'I'm cold,' murmured Nineve. She snuggled closer to Cal, and he wrapped his
arm tighter about her. Usher glanced at them and tried not to think of how cold,
wet and miserable he was also feeling.
'Shhhh, go to sleep,' he heard Cal mutter. 'You'll soon forget about the cold.'
They pulled the wet fur higher around themselves and Cal glanced up as Usher
threw more sticks onto the fire. It crackled and spat as the flames took a reluctant
hold on the wet wood.
Above them, wind gusted, moaning and whistling through branches that
creaked unseen in the inky blackness of the night. They huddled down, waiting
for the rush of cold air to reach them beside the fallen oak that was their only
shelter, and resigned themselves to a night of discomfort and torment.
After leaving the druid's grove they had walked in silence, each still caughtup in the strangeness of their experience. When they arrived at a crossroads they
hesitated, unable to make a decision on which direction to take. It was almost as
if some part of each of them remained at the well. A spark of their life held
within the dream and unable to wake properly into the world they could see
around them. The road south, the way the druid had urged them to take, led
directly into the immense dark forest of the Weald. With the daylight fading, it
appeared murky and foreboding. Eventually, Meryn summoned enough clarity to
make a decision and they headed towards the trees, searching for somewhere to
make camp.
At first, all had gone well. They walked a short way into the forest, found
shelter by the fallen oak and lit a fire. Dry, sweet-smelling bracken was plentiful
so they pulled together rough piles as sleeping pallets and slumped down while
the evening light faded around them. However, soon after darkness claimed the
forest, the weather began to turn. A cold wind picked up, bringing with it a wet
and thoroughly miserable night that only seemed to be getting worse. Meryn was
the only one apparently unaffected by the rain falling on his face, having fallen
into a deep untroubled sleep soon after arriving.
'I don't know how he does it,' remarked Usher, staring over at Meryn's
sleeping form. 'He's getting as wet as we are, but he hasn't woken since he first
put his head down. Surely he can't be comfortable?'
'He's not asleep; he's unconscious. He's making up for too little sleep and too
much ale last night,' observed Cal. Lightning flashed and they tensed, each
counting softly until an ear-splitting crack of thunder rent the darkness. 'It's
getting closer,' he mumbled. The rain intensified, and he hugged Nineve. She let
out a small sob and shivered against him.
With no dry wood and the rain falling even heavier, the fire soon died, and as
it did, the sounds and fears that only complete darkness can bring crowded in to
surround them. It was an awful feeling, to be robbed of sight. Not even a small
spark of light to cling on to as the forest and storm did their best to unnerve
them. Usher closed his eyes tight and willed himself to endure it. When
exhaustion did eventually force sleep upon him, it was fleeting, uncomfortable,
and filled with images drawn from the memories of the druid's well.
Sometime in the early hours, the rain stopped and as the first glow of dawn
filtered through the trees, it revealed a forest wreathed in a white cloak of mist,
drifting like ghostly wraiths amongst the shadows. Usher helped the others,
listening to Cal's mumbled complaints of aches and pains, and of how wet and
cold he was. Usher tried to respond but he was too tired and cold to summon the
words. Nineve was also silent, moving woodenly as she rose to stare about at the
wakening forest.
They rolled their wet sleeping furs and made ready to depart, their
movements leaden and stiff reflecting how tired and unhappy they were. Meryn,
as he woke, appeared refreshed from his night and was in a far better mood than
the day before. He hefted himself up and smiled around at the others. Upon
seeing their lifeless faces and how wet they were, the smile quickly dropped as
he scanned the forest and saw the remains of the rain dripping from the branches
all around them.
'Oh, so it rained a bit, did it? Well all right… last night we didn't have the
time, but if we're still in the forest tonight, we'll be sure to construct a proper
shelter, give you youngsters a better chance of getting some rest.' Usher stared at
him then shook his head, silently wishing he were back at home, waking in his
parents hut with the normal sounds of morning rather than here in this wet forest
with… Nineve began to cry and he watched as Cal hugged her and hid his face
in her hair. Usher shook his head and took a deep breath, then turned away
without saying a word.
