The Fall (The Last Druid Trilogy Book 1)

by Glen L. Hall

  * * * * * *

  It wasn’t long before the last of the day vanished and a cold night settled in. Brennus moved quickly, keeping to the hedges and following a small river that he knew would eventually lead him to the Tyne. Thoughts of his brother loomed large in his mind. If there was more than one Shadow, then Drust’s diversion would have been in vain.

  He was beginning to doubt his leadership and the decisions he had made. The night in Oxford had shaken his belief in his own abilities. From out of nowhere, the Shadow had nearly caught Sam. He should have listened more closely to Eagan and his messages from the Forest Reivers, but he had been convinced they could protect Sam at Magdalen. The last thing he had expected was a dead Druid to appear in the Fellows’ Garden with a warning that a Shadow had broken through the Fall. He hadn’t expected to see a weakening of the Fall in his lifetime. What would come through next? Would he have to defend Sam against the almost unimaginable terror that the Keepers said had been driven out for good?

  The appearance of the crow-men in Gosforth had reinforced just how bad things had become. Until yesterday they had been part of Northumberland mythology, one of the reasons Hadrian’s Wall had been built in the first place. There could be other things lurking in the borders, too, for this wasn’t just a border between England and Scotland. And here he was, travelling to the very place where the Shadow had first appeared, to see the old man. Would he have the answers on how to stop the Shadow? Or was this all futile?

  He passed Greenhaugh without incident, making sure he couldn’t be seen by any prying eyes from the small hamlet. Passing a thick wood to his left whilst keeping the small river to his right, he moved with great stealth through the landscape. He came upon the Tyne with a strong wind blowing from the north and the river running loud and fast. He was now in the middle of a shallow valley with the river uncoiling its long body into the night. He would reach Kielder a little before midnight, but not before the storm caught him in the open.

  He again wondered what was happening to Drust. Had the Shadow found him? What if there was more than one? Well, he would find that out soon enough. He was also worried about Jarl, who would be crossing south of the borders where the skirmishes between the Forest Reivers and their enemies had been greatest.

  The storm came down from the borders like a raging hurricane, hitting just as the lights of Falstone had begun to shimmer in the overcast night. The hills on either side of the river began to rise steadily skyward whilst the river began to narrow, becoming swift and riotous and filling the night with sinister noises. Brennus bent his slim frame into the gathering wind whilst the rain soaked him to the bone. He slipped between Stannersburn and Falstone and kept moving. He was keen to press on.

  Ahead was Kielder Water, a vast man-made lake running northwest towards Kielder village. He came to the water’s edge, his senses picking their way through the tempest, trying to uncover anything unusual. If anyone was watching the path to the Dead Water, they would expect a traveller to take the path north to the village and then try and make the fells from there. He had long decided that he would turn off that path to the west and cut through Bloody Bush Road instead. In the night with a storm pushing south, the going would be difficult, but it would be almost impossible for anyone to follow him.

  He took a short drink, ate some biscuits and then set off again, skirting the lake’s choppy waters, careful to go unnoticed, as every now and then he would pass pockets of houses, some still with lights shining out over dark lawns running down to the water’s edge.

  The storm was bearing down now and the rain was coming straight at him from the north. He again thought about Drust. He would be some forty miles south now, whilst Jarl would be heading northeast. Where were Sam and Emily? Perhaps he should have accompanied them to Warkworth, after all. But even as the thought trickled through his mind, his sharp logic pricked it. Oxford had proven they were no match for the Shadow. The enemy had gained the advantage over them. In the next few hours he hoped to reverse this, but if the Dagda could not help, then all he could think of was to keep the Way-curves closed and Sam moving from safe house to safe house.

  It had been a long slow climb along Kielder Water to Lewis Burn, where his path turned west, leaving the frothy waters behind. He was breathing heavily as he climbed up the steep bank and turned down Bloody Bush Road, which ran almost parallel to the murky waters of the burn.

  Not that this was much of an improvement. The road cut through the gap between two rolling hills and was no place for anyone but the hardiest hill-walker. There would not be many attempting it mid-storm. With the rain stinging his face, Brennus turned to look up the narrow incline.

  Bloody Bush Road was grim, steep and frightening in the stormy night. The hills on either side looked foreboding and there was a wild loneliness to the place that made Brennus feel vulnerable. He could be on the verge of failing not only Sam but also his brother and all those relying on him. Oscar had been an impossible act to follow; the responsibility had begun to crush him and it felt all-consuming alone in the middle of this desolate place.

  With every step, he felt the storm come bellowing through the valley, unrelenting and raw, and then he heard a sound that froze his blood. Somewhere in the tempest, probably not too far away, crows were cawing angrily. There must have been hundreds for their clamour to rise above the wailing wind.

  It was unusual for crows to fly during a storm – most birds would have been sheltering – although Brennus knew these were more than crows. The feathered faces from the bookshop came back to him. He had heard about them from the Keepers, although the Forest Reivers had also spoken about the dark men of the Underland.

  He was now feeling just a little desperate. Despite the cold wind, the climb was making him sweat.

