Chapter 18
Fox's Leap
Morgon sat in his tent and examined the party of natives coming towards him. Ardolf of Gorm was amongst them. He had been made War Master following the defeat of the Thirteenth Legion by the Sky Warrior at the Battle of Baddon Marsh.
The guard presented arms and Ardolf entered the tent. Morgon remained seated and waited for the tribesman to go through the elaborate ritual of salutes that clan chieftains thought essential when addressing senior officers of the Imperial Army. He wondered if the little man realised that the once invincible army had fallen apart.
'You asked me to report to you, Lord Morgon.'
The little toad spoke the southern language. That was a relief. Morgon had developed a policy of never trying to intimidate anyone in a language other than his own. He'd lectured his officers on it, reminding them that you got things wrong when you tried to speak a foreign language and that made you sound ridiculous rather than threatening. He grabbed Ardolf by the neck.
'You told me those priests were never wrong.'
'I only told you what the Grand Master said.'
'The stupid idiot got it wrong and now he's dead, ' Morgon bellowed. 'You've got a new Grand Master. That Aaroen is a dangerous man. He's started a new religion. Even the painted savages are talking about it.'
He yanked at the golden image of the Lord Sun, which hung about Ardolf's neck.
'That's one of the very few that's left in this whole frigging land. Your people are melting them down and trading the gold for weapons. They'll soon be better equipped than my boys.'
'The weapons will be used against the Catti.'
'Not if you don't assert your authority. That new religion is uniting the tribes. You've got to do something to make them hate one another again.'
'I'm going to do that,' Ardolf spluttered. 'I'm going to remind them of what the Catti have done to us. I'll make them proud again.'
'How are you going to do that?'
'I'll return Balduur's head.'
'By Bithras.' Morgan took in a deep breath. 'You do like to punish yourself. Haven't you forgotten what happened last time?'
'Last time we were taken in by false intelligence.'
'Hgh.' Morgon grunted. 'And this time?'
'This time we've got it right. We know where it is. We captured one of the princess' girls and made her talk. The little bitch said the head was given to Balduur's daughter.'
'Who?'
'The old witch who lives in the marshes. Prince Fury is with her and he's got that girl with him ... the one who came here with the Sky Warrior.'
'Is that so?' Morgon smiled.
Ardolf's expression relaxed. 'I've sent men to hunt them down. They've talked to the marsh men and they confirm that the young woman is with Prince Fury. We've offered a bounty. I expect to have Balduur's head and that of the young woman by the next rising of Our Lord Sun.'
***
Someone or something was hiding in the reeds. A sixth sense warned Fury. After five moons in the marshes, he was alert to the slightest disturbance. He sniffed the air and detected the familiar odour of poorly cured sealskin, rancid fish oil and human sweat, the unmistakable stench of a marsh man.
They'd been shouting his name, saying they had something to give him. Fury knew why they were looking for him. He had sneaked up to their camp during the night and heard them talking. Ardolf had placed a bounty on their heads. The top price would be paid for Balduur's head but he would also give good money for Alison's. Only Miralda was to be spared. She was of royal blood and the sister of King Pius.
Fury let the coracle drift. There was a presence in the reeds. Someone was perched on an old log near the outlet to the estuary. He didn't have to see the man. He could smell him. Fury knew he was there and he was a threat. The marsh men had bows. They used them to hunt birds and people. Fury doubted if any had a bow equal to his. His had belonged to Alvero. It was a crossbow, manufactured to the highest standards of the Imperial Army. At the touch of a trigger he could unleash a deadly iron bolt.
He watched and waited. Time and hardship had changed him. He no longer called himself Little Bear. His name was Fury Ap-Cronwyn. And Alison was no longer Little Cat. He'd learned the strange name she'd been called in her former life. When he placed his hand on her belly he could feel the baby. He now had three people to care for: Alison, their unborn child and Miralda.
And they still had Balduur's head. They were custodians of the old warlord's soul, which remained trapped in his decaying skull. It was the burden he and Alison had to bear for transgressing the sacred pathways to be together. Miralda had spoken of the burden. She said it wasn't just a matter of taking the head from one place to another. It was the journey that mattered ... and that journey was nearing its end.
