The Hadassah Covenant

by Robert Holdstock

  * * *

  Soon after this, Pohjolan Argo entered waters that would have been familiar to the hidden Spirit of the Ship, memories of old, from Jason’s second expedition, when his sons had still been infants. On that voyage Argo had hugged the cliffs of Urtha’s ancestor’s land (Jason not daring to enter what all Greeklanders believed to be the realm of the dead) before crossing this same sea to the estuary of the river dedicated to Reinu, mischievous, dangerous, seductive Reinu, who waited in different guises at each bend in the stream, below each rock overhang, at each tributary, ready to snare the unwary.

  Broad waters and wooded banks gave way to towering cliffs, and foaming rapids that tested Argo prow and stern, keeping Rubobostes, on the tiller, taut and tired as he guided the ship between the leering, looming stones. On the shoreline, the grey, the great and the grim watched us from their thatched sanctuaries, but as in Alba, this land was deserted. Nothing but mist, wraith and the haunting, singing voice of Reinu herself gave evidence of life.

  Urtha’s mood darkened the further east we sailed; each burned-out village, each silent jetty, added to his desolation, enhanced his anger. The man who had been such rowdy, cheering company on the first part of our voyage now rowed or sat in silence, often in his battle kilt, stripped to the waist, face and chest smeared in spirals of the blue dye that marked him as a man approaching combat. Sometimes, when the oars were shipped, I saw blood on the wood where his hands had gripped more tightly than was needed to haul against the flow of the river.

  Ullanna, I noticed, kept a cool and careful eye on him, and insisted he accompany her to the shore when she hunted. Invariably, though he might leave grim-faced, he returned laughing, even bragging at his prowess in the chase, a touch of the wilful exaggeration that must have played its part in elevating him, during his combative youth, to the noble rank he now held.

  It was to Ullanna that he talked about Aylamunda, though I eavesdropped at every opportunity. I think he knew I was listening. No doubt he assumed I wouldn’t want to hear it all again because to me he talked of his sons.

  No mention of the ‘twin demons’ now; no mention of his sons ‘tearing the land apart’. Behind the invective had been admiration, and a certainty that his boys, when men, would have overseen the land with fairness and ferocity in equal measure, with an eye to beauty and a mind to necessity. And what more could a father ask, he asked me, though he needed no answer.

  Urtha could have been describing himself at that moment: in his heart, the beauty that had been his family, and all his hopes for the future. In his mind’s eye, the grim necessity to avenge the death of so many dreams, and of two people in particular. It would be a short, fierce hunt: for Cunomaglos and the others of his uthiin, even now greedily waiting for the spoils of Brennos’s quest.

  And he was envious of Jason.

  ‘He has come back from the dead with a chance to find a son who’s still alive. Lucky man. I must die before I see my son again.’

  ‘But there will be a new lifetime, after this. In Ghostland. Urien will be waiting for you. And Aylamunda will be there.’

  ‘Yes. But perhaps on different islands.’

  He was too gloomy, and the ghostlands of the Celts too complex, for this conversation to have continued with any confidence.

  * * *

  The Germanii, Erdzwulf and Gebrinagoth, recognised the river now. They scanned the water ahead of Argo, shouting instructions to Rubobostes and the rowers. They knew where there were safe havens, and where it would be wise to put up our shields. But the call from Brennos to join his Great Quest had largely stripped this waterway of danger, and we berthed on mud banks, hunted inland from gravel shores, and risked very little except the tusks, teeth and claws of the creatures who freshened Michovar’s copper cauldron.

  With Erdzwulf and Rubobostes, Jason prepared a map of our journey, using charcoal and sheepskin. He called me to the bench where he was marking our route.

  ‘I know you travel a circular path. I also know you often veer from it. Have you veered down this river before?’

  I told him that I hadn’t. He gave me a long, hard, disbelieving stare, then shrugged. ‘Nevertheless, you may recognise a part of the land, and you can correct us if we get it wrong. Now…’

  And he proceeded to mark our journey, starting by drawing the island of Alba in the west and the ocean he called the Hidden Sea in the east. The Hidden Sea was circular. Colchis, where we had stolen the fleece and Medea had entered Jason’s life, lay on its farthest shore.

