The Age of Scorpio

26

Southern Britain, a Long Time Ago





There was screaming, the thrum of a bowstring, and the screaming stopped. Tangwen lowered the bow. She stood on the rampart looking out down the hill and over the vast fertile plain, so different from the sea of swaying reeds in which she had grown up. The morning mists mingled with dirty smoke from the campfires, from the smouldering remnants of the third hill fort, and smoke from the pyres the Corpse People were using to burn their captives in plain view. If they’d wanted them to suffer, they should have tried burning them out of bow range, Tangwen thought. There were four Corpse People around the pyres. They had died with arrows in them trying to light the fires, but Tangwen was running short of arrows coated with the poison that was Fachtna’s blood.

The defenders had said little as the four had entered the fort the previous night. Fachtna was still steaming, too hot to approach, Britha, a blood-soaked nightmare, carrying Teardrop. They had thought them gods or perhaps demons and had sunk to their knees – much to Britha’s contempt. Tangwen was afraid that they would let these people down, that they were not what the Atrebates believed them to be, but then she had spent her whole life in the presence of a living god and knew how helpless and how much like everyone else they could be, child of the Great Mother or no.

‘Fools,’ Britha said as she appeared at Tangwen’s side. She used that word a lot, Tangwen thought, but said nothing. The defenders either showed Britha great deference or gave her a wide berth. The warriors who wore stripes of black and blood vertically down their faces and braided crow and raven feathers into their hair, thought her a messenger from their bloody warrior goddess. ‘A man called Feroth taught me to fight and he taught me about battles as well. If you want an enemy to surrender then you show mercy, you give them a reason to. If they think that surrendering will lead to burning then they will fight to the last.’

‘They say that they kill and eat the warriors, those blessed by the Great Mother, but that the rest they take south towards the sea.’

‘I think that is where my people are,’ Britha said grimly and then lapsed into silence. The wounds she had taken last night had all but healed. The Atrebates had left the corpse of the bear at the gate. It would be another obstacle for the attackers. Tangwen had noticed how the carrion eaters, even the flies, stayed away from the corpse. ‘They are just children playing at being dead,’ Britha finally said. ‘They are liars.’

‘I think they believe it,’ Tangwen said. Though they hadn’t last night when the four of them had driven the corpse people away, but then she herself had wanted to flee when she had seen Fachtna and Teardrop’s magics, and Britha’s bloodlust.

‘You have done what was asked of you. Will you return to your people? I think a hunter of your ability would be able to sneak past them.’

Tangwen wasn’t sure.

‘I think . . .’ She searched for the right words. She remembered the time before the black ships had come. They would hunt, they would raid or even more rarely they would go to war with another tribe. Things were hard, but looking back they seemed simpler: she had been much more carefree, even if she might not have appreciated it at the time. ‘. . . that it will not matter if I go back to my people. These –’ she nodded towards the Corpse People ‘– or the ones in the black ships, they want everything, like the tribes the traders tell lies of, who they say cover many lands across the seas.’

‘You’ll come with us?’ Britha asked. Tangwen wasn’t sure but she thought she heard something like gratitude buried deep in Britha’s words.

‘Where?’

‘This place is a trap. We stay here, we die. We must know what lies to the south and we must take an army.’

‘I do not think that the warriors of the Atrebates will—’

‘The king will see us now.’ Neither of them had heard Fachtna’s approach and Tangwen jumped at his words. They turned to look at the warrior who looked like a Goidel to Britha and claimed to be something called a Gael. He was not carrying his shield, but his armour, which Tangwen knew had turned many a spearhead, arrowhead and sword, looked almost good as new. The singing ghost sword was sheathed at his hip. Tangwen noticed that Britha was staring at the leather case strapped to his back. It was about half the length of a spear and Tangwen was sure she had seen it move as if something was struggling to get out. She knew that if Britha was interested in it, it was because she smelled power there, magics that she could use to help her people.

Fachtna bore no scars, though he was walking with a slight limp. He had said the Corpse People must have painted their weapons with blood blessed by their gods. Like Britha he looked pale, gaunt and hungry. This was a siege. Regardless of how grateful the Atrebates were for their brief respite, or the awe in which they held the four of them, they could not allow Britha and Fachtna to gorge themselves. It must be the magic, Tangwen thought. It feeds on them when they use it.

