Dodinal slept uneasily and was awake before dawn. Leaving the others to their snoring, farting slumber, he went outside and breathed deeply, to clear his lungs of the stale reek of so many men in such a confined space. He sat before one of the fires, now burned down to glowing embers but still giving off enough heat to hold back the early morning cold. Before settling down for the night, he had noticed a whetstone amongst the old man’s weapons stash. Sitting by the fire, he now used it to put a keen edge on his sword, lost in reverie as he ran the stone along the blade, as he had done so many times before.
He knew he should hate the old man. As the last of his people, he must carry the blame for what they had done, the great sin they had committed. Yet he recalled, too, the old man’s words. It was as if it were happening to someone else, and I was a reluctant observer who could not turn away. Dodinal understood. It was how he had felt all those years ago, when the rage had first overtaken him as he searched through the smouldering remains of his village, when he had hacked an injured and defenceless man to bloody shreds.
Incest. Murder. Different sides of the same coin.
He heard the creak of hinges and turned to see Hywel making his way carefully out of the hut, prodding the ground ahead of him with a spear, wary of obstructions. Dodinal got to his feet to help him. “What are you doing? You could trip and bang your thick head again. Then what would become of you?”
“Stop fussing,” the tracker said, making his way steadily towards the fire. “I’m feeling better. I can even see you. Sort of.”
For a moment Dodinal was silenced. It was not impossible. Head injuries were unpredictable. Even so, it sounded too good to be true, Hywel regaining his vision just as they were readying to leave. He raised a hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Hywel waved away the question. “I said sort of, didn’t I? You’re a blur. To be honest, all I can see is the shape of you against the glow of the fire. But that’s more than I could see yesterday.”
“Not enough, though. Not to come with us.”
“I know, I know,” Hywel said, trying to sound unconcerned and not making a particularly convincing job of it. “My head still throbs. I think I’d better sit down before I fall down.”
They sat together, not speaking, staring into the softly glowing embers as though they held some mysterious secret. Finally Hywel let out a long, hard sigh. “I’m not very good at goodbyes.”
Dodinal kept his eyes on the fire. “Me neither.”
“Then let’s neither of us say it. I’m not going to ask to come with you. I’d get myself and the rest of you killed. No, I’ll stay here with the old man. I’ll pray for you and await your return. And if you don’t, I’ll accept his offer to take me home so I can tell Rhiannon and the rest what you did to try to help us; the sacrifices the two brothers made, too. Funny, I never really took to that pair when they were alive. Now they’ve gone I miss having them around.”
Dodinal said nothing. Then he frowned as Hywel’s words sunk in. “How did you know the old man said he would take you home?”
“Just because my eyes were closed didn’t mean I was asleep. You’d be surprised how much you hear when people don’t think you’re listening.” Hywel’s tone grew serious. “Keep your wits about you, Dodinal. Find the boy and get away as quickly as you can. Don’t try to be the hero and take them on. Better to live to fight another day.”
“Getting away in one piece will be a task in itself. Even if there only eight of them, they still outnumber us two to one.”
“You sound very calm. Aren’t you afraid? I would be.”
“Yes, I’m afraid.” The fear was there, gnawing away at his guts. “Fear is healthy. Fear keeps you vigilant. When the time comes, I’ll be ready.”
“Not too ready, I hope. I know you, Dodinal. You creep through the forest like a ghost. Wherever they are, you can be in and back out with the boy before they even realise he’s gone. Unless you’re disturbed, there should be no reason for you to confront them. If you’re tempted to avenge Idris and all those other poor bastards who died, just remember Owain will be relying on you for his life.”
“I wouldn’t be going after them if it wasn’t for the boy. My first concern is getting him out in one piece. I won’t even think about what else I should or should not do until he is safe.”
“Forget anything else,” said Hywel. “Just get back here so we can all go home together. I’d sooner walk through the forest with my victorious friends than that old man. He gives me the shivers. You heard that story of his. How can he live with the shame?”
“Don’t be so hasty to pass judgement,” Dodinal said, picking up his sword and resuming his slow, methodical sharpening. The scrape of metal on stone echoed around the narrow valley so that it sounded like a host of men preparing for battle. “Many people have secrets.”
“Yourself too?”
Dodinal said nothing.
“Perhaps one day you’ll tell me.” Hywel stood, yawning as he stretched. “I’ll go and wake the others. I don’t suppose you’ll be wanting to hang around here any longer than you have to.”
Dodinal watched Hywel until he disappeared inside the hut, then finished sharpening the sword. Finally he held it straight out and plucked a hair from his beard, draping it across the blade. The hair split in two, the severed halves spiralling slowly to the ground. Satisfied, Dodinal sheathed the sword. Even the gargoyle creatures with their leathery hides would be no match for it.
The sky grew brighter. From inside the hut he could hear a chorus of coughing and raised voices, throaty with sleep and smoke. He made his way back in and was pleasantly surprised to find a pot set over the fire and a faint smell of food in the air. “It’s not much,” the old man said, squatting alongside the pot, stirring its contents. “But better to leave on a full stomach than an empty one.”