  ‘From Alba to the Hidden Sea … a lifetime’s walking: a hundred mountains, a thousand forests, marshes that could swallow the moon herself. But two rivers cross that land. Is that correct, Rubobostes?’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied the Dacian thoughtfully, ‘though I have only ever heard of this Rein, never seen it.’

  Jason drew the two rivers, the Rein flowing west towards Alba, the Daan flowing east towards the Hidden Sea, but each river rising in marshes and forests in the heart of the land.

  ‘And passing close together only seven days’ walk apart.’ He stabbed a finger on the crude map. ‘That is the task for us. To carry Argo across that bridge of marsh and forest, between the waters dedicated to angry Reinu and fragrant Daanu, and then we’ll be there. Sniffing at this Brennos’s heels! We carried her before when we were beached on the Libyan desert, do you remember, Merlin? A giant wave,’ he explained to the others. ‘It struck us and carried us two days inland, leaving us high and dry and at the mercy of the sun. We nearly died. But the desert gave up its own dead, long enough for them to visit our dreams, to mock us into living again. We found the courage to drag Argo back to salt water and continue our journey home.’

  I remembered the incident well, though the huge wave that had swept us inland had not displaced us by two days, more like half a day; and no desert dead had visited me in my dreams. I said, ‘Argo was smaller then and you had more men on board. We had more shoulders to help the dragging.’

  ‘We’ll do a count of shoulders later,’ Jason said with irritation. ‘Now: for the details…’

  And between them, they sketched what they remembered of the curves and rapids in each of the waterways, and I watched and became confused, because Time changes even hills, and I realised that much that I had once known had gone, though it lived in my memory.

  ‘Cheer up, Merlin,’ he said to me suddenly, with a wide grin, interrupting my dream. ‘Can you see any flaw in the plan? Have we missed anything, do you think? You can see what I propose for our ship.’

  To row as far up Reinu’s river as possible, then carry Argo overland for seven days, maybe more, to where the waters of Daanu began to deepen and could take the draft of our vessel. Then to row with the current, south and east in the direction of the Hidden Sea, until we came to the forest where Brennos was gathering his warrior horde, ready for invasion.

  ‘You’ll need wooden rollers,’ was my feeble contribution. ‘To drag the ship.’

  ‘Rollers…’ Jason scratched his beard. ‘Well, yes. We’ll have to get them from trees, I suppose. The round trunks should be useful. Are there any trees in the forests between the headwaters of our two rivers, Rubobostes?’

  ‘I’m told there are,’ the Dacian answered, ‘though of course, this could just be rumour.’

  And they all laughed.

  Jason furled up the skin, half watching my forlorn features. ‘Don’t look so concerned, Merlin. I’ll have you back on the Path before long. This isn’t the first time you’ve ventured away from it, after all.’

  As ever, with Jason, I revealed too much of myself, putting into words a thought that had been lingering with me since Ghostland.

  ‘Something tells me my time on the Path is coming to an end.’

  ‘Something, eh?’ Jason and Rubobostes exchanged an amused glance. ‘Well, there’s certainly no arguing with that.’

  They’d probably been drinking. There was no other reason I could think of at that moment for this levity.
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br />   * * *

  But he came to find me later, where I crouched in the hold, as close to the entrance to the Spirit of the Ship as I dared without invitation. The moon was full and high and Argo glowed silver as she rolled on the current. Cathabach was singing quietly as he held the steering oar, waiting for dawn, for up-anchor, for the deepening journey.

  ‘How is she?’ Jason asked as he hunkered down beside me. He proffered a flask of wine and a sweet biscuit, which I declined.

  ‘Who? Mielikki?’

  ‘I’d expected her to be more troublesome.’

  ‘She doesn’t own the ship,’ I reminded him. ‘And she’s aware that there is something else aboard, something she doesn’t like.’

  ‘Probably me,’ Jason muttered. He was in grim mood; but in a way that was not like Jason. I was curious. We stared at the darkness in the hull, smelling frost and summer mixed and fluid, the seepage from that other world.

  ‘I’d have thought you could come and go as you please,’ he said provocatively.