  He was tired and a chill was settling across him by the time he arrived at the Bloody Bush stone. It stood fifteen feet tall, dark and unfeeling in the shadow of Larriston Fells, a monument to those who had once passed through this exposed landscape.

  Brennus knew he had reached more than a physical border crossing between Scotland and England. The Dagda would be aware of him the moment he set foot on the north side of the stone. He would soon know if he would let him pass.

  He braced himself against the gale and stepped forward. Instantly, the storm abated and the road ahead became clear. For a second he was disorientated, the hush loud in his ears. When he turned to look at the way he had come, it was silent and still. He took a deep breath. It was as if he had woken from a long dream and was looking upon a world he only half-remembered.

  The Dead Water was hidden in the borders thirty miles northeast of the Broad Flow and the hanging stones. Few now travelled there. Not even the Forest Reivers. There had been whispers of fell voices carried on the wind. Brennus started slowly picking his way through jagged rocks towards it.

  In the darkness the pass was treacherous. He was beginning to see flashes before his eyes and a sickness was creeping into him, a fatigue that he could not shake. The moment he had passed the stone, he couldn’t think back to how he had reached this place. He looked at his compass, but it simply whirled, incapable of telling him whether he was heading north or south.

  In the darkness he thought again about Drust, but quickly blocked him from his mind. He could no longer think about his brother’s plight.

  Below him, out of sight, was a vast uncompromising landscape. His senses were jumbled and he could neither see much beyond his hands, now bloodied from the razor-sharp rocks, nor hear much beyond his own breathing. He was going even more slowly now, watching his every step, for to his left there was a sudden drop. If he fell, he might not survive.

  Somewhere far below in the night, the Dead Water waited for him. At the thought of it, a momentary flicker of uneasiness flared in his throat, but he quickly brought it under control. He had to know more about the nature of the Shadow and how it could be stopped. Over the years he
had thought that they were safe, that the Otherland had been sealed for eternity, but obviously he had been fooling himself.

  He wanted to get over the pass as quickly as possible. He couldn’t be certain the crows hadn’t been searching for him and there was every possibility that this place was being watched. He stood on the little winding path, breathing deeply and trying to sense anything unusual, but there was nothing but bleak silence around him.

  He began making his way down before absolute darkness descended and he was stranded on the side of a mountain. He stood on the little winding path, breathing deeply as he reminded himself that three feet to his left was the now hidden chasm. He stood there and tried to sense anything unusual, but there was nothing but the bleak silence of the Dead Water. His descent through the gloom was slow and frustrating, but at last he came to a broad ledge and knew he was down. He found himself blinking into pitch-black darkness and waited for a few moments for his eyes to adjust, relieved he was off the mountain path.

  It took a while before he realised that this was an unnatural darkness. He should have been growing used to it by now, but instead it was getting blacker.

  The situation began to unnerve him; he was vulnerable to attack and a cold wind was beginning to blow. What if this place was in the hands of the enemy? What if he could no longer summon the old man? Then he remembered his brother’s sacrifice and found himself stepping forward into the oppressive darkness.

  He had only taken a few steps when he felt a warm wind wrapping itself around him, darting across every inch of his body. He reached for the short sword concealed in his long coat, but the wind had gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  He walked on blindly, unable to see or hear beyond one or two feet in any direction. What was creating this eternal night? Were the Dagda or the Faeries using it to defend the Dead Water? Or was it the enemy? He recalled grimly that Oscar had warned the Dead Water was lost. Was he on a fool’s errand?

  He had no idea how long he’d been walking when he bumped into a large stationary object. He reached out with his hands and realised it was a small tree. The Dead Water had a copse on its southern shore – he was nearly there.

  He entered the wood with his hands outstretched, stumbling and sightless. Branches of all sizes were stabbing at him in the darkness and there was a thick smell that stung his nose and made his eyes water. It was all he could do not to retch. Each step took him deeper into misery. He no longer understood why he’d come here, only that he had to escape.

  Then the trees came to an abrupt end and he fell to his knees, his head hanging loosely between his shoulders. When at last he raised it, the suffocating darkness had receded, revealing a short pebbled beach and the wide expanse of the Dead Water. He was ten feet from its shores. He took in the clear sky and breathed in the cold air. Then, shivering, he hauled himself to his feet and walked to the water’s edge.

  He stood there in quiet reflection, waiting for a response, but none came. Uncertain what to do, he turned back to the wood’s distorted edge. The trees were huge and unmoving. Then there was movement. A feathered form staggered from the wood and fell, gasping for breath, as he had done moments before.

  Brennus drew his sword.

  At first only one or two forms staggered out of the dark wood, but gradually more lurched onto the beach. Soon black feathered faces were being raised. Guttural croaking broke out as the creatures regained their feet and spotted their prey. There was a madness in their eyes that sent a shiver into Brennus’s heart. It seemed he had been followed all the way.

  The Dagda would never have let these creatures past – it was clear the Dead Water had been abandoned and the enemy had set a perfect trap.

  Them the first wave came crashing down on him, trying to crush the life out of him. Quickly his blade flashed, tearing them open. Their howls shattered the air and there were half a dozen twisted bodies on the beach before a searing pain in his leg made him stagger.