‘How is Teardrop?’ the young hunter asked.

‘Dead,’ Fachtna said. He did not look at Tangwen, he just glared at Britha.

Tangwen felt her stomach lurch and tasted bile in the back of her throat. She had liked Teardrop despite his strange appearance and outlandish dress. Fachtna might be a fine warrior, handsome, well made and worth a tumble, but she could talk to Teardrop and they had a bond of blood – they had saved each other’s lives. She reached up to touch the dressing on the side of her head. When one of the dryw had checked the wound this morning, they had told her that it was all but healed.

‘His power will be missed. It is much needed. Can it be taken from his body after death?’ Britha asked. Tangwen turned to look at the other woman. The hunter was offended but knew that the dryw tended to be a lot more practical than warriors.

‘He had a family, you know?’ Fachtna said with a voice full of contempt and anger.

‘The proper rituals will be honoured.’

‘A wife.’

‘Fachtna, I’m sorry, but people still live who can be helped.’

‘Three daughters.’ Britha sighed and looked impatient. ‘A fine young son, and all you care about is stealing power from his still-warm body?’

Tangwen watched anger spread like fire across Britha’s face. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the haft of her spear more tightly. This had been coming since Britha had killed the boy. Tangwen understood why she had done it – it was kinder – but Britha had done it so coldly.

‘What I care about—’

‘A cruel jest, Fachtna.’

Britha and Tangwen looked towards the now familiar, strangely accented voice of Teardrop. Tangwen turned angrily on Fachtna.

‘Why would you say that?!’ she demanded.

‘Because its true. My friend Teardrop is no more.’

Tangwen was confused by Fachtna’s words. Was he in another impassioned warrior sulk? She turned to Britha, who was staring at Teardrop suspiciously.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded. Tangwen turned back to look at Teardrop and noticed his eyes. They were a silver colour and multifaceted like the gems the richest of the traders from across the sea wore on their fingers. All the veins on his head stood out as if they were gripping his head tightly. ‘What are you, for you are no man?’

Tangwen took a step back. Holding her bow in her right, her left hand moved to the quiver that hung from her hip. Teardrop turned to look at her. There was nothing of Teardrop there, only something strange and monstrous.

‘Still want my power?’ Teardrop asked, looking back to Britha.

‘I want weapons to fight Bress and this Crom Dhubh,’ she said more cautiously.

‘This is the price,’ Fachtna said. Teardrop looked at him but said nothing.

‘Will he stand with us?’ Britha asked. Fachtna just nodded. ‘Then let us go and see this king.’ Britha walked past Fachtna, heading deeper into the hill fort. Teardrop looked between Fachtna and Tangwen as if examining them both, as if he had never seen either of them before, then turned and followed Britha.

Tangwen and Fachtna were left. The silence grew.

‘It’s difficult to mourn your friend when his body still stands among you,’ the warrior finally managed. Tangwen was shocked to see tears streaming down Fachtna’s face. The warrior sank to the mud. Tangwen knelt next to him. She wrapped her arms around him and held him as sobs racked his body. She felt tears come to her own eyes, though she wondered how either of them could cry among all this madness.

The track branched into three and the middle path branched into two more routes further up. One of the two central tracks led to a gate in the west wall that had been blocked up. Britha and Teardrop took the other. They walked past granaries raised on stilts to keep out vermin. There were guards on the granaries. Not the professional warriors of the Cigfran Teulu, the Family of the Raven, the Atrebates cateran, but rather doughty landsmen with staves. The landsmen here did not seem to carry spears, Britha noticed with disdain. This must be a soft land, she thought.

To their left were a number of roundhouses little different from those Britha had left in Ardestie. The people watched the two strangers pass, women, children and men. They looked gaunt, haggard and more than a little frightened. They stared, but when Britha stared back they did anything to avoid looking her in the eyes. There were still some sheep, pigs, a few cows and chickens, so the siege had not gone on too long, but just looking at the animals reminded her of the hunger that gnawed away at her. She felt like she was being eaten from the inside and her blood burned. I am as much monster as you now, Cliodna, Britha thought.

