Ancient Echoes (30 page)

With the small boat hidden in the forest’s edge, Nemet set about making a shelter for herself, a corral for the three remaining animals. I left her, assured by her that she would remain until I returned, and walked the shore to the fort.

In two years, William had worked hard. Where before we had huddled in the shelter of ruins, now a vibrant city straddled the shore line and hills. Its harbour reached out from the bulrushes, a high wall, the wooden poles topped with carved heads, animal and human, and flapping flags. Five ships were tethered, bright pennants blowing from single masts, smooth, narrow-bladed oars gleaming in the pale sun. Animals struggled in corrals, smoke filled the sky from hearths, everywhere was activity and noise.

And yet I walked through the open gate in the imposing
earthwork wall that had been raised across the shore, stepping between the burning torches, without being challenged. The white tower was cordoned off, but I could walk round it into the main body of the stronghold, where much woodland remained, though the hill in places had been levelled into platforms to take small houses. Everywhere were tents, some square frames, some in the conical shape more familiar from the Americas. Two longhouses stretched in parallel in the centre of the space, torches burning in the sunlight in front of each. There were carts and wagons everywhere, and dogs and pigs squabbling over the scraps that littered the ground.

Almost as soon as I was inside this part of the enclosure I was noticed; a young man leading five horses came over to me curiously, followed by others, men and women both, all bedecked with icons and variously clothed. There were no older children running around, although some of the women carried infants. Distantly, inside a circular corral, two of the hippari were being galloped on the tether, responding to the gruff, sharp instructions of a fair-haired youth.

There was also a forge – I could hear the ringing sounds of metal being shaped – but it was out of sight, behind a cluster of tents.

The response, as I say, was mostly of curiosity, and I tried to indicate that I was a friend of William’s, and had come to see him. It was a grizzle-bearded elder who finally caught on, and seemed to understand my connection with a man who was, I soon gathered, their tribal leader. I was led to one of the long-houses, pausing only to watch as five bedraggled riders came in through the gate, spears hanging heavy in their arms, steam rising from the exhausted hippari. They were angry and they smelled of blood, walking brusquely to one of the larger tents, ignoring everything around them as their horses were led away.

For a while it was very confusing; I was given food and water and offered several small objects of a religious nature, which I took with a smile, waved, stroked, kissed, hugged and generally played with, watching for some sign of approval from the small
group who sat around me in the longhouse. There was a gathering of softly spoken people at the far end, and smoke from a fire was billowing about the centre of the lodge. Two small dogs yapped and fussed in the gloom, continually chased away by the people around me, who seemed to be waiting for me to address them.

After a while, one of the five riders entered the lodge and came over to me. He was very young, but already his face was crisscrossed with what looked not so much like cuts as scratches, and the scratch-marks of wild animals, rather than a lover. His name was Perendour. His hair was long and lank and he had shed the draping uniform of leather and dull metal for a filthy grey and voluminous djellaba. Watching me through dark, lively eyes, he extended his hand and I shook it. The act, a simple one, seemed to please him, indeed, seemed to tell him, or confirm in him, everything he wished to know. Now the alcohol was delivered, an earthy, stale brew in which all manner of detritus swirled. It would be good for the bowels, I thought, and shared the toast. It was a strong drink and I consumed it with circumspection, picking at the dry meats and fruit in the bowl between us and listening to the knight’s conversation as best I could.

William and his entourage were several days’ ride away, in the high mountains, searching for an oracle. He was with his new bride, who was a lively and ‘kicking’ mare. She had two scars on each cheek, and I realized that this was the fishergirl, Ethne, from the sacked fortress across the lake.

William – who Perendour referred to with a slight deference, confirming my belief that William was either Chief or Prince in this stronghold – had never given up hope of my return. Far from being angry at being abandoned, he had believed I had been taken by demons, but was aware that I had courage and would return if I could find a way. Every season he led his growing band of hunter-warriors to the Bull Ruins beyond the lake. This time for the first time he had sent his men alone, but already a rider was on his way to find him.

