by Dan Davis
“It is uncomfortable for my old backside,” Helek said, patting the furs he sat on. “Besides, I can see my people well enough from here.”
Many of those people were lurking outside and straining to hear what was being said and a murmur filled the air of the village while inside the longhouse the women worked quickly and brought forth great decorated cups.
“I drink to your harvest,” Herkuhlos said.
Helek grunted in approval. “I drink to your health,” he said and they drank the warm beer. The chief looked over the rim of his cup at Z’ta who crouched inside the doorway. “So, Wetelos, you return to us.”
“No, lord,” Z’ta said. “I come with my chief.”
Helek looked steadily at him. “I thought of you not two days past when I passed through the west woodland. There I saw a rook descend from a tree and rouse a nightjar from its nest in the grass and I did not know what it meant.” He looked at Herkuhlos. “Perhaps now I understand and I do not need to ask you for the meaning.”
“You think my lord is the rook and you are the nightjar,” Z’ta said. “But the truth is that you, Helek, are the rook and your enemy Torkos is the nightjar.”
Helek snorted in amusement. “A man should never trust a slave to read for him the signs.”
“He is no slave,” Herkuhlos said. “And he does not lie.”
Helek nodded slowly, drank and cuffed his lips. “But Torkos is no enemy of mine. He is my lord and my god.”
For a moment Herkuhlos made no reply and instead looked around the longhouse. Behind the chief’s seat the hangings that had been torn down by Helek’s son Kerwes had been replaced with another woven fabric dyed a deep red and a black cross inside a circle filled the centre. That circle was the sun, he knew, and it was also the earth, and it was divided by the cross into the four seasons. It was also the wheel of the wagon that brought the Heryos life and the wheel of the carts that did the same for the Furun. It was beautifully formed of the finest wool and coloured with an enormous amount of powerful dye and it was a display of the great wealth of Helek and by extension his people. They were doing perfectly well under the rule of Torkos, he understood. Their bellies were full, their fields were fertile, and their children were healthy. All the worldly needs of these people were met and there was nothing that he could offer them that they did not already have. Nothing of this world, at least.
“What happened to your eye, Helek?”
Glaring, Helek put down his cup. “You took it from me.”
“Me?”
“You led my people against a god and I was fortunate to lose only this.” He touched his right cheek below the wound.
“It was wrong of me to lead you against him,” Herkuhlos said. “I realise that now.”
Acknowledging his admission, Helek nodded. “You also killed my son before my eyes.”
“He was driven mad with love for the woman Genna but still he tried to kill me like a coward, hiding to emerge in the darkness to murder me in my bed. Your son Kerwes brought shame upon you and he deserved to die.” Herkuhlos placed a hand over his heart. “But I know now I acted rashly and with anger and fear instead of with proper judgement. There was no need to rush to execution. As chief I should have listened to your advice and judged the man on the deeds of his life. I was also too much of a coward to deliver the same punishment to Genna. I did wrong that night and for that I am sorry.”
Helek stared toward the fire beside them, his eye seeming to glow from within as he looked through it. Eventually he spoke softly. “Why did you come here?”
“I told you, I seek your advice.”
Helek was still sceptical. “You are the son of a god and need no advice from me, lord.”
“Nevertheless I need your wisdom and the strength of your warriors.”
At that, Helek barked a laugh. “You still wish to challenge Torkos. You want me to spend my strength and spill the blood of my people once more and you think words of praise will move my spirit to obedience. No, I will not allow it, lord.”
“Torkos must die, that is true. I wish you and your warriors to help me, that also is true. But I am here to ask you how it could be done.”
Helek waved a hand in the air between them. “It cannot be done. He is a god.”
“He is a yotunan, not a god. But call him what you will, he can be killed. He must be, for the good of all the peoples of this land.”
“All the peoples?”
“The Heryos, the Furun, and the Seal People all suffer under his rule.”
Helek laughed loudly and slapped his thigh. “What do I care for them? I am chief of my people and no others. If they suffer, so be it, my people are strong under the rule of Torkos.”
“Your people are strong because you take him sacrifices. You raid other villages to capture slaves and these you deliver to Torkos. But all the villages and clans that serve him do the same thing and so you must go further and further to find captives to bring to Torkos. And raiders from other tribes come here to take your people, snatching your boys from the trees or taking your women when they go to the river. If you do not have captives enough you must take your own slaves to Torkos. How much longer can this go on, Helek? For how long can your people be strong under the rule of Torkos?”
Helek was no longer laughing. “There is no limit to the people of the earth. The raid is in our blood and always will be. And anyway, it does not matter because there is no way to defeat Torkos, as you discovered for yourself.”
Only by your betrayal, Herkuhlos thought, though he did not say it as he was not sure it was the truth. “You may be right. If you cannot think of a way to do it then perhaps it cannot be done at all. But I came here in the hope that you would know how it might be done.”
“My warriors are not enough to fight the warband of Torkos,” Helek said, shaking his head. “There is no cunning in the minds of men that can overcome that truth.”
