SWORD OF TULKAR

by J. P. Reedman

  “Great Sky god!” yelped man. “Tis a woman!”

  “Then you should cry great Earth Mother!” cackled the old woman, lowering her cudgel. “Welcome to Te-ar, warrior woman! What is it you’re after here?”

  “I must speak with you and your people.”

  “What about?” She eyed me suspiciously, the hairs that grew on the end of her chin quivering. “What could a sword-wielding stranger like you have to say to the likes of us?”

  I approached her, face serious, trying to impress the importance of my words on her: “Invaders are afoot. Murderers who pillage and burn without mercy – men who use the star metal, iron.”

  The old woman’s cudgel flew up again and her shrew grey eyes darkened. “What do you know of these iron men?”

  “I know too much, old one--they slew my family and my tribe. I was then forced to take up the sword, though I am but a woman and not a warrior by trade,” I murmured in a low voice.

  The crone nodded. “Indeed. Well, I shall tell you, sword-woman… they came here too, not so long ago. Some of us died and our huts were burnt, but we rebuilt, for our people are as tough as the roots of the oak…that is why we are called Dur-hi, the Oak People. The invaders – who we call the Gobyrchins, the Horseheads, we name them, for they ride horses as we do not– have since raided us again, but we stood firm and beat them off, even killing a few. However, several doughty lads now lie in the ossuary on the Wolds because of the Horseheads.”

  I touched the woman’s skinny arm. “With your assistance, I will avenge your dead – and mine.”

  The old man scratched his head. “You? A mere girl?” He looked at the old woman, shrugging his crooked shoulders. “Ynid, this is madness, tell the misguided creature to go and find safety wherever she can...”

  “Hush, Blamac.” The woman Ynid elbowed the old man in the ribs. “She’s no ordinary girl, can’t you see that? I can! The fire of the battle-goddess Morguin burns in her eyes, and at her back...” she peered over my left shoulder, a strange expressions transforming her features “... stands an Ancestor. One of the great Mothers.”

  I felt Ourar’s spectral fingers brush over my arm, light as the touch of a cobweb. “Your senses are keen,” I told Ynid. “You speak truth. One of the Un-world does walk with me and guides me. Now can we go to your hut? I have much to discuss with you. I need to know as much as possible about the Horsehead clan and their settlements in this area.”

  I spoke to Ynid and Blamac for many hours, telling them of how I wanted to fight the invaders with the aid of their folk. To my surprise, I saw a battle light begin to glow in their tired old eyes. A new proud spirit entered them, they lifted their heads and assumed the dignity of their ancestors. They wanted to prove to the Horseheads that they were not savages, mere animals to be hunted for sport. Even if they had to share their land with others, they would not be dispossessed totally.

  Later, after Ynid and the other villagers had given their word to assist me, I wandered out of the settlement of Te-ar, drawn by a mind-summons from Ourar—which came like a burst of cold lightning inside my head, behind my eyes. She had left me during my discussions with the elders, her presence weakening then vanishing altogether. Blindly I journeyed over ruined walls, burnt huts and lonely burial mounds, seeking her. At length I reached a circular earthwork standing like a crown on the summit of a little green dell. I climbed the embankment, then paused. This place was ancient and holy, and fearsome. Aye, for in the heart of the enclosure stood a hut similar to those buried under earthen long mounds by the hill folk. As the wind blew, I smell a sickly odour wafting from the hut. My eyes narrowed. I had reached the ossuary that Ynid has mentioned, where the slain men of Te-Ar were laid, their flesh picked by birds and animals until their spirits were totally set free.

  I would not look inside and turned to leave, shivering as the wind blew and clattered denuded bones inside the hut. Suddenly Ourar’s ghost appeared inside the door, her hands beckoning, a cold whine coming from her sucked in mouth. Her skin glowed livid; her eyes were the hollows of a skull. Before she had looked almost as a living woman, though pale; now she looked like one who had been dead for days. “Why have you summoned me here?” I snapped guessing that something was amiss. I could not bear to look at her.

  “Power,” she whispered. “I need the power of this dead place, of the earth ring that holds back the profane world, to assume and hold a bodily form.”

  I shivered, cold sweat beading on my brow. “You didn’t need the ring before.”

