Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

Ahead between the two islands they could see the massive wicker man rising from the waters, though Britha knew it was not made of wicker. Despite being several miles away she could make out its iron and wood framework. Above the line of the water its legs were filled with what looked like firewood. Its torso had different levels, each containing people. Her eyesight was now good enough to make out the arms of the frightened people inside the structure. After having the little crystal seeds pushed into their skulls they might have been docile enough, but now the seeds’ magics seemed to have worn off. What was worse was that somehow she could feel their fear. It was like a background noise to her thoughts. Worse still, she knew that there was something in those waters, something that called to her. She wanted nothing more than to wade in and let the dark waters cover her. She knew they would not be cold, somehow.

Teardrop came to stand next to her.

‘They hope this will bring their god? This Llwglyd Diddymder?’ she asked.

‘What we call the Muileartach and what the Atrebates worship as an aspect of Andraste is the last goddess who has not been corrupted by the sky gods. They will use the pain and fear of the sacrifice to drive her mad.’

‘How?’

‘She would feel it anyway. The goddess is not unkind, but the crystal seeds you saw in your dream are magics that will carry the suffering directly to her. Already what is happening will be affecting the goddess’s servants.’

To Britha this seemed like cruelty for the sake of cruelty. Like those warriors who enjoyed hurting people more than victory, like the mormaers who abused their position. It was not the way to act, and it was the job of those with responsibility, the dryw , the cateran , to stop such things. As she watched the black curraghs around the wicker man and the giants wading in waist-high water close to the shores, she wondered how they could take all this on with only fifty warriors.

‘This.’ She nodded at the wicker man. ‘This is the man that Crom Dhubh must kill as the Serpent Father said?’ Teardrop nodded. It was foolish and weak to worship the gods, she knew, but she found herself feeling sympathy for the Muileartach. ‘Why do this to her?’ They were talking in the language of the Pecht, so Morfudd would not understand and realise that she was not the daughter of Andraste, though the warrior was watching them suspiciously.

‘Because they are low men,’ Teardrop said. Was there a hint of anger in his voice? ‘And because as a goddess, the one we call the Muileartach has magics far more powerful than anything you or I could imagine. She can open the way for this Llwglyd Diddymder.’

‘That name was not taught in the groves,’ Britha told him.

‘I do not know of it either.’

‘It is not a good name.’

‘Agreed.’

Tangwen came running back, keeping low.

‘I have found a causeway onto the island and hopefully through the marsh.’ The east side of the western island looked boggy.

They could hear the sound of hoof beats behind them. Britha glanced over her shoulder. The Corpse People had made their way down and were now galloping towards them but were still some distance away.

Tangwen turned and headed off. Britha went to follow. Morfudd stayed still and her people did likewise.

‘This is a poor place to fight warriors on horseback,’ Teardrop told her. ‘On the causeway they can only come at you a few abreast.’

‘Though if you run you may live longer as a craven,’ Britha said impatiently. She was sick of having to coax them every step of the way. Morfudd stared at her. Britha realised then that the other woman hated her and would quite like to kill her.

‘Your people are dead; your rhi is dead,’ Fachtna said grimly. ‘All any of us have left is to sell our lives dearly to the monsters that did this.’

Morfudd turned to Fachtna. The warrior had been getting steadily grimmer. The choices they had made, the sacrifices, Britha’s killing of the boy and the changes in Teardrop had all taken their toll. The swaggering bravado was gone.

Finally Morfudd nodded and they all made their way down onto the causeway.

‘I think they know we are here,’ Tangwen said nervously.

‘I don’t think those that matter care,’ Britha told her. The hunter had been scouting ahead. She had now decided to stay closer to the main group.

They had crossed the causeway to the east side of the western island and were now following it past channels of water and reed-choked islands of viscous mud. It smelled of low tide and decay. The shore of the eastern island was hundreds of feet away but they could still make out the bodies tied to poles. They were above the waterline now, but at high tide the poles would be partially submerged. Each of the corpses tied to the poles was a red ruin below the waist. They had also had their faces cut off. Gulls picked at the cadavers.

All along the shore of the eastern island the mad had come to jeer and scream at them. Clad in rags or naked, many of them bearing self-inflicted wounds, they looked wretched. Britha didn’t like it and it was clear they were making the Cigfran Teulu nervous. They spat and made signs to protect themselves from evil. They saw their future on those poles.

Standing among the army of the wretched were what Britha guessed were their dryw . They wore soiled robes that might have once been white. Leaning on grisly decorated staffs, each of them wore a flayed skin mask of someone’s face over their own features. If once they had cared for the unwanted, moonstruck or other unfortunates, then that time was long gone.

Some of the mad ran across the mud, threw themselves into what was now quite a small channel between the two islands and swam towards them. Some of the warriors readied their casting spears.

‘Save your spears!’ Fachtna’s voice rang out over the mud. The authority in it had them hesitating. Fachtna was at the front of the column with Britha, Tangwen and Teardrop. Morfudd was at the rear because that was where they were expecting to be attacked first. Morfudd glared at Fachtna, who cursed himself. The Cigfran Teulu glanced at Morfudd. She motioned them to lower their spears.

‘Horsemen!’ Morfudd’s voice carried to the front of the column. Britha, Tangwen, Teardrop and Fachtna turned to look. Sure enough, Corpse People on horseback were approaching three abreast along the causeway.

It was an interesting choice, Britha thought. She would have dismounted to attack. The back three rows of the column formed up. Their longspears became a wall of pointed metal enchanted with Fachtna and Britha’s blood magics.

‘Make way! Move!’ Fachtna was pushing his way through the men and women of the Cigfran Teulu towards the rear of the column.

Ysgawyn rode in the third rank of horsemen on the causeway. Under normal circumstances he would have attacked on foot, but the horses they rode were from the Otherworld. They would not shy from iron spearheads like normal horses and he was impatient to taste the meat of the last of the Atrebates. The slaughter at the Crown of Andraste had been a fine thing, but there had been no challenge, no warriors. They had sneaked away like cowards, and he wanted the power of the four who had defied his army at the gate.

Ahead they could see the three lines of Atrebates. Six abreast, they had levelled their longspears but had no armour or shields. Gwydyon rode in the second rank. The squat, massively built, scarred war leader held up his hand to bring the column to a halt.

‘Sound the carnyx ,’ Ysgawyn whispered to the man next to him, who lifted the long curved brass instrument to his lips. The head of the carnyx was in the form of a horse’s skull in bronze. Normally they would not sound the horn. Normally they were as quiet as the dead when they attacked.