Author: Ian Hall
Category: Cook books
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Sewell, from the northern tribes. I am returning from a long trip to the south, from the Great Circle.” I lied.
“You are welcome, wise one.” He motioned us forward, and to the largest of the huts. “Mish, our leader is out on the water, he should return soon. We expect a good harvest.”
Inside the hut lay a central fire, and suspended above it a large cauldron, bubbling gently. The aroma from it filled the room, and I could distinguish both fish and vegetables from the brown liquid. “Can we share your food tonight?” I asked, expecting nothing less.
“Of course, wise one.” Yassir rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps you could manage a blessing on our harvest?”
“It is the least I could do.”
To be honest, I dreaded the return of the group leader, Mish, certain that he would indeed turn out to be the one-eyed man. When sounds from outside the hut announced his arrival, I walked out to the darkening beach with apprehension.
The man bowed low, too low to see his face. “I am Mish,” he said, lifting his head showing me two eyes, very distinct.
I almost sighed in relief. “Sewell, from the northern tribes,”
“You are most welcome, wise one.”
When we sat round the hut to eat, the soup tasted wonderful, and the women passed round some small bread loaves, which they said were made with crab-meat and summer wheat. When dipped in the soup, they tasted delicious. We bedded down in one of the unused huts, and with the blankets they provided, I soon fell asleep.
The room was in darkness when I awoke, but the hairs on my arms were standing on end; something was very wrong. I let my senses drift out of the hut and immediately heard hushed voices. Cartimanda seemed to be the subject of their conversation, and I knew if that was the case, we were in trouble. I crawled across the room and roused Tasani, my hand held firmly over her mouth. “”We need to get out of here,” I whispered. “There are people outside. I don’t trust this place.”
We got the boys awake, and I moved to the side of the hut nearest the voices. With my dagger, I prized apart the reed weaving and looked outside. Silhouetted against the first lights of dawn, I saw two men, standing on the beach in hushed conversation. I tried to make out more details from their exchange, but the waves onto the sand make it difficult.
I closed my eyes. The Hunter’s Eye.
I imagined myself outside, striding slowly to the men, my feet making no sound, and soon I visualized them in my mind, as clear as daylight. One man was Mish, and the other I had not met before, but his accent was ragged, almost contorted. Then he looked in the direction of me, of the hut, and I almost shrank away from the wicker wall in fright. He had a scar that ran from his forehead right down his face to his mouth, which had not healed nicely. “So when do we do it?” he asked Mish.
“After breakfast.” The leader answered. He looked hesitant, unsure, then the one-eyed man shook him by the shoulder.
“No going back, now, I’ll have men on the ridge in case you don’t go through with it.”
They walked off past our hut, and I heard Mish’s voice at the door. “No one in or out.”
“Aye,” a voice sounded, very close by.
We have a guard at the door.
I opened my eyes and turned. Tasani and the boys stood in the center of the room. “We have to leave.” I whispered into her ear. “They intend to take us prisoner after breakfast.”
“There must be many paths inland.” She said. “The sun has not fully risen.”
I shook my head. “They have men on the slopes, on the cliffs.”
“Then we take to the sea. They won’t expect that.”
I nodded at the audacity of the plan. I had canoed on the northern lochs as a child, and felt I could help pilot the small canoes on the beach. “But first we have to deal with the guard at the door.”
Tasani produced a small dagger from her robe. “Can you get him inside?”
When the guard entered the hut to my call, he had no defense for my grip on his arms from behind. When Tasani’s knife repeatedly ripped across his throat, he gurgled in surprise, then fell forward onto the hut floor.
I pulled a sword from his belt, then looked outside. There seemed nothing in our way. With a glance behind, I pulled one boy’s hand while Tasani took the other. We raced across the dry sand towards the three canoe boats.
I almost threw Benelek onto the boat, then pushed it down the sand to the bay. “Lie down!” I hissed. From my side Fetasius was unceremoniously dumped beside his brother. Together Tasani and I got the boat into the shallow surf.
“I think not!” A roar bellowed from behind me. I turned and found the one-eyed man striding from the huts, with Mish and two others in tow. “You are free to leave, wise one, but the boys stay with us.” I dropped my staff into the boat, and drew the sword from my belt.
