Celtic Blood

by James John Loftus

  Movement, onwards, wherein they left the waterfall behind them. Ascending higher thereon they concentrated on staying on track amongst tumbled rocks. That night they slept long and well. The waterfall lived in their dreams.

  In the morning feeling refreshed and eager to be away to see what lay beyond the next ascent, beckoning. Morgund with likeable ways and by deferring to Seward, which Seward liked, bonded well with him. All Morgund wanted was to Seward’s friend, and likewise that was all Seward sought from Morgund.

  Mid morning they stopped. Seward put Morgund through a series of exercises designed to accustom his muscles to fighting. These exercises strengthened his body and helped developed lightness on his feet and co-ordination. The same drills were to be repeated every day, as Seward told Morgund.

  Seward was attentive to detail. “Nothing is difficult in these movements. They are simple Morgund. Make the body strong in the moving and correct in relaxed movement and extension of the arm when that is suitable and when moving, using the full hip and foot pivot, learn the steps in the dance, that is what you are trying to do.” Morgund took in all such advice and his body responded, quickly.

  One day from Morgund, “What is your land like Seward?”

  “Largely flat and heavily wooded. It abuts the sea closely thus our people take to the sea, as it is at our door.”

  Journeying further Morgund seemed to have thought about it. “Scandinavians love adventuring?”

  “Journeying prevents staying at home and listening to nagging wives, which most do not admit as the cause of the rush to be off.” Seward laughed. “Of such things are warrior made, fit to conquer all, except she who rules them.”

  “But to cross oceans.” Morgund’s eyebrows betrayed his doubt. “The bold Norseman, I don’t believe it, they desired conquest.”

  “If the Viking women went out, then you Scots would realise how terrified we are of our womenfolk. If we come home empty handed, we would suffer, we don’t wish to suffer.” It caused amusement in Morgund, Seward enjoyed making Morgund laugh.

  “It is a famous name you’ve made Seward.”

  “Yes, we have sacked Constantinople, conquered England, pillaged Paris. Our fame is immense, but at the end of the day what good is it?”

  Morgund returned to his earlier subject, “A strong desire must have caused men to leave.”

  “Yes and no. A love of the sea, of a fight. You Scots aren’t seamen but you delved into England often enough to rape and pillage. Imagine with ships, you’d be elsewhere to discover what the world holds and fight to possess it, which is what we Vikings do.”

  Looking disappointed Seward said, “Because Christianity has made such deeds dishonourable the fire has diminished. Only an odd flicker resides of the days of raiding. They are gone, almost.”

  “Can you see yourself pillaging, burning, or raping, Seward?” A sarcastic Morgund.

  Seward ignored the tone. “Why I think we all can under the right circumstances.”

  “Perhaps,” Morgund replied and then immediately added a new thought, “The Scot’s prefer their homes, I think.” He said this to nettle Seward which it did.

  “Oh I’m sure you’re more compassionate.” Bowing his head in annoyance but not before giving Morgund a look which told him what he thought of his foolish statement.

  A moment later Seward decided to take him to task over it. “In times past human sacrifices were made to bring bounteous crops. That was common in Scotland, I’m told.” After letting Morgund digest this, he said, “The Vikings seem dastardly only because they conduct their depredations so successfully.”

  Silence again. Morgund relented in his devilment. The niggling was soon forgotten. Bad weather did not impede as they gained distance across the spine of the mountains. From there on, it was steadily down. Halting to drink at a stream on a spur in a wholesome belt they saw deer sign. Whilst Morgund guarded the horses Seward tracked and shot two deer. Tying the horses, they skinned and gutted them. The pair made use of a stream with a high overhanging bank throwing up some beams then covering them with pine boughs. The fire lit, they sat before it.

  “We must eat as much of this deer as we can.” Seward said.

  “And enjoy every mouthful,” Morgund replied, biting at the air in parody of hunger.

  A tongue appeared at Seward’s mouth, accentuating his own need theatrically and they laughed. After hanging the carcass, Seward demonstrated two new sword techniques, most effective if mastered. Morgund was a keen student and was improving. In a few months Seward would have the makings of a swordsman, he realised. The following morning, was sharply chill. Above, the sky was steel grey.