Fury glanced down to make sure the crossbow was properly concealed under his cloak. His first shot had to reach its mark. He wouldn't have time to reload. If he missed, he'd have to fall back on the throwing axe that hung from his belt. He still hated violence but was prepared to use it to protect those who depended on him. His features had hardened and his once flowing hair was tied in a tight plait that hung down his back. His hands were rough and scarred from gathering mussels and setting traps for fish and eels.
A gust of wind parted the reeds. Fury caught a glimpse of a marsh man and recognised him as a particularly nasty individual. He let the coracle drift. If the man had a bow he'd have to draw it before he could get in a shot and he'd be dead before he could do that. A crossbow was fired by pulling a trigger and it delivered an armour-piercing bolt. At twenty paces Fury could hit a marsh hen. At ten he could skewer a wren. The distance shrank to five before the man left cover.
'Fury, my young friend.' He drew his bow. 'Look what I've got for yer.'
He was still sneering when the bolt from Fury's crossbow struck him in the chest. Fury watched the man sink to his knees. His only concern was that he'd been too close. If the bolt had passed right through the body, it would be lost. He was relieved when the man collapsed onto his face and he saw the iron tip protruding from his back. He prised the bolt free with his hunting knife, rearmed the crossbow and hurried to where Alison was waiting with Miralda and the other coracle.
'Did you get him?'
'Aye.' Fury tapped the crossbow.
'Is the way clear?'
'It is now ...'
He lashed the coracles together and clambered in beside Miralda. The old woman was wrapped in warm furs and carried Balduur's head in a sealskin bag. Alison sat in the other coracle with a paddle. Fury checked that everything was secure and pushed off from the bank.
***
Dark clouds swirled overhead. Three days had passed since they had left the marshes. Miralda had grown weak and the weather had changed for the worse. They were camped on a desolate shore. Waves crashed onto jagged rocks and storm petrels flew overhead. There were far better places to spend the night but none as safe. Sheer cliffs protected them on one side and a raging sea on the other. No one could reach them there.
A strong current had carried them out of the estuary and they now faced the full force of the waves that swept in from the western ocean. Fury had followed their progress along the coast, checking sightings with what he knew about the neighbouring tribes. Some were allied to his mother's people. Others were not. When they were passing friendly territory he relaxed. When they entered hostile territory he was on his guard.
They were in such a situation now. An island had appeared on the horizon. Miralda said it was their destination and they should go ashore and make the crossing the next day. The safest place was a rocky headland where the seals sought refuge.
There were several hundred of the lumbering creatures on the rocks. They were males waiting for the females to arrive. The older occupied the best spots and the younger were scattered around on narrow ledges and isolated boulders. Fury felt an affinity with the young seals. He had been taken from the company of women and sent into the care of the Duideth. The young seals looked as awkward and uncomfortable as he had been. They huddled together in groups and kept well away from the older males. The big bulls reminded him of the strutting warriors in the villages ... all the time picking fights with one another.
He built a shelter and kindled a fire, striking his flints on the dry moss he kept in his pouch. It wasn't easy. The wood was damp and he had to cut into strips with his knife to extract dry kindling. A pot was soon bubbling. He stirred it and glanced to where Alison was asleep. Her hood had slipped and her head was uncovered. He leant over and pulled it back into position.
A bony hand tugged at his sleeve.
'Look, young brother. I can see the island again.'
Miralda pointed to a dark shape on the horizon. She was sitting cross-legged beside him on a sheepskin rug. The mist had cleared and the island had visible again.
'That is where our destinies come together. Mine, yours and that of your dear companion and the child she bears.' She reached for the sealskin bag. 'And so also will that of my dear father.'
It was the first time Fury had heard Miralda talk about herself. The old woman's energy had always been directed towards the needs of others. Now she was showing concern for herself and her father. He was surprised to hear her refer to the old warlord in affectionate terms.
'Sister, I thought Balduur was an evil man.'
