A Quantum Mythology (65 page)

When the
Basilisk II
reached the junction where the crossbar cut across the vast building, the yacht started circling down towards a plinth-like landing pad. Close to the landing pad were vast pipes the size of skyscrapers, which appeared to have been grown out of the stone. At the base of the pipes was a huge keyboard. A gleaming figure was playing the organ. The
Basilisk II
landed as the music finished, the last notes echoing throughout the huge building.

Beth took her sister by the hand. Vic got up and followed. Elodie shrugged and decided to do the same. They walked through the ship and down the ramp at the front of the yacht. Moments later, Scab joined them, buttoning up his shirt.

The organ was some distance from the landing platform. They watched as a mechanical arm unfolded, picked up the figure that had been playing the organ and carried him across the several-miles-deep drop to the platform, then deposited him right in front of them.

At first they thought it was an automaton. It was a bulky, squat, ten-foot-tall, roughly humanoid-shaped armoured body. It looked to have been made of gold, inlaid with other precious metals to form beautiful but abstract patterns. There was a bulbous glass-like bubble where a head or at least a neck should have been, but it was tinted and they couldn’t see into it. It was clearly some kind of protective exoskeleton.

‘Miss Negrinotti, Mr Matto and Mr Scab, you are most welcome,’ a jovial, booming male voice said. Then he turned to Talia, who looked terrified. He reached for her with a huge mechanical gauntlet, but she shrank away. He apparently thought better of it and pulled his arm back. ‘And Miss Luckwicke, you have led us a merry chase,’ he said, more thoughtfully. ‘You are most welcome as well. I am Churchman.’

Patron tumbled though dead space, frozen tears on his face. A hand wrapped in black liquid glass closed around his wrist. He opened his eyes.

45

Ancient Britain

In the end, Madawg lived. His ribs were healing even as he landed in the water. They swam away from the island spending every moment assuming they were about to be attacked from behind, or below.

They might have been powerful and imbued with Otherworldly magics, but they still knew fear as they climbed out of the chasm and left the Underworld.

‘All will know of your actions,’ Guidgen told Madawg as they climbed out of the valley. ‘Including your king.’

‘And yet I live,’ Madawg said, a sly smile on his face.

Some of their horses had broken free, but they did not take the time to track down the valuable horseflesh. Instead they rode south, hard, making for the northern part of the Ardu.

Britha felt numb. For most of the frantic ride she had been thinking of nothing. Her body ignored the cold, the pouring rain, the discomfort of the galloping horses, one of which died underneath her, pitching her into the mud.

Numbness was better than the confused feelings she had for Bress. He had a sword in one hand and the key to seeing her daughter again in the other. His cruelty in denying her the key was born of his slavery, his cowardice. She hated him the most for that. She knew he felt for her, as she did for him, but it was not enough to make him stand against the mockery that was Crom Dhubh.

She had been cold before, calculating. A practical woman, she knew that the chance of her ever seeing her daughter again was almost non-existent. They lived in a harsh land. Landsfolk and warriors alike lost children all the time. Once, she believed they were taken by the cruel gods that the Pecht had eschewed, as punishment for their lack of sacrifice. Now she was sure it was just the rigours of life that stole the young and innocent. She should put her child aside. She should return to her responsibilities. She shouldn’t just wear the mask. She should live it, try to redeem herself – in her own eyes, if nobody else’s. But she knew she would always be wearing the mask. She would play her part, but she would never give up on her child.

Her hand dropped to her stomach. What had Bress meant when he told her to kill it? She glanced up as they rode. It took her a moment to find the moon hidden behind dark clouds. It was little more than a sliver. Britha cursed.

The last part of the journey was so thickly wooded that they had to lead the horses through on foot. Following Guidgen’s directions, Tangwen led the column down a steep slope into a narrow valley choked with undergrowth packed between the trees. It was pouring down with rain, but the ground underfoot hadn’t become boggy yet.

As they made their way along the concealed muddy track, Britha felt as if she was in a different land. Suddenly there was a break in the greenery. They came to a deep, muddy ditch with sluggish water running through it, and beyond that, on a large mound of earth, was a hill fort.

‘I had not thought to see this here,’ Britha admitted quietly to herself.

Madawg was looking all around him. ‘This is foolish – the trees are too close to the fort,’ he said. The others had mostly been ignoring him because of his conduct in Oeth, the Place of Bones.

‘Assuming you can ever find it,’ Guidgen said.

‘And after you had been harried all the way through the woods by people who know the land,’ Tangwen added.

‘Not even those we have brought here will be sure of the way,’ Guidgen said, nodding towards the open gates of the fortress. The survivors of the wicker man and those who had joined them fleeing the Muileartach’s spawn had set up camp within the wooden walls of the fort. ‘Though doubtless Bladud will have tried to memorise it.’

