We lay down to sleep for the rest of the afternoon, for it would be a long night; Brother Finán expected that our foes would attempt to perform the spell at midnight. We broke bread upon waking, and then set off for Cronk Keeill Eoin. The sun was setting when we arrived and made our way to the mound.
I had visited the Thing two years before, but not since. The place had looked very different then, for there had been crowds of people, and pedlars selling their wares, and the king come to hear the petitions of the people; also it had been a bright day in midsummer. Now it was getting dark, and there was no one about. Some sheep grazed on Tynwald field, but there was no sign of a shepherd, for he would be tucked away at home. No Manx man would be out and about after dark on Oie Voaldyn. There was a tholtan a little way away, but no sign of light from within. The priest’s little dwelling, close by the church, stood likewise silent.
The mound was made of four circles of earth, piled one on top of each other, each smaller than the one below. We left our horses tied to the nearest bush, walked to the mound, and climbed up to the top to survey the area. This was where the king would sit when the Thing was in session, and where the undead king would perform the sacrifice described in the prophecy, or so we guessed.
I scowled at the trees and bushes at the edges of the field, for they seemed much closer than in my memory, and offered cover for the dearg-dul to creep close upon us. “What say you, Brother Finán? Shall we stand atop the mound as if it were a hill fort, and deny it to the dearg-dul, or should we rather take ourselves off to hide and await them, and then fall upon them once they are here?”
Brother Finán rubbed his hand across his shaven pate and lowered his brows in thought. “The moon is waning, and I will be able to see but little once it is fully dark. We must light a fire to shed some light, and that would give away our presence, and so I think we would be best taking advantage of the height of the mound. Let us find some secure place for our horses and then we must prepare for battle.”
The priest’s house was empty, and I doubted that anyone would answer if we went to the tholtan, and so we left the horses in the churchyard tied to a cross. We gathered sticks and built a fire on the field, leaving a pile of wood nearby so that we could rebuild the fire at need, and returned to the mound. I strung my bow, placed arrows sticking point downwards in the earth in easy reach of my hand, and placed my sword where I could quickly snatch it up. We then sat down to await the coming of the dearg-dul.
I looked up at the dark mass of Slieau Whallian. It occurred to me that it was thick with trees, and there was no clear path down which a witch could be rolled in a spiked barrel. I said as much to Brother Finán, and he laughed. “If there has been such a punishment for a witch on your island my books do not record it,” he told me. “I think this is just a story for children.”
“I heard the tale from my grandmother,” I said. “She told me many stories, such as the tale of Fin Mac Cooil and the Buggane, and I know that to be just a story, for I slew a Buggane and it was not at all like the one in the tale. Yet I believed her about the witch, and I was full of much fear when I discovered my new strength, for I thought I would be called a witch and sentenced to the spiked barrel. Still, it would be best to not make too much display of my strength, I think.”
“I agree,” he nodded. “It is wise not to draw too much attention to yourself.” He did not speak further on the subject, and we sat in silence for a time.
“Brother Finán,” I said a little later, “we are here alone, just the two of us, waiting to face an unknown number of monsters. Would it not have been wise to gather some others to assist us?” I was growing somewhat nervous, sitting in the dark, waiting for the adversaries to fall upon us.
“If only it were as simple as that,” Brother Finán replied. “Think, child. What would have happened had you gone to, for instance, your young man Fynlo’s father? Would he have sent warriors without question? How long would it have taken to convince him of the need to act? And even once convinced, would he not have forbidden you to accompany his men?”
“Probably,” I conceded. “I am but a girl, and pure Manx at that, not Norse. Not a shield-maiden. They would have sent me home to bed and gone to deal with the dearg-dul themselves.”
“And they would die,” Brother Finán said flatly. “The dearg-dul are stronger than mortal men. Even a woman rises from her grave as a match for any living warrior, and one who was in life a warrior is a deadly foe indeed. Only you have the strength, the skill, to stand against them.”
