The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (12 page)

The night she met the Fey was one that found her at her lowest ebb. She had developed a sore upon her knee that was becoming worse with every passing day. When she had shown the nuns, their answer was that she must have sinned in the eyes of God and that she should drop down and pray for forgiveness and healing, they forced her to her knees and stood over her while the pain flared, and she prayed in a loud sobbing voice, but the sore became worse, and her prayers went unanswered.

After several days, one of the friendlier sisters brought her a poultice made up of leaves, wet straw and mashed onion that had been steeped in vinegar. It was applied to her leg, bound in sackcloth and her hopes rose, but it was soon apparent that the poultice only made it worse. The sore became even larger and swollen, making her leg stiff, difficult to bend and therefore to kneel. A yellow puss oozed behind the poultice causing her great pain, and now she had the added worry that she might now lose her life.

Although she was greatly in need of as much rest and sleep as she could find, Morgana continued to escape the confines of Laherne. After prayers late one night with tears still drying on her face, Morgana opened the shutter in the storeroom window that she knew to be unobserved, and slipped carefully down into the darkness and limped across the fields towards the forest beyond. Beneath her bare feet the grass was cold and wet, yet this brought her no discomfort, only joy; it was such a blessing to be free and away. She shivered and wished she had thought to bring her shawl as it was a cold night, but knowing it would be more sheltered by the trees, she hobbled on, looking back from time to time in fear she might be seen from the Abbey.

Once at the treeline she relaxed and took a deep breath. There was no moon visible, yet its light from behind the clouds was enough to find the fallen tree that she knew made a comfortable seat. She fussed with the poultice for a moment making sure it had not come loose in her haste to be away. And then she stopped, looked up towards the forest as she felt the eyes of something… or someone was upon her.

'You are hurt, child.' The voice came out from the darkness. It was accompanied by a soft fluttering. Morgana tried to locate the sound, her hand coming up to her mouth to stifle a scream.

'Fear not, we are not here to hurt you… although we would be quite capable of doing so should we wish.' The voice was dry, like a whispered breeze dancing through the branches of the trees. 'We have watched you here before and have come to know you, but now you come to us in pain, this draws us.'

'Yes, my leg is hurting… who… who are you?' Morgana rose from her seat and took a step back as the sound of wings flapping came once again from the dark depths of the trees. Her heart was beating loudly in her ears, but she managed to restrain the impulse to turn and run. Instead, she strained her eyes, trying to see into the blackness of the forest, but it was hopeless, there was nothing to be seen.

'I am the one they call the Morrigan in the tales and stories told upon cold and moonless nights. I am one of the Fey, and I have watched you and know you well. You and I shall come to know each other well, Morgana, very well, but first, we must attend to the wounds of your flesh before we might feed the needs of your mind. Enter the forest my dear; I would have you meet my kin.'

Small dim lights appeared floating close by and Morgana felt herself step forward into the forest and the world of the Fey.

As she entered, the lights seemed to gather her up. Her mind filled with light, and she could see the trees and branches around her glowing with a rainbow of colours, pulsing with the energy of their life force. What she had at first perceived to be but dim lights, were now golden. They spun her round, and she smiled and felt the joy of her being. As they moved through the trees, the Fey, for that is what they were, whispered with their voices high and musical. They talked to her and instructed her in the nature of all things, constantly moving, dancing and spinning, twisting and turning, around and around until, with a start, Morgana was back at the edge of the forest, dawn was breaking, and a bell was tolling calling the faithful to prayer.

The bell… oh heavens, the bell….she was late… as she ran across the fields she didn't notice that her knee was now healed, nor did she see the black crow that flew over her having now claimed her as one of its own, a child of the Morrigan and the Fey.

'I visited the Morrigan and the Fey for many years, learning their ways. She still talks to me, teaches me, and helps me with the needs of my life, Uther. You cannot understand the knowledge and gifts that were bestowed upon me.' Morgana tipped more of the infusion into the King's slack lips; his face lost to the story and the power of the brew.

'And now once more it is your turn to speak. Earlier, you mentioned someone called, the Stranger. Uther, did the Druids make you meet with him? Tell me more of what took place before you were able to visit the stones? Was this Stranger one of the Druids?'

Uther's face split into a huge grin, and his eyes focused for a moment. His hand came up and pushed the bowl that Morgana had been pushing to his lips, to the side.

'The Stranger, when we met him, was no Druid, Morgana, no, not a Druid…' His face was now a huge smile that slowly crumpled until a tear rolled down his cheek. 'The Stranger was not a Druid nor an ordinary man; he was a monster, a terrible, terrible monster that caused such awful pain… much the same as your Morrigan, he was not something of this world.

 Chapter 11 
Uath The Stranger

'The people of Difelyn made us very welcome.' Uther took a few laboured breaths and licked his lips before continuing. 'I had feared that once they knew we were in their lands to take the stones, to take away what must surely have been a holy place to them, to remove it… that they would become hostile. But at that time, of course, we had not even seen the stones, nor considered what a task it might be, so they were welcoming.' Uther leant forward and sucked the infusion noisily from the proffered bowl. It felt good as it slipped down his throat. It was sweet with honey and had a flowery taste edged with a strange mustiness that was not unpleasant, after another breath he continued.