'Evil ... what do you mean by that?'
'Someone who does bad things.'
The old woman chuckled. 'Who is to say what is bad?'
'People who know.'
'Do you mean people like the priests of the Duideth?'
'Nay, Sister.'
'So, who do you mean?'
'Good people ... people who do good things.'
'Like your mother?'
'Aye,' Sister.
'My father was like your mother,' the old woman said. 'He was dedicated to the good of his people and he died defending them.'
Fury didn't know what to think. All his life, he'd been told that Balduur was evil. Now someone, whom he trusted, was likening him to his own mother.
***
On the following day the weather cleared. Waves still pummelled the shore but they were not as violent as before and the seals were venturing into the water. The coracles remained lashed together. Fury pushed them out to sea and climbed aboard. Alison sat in one and Miralda in the other. Alison's complexion was radiant. The old woman was deadly pale. She looked as if she was about to leave the mortal plane. Fury hoped he could get her to the island before that happened.
He wasn't confident. It didn't make sense to attempt the crossing in such appalling conditions but Miralda said they must leave without delay. As a precaution he had tied inflated sheepskins to the sides of the two vessels. The dead animals had come floating past. Miralda said they were a gift from the Holy Mother and a sign that She gave her blessing to their journey. The skins smelt worse than the marsh men but would keep the coracles afloat if they were swamped by a wave.
Miralda clutched Balduur's head to her breast. It was sewn into a sealskin bag, coated with tallow, and hung on a leather strap. Her lips moved reciting a prayer: always the same words: over and over again. It seemed to Fury that her strength was ebbing away.
'Not much further now, Sister.'
He touched the old woman's hand then returned his attention to the island. Miralda called it the Sanctuary of the Faithful and said it was at the Meeting of the Ways. Fury didn't fully understand what that meant. All he knew was that they were going to the sanctuary to dispose of Balduur's head. But that was only part of it. The words of Miralda's prayer continued to ring in his ears.
The Way is to the End as the End is to the Way.
She had explained that Balduur's head was the burden they had to bear because of the sin they committed when they violated the sacred pathways. But they couldn't rid themselves of their mistakes just by going somewhere. They had to change and become different people.
Fury knew he had become a different person. There was a time when he ran away from problems. He'd go into the woods and sing about a world of make-believe and that hadn't helped him cope with the real word.
His harp was in its bag at his feet. He picked it up and dumped it over the side. Perhaps one day he'd get another and teach his sons and daughters to sing. But, before that could happen, he'd have to complete his mission and take Alison to safety. He glanced down at her.
She looked back and smiled.
'Can I help?'
'Nay ... rest.' He touched her hand.
Hours passed and the tide turned. The mountains on the northern shore were visible as a faint line above the horizon. Fury stopped paddling and let the current carry them towards their destination. He used his hand to take bearings, splaying his fingers, placing one landmark against another. He decided they were on course and pulled his leather cloak tight.
The biting wind sapped his strength. He'd given his woollen tunic to Alison. The thought of a fire and dry clothes was appealing. A long time passed and he grew colder. For the moment, there was nothing to do except wait and bail out the water that was slopping over the sides.
The top of the island was a hand's breadth above the horizon when the tide turned. Now it was two. The gap had halved. He checked the two women. Both were sleeping. Alison was as radiant as ever but Miralda looked close to death. He adjusted their clothing and did his best to stay warm.
The sun was now at midday. He measured it with his fingers, placing one upon the other. It was something he'd learned from the Duideth. For the priests it was an act of worship, something they did in the darkest days of winter when the Lord Sun was in the deepest point of His Divine Journey. Fury wasn't interested in that. His only concern was to bring Alison and their unborn child to safety.
He had questioned the boatmen of Galboreth. They were faithful to the Great Mother. They knew the Lord Sun was an imposter. The Big Poof's only worth was to tell the time of day. Fury had a device they'd given him. It was a board with holes and pegs. You put in pegs to say where the foul hand of Lord Sun would strike. Like the boatmen, Fury wasn't interested in the play of cosmic forces. His mind was on navigation.