He poured thick gruel into a variety of battered old dishes and beakers and handed them around. With no spoons to eat with, they waited until the gruel had cooled before scooping it into their mouths with their fingers. It tasted of nothing much and sat like a heavy stone in Dodinal’s belly, but would keep hunger away for some time.
“Keep an eye out for goats,” their host told them as they ate. “Tough little bastards, not afraid of anything. They’ll trample and eat adders, or so it’s said. But they make good eating.”
Finally the time came for them to be on their way. They emptied their packs and sorted through their contents, taking only what they thought they would need, putting it into a single pack to lighten their load. They left their cloaks behind for the same reason.
They shook Hywel’s hand one by one, each man vowing they would be back for him. The tracker somehow conjured a smile and told them he looked forward to that day, but it was plain to see he was desperate to go with them. Dodinal was the last to leave; he looked back just before he walked outside and saw the hunter slump to the ground, head down, looking lost and alone and defeated. For a moment he almost relented, but this was not the time to allow his heart to rule his head. He raised one hand in a half-hearted salute and set off after the others.
The old man waited for them, nodding towards the southern end of the valley. Now the sun had risen, banishing the shadows around them, Dodinal could see many of the trees had been felled, their stumps like broken teeth in the mouth of the coomb; fuel for the fires that kept the ghosts at bay.
“I’ll take you as far as the lake and show you where you need to go from there. After that, you’re on your own.” The old man seemed almost pathetically eager to please, perhaps desperate to make amends in any way he could for what he and his people had done.
He led the way up the steep slope, setting a punishing pace that belied his advanced years and gaunt body. Gerwyn stayed close behind him, followed by Madoc and Gwythyr, all three of them gasping as they struggled to keep up. Dodinal saw no point in hurrying; they might as well conserve their strength. Emlyn must have felt the same way, for he walked at a steady gait alongside him. “Do you think he will be all right?” he suddenly asked.
Dodinal did not need to ask who. “He’ll be fine.”
“I wish I could be so sure.” Emlyn tapped the side of his head. “That old man hasn’t quite got a quiver full of arrows.”
“Maybe not. He’s harmless enough, though. He said he would look after Hywel, and I have no reason to doubt him. Mark my words, by the time we get back, Hywel will be too fat to do anything but waddle and we’ll be delirious with hunger.”
“You reckon we’ll be back, then?”
“We’ll be back,” Dodinal assured him.
By the time they had struggled out of the valley, they were gasping for breath and sweating like pack horses. Dodinal stared around tensely. The lake was longer than it was wide, the forest crowding its left bank. Surrounding it was a solid wall of mountains, their bare steep flanks reflected in the water, so that it appeared there was an identical range of hills beneath the surface. At the far end of the lake was a single mighty peak, wide enough at its base to fill the landscape, narrowing as it rose impossibly high above them. Beyond it were more tall peaks, distance rendering them featureless.
“The valley lies beyond that mountain,” the old man said.
“God help us,” someone whispered.
The old man spat on the ground. “God won’t. I will. I know what you’re thinking. Might as well give up and go back.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” Madoc growled.
“It looks bad, I’ll grant you that. But there’s always a way.”
Emlyn sighed with frustration. “Then take us there.”
The old man shook his head. “I gave you my word I would bring you here and I have; but no further. Too many memories. This is the first time I have stepped foot here since I heard my sister was with my father’s child. I do not intend to stay a moment longer than I have to. Dodinal, you’re the clever one. Step closer. I will tell you the way. Then I will leave you to find the valley without me.”
They gathered around him, watching as he raised his spear to point to the mountain’s left flank. “Continue to the head of the valley. You’ll see an old track leading up. It’s steep, but you’ll manage. Once you get to the top you’ll arrive at a narrow plateau. From there the going gets harder.”
Dodinal listened while the old man continued to talk of cliffs and gullies, but did not really take it in. The words were meaningless. Gerwyn nodded as the old man spoke, hopefully to indicate his understanding rather than out of misguided sense of courtesy.
“Eventually you will have to cross a narrow ridge, between steep cliffs, high above the ground. Even once you have crossed it and are within reach of the summit, you will need to be wary. The going will not be easy underfoot and there are often rock falls. Big ones. I’ve heard them from the village.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Madoc said sourly.
The old man ignored him. “It’s easy going once you get to the top. The descent into the valley is nowhere near as challenging.”
“You’ve been there?” Dodinal asked.
“Me? Don’t you listen? I told you, I haven’t been even this far up since what happened to my sister. But the men who took Crow and Arwel and the young ones there, they talked about it for months. You’d swear they’d been on some brave quest rather than off to dump an old woman, a simpleton and a bunch of squawking infants in the middle of nowhere to fend for themselves.”
“You sound as if you almost regret it,” Dodinal observed.
