Stephen Lawhead - Scarlet

It took monumental patience, and ferocious concentration, but at last the river seemed to change course slightly-as when the tide, which has been rising all the while, suddenly begins to ebb. This it does between one wave and the next and, while there is nothing to signal the change, it is definite, inexorable, and profound. The flow of time and being changed just as surely as the tide, and she felt the inescapable pull of events flowing around her-some definite and fixed, others half-formed and malleable, and still others whose potential was long since exhausted. For not everything that happened in the world was fixed and certain; some events lingered long as potentialities, influencing all around them, and others were more transient, mere flits of raw possibility.

As a child might dangle its fingers in the water to attract the tiny fish, Angharad trailed her fingers through the tideflow of all that was, and is, and is yet to be. She imagined herself strolling through the water, feeling the smooth rocks beneath her bare feet, the shore moving and changing as she walked until she came to a familiar bend. She had dabbled here before. Taking a deep breath, she stretched out her hands, tingling with the pulse of possibility.

There!

She felt a glancing touch like the nibble of a fish that struck and darted away. An image took shape in her mind: A host of knights past numbering, all on the march, swarming over the land, burning as they advanced, crushing and killing any who stood in their way. Black smoke billowed to the sky where they had passed. At the head of this army she saw a banner-bloodred, with two golden lions crouching, their claws extended-and carrying the banner, a man astride a great warhorse. The man was broad of shoulder and gripped the pole of the banner in one hand and a bloody sword with the other; he bestrode his battle horse like a champion among men. But he was not a mere man, for he had flames for hair and empty pits where his eyes should be. The vast army arrayed behind this dread, implacable lord carried lances upraised-a forest of slender shafts, the steel heads catching the livid glimmer of a dying sun's rays.

Inwardly, she shrank from this dread vision, and half turned away. Instantly, another image sprang into her mind: a broad-beamed ship tossed high on stormy waves, and a rain-battered coastline of a low, dark country away to the east. There were British horses aboard the ship, and they tossed their heads in terror at the wildly rocking deck. This image faded in its turn and was replaced by another: Bran, bow in hand, fleeing to the wood on the back of a stolen horse. She could feel his rage and fear; it seared across the distance like a flame. He had killed; there was blood behind him and a swiftly closing darkness she could not penetrate-but it had a vague, animal shape, and she sensed a towering, primitive, and savage exultation.

The image so shocked her that she opened her eyes.

The cave was dark. The fire had burned out. She turned towards the cave entrance to see that it was dark outside. The whole day had passed, maybe more than one day. She rose and began pulling on her dry clothes, dressing to go out. She wished she had thought to prepare something to eat; but she had rested somewhat, and that would have to keep her until she reached Cel Craidd.

If she left at once and walked through the night, she could be there before nightfall tomorrow. Knowing she was already too late to prevent whatever had taken place-something terrible, she could feel it like a knife in her gut-she nevertheless had to go now, if only to tend the wounded and gather up the broken pieces.

Well, here I was twixt hammer and anvil, no mistake. I had little choice but to carry on as best I could, hoping all the while that when we reached the meeting place in the forest I might alert Bran to the disaster before the trap was sprung. Our plan to capture the sheriff when he arrived to escort the merchant's wagons depended wholly on de Glanville's eagerness to catch King Raven. Not one of us had foreseen the possibility that he would choose to stay home.

As I led those knights and soldiers into the wood on that clear bright day, I felt as if I was leading them to my own funeral… Odo thinks this is funny. He stifles a chuckle, but I see his sly smirk. "Tell me, monk," says I, "since you know so much-which is funnier, a man about to die speaking of funerals? Or a priest laughing at death while the devil tugs at his elbow?"

"Sorry, my lor-" He catches himself again, and amends his words. "Sorry, Will, I didn't mean anything. I thought it amusing, is all."

"Well, we live to entertain our betters," I tell him. "The condemned must be a constant source of pleasure for you and your bloody Abbot Hugo."

"Hugo is not my abbot." This he says in stark defiance of the plain facts. "He is a disgrace to the cloth."

How now! There is a small wound a-festering, and I poke it a little, hoping to open it more.

"Odo," I say, shaking my head, "is that any way to talk about your spiritual superior?"

"Abbot Hugo is not my spiritual superior," he sniffs. "Even the lowest dog in the pack is superior to him."

This is the first time I'd ever heard him dishonour the abbot, and I cannot help but wonder what has happened to turn this dutiful pup against his master. Was it something I said?

"I do believe you are peevish, my friend," I say. "What has happened to set your teeth on edge?"

Odo sighs and rolls his eyes. "It is nothing," he grunts, and refuses to say more. I coax but, stubborn stump that he is, Odo will not budge. So, we go on… We followed the King's Road up from the Vale of Elfael and into the bare winter wood. Bailiff Antoin was more than wary. He was not a fool, mind. He knew only too well what awaited him if King Raven should appear out of the shadows. Yet, give him his due, he showed courage and good humour riding into the forest to offer protection to the merchants. All the soldiers did, mind, and most were eager to take arms against the phantom.

I was the Judas goat leading these trusting sheep to the slaughter.

True, I did not know what Bran would do when he saw that the sheriff was not with us. The bailiff noticed my fretful manner and tried to reassure me. "You're worrying for nothing," he said. "The raven creature will not attack in daylight. He only comes out at night."

Where he had picked up this notion, I have no idea. "You would know best, Sire," I replied, trying to smile.

The road rose up the long slope into the wood, eventually following the crest a short distance before beginning the long descent into the Valley of the Wye. The soldiers maintained an admirable wariness; they talked little and kept their eyes moving. They were learning: if not to fear the wood and its black phantom, then at least to show a crumb of respect.

The road is old and descends below deep banks for much of the way; here and there it crosses streams and brooks that come tumbling out of the greenwood. Little humps of snow still occupied the shadows and places untouched by the sun. The going is slow at the best of times, and on that winter day, with the weak sunlight spattered and splayed through bare branches, little puffs of mist rising from the rocks or roots warmed by the sun, eternity seemed to pass with every dragging step. The men grew more quiet the deeper into the wood we went. I was thinking that we must be near to meeting the wagons when I heard the low bellow of an ox and the creaking of wooden wheels. I raised myself in the saddle to listen.

A moment later, the first wagon hove into view. I saw Iwan walking beside the lead ox, holding a long goad. In his merchant's clothing-a long wool cloak, tall boots, and a broad belt to which a fat purse was attached-he seemed only slightly more tame than usual. He was shaved, and his hair had been trimmed to make him appear more like a merchant, or the guard of a travelling trader. The other wagon was some distance behind, and I could only just make it out as it lumbered toward us, bumping along the rutted road.