The bear king, p.22
The Bear King, page 22
part #3 of Dark Age Series
‘Hunting. There’ll be little to fill our bellies once we’re in there.’
‘That might be the least of our worries.’ Mato closed his eyes and raised his face to the sun, his morning ritual. He whispered a brief prayer to his long-lost sister. When the last of the words faded, he felt his neck prickle and he looked down. Catia was staring at him, biting her lip.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘Lucanus told me that the deal with the Attacotti was not done.’
Mato nodded, growing serious. ‘I feel your pain. We all do.’
‘You’ve found no way out?’
‘The Attacotti watch him every day. There’s no hope of escape. You know the Eaters of the Dead. If Lucanus should try to flee, they’ll track him down sooner or later, and the punishment for the rest of you will be great indeed.’
When Catia looked up, her eyes were blazing. ‘I wish it was me who’d taken the wood-priest’s life.’ He felt his blood chill at the hardness in her voice. ‘So much misery has been inflicted, all because of this scheme the druids concocted so long ago. Folk’s lives mattered nothing to him – to any of them. Only the Great Plan. Sometimes I think an age of darkness stretching out to the end of time would be preferable.’
Soon after, the others returned with a bird they’d trapped. It wasn’t much, but it would serve them until they reached their destination. Mato watched Catia greet them, all smiles, showing no sign of whatever she was feeling. The Lord of the Greenwood was nowhere to be seen.
Comitinus plucked the bird and cut out the liver to save for later on their journey, and then he cooked the carcass over the fire. Mato was pleased to relieve the rumbling in his belly, but all of them were distracted by those five paths and the choice they would soon have to make.
After he’d wiped the grease from his mouth, Solinus stepped in front of the centre path. ‘We could each choose a path and the one who survives could return to collect Catia and Aelius before continuing on the way.’
‘You’d sacrifice four of us … perhaps even yourself?’ Comitinus said, incredulous.
‘I’m just saying it so you think I’m a better man than I am. I’m not setting a foot on any of those paths until we’re certain which is the right one.’
‘I can tell you which path is true.’
Mato looked round. The Lord of the Greenwood stood on the edge of the camp, looking out across the blighted land.
‘How do you know?’ Solinus blurted. ‘Or did Cernunnos give you some magic along with that helm?’
Mato glimpsed movement at Aelius’ side. His good hand was clamped around the neck of a wriggling rat.
‘I need you to light a fire,’ the green warrior said with a wry tone, ‘for as you can see, I am preoccupied with my new friend.’
Under the Lord of the Greenwood’s direction, and with much cursing and questioning, they dragged branches and kindling and dry grass in an arc from the head of the first path to the head of the last. Once they were inside that crescent, Bellicus struck his flint and flames raced around the line they’d built.
Mato eyed his friends. Solinus stood with his hands on his hips, his nose turned up in scorn. Comitinus gaped, baffled. But the others watched intently as Aelius crouched and dropped the rat to the turf by the first path.
The rodent scurried past the entrance to the first path, keeping well away from the fire, and the second, and the third. At the head of the fourth trail, it spun and darted along it, past the black pools until it was lost in the distance.
‘If there’s one thing you can count on with rats,’ the Lord of the Greenwood said, ‘it’s that they always know how to save themselves.’
‘I always thought it was that one,’ Solinus said.
‘So we’re putting our faith in a rat now?’ Bellicus grunted. ‘Of all the jolt-headed things we’ve done in our time, this must be the most witless.’
Catia was smiling at her brother with pride. All of them had cunning and fire and strength, but Aelius had always had wisdom, from all those books he used to pass his time with in Vercovicium. Catia hugged him, quickly, so as not to embarrass him, and then turned to the others.
‘Now. Who goes first?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Fisher King
LUCANUS STEPPED ON TO THE PATH FIRST. IT WAS HIS RESPONSIBILITY and he was not afraid of death, not after he had lived so closely with it. If it claimed him first, it might at least give the others time to flee back.
On he walked.