‘It is still folly,’ Britha said irritably. ‘These people can’t stay here.’

Guidgen looked over at the other
dryw
. ‘How much further do you think they can go, and to where?’ he asked.

Britha was becoming more and more frustrated. Guidgen had placed the Red Chalice in the centre of the
gwyllion
s’ fort, drawn a circle around it in the dirt and then poured salt around the circle. Finally he placed the skulls of some of the
gwyllions’
strongest fallen warriors and greatest enemies at regular intervals around the circle. A ghost fence. Bladud was furious when he saw what the elderly
dryw
had done.

All were summoned – warriors, landsfolk, the survivors and the
gwyllion
. When Britha looked around, most of the
gwyllion
were standing on the palisades, looking into the hill fort which was now teeming with people. Most of them carried casting spears, bows and slings.

‘Aren’t we under hospitality?’ Britha asked.

Guidgen looked over at her. ‘I hope you’re not questioning our hospitality,’ he asked softly. ‘It may have been a while since we allowed strangers into our home, but I think we still remember the laws.’

Britha assumed he deliberately left unsaid the obvious consequences of anyone else breaking their hospitality.

Bladud was on the other side of the circle from where Britha was standing by Guidgen. He was wearing his robe, hood up, surrounded by the bearskin-cloaked warriors of the Brigante. She looked around and found Ysgawyn sitting on the steps leading up to the palisades. Madawg and Gwyn were standing above and below him, respectively, still armed. Ysgawyn had been told of Madawg’s actions in Oeth. If Ysgawyn reacted to the news, it had not been publicly. Like the Brigante, the Corpse People were in full armour and carrying weaponry. The Muileartach’s spawn were less than half a day away. As the survivors became increasingly exhausted, they had slowly been losing ground. That was why Bladud had agreed to bring them to the
gwyllions
’ fort.

Bladud was beside himself with grief when he heard about Nerthach.

Tangwen had been nearly silent on the way back. The young hunter and warrior had changed a lot in the moon since Britha first met her, but she supposed she had as well. Britha could read the grief over Kush’s death in Tangwen. She had also liked the dark-skinned foreigner. He had helped save her life in the wicker man. She wondered how close Tangwen and Kush had become.

Britha had also seen Germelqart weep for his fallen friend when he thought no one was looking. With both Hanno and Kush gone, the Carthaginian was on his own in an unfamiliar land.

‘It is obvious to me that the Red Chalice should belong to the Brigante,’ Bladud said. The muttering in the crowd started straight away.

‘Quiet!’ one of the Brigante warriors shouted, playing the role of Nerthach for Bladud.

‘We are the strongest of the tribes,’ Bladud continued when the crowd settled a little. ‘We have protected you, and we have paid the greatest price for the Red Chalice.’

There was more angry muttering from the crowd.

‘Greatest price?’ Guidgen asked. Britha rolled her eyes. It was a question that would only bring strife, one designed to manipulate people against Bladud.

‘Nerthach fell,’ Bladud said simply.

‘So did Kush the Numibian,’ Tangwen snapped irritably. ‘And Sadhbh of the Iceni.’ Shouts of agreement came from the Iceni warriors in their lynx headdresses. ‘And Brys of the Corpse People.’ Britha glanced at the three remaining Corpse People, but Ysgawyn and the others remained silent.

‘None was so great as Nerthach’ Bladud said. ‘None had fought so many battles, won so many victories, harvested so many heads or had so many stories told of him. To him will go the hero’s portion in Annwn.’

Tangwen bristled. ‘And Kush was his match,’ she said, her voice brimming with emotion. ‘I forget, Witch King – are you
dryw
or
rhi
? You appear to be one or other as its suits you.’ She ignored the threats from the Brigante warriors.

‘I am a
rhi
,’ Bladud told her, anger in his voice.

‘Then one more insult about Kush and I will take your head. Do you understand me?’

‘Brave words from one who has drunk of this one’s blood,’ Ysgawyn said, gesturing at Britha. Using neither her name nor title was a slight, but she let it pass. There would be strife enough for all in this gathering. She only hoped it would be over before the Muileartach’s spawn were upon them.

Britha saw exactly what had happened here. Ysgawyn sent Brys and Madawg rather than go himself so he could court favour with Bladud. He had sought power and given the Witch King his support.

‘I meant no insult,’ Bladud said evenly. ‘Kush was a staunch warrior, for a foreigner, but I will drink from the chalice and then kill you, if you still wish it so.’ Tangwen opened her mouth to say something but Germelqart’s hand was on her shoulder, and he was whispering in her ear.

‘Carthaginian, in our lands it is not courteous to whisper when all have gathered to speak openly,’ Guidgen called, not unkindly.

Germelqart bowed towards the old
dryw
. ‘My apologies. I merely said that Kush would not have wished for this. He had no interest in boasting beyond what was necessary to be taken seriously.’

