Edging his toes closer to the lip of the cliff, Usher peered down at the rock far
below where Cal sat shivering in the lengthening shadows. If he didn't do it now,
then it wasn't going to happen… he knew that. Biting back common sense and
silently cursing himself, Usher stepped back and then committed himself to the
jump that all summer he had felt destined to make.
'Cal, Cal. Watch me … Cal!'
Running two steps forward he took a mighty leap, to gain some distance
from the jagged belly of the cliff, and flew, rejoicing in the sudden rush of air as
he tumbled, arms and legs waving wildly as he narrowly missed the rocky
outcrop of the cliffs that they called The Tooth. 'Caaaaaaaaaaaaaalll!'
As the dark water of the lake rushed towards him, he stole a moment of
satisfaction from the shocked look on Cal's upturned face. He just caught his cry
of 'Usher…You crazy fool! Ush…' before he hit the cold water with an explosion
that drove the air from his lungs and plunged him into a world of confusion.
The lake claimed him. A roaring sound filled his ears, and he struggled to
control the panic that threatened to smother him. He gagged, and just managed
to resist the impulse to draw a breath of ice-cold water into his aching lungs. The
lake filled his senses, fizzing and swirling, smothering him as he kicked out,
desperately seeking a direction for the surface with its promise of salvation and
sweet warm air. At last, where he least expected it, sunlight revealed itself,
dancing in patterns on the surface, and he kicked towards it, frantic in his need to
breathe.
Slowly, very slowly, he closed in on the shimmering light, fighting the lake's
reluctance to release him from its cold embrace. After an age of effort, he broke
the surface, drew a great, gasping breath, and coughed. Then pain exploded in
his hand as it struck a rock. Ignoring it, he stretched out struggling to claw
himself onto the rock until there was one glorious moment where he relaxed and
slowly brought his breathing under control.
'Usher? Usher?' Cal's cry brought him back to reality.
Looking up for the first time, he drew breath to call out in response, but then
saw that he had surfaced some distance from where he had entered, and that Cal
was standing with his back to him on the opposite side of the rock. Cal was
frantically peering below into the depths of the lake, still searching for some sign
of him. Very slowly, Usher climbed out and, taking care where he placed his
feet, crept across the treacherous surface.
'Usher?' Cal was shivering, standing with his bare feet searching for grip as
he edged closer to the water. 'Usher?…Hell's teeth Usher!…We never jump from
the point, you crazy goat. Usher! Ush…'
Moving forward, Usher shoved him, silencing his friend's cries and sending
him flying into the icy water, arms flapping for a hold on empty air.
He sat shivering and hugged his knees, and then grinned as moments later,
Cal fought to the surface coughing and spluttering.
'Usher, you…!' screamed Cal, clearly annoyed as he splashed water up at his
tormentor.
'Come on, Cal, stop playing about. You'll catch your death of cold in this
water. Isn't that what your mum always says?' Usher drew his lips together and
in a high-pitched voice, mimicked Cal's overbearing mother. 'Calvador, you
wrap up warm and look after your sister. No swimming, climbing, hunting or
having fun of any sort, do you hear me, young man!' A stick came flying towards
him and as he sidestepped to avoid it, he slipped then stumbled, scraping his
back on the rock and sliding into the water once again. His face creased and his
back arched in a spasm of pain and then the water abruptly cut off his cry as he
slid below the still surface. Cal struck out, swimming around the rock in an
effort to get to his friend as he came spluttering back to the surface. They helped
each other up onto the rock, and it was all Usher could do to mumble his thanks
with his face still reflecting the needles of pain in his back.
'I think it's about time we got back,' said Cal, as he clambered up and
gathered their things. He sorted through until he found Usher's tunic and threw it
over as Usher flopped down. 'Are you all right?' Usher nodded.
During the long hot days of summer, the lake was a favourite location for
everyone at the village. The women washed clothes in it, most people chose to
bathe there at least once a month, and many would use the shallows close to the
wood to cool off or play once their work was done. The cliffs however, were a
special place for the boys of the village. It was a tradition to challenge each other
to climb ever higher before leaping down into the lake's icy waters far below.
This late in the year, there were few other swimmers, especially as the chill air
came in towards the end of the day. It was to be Usher and Cal's last swim of the
summer and so Usher had made the one jump that no other boy from the village
had made.
