The Defiler (37 page)

Mebd shook her head, "No, to them I am the weeping widow of a weak man."

"Better still. Here is what I would have you do;seduce the warrior, you have ample charms. Do not allow him to resist. When he is yours, slit his throat in the marital bed, leave nothing to chance this time. Twice widowed to two kings, the tribesmen will welcome you as their queen. They are so desperate to worship the feminine, ignoring the strength of the masculine. That blindness shall be their undoing."

"There is another face I could wear, Lord Weird, one that would surely guarantee his seduction."

"Is that so, daughter of the Babd?"

"The woman, Niamh, stole his heart when they were young. His lust for her led to his banishment by the old king. I know her skin well enough to shape the glamour, that fool Ragall was obsessed with her so-called beauty. It would be no great feat to wrap the Warped One around my finger dressed in the guise of his childhood love."

"Then make it so, Mebd. I will brook no more disappointment. This land will fall, Mebd, for I am death's artist. I shall guide the living across the waters of oblivion, I shall stand in a field of corpses, staring down at eyes without life, plundered heads and sundered flesh. I shall revel in the death I have wrought, for I am tired, Mebd, so tired of this life. I would have release from twenty thousand years of torment at the bitch Goddess's whim, throwing her vengeance back in her face by destroying the one thing she truly loves - herself."

"It will be so, my Lord Weird, you have my word. Sláine Mac Roth will perish in my arms. It will be a slow and painful demise, one worthy of his perfidy."

Ukko had been so wrapped up in eavesdropping he had lost sight of Balor, allowing the warrior to work his way around behind him, skyclad, his vile eye wide open and blazing with hate. The sharp snap of a broken branch betrayed Balor's prowling. The blind warrior had worked his way through the trees and was already too close to Ukko's hiding place for comfort.

"Cowardice always was the better part of valour," Ukko mumbled, scrambling to his feet and taking off like a startled deer.

He had to warn Sláine.

The young king's life depended upon it - which meant, in turn, that
his
life depended upon it, and that was much more important to the ugly little dwarf.

Ukko didn't stop running until he was surrounded on all sides by drunks and burning straw beacons, the celebrations in full swing. Drunken hands mauled him, lifting him up, spinning him around in joyful dances frighteningly similar to Mebd's invocation, and equally uninhibited. On another night he would have enjoyed the stray hands, making a point of feeling his way through the women of Murias, but shame of shames, he only had eyes for Sláine.

He saw the king, deep in his cups, dancing a clumsy reel with a flaxen-haired matron, her face flushed and his ruddy. He saw the dwarf and grinned, obviously enjoying himself. Ukko wormed his way between the press of dancers, pushing between kicking legs and linked arms to Sláine's side. He tugged at Sláine's wrist urgently but the new king brushed him off. Having none of it, Ukko hit him, hard, in the side, then ducked beneath Sláine's swinging fist.

"The Bride of Crom is here," the dwarf hissed even as Sláine cuffed him around the side of the head and knocked him off his feet. "So much for regal gratitude," Ukko muttered bleakly, rubbing at his jaw, the purple bruise already rising to the surface. "But you know, maybe they got all this Defiler stuff wrong. Maybe it has something to do with virgins, or better yet, sheep."

On the fringe of the crowd, Ukko saw Mebd watching him intently. Beside her stood the blind warrior, Balor, his evil eye hidden once more by clothing.

Unable to leave the safety of the dance, Ukko linked hands with the first woman he saw and threw himself into the reel, working his way, wench to matron to maiden, through the press of bodies until he came out on the other side.

He had warned Sláine, now he had to look after himself, and the best place to hide was right here in plain sight for the time being. Mebd couldn't touch him when he was surrounded by people. When Sláine had drunk and danced his fill he would drive the witch out of Murias. For now all Ukko could do was try to enjoy himself.

A giggling daughter of Danu blew him a playful kiss across the heads of the revellers. She cupped her ample breasts suggestively, and inclined her head.

Perhaps,
he thought to himself, catching it,
I won't have to try too hard.