'The people of Difelyn were not angry that we had arrived, they were intrigued. Their stories told that one day men would come and attempt to take the stones. I suppose they didn't really believe it because the stones were so huge, massive, and they didn't see how it could be accomplished. The very idea of us picking them up and leaving must have sounded so ridiculously absurd, so of course they weren't worried we were going to run off with them. I think they were just interested to see what we might try and do. They allowed a hundred of us to rest in Difelyn, they fed us, shared their fires with us and gave us enough of their ale and clear spirit drink that we all lost our heads in the celebration. We awoke late, all feeling the ill effects of the Erin brew, and the next day they took us to see the Druids.

'What type of drink hits so hard that it makes a man wish he was dead?' Uther staggered over the loose stones of the path and rubbed at his head as he walked.

'I think we may already be dead and all this is just an evil dream. There is a taste in my mouth that even my dog would spit out… and my head is still pounding with the sound of those infernal drums.' Duc Gerlois hawked up a gob of phlegm to emphasise his point and then stopped to clasp his temples. 'Ohhh… where are we going and why could I not stay sleeping?'

At that moment, Merlyn strode past the two men, swinging his staff and smiling happily. He gave them a little wave. 'We go to visit the Druid camp upon the mountain, my Lords. Isn't it a beautiful morning? Breathe deeply, enjoy the experience of being close to this land.'

'That Druid is infuriating,' growled Gerlois as he watched Merlyn stride ahead. 'It was he who kept pouring the little bowls for us, and I am sure he was drinking as much of it as we did.'

'No doubt he has some potion or other, some root or herb he is sucking on that clears his head and stops his stomach from churning so.' Uther stopped and watched as the Druid passed Cunobelin, slapping him on the back as he went. It appeared as if the young Trinovantes lord was suffering as much as Uther and Gerlois because he staggered under the Druid's blow as if he had been struck by a Saxon battleaxe. As they reached him, Uther gathered the young lord under his arm and the three helped each other along, still complaining irritably.

By mid-morning, the warriors of Difelyn had brought them through the foothills and up onto the lower slope of Mount Killaraus. For those that could summon the effort to look about them, the path had taken them from the settlement, up through woodland and past numerous smallholdings where family groups gathered to scratch an existence from small tilled fields. They passed through some cool, dark woods and then emerged from the low treeline to the sight of sheep scattering, leaping and calling in fright at the unexpected appearance of the long line of warriors. The low clouds that had covered the earlier part of their trek with layers of mist had all but disappeared; the sun was now making an appearance and the day was warming. The view out across the land towards the shimmering sea was enough to bring many of the warriors to a halt. They stopped to rest and skins of weak ale were passed back and forth.

'
Are we close now, Merlyn?
' shouted Uther. '
Is there much further to walk, because I for one am about to lay right here on this soft green grass and fall asleep.
' There were many calls of agreement as others lay back delighting in the fact that it was the King himself who had called the halt. Uther shaded his eyes and watched as the Druid strode back towards him.

'You choose a good spot to break your journey, because we are close, worry not.' Merlyn squatted down leaning on his staff. 'You can rest here for some time should you wish. The caves are just a short walk further through the trees,' - he pointed further along the path - 'and I am told they have a hall being prepared for our arrival.'

'Our arrival, how do they know we are coming?'

'They are Druids, Uther; they know we are coming.' Merlyn stood and turned at the sound of a horn being blown, floating as it was carried to them on the wind. It was deep and seemed to make the whole mountain and everything around them vibrate. Every head turned to the distant trees where their guides had just disappeared.

'This seems a little ominous, my King,' rumbled Duc Gerlois. 'Should we perhaps form a shield wall or maybe be ready for an attack of some kind?'

'They are Druids, Duc Gerlois; there will be no attack. They seek to welcome us, nothing more.' Merlyn turned to Uther. 'I shall go ahead and prepare the way. Remember that we are here to be tested, it shall go well, I have no fear of that but do be ready, may the spirits be with you, King Uther.' Merlyn rose and walked away towards the trees without waiting for Uther to reply, and Uther lay back content for a while to allow the sun to warm his face.

Unfortunately, Uther didn't get a chance to fall asleep, though he was close. His mind was drifting, just imagining that he was back near his village, at the lake with his friend Cal. They were talking about going for a swim… which seemed like a good idea, but then he was brought out of his reverie by a shout from down the line that someone was approaching.

Uther sat up and rubbed at his eyes, blinking them and shielding them from the sun's glare as he tried to see who it might be. A figure had stopped by a group of warriors further down the path and he could see them pointing back towards him.

Wearily he rolled to his side and heaved himself up. 'To your feet, my Lords. I believe we are about to meet our first Erin Druid.' The others roused themselves and after a few moments, they were all waiting in some sort of readiness as the Druid came walking towards them.