They were shivering as they hurried to pull on leggings and coarse linen
tunics, exaggerating the chattering of their teeth and laughing at each other's
efforts to dress. Usher fought with the unyielding material, trying to drag it down
over his growing body. At fourteen years, he was growing fast, faster than his
mother could stitch new clothes, and with a sound that made them both stop
what they were doing, the linen ripped at the neckline.
'Oh, wick!' moaned Usher. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulled the
obstinate tunic into place before investigating the damage.
'It's only come away at the stitching,' observed Cal. 'Maybe Nineve will be
able to fix it before your mother sees it.'
Usher shook his head. 'Nineve might try, but she only has eight summers. I
doubt she can stitch any good yet, can she?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'Come
on, let's get going, we're losing light.'
If it got too dark, the path would be treacherous. Both boys had finished the
climb after sunset on several previous occasions, and been forced to make the
last few spans in darkness, praying that they might find the next handhold and
not become stuck clinging to the cliff until daybreak.
When they finally made it to the top, the sun was touching the horizon with
the last of its light shimmering across the lake in a blinding show of colour. They
sat and rested, watching entranced as the sun melted slowly below the far tree
line, turning the sky blood red and painting the edge of a solitary cloud with a
deep pink blush. Gazing upwards, they could see every shade of orange and
yellow until it faded directly above them to a green and then blue, it was a
worthy display for the last day of summer. The first few stars were already
sparkling and a crescent moon sat high in the east. Far below, a commotion drew
their attention towards the centre of the lake. A raft of ducks splashing across the
smooth orange surface of the water came towards them, gaining speed in an
effort to become airborne. The sudden movement jolted the boys into action, and
had them untying slings from their waists before scrabbling around to find good
rounded stones.
Cal was the first to stand ready. Whirling the sling around his head, he let
fly, but then groaned as the stone missed, startling the ducks into veering away.
When Usher rose a moment later, the opportunity had passed.
They walked back towards the trees in silence. Still damp from their swim,
Usher's clothes were clinging to him. He felt a shiver run through him from the
encroaching chill of the evening air and silently wished they were already back
by the warmth of the fireside.
They made it to the forest where the path became darker, the moon offering
just enough light as it filtered through the leafy canopy to see its foot-worn
surface stretching ahead. The trail was familiar to both of them.
All around were the sounds of the forest, crickets, owls, frogs from the pond,
and the occasional heavier footfalls of larger animals as they crept through the
undergrowth. There were the sounds of both the hunters and the hunted.
Something crashed through branches to the side of them and they picked up the
pace again, ever more eager to be back in the village to warm up.
The smell of wood-smoke from the cooking fires was the first announcement
that the village was not far ahead. It hung in the air, drifting through the trees,
offering the occasional tantalising aroma of cooking meat, and roasting
vegetables. Lost for a moment in the heady smells of the evening, they nearly
didn't see what was standing in their path until it was almost too late.
Usher pulled Cal down into a crouch and clapped a hand across his mouth as
a little way ahead, the black shapes of three wolves emerged from the trees to
stand in the middle of the path, their noses held high, sorting through the
unfamiliar smells around them.
'They won't attack,' Usher assured with a whisper, hoping he sounded more
confident than he felt. He remained squatting down unsure of what to do. The
wolves hadn't seen them yet, but they weren't moving away either.
Wolves normally stayed clear of people, and rarely attacked, especially at
this time of year when there was still plenty of game. Their appearance this close
to the village, was unusual to say the least. As the breeze changed, the biggest
wolf's head swung towards them and bared its teeth, its eyes flashing silver in
the low moonlight as it gave a low growl.
'Usher,' whispered Cal, but Usher didn't answer as he fumbled for his sling
and searched for the stone he had found earlier. Too late to take a duck, but
maybe it had been meant for a wolf instead. The wolf took a couple of steps
forward as its two companions glanced across to see what had disturbed it, and
then, without warning, a fourth wolf brushed through the bushes to join them
from the darkness. Its arrival drew the attention of the others as it began licking
at the muzzle of the big leader in a show of subservience. A moment later, the
big wolf growled a stop and turned its attention back to the boys, but they had
already slipped away.
'Keep moving,' Usher urged, pushing Cal on into the gloom.
'Are they after us?'
'Well, if they're not then they will be soon. We have to make our way around
to the village. They won't dare follow us in there.' Behind them a wolf howled,
breaking the silence of the night; a second howl joined it moments later and then
a third. Abandoning all pretence at stealth, the boys set off through the darkness
with the sounds of pursuit not far behind. Branches whipped and tore at them as
they ran almost blindly; desperate for some sign of a way through the shapes and
shadows that loomed ahead of them. They stumbled on, tripping and falling over
unseen bushes and bounced into trees, holding their arms up as they tried to
protect their faces.