  She lifted her pallid arms, the dying daylight shining through her flesh. “I – I am fading. Ardagh, being drawn back to Hal-Seoghl, Place of Spirits Unreborn. Soon I won’t be able to appear at all! Ah, how weary, how thin I feel!”

  I mopped the sweat from my face, my hands shaking. “Ourar, what about the upcoming struggle?” Surely you won’t leave me unaided? You promised to be with me, to guide me?”

  “I have no choice but to leave you.” Her voice was a gravelly rasp. Her skin had turned dark, purple, and her lips pale. I could see straight through her form. “I wish it were otherwise but some things are beyond my control. At least I had enough strength to call you hence and warn you.”

  “Traitor,” I screamed, fear loosening my tongue. “You teach me, get me to convince others to join my cause, then abandon me!”

  “Forgive me Ardagh. “ She reached out, appealing, with hands that were no more than shapeless blurs. “I’ll aid you in the final battle if I can, but I cannot make any promises. When the world of spirit calls, it can be stronger than will.”

  “Don’t bother!” I snarled. “I no longer desire your help!”

  “Forgive me,” Ourar sighed, and then she flickered out like a tail of a falling star.

  Gloomily I walked back to Te-ar, kicking tufts of grass like a petulant child. I had to continue my quest now that I had come so far, but deep inside I felt I had little hope of victory without Ourar’s guidance.

  Entering the village, I strode towards Ynid and Blamac’s hut. There was no time to waste; we would march on the Horseheads now or not at all. Violently I yanked my sword from its sheath.

  The two elders were startled and more than a little alarmed when I burst in on them, blade drawn, but when I explained my intentions for an immediate raid on the Horseheads’ camp, they agreed to rouse the rest of the village. I think they, too, were tired of waiting and eager to make an end.

  So with a handful of keen archers and sturdy spearmen at my back, I marched to the closest Gobyrchin settlement, which stood on a nearby hill. Ynid had told me it was the largest outlander holding in the country, and that a gold-rich queen and her brother held sway there, so I was surprised how poor the village looked. The huts were round and thatched, like those of my folk, but smaller and dingier, more like huts for livestock. A half-complete earth wall formed an insecure defense around them. I had expected better from a people famed for their riches and advanced weaponry.

  As I drew nearer I heard babies wailing, dogs barking, cattle lowing. I shuddered. These people, my enemies, who had taken on almost demonic proportions in my mind, sounded all too human now. Would I, Ardagh Ni Unjin, be the one to set those huts aflame, and by sword and fire end forever the barking, lowing and yes... the crying of Gobyrchin babies?

  I bit my lip and pushed the thought away as I climbed the earth wall that should have served as a defense. Night-shrouded, I stood like an avenging demon on the bank, Tulkar’s sword flaming in my fist, my shield pale as the moon on my arm. Taking a deep breath, I shouted, “Horseheads, awake! Bring your leader to meet Ardagh of the Bry-andi!”

  The village below rumbled into life. Sleepy—eyed heads poked from doorways of huts. Just ordinary heads, some dark, some fair, their hair tousled from sleep. Not monster-heads, not even very fierce-looking heads. I heard one woman scream, saw a child run to hide behind a wall.

  To hide from me, Ardagh. I felt sick.

  But then a woman and a man swaggered out of a large centr
al hut capped by a horse’s skull that was draped in holly and mistletoe. Their arrogance quickly replaced my nausea with rage. They were both tall, with pale, haughty faces and fair hair limed into fantastical shapes. Masses of jewellery – some of which had been stolen from my village – dripped from their limbs.

  Planting herself in front of me, the woman threw back her head and cried, “I am Rianona, ruler of this clan. Are you a dark-folk demon? If so, be gone, you do not frighten me! Your magic is dead magic!”

  “I am no demon,” I replied. “I am Ardagh of the Bry-andi, who you slaughtered for no reason other than that you are evil and cruel. I am here to claim vengeance for my people, end the bloodshed you’ve brought to this land.”

  Riaonna laughed and drew from her side a long sword glowing cold as a dead star. “See this? It is iron, stronger than bronze. If you dare to stand against me, you will fail, you animal...”