“I regret what we did that night, nothing else. We did a great wrong and we tried to find a way to atone. We tried and we failed.” He hawked and spat, then turned away. “You’d best be off. If you hurry, you should reach the valley this afternoon. A word of advice. Be well away from there by sunset, with or without the children you seek. Now go, and travel safely.”
He turned and set off down the hill towards what remained of his village, raising an arm in farewell as he disappeared from view.
“Well, then,” Gerwyn said after a moment. “You heard him. We need to be there and on our way back by sunset. Best to get moving.”
He shrugged the pack until it hung comfortably from his shoulders and then took off towards the mountain without waiting for a response. The others hesitated, eyebrows raised. Dodinal gave them the nod and they set after him, with Dodinal following a short distance behind.
He could hear the murmur of their voices as they walked, but he was in no mood for idle talk, not when they were heading towards an uncertain fate. For all he knew they would be dead by nightfall. Now he almost regretted his decision to travel in their company. He had grown to like them, to see them as friends, even the near-silent Gwythyr. While death held no fear for him, he would prefer to die alone than take his companions with him.
The path the old man had indicated took them through the forest along the lake’s western bank. The men became silent as they passed beneath the green-budded branches, perhaps remembering what had happened here that day all those years ago. Tramping along a woodland path, Dodinal found himself looking out for a tall cluster of ferns, but saw none. It had happened a long time ago. The boy had grown into a half-mad old man and the sister was far from here, perhaps dead. Only the spectre of unwanted memories remained. Dodinal realised none of them had thought to ask the old man his name.
The forest felt suddenly oppressive and gloomy, bright wildflowers doing nothing to dispel a sense of foreboding that made his skin prickle. Again he had to remind himself why he was here. If it had not been for his feelings for Rhiannon and the boy, he would have gladly given up and gone home.
Home? Yes, home. Home to where she was waiting for him, for him and the boy and the others, not yet knowing that two of them would never come back and another was little better than blind.
He would get there yet, he told himself. Owain too. No matter what awaited them up in the mountains, he would find a way home.
It took them the best part of an hour to reach the head of the lake. When they emerged from the trees, the mountain suddenly reared up before them, impossibly high. Craning his neck to look up, Dodinal felt a tug of disquiet. He did not like heights; up in the high places, he would be a stranger in an unknown and dangerous realm. A man who fell in the forest could pick himself up, dust himself down and be on his way. A man who fell in the mountains would fall a very long way. And all they had to guide them were directions from someone who had not even walked this way before. It did not augur well.
The path petered out, and the ground became steeper and uneven. Some of the boulders were as tall as Dodinal, reminding him of a story his mother had once told him, about how warring giants had created the mountains, long ago in the time before memory, by hurling rocks at each other to settle their differences.
Soon they found the track, as the old man had said they would. It was overgrown and had not been walked on for many years, but the ground beneath the ankle-high grass was firm. It carved a crooked route up the face of the mountain, and they walked at a steady pace. When Gerwyn eventually called for a rest halt they turned back to face the valley, which spread out before them in miniature. They sat on the grass banks that edged the path on both sides, massaging cramping muscles and wiping the sweat from their brows. The sun, though strong, was still some way from its zenith. Dodinal nodded, satisfied with their progress.
They pushed on, their voices stilled. They needed all their breath for the ascent. The track became steeper the higher it took them: their lungs ached, their faces glowed, and their thighs and calves burned with the strain. When they reached the plateau the old man had spoken of, they dropped their weapons and packs where they stood and lay on their backs on the hard ground, chests heaving, until they could talk without gasping for air between words.
The first to recover, Dodinal sat up and looked down the path. It fell away from the plateau until it appeared no wider than the laces that tied his boots. It had taken them an hour to walk the length of the lake, but from here it looked to be about as long and as wide as his thumb. Instinctively he drew back from the plateau’s edge. While there was no danger of falling, his stomach still gave an unpleasant lurch as he realised just how far up they had climbed. And the worst of it was, they still had a long way to go.
Reluctantly, he turned to look up at the tall peak ahead. This close it was no longer featureless: directly before him was a deep cleft in the rock, forming a ravine with cliffs rising up on either side. If there was a path, it was buried beneath a layer of stones and slabs that brought to mind the old man’s talk of rock falls. Dodinal studied the cliffs. They were not sheer, but bellied out before curving up and levelling off far above his head. They appeared stable and, besides, the route between them was wide enough that they should be safe as long as they kept to the middle of the path.
He was so intent on studying the terrain ahead of them that he did not hear Gerwyn approach. “Have you considered what we’ll do when we get there?”
“Not yet. When we get there, that’s when I’ll decide.”
“Isn’t that leaving it a little late?”
Dodinal sighed and looked at the younger man. “We have no idea of the lie of the land. It could be open ground, it could be forest. Why try to second guess? Better to wait until we’re close enough to know what we’re up against. Then we decide how to approach it.”
“Fair enough. You know best, I’m sure.” Gerwyn was silent for a moment. “You still don’t trust me.”
It was not a question.