  ‘I guard my life, and bide my time,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Ah, yes. Staying young. Not too many favours.’

  ‘Not too many favours,’ I agreed.

  ‘Hera limited her favours to me,’ he rambled on, ‘when we went for the fleece, for Medea, when we fled and killed that poor boy. Remember? When we travelled the world. Limited her favours.’ His brow deepened as what he remembered caused him pain. ‘But you know, she always made it clear what she would do, and she didn’t trick us. This Pohjolan witch…’

  ‘Sssh! Witches can hear, and witches do damage. Mielikki so far has been a good guide, and a good help.’

  ‘For you, perhaps,’ Jason said sharply.

  He was certainly drunk, though our supplies of wine were very low. He was brooding; and yet also concerned. And there was a strange gleam in his eyes.

  His references to Hera were accurate (but then they should have been, since for him they were only twenty years in his past!).

  Hera, travelling in the Spirit of the Ship, had advised and directed our first journey, and had told Jason no lies. She had helped us through the clashing rocks, guided us to the harpy-tormented blind man, Phineus, put words of love in Medea’s ears to help her betray her father and her people. But when Jason and Medea had dismembered Medea’s brother, throwing the pieces of his body over the stern to delay her avenging, pursuing father, Hera had withdrawn from the vessel. That had been an act of violence too much for the goddess whom Jason had persuaded aboard. Argo was ice-hearted at that moment, without a guardian, but she was a ship of memory, and older memories, older guardians, had come back to her. Argo loved her captain, no matter who that captain was, no matter what deeds were done from the shelter of her womb.

  And no deed had been so badly done as that killing and cutting and savaging of the youth, his sister contriving the plan to keep her father at a distance since he would have to bury every piece of his son he found, while Jason and she fornicated and frolicked their way to freedom, along the winding flow of the Daan, the river we were soon to join again.

  Jason threw the remnants of his wine into the darkness. As he stood, Ruvio struggled in his harness, disturbed by the angry mood close by. Above us, clouds rocked against the moon.

  ‘There’s a libation for you, dear Lady,’ Jason said. ‘Here’s another.’

  He opened his britches and pissed against the bulkhead.

  He had stepped into the place where even I dared not go except by invitation. He crouched there, below the struts and knotted ropes, and banged his fist against the double hull, but not in anger, more as if summoning.

  Lemanku had been blinded because he had breached this threshold, in his enthusiasm to build a new and better ship. Jason, drunk, had entered Argo’s heart with impunity, but Argo remained silent. Had a new threshold been crossed, then? Just as I began to need the ship in a way I had never anticipated, was Jason now signalling his desertion? His words seemed to suggest so:

  ‘So many old ships are buried here,’ he whispered as he stroked the wood. ‘So much time creaks and complains in these old and new timbers. So many forgotten worlds, but worlds still here! Though perhaps not forgotten by you, Merlin,’ he added, glancing at me quickly. ‘But worlds still here, if only in the shadows. Each ship was built with timber, skill, adventure and purpose—and was guarded by a spirit from its age. And they’re all there still, those spirits, that’s my belief. They’re all alive there, behind this birch and oak, and the right words can bring them back. Your new witch doesn’t scare me, Merlin.’

  My new witch? Did Jason think I was responsible for Mielikki’s presence? I’d done nothing more than attend at the forest rite, when the birch was cut.

  ‘My old witch helped me when I needed her,’ he was rambling bitterly. ‘Hera! She’ll help me again if I call loud enough. This ice-hearted crone has done nothing yet. She’s given me no sign at all of what lies ahead!’ He stared up at the leaning figurehead and Forest Lady stared back, grey and hard-eyed in the moonlight, slash-mouthed and lank-haired, watching Argo’s captain with almost challenging indifference.

  I wondered if I should tell him that I believed Hera and her ghostly predecessors had abandoned the ship, so much time having passed as Argo, lay frozen on the bed of the lake. Argo had felt dead on rising through the ice. But I couldn’t be sure. And I was afraid it would cost me too much of my life to make the journey and find out.

  ‘Have you asked her for help?’

  ‘Twice. When we were moored by Urtha’s fortress.’

  So that’s what he had been doing!

  ‘What did you ask her for?’