“A few men to guard my back would not go amiss,” I said.
“I know, but it would not happen like that,” he told me, and there was regret in his voice. “My biggest fear, however, is that you would be betrayed. It has happened before. The Slayer has been sold into the hands of her enemies by those she sought to protect, whether out of fear or through hope of gain. In this case, when we know that the living man Halfdan is allied with the undead, it is all too likely.”
I pursed my lips and frowned. Being ordered to stay at home safe in my bed did not seem all that hard a fate at that moment, and I could not believe that any of my people would in truth betray me to the dearg-dul. I stayed silent for a little time, and it was then that I noticed that something was amiss.
“The sheep are disturbed,” I told my Watcher. “See, they are moving away. Something comes.”
They came from the south, from the direction of Slieau Whallian, approaching through the trees. Two figures walked out onto the open field, and I readied the bow. I did not loose, for I worried lest they be living men, but took aim and called out a challenge. “Who is there?” I asked. My voice quavered a little, for I was nervous, and the two figures laughed.
“What is a young girl doing out so late at night, and with a man at that?” one called. His accent was that of a Norseman who had not been born among the Celts. “You are no good girl, and that is welcome, for we are not good men.”
The other one sniffed the air. “Young and fresh,” he announced. “A tasty morsel.” From his accent I guessed he had been born on the island; from his tone I guessed that he had ill purpose in mind.
They came closer, smiling, and I began to feel a strange tickle in my stomach. Suddenly I knew that they were dearg-dul, knew it beyond all doubt, and I loosed my first shaft. While it was still in the air I snatched up another arrow and drew back the bow again. The first arrow struck, hitting my target in the middle of his chest, and he cried out in pain. The other spun to face him and watched as the first crumbled into dust. It was a strange sight, and had Brother Finán not warned me I think that I too might have been frozen by surprise, but I kept my head and loosed a second shaft. My aim was true and the other dearg-dul turned to dust in his turn.
I was exultant. Two slain with two shafts! “Yes!” I cried out in my joy, and looked to the edge of the field where another three figures were emerging from a clump of bushes. I took up another arrow and nocked it, but before I could draw back the bow they had fled back the way they had come.
“They have seen your bow, and they fear it,” Brother Finán said. “Well done, Bahey, but do not become overconfident, for these were men who have fought in battle in life, and they will not lightly throw themselves into the path of your arrows.”
I recovered my composure. “I shall use my bow when I can, and I shall have my sword near at hand for when they come close,” I assured him, and watched out for movement. There was less than half a moon but between that and the light from the fire I could see well enough. I saw branches move, and heard leaves rustle, and I believed that the dearg-dul were preparing to attack me. My hearing was keen, and I could tell that they were talking, but I could not make out the words. The movement and talking went on for several minutes and the waiting became irksome.
Brother Finán saw that I was fidgeting and spoke soothingly. “Do not be discontent, for this works to our advantage. As long as we hold this mound they cannot conduct their ritual.”
“I know; but with them there I cannot keep the fire supplied with wood. It burns low, and – aha!”
They were moving, coming out from the bushes. A dozen of them, close together in a wedge formation, and some of them bore shields. Brodir formed the point of the wedge, a beard-axe in his hands, his coat of mail covering his chest.
I loosed at him nonetheless, more in hope than in expectation, and although my arrow pierced the mail it penetrated no great distance. Yet he faltered, slowing in his charge, and clutched at the arrow. The wedge was thrown into confusion; I drew and loosed once more, choosing as my target one who bore no shield, and he screamed as the arrow drove deep and turned him to dust. Brodir pulled free the arrow from his chest and came on once more; I caught up another arrow, drew the bow, but then Brother Finán shouted “Bahey! Behind us!” and I spun around.
There were more of them. Another four, in two pairs, coming at us from behind. They must have worked their way around the field and we were being attacked from all sides. I took hasty aim at one, and drove a shaft through his heart, but they were coming on at great speed and I had to snatch up my sword to meet the attack.