‘A fine salmon leap,’ the creature that was trying to contain itself in Teardrop’s body said, referring to her killing of the bear creature.

‘What are you?’ Britha demanded. She had seen the thing sprouting out like a vast crystalline plant from his body, reaching to places that didn’t make sense to her. It hurt for her to look at him, pain through her skull so bad it made her feel sick.

‘An explanation would do you no good.’

‘Why don’t the others see you as you are?’

‘Fachtna can, obviously. The rest do not have the potency in their blood that you do. Blessed by the Muileartach and Crom Dhubh, by life and death. That is why you can see, but sadly you will never understand.’ Britha felt like she was being insulted but chose not to rise to the provocation. This thing was unknown but seemingly powerful, and she did not wish to provoke it. ‘Because of your slaying of the bear, they think that you are one of us.’ Britha realised that he was talking in the language of the Pecht, her language. It had similarities to what was spoken by the southron tribes, languages which she now somehow instinctively understood, but was different enough so that any of the Atrebates who were listening would not understand.

‘They think I am from the Otherworld?’

‘They will.’

Britha was about to ask more but they had arrived at a large circular stone structure in the north-west corner of the fort. It was raised on a mound and its walls were about eight feet high, though with regular square gaps in the stones. There was a large opening in the southern part of the wall.

‘What is this?’ Britha asked.

‘A holy place.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘A place dedicated to their gods.’

‘But it’s huge. They could build many roundhouses here, or granaries, graze animals or train warriors.’ Britha could just about understand why god-slaves would have small shrines in their roundhouses to bargain with their gods for favours, but this extravagance seemed like insanity.

‘They are a rich tribe.’

‘They are moonstruck.’ Britha would have said more but they had passed through the gap into the circular structure. Inside was a large stone pool of what looked like very stagnant water. In the centre of it was a stone statue of an exaggeratedly pregnant female figure with an oversized vagina.

‘The Muileartach,’ Britha whispered.

‘Here they call her Andraste,’ the thing that wore Teardrop told her. Though he spoke the language of the Pecht, Andraste was a southron word, and as he said it one of three figures turned to look at them. The figure was tall and thin and wore the brown robe of a dryw. Britha found his stare more disconcerting than she would have otherwise as he wore an enchendach, a feathered bird mask, in the shape of a raven’s head. Britha pointed at him.

‘That is ill done. What has this one to hide?’ she said, mistrusting the mask.

‘Eurawg does not hide; he honours the gods,’ the second figure said, stroking a thin black moustache streaked with white. He looked old and grizzled, and had gone to seed, but it was clear to Britha that not long ago he had been fit and physically powerful. His clothes were of fine quality, the dirk at his hip even had some kind of precious trade stone embedded in its pommel. His voice had sounded reasonable enough in tone but she could hear the pain in it. He was sitting on a pallet of straw but was clearly not comfortable, the result of the two mangled legs that stretched out in front of him. His eyes spoke of intelligence; his scars spoke of a willingness to fight; and the expression on his face was one of interest and bemusement. This is no fool, Britha thought. She also thought she could see the faintest trace of fire running through his blood.

‘I honour the goddess and I honour her daughter.’ The voice from the mask was little more than a whisper. Britha did not like the voice and did not understand the reference to the daughter of the goddess. She glanced at Teardrop suspiciously.

‘This is Rin, rhi of the Atrebates.’

Britha nodded to the man on the pallet.

‘So this is the daughter of Andraste?’ the third figure asked scornfully. She spoke with a voice obviously used to wielding authority. At first Britha had taken the figure in battle-scarred armour to be a man. On closer inspection it was obvious that the powerfully built woman had once been handsome, though never beautiful. Now she was all hard edges, scar tissue and broken teeth. One of her eyes was a white mass surrounded by scarring; her left ear was missing; no hair grew around the wound, which was still raw, though it had obviously happened many years ago.

Britha was about to deny that she had any connection to any god when Teardrop said, ‘That is correct. Britha is the daughter of Andraste, and I am her herald.’

Britha turned to Teardrop, but his features remained impassive and he did not look at her. With the silver crystalline eyes he looked more Otherworldly than ever before. It was hard to imagine he had ever been just a man.