'They're catching up to us,' shouted Cal, his voice both panicked and
laboured from the exertion. 'I can hear them getting closer!'
'Here, climb.' Usher grabbed his friend and pushed him towards the shadowy
form of a large tree, its branches barely visible but at least one hanging low
enough to clamber up onto. Cal pulled himself up as Usher waited impatiently.
'Hurry!' he urged, and then followed quickly, the moment there was room. The
wolves' excited cries sounded close behind as they caught sight of their prey.
Ahead of him, Cal was having trouble moving up to the next branch.
'For the Spirit's sake, hurry, they're coming!' He pushed alongside Cal in an
effort to get higher and had just managed to move up to the second branch, when
there was an excited growl and then pain flared in his leg. He screamed as the
wolf bit, and held on. It didn't have a good hold, but good enough for Usher to
keep shrieking and for the wolf's huge weight to drag him back down to the
branch below. The wolf growled and began to twist and swing, its legs kicking
as it tried to dislodge its prey's hold on the tree. With another cry, Usher felt his
grip on the branch slip and then felt Cal's hand seize his arm.
'Pull yourself up… quick!'
'I can't…' he let out another scream, his breath coming in sobs and gasps as
he struggled to hold on. 'It's got me, Cal. I can't…'
'Kick it!' yelled Cal, desperately trying to haul his friend to safety. There
were several jerks as Usher kicked with his free leg and the wolf swung. Then
came a high-pitched yelp as he managed to land a solid kick on the wolf's snout
and it dropped away whining.
In the darkness, Usher scuttled up out of reach. He couldn't tell how badly he
was hurt, but could feel that his leggings were torn and when he glanced down,
could see a dark stain of sticky, wet blood, flowing down his leg. Below them,
the wolves scrabbled at the tree in frustration, whimpering and occasionally
growling softly.
'We have to get higher,' urged Usher, feeling above for another branch. They
made their way upwards and as they did, the leaves thinned, the light improving
slightly, and in the highest branches with the tree swaying under their weight, the
night sky finally opened up to them. They could see the village. Too far away to
call for help but still not much more than a stone's throw distant. People were
strolling about and the glow of cooking fires cast a warm light between the huts
where chickens pecked at the ground and a goat was calling plaintively for its
kid; it all looked so inviting.
Usher shivered and tried to get more comfortable. 'We might be here for a
while. I think those wolves are still down there.' He peered below through the
shadows. There was nothing to see in the darkness, but he could still sense the
movements. He glanced across at Cal. 'Thanks for helping me. If you hadn't
pulled me up, that wolf would have gotten me for sure.'
Cal smiled at him and nodded, then stared into the village. Old Jonkey, the
hunter, had finished his day and was coming home on the southern path. His
bow was over his shoulder, a string of three fat ducks hung at his side. His
hunting dog, an old flea-bitten hound that had long seen its better years
accompanied him, its tongue lolling happily. The pair stopped to talk to someone
the boys couldn't see and Jonkey handed over one of the ducks in exchange for a
reed basket of vegetables.
'Jonkey!' shouted first Cal, and then Usher, trying to get the old hunter's
attention. 'Jonkey, up here… Jonkey!' but the old man didn't as much as glance
in their direction. With the various noises coming from closer in the village, it
was obvious he couldn't hear them. They watched for a while as he chatted, then
saw him turn abruptly as something caught his attention, then something strange
happened. He dropped the ducks to the ground, brought up his bow and shot an
arrow into the darkness of the trees. A moment later, as he was stringing another
arrow, he fell to the ground clutching at his stomach with the old hound standing
over him, hackles raised, barking angrily into the darkness.
Usher and Cal gazed transfixed as shadowy figures began to creep out of the
forest into the light of the nearest fires. Warriors wearing rough leather kilts and
loose-fitting shawls, their faces shadowed in a distinctive way that every village
boy knew from fireside accounts to be painted blue.
'They're Picts,' hissed Usher, through clenched teeth, 'but they're meant to be
way up in the north, what are they doing here in the village, so far south?'