Brother Finán raised his staff. One end had been carved to form a sharp point, and he pointed that end towards the smaller group of the dearg-dul, bracing it like a spear. I left him to it and faced the onrushing wedge.
Brodir was upon me first, his axe held high for a mighty blow. Before it could descend I made good use of my position atop the mound and kicked him in the face with all my power. He flew backwards and tumbled down the earthen steps, taking two others of his party with him in his fall, and I took advantage of the disruption to slash neck-high at another. My blade took off his head like barley falling before the sickle. The body toppled and smashed into dust as it hit the ground; the head blew away like smoke as it was still in the air. I punched with my other hand, my fist clutched around the bow, and struck an attacker in the face as he was about to swing a sword. He toppled from the mound, and I swung the sword again, shearing the hand from another. The injured dearg-dul staggered away, crying out, and clutching the stump of his arm.
Fierce joy filled me. I shouted out a wordless battle-cry and struck once more. Another foe lost his head and went down to dusty death. Then a hand clamped down upon my sword-arm from behind, holding it fast, and I wrestled frantically to free myself.
I turned towards the one who had grappled me. I made to strike him with my free hand, but a hand clasped that arm too, and then another. I could see that Brother Finán was on his knees on the ground, his staff fallen, blood smearing his head. I kicked out sideways, striking the knee of the dearg-dul who held my sword arm, and the blow was a good one. His leg bent sideways in a way that no leg was meant to bend, and he fell with a cry of pain, but he did not release his grip upon my arm.
My leg was seized and held. Other hands closed upon my other leg and raised it from the ground. I was trapped, helpless, lifted into the air by my legs and arms, and although I struggled mightily I could not free myself.
Brodir stood it front of me with his axe raised. “This one will make a fine sacrifice,” he declared. “We can eat the other girl, for we need her not.”
“Wait!” another voice called in tones of command. Brodir frowned, but lowered his axe. “Remember what Halfdan said,” the new voice continued. “Your armour must be spread out atop the mound before the sacrifice is made, and he must be here to say the words of power.”
“True,” Brodir agreed, and lowered his axe.
“Also,” the other continued, “we have a better use for this girl than a sacrifice. She is a Slayer.” The accent of this one was strange to me. Not the same as the Manx Norsemen, but also not like that of Egil or the old Norsemen. His voice was guttural, harsh and flat, without the lilting rhythm that was in the tongues I knew.
“A Slayer?” Brodir echoed his words, his frown growing deeper.
“A mystic warrior. A girl filled by the Gods with the strength to fight our kind. There is but one at any time, and I have never seen a Slayer before, but it is said that their blood is the sweetest taste of all, and full of power. Better she be a meal than a sacrifice.”
“I can think of yet another use for her,” another spoke up. “She is uncommonly pretty and I think a virgin still. She would make good sport before we drink her blood.”
I tried again to free myself, without success, and was filled with great fear. From this position I could no longer see Brother Finán, but I heard him cry out “No!” and then heard the thud of a blow, and heard him groan in pain.
They had not yet taken the sword from my hand; I tried to swing it to strike my captors, but with my arm held still I could move the blade only with my wrist, and I could make no contact. I ceased my struggles for the moment, as they were gaining me naught, and panted for breath. There was a strong smell of smoke, and I assumed that the wind had changed and was blowing the smoke from our fire towards us.
“I know this girl, she is Bahey Dhone from Keeill Braddan near Dubhghlais,” one of the dearg-dul spoke up. “Fynlo Asmundson was courting her, and others wished to, for she is a great beauty. Should we not make her into one of us?” This must be someone who I knew in his life, but I could not recognise him for his face was much changed. His forehead was swollen with bumps and ridges, his nose was too high, and his mouth was full of fangs. The thought of being turned into such a creature filled me with such horror that I felt almost as if I was going to vomit.
“Siring a Slayer is said to bring bad luck,” the one with the unfamiliar accent told him. “Let us wait for Halfdan before we do anything we cannot undo.”
