The Hawk Eternal (17 page)

'That is a complex question. He is independent, and it has made him all that he has. He holds to the old ways of raiding and stealing from other clans. But there are other reasons that I think it best you find out for yourself.'

'He is a thief?'

She chuckled. 'Yes. Just like you.'

'Well, I like him. I don't care about the others.'

She laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Here is a first lesson for you, Gaelen: Care. That is what the clan is. We care. For one another. Even if we dispute matters, we still care. I tell you this. If Caswallon's house burned to the ground, even those who disliked him would gather round and help rebuild. If Caswallon died, I would be cared for should I need it. If Caswallon and I both died, little Donal would be taken in by another family - perhaps one that disliked us both -and raised with love.'

He had been hard to convince, especially after the early trouble with Agwaine. But at least he had found friends. Maeg sat by the bedside for a while, then moved to the window.

The moon was high, the mountains silver, the valley at peace. Behind her, Gaelen stirred and opened his eyes, seeing her silhouetted against the sky. 'Maeg,' he whispered.

She returned to the bedside. 'Yes?'

Thank you.' 'For what?' 'For caring.'

Leaning down, she kissed his brow. 'Sleep well, young warrior,' she said.

Caswallon strolled up towards the cave, aware that the old man was watching him. Oracle's sunken blue eyes looked hard at the clansman. 'You look tired, man,' said Oracle as Caswallon sat beside him in the cave mouth.

'Aye, I am tired. And hurt by the suffering of those poor boys.'

'A bad day," agreed the older man. For a time they sat in silence, then Oracle spoke again. 'It is always good to see you, my boy. But I sense there is something on your mind, so spit it out.'

Caswallon chuckled. 'As always, you miss little. Taliesen told me to speak to you; he said it would please him for you to tell the story of what happened beyond the Gate.'

'Aye, please him and shame me.' Oracle stood and wandered back into the cave, sitting beside the glowing fire. Caswallon joined him. Oracle filled two clay cups with watered wine, passing one to the younger man. 'I have told no one else this tale in twenty-five years. I trust you not to repeat it while I live.'

'You have my word on it,' Caswallon assured him.

'I wanted to be High King,' said Oracle. 'I felt it was my right after the battles I had led - and won. But the people rejected me. This much you know already. I took my followers and we overpowered the druids guarding the Vallon Gate. We passed through. At first it seemed that nothing had changed; the mountains remained the same, High Druin still stood sentinel over the lands of the clans. But it was different, Caswallon. In a land beset by war, a woman had become High Queen. Her name was Sigarni. For reasons which I cannot explain now - but which you will understand later -I shall say no more about her, save that my men and I helped her in her battles with the Outland army. We stayed for two years. I still wanted to be a king, to found my own dynasty. I returned, with the survivors of my men, to the Vallon Gate, and passed through once more. It was the biggest mistake of my life.'

The old man drained his wine and refilled the cup, this time adding no water. Looking at Caswallon, he smiled grimly. 'Cursed is the man who achieves his dreams. In this new land - after ten blood-drenched years -I did become King. I led my armies to victory after victory. Great victories, Caswallon. Great victories.. .'he fell silent.

'What happened?' asked the clansman.

'Failure and flight,' responded Oracle, with a sad smile. 'I was betrayed - but then I deserved to be. Just because a man desires to be a king, it does not necessarily follow that he will make a good one.' He sighed. 'But this is not what Taliesen wanted me to tell you. While I was fighting for my kingdom I made an alliance with a butchering killer named Agrist. I told him the secrets of the Gateways. After he had betrayed me, and plundered his way across my kingdom, he led his army through another Gate.' Oracle licked his lips. 'They arrived here forty years ago; they are the Aenir, Caswallon. I brought the Aenir to destroy us all.'

'They haven't destroyed us yet,' Caswallon pointed out.