Dodinal glanced across at the rest of their party. The men were still sprawled on their backs in the sunshine, knees drawn up, making the most of every moment of rest they had. They were talking in low voices as though afraid they might bring the mountain down on top of them if they spoke too loudly.
“You are here, that’s all I care about,” he answered. “Your motives for being here aren’t important to me.”
“I mean, trust me to be of use when we finally catch up with them.” Gerwyn had taken off his sword belt before collapsing; now he reached out to pick it up and held it lightly in both hands, gazing down at it rather than at Dodinal. “I know what you think of me. What everyone thinks of me. I’m half the man my father was, lazy and feckless, more interested in going off hunting than helping when there’s work to be done.”
He broke off. Dodinal waited in silence for him to continue.
“I won’t deny it. Can’t deny it. But that was then. When he was still alive. My father, I mean. When I was growing up, there was never any point in trying to impress him. I knew all along he wanted my brother Elwyn to follow him as brehyrion. The way I saw it, I was never going to amount to anything, so why bother trying?”
“And after your brother died? You could have tried to impress your father then. He never spoke of it, but I think that was what he was waiting for. Hoping for, maybe.”
Gerwyn put the sword back down and pinched his chin with one hand, the dark stubble rasping against his fingers. “It was too late for me by then. Some habits are hard to break. I was so used to being the second son, my father’s second choice to succeed him, that when the chance finally came for me to prove myself I no longer cared.”
“Until Idris died,” Dodinal said.
“Yes, until he died. That woke me up more than Rhiannon’s slap that night.” Gerwyn smiled to himself, his fingers slipping from his chin to idly rub his cheek. “I deserved that. Deserved a lot more than that. I meant what I said to you, Dodinal. I want to find my brother’s son and bring him home. Not for your sake or even Rhiannon’s, but my own. I’ve been a failure all my life. This is my one chance of redemption.”
“Even if it gets you killed?”
“You’re as likely to die as I am, yet here you are. They’re not even your family. And you say you have no feelings for Rhiannon?”
“She saved my life. I’m in her debt.”
“No, she was in yours, for saving Owain.” Gerwyn suddenly laughed, his reflective mood broken. “Go on. Admit it.”
“Shut up,” Dodinal growled at him, not unkindly. “You’ve been out in the sun for too long.” He got to his feet, wincing as his knees creaked and his lower back began to complain. There was a long way to go yet. “Come on, you wastrels. Time we were moving.”
Madoc said, “I grew up in a village in the hills. Not these hills; many miles to the south. The terrain there was less barren, but mountains are mountains. If it’s all the same to you, Dodinal, I will lead the way here. I will find the quickest route to the summit.”
“Go ahead,” Dodinal answered gladly. He could track prey through the forest for days at a time, but up here he was helpless and could easily lead them far from where they wanted to be. He held back, Gerwyn at his side, until Madoc and the others were on their way, then the two of them followed behind, stepping out of the sunshine into the shadowy ravine.
Although it was not especially steep, the loose stones made the going far from easy, shifting under their boots as they scrambled upwards. The cliffs amplified their panting and cursing as they staggered and stumbled along, and the rattle of the stones underfoot. Dodinal found himself anxiously eyeing the towering cliffs overhead.
The walls began to close in, making him steadily more nervous. He almost called out to Madoc to stop for them to rest a while, but decided they would be better off getting through the ravine as quickly as they could.
He glanced up, sure he had glimpsed movement on the cliff top high to the right of them. It was nothing, he told himself. The shadow of a cloud passing across the sun. Yet there were no clouds to be seen in the violet sky. Dodinal looked at the cliff again as dust showered down, as though something had disturbed the rock face above. He slowed his pace as if tiring, allowing Gerwyn to pass him so he could keep a closer watch without causing undue alarm. He felt sure the experienced Madoc would have known if anything were amiss, but even so, he saw no harm in remaining vigilant.
A sound like thunder suddenly rumbled through the ravine.
Ahead of him, Madoc came to a halt and looked up sharply, eyes wide with terror and disbelief. Dodinal followed his gaze. For a moment he could not take in what he was seeing. It looked as though the entire cliff wall on their right was collapsing onto them. Boulders as big as a man plunged from the narrow band of sky far above. They struck the cliff wall with a deafening clatter, exploding into smaller chunks that spun wildly as they fell. Dodinal had no time to shout a warning. A slab of rock struck Madoc on the shoulder and he went down. Emlyn grabbed Gwythyr, who was frozen with shock, and tried to drag him away, but they were too slow. Dodinal’s last glimpse was of them being bludgeoned to the ground, before a dense cloud of dust billowed up, filling the ravine, and they were gone from sight.
Then followed a roar that shook the ground, and a shrieking and splintering that pierced his head like a knife. He dropped the spear and clapped his hands to his ears in pain as part of the cliff wall shuddered and began to shear off; he turned to run, but the dust cloud swept over him, scouring his eyes and clogging his throat and lungs. He coughed and staggered, knowing he would be squashed like a fly in seconds unless he could somehow get away. It was hopeless. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.
