David Gemmel - The Hawk Eternal

Many thought him mad. They mocked him and the once-proud lord took it all, making his home in a mountain cave where he lived like a hermit. Caswallon had befriended him, but even with Caswallon the man would not speak of the world beyond the Druid’s Gate. But of the Gates themselves he spoke, and Caswallon had listened.

“The feeling as you pass through,” Oracle had told him, “is unlike any other experience life can offer. For a moment only you lose all sense of self, and experience a great calm. Then there is another moment of sense-numbing speed, and the mind is full of colors, all different, moving past and through you. Then the cold strikes marrow-deep and you are human again on the other side.”

“But where did you go?” Caswallon asked.

“I cannot tell you.”

The wonder of it, Caswallon knew, was that Oracle had returned at all. There were many stories of people disappearing in the mountains, and even rare occasions when strange animals or birds appeared.

But Oracle was the only man he had heard of-save for Taliesen-to pass through and return. There were so many questions Oracle could have answered. So many mysteries he could lay to rest.

“Why can you not tell me?” Caswallon asked.

“I promised the druids I would not.”

Caswallon asked no more. A promise was a thing of steel and ice and no clansman would expect to break such an oath.

“All will be revealed to you, Caswallon. I promise you,” Oracle had told him cryptically.

Now as the young clansman sat beneath a moonlit sky his mind harked back to that conversation. He wasn’t at all sure he desired such knowledge. All he wanted was to find the boys and return them safely to the valley.

Badraig prepared a fire and the men gathered around it silently, fishing in their packs for food. Only Leofas slept.

Cambil pushed back the locks of blond hair from his forehead and wiped sweat from his face. He was tired, filled with the exhaustion only fear can produce. Agwaine was his only son, and he loved him more than anything else the world could provide. The thought of the lad being hunted by a beast from beyond the Gates filled him with terror; he could not face the possibility that Agwaine might die.

“We will find them,” said Caswallon softly.

“Yes,” answered the Hunt Lord. “But alive?”

Caswallon saw the man’s angular, honest face twist, as if a sudden pain had struck him. Beneath the wiry yellow-gold beard Cambil was biting his lip hard, seeking to prevent the collapse into tears of frustration.

“What did you think of the pack incident?” asked Caswallon suddenly.

“What?”

“Gwalchmai dropping his pack and outstripping Agwaine.”

“Oh, that. Clever move. Agwaine did not give up, though. He ran him to the end.”

“Bear that in mind, Cambil. The boy is a fighter. Given half an opportunity he will survive.”

“The thing will probably seek to avoid Man,” said Badraig. “It is the way with animals of the wild, is it not? They know Man is a killer. They walk warily around him.”

“It didn’t walk too warily around the Pallides scout,” said a balding bearded clansman from the west.

“True, Beric-but then, from the tracks, the Pallides was stalking it, though I can’t see why. Still, it is well known the Pallides are long on nerve and short on brain.”

Slowly, as the night passed, the men drifted off to sleep until at last only Cambil and Caswallon remained sitting side by side before the fire.

“It’s been a long time since we sat like this, cousin,” said Cambil, breaking a lengthy silence.

“Yes. But we walk different paths now. You have responsibility.”

“It could have been yours.”

“No,” said Caswallon.

“Many would have voted for you.”

“They would have been wrong.”

“If Agwaine is taken I shall take my daughter and leave the Farlain,” said Cambil, staring into the glowing ashes of the dying blaze.

“Now is not the time to think of it,” Caswallon told him. “Tomorrow we will talk as we walk the boys home.”

Cambil said nothing more. He unrolled his blanket, curled it around his shoulders, and settled down against his pack.

Caswallon stood and made his way slowly up the farthest slope into the deep, cool pine woods beyond. From the tallest point he gazed to the northeast, seeking sign of a campfire, yet knowing he would see nothing. The boys were too well trained.

Sixteen miles northeast the four companions were arguing over the choicest morsels of a freshly cooked rabbit. Lennox, who had cooked the coney and served it, was protesting innocence, despite his plate bearing twice as much meat as any other.

“But I am bigger,” he said seriously. “My pack carries all the cooking equipment. And it was my snare.”

Gwalchmai broke from the argument for long enough to pop a small piece of meat in his mouth and begin chewing. He dropped from the discussion instantly, tugging surreptitiously at Gaelen’s cloak. Gaelen saw the expression on his face. He tried his own meat, chewed for a moment, then removed the offending gobbet. Lennox and Layne were still arguing furiously. “I think Lennox is right,” said Gaelen suddenly. “He is the largest and he has the greatest burden. Here, take mine too, my friend.”

“I couldn’t,” said Lennox, his eyes betraying his greed.

“No, truly. One small rabbit is scarce enough to build your strength.” Gaelen tipped the contents of his plate on Lennox’s own. In the meantime Gwalchmai had whispered to Layne.

“I’m sorry, brother,” said Layne, smiling. “Gaelen has made me realize how selfish I am. Take my portion too.”

“And mine,” added Gwalchmai eagerly.

Lennox sat back on his haunches. “You are all true friends,” he said, gazing dreamily at his plate. Discarding his knife he scooped a handful of meat into his mouth. For several seconds he chewed in silence, then his face froze. His three companions waited in nerve-tingling silence until he doggedly finished the mouthful and swallowed.

“Is it good?” asked Layne, his face set and serious.

“Yes, it is,” said Lennox. “But look, I feel bad about taking it all.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Gwalchmai swiftly. “Your need is the greatest.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you cooked it,” put in Gaelen.

“I know, but…”

“Eat on, brother,” said Layne. “See, it grows cold and… congeals.”

The dam burst and all three broke into giggling laughter. Realization struck Lennox and he hurled the diseased meat into the bushes. “Swine!” he said.

A hundred paces above them, on the edge of the trees, the beast squatted on its haunches glaring down at the fire. The laughter puzzled it, for the sound was similar to the screeching of the small apes of its homeland. Its black nostrils flared, catching the aroma of scorched flesh-rancid-smelling sickly flesh.

The beast snorted, blowing the scent away. It stretched its powerful legs, moving several paces left. Here the flesh scent was different, warm-blooded, salty, and alive. The creature’s eyes glittered. Hunger urged it to charge the camp and take the meat. Instinct made it fear the fire.

The beast settled down to wait.

Gaelen’s dreams were troubled. Once more the Aenir killers pursued him, the pounding of their horses’ hooves drumming fear into him as he ran. His legs were heavy, his movements sluggish. Suddenly a calming blue light filled his mind and the warriors faded. A face appeared, wrinkled and ancient, only the dark eyes giving a hint of life.

“The fire,” said a deep melodious voice, though the lips did not move. “The fire is dying. Awake!”

Gaelen groaned and rolled over, trying to force the man from his mind.