  Seward brought this to Morgund’s attention, “Morgund, snow will fall soon.

  Many hours later, snow had yet to fall, and Seward was looking into the fire, pondering. They must stay for a while and rest, he thought. Morgund was tired he needed rest.

  The winds outside got louder, sufficiently so to dispel his thoughts and to redirect his eyes. As he watched, light rain turned to sleet. Transforming, into feathery wisps buffeted by winds, slowly drifting to earth. Water dripping from the bank, stilled. A small tree, stood near, its leaves bobbing and weaving and when a strong gust came it looked like a child’s toy being fought over by two children, going one way and then the other, with force. Seward covered himself further. He didn’t hear the leaves now, the wind was too shrill, he spent the hours listening to it and feeling chilly vapours. On the far side of the stream, the dense forest and falling snow merged into one.

  At snows sudden increase his eye went upward towards the source, to the dull the sky, moonbeams piercing through it, and lower to the ground a fast moving mist like a breath exhaled on a hand before dawn, on a cold day, driven fast, by a man’s breath. The moon in a circular phase made silver, of all.

  Combating the cold, Seward packed more wood on the fire and sat watching the dancing orange-bluish flames shoot up. The flame calmed his mind and allowed him to travel back in time, to investigate his predicament, to decide why he was here. To protect Morgund, that’s why he was here.

  The night of Kenneth’s ambush, there was a feeling that magic swirled, he had felt it then, he felt it now, which made him wonder if he had the gift of second sight, as some said in the village. He could find lost things. He had never given it much thought. He could often tell if a pregnant mother would have a boy or a girl, lucky guesses he thought.

  Although hearing tales of people with such abilities never before had he seen any evidence that they existed, now he realized something of the like was probable. If he had this gift, he must develop it, use it to his advantage. Recalling his brush with the supernatural, thinking of them, these forces that dwelt in air, swirling with a pattern their’s alone, it seemed to bring their onset, perhaps in this way he had found access to this other world, these ideas filled his head until he slumbered.

  In the morning after a breakfast they packed the rest of the cooked deer meat. Across the frozen landscape they rode. Steep mountainside gave way to gentle aspects with cattle tracks and makeshift fencing. In summer this area would be populated. It felt good to have some semblance of civilization. Such signs as had favoured them lessened, the land flattened out. It was scrubby now, and not much good for grazing, which explained the lack of people. At a line of mountains ahead, they realized, they had not seen the last of climbing, however these mountains were not as great as those behind. Common stuff, offering little to the eye, surrounding them, not much, excitement lay in expectancy.

  Climbing steadily, they had to reroute several times to avoid sheer vertical cliffs. Backtracking again and again, selecting a winding path between trees and brush. Avoiding large boulders. Traversing through dense pines, climbing steeply. Reaching the summit, they looked down at a valley and although not in their direct line of travel the place had a seductive allure, a place that once seen, lived forever within the memory.

  When they had nearly left the proximity of it Seward halted and as
ked Morgund to accompany him, to explore for pleasure alone. Seward told Morgund, it would fill their hearts with joy. And Morgund agreed. They tethered their horses long enough to allow them to forage on grassy slopes. Setting off with a positive feeling and imbued with a sense of freedom, Seward experienced greater pleasure as he was older, and therefore more aware of the impending dangers. He would make the most of this opportunity to enjoy himself.

  Quickening strides brought him past lush meadows. To, flowing brooks, mountain flowers. Each step, almost, opened up new splendours. At a clump of tiny flowers of vibrant colours, Seward stopped to look more closely at these delicate mountain buds. The air was fresh alive with the scent of clean pure freshness.

  Coming to the lip of the valley, thereafter, they made their way down to undulating hills interspersed with flowing streams. Somewhat lower they were quieter and some of them had a good quantity of quality wood. Looking at a well-fed stream ahead Seward could not pass up its drawing power.