Britha sighed. She understood how difficult it was to get disparate tribes to cooperate, but had these people been hers and prepared to listen to her, she would be having stern words with them right now. This was not the time for warrior boasts and manouvering for power.
Shouldn’t have betrayed their trust, then
, she admonished herself.

‘We would not see the Brigante with the Red Chalice,’ Guidgen was saying as Britha started paying attention again. ‘It is tantamount to saying that the Brigante will rule us now and for ever.’ There was muttering among the crowd, and more than a few nodding heads, warriors and landsfolk alike.

‘We are merely showing courtesy here,’ Bladud pointed out. ‘I still remember how to break a ghost fence, and whilst I have tried to reason with you, we can take the Red Chalice whenever we choose. The songs of our fallen notwithstanding, we deserve it because we can take it, and hold it.’

‘You will be resisted,’ Guidgen said, sadly.

‘If we are to fall upon each other with sword and spear, it would be quicker for us to cut our own throats,’ Britha said.

‘Then stop being foolish,’ Bladud said.

‘It is not foolish,’ Guidgen said. ‘I think you would be a gentler Lochlannach.’

There were sharp intakes of breath and Brigante warriors tensed. The
gwyllion
warriors on the palisade walls shifted, readying themselves.

‘This is poor hospitality,’ Bladud spat. ‘No more, I say. A
dryw
’s position is to advise, not to insult. Any more of this and I will strike you down and pay the consequences, and this is no hollow threat for the ears of the crowd. A man can only tolerate so much.’

Guidgen walked towards Bladud. He dropped his staff, unhooked his sickle from his belt and dropped that as well.

‘I renounce the right of vengeance. There are to be no consequences to Bladud’s actions in this matter,’ the old
dryw
called as he approached the Witch King. ‘I thought only to speak what I believe to be true. If you believe you have been wronged under our hospitality, then strike me down.’

Britha couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. ‘Now who is speaking for the crowd?’ she muttered to herself. She glanced over at Tangwen. The younger woman looked irritated.

There were more gasps when Bladud punched Guidgen as hard as he could. The blow knocked the old
dryw
off his feet and he hit the ground, the wind knocked from him and his jaw was hanging askew. Almost immediately there was a clicking noise as Guidgen’s jaw reset itself. Bladud stepped forward and offered the
dryw
his hand. Guidgen accepted it, and the Witch King pulled the much smaller man to his feet.

‘I was a poor student among the groves,’ Bladud said. ‘Go and pick up your staff and your sickle, you old fool. There is nothing between us.’ Guidgen smiled and retrieved his staff and sickle.

‘If not Bladud, then who?’ Anharad asked. Mabon was crouched close to his grandmother, silent, watching. The girl from Ardestie was also with the Trinovantes woman. Britha still felt an ache in her chest every time she saw the girl. Britha wondered who Anharad was backing in this. She was not aware enough of the politics of the southern tribes to know if the Trinovantes and the Brigante were allies or enemies.

‘It is clearly a relic of the Otherworld,’ Britha said. ‘We stole it from Oeth, in Annwn, from Crom Dhubh himself.’ Many spat and made the sign against evil. She did not because she didn’t think the gesture made any difference. ‘This chalice is clearly the responsibility of the
dryw
.’

‘Who? You?’ Anharad demanded. ‘You cannot be trusted!’

‘I will not warn you again,’ Britha told the older woman. ‘I will tear your tongue from your head if you speak to me this way once more. I do not care what you think of me, but you will respect my position.’

Anharad opened her mouth to retort angrily but Ysgawyn spoke first.

‘You would be as well to say that we, as the children of Arawn, should look after it,’ Ysgawyn said from the steps.

‘Britha is actually a
dryw
,’ Tangwen pointed out. ‘You are just fools who believe your own lies regardless of the evidence of your senses. But try and take the chalice, and you will find that your skulls will not even be worthy of joining the ghost fence.’

It was as direct a challenge to Ysgawyn as any had ever heard, but the
rhi
of the Corpse People just smiled. ‘All will be settled,’ he said. Then he pointed at Britha. ‘But this one served her own purpose in the Place of Bones, so I’m told.’

‘I did not say I should have the chalice,’ Britha said. ‘I have drunk from it already. I say only that its responsibility should fall to the
dryw
, who serve all, and not just one tribe.’

‘It would do little good on the Isle of Shadows,’ Bladud said. ‘And we would not see it in your hands, or Guidgen’s. I, on the other hand, was trained as a
dryw.
’

‘One thing or another, Witch King, or you’ll confuse us,’ Guidgen said. There was a little laughter. Bladud bristled but said nothing. ‘I am a good choice. We have no designs on power. We keep ourselves to ourselves, and we are well hidden.’