“I would see her breasts,” said the one who knew my name, and he approached me, licking his lips. He reached out his hands to me; I clenched my teeth, for I would not give him the satisfaction of a scream. Something moved behind him. I believed it to be another dearg-dul, or perhaps Halfdan arriving to join the undead warriors who seemed to hold him in some authority, and took little notice. There was a flare of light, but I paid it no heed, for hands were groping at my clothing.
Suddenly my molester screamed and staggered back clutching at himself. Flames were licking up his back. A tall figure leaped forward and struck out with a burning brand, hitting the one who held my left hand. More flames leaped up, and my arm was free. I still held the bow; I brought my arm across and slashed with the bow-stave, aiming at the face of the one who held my sword-arm, and I smote him across the nose. He yelled and let go of my arm.
My legs were still held at the height of a man’s waist, and once my arm was released my body fell backwards until the top of my head struck the ground. My skirts slid over my legs, displaying all of me to the eyes of the dearg-dul, but I could not be concerned about that for now. I slashed the sword across at ground level and hit the ankle of one of my captors. My Rhenish blade clove through leather and through bone and crippled him. He let go of my leg as he fell.
Now I lay on my back upon the ground, one dearg-dul holding my left ankle but otherwise I was unimpeded, and I waved the sword above me to keep back my foes. With my free leg I kicked hard to the knee of my last captor, sending him off balance, and I drew back my left leg then thrust it out again. He shot backwards off the top of the mound and I was free.
I rolled and came to my feet quickly as my Watcher had taught me. A foot drove into my ribs as I did so but I took no serious harm. I swung the sword in a wide circle round myself to keep back my foes as I sized up the situation.
Brother Finán lay on the next to top step of the mound, curled up and clutching his belly, groaning in pain. A dearg-dul stood over him, sword in hand, eyes fixed on me.
My rescuer with the burning brand was himself now in dire danger. Brodir had hold of the arm that held the brand, and they were wrestling, and the human was getting the worst of it. There were foes behind him and one was taking hold of him by the neck even as I looked. I recognised the man who had freed me, and my heart gave a leap; he was Egil the Icelander.
I sprang to his aid. There was no way to strike at Brodir with my sword, as his body was protected by the mail coat and his head was too close to Egil’s arm, and so I brought my blade down upon the one who had seized Egil from behind. At the same time I kicked Brodir hard in the side and knocked him from the mound top for a second time.
Egil managed to pull his arm free from Brodir’s grip and was not dragged down with him, but he dropped the firebrand and it bounced off down the side of the mound. Alas it did not fall near enough to Brodir to set him aflame, nor to any others of the dearg-dul, and Egil was left weaponless for the moment.
I sensed motion behind me and spun, bringing up my bow-stave to protect my head, and cutting across with the sword at waist level. One of my foes was swinging a sword at my head. My bow blocked his cut, but in so doing his blade severed my bowstring, and the bow sprang back into its unstrung position with such speed and force that it snapped. I cried out in surprise, and in anger that I had lost my weapon of great worth, but I wasted no time on regrets and instead I stabbed the jagged end of the broken bow into the chest of the dearg-dul who stood over Brother Finán. I jumped to my fallen Watcher and hauled him to his feet, heeding not his cry of pain, for if he stayed there he would die. I dragged him with me as I ran back towards Egil.
Egil had drawn a long knife from his belt, a good enough weapon against men but of little use against the dearg-dul. He stabbed one in the stomach, but it only grunted and struck back, punching the Icelander in the head. Egil staggered but kept his feet and stabbed again.
A new foe loomed close to me and chopped down at my head with an axe. I had no time to parry the blow, and so I went in under his strike, avoiding the blade but not the haft. It hit me on the shoulder and my left arm went numb. I could no longer hold onto Brother Finán and he sprawled onto the ground.