He wore the usual long robes of a Druid, his were a dirty grey, had his hands clasped before him as he walked and a smile set firmly upon his face, but he was young, Uther noted. He had started to think that all Druids were old with long grey hair and even longer beards, but this one appeared to be not much older than Arthur, and his beard was dark brown and cut short to his chin, but he still wore the same, idiotic Druid smile.

'I bid you welcome to Erin, King Uther, my Lords. My name is Finis and I shall be your guide as we enter the cave.'

'Thank you for your welcome, Finis,' said Uther. 'You didn't happen to see a Druid by the name of Merlyn, did you? He was travelling with us and went ahead.'

'The Druid Merlyn is well and has already left us to visit with the Council as they meet upon the high fell. You are to be our guests here for a few days until he returns. Please, let us walk. It would be my pleasure to see you settled and bring you food and ale.' Finis bowed his head and swept his hand in the direction of the trees.

'No more strong ale, at least for the time being, friend Finis,' rumbled Duc Gerlois. 'However, a place to rest and a little food would be most welcome. I am quite ready to finish our little walk today.'

'A hall has been prepared for you. Please, follow me.' Finis turned and walked back in the direction that he had come and Uther and his men gathered their things and followed in a ragged line.

When they passed through the small curtain of trees through which the Druid had disappeared, they emerged into a large open clearing, dominated by an enormous cave that towered over their heads. The Britons began to bunch up as they passed through the barrier of trees, stopping to gaze in awe at what appeared to be the huge mouth of the mountain gaping open above them. It looked as if the mountain was taking a huge bite out of the land and had paused, for just one moment, to contemplate its task.

High above, the ragged edge of the overhanging cliff had the appearance of jagged teeth set into terrible jaws. Smoke drifted between the teeth and birds circled and called, swooping between the points apparently indifferent to any risk that the jaws might close.

'Oh, I know why the Druids like this place,' muttered Uther. Looking about him he realised that his men had all halted, yet Finis was still striding on towards the cluster of halls and roundhouses erected further on within the cavern. Smoke rose from several and he estimated that the Druids must number near a hundred, even when one of the larger halls had been prepared for visitors. Finis had turned and was gesturing for them to follow.

'Come on, let us enter the mouth of the mountain and hope it doesn't decide to taste us,' called Uther, leading his men forward past strange rocks piled one upon another and even stranger totems, branches tied with cloth, feathers, bones and the skulls of animals, birds and rodents.

As they stepped from the light, passing under the rock canopy far above, they entered the Druid settlement and began to hear the echoes of their own footsteps, and then other strange sounds began to float about them. Chanting and the soft sound of drums filled the air, along with a dry whispering, as if a soft chant were coming from countless voices. Druids began emerging from all around to watch the sight of so many warriors walking amongst them. One Druid, dressed in dirty black robes, walked forward, pointed at the group and started shouting and spitting angrily, but another quickly came and quieted him, leading him away.

'Truth be told, King Uther, I am not too comfortable in places like this.' Duc Gerlois was indeed looking a little distressed as he tripped along, picking his way over the rock-strewn floor of the cave. 'I find Druids to be a little… well a little confusing and unpredictable to say the least. We have a small grove just a short way from my fortress at Tintagel. Nice enough people I am sure. I have little to do with them, but whenever I pass by, they flap branches at me and make the strangest noises, rattling bones and blowing horns… I don't mind telling you; I find them all just a little… well, just a little disturbing.'

'You are not alone, Duc Gerlois. I don't think anyone who is not a Druid could ever understand them or some of the things they consider to be normal. The trouble is that the lives of Druids rarely come into contact with many of us. We have little opportunity to become accustomed to their ways.' Uther glanced back and saw that the Duc wasn't alone in his unease. Many of the warriors were wide-eyed and obviously just as agitated as Duc Gerlois to be walking in the company of Druids. Usually, if a band of warriors should chance upon a Druid grove, they would carefully retrace their steps, find a different route, and leave the Druids undisturbed to continue their ramblings and rites alone. Sending them back to the boats wasn't an answer, they would have to hold strong until they were in the hall and then there would be opportunity for rest.

The crowd of dirty Druids parted as they neared the largest hall. There was much muttering and swaying, but none other approached. Uther found himself touching the dragon shaped pommel of Excalibur and drew his hand away. He led his men through the Druids, smiling at them as he went and then on towards the smiling Finis.

The hall was large. As they entered through the sturdy plank doors, Uther could see at least eight different areas with fires already burning, with seating and pallets set about each of them promising solace and comfort to his men. The hall was at least fifty paces long and almost as many wide. A high thatched roof rose above them and was open at both ends to help disperse the smoke. Supporting the roof was a framework of heavy beams intricately carved with Druidic runes and knots. It was warm and welcoming, and Uther felt his apprehension fall away as he entered and was welcomed once more by Finis and two older Druids, their long grey beards plaited and laced with an assortment of sticks, bones and shiny things that caught the flickering light of the fires. One of the old Druids stepped forward and raised his staff, the bones sticks and shells rattling as he did so.