  The enemy renewed the attack, trying to press home their advantage, but once again they were met by the cold unblinking steel of his short sword.

  Up close, he could see their wrathful faces and smell their hideous hides. Then the pain of a second wound, this time to his back, washed over him and he stumbled back, dizziness making him reel, but still he did not fall.

  Once more the creatures withdrew, for many of their kind now lay dead. But this time they were watching him, chattering to each other and occasionally sniffing the air. He felt a numbness in his chest and realised they had delivered a poison deep into his body.

  All he could do was stumble back into the still waters, his legs deadened, his arms growing heavy. He dropped to his knees and there were gleeful howls from the beach. He gritted his teeth as he felt the poison reach his hands and watched the sword fall from his fingers. The creatures were clawing at each other in triumph as he felt the dizziness take him and fell back into the freezing waters.

  * * * * * *

  He lay still, expecting the end to come quickly. But it did not come. A strong current took hold of him and he felt warmth spreading through his body even as he was drawn out into the cold emptiness of the Dead Water. He floated there, drifting, as if in a dream.

  He didn’t know how far he had travelled when he felt himself gently bumping against the shore. Slowly, he came back to himself. There was a burning sensation in his stomach and then it broadened out and pushed the numbness from his limbs.

  A few moments later he was sitting looking at a gnarled wood bordering a pebbled beach – a mirror image of the place he’d just come from. He clambered to his feet, astonished to find his clothes dry. His mind was clearing and his vision fully restored. He could still feel the gentle throb of his wounds, but it was a dull healing pain. He felt bewildered, but somehow at peace – a peace he could not easily describe.

  ‘Why do you summon me?’

  The voice was crisp and strong and there was a music to it. It had come from a figure standing a few feet away on the shore. Her dark elegance was striking. Her skin was pale, but her hair was like the blackest coal and no light could escape from it. Her eyes were darker than the midnight sky. She was naked save for the night that doused her with ink.

  Brennus could sense a great power bathed in her ruthless beauty. He found himself struggling to speak. Finally, he muttered, ‘I seek the old man.’

  ‘The Ruad Roshessa serves only himself,’ came the cool reply. ‘Why have you come here?’

  There was a heartless ring to her voice that frightened Brennus. Had the Faeries turned their backs on them? A shiver ran down his spine.

  ‘I seek counsel.’

  There was silence. Brennus did not know what to expect. He gazed at the dark woman, his mouth dry with apprehension.

  ‘Then you come too late.’

  The words seemed to flicker in his mind and he wasn’t sure whether they were sounds at all. They were crushing and yet he was entranced. There was something very disturbing about the Faerie woman. He felt a desire to do her bidding, no matter what the consequences might be. He was swept away on a river of emotions that he couldn’t understand.

  ‘We have seen what enters the world of men and know you have no answer.’

  Again the words flickered in Brennus’s mind. They were edged with melancholy and he had the desire to console, to comfort, to feel and touch.

  ‘A terrible Shadow passed through here. The old man fought it in the fells and the caverns, in the deep places, and could not defeat it.’

  Brennus seemed to wake to why he was there.

  ‘It is a servant of the enemy that has been hunting your kind down since the beginning,’ he said softly. ‘So, surely the fight isn’t ours alone? Join us!’

  He smiled.

  There was a sudden stillness, a thoughtful silence. Then the answer came.

  ‘The Ruin is coming for us all. You know the Dru
idae locked it away beyond time, but its servants hid in the darkness, under the hills and in the hidden places, and they are rising. Their waiting is over, for the Fall is dying and the Druids’ bloodline grows thin. The Ruin’s servant is coming even now and you are ill-prepared. The old man has blind faith in men, but he cannot be your saviour.’

  Brennus went cold. He had risked the lives of those he loved for this? But as he looked at the woman he could not be angry, only frightened by the desire she had awoken in him. She was both the light in the darkness and the shadow in the light.

  ‘And the creatures who attacked me on your shores?’ he asked. ‘I thought the crow-men were tales told to frighten children.’

  ‘As the Fall dies, the Otherland seeps into the world of men. Soon the last of the Druids will pass away, just as your brother has done.’

  The words seemed heartless, cold and without pity.

  ‘Please tell me my brother is safe,’ Brennus pleaded. Then he was shouting. ‘Tell me my brother is safe!’

  He thought he heard an icy cackle.

  ‘Your brother met the Ruin’s servant and met the fate you intended.’

  Brennus looked down, overcome with grief.

  The woman stood watching him for a moment.

  ‘The pain you feel is only fleeting,’ she said coldly. ‘Mine is for eternity.’

  Then she took a step forward and Brennus felt her touch. Warmth flooded through him and the touch of the Shadow was extinguished.

  ‘We seek a girl from the Mid-land,’ the Faerie said softly. ‘She travels with a boy. Do you know where they are travelling?’

  ‘Warkworth. The Garden of Druids.’ Brennus found himself unable to stop the words tumbling out.

  As soon as they escaped his lips there was a vile laugh that echoed through his being. The woman was stepping back, her laughter ringing through the night.