“What if it were not your warriors alone fighting the warband of Torkos?” Herkuhlos asked. “What if I had more men?”
“It would have to be a great many.” Helek furrowed his brow, puckering the scars around his missing eye. “And do you have them?” he asked, watching Herkuhlos closely.
“If the gods are with me then yes I will have them.”
Not quite understanding, Helek scowled. “So how many men do you have?”
Herkuhlos smiled and shook his head because Helek was asking the right questions but he did not have the right answers. “I don’t know. But what if I had five hundred?”
“Five hundred Heryos?” Helek asked, amazed.
“Well, five hundred Heryos, Furun, and Seal Men all together.”
Helek stared, astonished and then contemptuous. “My advice to you, lord, is to count only the Heryos.”
“That is good advice, I am sure.” He looked out of the door. “I did not notice any horses in your pastures. Not even one.”
Scowling, Helek took a drink of his beer. “Ghebol has taken all the horses. Even the herd of Negwis. All summer they ride back and forth to the north.”
“Looking for me,” Herkuhlos said.
“Yes.”
Herkuhlos looked at the men peering in through the doorway and at Z’ta and then back to Helek. “You are a chief Helek and a man of virtue. When you betrayed me before you did so because you believed it was right for your people.” He leaned closer. “But now you can look back at that betrayal and ask yourself if it was right or if it was wrong. You can see even with one eye if living under the rule of Torkos is right or if it is wrong. Is this how the gods want Helek to rule? If it is then surely you must capture me for your lord and take me to him. But if it is wrong then surely you must join with me and help me to win victory. So, Helek, what do you say?”
The old man sat and stared at the fire, rubbing the scars around his missing eye with one finger as he thought.
Herkuhlos sat back and waited, quite ready for whatever came next.
34. Sacrifice
; The sun rose and fell across the roof of the world, circling the disc of the earth as the days rolled on. It grew hot and dry and the wheat grew tall and yellowed and Herkuhlos moved from village to village and from chief to chief meeting doubt, rejection, anger as well as hope, agreement, and the joy of the coming battle.
Steadily, his warband grew day after day until there was hardly enough food to feed them and messengers ran back and forth between warbands, trying to bring them all to this place on this day, ready for battle.
Not all had come but they could wait no longer. Ghebol’s men were watching them, traitors had betrayed their plans, and to delay any longer would likely mean disaster. Already they walked on the edge of chaos and so today was the day when the fate of the land would be decided.
They were in position outside the Devourer’s settlement before dawn, hidden in the woodland that ringed the pastures and wheat fields around the tents and the great stone circle where Torkos dwelt.
The Furun had come from the east and the Seal People had sent their hunters from the north but Herkuhlos, crouching in the trees, had to trust that they would all be here for the attack. Though it was now late summer, the nights were still short and Herkuhlos worried that the others would not have made it through the darkness to their places in time. Yet there was nothing to be done about it now and so it was in the hands of the gods.
“Did you see them?” Herkuhlos asked Z’ta as he came back into the shadows beneath the trees. His face and bare skin were painted with soot mixed with fat so he was almost invisible but for his eyes and teeth flashing as he spoke.
“Lord, the enemy are there and I think they are ready for us.”
Herkuhlos frowned. He had sent Z’ta crawling through the grass of the pasture to take a closer look in the darkness, not close enough to disturb the dogs but close enough to establish that Ghebol’s warriors were still there. They had taken so long to bring all the clans and tribes together and neither the Furun nor the Seal People were used to sending their men away on long raids and they had to be told that each farmer and hunter had to bring food enough for many days for himself. Many chiefs had wanted to wait until after the harvest and after the great seal hunt before leaving their homes but it had already taken so long that Torkos and his warband knew this attack was coming. If they did not attack soon then Torkos would strike first or he would move his wagons and his warriors to a new place, perhaps one with better defences than a village ditch around a sacred stone circle.
“You saw that the warriors were waiting for us?” Herkuhlos asked, peering through the pre-dawn light toward the tents. He could see no men there.
“Their fires are out,” Z’ta said, “and I heard men talking quietly from many places within. They are awake and waiting for us, lord, I am sure.”
Beside Herkuhlos, Helek grunted. “These farmers are so slow and so loud they cannot fail to have heard us approach through the trees, even from over there.” Helek shrugged and rested his axe on one shoulder. “It matters not. We must raid now.”
“Have the men returned from the north, lord?” Z’ta asked. “Have the hunters come?”
Herkuhlos looked out through the gloom of the pre-dawn light, beyond the pastures here on the east to the clusters of pale wheat on the northern side of the village. Beyond the wheat fields was a dark line of trees and that was where the hunters were supposed to be waiting, ready to rush forth and shoot their arrows into the village while the farmers attacked from here.
“S’tesh came,” Herkuhlos said. “He said there were no more than a score of hunters in the trees.”
Even through his masked face, it was clear that Z’ta was horrified. “So few. A score? Lord, that cannot be.”