'They are demons, Caswallon, unsurpassed in violence and terror. I have seen them fight. I told Gaelen the clans were strong, like wolves. It's true. But the Aenir will outnumber us by twenty to one. They live to conquer and kill.' Oracle looked up. 'Did Sigarni speak to you before she died? Did she mention me?'

'No, but she knew me, Oracle. Can you tell me how?'

Oracle shook his head. 'I could - but I won't. Trust me, Caswallon. All w'll be revealed to you. I can say no more.'

During the months that followed the horror in the mountains the five survivors found their lives had changed substantially. They were now young men, accepted as clansmen, but more than this they were the 'Five Beast Slayers'. A Farlain bard named Mesric had immortalised them in song and their deeds were the envy of the young boys of all clans.

The mystery of the Queen was much discussed, but upon that theme the druids remained silent. Taliesen had questioned the boys at length on their conversation with the woman, but he gave them no further hint as to her history. All five spent a great deal of time thinking back over the Hunt, and the changes it forced on them.

Layne, the deepest thinker, saw Gaelen with new eyes, seeking his company often and recognising in the scarred youngster the signs of a natural leader.

Lennox drove himself hard once his broken arm had mended. He hauled logs, lifted rocks, spent all his spare time building up his strength. The huge frame gathered power and added muscle and still he drove himself on. His strength had been something he could rely on in a world where his wits were not as keen as his brother's. The beast had been stronger and Lennox was determined no enemy would best him again.

Gwalchmai no longer feared being unpopular, born as this had been from a sense of inferiority. He had always known Gaelen was a leader, and been happy to follow. But he watched Lennox pushing himself to greater limits and recognised in the young giant the kind of fear he once had himself.

For Gaelen the world had changed. He realised now that his life of loneliness in the city had been, by a freak of chance, the perfect apprenticeship. He had learned early that a man had to rely on himself. More than this - that such a man was stronger than his companions. And yet, having tasted the chilling emptiness of a life alone, he could value the clan as no other clansman ever would.

There was a natural arrogance now about the tall young man with the white blaze in his red hair. He ran like the wind, revelling in his speed. And though his bowmanship was merely average, he threw a spear with more accuracy than many tried warriors. He boxed well, emotions in check as Caswallon had taught him, and his sword-work was dazzling. Yet the arrogance he showed in his skills was missing in his life, and this made him popular without effort on his part.

The wise men among the Farlain marked him well, watching his progress with increasing interest. All of which hurt Agwaine, who saw in Gaelen a rival for the ultimate prize.

The Hunt had changed Agwaine more than any of them. He had been schooled to believe he was more than special, a talented natural leader to follow his father. And nothing that had transpired in the mountains had changed that. All that had changed was that Agwaine feared Gaelen was the better man. Before the encounter with the beast he would have hated Gaelen for bringing home such a truth. Now he could not.

They took pan in their first Games together in the five-mile run,

Gaelen beating Agwaine by forty paces, the boys arriving home in ninth and tenth place.

Cambil had been furious. 'He is faster, Father,' said Agwaine, towelling the sweat from his face. 'There is nothing more to it.'

'You must work harder: drive yourself. You must not let him beat you ever again.'

Agwaine was stricken, and for the first time he saw his father in a fresh light. 'I will work harder,' he said.

Layne and Gwalchmai delighted the younger clansmen by competing to the finals of their events, Layne in the spear tourney and Gwalchmai in the bow. Layne took third prize, beating the Loda champion into fourth place; Gwalchmai finished last of the eight finalists, but was satisfied, for by next year he would have added height and strength to his frame and believed he could win. For Lennox the Games were a sad affair, for his injured arm robbed him of the chance to lift the Whorl Stone.

Summer drifted into a mild autumn and on into a vicious winter.

Caswallon and Gaelen spent their time forking hay to the cattle and journeying high into the mountains to rescue sheep trapped in snowdrifts. It was a desperately hard time for all the clans, yet Gaelen absorbed the knowledge Caswallon imparted readily.