  He seemed surprised by the question. ‘A sight of my son, of course. Or a direction to someone who might help to find him. Anything! Hope! What else? A dream to hold, to concentrate my mind while we sail.’

  ‘But you know where he is. He’s with Brennos, among the army gathering on the shores of the Daan, waiting for whatever madness Brennos has in mind.’

  The empty wine pouch was slapped against my face, a reprimand. ‘I had two sons, Merlin. Do you imagine that I’ve forgotten Kinos? My little Kinos? If Thesokorus is still alive, why not him? But you’re right.’

  I’d said nothing to be right about, merely watched him.

  ‘You’re right. One son at a time. Thesokorus should be in my mind first because at least he’s in my grasp.’ He rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘You can have the ship, Merlin. Take over as captain. You have the eyes of a hawk, the ears of an owl, you’re older than mountains, but I know you’re human because I’ve seen the way you look at that girl, half in lust, half in fear. Only men are confused by those two feelings. You can have your little confidences with the Frost Bitch, old Lady Gnarled Wood. Fuck her in her knot-holes, for all I care. I’m sure you’ll find she has more than one. But I’m sorry I pissed on her.’ He turned unsteadily away. ‘I’m sorry I pissed on you!’ he shouted to the figurehead, again disturbing Ruvio and several of the slumbering argonauts. ‘It won’t happen again!’

  He slumped down beside me, eyed me carefully, then shook his head.

  ‘I need to ask. I have to know,’ he whispered. ‘Not knowing claws at me.’

  I knew what was coming. This was the real reason for his drunken fury. He had put off asking for too long. Now he needed to know about Medea.

  He said, ‘She taunts me in my dreams, running from me, a bloody head in each hand. The image haunts me, Merlin. She turns, laughs, and tosses the trophies to me, and I catch them. Cold, bloody balls of flesh and bone, young faces grimacing at me. A terrible dream—’

  ‘But just a dream. We can break that dream.’

  He turned to me, tearful and anguished, the drink taking its hold on him. ‘What happened to her? Did she have a long life?’

  I could only tell him what I’d heard, though the news wouldn’t please him. ‘She lived to a great age. After her father died, she returned to Colchis, safe again, and set up her sanctuary. Her tomb lies in
the Valley of the Crow, north of Colchis. Though it has been desecrated several times.’

  ‘That was me,’ Jason muttered with a hard, bitter smile. ‘Reaching from the lake! Or if it wasn’t, it should have been.’

  Then he looked into his empty leather flask. ‘Well. That’s that. Now I know. And it doesn’t help. Perhaps we should find some better wine … less sour!’

  * * *

  We rowed on, the days marked as different only by the changing colour of the forests and the rise and fall of the crags and cliffs that towered so silently above us as the river narrowed. We saw fires burning, one day at dusk, and Argo slowed while Jason and Gebrinagoth studied the low island in the water, a long spit of land, heavily wooded, its shores partially stockaded. A line of youths waited there, watching us, some of them armed.

  When Gebrinagoth called out, asking if we might put ashore, children of several ages appeared suddenly and curiously, peering round the cloaks and trousers of their elder companions.

  ‘No!’ came the answering call. Older men appeared now. One of them called to us, ‘If you’re looking for the other ships, they passed by more than a month ago.’

  ‘I counted more than forty,’ came a second voice. ‘Drumming hard. In a hurry.’

  Suddenly Gebrinagoth realised the nature of this island in the river.

  ‘It’s the Place without Mercy,’ he said. ‘Among the families who rule along the north of the river, when a father suspects the legitimacy of his newly born son, he casts him into the water. Legitimately born children swim ashore, saved by Reinag, Reinu’s dreamy, kindly husband. Illegitimate ones are swept away to the sea and drown. A few, I’ve heard, find the strength to swim against the flow, to this haven. Reinu doesn’t allow them to leave the island, but she keeps them alive. These are those survivors.’

  * * *

  Not long after, we found the forty ships. Most had been drawn up on to the shore, roped down and covered; a few had been scuttled and lay drowned in shallow water. One had been burned. Its charred hulk was set apart from the rest, inside a shallow trench. The blackened corpses of several animals lay within it.