna’s spear?’

  Bress nodded. ‘He killed one of my giants. I will
not underestimate him.’

  ‘You beat him once without it. It is a powerful weapon.’

  ‘He was not taken by the riasterthae when I fought him last,’ Bress said, referring to the berserker rage that had transformed Fachtna when he fought one of the giants on the beach.

  Britha looked less than happy at his answer. Bress kicked at his horse’s flanks and it moved closer to Britha’s steed. Bress leaned towards her.

  ‘Assuming you didn’t kill him, and it doesn’t sound like you did, then I’m going to. If you’re worried about how fair it will be then remember that you should only have to kill people once.’

  Britha nodded, though it felt as if something had caught in her throat.

  Bress stared at her expectantly. She looked around the strange landscape. Something like a large butterfly with fingers and an oddly human face landed on the head of her horse.

  ‘It was this way, I think.’

  Fachtna had been singing. He was no bard, but his voice was good enough and he could play a few instruments. He enjoyed sitting around the fire with his people, singing with them. Life had felt very simple back then. He didn’t like the sound his voice made now. It was raspy, unpleasant, as if he had spit forever trapped in the back of his throat. His inability to sing saddened him momentarily.

  He was on a ridgeline looking out over this strange, transformed land. Plants had become diseased pustules, animals had become plants and rocks walked. He felt movement and life under his skin and inside his body. His armour, which had fused to his skin, had eyes now, too.

  The dead who had returned to life still walked with him. They had more earthy flesh now and looked more alive, though no more human up close.

  He had been watching the riders approach along the ridgeline for a while now. There was something about them, something familiar. He recognised Britha first. Then Bress. He remembered that he hated Bress. No, that had been another Fachtna. Bress had killed him. He stopped and decided to wait for the horsemen. The dead stopped as well, swaying gently in the wind.

  With difficulty, he pulled his sword free of its scabbard and his flesh. The sword that Britha ran him through with. Fortunately she had not triggered its power when she had done so, or he would probably be dead. He vaguely wondered if the sword still worked. It looked different now, warped somehow.

  Britha and Bress reigned up in front of him. The five Lochlannach surrounded him and Fachtna’s dead turned to face them. He wasn’t sure if he’d made them do that or if they had done it of their own accord. The dead outnumbered the Lochlannach four-to-one but they were no match for the slave warriors, particularly as the Lochlannach were mounted.

  Britha was staring at him in horror. Bress slid off the back of his horse, drew his long-bladed sword and strode towards Fachtna. Fachtna could not keep his eyes off Britha. Bress raised his sword to strike.

  ‘Wait!’ Britha called out. Bress hesitated for a moment, but his sword remained raised. He looked at her. ‘Please,’ she said to him. ‘Let us talk first.’

  ‘What have you done to yourself?’ Fachtna asked, appalled. Her hair had gone from brown to red, she’d shaved half of it off, and he could see red, metallic sigils somehow tattooed on her flesh.

  ‘What have I done to myself?’ Britha asked in horror.

  Fachtna started laughing and his other mouths joined in. It was a horrible wet, rasping noise. He touched the place where his face had flowed and melded with his neck, shoulders and armour, forming into bony ridges.

  ‘You’ve fallen,’ he said quietly. He turned to Bress. ‘Do you control her now? Like the others?’

  Bress stepped away from Fachtna, lowering his sword, and looked up at Britha. ‘We should do this quickly,’ Bress told her.

  Fachtna could see the indecision written all over her face. Even with the small amount of time he had spent with her, it looked alien. Then it hardened.

  ‘You helped them take my child,’ she said.

  ‘Our child, and I came for you. And we can—’ Fachtna started. Some of his other mouths began to laugh.

  ‘You killed a dryw,’ Britha said, ‘and they will execute you the moment you return.’

  ‘Look at him,’ Bress said. ‘He is sick. They will burn him.’

  ‘We can—’ Fachtna started.

  ‘We can what?’ Britha demanded.

  ‘Why are you with this filth?’ Fachtna shouted, pointing at Bress. Britha actually flinched. ‘He enslaved and then murdered your tribe, and now you ride at his side! Why?’

  ‘Haven’t you worked it out yet, boy?’ Bress asked, and glanced back at Britha. ‘She likes power. She would see us fight.’

  Fachtna looked to Bress, his flesh literally crawling across his face.

  ‘You will not touch my child!’ multiple mouths screamed. He glanced up at Britha. ‘Would you let him do to my home what he did to yours? Would you see many thousands more dead or enslaved?’

  Britha leaned forwards in the saddle. ‘They took my child,’ she said, carefully enunciating each world. ‘I would destroy your world if it meant getting her back.’