'What?' said Meryn. 'What did I say?'
They pulled pieces from the loaf of hard bread that Meryn produced from his
pack, and then trailed off, munching silently as they searched for the southern
road, leaving the archer looking bewildered.
Although the rain had stopped, the mist was getting thicker. The welltrodden path was easy enough to follow, even if it offered little hint of their
surroundings. It was a strange feeling, walking through a world of white. Usher
kept close to Meryn with Cal and Nineve trailing along close behind. Dark
shapes loomed through the dripping whiteness. Each strange apparition first
appearing like a monster set to pounce, before revealing itself as no more than a
tree or bush. By midday, the mist still hadn't lifted. It continued to cover them in
its cold embrace, chilling them and fraying tired nerves even further as it became
harder and harder to keep to the path.
A pheasant exploded into flight close by, shattering the silence of the forest
and shocking them with its warning screech. However, it wasn't a pheasant that
made the noise that followed, and it scared them even more.
'What was that?' hissed Usher. They stopped where they were, searching
through the white cloak of their surroundings.
'I'm not sure… what did you hear?' whispered Meryn. He pulled out a knife
and moved it from one side to the other, ready for combat as his eyes searched
the mist for whatever the threat might be.
Usher didn't answer. He stood; head to one side, straining his hearing to
confirm or deny what he thought might be there.
Meryn nudged him urgently. 'Talk to me.' But Usher didn't have time to
answer as a sharp crack came from close in front of them. It sounded like a small
branch breaking under something heavy… like a foot.
Meryn tugged on Usher's sleeve and, drawing Nineve and Cal after him,
quickly backed away from whatever was coming down the path towards them.
'I heard someone cough… or thought I did,' whispered Usher, after they had
retreated a few paces. 'Maybe it was a deer? They sometimes…'
'Shhhh,' warned Meryn. Still backing further, he passed the knife to Usher
and carefully drew his sword from its sheath. As they reached the side of a large
tree, Meryn saw what he had been looking for and was about to lead them down
a small animal track when the sound of running feet came pounding towards
them. Without warning, two Picts burst from the mist, swords swinging, and
blue-painted faces registering a sudden shock at seeing them.
'Run!' yelled Meryn, as he thrust out his sword. The blade took the first Pict
in the stomach, his face creasing in an agony of surprise as he fell. Nineve began
screaming. Pulling her behind him, Meryn drew his sword and slashed across at
the other attacker, who was yelling something in the strange Pict tongue. 'If we
get split up, we meet at the end of the path,' urged Meryn, 'on the southern road.'
Blocking a savage cut, he threw his sack at the Pict to distract him, and stabbed
out with the sword, plunging it into the warrior's throat, abruptly cutting off his
undulating cry. Without further discussion, the archer turned and dragged the
now hysterical Nineve down into the trees.
For a moment, Usher and Cal stood alone, staring down at the two Picts as
they gurgled and thrashed through their death throes. The sound of angry voices
got closer. With a quick glance at Cal, Usher pushed past after Meryn and
Nineve.
The nervous cry of horses and shouting followed them as the dead Picts
were discovered. Then, as they crashed blindly through the undergrowth, came
the sounds of pursuit.
'Move… quickly, we need to get going.' Usher urged Cal on, fending off the
branches that sprang back at him from where Cal let them go.
'Hey be careful,' said Usher, but Cal had his own problems.
'Ahhh,' Cal slipped down a small incline and then, as Usher tried to step to
the side, he tripped over a tree root and fell down onto Cal.
'Shhhh. They're going to hear us.' Usher began rubbing at his bruised shin
and they lay panting for a moment, before getting gingerly to their feet.
