Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

That got Fachtna’s attention. He jumped into the pool and waded towards the bodies. They were a small pale people, though death and immersion would always make a body pale. There were traces of paint on their bodies but no tattoos. Whatever weapons and armour they might have owned had been stripped from them.

Fachtna cut into the flesh of one of the bodies.

‘That is an ill thing,’ Britha said angrily.

‘It is an augury,’ Fachtna said, distracted.

‘And who are you to augur on the bones of people not yours, who have been left to rest in their own way?’ she demanded.

‘These wounds, they make channels in the flesh, like the roots of the tree,’ he told her.

‘These are Bress’s weapons. We know this.’

Fachtna took some of the flesh into his mouth and tasted it.

‘What are you doing?!’

Fachtna spat the flesh out. ‘These are kin of yours,’ he told her.

‘These are not kin of mine, fool!’

‘And yet in part your blood is the same as theirs.’

‘Then they were corrupted by the demons and left here when they turned on their own people.’

‘They died fighting Bress’s band, and I mean the blood you share with Cliodna and the Muileartach.’

Britha considered this. ‘The insects know that their blood is unnatural.’ Fachtna said nothing. ‘I thought the power you had was in your arms and legs and the weapons you bear.’

‘Don’t forget my cock.’

‘You are a fool and I do not believe you,’ Britha said in exasperation.

‘Then I will have Teardrop tell you.’

Fachtna waded across the pool. He had reached the bank and was about to step up when he stopped.

‘Why did you kill them?’ he asked, not quite turning to look at her directly.

Britha spent some time deciding whether to dignify his question with an answer. ‘Because they didn’t care about themselves so I ate their spirits,’ she finally said.

He nodded. ‘Have you ever done the like before?’

‘I’ve never met people like that before, and who are you to question me?’

‘Would you have done the same in the past?’

Britha said nothing. The silence seemed to go on and on before Fachtna stepped out of the pool and started back towards where they had left Teardrop. Britha watched the warrior’s back until the tall breeze-blown rushes swallowed him. What she didn’t tell him was that she had not felt even a trace of remorse for what she had done. In fact, it had left her feeling stronger. She tried to ignore the sense of how far away she was from home and what she had been. She looked at the corpses and wondered if they had known Cliodna.

Fachtna made his way along a tiny game trail. He could see Teardrop just ahead of him. He was facing towards where the smoke was coming from. Fachtna held the bloody knife in one hand; the other held the strap of his shield, which was slung over his shoulder.

He stopped. Despite the blood, he pushed his dirk back into its scabbard. He was half convinced that his mind was playing tricks with him. Then, assuming a low stance, he swung the shield into his hand, the feel of the leather over wood familiar where he gripped it. His sword whispered from the scabbard. He soothed its song with a thought. It was hungry. It had been drawn and not used too often recently.

They were good. He did not understand how he had not known they were there – his senses being expanded far beyond the normal – but they moved with the direction of the wind in the rushes and they moved quickly. They were like wild animals.

He listened. Keeping still. Britha’s footsteps on the trail behind him seemed thunderous. He had not paid close enough attention to Teardrop. He had not read his body like the weapons masters in the younglings’ camp had taught him. The tension in Teardrop’s stance told Fachtna that they had him.

Behind him he heard Britha stop. She had seen Fachtna’s sword and shield at the ready. Fachtna heard her change her position, presumably readying her spear. Now have the good sense to be quiet , Fachtna thought. Then he heard the mindsong.

Britha had her back to Fachtna. She was still, her spear ready. She was not sure what was her awareness of someone or something in the gently swaying reeds around her and what was her mind playing tricks. All she heard was the wind and the water from the nearby river. She glanced over towards it. She could just about make out the Will of Dagon . There would be no help from that quarter. Quite the opposite: they would be pleased to see them gone.

She became aware of the music. It sounded simple, ancient and beautiful. It was a song without words. It was open, baring all. She started when she realised that she could understand it on a level much deeper than mere words, though she was not hearing it. She was listening to it some other way. She heard it inside her head, felt it through her body; her blood responded to it.

They came out of the reeds on all sides. They wore armour made of panels of boiled leather sewn onto skin to make it easier for them to move. Their spears were odd, made of wood, the ends carved into blades and then fire-hardened. Their shields were small and round, leather over wood, all painted with the same design. What could be seen of their skin was covered in mud. Over the top of the dried mud the same symbol was repeated. They wore full head coverings, not unlike the dog masks worn by the Cirig, except these were unmistakably in the shape of a serpent’s head. The serpent was the symbol painted over the mud and present on their shields.

‘Fachtna, I think I’ve made a mistake,’ Teardrop said quietly, but his voice carried.

Britha saw Fachtna move imperceptibly. He was getting ready to attack. He, like her and Teardrop, was surrounded. It looked like death to her. She heard him spit out an unfamiliar word through gritted teeth: ‘Naga.’

‘Fachtna, wait,’ Teardrop said, his voice carrying over the breeze, through the rushes.

‘Better to die,’ Fachtna said.

‘It may not be as we think. Bress raided them,’ Teardrop said. The warriors surrounding them said nothing.

‘Look at them. This is typical. They have set themselves up a god.’

‘Our god sees through our eyes and you are from elsewhere,’ one of the warriors in the snake masks said.

‘Isn’t everyone?’ Fachtna responded.

Britha could hear the warrior talking to Fachtna. The warriors around her were absolutely still, not even responding to any movements she made. Calm, yet she could feel their anger. She wondered how many people they had lost when the black curraghs came.

‘I don’t even want to know your name,’ Fachtna said, an insult. It was not the ritual insult of a challenge but disgust at what the warrior was, letting the man know that he was beneath him.

The man said nothing; he just watched Fachtna.

‘Fachtna, I need you to wait,’ Teardrop said.

‘It serves us nothing,’ Fachtna said. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

Britha wasn’t sure what was going on but she had never heard of Naga and so was sure that this tribe was no enemy of hers. They may become such, but there’s time for that later , she thought.

‘How will you face Bress if you are dead?’ Britha asked.

‘Better to die fighting than to come into their power. There is nothing left of you when they are finished anyway. It makes slavery under Bress look desirable.’

This chilled Britha, but the warrior was given to exaggeration, as all warriors and most men were.

‘But this does not look like that,’ Teardrop said. ‘There are magics here but they are weak.’ Britha could only just hear Teardrop, spread out as they were.

‘Why aren’t they attacking?’ Britha wondered out loud.