To get it right you had to tell the time of day. That would tell you where north was. The closer you got, the better you could steer. And you had to know the tides. They were controlled by Lady Moon. If you knew them you could sail the estuary.
He checked and rechecked his position.
Everything was on course. The island loomed ahead. Dark cliffs with waves breaking against them. The important thing was to find a safe place to land. The boatmen had spoken about a bay on the southern side. Fury shielded his eyes and searched for it.
There would be no second chance. The current was too strong to turn back. He scanned the cliffs, looking for a break in the walls of black granite. Waves crashed against the coracles. Spray blew in his face. His heart sank and he had almost abandoned hope when he heard the barking of seals.
Miralda heard them too. 'There, young brother.' She pointed to the towering cliffs. 'Our friends, the seals, are guiding us to safety.'
All Fury saw were clouds of foam. Then he made out a cleft in the rocks. A narrow channel ran towards a pebbly beach. He thrust his paddle into the boiling waters and struck out towards it.
A huge wave carried them along. The seals looked down with bored expressions as Fury struggled to control the clumsy craft. Strands of kelp entangled his paddle. The waves surged back and forth. One moment, he was heading for shore. The next, he was being swept back out to sea.
'Young brother.'
He heard Miralda's voice. She was struggling to free herself from the bag that contained Balduur's head. Ice encrusted the thongs. She forced them aside.
'My limbs are too frail for the coming ordeal.'
She thrust the bag at him.
'Take my father's head and cast it into the Mouth of Morpeth.'
Fury grabbed the bag and tied it about his waist.
'Sister, where can I find this place?'
Miralda struggled to reply but, before she could speak, a wave picked up the coracles and bore them towards the shore. Freezing waters crashed in. Fury was dragged under. Kelp entangled his legs. He surfaced and saw a line of seals peering at him from a rocky ledge.
Alison was a short distance away. He saw the yellow band that secured her hair and tried to reach her but the kelp held him back. He hacked at it with his hunting knife and saw her picked up by a wave and carried along. It raced her down the channel and the seals honked. Fury tried to ignore them as they splashed into the water. His eyes were on Alison. When the wave reached shore it would fold over and dump her on the rocks.
He cut the last piece of kelp and swam after her, rising up in the water to see where she was. All he saw was seals. The water was alive with them. Their furry bodies milled around, snouts pointing upwards, honking furiously. Fury glimpsed a flash of yellow and saw them swimming back up the channel with Alison. The next wave swept him towards her. Their arms met, his feet touched bottom and he carried her to shore.
***
Alison awoke from a deep sleep. Fury was beside her. He'd searched for Miralda but there was no sign of her. Alison guessed the old woman had drowned. She had said that her days were numbered and her soul light would soon return to the Void.
A full moon shone into the cave where they were sheltering. Alison felt warm and comfortable, as if protected by a benign presence. It was something she'd experienced before. On those other occasions the presence had been fierce and warlike. Now it was motherly and caring. She felt the baby move and her eyes drifted to the cave entrance. Someone or something was standing there.
At first it lacked substance. Then it took form and she recognised Miralda. There was a dreamlike quality to the old woman. Fury saw her too. He reached out and touched Alison's hand.
'Look. It's Miralda.'
'But is it her or her spirit?' Alison asked.
Fury sat up. 'Sister. Is it you?'
The form moved closer and they heard Miralda's voice.
'Aye, young brother. I was snatched away before I could tell you all you need to know.'
Fury leant forward. 'We need to know where we can find Morpeth's Mouth. You said it is one of the gateways and we must cast Balduur's head into it.'
The apparition floated forward.
'First I must tell you why you made this journey.'
Her voice had a strange otherworldly quality. Alison looked through the shadowy figure to the foreshore beyond. There was nothing frightening. Miralda was reaching out to them from beyond the mortal plane.
'Are you ready?' she asked.
'We are,' Alison whispered.
'Then I shall tell you in the manner of the old people. They taught their faith by means of stories and I shall do the same. I need not remind you that such stories are not to be regarded as true in every word. It is the underlying truth that matters.
