Hood (24 page)

The man was bent low to the ground beneath heavy bundles of sticks he was carrying, so low that his beard swept the ground before him.

Seeing this man whom the lady had told him to expect, Bran jumped up and hailed him. “You there!

You see before you a man of purpose who would speak to you.”

“And
you
see before
you
a man who was once a king in his own country,” the man replied. “A little respect would become you.”

“My lord, forgive me,” replied Bran. “May I come near and speak to you?”

“You may approach—not that I could prevent you,” answered the old man. Nevertheless, he motioned Bran to come near. “What is your name?” asked the old man.

“I am Bran Bendigedig,” he answered. “I have come to seek the release of Albion from the plague that assails it.”

“Too bad for you,” said the bent-backed man, straining beneath his load of sticks. “Many good men have tried to break the spell; as many as have tried, that many have failed.”

“It may be as you say,” offered Bran, “but I doubt there are two men like me in all the world. If there is another, I have never heard of him.” He explained how he had met the noble lady on the strand and had pledged himself to win her hand.

“I ween that you are a bold man, perhaps even a lucky one,” said the aged noble. “But though you were an army of like-minded, hardy men, you would still fail. The enchantment that besets Albion cannot be broken except by one thing, and one thing alone.”

“What is that thing?” asked Bran. “Tell me, and then stand back and watch what I will do.”

“It is not for me to say,” replied the former lord.

Pointing to the road that led deeper into the forest, the old man said, “Go down that road until you come to a great forest, and continue on until you come to a glade in the centre of the wood. You will know it by a mound that is in the centre of the glade. In the centre of the mound is a standing stone, and at the foot of the standing stone, you will find a fountain. Beside the fountain is a slab of white marble, and on the slab you will find a silver bowl attached by a chain so that it may not be stolen away. Dip a bowl of water from the fountain and dash it upon the marble slab. Then stand aside and wait. Be patient, and it will be revealed to you what to do.”

Bran thanked the man and journeyed on along the forest road. In a little while, he began seeing signs of devastation of which the noble lady had warned him: houses burned; fields trampled flat; hills gouged out; streams diverted from their natural courses; whole trees uprooted, overturned, and thrust back into the hole with roots above and branches below. The mutilated bodies of dead animals lay everywhere on the ground, their limbs rent, their bodies torn asunder. Away to the east, a great fire burned a swathe through the high wooded hills, blotting out the sun and turning the sky black with smoke.

Bran looked upon this appalling destruction.
Who
could do such a thing?
he wondered, and his heart moved within him with anger and sorrow for the ruined land.

He moved on, walking through desolation so bleak it made tears well up in his eyes to think what had been so cruelly destroyed. After two days, he came to the glade in the centre of the forest. There, as the old man had said, he saw an enormous mound, and from the centre of this mound rose a tall, slender standing stone. Bran ascended the mound and stood before the narrow stone; there at his feet he saw a clear-running fountain and, beside it, the marble slab with the silver bowl attached by a thick chain. Kneeling down, he dipped the silver bowl into the fountain, filled it, and then dashed the water over the pale stone.

Instantly, there came a peal of thunder loud enough to shake the ground, the wind blew with uncommon fury, and hail fell from the sky. So fiercely did it fall that Bran feared it would beat through his skin and flesh to crack his very bones. Clinging to the standing stone, he pressed himself hard against it for shelter, covered his head with his arms, and bore the assault as best he could.

In a short while the hail and wind abated, and the thunder echoed away. He heard then a grinding noise—like that of a millstone as it crushes the hard seeds of grain. He looked and saw a crevice open in the ground and a yellow vapour issuing from the gap like a foul breath. In the midst of the yellow fumes there appeared a woman—so old and withered that she looked as if she might be made of sticks wrapped in a dried leather sack.

Her hair—what little remained—was a tangled, ratty mass of leaves and twigs, moss and feathers, and bird droppings; her mouth was a slack gash in the lower part of her face, through which Bran could see but a single rotten tooth; her clothing was a filthy rag so threadbare it resembled cobwebs, and so small her withered dugs showed above one end and her spindly thighs below the other. Her face was more skull than visage, her eyes sunken deep in their sockets, where they gleamed like two shiny stones.