After a while, the Wolf glanced back along the line trailing after him under the baking sun. Catia smiled at him, a little sadly, he thought. Comitinus had his head down, muttering a prayer, and Solinus was looking round with a grim expression. Bellicus was unreadable as always. But Mato and Aelius were laughing together at the rear, as if they were ambling out on a summer’s day.
Sweat trickled down his back. He’d pulled the snout of his wolf-pelt down low to shade his eyes against the brilliant light, and tied a rag across his mouth against the stomach-churning sulphurous reek. The vile odour was only growing stronger the further they trekked into the blighted land.
The wasteland was a flat pan in the middle of the vast forest which covered the high moor. Black pools gleamed like dark mirrors under the sun on every side. Bubbles burst on the surfaces, releasing a noxious gas. He couldn’t see any living creature. The only movement was the swaying of the sickly silver birch that jabbed up from the few patches of dry land alongside the path like the finger bones of a man who had died pleading for mercy.
The trail meandered, and the trees hid the view of whatever lay ahead. Lucanus imagined a vast fortress, swarming with warriors, bigger even than Tintagel. If that were true, they would deal with it when they got there. For now, all of them were preoccupied with not slipping off the narrow path into that vile stew.
Somewhere, not too far away, lay the ocean. Every now and then Lucanus breathed a blast of fresh, salty air. The relief was scant. How anyone could think of living out their days in that sickening place was beyond him.
‘The cauldron has been here for an age, or so we were told on our journey,’ Catia said. ‘It always has a guardian. And when one of them dies, another is chosen.’
‘And how many have died trying to find their way to it?’ Lucanus asked. ‘The promise of magical powers contained in an earthly object, something that lifts men up out of the mud of their existence … that calls to all.’
‘You don’t believe the wood-priest’s tale?’
The Wolf tapped the hilt of Caledfwlch. ‘This sword—’
‘And yet you have never been defeated.’
He glanced up. His wife was smiling at him.
‘This is true.’ His hand came to a rest on the hilt. ‘I wouldn’t tempt the Fates. How much else did you learn about this place … the Fisher King … on your travels?’
‘The stories were confused. Some said one thing, some another. The Fisher King comes from the Otherworld and is the gods’ agent upon this world. He is a man who has sacrificed his own existence to guard an object of power. Only one person can survive the trials to reach it, and then only if they have the purest heart …’ She hesitated. ‘In truth, they all said that.’
He stared ahead, letting the silence settle on him for a while.
‘I miss Weylyn,’ Catia said, almost as if the quiet was too much for her. ‘And I fear for him.’
‘Amarina will protect our child.’
‘You trust her? She always follows her own path, one that benefits her, or allows for her survival.’
‘She seems much changed to me.’
This time it was Catia who fell silent.
‘Look! Ahead!’ Comitinus had broken off from his prayers and was thrusting a pointing finger past Catia.
Through the wall of white, near-leafless trees, Lucanus could just make out a wall of wooden stakes and beyond it the roof of a long hall covered in dead, yellowing turf.
‘No fortress, then,’ he muttered.
His band fell silent. There was something sour about the place, Lucanus thought, almost as if a suffocating cloud of misery hung over it.
I’m frightening myself like some child by the hearth in winter, listening to the ghosts in the eaves.
As they stood there where no birds sang, that low mournful howl rose up once more, as chilling as when Lucanus had heard it the previous night. It was coming from the hall.
‘What is that?’ Solinus breathed.
‘I’ll go no further.’ The Lord of the Greenwood had come to a decision.
‘Afraid?’ Solinus taunted him.
Aelius shook his head. ‘I’ve no part to play in what lies ahead. This is your test, and make no mistake, a test it is. This treasure can’t be easily gained. It must be earned. That was always the wood-priests’ intention when they secured it here. To hold it in your hands … that’s proof enough that you are worthy.’ He shifted the helmet slightly, and Lucanus caught a glint from the eyes deep in its shade. They seemed moist. ‘I’ll see you again, sister,’ he said, ‘on this side of the Summerlands or the other.’ And then he turned on his heel and walked away along the trail. He didn’t look back.