My story starts in a time long past before the coming of the new religions. In that time there was a young man of the dog totem, called Grey Wolf, and a young woman called Red Fox, who was likewise of the same totem. Now, as you know, it is forbidden for a man and woman of the same totem to marry and beget children. But, Red Fox was wondrously beautiful in the eyes of Grey Wolf and they would meet together whenever their two clans chanced upon one another.
'It came to pass that, at the great festival of Spring, the clans met to observe the ceremonies of the faith and arrange marriages between their sons and daughters. Red Fox was there and she was promised to a man of the bear totem. Grey Wolf was overcome by anguish and despair. He went to the elders and begged them to overthrow the decision. But, they would hear nothing of it and disciplined him for suggesting such a thing.
That night, when the people were dancing about the fires, Red Fox heard a beautiful sound and she was drawn towards it. Away from the protection of her clan, away from the light of the fires she went and found Grey Wolf singing beneath a young rowan tree. She settled in his arms and they made off together. Through the moonlight they hurried away, travelling on foot because in those times people had not taken to riding on the backs of horses.
When they discovered what had happened, the elders of the tribe were appalled. But they did not send out a party to bring them back as would be done today. Instead, they lit a special fire and gathered about it and began to sing.
Day and night they sang and Grey Wolf heard them in his sleep and in his waking hours. He knew they were calling him to return but he was defiant. The singing continued and, on the second day, they came to the sea and Grey Wolf looked out across it to the land on the far side. He boasted to Red Fox that the elders could not reach them there. He made a raft and Red Fox wove a sail from willow and strong grass. She collected seeds and ground them into flour to make bread for their journey. Grey Wolf found a clear stream and filled the skin bags they had brought with them.
At dusk they set sail. Grey Wolf laughed when he saw how fast they were going and sang a song about himself and Red Fox. But, when sleep overcame him, he heard the elders again and he could still hear them when he awoke the next day. The singing did not cease and he lay on the raft and felt a fever come over him. On and on they sailed but he could not escape the singing. It forced itself upon him and he began to shout and scream that he would throw himself overboard to get away from it. And all the time Red Fox tried to quieten his raving mind.
On the third day they reached this island. Red Fox said they could go no further and she took a paddle and steered the raft onto the shore where you made your landing. The young lovers climbed the hillside then went a little further to the headland where the cliff falls away to the waters far below. On the right there is a whirlpool which is called the Mouth of Morpeth. On the left is another whirlpool. They went and stood above it and looked down.
It seemed that they had gone as far as possible. They could think of no way to live together and they couldn't bear to live apart. So they embraced and stepped out over the cliff and jumped into the swirling waters below. To this day the place is known as Red Fox's Leap.'
'Look.' The apparition pointed to a pair of bright stars. 'To this day we call them Red Fox and Grey Wolf. The story tells how they did not die but rose into the heavens. As I have said, you must not listen to these stories as children would, believing every word. It is the underlying message that matters and the message is this: there is always a way of escape for those who are united by the bonds of true love. They do not go up into the sky ... they journey to another realm.'
***
The first light of dawn was in the sky. Alison got up and stretched. The air was dry and she felt warm. She pulled back her hood and was attending to her hair when she felt the baby move. Tears welled in her eyes.
'What's the matter?' Fury asked.
'I can feel it.' She placed his hand on her belly. 'I thought it would never be born. Now I wonder where it will be born.'
'Only time will tell,' Fury said. 'All we know is that we have a way to follow. Miralda has shown it to us.'
Alison took his hand and they went to the mouth of the cave. The ground was covered in a thick blanket of mist, pierced by the rays of the rising sun.
'A very special moment is approaching,' she said. 'It is a time between times ... a time when the boundaries between the realms are blurred.'
'How do you know?'
'The Sky Warrior told me.'
'Aye.' Fury nodded. 'He would. He came here by following the Way of the Wizard. We must get up there onto the headland before the sun breaks through. That's where we'll find Red Fox's Leap. We have our way to follow ... it's the Way of True Love.'