'It's not my fault, I can't see anything,' said Cal, 'you try… you go first.' They
got up and moved a little slower, but it was tricky in the mist and they continued
to trip over branches and unseen obstacles, still trying to follow Meryn's trail,
but it was impossible to see where they were going. The mist still covered
everything, revealing only shapes and shades of light and shadows. Usher could
hear his heart beating loud in his ears and felt panic rising as he frantically
sought some route of escape or sign of Meryn. Then, as they trotted cautiously
on, a large hawthorn bush loomed up out of the mist and he ran straight into it.
He struggled, badly scratching his face and arms. Stifling a cry of pain, he
untangled himself, went down onto his hands and knees and crawled further into
the bush. Cal followed, ignoring the thorns as best he could. Once hidden at the
centre, they collapsed, panting. Usher tried to bring his breathing under control
as he strained his ears for any indication that they might have been seen.
The main path must have been close because they could hear horses snorting
and stomping, and harnesses rattling. There were voices, although the boys
couldn't make out what they were saying. On the other side came the sounds of
men calling to each other as they moved through the trees, beating the bushes, as
they searched for them.
'We've lost Meryn and Nineve,' whispered Usher. He wiped the sheen of mist
from his face. 'We have to get around the Picts and back onto the path, then catch
up with Meryn and Nineve later on. If we run into the forest the wrong way, we
could be lost for days.'
'I hope Nineve is all right,' murmured Cal. 'I wish we were all together still.
Come on. Let's get out of here while we still can.'
'Slowly and quietly as possible,' cautioned Usher as he followed his friend.
* * *
Meryn stopped, hardly daring to move a muscle or even draw breath as he
felt the sharp edge of a blade press against his throat. If the Pict had wanted to
kill him, he would have done so with a quick savage cut. He waited, felt his hair
grabbed, and then his head was jerked back exposing his throat even further. His
eyes watered with pain and frustration and he cursed himself for not paying
enough attention to where they were going. He'd been too absorbed with
hurrying the sobbing Nineve away from the path. The sudden bloodshed had
shocked her and she had been doing her best to hold back, insisting he wait for
the boys to catch up. Believing the threat was behind them, he tugged her along,
concentrating on keeping her moving rather than watching their surroundings,
when the knife whipped around a tree and the Pict had drawn him into this
painful embrace.
'You are a breath away from death,' hissed a heavily accented voice. 'Drop
your weapon and do not call out.' Realising he had little option but to comply,
Meryn dropped his sword and shrugged the bow from his shoulder, allowing
Nineve's fingers to slip from his grasp as he did so. If she hadn't noticed the Pict
yet, he could still hope she might run back the way they had come in search of
her brother.
She did take a few steps, but then realised he wasn't following and turned
back. When she saw the knife and the blue face, leering at her over Meryn's
shoulder, she gave a small cry and then a second Pict emerged from the mist and
clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling the scream before it could leave her
throat.
Nineve struggled as a foul-tasting cloth gag was jammed into her mouth, but
it did no good. Forcing her facedown onto the ground beside Meryn, a Pict knelt
with his knee in her back to stop her moving, and then tied her arms back with
tough hide. Meryn glanced across at her as the hide bit painfully into her flesh
bringing tears but she knew there was nothing he could do. Once they were
satisfied, the Picts dragged them to their feet and guided them out towards the
path. They stumbled on as the voices echoed through the trees around them and
the search continued.
When they reached a small group of horses, they were pushed roughly down
beside a tree. A brief argument flared up between the Picts then one remained to
guard over them, while the other ran back into the mist to help with the ongoing
hunt.
Meryn glanced to Nineve and she saw the terrible sadness and frustration in
his eyes. There was nothing either could do but wait and hope that the boys had
fared better than they had.
* * *
It was late in the morning when the mist finally began to lift. Bright shafts of
sunlight, striking through the treetops, banishing the confusion of the forest
floor. They had managed to find the path while the mist had still covered
everything, and the sounds of the search were growing fainter in the distance. As
the morning wore on and they remained alone, they slowed their flight to a
plodding walk.