  “I am no animal,” I snapped. “It is your people who behave like cowardly wolves, hunting the weak. Well, many wolves have been hunted down till their packs are no more. I will do the same to you, unless you cease your slaughter.”

  Rianona waved her arm dismissively. “I’ll not have dealings with a witchy savage,” she replied bluntly. “Warriors – deal with this creature.”

  “No!” my voice rang out, echoing around the compound. “Below me on the slopes I have armed men of my own. They’ll slaughter all of you before you can reach your weapons – unless you hear me out. Queen Rianona, you will learn that the folk who dwell in Albi are not beasts. We have made this isle and have lived here long and we will have your respect if nothing else.”

  Rianona flushed. “You…you…” she spluttered. “So be it then. We will meet in hand to hand combat, right now. I will bash in your skull in one blow!”

  She raised her blade and charged at me, howling in rage. As she ran she ripped off her clothes and ran naked, which shocked me for my people would never enter a battle thus. I was till a little dazed when she dealt the first blow, a vicious clout that sent pain tingling up my arm as I blocked her swing. Instinctively, I stepped back, and then, remembering my training, thrust forward – fighting for tribal honour, and my life. My weapon clashed with Rianona’s and the two blades caught, sawing on each other. Bronze groaned under the strength of the unholy metal Iron, which some men claimed had fallen from the Stars.

  Rianona had the advantage of height—she was as big as most men—but I was more nimble. I managed to free Tulkar’s sword and dance circles round her, jeering and taunting, ducking under her wildly swinging arm. Rianona screamed angrily, and hewed at me, her cuts frenzied and ill-thought out. Her sword sliced through thin air as I sprang high into the air, doing a jump learned in the Solstice dances of my childhood. I laughed, but my laughter became a cry of horror as I landed heavily on my ankle, which twisted beneath my weight, sending me tumbling in a heap at Rianona’s feet. She grinned and raised her blade, sensing victory.

  “Ourar, don’t let me fail!” I screamed inside my head, panicking. Dots swam before my eyes; my heart thudded like a great booming war-drum. Cold sweat poured from beneath my arms, drenching my leather tunic.

  And then, a weird peace surrounded me, and I took a deep, releasing breath. Up above me, I saw Ourar floating in the sky near the Moon. The great woman-planet, ruler of tides eye of the Mother, rose above her head like an unearthly diadem. In her hand she held a yew bow as tall as a man. “You can still win, Ardagh,” she whispered, witch-light streaming from her eyes, from the end of her long, floating hair. “Have faith in me and in your own strong arm, my child...” She drew the bowstring.

  A ball of flame tore across the vault of the heavens. Rianona ignored me to watch it as it arched before disappearing into the West. “Ah!” she exclaimed. “The light ... the comet ... a sign from the gods!”

  “Of your defeat!” In that instant I sprang up, forgetting the pain in my ankle. I thrust into Rianona’s guard, and my blade tore a ragged line up her side. Rianona cried out as blood welled from the wound, runnelling down her white flesh, and I struck at her again with all my strength. Rianona managed to counter my blow, and Tulkar’s sword shattered on the iron blade of my adversary. This might have been my undoing, but my final blow, falling like a stone on the queen’s wounded side, caused her to drop her weapon. The star metal sword spun over the embankment on which we fought and disappeared amongst the folk of Te-ar.

  Instantly I fell upon Rianana, clutching her thick hair. With my free hand I drew the little bronze dagger I always carried at my belt and pressed it to her throat. “Yield!” I ordered. “Or perish.”

  A few feet away, amidst the stunned folk of the Gobyrchin clan, Rianona’s brother stood helplessly staring at me, his eyes dark with defeat –and yet also full of bitter admiration. The Horsehead people clustered around him, chanting, “The queen is vanquished. Hail to the victor!” And the cry grew and grew, filling my ears and senses with the sweetness of victory.

  “Kill me,” moaned Rianana, struggling weakly in my grip. “I am shamed and do not wish to live.”

  I pressed my blade into her flesh, thinking of the murder of my tribe—the burning houses, the black charred forms that lay amongst them. She deserved to die, but ... My arm dropped to my side. “No,” I muttered between gritted teeth, “I won’t kill you! I’m no lover of bloodshed – not like you Horseheads. You name my folk animals, but you are the ones who behave like ravening beasts!” I made sure I used the same insult she had directed to me.