The Picts began moving amongst the huts, breaking the calm of the night
with howling war cries as, realising there were few warriors ready to confront
them, they threw burning torches onto thatched roofs, driving the confused
occupants shrieking outside, where they cut them down without thought or
mercy. The fires spread quickly and the screams of the terrified villagers rose to
join with the bloodlust-howls of the attacking warriors. It quickly deteriorated
into a scene from some awful fevered nightmare.
'We have to get down there,' cried Cal, hysteria edging his voice. 'Those are
our families!' He glanced below into the darkness, trying to decide if the wolves
had gone but sounds of movement frustrated any question of descent. He
grabbed at Usher's arm and began to sob.
'Usher, why are Picts attacking into the Weald? Surely, there must be a
Roman villa to sack. Why an Iceni village? We have nothing!'
To sit in the tree, only able to watch their friends and family driven from
their huts and murdered, was more than the boys could bear, but bear it they had
to, as below them the wolves began to howl, confirming they were still trapped.
They watched as a young woman ran from a burning hut, her hair smoking
from the intense heat, a baby clutched to her chest wrapped in a soft woollen
fold. The woman was screaming hysterically, her baby wailing at being torn so
rudely from its crib. As she ran, trying to find escape between the huts, two Picts
saw her and gave chase. Catching up quickly they danced around her, hooting
with glee as she continued to shriek, seeking desperately for some way to
escape. With her baby clutched tightly, she kicked out, catching one of the Picts
a glancing blow to the leg, which only increased their delight, then she tried to
dash past. The closest Pict caught and spun her round. Both were shrieking, the
woman in fear for her baby, which flew from her arms, and the Pict in
excitement for the sport. Without warning, a spear took the Pict holding her
throwing him back in a spray of blood. As he fell, the woman scrambled for her
baby, picked it up, and dashed out of sight. The second Pict ignored the woman
and ran towards the attackers that neither Usher nor Cal could see.
The round thatched huts of the village were burning fiercely now, flames and
glowing embers clawing up at the cold night sky, dancing like great fire spirits
celebrating their release from the depths of the earth to writhe in this orgy of
madness. The roar of the blaze swept through the village moving from hut to hut,
and then it began to spread into parts of the surrounding forest, illuminating
every detail of the massacre and the warriors that delivered it.
Tears slid down Usher's cheeks, blurring his vision, but he wiped them away
with a desperate need to witness every detail. The image of the Picts, screaming
in an ecstasy of bloodletting as they chased down each fleeing villager would be,
forever imprinted upon his mind.
A central figure directed the violence with a calm detached air from the back
of a horse, almost as if he were overseeing the summer harvest rather than the
annihilation of a people. He was dressed differently from the others, in black
leather with a dark fur cloak draped across his shoulders. The horse tossed its
head and one of its forelegs scrapped at the ground as if bored while the rider
regarded the carnage around him through the protection of a conical helmet with
burnished side plates and nasal guard.
Cal noticed him first and quickly pointed him out to Usher. They screamed
out threats and curses, but of course, the rider couldn't hear anything above the
noise of the slaughter surrounding him. After a while, they stopped and lapsed
into an angry silence, watching as the warrior took the nose guard and lifted his
helmet in one swift motion to consider the activity about him. It gave them their
first opportunity to look upon the face of their enemy.
'Remember that face. He is the man doing all this,' muttered Cal.
'Remember, him? I doubt I shall ever be able to forget him,' hissed back
Usher.
Everything about the rider appeared black. He had long black hair, gathered
at the side of his head in a warriors' knot, and eyes that were merely dark
hollows within the shadows of his skull. More black hair grew upon his upper lip
that he now stroked and teased while directing his men at their deadly harvest.
Even the rider's horse was black, and appeared blessed by the same disregard for
mindless violence as its master. It stood unflinching while flames licked close to
its haunches.
Turning in the saddle, the rider snapped out an order in the strange Pict
tongue, directing three warriors towards the west of the village where he had
seen something. To the observers in the tree it appeared he would not be satisfied
until the whole village had been destroyed, his Picts working like a pack of dogs,
picking off each running figure as they fled for the trees. Each figure a person
that was a friend, neighbour or family member to Usher and Cal.
The largest beams of the huts began to give way. Loud cracks and crashes
rendered the air, sending embers and sparks high into the night sky in great
sparkling clouds as what was left of the roofs collapsed and the walls caved in.