'Maybe we should go back?' muttered Cal, glancing around. 'They can't be
ahead of us; we would have caught up with them by now. They have to be back
there somewhere. Maybe the Picts caught them… I'm worried about Nineve.'
Usher shook his head. 'Meryn told us to meet at the far end of the path if we
got split up. Maybe they went by a different route and that's why we haven't seen
them. We don't want to go back and get captured only to find out they got away!'
Usher slapped his friend on the back. 'Come on, Meryn knows what he's doing.
They're probably waiting for us with a cooking fire already lit and wondering
where we are.'
The path through the trees wound on and on, seemingly without an end, and
they were becoming aware of just how big the Weald really was. There was no
sign of pursuit, but also no trace of Meryn and Nineve. Twice they came to
crossroads where paths led off in other directions, but on each occasion, they
saw no other travellers and trudged wearily on.
The sounds of the forest accompanied them. Birds sang, squirrels chattered,
and larger animals like boar and deer, occasionally passed, noisily but unseen
through the undergrowth, causing the boys to quicken their pace, in fear it was
the Picts about to jump out at them.
Day turned to evening and the light began to fade. Reluctantly, they resigned
themselves to spending another night in the forest. They turned from the path
and searched for a place to make camp.
They used what light remained to construct a shelter in case it rained again,
but, although dry and more comfortable than the previous night, and travelweary as they were, they still endured a night of troubled sleep, their dreams
filled with strange images and fears for Meryn and Nineve. When the first light
of a watery dawn found its way into the forest, both boys were already awake
and although cold and stiff, were ready to move on.
The morning went by in an uneventful blur of exhaustion, neither of them
having much to say. It was early afternoon when they finally left the forest and
emerged into a meadow filled with bleating sheep.
'They're not here!' Cal cried, throwing down his pack in frustration. 'This is
it! The end of the path and they're not here!' At the sound of his raised voice, a
dozen rooks took flight from a dead tree as it stood sentinel beside the path and
screamed obscenities while circling overhead. Their cries echoed round the
meadow, causing several sheep to move hurriedly away before raising their
heads inquisitively, their jaws still chewing methodically as they contemplated
the new arrivals.
'There must be a village close to here, maybe they'll be there.' Usher gazed
across the meadow where the path crossed through the long grass before
disappearing into a hedgerow. In the far distance, smoke was rising from an
unseen fire, hopefully a sign of habitation.
Cal gave a deep sigh and nodded. 'What if something happened to Nineve? I
should be looking after her. We shouldn't have left her.' With little choice, they
set out across the meadow into the warmth of the late afternoon.
At least it was pleasant to be out of the forest, to feel the warm sun on their
backs once more, and despite their worries for Nineve, they began to relax, it
didn't last long. They were about half way across the meadow when a galloping
horse burst from the trees behind them and reined in, scaring the rooks back into
flight in a cacophony of irritation. Usher recognised the rider immediately. The
last time they had seen him he had led a party of Picts to burn their village. The
moment he saw them, his face split into an evil smile, and then he kicked his
horse back into a gallop with a yell and came thundering towards them.
'Run!' screamed Usher, but Cal was already running.
Fear and panic drove fatigue from their legs and sent them sprinting towards
the hedgerow with the rhythmic drumming of the horse's hooves and the manic
screaming of the rider loud in their ears.
Usher was first to reach the apparent safety of the hedge, and slipped
through a gap only to hear Cal let out a scream behind him. Spinning round, he
saw the rider had leaped from his horse, knocked Cal to the ground, and was
now triumphantly dragging a stunned Cal to his feet.
The warrior was a big man with black hair, and a black beard. He was
armoured in black leather with a sword hanging at his side and wearing a helmet
of the same colour. In fact, everything about him was black, from his clothes,
right through to the aura of evil that surrounded him.