‘You’ll forgive me if I do not immediately accept this,’ the woman said.

I don’t blame you, Britha thought, but decided to remain silent, waiting to see what Teardrop was going to do next.

‘Morfudd!’ the dryw in the enchendach hissed. ‘You would deny the word of your goddess!’

‘Shut up, Eurawg,’ the woman said.

‘You cannot speak to one of my rank like—’

‘Shut up, Eurawg.’

‘What would you have of us?’ Teardrop asked.

‘Proof,’ Morfudd said. Britha had to admit that she liked the warrior.

‘You do not demand—’ Eurawg started but Morfudd turned on him.

‘I will not blindly follow anyone who turns up claiming to be the daughter of Andraste, and stop trying to sound sinister, Eurawg. You’re not fooling anyone.’

‘They’re family,’ Rin told them by way of explanation and apology.

‘Morfudd leads the Cigfran Teulu,’ Teardrop told Britha. ‘The warband is sacred to your mother, hence their leader must always be a woman.’

‘The Cigfran Teulu is only sacred to Andraste in her aspect as the hag,’ Morfudd said. ‘But then as her daughter you would know that.’

The dryw all but tore off his enchendach. He was young: he could not have left the colleges in the groves all that long ago. Britha wondered why there was no older or more experienced dryw to treat with them, particularly as she was the daughter of a goddess, apparently.

‘Rhi Rin, I must protest. We have—’

‘Enough,’ Rin said quietly. ‘There is no denying that you have power and we thank you for coming to our aid last ni—’

‘The fort would have surely fallen—’ Eurawg began.

‘It is not for you to judge military mat—’ Morfudd began.

‘Don’t talk over your king,’ Britha said quietly. Both of them fell silent.

‘Will you stay and fight with us?’ Rin asked.

‘What news from the south?’ Britha responded. Morfudd and Rin exchanged looks.

‘I—’ Rin started.

‘Do not poison your words; speak truthfully,’ Britha told him, but it was Eurawg who spoke.

‘To the south-east there is a stretch of water between three islands. That stretch of water is sacred to your mother, Andraste. We take those of the Atrebates who have been touched by the moon to the two islands closest to the shore. The Regni to the east do the same.’

‘Did the same,’ Morfudd corrected him. ‘They have been attacked from the sea, perhaps destroyed.’

‘The black ships?’ Britha asked.

‘What do you know of the—’ Morfudd started suspiciously.

‘Let the boy finish,’ Rin said gently. ‘I mean the dryw.’

Eurawg looked less than happy as he continued with his story. ‘There is a special order of the dryw who care for those afflicted by the moon. One morning, not more than ten days hence, we found one of them, a young man, a foundling, a child of the mad who had been raised by the dryw on the island. He was bloody, exhausted, near dead and nearer madness. He told of the black ships. He said that they came from the Otherworld and that they were planning something.’

‘What?’ Britha asked.

‘The waters are sacred. The border between this world and the other is weak there. They would pervert what is sacred to your mother and they intend a summoning.’

‘A summoning of what?’

‘He did not know, but he said they intended a great sacrifice.’

She had known – at some level she had known – but it still rocked her. During the worst times, the times when mere survival meant a payment of blood to the land, the black-robed dryw were capable of sacrificing many, but this beggared belief. They must have hundreds on both boats by now.

‘The Llwglyd Diddymder,’ Teardrop said. Britha translated the words into her own tongue: the Hungry Nothingness. She wanted to ask him what it meant but didn’t dare show ignorance in front of Rin and his people.

‘What is this?’ Rin asked.

‘An ancient evil from the darkness beyond the stars,’ Teardrop pronounced in tones that made Britha want to laugh.

‘Can it be fought?’ the crippled rhi asked.

‘Not by us, not here. You need to stop it before it is summoned,’ Teardrop explained.

‘Well, she is the daughter of Andraste,’ Morfudd said, gesturing dismissively at Britha. ‘It should not be difficult for her to lay waste to the Corpse People and the demons on these black ships.’

‘I am not the only servant of the gods abroad right now,’ Britha said. She cared little for the deception but she was not willing to break it either. ‘Where is this shepherd of the moonstruck? May we speak with him?’