The dearg-dul clutched for me with his other hand and bared his fangs. We were too close for sword-work, and so I brought up my knee hard between his legs, and then drove my forehead into his face with all my might. He reeled backwards, dropped his axe, lost his footing, and rolled away down the mound. “Egil!” I shouted. “Help Brother Finán!”
He backed away from his attacker and moved to assist my Watcher, as I had asked, and I leaped to take his place. I slashed my blade across the legs of the dearg-dul and tumbled him to the ground, and then chopped down at his neck and turned him into dust.
Egil took up the axe that had struck my shoulder, swung it to drive back an approaching undead warrior, and helped Brother Finán to rise. I looked around. I counted but eight of the dearg-dul remaining, and two of those were on the ground clutching at grievous wounds. Could I win against six?
For a moment I was tempted to try. I had slain more than that many already; Egil had come to my assistance and he now wielded a beard-axe, and together we might prevail. Yet Brother Finán was helpless, I had but one working arm, and the enemy included Brodir in his mail coat. He had not charged back up the mound but was gathering the dearg-dul together. They would come upon us all at once. Could I defeat them and also protect my Watcher?
Before I could come to a decision a new element came into play. More figures emerged from the bushes and approached across the field. Six of them. One was a captive, a young girl with her hands tied behind her back, and she was being hustled along by a tall man. Another girl walked freely, and from what I could see of her face in the poor light I guessed her to be one of the dearg-dul. Two of the others could have been human or undead, but they bore weapons, and one held a bow. The other was Halfdan.
I knew then that this battle was lost.
We fled. Egil carried Brother Finán across his shoulders; I went behind guarding the rear, wielding the axe, my sword sheathed. We reached the priest’s dwelling unmolested and made our way inside.
The priest was not there. It was dark in the house but we found the bed and laid Brother Finán down. There was a turf-fire burning low in the hearth; Egil blew on it, and fed it with twigs, and brought it up to a flame. With that light to guide us we were then able to find the priest’s store of rush-lights and we lit two. They shed enough light for us to see to tend to Brother Finán’s hurts.
He had been struck on the head, and there was a cut running from under his hair to half-way down his shaven forehead, but it was not deep. Egil examined it and said that the skull was not damaged. Brother Finán had also been kicked in the chest and stomach, and there was much bruising, and it hurt him to breathe. I feared that his ribs were cracked. There was little that we could do to ease his pain, but at least it seemed he was in no danger of death.
“What of you?” he asked me, wheezing as he spoke. “Your left arm hangs limp, and you use it not; what hurts have you taken?”
“I was struck upon the shoulder with the haft of an axe,” I told him. “Do not concern yourself; for I will heal, as you have told me, and the pain is not so great that I cannot bear it.”
“Yet if you have a broken bone it must be supported lest it heal out of place,” he cautioned me, and sat up. At the motion he groaned with pain and fell back again. “This young man must tend to you.” He paused to cough. “My thanks for your aid, sir, for it was timely indeed. What is your name?”
“I am Egil Thorfinnson,” the Icelander announced, “I fought at the battle of Clontarf and was forced to flee from the field. My ship was overrun by the Irish and I had to swim for my life, losing my sword to the waves, until I reached a Manx longship. I met Bahey in Purt-ny-Hinshey, a few days ago, and you were also there.”
“Ah, yes, the young man who followed Bahey home,” Brother Finán said with a smile. “Glad I am that you did.”
“And you followed us here tonight, did you not?” I asked Egil.
“Not followed, I think I was here before you,” he revealed. “You told me you were to spend the night here, in the company of another man, and I was curious and came to watch over you. When you had not arrived by nightfall I sought shelter at a little farm house, but they would not let me in, and I found a place to sleep in a storehouse full of turnips and straw. I woke to the distant noise of battle and heard your voice, and I ran to your aid, snatching up a brand from a fire in lieu of better weapon. You know the rest.”
“Curious? I think you were jealous, although you have no right,” I chided him gently. “Yet I cannot be displeased, for you saved me from death at the very least.”
“Your shoulder, Bahey,” Brother Finán reminded me.