Catia bowed her head, but only for a moment. She looked up at their destination, her face hardening.
The trail cut through a copse, and when it emerged on the other side it ran straight to a gate in the timber wall. The hall sat on a small, flat island. Nothing moved. More stakes lined the path, and Lucanus looked up at the human remains hanging from them. Some were little more than yellowing bones: a skull, a spine, a ribcage with the stake thrust through it. Others were still rotting.
‘The poor souls who never made it to the great prize.’ Mato’s voice floated up from the rear. ‘And a warning to those who do. Death still waits ahead. The quest is not done until the cauldron is in your hands.’
Lucanus drew Caledfwlch. Other blades sang behind him. He dropped his head as he marched past those symbols of mortality, partly out of respect, but also because they pulled up visions of the Attacotti’s charnel house.
At the gate, he paused in the shadow of the soaring wall, and then hammered on the wood with the hilt of his blade. After a moment, he heard movement on the other side. The wolf-band stepped back, levelling their blades.
The gate rumbled open.
Through the widening gap, Lucanus glimpsed a dusty yard, dotted here and there with tufts of weed. Figures appeared, standing so still that for a moment he thought they were statues. When the gate was fully open, he counted about twenty, all warriors by the look of them. They wore leather armour and grey woollen leggings, but they had no helms on their heads and all their blades were sheathed.
One of them stepped forward. He was older than the others, with streaks of silver in his hair. He stared a little too long, Lucanus thought, and his eyes seemed glassy.
‘Welcome, travellers. Your quest has been true. You have shown your courage and your worthiness by overcoming the trials that have been laid before you. No others have reached this place in my memory, or my father’s, or my father’s father’s. You may sheathe your weapons. You are now guests of the Fisher King.’
‘I’ll keep mine out, if you don’t mind,’ Solinus said.
Lucanus gripped Caledfwlch tighter too as he stepped across the threshold. The Grim Wolves and Catia stepped in closer, all eyes searching the guards.
‘How do they live here surrounded by the reek and death?’ Comitinus whispered.
‘They’ve got the look of zealots about them,’ Solinus murmured. ‘Those pig-fuckers can put up with anything.’
Behind them, the gate rattled shut. A shadow fell across them. The bar thoomed into place.
‘Let’s get our hands on this cauldron and get away from here,’ Bellicus said.
The Wolf stepped out of the knot and said to the one who seemed to be the captain of the guard, ‘Take us to the Fisher King.’
The man nodded and walked away. After a moment, Lucanus stepped after him and the others followed, eyes darting from side to side. The rest of the guard remained as if made of stone, only their gaze following the new arrivals.
The long hall stood in the centre of the compound with what appeared to be barracks beside it. Other, smaller buildings – a place to prepare meals, no doubt, and stores – were dotted here and there.
The leader of the guards led them into the hall. Inside, it was dark and dusty. Lucanus breathed in the suffocating heat from the sun beating on the roof. A feasting table ran along the centre and a large hearth at one end was filled with a mound of cold ash. Behind a wooden throne, a partition wall sealed off a third of the hall, where, Lucanus thought, the king’s living quarters must lie.
The Wolf flinched as that awful lowing rose from somewhere behind the wall. The grim sound rolled up into the rafters.
‘Is that a man?’ Comitinus whispered.
The guard strode through a door in the partition and they heard two voices, the words and the tone unclear. After a moment the guard emerged, saying, ‘The king is coming,’ and then he marched out.
‘This is not the kind of place where I would have expected a treasure of the gods to be hidden away,’ Comitinus said.
‘It’s a place out of time.’ Catia’s voice echoed. She looked up into the gloom among the roof beams. ‘Cut off from the world for an age.’
A shuffling whispered from behind the partition, drawing closer. A moment later a figure stepped out from the dark of the door. The king reeled from side to side as if on the deck of a ship, and eventually stumbled into the half-light.