They abandoned their few remaining possessions and walked to the edge of the cliff. Alison looked down. Here and there the mist was clearing. She could make out rocks and the outline of a huge ship.
For a moment, she thought they had already made the passage between realms and she was back where she belonged. Then her heart sank. The Imperial Eagle on the ship's prow didn't belong to her former realm nor did the military equipment stacked on its deck.
As she watched, small boats left the ship.
'They're looking for us.'
Her heart beat wildly and she stumbled. Fury picked her up and carried her up a flight of stone steps. They reached the top and Alison looked around. It was like entering a different world. The ground on which they stood was an island in a sea of cloud.
Two boulders poked up at the cliff's edge. An old man with a battleaxe sat on one. A boy with a toy windmill sat on the other. The sails of the windmill turned but the boy sat rigidly like a statue.
'Who are they?' Alison whispered.
'The Guardians,' Fury replied. 'The boy guards the pathways between the sixth and the seventh realms. I've already met him.'
'Who's the other?'
'He must be the guardian of the eighth circle. We'll have to get past him before we can throw Balduur's head into Morpeth's Mouth.'
Alison pointed to a ring of light that circled the boulder on which the old man was sitting. 'Is that the eighth circle?'
'Aye. Enter that without his permission and you will be consumed by fire.'
She turned her attention to the boy, who was dressed in a school uniform of the sort her grandfather might have worn: peaked cap, striped blazer, short trousers and long socks. He seemed to belong to her former realm. Then she remembered that he didn't belong to any realm.
'Is that the sixth circle?' She pointed to the ring of light that surrounded the boy's boulder.
'Aye,' Fury nodded.
'Then that is where our journey ends.' Alison squeezed his hand. 'Miralda told us about Red Fox's Leap and how it leads back to my old realm.'
'Aye. But first we must deliver Balduur's head.'
Fury stepped towards the eighth circle and the guardian drew himself up. A moment earlier he had looked like a statue. Now he took on a very lifelike appearance. His mouth opened and he spoke in a voice like thunder.
'Who dares approach this most fearsome place?'
'Fury Ap-Cronwyn of the tribe of the Catti.'
The old man scrutinised him.
'For what purpose?'
'I seek a warrior's passage to the realm beyond the eighth gate.'
A wry smile crossed the ancient face. 'You have the appearance of a young man, Ap-Cronwyn. Can it be I have misunderstood you?'
Fury held up the bag with the head. 'I do not seek passage for myself but for Balduur the Great.'
'Hmm ...' The old man consulted a scroll.
'He was a great warrior,' Fury said.
The guardian looked up from the scroll. 'Why hasn't he presented himself in person ... this great warrior?'
'He can't ... he's dead.'
There was a moment of silence followed by a wheezing noise. It grew and ended in an ironic laugh. 'A lot of us are dead, Ap-Cronwyn ... that doesn't stop us travelling.'
'It stopped Balduur.' Fury said. 'He was killed in battle and his soul light got trapped. I have it here in this bag.'
'You have his soul in a bag?'
'Aye. His head was preserved and the soul is trapped.'
The old man wagged a finger.
'Don't just stand there. Take it out. Let us have a look at it. Then we might know what you're stupid mouth is saying.'
Fury reached inside the bag and felt the head. The skin was slimy and his fingers broke through in places as he eased it out. The limed hair appeared, followed by a wide brow and broken nose ... then a moustache and grizzled beard.
'This is the head of Balduur the Great.'
Fury held up the putrefying mass with due solemnity.
'He was King of Gorm and a great and feared warrior. Balduur was King of Kings and first amongst his brother chieftains.'
As he spoke the head fell apart. Fury almost dropped it. Then he noticed a shadowy presence by his side and turned to confront it.
'What have you there?'
The apparition pointed to the head.
'This is the head of Balduur the Great.' Fury struggled to hold the head together. 'I brought it here so that his soul light could make the warrior's passage to the eighth realm.'
'You did that?'
The apparition grew in substance.
'You brought Balduur here to make the passage to the eighth realm?'
'I did,' Fury nodded.
He had li