Eurawg answered: ‘Whatever he had seen had driven him mad. He spoke of demons in the flesh, dead gods in his head, hearing singing from the night sky and that the sea wanted him. It was too much for him, and he died trying to cut his own face off.’

‘Tell them the rest,’ Rin said quietly.

‘Essyllt, my predecessor, she went to the Isles of the Moon—’

‘With ten of the Teulu as escort, ten we sorely need right now,’ Morfudd interjected.

‘And you have not seen them since?’ Britha asked, almost knowing the answer. It explained why a dryw so obviously young and inexperienced was here to treat with them.

‘Oh, we’ve seen their faces,’ Morfudd answered, her voice bitter and angry.

‘When the Corpse People attacked, they used the moonstruck from the island like the living use hunting dogs. The mad wore the flayed faces of Essyllt and her escort.’ It was Rin who spoke. Britha could hear the sadness in his voice. This was no tyrant. This was a king who cared for his people. He must be frustrated by his affliction, she thought. It would make what they had to try and convince him to do all the harder. ‘So what would you have of us?’

‘Your fight is not here, it is in the south,’ Teardrop told him.

‘They would corrupt the sacred waters of Andraste. This must be stopped!’ Eurawg said. Britha found herself wishing he’d put the mask back on and just stand there looking sinister, but doing so quietly.

‘And yet I have a fort full of people that I must protect,’ Rin said. Morfudd was nodding.

‘Which will not matter if this summoning succeeds,’ Teardrop argued.

‘The people here cannot come with us – they are not warriors. I take the warriors away, they will be massacred. The Corpse People do not care for captives or pillage. All they care about is destruction. Some say they even eat the dead. They are cannibal spirits, the restless dead of Annwn sent by Rhi Arawn to plague us,’ Rin said bitterly.

‘They are men – we proved that to you last night,’ Britha told the king.

‘You have not seen them pluck arrow and spear from their dead flesh; you have not seen their wounds heal in front of your eyes,’ Morfudd said angrily.

‘Which served them naught last night,’ Britha said.

‘We are not all the children of the gods!’ Morfudd roared. Eurawg glared at her.

‘Yes, you are,’ Teardrop said with the sort of quiet authority Britha connected to the dryw. It was how you made warriors and kings listen. ‘The magic is weak in your blood, but you have been touched by the gods.’

Rin looked at the strange man with the swollen head and the silver eyes, trying to decide what to admit to.

‘It was true in my youth I could do things that others couldn’t before . . .’

‘In battle?’ Britha asked.

‘A cart, would you believe. I may be favoured of Andraste in battle, but not when I’m helping bring the harvest in.’ Britha was impressed despite herself. Few mormaer would lower themselves to help with the harvest. ‘But this does not matter. If we leave the fort the people here will be massacred. In fact, if we leave the protection of the walls then we will all be massacred. If you have the means to fight the Corpse People then share them, and once we have defeated them we will go south with all haste.’

‘There is not the time,’ Teardrop said.

‘And you know this?’ Rin asked.

‘If both ships are there—’ Britha started.

‘Both?’ Rin looked to Eurawg.

‘The dryw from the Isles of the Moon said that there were more than two ships. Many more.’

‘How many do they plan to sacrifice?’ Britha asked Teardrop.

‘As many of the people of Ynys Prydein as they can find. They will make it Ynys Annwn,’ Eurawg said.

‘You must sneak out of here, no horses, no metal armour—’ Teardrop began.

‘If you are simply moonstruck, then you have our leave to go to the isles!’ Morfudd shouted.

‘There will be nothing left!’ Britha shouted, silencing them all.

‘I cannot and will not leave my people. It is pointless even talking about this any more.’

‘If you stay here the Corpse People will overrun you. They nearly wiped you out last night.’

‘Not if you share with us your ability to harm them,’ Rin said.

‘Which we won’t,’ Teardrop said with finality.

‘We cannot defy the will of the gods,’ Eurawg said. ‘We should do what they ask.’

‘Eurawg, shut up,’ Rin said. ‘So you would leave us here to die?’

‘You’re dead anyway,’ Teardrop answered.