The cliff face toppled slowly towards him, ripping apart the dust cloud below it. Dodinal was disorientated, frozen in place. Then Gerwyn lurched towards him out of nowhere, arms outstretched, eyes bulging and his mouth moving as he screamed something that Dodinal could not hear.
Firm hands on his shoulders pushed him away and he staggered, lost his footing and crashed to earth hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. He tumbled down the ravine, sliding on the loose stones as the great slab of rock thumped the ground. It felt and sounded like the end of the world. Shards of rock exploded everywhere, striking the cliff walls and hurtling down the ravine towards where Dodinal lay helpless. He rolled onto his side and drew up his knees, curling into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head to protect it and to muffle his ears against the roar and crash of the rock fall.
It seemed to go on forever, the cataclysmic rumble bouncing off the ravine’s narrow walls until he was sure it would shake the teeth loose from his gums and grind his bones to powder. With every beat of his heart, he was certain that he would die. It was surely only a matter of time before his luck ran out and a boulder rolled down the ravine towards where he lay, or a deadly shard of flying rock scythed into him.
Finally it was over, although it took him a moment to realise it, so tightly were his hands pressed to his ears. The ground gave one last violent shudder, and then all was still. The last few loose stones rattled and clattered as they fell into the dying echoes of the rockfall. Cautiously, Dodinal raised his head, shaking it to clear it, not quite believing he had somehow managed to survive.
He spent a few moments moving fingers and toes and running his hands over his body, searching for injuries, for he was numb and might not yet feel the pain if he had been wounded. Apart from his aching ribs, where his sword pommel had dug into his side when he fell, there was nothing. Not so much as a scratch. He shook his head. What were the chances?
Dodinal heard a low groan from nearby. It suddenly occurred to him it was not down to good fortune that he was still breathing. He owed his life to Gerwyn.
In the eerie oppressive silence, Dodinal could hear but not see him. White-grey dust obscured everything. The sky was indistinct. He coughed and spat to try to clear his throat of dust, but it was no use. Every time he breathed, he breathed in more.
He was loath to call out, for fear his voice would trigger another fall, so he got slowly to his feet and stood for a moment until the strength had returned to his legs. He headed up the ravine, step by careful step, each time testing the ground with his foot before putting his full weight down. It did not take him long to find Gerwyn, lying on his back with his arms loose at his side. He had dropped the pack but his bow was still slung over his shoulder, as was the quiver, which was empty, the arrows scattered around him. Dodinal knelt at Gerwyn’s side and was relieved to hear him whisper, “Dodinal? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Try not to move.”
“My leg. I think it’s broken.” Even by the murky light, his face was pale and drawn.
“Are you hurting anywhere else?”
“Only the back of my head. I hit it when I fell.”
Dodinal managed a grin and hoped Gerwyn could see it. “Then it’s safe to assume no serious damage has been done.”
Gerwyn’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the sleeve. “What about Emlyn? And Madoc and Gwythyr?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t had chance to look.”
“Then leave me here. I’m okay. Go and look for them.”
Dodinal reached down and patted him on the shoulder, saying nothing. A faint whistling had him reaching for his sword, until he realised it was only a mountain breeze, gusting through the narrow passage, slowly dispersing the dust cloud until he could start to make out his surroundings. The path ahead was piled high with rocks and broken slabs. Nothing could have possibly survived that.
Not that he would rest until he was certain. Dodinal clambered up the rocks and looked around for any sign of life, but found none. As the breeze continued to blow away the dust and visibility improved he could see a ragged spray of blood on the cliff wall closest to him. He was, he realised, standing on top of a grave.
As he got to his knees to say a few last words for his friends, a dark figure dropped from above with barely a sound, landing catlike on all fours a few yards along the ravine and launching itself at him. Dodinal only just managed to throw himself to one side, leaving its claws to swish through empty air. Momentum carried the creature past him and he reached for his sword, drawing it as he scrambled to his feet. He realised the rock fall had not been an accident, and the world turned red. He bared his teeth in a grimace of fury.
The gargoyle creature spun around, talons scraping and scratching as it found purchase on the rocky ground, then it darted back towards him. Dodinal held the sword shoulder high and ran to meet it head on. With a roar of unbridled fury, he swung the blade out and down with murderous strength. The blow would have cleaved the beast in two were it not for its speed and agility; it ducked below the blade, then leapt onto the cliff face and clambered up it.
Dodinal recovered quickly and raced after the creature, hacking at its trailing leg, missing it by inches. Sparks flew as his blade clashed against granite.
Dust and debris showered down as the creature scaled the cliff. Dodinal reached for a stone the size of a man’s fist, hurling it as he straightened and feeling a vicious satisfaction as it slammed into the creature’s shoulder.
The screech of pain that echoed around the ravine spurred him on. He dropped the sword — it was useless now — and grabbed more stones, throwing them one after the other. He missed his target as often as not, but when he hit it, he hit it hard, until the creature’s movements slowed and its blood fell through the air like red rain, making patterns in the dust on the ground.