Not one more step. I directed at the men.
To my relief the four men stopped. Despite my warning, confidence oozed from every pore in the one-eyed man’s body. Four warriors against a priest and a woman would seem like a one-sided fight.
“Get in the boat,” I said to Tasani. Not one more step.
“I cannot!” she cried, “I cannot sacrifice one of the order. It’s not right.”
“Get in the boat.” I pleaded.
“No, I’ll hold them off.” The four men looked to advance, but stopped in their tracks once more when I waved the sword at them. It seemed that the ingrained taboo of attacking a dhruid run deep, even amongst traitors.
“But you are a woman!” I frowned at her. Not one more step.
“I am of the Iceni!” she snapped at me, grabbed the stolen sword from my grasp, and cast the hood of the robe from her head. She stood proud in front of her aggressors. “My brother died with Boudicca! I have Iceni blood in my veins. Run!” As she swung her sword at the other two boats, she pushed me to the canoe where the boys sat, cringing in terror. Seeing her resolution, I reluctantly pushed the craft into the waves, and climbed quickly aboard. By the time we were completely afloat, the other boats had been hacked beyond use.
Two more men had arrived on the beach, but the original force had not moved, frozen in inaction.
“Get beyond the surf!” Tasani shouted over her shoulder at me. With a shrug of her shoulders, the dhruid robe fell off completely, leaving her naked. She swung the sword in confident arcs, and the four men on the beach hesitated, once seeking to flank her, then deciding against it. “I’ll join you after I’ve dealt with these fools.”
I put my paddle deep into the rough water and felt it dig into sand, then the canoe sped forward, its light construction bobbing abruptly against the oncoming waves. Looking back, I could sense a power in the naked woman on the beach. She raised her sword and invoked the spirit of the warrior queen again. “Boudicca, I do not die this day!”
Then the men, probably emboldened by my swift departure, advanced upon her as one. She struck down the first as he charged against her, his head split in two, his body falling onto the waves lapping the wet sand. She was swiping at the second when the one-eyed man struck her in the belly, a sword thrust that erupted from her back, announcing her instant death. Both boys called out to her, but thankfully did not seek to enter the water. Instead, they coddled each other, crouching lower in the shallow boat.
The one-eyed man stood looking out into the sunrise, and other men waded quickly into the water, then dived into the surf looking to capture us, but my boyhood skills had not left me, and with long even strokes I soon paddled the canoe far from their reach.
Caught in the first rays of the sun I saw figures on the high cliffs, ten, maybe more. As I turned my canoe north, they began to follow me, their gait slow and methodical. I could sense the one-eyed man in their midst.
Assisted by a wind at my back, I made good progress up the coast. I never risked beaching on the rocks and crags, but never quite set out to sea either. I paddled and waited for nightfall.
“Give me a clear sky.” I incanted.
I had
two distinct advantages, I knew nightfall would save us, and I knew that a large river lay some way to the north, easy enough to wade over, but the chasing group would be forced inland to seek shallow water.
The one problem, of course, is nightfall is a full day away.
With one eye constantly scanning the shore, I settled into a smooth rhythm, the paddle blade slicing neatly into the choppy sea. By the time the sun had reached its zenith, through weariness and hunger I slowed to an occasional paddle stroke on the upward swell. As the sun began to set on the dunes of the coastland, I turned the craft to the shore, determined to reach safety before my muscles gave out entirely.
The dark sand did not welcome us easily. The breeze that had borne us north had stiffened, and the surf tumbled us unceremoniously onto the hard wet sand. It seems we landed on an ebbing tide, because as soon as we parted from the canoe, it raced away from us, leaving us stranded. Panting, I stood upright, my legs protesting the effort, a boy hanging onto each hand and my staff swirling at the surf at my feet. My pack had gone, my sleeping fur, my knife.
To make matters worse, we were still on the south side of the wide river I had encountered on my journey south.
Once the sun had set, I huddled the boys together, told them not to move, and strode along the beach, gathering some seaweed. On my return, the boys were reluctant to eat it, but soon got the idea, seaweed or nothing.
Travelling while using the Hunter’s Eye is never a recommended method of