In winter, Caswallon told him as they sheltered from a fierce blizzard high on the eastern range, it is vital not to sweat. For sweat turns to ice beneath the clothing and a man can freeze to death in minutes. All movement should be slow and sure, and all camps prepared hours before dusk.

That afternoon, trapped by a fierce snow-squall, Caswallon had led them to a wooded ridge. Here he had pulled four saplings together, tying them with thongs. Then he carefully threaded branches between them and built a fire in the centre. As the snow continued it piled against the branches, creating a round shelter with thick white walls. The fire within heated the walls to solid ice and the two men were snug and safe.

'Make the storm work for you,' said Caswallon, stripping off his sheepskin jerkin and allowing the fire's heat to reach his skin. 'Take off your outer clothes, Gaelen.'

'I'll freeze,' answered the young man, rubbing his cold hands together.

'Clothes keep heat in, but similarly they can keep heat out. Remove your coat.'

Gaelen did as he was told, grinning sheepishly as the heat in the shelter struck him.

Later Gaelen found himself staring into the glowing coals, his mind wandering. He rubbed his eyes and scratched at the jagged scar above.

'What are you thinking?' Caswallon asked.

'I was thinking of the Queen.'

 What about her?'

'About her coming again.'

'She is dead, Gaelen. Dead and buried.'

'I know. But she seemed so sure. I wonder who she was.'

'A Queen - and I would guess a great one,' said Caswallon. Silence settled around them, until Caswallon suddenly grinned. 'What's this I hear about you and Deva?'

At the mention of Agwaine's sister Gaelen began to blush.

'Aha!' said Caswallon, sitting up. 'There is more to this business than rumour.'

'There's nothing,' protested Gaelen. 'Really, there's nothing. I've hardly even spoken to her. And when I do, my tongue gets caught in my teeth and I seem to have three feet.'

'That bad?'

'It's not anything. I just...' Glancing up, he saw Caswallon raise his right eyebrow, his face mock-serious. Gaelen began to giggle. 'You swine. You're mocking me.'

'Not at all. I've never been one to mock young love,' said Caswallon.

'I'm not in love. And if I was, there would be no point. Cambil cannot stand me.'

'Do not let that worry you, Gaelen. Cambil is afraid of many things, but if young Deva wants you he will agree. But then it's a little early to think of marriage. Another year.'

'I know that. And I was not talking about marriage... or love. A man can like a girl, you know.'

'Very true,' admitted Caswallon. 'I liked Maeg the first moment I saw her."

'It is not the same thing at all.'

'You'll make a fine couple.'

'Will you stop this? I'm going to sleep,' said Gaelen, curling his blanket around him. After a few moments he opened his eyes to see Caswallon was still sitting by the fire looking down at him.

Gaelen grinned. 'She's very tall - for a girl, I mean.'

'She certainly is,' agreed Caswallon, 'and pretty.'

'Yes. Do you really think we'd make a good couple?'

'No doubt of it.'

'Why is it that whenever I talk to her the words all tumble out as if they've been poured from a sack?'

'Witchcraft,' said Caswallon.

'A pox on you,' snorted Gaelen. 'I'm definitely going to sleep.'

The winter passed like a painful memory. Losses had been high among the sheep and calves, but spring was warm and dry, promising good harvests in summer.

Cambil accepted an invitation from Asbidag, leader of the Northern Aenir, to visit Ateris, now called Aesgard. Cambil took with him twenty clansmen. He was treated royally and responded by inviting Asbidag and twenty of his followers to the Summer Games.

Caswallon's fury stunned Maeg, who had never seem him lose control. His face had turned chalk-white, his hands sweeping across the pine table top and smashing pottery to shards.

'The fool!' he hissed. 'How could he do such a thing?'

'You think the danger is that great from twenty men ?' Maeg asked softly, ignoring the ruined jugs and goblets.

Caswallon said nothing. Taking his cloak and staff, he left the house and set off in a loping run towards the hills and the cave of Oracle.