He would want to return immediately, to see me. He had
missed me with all his heart, and was often to be found wandering in a melancholy state along the lake shore. Only the raid and the liberation of Ethne from her oppressive father and husband had cheered him.

I soon worked out that his followers were the icon hunters I had seen on my previous incarnation in the Hinterland. The ragged band who prowled my own unconscious had all too readily fallen in behind a man who promised them the booty of many cities, and whilst their first attack had been to satisfy the needful love of their leader, even now they were planning to enter the Eye itself, to the source of cities.

I listened and tried to understand the various fabulous legends that were told about the Eye.

Already, several knights were lost, sucked down into the earth in their valiant but vain attempts to unlock the gate. The oracle might help in William’s understanding of the quest ahead of him. His determination, his pure charisma, held together this growing and increasingly organized band of traders.

As for why they had hunted Greenface, the answer lay in the simple fact of the factionalism of the group; the men who had stayed behind to hunt the woman for sport were late recruits to the stronghold. I debated whether to mention their deaths, and decided not to, but I felt that had I done so the news would not have been greeted with any real concern.

A second thought, then, was whether to suggest to the woman that she came into the shelter and greater warmth of the fortress, but I detected a callous unconcern among my hosts that suggested it might have been unwise.

They did not particularly like strangers here; only my identification as William’s great friend made me welcome. And besides, there
were
questions about the hunters, a puzzlement at the length of time they were taking to follow back across the lake.

* * *

At some time in the evening, weakened and warmed by drink, I thought of Greenface, waiting for me a few miles away. I became angry, outraged at the way she had been hunted, and began to articulate an incoherent protest, which was greeted with laughter and understanding of my state of inebriation. No-one could comprehend my actions, my assertions, but it was clear that I was drunk, and as quickly as I had begun my rant, I ceased it.

I was led to a berth at the far end of the longhouse, a small chamber separated from the rest of the communal space by a loose curtain of hides, overlain with strings of clattering bones. I had no doubt that these were holy relics, stitched together from the hands and feet of a thousand saints.

As I lay down on the soft mattress, helped into position by an overly physical matron, her body redolent with the scent of incense, I saw above the bed, pinned to a cross beam, the picture of Angela that had been such a comfort to me in my previous incarnation in the Hinterland.

The photograph of the smiling woman, taken with the newly born Natalie in her arms, was set between the sweet-faced, pale-skinned innocence of the Virgin Mary and the open-mouthed, enticing allure of the goddess Kali – the three faces of mythological woman: innocence, experience, destruction.

And I stared at my wife, and loved her, and began to entertain feelings of guilt for the fact that I was drawn so intimately to Greenface.

When I slept, I slept deeply, but was woken before dawn and encouraged to come and help fish the lake. As grey light illuminated the three beached ships, their rigging slapping against the masts in the crisp breeze, I waded into the water with a length of net, part of a ten man group which fished the shallows quite effectively before disbanding to other duties.

After a sumptuous breakfast of honey-glazed fish, aromatic and nutty bread, freshly baked, and succulent olives stuffed
with fragrantly spiced meat – a meal that was a rare treat, judging by the delight and surprise that the mini-banquet evoked – I begged time to myself and took a pouch of purloined bread and fish along the shore to the camp where Greenface should have been waiting for me.

At first alarmed to find the site deserted, I soon found her heavy clothes furled up and hidden carefully; her travelling things were scattered about. From the sounds in the forest, high on the hills behind the lake, I guessed she was hunting and would return later.

I left the provisions and returned to the earthworks.

I waited here for two days, and in that time I didn’t find Greenface, although the food I took to her was consumed, and the hidden shelter showed signs of having been used.

Then at dusk of the third day among the icon hunters, riders came into the stronghold, exhausted and dishevelled, their primitive horses steaming and screaming in an odd evocation of the more familiar ‘whinny’.

