Caradoc of the North Wind

chapter TWENTY-THREE




Rhodri shrank back as Blodwedd rose slowly to her feet, her head tilted down, her deadly eyes fixed on Branwen, a small, sharp smile revealing her pointed teeth.

‘Blodwedd, no!’ groaned Branwen. ‘Please – no!’

‘You were warned,’ croaked an abominable, discordant double voice, half Blodwedd and half Ragnar. ‘Do not say you were not warned! A creature of the Old Powers I have always been, Warrior Child. But see you now that I have slipped the grasp of the lesser gods of Brython and become a new thing, a better thing, a more powerful thing.’

‘Blodwedd, for pity’s sake, fight it!’ cried Rhodri, reaching out to her. She turned like a snake and hissed at him, her fingers curling into claws.

‘I am not Blodwedd!’ she cried. ‘I am Ragnarok. I am the end of days. I am the doom of all mankind! I am the Warrior Child’s final destiny!’

With a terrible strength, she grasped Rhodri’s arm, laughing as she twisted it. He cried out, driven to his knees by the pain.

Dera leaped forward, her sword aimed towards the owl-girl. ‘Release him, or I shall smite you!’ she cried. ‘You’ve been taken by a Saxon hellion, Blodwedd! Be yourself again!’

Snarling, Blodwedd turned to her, giving Rhodri’s arm a final cruel wrench before releasing it. With a speed beyond Branwen’s ability to follow, the owl-girl came upon Dera, passing her sword point unhurt, driving her to the ground. Claws gripped the fallen girl’s neck as Blodwedd’s jaws opened at her throat.

‘No!’ shouted Aberfa, hurling herself forward, her spear thrusting at Blodwedd’s side.

Hissing and spitting, Blodwedd slipped adder-quick out from under the spearhead. It stabbed into the ground and even as Aberfa fought to wrest it free, Blodwedd sprang, wrapping her long, wiry limbs around her, howling as she bore the tall, powerful girl backwards. Struggling to prize the demonic owl-girl free, Aberfa staggered across the hilltop until a snag caught her heel and sent her crashing.

Iwan and Banon were upon them before Blodwedd’s teeth could meet in Aberfa’s throat. They dragged Blodwedd back, kicking and screaming and clawing.

‘Do not hurt her!’ cried Branwen, coming out of a kind of stupor of disbelief. ‘She’s possessed by Ragnar! We must set her free!’

Eyes like two black moons.

The warning had referred to Blodwedd all along. The owl-girl had understood something of it – she had intimated as much when they had been together on the ramparts of Pengwern. What had she said?

When you see the eyes like two black moons, do not hesitate – not for love, nor honour, nor compassion nor friendship.

But how could Branwen not hesitate?

Kill it before it can kill you.

How could she kill someone who had sacrificed so much out of loyalty and devotion? How could she? There had to be another way to release Govannon’s Messenger from Ragnar’s thrall.

Branwen ran forward, but too late. Blodwedd writhed loose, leaping like a feral beast at Banon. Blood spurted and Banon fell back, clutching at her shoulder. Turning, as lithe as a serpent, Blodwedd flung herself headlong at Iwan, knocking his sword out of his grasp, reaching with curved nails for his face.

Even then, Branwen could not bring herself to strike at her friend with cold iron. She lunged forward, snatching a handful of the owl-girl’s thick hair, digging her heels in hard as she hauled back, ripping the ravening monster away from Iwan – seeing how the hooked claws had already dug bloody crescents in Iwan’s cheekbones.

Using all her strength, Branwen heaved Blodwedd backward, swinging from side to side to prevent the berserk girl from regaining her balance. But she was not prepared for how mercurial and how agile Blodwedd had become. The owl-girl squirmed and thrashed in her grip, spinning to face her, the crooked nails now stretching towards her eyes.

Unprepared for Blodwedd’s sudden shift of weight, Branwen fell over backward, striking the ground hard so that the air was beaten from her body and the sword jarred from her hand. Blodwedd came down on her like a thunderbolt, straddling her chest, her long hair hanging, her face frenzied and inhuman, the black eyes like holes in the world.