Dodinal reached for more stones, scenting the kill. He drew back his hand to throw.
Before he could let fly, the creature coiled hard against the cliff and sprang across the ravine to the opposite wall, reaching out to grab a handhold in the rock. Dodinal shifted his balance to hurl the stone, and the creature coiled and pushed off again, hurtling through the air towards him. This time he was not fast enough. It crashed into him, slamming him against the cliff, and the back of his skull cracked against the rock. A burst of white light filled his head and he hit the ground.
His fury saved him, as it so often had, driving away the pain and clearing the ringing in his ears. Through streaming eyes, he saw the creature half-senseless, struggling to get to its feet, its body slick with blood from a dozen or more lacerations. Its mouth pulled back into a snarl as its malevolent eyes met Dodinal’s.
The sword lay where Dodinal had dropped it, beyond his reach. Even in his fury, he knew he needed it. He clambered to his feet and threw two more stones at the creature as hard as he could, before crouching to grab more, intending to drive it back until he could get to the sword.
The beast took him by surprise, leaping forward despite the hail of stones that opened up yet more wounds in its flesh. Dodinal lunged desperately to one side and fought to keep his footing, but the uneven ground defeated him and he twisted and stumbled headlong, throwing out both hands to break his fall, the impact tearing skin from his palms.
He spun around on the ground to face the creature as it slowly advanced towards him. Dodinal bared his teeth. He did not need a sword. He would tear this abomination limb from limb with his bare hands.
The creature threw back its head and howled victoriously.
There was a rush of air overhead, and the howl was abruptly cut off as an arrow buried itself in the creature’s throat. For a moment it did not move. Then its clawed hands flew up to its neck and it took a few staggering steps away as arterial blood began to pump around the shaft. Crimson froth bubbled up between its lips. Its fingers pulled weakly at the arrow but the barb was buried deep and the creature could not tear it out without ripping out its own throat.
Dodinal seized his moment, leaping to his feet and running to his sword, picking it up without breaking his stride. The creature’s movements became frantic; black blood cascaded down its leathery neck as it tried to work the arrow free, hissing in agony.
Then Dodinal rammed the sword into its chest, hard enough for the point to scrape against its spine before punching out through its back. The creature went rigid, clutching the blade that skewered its body.
Dodinal shifted his grip on the sword, holding it in both hands, and drove it down with all his strength. The blade opened the creature from sternum to groin, slicing cleanly through skin and flesh.
Stinking viscera slithered out of its belly in a glistening mass that hit the ground with a slap. The creature writhed and screeched and batted at the sword, trying to pull itself free, but its feet became entangled in the slippery mass of its guts and it fell heavily to its knees before him.
Dodinal kicked it hard under the chin, snapping its head back. Then he yanked the sword loose, hoisted it, stepped away and swung. A flash of metal, a flutter of disturbed air and the body tumbled one way, the head another. The torso danced its death throes, feet drumming on the ground, then went still. The head bounced and spun and came to rest, the neck stump still gushing blood.
Dodinal stood for a moment, gasping for breath, waiting for the red mist to lift. It was only then that he noticed the broken arrow shaft that protruded from the creature’s shoulder. He remembered Emlyn’s shooting when they had been attacked in the forest. Your aim was true, my friend, he thought with a heaviness in his heart.
Once his head cleared he hurried back to Gerwyn, who was sitting up with his back against the cliff, one leg stretched out, the other bent. He had his bow in hand and a dazed grin on his face.
“Emlyn was not the only one with a good eye,” he said. The grin faltered. “The others?”
Dodinal shook his head. “They’re dead. I’m sorry. They were good men. They knew the dangers, knew they would probably never get through this alive, yet still they came. That takes a rare courage.”
“Fuck,”11 Gerwyn said, so softly it was little more than a breath.
“We were too quick to listen to the old man.” Dodinal crouched and ran his hands gently along Gerwyn’s leg, feeling for shattered bone. “We should have guessed they wouldn’t leave us to pursue them unchallenged. We knew those things don’t give up.”
Gerwyn’s body suddenly jerked and he moaned in pain.
“Try to keep still. It’s broken, but it could have been worse.”
“How?” Gerwyn gasped from behind his gritted teeth.
“The bone could be sticking out through your skin. Then you really would have something to cry about.” Dodinal continued to probe the injured leg. Gerwyn squeezed his eyes shut; his body tensed and the tendons stood out in his neck. By the time Dodinal was done, his face was as white as chalk and his forehead glistened with sweat. “You’ll live. But this is as far as you’re going.”
“To Hell with that. You cannot go after them alone. Not when we’ve come all this way. Not when…” He gestured towards the pile of rocks beneath which their companions were buried. “Not when our friends have died.”