  ‘The drui took your child. You would condemn others for that?’

  ‘I will do what is necessary,’ Britha said coldly.

  ‘Help me. We can kill him, end this!’ Fachtna was begging now. There were tears coming from the eyes on his face, and from the eyes on his armour. He pointed at Bress. ‘He could heal me, make me whole again! We could go back. I could disguise myself and we could find our daughter!’

  ‘So you can get back, then?’ Bress asked quietly.

  Fachtna stared at him, but his words were for Britha. ‘You know he has the power to stop this, to stop the Muileartach’s brood? To change the land?’ Fachtna asked her. He flexed his toes, felt the changed earth beneath them. He started to draw it into himself.

  ‘But I choose not to,’ Bress said.

  ‘I don’t think you can remember the last time you made a choice,’ Fachtna said quietly.

  Bress opened his mouth to reply but instead just stared at Fachtna. The Goidel was growing in front of his eyes. His flesh was bulging and flowing like water, his features distorting, the eyes in his face and armour popping, mouths growing, whipping tongues sticking out of them, teeth becoming longer and sharper. Heat was pouring off him in waves. The normally fearless horses became nervous, pawing at the ground.

  Britha remembered the riasterthae taking Fachtna on the beach, close to the wicker man, where he had slain one of the Lochlannach’s giants. It had not looked like this twisted monstrosity, this abomination. Fachtna’s sword started to sing, flickering, almost ethereal, but the singing was wrong somehow.

  Fachtna’s roar deafened Britha for a moment. Her horse reared, primal fear overwhelming the magics that had changed and controlled the creature. Britha struggled to regain control.

  Fachtna charged Bress, who threw himself out of the path of the charge and rolled back up onto his feet. He spun around and ducked a blow that would have taken his head off. He parried another that nearly dashed his sword out of his hand. He ran backwards trying to avoid Fachtna’s furious, frenzied attacks.

  Bress tried to put distance between himself and Fachtna, but the berserker warrior charged him. Bress leaped up, bringing his legs into the splits position as Fachtna ran underneath him. Bress slashed the blade of his sword down the berserker’s back, opening skin and revealing churning flesh and organs beneath. Fachtna continued running as Bress landed in a crouch behind him. Fachtna charged one of mounted Lochlannach and swung his sword. The shimmering blade clove through rider and horse. With a thought, Bress ordered the other Lochlannach to attack. They kicked their mounts forward.

  ‘No!’ Britha cried out.

  Fachtna stopped and cocked his head, like a confused animal.

  ‘Does this feel fair to you?’ Bress demanded.

  ‘This is
single combat!’ Britha shouted.

  ‘Who do you want to win this battle?’ Bress demanded, but the Lochlannach stopped moving towards the warrior caught in the riasterthae frenzy. Fachtna struck out again and again. Bress moved, dodging the blade when he could, parrying blows that sent him staggering and numbed his hands when he couldn’t. Fachtna was faster and stronger, but not as coordinated. Despite the berserker’s crazed attacks, Bress was just about able to anticipate them. His blade flicked out again and again, but he was too much on the defensive to land any powerful or killing blows. His sword opened horrible wounds in Fachtna’s flesh, but the flesh seethed and boiled beneath the wounds and then started to close. Bress was aware of Fachtna’s legs bulging as he sucked up more of the earth from beneath his feet to replace the damaged flesh.

  Bress leaped over one of Fachtna’s sword-swings. The Goidel’s ghost blade sang its discordant song through the air beneath him. Then Bress felt Fachtna’s free hand close around his ankle and he knew it was over.

  Fachtna yanked Bress out of the air and slammed him into the ground in an explosion of fungal-like earth. He stamped on Bress, the cracking of his bones echoing across the landscape. He battered Bress with his free hand before starting to slash at him with his shimmering ghost blade. The tendrils of red gold tried to close Bress’s wounds, knit the flesh together, but Fachtna was doing too much damage too quickly. Bress howled. He sounded less like a man and more like a wounded animal.

  ‘No!’ It was a cry of anguish. Fachtna stopped. He shook once and then the spearhead exploded out of his chest. He looked down at the living metal trying to tear apart his flesh from within. Then he turned around with some difficulty. He saw Britha standing there as if her hands still held the haft of the spear that had just been torn from her grip. There was fear in her eyes. Tears running down her face. Fachtna stared at her, his own tears running from a bulging eye in his deformed head. The heat pouring off him was blistering Britha’s skin. Bress was still screaming like a wounded animal. She staggered back away from Fachtna, and Fachtna merely watched her go. There was sadness in his many eyes. Then the dead flew at Britha.