‘We have no choice. The gods, our gods have spoken.’ Eurawg was pleading.

‘Eurawg, shut up! Have we not sacrificed enough, shed enough blood, drunk for you, feasted for you enough?’ Morfudd shouted at Britha, though it was clear that she did not entirely believe she was the daughter of their goddess. ‘You repay us by leaving us to die!’

‘How many times must I say it,’ Teardrop asked, letting anger creep into his voice, though something told Britha that was for show as well. ‘The people here are dead anyway. The only question is whether or not your warband dies at the same time or confronts your real enemy.’

‘The Cigfran Teulu serves the people. We have no choice but to stay,’ Morfudd said with finality.

‘Then you are cowards who may as well beg Crom Dhubh for death,’ Britha said.

‘And you will fare even less well without the blessings of your goddess,’ Teardrop added.

‘We have seen nothing from you to suggest you are who you say you are,’ Morfudd said.

‘Were you not at the gates last night? Did you not see their power?!’ Eurawg screamed at the warband leader.

‘And if we heal your king and make your warriors stronger and faster, and if we empower their weapons to wound those from the Otherworld, then will you summon your courage to stand with us?’ Teardrop demanded.

‘It would go some way to proving you are who you say you are,’ Morfudd said.

‘You are thinking that once we have done all this, you will simply take our power and cower behind these walls,’ Britha said. ‘It’s what I would think,’ she added.

‘If we give our word, we will do what we have promised,’ Rin said. He looked troubled, deep in thought.

‘How will you do this thing?’ Eurawg asked, his hunger for power and knowledge written all over his face. Teardrop stared at the boy, who cringed under his inhuman eyes.

‘Blood magic,’ Teardrop pronounced.

Morfudd snorted in derision. ‘You would turn us into little more than Goidel blood-drinkers! You would make us Baobhan Sith.’

‘Enough,’ Rin said quietly.

‘You can’t be—’ Morfudd began.

‘Then what?’ the king asked her. ‘We know that the Corpse People are connected to what is happening on the Isles of the Moon. We cannot harm them. The only reason our walls did not fall last night was because of these strangers’ display of power. What would you have me do? If they do not aid us tonight then we are dead.’

‘But abandon our people?’

‘Your landsmen must wear the armour that the warriors do not take with them, and must man the gate and the walls. They must try and hold out as long as possible,’ Britha told them

‘While we sneak away,’ Morfudd said bitterly. ‘Will you at least arm them with weapons that will harm the Corpse People?’ Britha hated to hear the tone of pleading in the proud, strong woman’s voice.

‘No,’ Teardrop said emotionlessly.

‘Why?!’ Now desperation.

‘Because there is only so much magic, and it always comes at a cost.’ Teardrop had a faraway look on his face as he said this.

‘Swear to me that this is the only chance that any of my people have of living,’ Rin said. Teardrop opened his mouth. ‘Not you, demon, her.’ He nodded at Britha.

‘The warband are probably all dead as well, but they will die trying to protect everything there is. I swear this by blood and bone and all I value,’ Britha said. She meant it, but it was an easy oath to swear. It cost her little but the king seemed to believe her.

‘There is one other thing.’ The silver-eyed man continued. ‘You must hold a feast in honour of the goddess.’

‘This is too much!’ Morfudd would have said more but Rin held up his hand.

‘I feel sore used by Andraste, for whom I have taken many a head,’ the king told them. ‘We will feast, we will feast in the face of death so that our enemies know that though our iron will not kill them, we do not fear them, but to Annwn with your goddess.’

‘What is the Hungry Nothingness?’ Britha demanded as they walked away from the circular stone temple.

‘Just play your part if you ever want to see any of your people again,’ Teardrop told her. Britha bit back an angry retort. Something told her that it would do no good and that Teardrop, or whatever he was now, was serious.

As they started preparing for the feast, Tangwen saw the argument. Britha remained quiet while Teardrop spoke in a low voice to Fachtna, who raged. He raged in his language, the language of the Goidel traders who claimed they came from an island in the west. She did not speak the tongue but she knew some words. One word she had learned because it was useful when dealing with traders was that for falsehood. Fachtna shouted it a lot.