“You’re in no fit state to travel with me.” Dodinal got up and searched about until he found his spear. “And I cannot stay here with you.” He took the spear across to the pile of rocks and used a heavy stone to smash off the blade. “Our friends are gone. We mourn their passing but we cannot bring them back.” He put the shaft over his knee and broke it into two. “So I don’t have a choice.” He snapped each half in two until he was left with four roughly even lengths.
Then he returned to Gerwyn and rummaged through the pack, pulling out a handful of the cloth strips that Hywel had brought with him.
“This is going to hurt,” Dodinal advised as he knelt alongside him. “Do you want something to bite down on?”
Gerwyn sighed heavily and lay flat on his back with the pack under his head, fists clenched. “Just get on with it.”
For all his brave intent, he could not help but bellow his agony when Dodinal lifted the leg to straighten it. He jerked bolt upright at the waist, his eyes bulging and rolling back in his head. He fainted. Dodinal slipped one hand under his head and lowered it to the pack.
Working quickly, he wound the strips of cloth above and below the knee at intervals, then slid the wooden quarters between them before pulling the strips tight and knotting them.
He leant back to inspect his handiwork. It was rough and ready, and Rhiannon certainly had no fear of competition, but the leg was rigid, fixed in place. As long as Gerwyn was careful and patient, it should mend with enough rest. Unfortunately, a half-buried ravine midway up a mountain was not a good place to rest.
He could not see the sun in the narrow strip of sky between the cliffs, so he hurried back down to the plateau. It was gone midday. They had spent six hours getting this far and he had no idea how much longer it would take to get to the valley. Certainly he did not have time to help Gerwyn to the village. There was nothing else for it.
Gerwyn was still unconscious but he quickly came around when Dodinal slapped his face, lightly but persistently. “I don’t know what you did to my leg,” he said groggily, licking his lips. “But it feels worse than it did before.”
“Are you a man or a baby? Come on. Sit up. You need to listen. Too much time has passed. If I don’t leave soon, I may not get to the valley before sunset. And you heard what the old man said.”
Gerwyn eased himself into a sitting position, shrugging off the hand Dodinal offered to help him. “I’m fine. Get going. I’ll wait here. You can collect me on your way back. Then you can carry me down.”
“It’s not safe for you to stay here. You need to get back to the old man’s village. It still gets cold at night and you have no cloak.”
“You’ll have returned for me by then.”
“We both know that may not happen. There’s no point pretending it will. I’ll get you down as far as the plateau and then you’ll have to manage on your own.”
Dodinal bent to slip an arm beneath his shoulder and hoisted him from the ground. Gerwyn, sweating and swearing, stood on his good leg, bending the other at the hip to keep it elevated. It was ungainly, and without Dodinal to lean on, he would have fallen.
“And how do you suggest I get down the path?”
“Sit and slide down on your arse,” Dodinal told him as he half-carried him down the uneven surface of the ravine, talking all the way to distract Gerwyn, who was clearly in discomfort. “It’s not that steep. You should manage it in a couple of hours. Once you get down, start calling for help. The valley is narrow. Your voice will carry far. Even if the old man doesn’t hear you, Hywel will.”
They reached the plateau and Dodinal helped Gerwyn to the ground. Then he straightened. “This is where I leave you.”
He dropped the pack. “There’s a steel and flint in there, some kindling too. If you cannot reach the village by sunset you should at least have reached the lake. There’ll be enough fallen wood in the forest to start a fire. You may not have a comfortable night but you at least you’ll be warm.”
Gerwyn reached out and pushed the pack towards Dodinal. “You take it. You have more need of it than I do.”
“I have my sword and my shield. I need nothing else.”
For a moment, Gerwyn was silent. Then he looked up at Dodinal, squinting against the sun, and held out his hand. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but it does. I hope you return, Dodinal, for it will save me the trouble of having to tell your story to my sister-in-law and the rest of my people. I never was much of a storyteller.”
Dodinal clasped his hand. “I’ll do what I can. Not for your sake, but to spare Rhiannon your ceaseless prattle.” He released Gerwyn. “I think your father would be pleased with you. Go home. Your people need their brehyrion. Farewell, then. Until the next time.”
“Yes,” Gerwyn said. “Until the next time.”
Dodinal said nothing more. He nodded once, then turned and set off. The sunlight faded to shadow as the cleft in the rock swallowed him and the cliffs loomed over him again. His boots crunched and skittered on stone as he hurried along, anxious to make up for lost time. Even so, when he reached the rock fall, he paused to kneel and bowed his head with his eyes closed.
“Goodbye, Emlyn. You were a man of great courage and spirit. I know I will see you again. Goodbye, Madoc. You were a true leader of men. I will see you again too. And farewell, Gwythyr. You never got to avenge your son’s death. At least now he is safe with you. I will avenge you both.”
He got up and, with one last baleful look at the creature’s blood-drenched, headless body, he continued on his way. The ravine grew steadily steeper and narrower until his shoulders almost brushed against the cliff walls. He kept his eyes on the ground, wary of any uneven stones that could cause him to lose his balance or twist an ankle. He was Owain’s last hope. If anything happened to him, the child was lost; the girl Annwen, too. He refused to entertain the idea that they may be lost already, or else he might as well turn back and be done with it.