At first, Lucanus thought he was watching an enormous spider creeping from the dark. There were too many legs. But as the shadows fell away, two of the legs became sticks on which the monarch supported himself. His spine was twisted, and his own withered legs appeared too weak to support his weight.
Comitinus sighed. Just a man after all.
Lucanus looked the king up and down. His skin was almost grey, his greasy silver hair wispy from a bald pate. Cheeks and eyes were hollow and his features were twisted in a permanent scowl, as if he was in constant pain.
The king lurched to a halt in front of them and slowly looked round at their faces. ‘I expected more, somehow.’
‘So did we,’ Solinus muttered from the back.
‘My name is Lucanus, the Wolf. I am the Pendragon.’
The Fisher King almost reeled backwards at that. ‘The Pendragon, you say? The Pendragon? Where is the crown? Show it to me!’
‘The crown is lost. But if you ever leave this hall, you only have to ask any folk you meet,’ Lucanus said. ‘Britannia was invaded by a conspiracy of barbarians and I was called. Do you not know?’
‘I never leave my home.’
‘Lucanus was crowned by a wood-priest and led the battle against the invaders,’ Bellicus said. ‘He is now the King in the West.’
The Fisher King gaped. His stare crept to the space where Lucanus’ arm should have been. ‘And you bear the wound.’
‘He’s lost his wits, living here,’ Solinus murmured. ‘It’s that vile stink, I tell you. Drive any man mad breathing that in all day.’
‘The wound!’ the king pressed. ‘Whom the gods choose to be their servant upon this world, they wound. It is the price paid for glory.’ He glanced down. ‘My legs, you see, my legs … and my back—’ He choked down his words.
Mato swung out both hands. ‘Yes, Lucanus has the wound. He has been chosen by the gods. You mustn’t anger them. Give up the cauldron of the Dagda now and we can be on our way.’
‘But you are the first to find your way to my home,’ he said in his creaking voice. ‘This fortress … Corbenic, the fortress of the blessed cauldron. There must be celebration to mark your success. To mark your worthiness!’
‘No—’
‘I insist. Besides, dark will soon be falling and you do not want to be on the path through the blighted land at night. You will not survive to reach the other side. You must trust me on this.’
Lucanus turned over his answer. More than anything he wanted to be away from that place, to return to Tintagel, and Weylyn, and prepare for the battle to come. But they’d barely eaten in days and it would be good to fill their bellies for the long journey back. He nodded.
‘Bollocks,’ Solinus said, a little too loud.
‘Good, good,’ the Fisher King said. ‘Come with me. My men will find you beds in the barracks. You may rest while the feast is prepared.’
Now he was moving as fast on those sticks as if they were a part of him, Lucanus noted.
‘My name is Pellam,’ he said, without glancing back.
Outside, in the choking heat, he scurried towards the captain of the guard. The other men still stood around like statues.
‘The warriors of the cauldron are chosen from the local folk. It is a great honour to serve here,’ the king said. He whispered to the captain for a moment and then indicated that Lucanus and the others should follow the man.
‘You have shown your true worthiness and I bow before you,’ he said. ‘Soon, all that you desire will be yours.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Wound
NO BIRDS SANG AT SUNSET. THE BLIGHTED LAND DUSTED PINK, then red, among the oily pools. Finally it was as if a bolt of black silk was unfurled across all, and afterwards there was only the choking silence, punctuated by the intermittent moan of the wind.
Lucanus was leaning against the frame of the open gate, looking out into the wilderness, when the Keeper of the Flame raised his brand to light the torches around the inner walls. As their glow washed across the dismal courtyard, the Wolf turned to see Bellicus coming out of the barracks. Though he’d slept long and deep, his face was still drawn with exhaustion. The others had dozed fitfully, muttering and calling out from the depths. He’d closed his own eyes, but sleep hadn’t come for him, as it rarely did these days.
‘The sooner we’re away from here the better,’ Bellicus said when he came over. ‘We were promised wonders, but it’s a haunted place in a haunted land.’