EPILOGUE

Sláine did not sleep well during his first night as king.

The Morrigan came to him in his dreams.

"Greetings, Sun King."

"Is this real?" Sláine asked, staring into her feathered face.

"As much as anything ever is, Sessair."

"What are you doing inside my head, Crone?"

"Oh how short the memories of mortals are. I have come to collect my promise, Sun King. Walk with me through the dreams of your people, Sun King."

"This is the promise you would have me keep?"

"No, this is something you must do."

He took her feathered hand and followed as she led him through the deserted streets of Murias to the dying trees of the forest, and into the defiled temple of Crom-Cruach. As he stood before the ruin, the quality of the light shifted and gradually the dissolution was reversed, the temple returning to its lost glory. The carvings of the Wyrm God sank back into the stone, replaced by images of Danu.

"Behold the great Sun King," the Crone cawed, a feathered talon thrust towards the antlered figure pacing back and forth through the sacred grove. Sláine knew the man instinctively; it was Slough Feg, crowned in the antlered headdress of Carnun, Horned God, the cloak of beams wrapped around his powerful shoulders. This Feg is not the withered caricature of humanity that so defiled the body of Danu. He is a tall vibrant man, a great Sun King, noble and proud, not unlike Sláine himself. "Yes," the Crone said, as though reading his mind, "he was once like you, wed to my sister Goddess, leader of men, but he loved life more than he ever loved Blodeuwedd. That was his vanity and vanity was his failing."

"What is this promise, Morrigan? Would you have me return to this time to slay him before he becomes the evil he is today? I can do that. I can deliver wounds that will not whiten if that is what you desire."

"Oh, no, Sláine," the Crone came around to stand before him, "I would have you promise something far more difficult. I would have you return him to his one true love, your wife, my sister. I would have this once great man whole again. And more, I would have you rise up in his stead to replace him. That is the promise you gave me, Sláine, that you shall take on the antlers of the Horned God and save this wretched soul!"

"You would have me become my enemy?" said Sláine, knowing even as he said it that he was bound by his blind promise. "That is no promise, Crone, that is a curse."

Glossary

CARNUN - The Horned God, Lord of the Beasts.

CROM-CRUACH - The Worm God, Lord of the Mounds. Worshipped by the Southern tribes.

DANU - The Earth Goddess.

DRUIDS - Priests of the Northern tribes.

DRUNE LORDS - Evil Priest-Kings of the Southern tribes.

EARTH POWER - The spiral force that runs through the Weird Stones (Megaliths). It can be used for good or evil. Also known as The Earth Serpent.

HALF-DEAD - Warriors killed but trapped between the worlds.

HERO-HARNESS - Worn by warped warriors, so their clothes don't rip during the spasm.

LUG - The Sun God. The Sun and Earth are worshipped by the Northern tribes.

OGHAMS - Early form of writing. Also a sign language.

RED BRANCH - Sláine's tribe's greatest warriors.

SALMON-LEAP - Jumping your own height. A Sessair battle-skill - like shield-jumping and spear-catching.

SKULL SWORDS - Drune soldiers.

SLOUGH - Drune leader who has shed (sloughed) his skin.

SOURLAND - Land warped by sorcery.

THE LORD WEIRD SLOUGH FEG - Supreme Drune, thousands of years old.

TIR-NAN-OG - The Land of the Young.

TRIBES OF THE EARTH GODDESS - The legendary Northern tribes, including the Sessair.

WARP-SPASM - A strange and terrifying battle-frenzy,much worse than a berserker fury. Caused by Earth Power, which some warriors can warp through their bodies.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

British author Steven Savile is an expert in cult fiction, having written a wide variety of SF including
StarWars
and
Jurassic Park
), fantasy and horror stories, as well as a slew of editorial work on anthologies in the UK and USA. He won the L Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future award in 2002, was runner-up in the British Fantasy Award in 2000 and has been nominated three times for the Bram Stoker Award. He currently lives in Stockholm, Sweden.