Blood and spittle showered Branwen’s face as the insane owl-girl laughed, her hands gripping either side of Branwen’s head, the nails like splinters of flint scoring her flesh.

‘Govannon!’ Branwen cried in desperation, wrestling to throw the owl-girl off. ‘Rhiannon! Save her! Release her!’

‘They cannot!’ howled Blodwedd. ‘I am no longer theirs to command. It is too late.’

Branwen snatched hold of Blodwedd’s wrists, trying to prise her hands free. ‘Fight the demon, Blodwedd,’ she gasped.

‘ “Fight the demon”?’ snarled Blodwedd, her open mouth curling into a terrible smile. ‘Iam the demon, Warrior Child! I have always been the demon – did you not know that?’ Slowly she raised her arms, Branwen’s fingers still clinging to her wrists. ‘The Emerald Flame, you are called, Branwen of the Petty Gods. But let us see how you follow destiny’s path with only the pits of lost eyes to guide you!’

Branwen let out a cry as the curved fingers came raking down towards her face, the nails stretching for her eyes.

‘One eye you took from Earl Herewulf’s face,’ raved the gravelled voice from Blodwedd’s mouth. ‘One eye from my lord’s most trusted servant! As forfeit, you shall pay with both of yours!’

As Branwen looked in horror into the owl-girl’s face, she knew the truth: Ragnar had taken her friend body and spirit – there was no more Blodwedd. There was only Ragnar – a savage and murderous thing housed in Blodwedd’s body, a hellish beast that stared down at her with black, dead, ferocious eyes.

‘Blodwedd!’ A shape loomed in the corner of Branwen’s eye. It was Rhodri, stumbling forward, his arms out towards the demon that had once been his beloved friend. ‘For the love I bear you, Blodwedd, stop!’

For a moment, the furious strength of Blodwedd’s arms lessened a fraction. She turned her head, staring at Rhodri, as though some tiny shred of the person she had been had ignited a spark of memory in her mind.

Now Branwen did not hesitate. She released Blodwedd’s left wrist and flung her arm out. Her fingers caught the hilt of her sword and closed about it. Screwing her eyes shut to avoid seeing the thing she was about to do, she angled the blade upwards and thrust deep.

Blodwedd let out a wild screech as the sword drove through her body.

‘No!’ screamed Rhodri. ‘No!’

The owl-girl’s dying body convulsed on top of Branwen, the back arching, the neck stretching, the mouth gaping.

Blodwedd fell writhing to one side, ripping the sword from Branwen’s hands, clutching at it as though trying to pull it out from between her ribs.

Overwrought with horror, her eyes flooded with tears, Branwen crawled to where Blodwedd lay twitching on the ground. With a final burst of strength, the owl-girl jerked the sword out of her body and flung it to one side, her breath coming rapidly, blood blossoming on her clothes.

Rhodri dropped to his knees at Blodwedd’s side, shouting his futile denials as he bent over her, one hand pressing against her bloody wound, the other cradling the side of her face.

Branwen crouched by Blodwedd’s head, weeping, distraught, wrung with guilt and grief.

The owl-girl’s eyes opened as she turned her head to gaze for a moment into Branwen’s face. Branwen bit back a sob when she saw that her friend’s eyes were golden once more.

‘Do not weep,’ Blodwedd whispered, blood tricking down the side of her face and into her hair. ‘You had to do this … I would have … killed you all …’

Branwen tried to speak, but her voice would not come.

Blodwedd’s eyes began to glaze over. ‘I am free now. Soon I shall be at Govannon’s side – soaring the great wide sky-fields once more. Blodwedd of the Far-Seeing Eye.’ She turned her head one final time to look into Rhodri’s face. ‘I have … a gift … for you … Rhodri …’ Now her voice had become very faint and Branwen could hardly hear her words. ‘Come … closer … dearest … friend …’

Rhodri leaned close over her, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed. She lifted her hands and held his head between them, bringing his face down to hers and softly kissing his eyes. ‘Forgive me … sweet Rhodri,’ she breathed. ‘This is … not … an … easy burden … to bear …’

Her fingers loosened, her arms fell limp.

The light faded from her golden eyes.

Blodwedd the owl-girl lay dead upon the hill.