Time ceased to have any meaning well before he emerged from the ravine onto a wide rock shelf. His relief at seeing the light and feeling the warmth on his face when he finally left the shadows behind lasted only until he realised what awaited him.
Directly across from where he stood, the mountain face sloped up towards the empty sky. While imposing, it was hardly sheer, and its broken surface looked relatively easy to climb. The one drawback was that to reach it he would first have to cross the long, narrow ridge, which fell away vertiginously on both sides.
Dodinal leaned forward and looked down, wiped his palms on his shirt and stepped back. He did not like heights.
There was no point delaying the inevitable. He did not even consider attempting to walk across. The ridge was wide enough to stand on, but the surface was a mess of knobbly protrusions and wind-worn hollows; one wrong step, or a sudden gust of wind, would send him plunging to the ground far below. Instead he knelt at the edge of the ridge and began to crawl across it, keeping his eyes firmly ahead, feeling around with trembling fingers for handholds and pushing forward with his boots. It was undignified, but there was no one around to see him. Even if there had been, he would not have given a damn.
The sword banged against his leg each time he moved, and the shield strap dug into his shoulder, but he would not let go with either hand to deal with them. He was near the halfway point when he disturbed a loose rock, which shifted beneath his fingers, rolled to the edge and tumbled off into space. Seized by an irrational terror that the entire structure was about to collapse beneath him, Dodinal flattened his body against the rough surface and lay, eyes squeezed shut, pounding heart in mouth, for nearly a minute.
He set off again, but his hands were so slick with sweat that he began to worry they would simply slide off the ridge. The gentle breeze that ruffled his hair suddenly felt as powerful as a gale, threatening to tip him into the void. Chiding himself that the villagers had made this same dangerous crossing, burdened with an old woman, a simpleton and eight bawling children, did nothing to repel the panic. It was only when he thought of Owain, stolen from his mother and no doubt terrified beyond comprehension as he was carried across this same ridge, that he became ashamed of his fear and summoned the strength to push on.
Finally he was across, reaching a rock wide enough for him to stand on, well away from the edge. Reluctant to give his muscles time to stiffen, he began to climb as soon as he had regained his composure. The going was easier than he could have hoped; the surface was broken, providing no shortage of handholds and footholds, and Dodinal climbed rapidly. Only once did he forget himself and look down. The sight of the ridge far below him, and the ground much further down than that, brought him out in a cold sweat. He reminded himself not to make the same mistake again.
It was steep at first, and his fingers became scraped and bloodied from gripping the sharp edges. When they started cramping he had to stop, balancing on his toes with his body pressed against the rock, flexing each hand in turn until the circulation flowed freely again.
After a while he found he was leaning forward as he climbed. The slope gradually levelled off until he reached a plateau; he was not yet at the summit but he sensed he was close. To the left of where he stood, taking deep breaths, was a narrow path, a goat track or some ancient trading route, winding up into the last stretch of mountain above him. He made his way across to it, relieved to feel firm ground beneath his feet again.
As he walked he looked up; the sun was approaching the horizon. The old man had said the route down into the valley was easier. Dodinal could but hope that was true. Time was slipping away.
He reached the summit without knowing it. Seen from the lake, the distant peak had seemed narrow, almost like an arrowhead, but in reality it was wide and round and flat. It was only when Dodinal became aware he was walking forward rather than up that realisation dawned. He stopped and stared, astounded by the view. Mountains stretched away in all directions, like pillars holding up the sky. The air was so clear he felt he could reach out and touch them. He smiled, thinking of his mother’s story about giants. Up here on the roof of the world, he could almost believe that was how it had happened.
He walked the broad circle of the summit until he could see the valley, an elongated bowl carved out of the earth, surrounded on all sides by almost vertical hills, granite grey and patched with green. An ancient forest covered the valley floor. Even from a distance he could see the trees were dark and twisted with age.
From the rock wall at the head of the valley, a great waterfall tumbled into a narrow lake below, snaring a rainbow in its spray. Dodinal caught the glitter of water through the leafless branches; the lake extended the length of the valley.
This side of the mountain was nowhere near as steep or rugged as that which had brought him here. He sought out the way into the valley: another track, worn into the rock over the centuries by men or the beasts that dwelled in the high country, carving a serpentine trail across and down the face of the mountain.
The creatures were in there somewhere, in those aged trees. Even from a height he could hear them, strange cries and screeches that arose from the ancient woodland. There could be scores, maybe hundreds of them. He was one man alone, with nothing but his sword and his shield to protect him.
Dodinal grinned, daring fate. This was how it should be.
He set off down the track, striding with effortless grace, not once losing his footing on the rough surface. One hand rested lightly on his sword handle. Whatever awaited him, he was ready for it.
11“Goddes woundes,” in the manuscript, which carried a great deal more weight in Middle English than it would today, hence the idiomatic translation.