  “We take life for the glory it brings us!” Even in defeat she was impudent.

  “Glory!” I spat. “Some glory – to slay innocents by night! To slay women at their weaving!”

  Angrily I gave her a shove; I could hardly bear to touch her. She tumbled to the muddy ground. Contemptuously I tossed my dagger down to the ground beside her. Then I took the hilt of Tulkar’s broken sword and turned my unprotected back to the Horseheads, daring them to strike me. Slowly I was coming to realise that I did not want any blood on my hands, and that this perhaps was the weapon that Ourar had mentioned, which was stronger than metal. Rianona might always be my enemy, but if her people would respect me and mine, and not harry us, then my job was done.

  “Wait!” Rianona’s brother cried. “Do not leave as yet, warrior-woman! You have impressed my people; hear them chant for you. They no longer want my sister to lead them, for she lost the fight without honour.” He kicked at Rianona’s round mud-spattered buttocks. “They ask for your leadership instead.”

  “I’m no leader,” I said. “I am but a woman who was forced to act to save the people of this land…people who would have shared with you had you not drawn your cold swords first and lusted for blood! I’ll lead no people – neither yours nor mine.”

  He sprang up the embankment to meet me and grabbed my arm. He was tall, like his sister, with a clean-shaven jaw and eyes the colour of a late summer sky. “You claim you want peace between our tribes. Such a peace can be negotiated.” He gave me a meaningful look. “We can forge an alliance between us. You are brave and I do not find you unseemly to look on...”

  I tore away from him, repulsed. “I’ll wed no man for some alliance. Rather than seeking to make flimsy alliances, teach your folk to respect those who have come before you, who first farmed and made this land a place your tribe wants to settle. Treat with these people...” I gestured to Ynid’s folk, standing in the dark behind me still with weapons raised and ready should there be any violence. “Don’t try to set me up as some kind of a figurehead. I am not one. I am just Ardagh of the Clan of Unjin that is no more…thanks to you. ”

  I strode down the earthen bank into the night, passing Ynid and Blamac and their archers and spearmen. “Go,” I told them touching their arms. “You have your chance now. They will treat with you. Be brave. I wish you luck, my friends.”

  I wandered through black, starless regions, feeling cold and drained. My quest was over. I wondered if my actions had indeed advanced the cause
of peace in our land, and I also wandered what the future could hold possibly in store for me. I was landless, my people dead, and I had turned down an offer of a marriage alliance—I laughed, to think how at one time I would have jumped at such a union, to take me away from my dull life in my father’s holding.

  As the night progressed, and I became dazed with weariness, my feet heavy as if they had been encased in clay, I even began to wonder if my adventures had all been a dream, and I’d actually awake to find myself back in my father’s hut, my pots, trinkets and the ever hungry dogs all around me and a scolding village woman telling me I was late and the goats needed milking.

  When the darkness of night finally paled to gray, and the first red rays of the Sun—he whom our folk loved most of all—stretched out like long spears from the scarlet East, I released a sudden gasp of surprise and awe. My wandering feet had carried me over long empty miles to the mouth of Haddery Burn cave, high on the rocky hillside. “It must be Ourar’s doing,” I muttered, stumbling up the slope and into the cavern.

  The cave smelt dark, dank and musty—abandoned and unused. I fell to the floor, crying, “Ourar, are you here? I must speak with you – have I done well? I hope I’ve helped, done what was needed... Gods I am tired...”

  There was no reply, only the echo of my own strained voice. Blindly I clambered to my feet and hurled myself forward, tripping over debris. Suddenly my feet met with a tangle of bone and I halted. I’d found Ourar. I gazed down at the bleached skeleton, no longer as fearsome as it once was. Empty eye sockets stared into mine.

  Ourar? There was nothing here – no presence – no spirit; merely a heap of empty bones from which life had long fled. Feeling empty, I suddenly wondered if Ourar had ever really assisted me. Perhaps she was only the creation of my mind, born from the shock of finding my folk murdered.

  Sadly, I leant over and placed the hilt of Tulkar’s sword into the skeletal hand, a final grave-offering. “Take it back,” I whispered. “I will never need it again.”