Then in one glorious moment, the boy's spirits rose as three village men and
one of the women came into view swinging swords and spears before them. As a
group, they began beating back several of the attackers, however, the stand was
short-lived. When the rider in the centre saw the threat, he simply directed more
men to come in and attack the defenders from behind and they were swiftly
overwhelmed and butchered.
The longhouse was now the only building still standing. It was the largest
hut, the meeting hall of the village council, and the home of Elder Borin Torney.
Its thatch was still blazing fiercely, and parts had dropped down setting the
interior alight, the flames reaching out through the small shuttered windows and
past Borin who now lay dead in the open doorway.
The Picts gathered around their leader's horse and roared their approval as
the great central beam of the house finally gave way and the whole building
collapsed in on itself.
Their task complete, the black warrior turned his horse and led his party out
of the village by the southern path, herding a small group of wailing children
ahead of them, leaving only the smoking deathly remains of the empty village to
the spirits of the night.
The boys watched as the group strode out of sight. They heard their laughter
echo through the forest as the Picts celebrated their venture, not realising they
had left the cold heart of vengeance behind them seething in the heights of an
old oak tree.
The remainder of their night passed sitting in silence; cold, uncomfortable
and deeply shocked by what they had witnessed. Tears of sorrow, frustration and
a deep sadness aided their survival, coupled with a burning anger and need for
revenge.
Tentatively lowering themselves from the tree in the pre-dawn glow, they
were relieved to find that the wolves had gone and they were able to push
through the trees and find the path.
Walking into the village was like re-entering a nightmare. As dawn first
painted the sky to the east with fingers of orange light, Usher and Calvador
sought out the burnt husks of their family homes and wept.
A few barely recognisable family possessions were scattered amongst the
smouldering ashes, things that by some turn of fate, had not burned. Blackened,
trodden into the dirt and ash of the path, were items of clothing, some pots, and
the remains of the harvest spirit Usher's mother had made from twisted barley
stalks. She had made it several weeks prior, twisting the stalks into the shape of a
man-spirit with barley heads as hair and then hung it by the entrance to their hut
in celebration of a good harvest. Many of the villagers had commented about
how fine it was and Usher remembered his mother's pride, now it lay broken and
trodden into the blackened ground.
Tears streamed down Usher's face as he gazed upon the desolation, his mind
still unable to really grasp that this was once the home he had grown up in and
that his mother and father were no more. Unable to find their bodies, and
unwilling to search too far, he gathered a few things into his bag and, still
walking in somewhat of a daze, went in search of Cal.
He found him kneeling with his back to him in the ruins of his former home.
His shoulders were moving and although silent, Usher could tell he was sobbing.
He was staring at the remains of the fire as it still burnt in what would have been
the middle of the house with two blackened bodies lying close together at its
centre. They must have been Cal's parents but were unrecognisable as anything
once human. Usher laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.
'Come away, Cal. We'll get whoever did this, even if it takes forever. We'll
find them all and make them pay.'
Cal's hand covered Usher's as he fought to bring his tears under control. 'I
don't see Nineve's body, maybe she was one of the children they took with them.
There were several, remember? We have to go after them.' He climbed to his feet
and angrily wiped the tears from his eyes. 'Why, Usher? Why would anyone
come up here and…' he looked around, unable to finish. Usher shook his head,
finding no other response.
They picked their way through the village in silence, their minds numb,
unable to comprehend what their eyes were telling them. In a half-hearted effort
to do something, they collected a few things that they felt might be useful and
called out in the hope that someone had survived the madness and would come
running out from the woods, but their cries went unanswered by the cold
darkness between the trees.
Picking up the trail of the warrior band, they headed south. Two boys
consumed with thoughts of revenge, and the need to know why their world had
shattered and burned.
* * *
The storyteller coughed and reached for the pewter mug at his side, then
glanced across at the tear-streaked face of Calvador Craen. His friend was still
lost in the past, back at that burnt-out village, so far away and so long ago, with
the flames from that fire still flickering in his eyes after all these years. Usher
felt a shiver as the memories of that day crowded his mind. He leaned forward
and placed a hand on his friend's knee. 'Are you all right, Cal?'
Cal turned his head as if waking from a dream. 'Why does it all seem like
yesterday? Why can I still hear the wolves and see our village dying?' He shook
his head in wonder. 'And why can I never get that stink out of my nose?' Taking
a deep breath, he waved Usher to continue, and then resting his elbows on the
arms of the chair and his chin on his hands, he returned to watching the fire.
Usher Vance took a fleeting look around the room at the silent faces, and
then continued .