Tangwen watched as the three walked along the track to the circular building that the hunter knew to be a temple. Then they were gone for a long time. Tangwen wondered what the Corpse People must be thinking as the smell of beef, pork, mutton and chicken started to fill the air. The feast was going to be mightier than any she had ever been to before. So this is how rich tribes ready themselves for death, she thought.

Some time later, bored with watching the Corpse People swarm over the opposite hillside like maggots, she went looking for the others. If they didn’t want her in their temple then the dryw could chase her away.

Tangwen walked into the temple to see Fachtna and Britha hanging upside down from a drying frame. Both of them were naked, both of them pale. Both had been cut and bled. Underneath, cauldrons collected their blood. Teardrop was sitting next to them.

Teardrop looked up as she entered and stared at her impassively. Tangwen could not take his staring eyes on her. She turned and fled.

After the warband had drunk their fill, reddening their chins on Fachtna and Britha’s blood. After Teardrop had worked his magic. After weapons had been washed in the blood until there was no more of it. After the king had drunk of the blood and then been dipped into the cauldron and they had watched the blood disappear into his skin. After ruined legs had been healed and the king walked again. After all that, Britha’s eyes flickered open. He had not taken all her blood. There was still some left inside her, but so little. She was so hungry, so weak. It had felt like death and there had been nothing there.

Tangwen watched as they carried Fachtna and Britha to where the feast was laid out. Weak though they were, they grabbed for the food, coming close to knocking over trestles as they gorged themselves on whatever they could shovel into their mouths. Many watched them in disgust. They ate so much it shamed Tangwen to be associated with them, but as they ate she saw their colour come back and meat return to their bones in front of her eyes. She found herself making a sign to protect herself against evil.

The warband did not attend the feast; they ate sparingly and drank little. Instead they walked the walls. This was for the folk. Rin spared nothing in terms of drink. There was a desperation to the drinking. The feast had seemed forced, but soon there was singing and dancing. Good, Tangwen thought, glancing over the walls. Throw it in their faces. But there were tears and embraces as well. Few had any doubts as to what was happening, but Rin wanted everybody to be drunk when they met their end.

Morfudd had asked to stay. She had been told no. Eurawg had asked to go. He had been told no. When the Corpse People came it would be his job to kill the youngest children so they did not fall into the hands of fiends.

The tears and the fear only kicked in when the warband gave away their armour and shields and it became apparent they were to leave the fort. Shame was written all over the tear-stained faces of the men and women of the Cigfran Teulu. They could not even look at those they had sworn to serve.

There would have been panic among the folk except for their king. They loved their king. It surprised nobody when he refused to leave.

Before they sneaked into the night, Rin spat in Britha’s face. Anger coursed through her – she came close to running him through with a spear – but in the face of her anger, despite the demonstrations of power that he’d witnessed, Rin held his ground. ‘That’s for your mother,’ he told her. Britha managed to control her anger.

They slipped over the darkest part of the walls at dusk before the Corpse People closed on the fort. A long drop by rope into the ditch, down to the treeline and then they crept away. Every one of them bar Britha, Teardrop, Tangwen and Fachtna felt like the basest betrayer and coward. Though Fachtna understood them and felt a little of what they felt.

They pushed hard, skirting west to avoid the Corpse People’s pickets. Then they turned south-east. They pushed hard because they did not want to hear the sounds of battle, though there wouldn’t be much of one. They weren’t quick enough to escape the screams.

They saw its head first. Morfudd told them that she had never seen such a thing before and that it had not been there when last she had been this way.

‘It’s too big,’ Britha said, appalled.

‘Things of that size cannot be built,’ Morfudd said firmly. It had to be more than five hundred feet tall and stood in the channel between two smallish islands close to the coast. Much further out was a third and considerably larger island. They had been cresting a large hill that ran parallel to the coast for some time now, walking through acres of what had once been woodland. Most of the trees had been felled. Britha couldn’t imagine how many people it must have taken to remove this many trees. But the trees were quickly forgotten when she saw the small fleet of black curraghs surrounding the structure in the water.

‘And yet . . .’ Teardrop said. Britha did not like the sly smile on the face of the stranger wearing her friend’s form.

‘It’s a wicker man,’ Fachtna said, no life in his voice.