'Get up, boy, or I'll cut your throat and watch you die slowly here and now;
either way I get to bring you in. What by thunder…!' Maybe he thought Usher
had run on or that he simply wasn't a threat, but he was unprepared to defend
himself as Usher charged in to help his friend, screaming out his fear and hatred.
Slashing his sword in a way that would have made Meryn shake his head at
the total lack of any technique, Usher attacked, and as he attacked, he screamed.
'Get away from him! Get away!' He slashed left then right, forcing the Saxon to
drop Cal and fall backwards, narrowly escaping the swing of Usher's blade as he
did so. Unfortunately, with one quick roll, the Saxon was back on his feet and
blocking the next blow with a resounding clang that sent a shudder up Usher's
arm and it was all he could do to keep hold of the sword.
'Two puppies, and this one has teeth!' The Saxon laughed as he drove Usher
back with a flurry of well-executed jabs and cuts. 'You'd like to slice me up, eh,
boy?' The Saxon's sword jabbed out, forcing Usher back into the hedgerow.
'You killed my family,' screamed Usher, 'and his!' He leapt forward and
struck wildly, but the Saxon easily deflected the blow, throwing back his head,
laughing as he did so, clearly enjoying the sport.
'Well, if I killed your family, it's surely only right that I send you to the
shadowland so you can see them again.' He leaned forward and rubbed the
corner of his eye with his free hand, imitating a crying child. 'Boo-hoo, maybe
they're all missing you?'
Usher ran forward, exactly as the Saxon had anticipated, but at the same
time, Cal leaped on the warrior's back, driving him to the ground with enough
force to empty the air from his lungs.
All Cal's anger and grief at losing his parents and being parted from Nineve
exploded; he ripped away the warrior's helmet, and then slammed it down
repeatedly on the unprotected head. The Saxon screamed and struggled to his
feet, easily throwing Cal to the ground, but by then Usher had closed in enough
to swing his sword, driving it on with every fibre of his being at the back of the
warrior's head.
At the last moment, something within Usher made him turn the blade,
making the flat of the metal strike the Saxon's head, not the sharp edge. The
blade snapped in two, the warrior dropped to his knees, and then slowly
collapsed face down into the grass.
'Oh spirits… I killed him.' Usher stepped closer, drawing in a breath when he
saw the blood running freely through the thick black hair. However, he was
spared any further uncertainties over the Saxon's condition when Cal strode in
and gave the fallen man a vicious kick to the side; the Saxon groaned but didn't
try to get up.
'No, Usher, unfortunately he's still alive. This man killed our families! I
think we could kill him right now and have no worries about the ill of it.' He
kicked the warrior in the leg, eliciting a further groan and the man made a weak
attempt to rise before collapsing unconscious.
'Quickly, Cal, let's get out of here,' urged Usher, glancing round. The black
horse was standing close by cropping the grass, apparently unaffected by the
whole spectacle. Throwing down all that remained of his broken sword, Usher
swept up the Saxon's blade and tentatively approached the horse. It lifted its head
and regarded him thoughtfully as it chewed, then bent down again to tug on
another mouthful. As it did, Usher took its reins and clambered up into the
saddle.
'Come on; climb up… before he wakes.'
Cal picked the helmet up and, with a yell, threw it as far into the meadow as
he could. He walked past, but then couldn't resist one last kick at the fallen man.
His foot came in and the warrior's hand stabbed out, catching Cal's ankle in a
strong grip before twisting him to the ground.
Cal stared into the warrior's open staring eyes. 'Whaaaa, Usher!' He kicked
out with his free leg, catching the man on the side of the head and the grip
slackened. Scrambling up, he dashed to the horse and jumped up behind his
friend. 'All right, now let's go… and quickly!'
Usher kicked the horse into a trot and they both spared a last look back. The
warrior was still lying face down in the grass, but there were now Picts emerging
from the forest on the far side of the meadow. Passing through the hedgerow,
they were soon out of sight and trotting down a wide path, but the image of blue-painted faces running across the meadow was firmly imprinted on their minds.