  He smiled and looked at Morgund “We will investigate it, touch its substance. Some secret may be passed on to us, for this is a sacred grove and stream.” Seward made this statement feeling the energy of the earth, so openly displayed was it.

  Scattered entities assuming elongated shape plunged to earth. Moments later, with tiny bumps they hit the ground discharging their bounty of moisture. Seward and Morgund sought shelter under a great bough until the rain slowed.

  The valley floor levelled out and they lost sight of their destination, which was a landmark beyond the stream and above it, a chimney like piece of black-spiralled rock. It was now hidden by dense, lush forest. Breaking clear of the woods they came out to numerous grassy channels through the timber, islands of pines bordering. Small lakes with mirror like surfaces. Individual conifers gazed down a them with limbs quivering on the wind. Cuckoos sang from shadowy hides. Onwards. At the top of a slight height Morgund observed the landmark in the distance the elongated heap of dark rock, Morgund looked at Seward, who nodded and they walked faster. At times thick scrub blocked their view but when they came out in the open again they saw it, it was behind them. They tried to keep it directly ahead.

  Shrubs gave way to a variation between pine and faded foliage. These last golden leaves were fated to fall when the cold did fall harsh upon them. The two joked but mostly kept silent hoping to glimpse something, a badger or deer, which by remaining silent they might see. In around forest flares, a bright leaf moved with the wind, large amber circumference held the eye for long.

  “Here God had created splendidly, so serene and captivating. At times the Almighty must have lost himself completely in making it. So complex is it,” Seward ventured.

  Seward nodded, words he realized couldn’t do justice to this. If they knew how soon nature would turn hostile they’d not be so preoccupied with sights, for if they could see from whence they came, a threatening black they’d see. A little opening between branches gave sight of basalt that shot up cylindrically, but it was still far.

  Lichens grew densely. Toadstools red and white appeared. Black mushrooms poked out of the forest floor some with pale coloured hats. As their steps carried them further, all at once, they heard water.

  Again not hindered by branches and standing slightly higher they saw the object of their quest, the shadowy, angled rock, which was part broken, but elsewhere so sharp and square as if man-made. Water swung around the rocky outcrop, reflecting solid black. Their heads went up at electricity. It began to rain heavily. Concentrating on the sudden grey, the water rising as they tarried, Seward looked away from the water and back towards the summit. It had started snowing high up. It would be colder up on yonder hillside, so they must return quickly. They eluded the snow, it broke in an arc to the west. Only at the top of the rise where they had originally started from did it begin to fall.

  On the way back they collected wood, more than was necessary, enough should decent fuel be scarce in the areas ahead. Making themselves comfortable, they sat in front of a fire. Its various qualities, warmth, ashy smell, myriad collage of coloured lights, always changing, hard to look away from. Occasionally with a crack a spent log folded in on itself and then the fire gained greater intensity as heat and oxygen penetrated further within it. Using a stick to stir disorder had the same effect, and they did it often. Wispy papery wood igniting, floated up, crackled loudly consuming fuel, going on to give them warmth. Both young men relaxed in the fire’s presence.

  It created a new dimension to their friendship. Perhaps the fire burned deeply enough to touch upon a memory of earlier days when men had been stalked whilst poorly armed, who when the fire burned low could expect jaws to clench at him from behind, or worse still from front on. All people exposed to a naked burning when in dangerous places can account for it, this feeling of safety.

  Looking at the stars blinking down at them, Morgund said, “Perhaps they look at us and debate over the strangeness of us.”

  “Unlikely it is they care for us. ” Though Seward chided Morgund softly, he knew how he felt.

  Field craft was a necessity to the traveller and was for them the difference between life and death. If they knew what hardship lay ahead of them, they would have chosen to stay. Seward looked over to Morgund who had fallen asleep. Seward listened to the rain pattering on their deer hide shelter.

  Soon Seward dreamt of maidens he desired, with huge breasts, knowing eyes, who ministered to him skilfully, then of Asgarth, who had besotted him in Denmark. He called her name whilst trying to convince himself that he’d see her again. Morgund dreamt of his father and mother, of when they had all been together and happy, of a time when his father’s calm presence had watched over him.