I put my hand to the clasp of my cloak and then hesitated, and I felt a blush come to my face, for I would have to reveal much of my body to the eyes of Egil if he were to examine my hurts. The clasp was a gift from Fynlo, and as I remembered that it made me even more loath to show myself. “It is not modest to display myself to a young man,” I said. “I can wait until you are well enough to tend to me, Brother Finán.”
“No, Bahey, you can not, for you will heal much faster than will I, and you risk your shoulder healing out of place,” he said firmly. “You must allow this Egil to aid you, whether it be modest or no.”
“I have seen more of you than is fit already,” Egil mumbled, not meeting my eyes. “Those men held you with your legs up, and your skirts fell before you freed yourself, and even a husband could see no more.”
My face was suddenly as hot as if it were burning. “You should not have looked!” I told him, and my voice was a squeak.
“I am sorry,” he told me. “I know I should not have stared, and indeed it would have been better had I not, for it was as I was distracted that the man in the bright mail coat seized hold of my arm. But I could not help myself.”
“You should not have looked,” I repeated.
“Your modesty does you credit, Bahey,” Brother Finán put in, “but you must put it aside. I am too bruised and sore to tend to you myself, and it must be done, for you must be fit to fight again as soon as possible. We are all in deadly peril.”
“Very well,” I said reluctantly, and unfastened my cloak. I lowered my garments to expose my shoulder, but held them up with my right arm so that I did not reveal my breasts. Egil came to me, his face red, and looked closely at the injured region.
There was much bruising, mottled red and purple, and it looked so bad that I was surprised that I had felt so little pain. Egil touched my shoulder, his hands firm but gentle, and I felt a sudden agony and could not hold back a cry. He supported my arm, and pressed gently on my shoulder, and the pain eased.
“There is a broken bone, I think,” he told Brother Finán. “I shall make a sling, for the arm must be supported, but it will be weeks before it is healed enough for battle.”
“Days,” my Watcher said. “Perhaps as soon as tomorrow night. If not, then the day after.”
Egil raised his eyebrows. “I know injuries, for I have long trained for war, and in truth it will be weeks.”
“I think the time has come for you to hear of the Slayer,” Brother Finán told him. “Bahey, put your clothes in order, for we must leave this place soon. They will come for us once their ritual is done, I fear, and I doubt we could defend this house long in our present state.”
“They cannot enter without an invitation,” I pointed out, for I was weary and had no wish to ride home that night.
“Halfdan is human,” he reminded me, “and he has warriors in his service. Also they could set fire to the thatch and burn us out. No, we must get ourselves gone. Egil, find something to serve as a sling, and whilst you are tending to Bahey I will tell you her secret and teach you of the creatures that we fight. We call them dearg-dul, but your people know them as the draugr.”
Brother Finán’s voice grew stronger as he talked, and Egil listened soberly as he worked. I replaced my clothing before he positioned the sling, for I was not going to ride with my breasts unclad, even in the dark of the night. By the time Egil was satisfied that my arm was well supported, and had finished tying the knot, he had heard enough to understand most of what was going on.
“I could tell when first I set eyes upon you that you were a most remarkable girl,” he told me admiringly. “I was more right than I knew.”
I was pleased, and smiled, although I could see that there would be trouble ahead if – when – Fynlo returned. My thoughts were interrupted by a sound in the distance.
A scream of agony and death.
They had sacrificed the girl. She was dead and I had not saved her. “They have made their sacrifice,” I said, and my words tasted bitter in my mouth. I had failed in my task.
“You can hear them?” Egil asked, surprise on his face, and I realised that my hearing was keener than theirs.
“She can hear them,” Brother Finán confirmed, his face grave. “She is the Chosen One, and has powers beyond those of mortal men.”
Then came there a sound that both men could hear without trouble, for there was a great clap of thunder, and after that a roar as of many voices crying out in triumph.
“The ritual is complete,” my Watcher said, and climbed from the bed. “To the horses. We must ride for our lives.”