Bran took but a single brief look before turning away, swallowing his disgust as she advanced toward him.

“You there!” she called, her voice cracking like a dry husk. “Do you know what you have done? Do you have any idea?”

Half-shielding his eyes with his hand, Bran offered a sickly smile and answered, “I have done that which was required of me, nothing more.”

“Oh, have you now?” queried the hag. “By heaven’s lights, you will soon wish you had not done that.”

“Woman,” said Bran, “I am wishing that already!”

“Tell me your name and what it is that you want,” said the woman, “and I will see if there is any help for you.”

“I am Bran Bendigedig, and I have come to break the vile enchantment that ravages Albion.”

“I did not ask
why
you have come,” the old crone laughed. “I asked what it is that you want.”

“I was born with an unquiet heart that has never been satisfied—not that it is any of your affair,” Bran told her.

“Silence!” screeched the woman in a voice so loud that Bran clapped his hands over his ears lest he lose his hearing. “Respect is a valuable treasure that costs nothing. If you would keep your tongue, see that it learns some courtesy.”

“Forgive me,” Bran spluttered. “It was not my wish to offend you. If I spoke harshly just then, it was merely from impatience. You see, I have met a noble lady who is all my heart’s desire, and I have set myself to win her if I can. To do that, I have vowed to rid Albion of the plague that even now wreaks such havoc on this fairest of islands.”

The wretched hag put her face close to Bran’s—so close that Bran could smell the stink she gave off and had to pinch his nostrils shut. She squinted her eyes with the intensity of her scrutiny. “Is that what you are about?” she asked at last.

“I am,” replied Bran. “If you can help me, I will be in your debt. If not, only tell me someone who can, and I will trouble you no more.”

“You ask my help,” said the ancient woman, “and though you may not know it, you could not have asked a better creature under heaven, for help you shall receive—though it comes at a cost.”

“It is ever the way of things,” sighed Bran. “What is the price?”

“I will tell you how to break the wicked enchantment that binds Albion—and I hope you succeed, for unless you do, Albion is lost and will soon be a wasteland.”

“And the price?” asked Bran, feeling the restlessness beginning to mount like a sneeze inside him.

“The price is this: that on the day Albion is released, you will take the place of the man the giants have killed.”

“That is no burden to me,” remarked Bran with relief. “I thought it would be more.”

“There are some who think the cost too great.” She shrugged her skinny shoulders, and Bran could almost hear them creak. “Nevertheless, that is the price. Do you agree?”

“I do,” said Bran the Blesséd. “In truth, I would pay whatever you asked to break the curse and win my heart’s desire.”

“Done! Done!” crowed the old woman in triumph.

“Then listen well, and do exactly as I say.”

Laying her bony fingers on Bran’s strong arm, the hag led him from the mound and into the ruined forest. They passed through death and devastation that would have made the very stones weep, and walked on until they came to a high hill that was topped by a magnificent white fortress. At the base of the hill flowed a river; once sparkling and clear, it now ran ruddy brown with the blood of the slaughtered.

Pointing to the fortress, the hag said, “Up there you will find the tribe of giants who have enthralled this fair island and whose presence is a very plague. Kill them all and the spell will be broken, and your triumph will be assured.”

“If that is all,” replied Bran grandly, “why did you not tell me sooner? It is as good as done.” He made to start off at once.

The ancient crone prevented him, saying, “Wait!

There is more. You should know also that the giants have slain the Lord of the Forest and taken possession of his cauldron, called the Cauldron of Rebirth on account of its miraculous virtue: that whatever living creature, man or animal it matters not, though he were dead and dismembered, mutilated, torn into a thousand pieces, and those pieces eaten, if any part of the corpse is put into the cauldron when it is on the boil, life will return, and the creature will emerge hale and whole once more.”

Amazed, Bran exclaimed, “Truly, that is a wonder!

Rest assured that I will stop at nothing to reclaim this remarkable vessel.”

“Do so,” promised the hag, “and your deepest desire will be granted.”

Off he went, crossing the river of blood and ascending the high hill. As Bran drew closer, he saw that the white fortress was not, as he had assumed, built of choice marble, but of the skulls and bones of murdered beasts and humans, used like so much rubble to erect the high white walls, turrets, and towers. A sickening smell rose from the bones, which, though it made him gag, also raised Bran’s fury against the giants.