“The hunters claimed more men were coming and I have sent S’tesh back to the north to find stragglers and guide them in.”
Helek grunted in the darkness. “The Seal Men have webbed feet and are afraid when they cannot hear the sea or taste it in the air. They will not come. We must go on without them.”
“Lord, I am sure they will come,” Z’ta said, speaking quickly. “They swore to me they would come.”
Z’ta had spoken to many chiefs with Herkuhlos and it was Z’ta who had persuaded them that Nehalennia needed the strength of their hunters but there was something he did not know.
“The hunters told S’tesh that the Heryos had been seen in the north on a great raid and had even crossed the seas. They were afraid.”
“I have not heard this,” Z’ta said, appalled. “Heryos on the seas? Surely not, when was this raid?”
Herkuhlos shrugged. “Not long ago. There is little that can be done now. Helek is right, we must attack as the sun rises and hope that the oaths that were made are kept.” He took a deep breath and looked at the sky through the leaves overhead. It would not be long now.
“I can help,” Sif said, stepping forward.
Her face was painted with black and white vertical stripes and her bare arms and legs were likewise painted with the same pattern and even her buckskin tunic had been so daubed. It made her difficult to see in the darkness and even in daylight the dappled shade of the forest would help to hide her from view. That was for the best for Herkuhlos had commanded her to stay away from the fighting and to be ready to flee north if he should fall.
Herkuhlos and the rest of his warriors were also painted but to draw on the power of the spirits and not for concealment. Herkuhlos was painted with thick bands of red across his forehead and jaw and his arms were crossed with bands and circles that would give strength to his arms and bring terror to his enemies.
“You can help?” he asked Sif. “How?”
“I will go to my people and I will call to them and I will guide them in and send them to your aid.”
“You would be in danger.”
She laughed lightly, her teeth bright in her face. “I do not fear death.”
“No but I fear your death,” he replied and drew her close with one hand. “Z’ta. Go with your sister and keep her safe.”
“My people will fight for you, lord, I know they will,” Z’ta said.
“If the gods will it,” Herkuhlos said. “Go swiftly, dawn is almost here.”
Without another word the siblings darted away through the trees and were at once swallowed by the darkness and a few moments later not a sound of them could be heard.
“They’re quiet,” Helek muttered, “I’ll give them that.”
“They do not grow and they do not herd and they do not make war but they are great hunters,” Herkuhlos said. “They can shoot a bow as well as any Heryos, I have seen it with my own eyes.”
“I won’t argue it, lord, but they won’t come. Something has spooked them and like wild horses they’ll not return.
“Sif will bring them,” he said.
Helek said nothing.
It was growing lighter with every moment now and Herkuhlos stepped away from the edge of the trees and went deeper into the woods where his great warband waited, crouched and anxious and spread out behind the trunks. They were still coming in from villages far and wide and they would surely make the largest warband he had ever seen assembled but instead of warriors they were farmers and herders and he did not know if they would stand and fight against the battle hardened warriors of Ghebol and Torkos.
To give them the greatest chance possible, Herkuhlos had traded two copper axes with one of the chiefs for his famed oxen. A team that had pulled the ard for half a dozen villages for many years and so embodied the prosperity and fertility of the land.
Standing in the small clearing, Herkuhlos waved at the chief’s sons. “Bring them forward.”
The oxen had been given a draught of beer and poppy milk mixed with their corn mash and were docile, their heads drooping as they were brought forward. Still, their strength was shown by their muscles rippling beneath their short, milky yellow coats and the circles and wheeled crosses painted upon them. The priests of the Heryos and the Furun held the ropes that were tied t
o the ankles and horns of the oxen.
“Kolnos, lord of war, see my warband kneeling before you,” Herkuhlos said, his voice carrying through the shadows and those that understood him translated his words to their friends. “Kolnos of the strong spear, give your strength to the arms of my men and make their spears unbreakable.” Stroking the head of the right-hand beast he took his bronze knife and touched it to the ox’s throat. “Kolnos, master of the spear dancers, grant your skill in war to my men so that they may slay the enemies of the gods.” He fingered the ox’s throat and found the great vein that throbbed with the blood flowing beneath it. “Kolnos of the wolf spirit, make my men as fearless as wolves when the blood flows.” He thrust up with his knife and sliced open the great vein and the priests held the ox’s head up as it tried to pull away.
The other ox jerked away as it smelled the blood but Herkuhlos stepped swiftly to it and cut its throat also, the hot blood gushing forth into the undergrowth and onto the earth at their feet.
There was a soft groan from those within sight of the sacrifice, for it was powerful indeed and they understood that the god would look with favour on those who had given so much in his name.
“My armour,” Herkuhlos said, holding out his arms and his men came forward to help him. He had a tunic sewn with plates of thick, stiff hide that covered him front and back. On his head he pulled a leather cap studded with plates of boar’s tusks. Atop that he pulled on a wolf skin that hung halfway down his back.
It was not his bronze skin or his lion pelt but he hoped it would be enough to see him through to Torkos.