I soon gathered that William was lost. He had ridden too close to the Eye, and though the band sent to fetch him back could see him, he was beyond their reach, and seemingly unaware of the danger he was now facing.

For a while the fort reacted with a sort of mindless shock, an aimless sequence of gatherings, discussions, silences and shaking of heads. I gained the impression that to go where William had inadvertently journeyed was the same as being dead, and the only thing stopping the mourning process was the fact that his soul could still be seen. And indeed, when the wild riders came to me, crouching before me in the Mongol fashion, elbows on knees, hands together between them, the discussion became more earnest than any yet.

They were looking to me, now, to understand how to guide William from the great distance that separated him, and Ethne and the others, from the enchanted world of the lake, the herds
of hippari, and the prospect of adventure in wild realms.

‘I can’t do it without a guide,’ I said. ‘I need a guide myself. As soon as I’ve found her, I’ll return.’

I went to the sheltered hide, frustrated to find it still empty. ‘For Christ’s Sake!’ I bellowed to the hills. ‘Don’t abandon me now!’

I passed the night by the water, listening to the movement of creatures beyond imagining, wary always of the giant beasts that came so swiftly to the lake’s edge to drink.

And at dawn, just as I was drifting between sleep and wakefulness, the lobe of my ear was tugged, startling me.

‘I’ve missed you,’ Nemet said, her eyes sparkling, her breath moist on my face as she stared at me, searching my expression, perhaps for signs of betrayal. ‘That fish!’

For a moment I was puzzled. ‘That
fish
? What fish?’

‘With honey. You left it for me. Wonderful!’

‘Oh,
that
fish! I know. It’s been red carpet treatment since I told them who I was.’

‘Red carpet?’

‘They’ve honoured me. I’m their chieftain’s lost friend.’

‘Honour
you.
Hunt
me
like a beast of prey.’

‘Not all of them. I think you can trust them. I need you, now. I have to go to the Eye. William is trapped there, and his hunters think I can help. Will you come with me? You seem to know your way around this
edge of the world.’

Nemet grimaced, then shrugged. ‘I don’t. Not really. I know the way back to the city. You mustn’t put too much faith in me … Jack.’

It was the first time she had called me by name, and whilst I was pleased to hear the sound of my name on her tongue, she clearly was adjusting to a great change in her relationship with me. She repeated, ‘Jack.
Jack.
Strange name for a strange dream-man.’

‘It’s a nickname for John. It’s one of the oldest names known. It’s probably no more than an early sound, one of several designed to distinguish between individuals. It’s simple … like
me … It needs direction … like me. Help me? Nemet?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Please!’

‘I don’t trust the people in the sanctuary …’ she meant the stronghold. She was staring along the shore, frowning.

‘They won’t hurt you if you’re with me. They need me, now. I just don’t know what to do. It’s not that I’m afraid of the Eye … I just don’t understand it.’

‘And you think I do?’

‘More so than me. Your own sanctuary lies there. You led me a merry chase last time I was in this edge of the world. Nothing seems to surprise you.’

‘Everything surprises me. I was born to expect that. Surprise keeps me moving. Perhaps that’s the difference between us. Surprise takes you …’ she suddenly laughed. ‘By surprise. It stops you dead.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes,’ she repeated softly, thinking hard. And then she smiled, placed her hands on my face and leaned forward to kiss me. ‘If I come with you – keep your friend’s hired assassins away from me.’

‘I promise.’

‘Good. But I make
no
promises. I want to go home, Jack. I want to finish with the torment. I’ll come with you as far as I can, but please don’t try and keep me.’

‘Of course I’ll try and keep you!’

Again, she smiled; again she kissed me. ‘I know. So I’ll say goodbye to you now. That way … when I leave you I can do so without guilt. Goodbye Jack.’

‘I’ll follow you to the heart of the world.’

She laughed out loud, standing and gathering her belongings together. Then she said something that astonished me with its insight. ‘You
are
the heart of the world. There’s nowhere else for you to go.’