Boldly he approached the gate, and boldly entered.

There was neither guard nor porter to prevent him, so he strode across the courtyard and entered the hall.

However much the courtyard stank, the odour inside the hall was that much worse.

From the hall, he could hear the sound of a great roister. He crept to the massive door, peered inside, and instantly wished he had not. He saw seven giants, the least of which was three times the height of any human man, and the greatest amongst them was three times the height of the smallest. Each giant was a gruesomely ugly brute with pale, blotchy skin; shaggy, long hair that hung down his broad back in nasty, tangled hanks; and a single large eyebrow across his thick, overhanging forehead. Each giant was more hideous than the last, with fat, fleshy lips and an enormous, long nose shaped like the beak of a malformed bird. Their necks were short and squat, their arms ridiculously long, and their legs thin through the shank and fat at the thigh. They all carried clubs of iron, which any two human men would have found a burden to lift.

Three long tables filled the hall, and on those tables was a feast of roast meat of every kind of creature under heaven, which the giants ate with ravenous abandon. While they ate—rending the carcasses with their hands, stuffing the meat down their stubby necks, spitting out the bones, and then washing it all down with great, greedy draughts of rendered lard and fat drawn from a score of vats around the hall—they laughed and sang in disagreeable voices and raised such a revel that Bran’s head throbbed like a beaten drum with the noise.

The Blesséd Bran stood for a moment, gazing upon the carnage of the feast, and felt an implacable rage rise inside him. Then, across the hall, he spied an enormous kettle of burnished bronze and copper, silver and gold—so large it could easily hold sixteen human men at once; or three teams of oxen; or nine horses; or seven stags, three deer, and a fawn. A fire of oak logs blazed away beneath the prodigious vessel.

Seeing this, Bran thought,
The prize is within my grasp,
and taking a deep breath, he stepped boldly through the door. “Giants!” he called, “The feast is over! You have eaten your last corpse. I give you fair warning— doom is upon you!”

The giants were startled to hear this loud voice, and they were even more surprised when they saw the tiny man who made such a bold and foolish claim. They laughed in their beards and blew their noses at him. Two of them bared their horrible backsides, and the others mocked him with rude gestures. Up rose the chief of the monstrous clan, and he was the most repulsive brute of them all; taller than seven normal men, he was greasy with the blood of the meat he had been gorging.

Sneering, he opened his gate of a mouth and bellowed, “What you lack in size, you make up for in stupidity. I’ve eaten five of your race already today and will gladly count you amongst them. What is your name, little man?”

“Call me
Silidons
, for such I am,” said Bran, hiding his true name behind a word that means
“
nobody.”

“You will have to kill me first, and I have never lost a fight I entered.”

“Then you cannot have entered many. Today we will put you to the test.” So saying, the giant lifted his massive hand and commanded two of his nearest fellows forward. “Seize him! Show this imbecile how we deal with anyone foolish enough to oppose us!”

The two giants rose and lumbered forth, their fleshy lips wide in distorted grins. Bran stepped forward, and as he did so, he grew in size to half again his height; another step doubled his size. Now the crown of his head came up to the giants’ chests.

The giants saw this and were astonished but undaunted. “Is that the best you can do?” they laughed.

Taking up their iron clubs, they swung at Bran, first one way and then the other. Bran leapt over the first and ducked under the second; then, leaping straight up into the air, he lashed out with his foot and caught one of the giants in the middle of the forehead. The great brute dropped his club and grabbed his head. Snatching up the enormous weapon, Bran swung with all his might and crushed the skull of the giant, who gave out a throaty groan and lay still.

Seeing his comrade bested so easily infuriated the second attacker. Roaring with rage, he whirled his heavy club around his head and smashed it down, cracking the flagstones. Bran stepped neatly aside as the club struck the floor, then quickly climbed the broad shaft as if it were an iron mounting block.When the giant lifted the club, Bran leapt into the brute’s face and drove both fists into the giant’s eyes. The ghastly creature screamed and fell to his knees, clutching his eyes with both hands.