  The next afternoon, riding across a clearing towards a ruin three parts surrounded by woods. They blessed their good fortune in finding part of the roof intact meaning warmth and shelter. Standing in the shadows a solitary figure waited for their approach, observing them with a keen eye. He stood tall dignified.

  As yet the figure escaped their notice. Their eyes were immediately drawn to skies rumbling. Suddenly a downpour so wet, the insides of their eyes felt touched by it. Dismounting, as the man walked out from the ruin. Wearing a dark robe, bald of pate, a long grey beard but the man’s eyes were his dominant feature, unusually potent, they squinted narrowly looking at Seward, measuringly.

  “Who are you?” Morgund asked suspiciously, when first they met. Morgund who was caught by surprise by Duibne’s presence was tempted to ride off and have Seward follow him and leave this stranger to himself.

  “Never mind who I am who are you, and what are you doing here? You’re as surprised to see me, as I am you to see you.” Seemingly, seeing strangers in a distant place not noted for them, he was explaining it to himself. Then with an open welcoming expression, he said, “Do you want to eat?”

  “Aye,” replied Morgund as thoughts of a flashing fire and warm food flickered through his mind.

  “Let us stop and repast, these mountains are tough.” The man with the eyes said. “Have you any food?” The man asked, with his mouth slobbering in a pretence of one suffering from great hunger.

  “When you asked us if we were hungry, I thought it was yourself who would provide the victuals,” Morgund replied.

  “My provisions are scant.”

  “Oh,” Morgund said, disappointed. “What we have is not much.”

  Seward introduced himself, “My name is Seward Gunn.”

  “And you, young man what is your name?” he said turning to Morgund.

  “Morgund,” He quietly answered, not sure what to think, there was something disturbing about his eyes. He had never met anyone remotely like him.

  Before long had they had entered the ruin and seated themselves comfortably around a fire, upon which was a broth about to boil. The stranger added some turnips to the pot. “See I do have something. And where would you boys be going or more correctly, what are you running away from?”

  “Why running?” Se
ward asked, and gave Morgund a warning look. He didn’t trust people asking questions. “The better question is how we get home. We got lost in the mountains, exploring. We are trying to find our way home.”

  “You don’t look the type to get lost to me Seward. Keep your secret I’ll not do you a false turn.

  Thereafter they engaged in some inconsequential banter that Duibne was far better at than themselves. They reclined comfortably on rolls made of sheepskin.

  “It’s beautiful here?” Morgund said.

  “Is your friend alright? Duibne asked.

  “He has hit his head.” Seward laughed and looked at Morgund smiling. “No, he has suffered much, and can see the worth of things.”

  “We have come across the mountains,” Morgund said.

  “You’ve been on a desperate journey.”

  “Not so desperate,” Seward replied.

  “It is a trek of great difficulty that you have been on, to come that way is a worthy achievement. I’m sure it was filled with moments of danger and you saw some grand country.”

  “Do you know it?” Morgund asked.

  “Young men will hunt those mountains and stories come back describing certain parts of them. It is small knowledge I have personally.” He held his beard and changed tack. “Where do you go now?”

  “To see the king,” Seward replied.

  “What do you know of the king?” Morgund asked. This conversation he would recall many times hereafter.

  “I’ve not seen the king but I hear he is redheaded, as well as being a lad reckoned on being worthy to rule. He is yet sixteen.”

  Morgund interrupted. “He’s fair minded and apt to give myself a fair hearing.”

  “His father was placid, and honest enough. So I suppose, he would be too.”

  “But you have heard otherwise?” For Seward could tell by Duibne’s demeanour that there was something else.

  Morgund stared intently at Duibne awaiting his response, finally prompting him. “It is said he is untrustworthy? Go on, is it?”

  “Aye it is said of him.” Seeing grave concern on Morgund’s face, Duibne tried to reassure him. “Rumours are often unfounded, perhaps it dealt with some childish indiscretion.”