SWORD OF TULKAR (2 page)

When I raised my head I saw the figure of a
woman leaning against one of the stones. Lightning flashed behind her, making strands of her long, unbound hair glow with eerie phosphorescence. She wore outmoded garb, the like of which I had never seen, and her flesh was pale – unnaturally so. Grave-black eyes gazed out of a gaunt face.

“Who are you?” I asked warily.

“Do you not know me?” She moved forward, bronze rings jangling in her ears. “Have you forgotten me already? I am Ourar—the Grand Mother of Tulkar’s clan.”

I started
, shaking my head. “You lie!” I said fiercely “Ourar is dead!”

“Dead am I, yet walking earth for yet awhile. Did you think me so cruel as to send you against the invaders without instruction?
” She pointed to my sword, lying useless in the muck, the chill rains beating off the long bronze blade. “I’ll wager you don’t know how to use that.”

Without waiting for an answer
, she swept towards me. “I am here to teach you Ardagh. Come closer and stop trembling-- I won’t eat you!”

“
But you’re dead!” I cried, recoiling.

Ourar’s eyes blazed with strange fire.
“You too will be dead unless you hearken to me! The invaders will slay you, laughing as you die. Or worse…they will take you as their slave, a strong pretty girl like you. Death might seem preferable to what they will do to you.”

“No!” I hid my face in my hands.

“Yes Ardagh, look up and face me!”

Unwilling I glanced up. Ourar reached out and cupped my chin. Her t
ouch was cool, not clammy or foul, as I had imagined it might be. “Tonight you begin a warrior’s training,” she said, “and the liberation of our people. Tulkar’s sword will aid you, but it won’t be your only weapon. Nor will it be your strongest.”

“What other weapon can one such as I possess?”

Ourar smiled, illusory flesh drawing in over her jutting cheekbones. “You shall learn, if you are wise.”

In the weeks that followed, the spirit of Ourar taught me to use sword and spear. Training was not easy, every night I cried myself to sleep for weariness and sorrow, my muscles in knots and bruises blue on my flesh. But Ourar would not allow me to quit, to become a weak, shivering thing that feared death – and life.

At length she told me she could teach me no more, and that I would have it seek the haunts of men again. So I took my sword and
a shield I’d looted from one of the broken barrows on the moor, and headed down to the old flint-traders track that led north to more habitable lands. Invisible, his mortal form faded away, Ourar followed on my heels, her unseen hand brushing my shoulder when ever I stumbled, encouraging me to fare on.

I felt strangely elated as I strode along the
time-worn track, rain puddling around my toes. Before the invaders slew my tribe, I’d been a landless younger daughter, almost valueless on the marriage market. Though not unhappy, my life had consisted of baking, pot making, child-tending, and little else. I had no real skills or even any real status despite my father being chief. My future would have been marriage to a stranger, or else I’d have become a despised helpmeet in the village.

Now I was confident and independent. I h
ad mastered warrior arts and had grown strong and healthy, the fat of sedentary living burned off by Ourar’s training. I almost looked like a youth in my close-fitting leather jerkin and kilt.

My swift strides soon carri
ed me to the River Y, which wound through those regions until it joined other waterways leading down to the Northern Sea, the great Whale’s Road which led to the lands where men traded amber, a precious commodity in these parts. Upon Ourar’s instruction, I followed the river’s winding course.

Shortly after sunset I reached a settlement that consisted of a few smelly
, unkempt huts surrounded by vast middens. The villagers glared distrustfully at me as I entered their territory, and two elders, a man and a woman, scurried toward me with upraised cudgels. Ignoring their menacing stance, I bowed courteously, “Greetings!” I intoned.

“Great Sky god!” yelped man. “Tis a woman!”

“Then you should cry great Earth Mother!” cackled the old woman, lowering her cudgel. “Welcome to Te-ar, warrior woman! What is it you’re after here?”

“I must speak with you and your people.”

“What about?” She eyed me suspiciously, the hairs that grew on the end of her chin quivering. “What could a sword-wielding stranger like you have to say to the likes of us?”

I approached her, face serious,
trying to impress the importance of my words on her: “Invaders are afoot. Murderers who pillage and burn without mercy – men who use the star metal, iron.”

The old woman’s cudgel flew up again
and her shrew grey eyes darkened. “What do you know of these iron men?”

“
I know too much, old one--they slew my family and my tribe. I was then forced to take up the sword, though I am but a woman and not a warrior by trade,” I murmured in a low voice.

The crone nodded
. “Indeed. Well, I shall tell you, sword-woman… they came here too, not so long ago. Some of us died and our huts were burnt, but we rebuilt, for our people are as tough as the roots of the oak…that is why we are called Dur-hi, the Oak People. The invaders – who we call the Gobyrchins, the Horseheads, we name them, for they ride horses as we do not– have since raided us again, but we stood firm and beat them off, even killing a few. However, several doughty lads now lie in the ossuary on the Wolds because of the Horseheads.”

I
touched the woman’s skinny arm. “With your assistance, I will avenge your dead – and mine.”

The old man scratched his head. “You? A mere girl?
” He looked at the old woman, shrugging his crooked shoulders. “Ynid, this is madness, tell the misguided creature to go and find safety wherever she can...”

“Hush
, Blamac.” The woman Ynid elbowed the old man in the ribs. “She’s no ordinary girl, can’t you see that? I can! The fire of the battle-goddess Morguin burns in her eyes, and at her back...” she peered over my left shoulder, a strange expressions transforming her features “... stands an Ancestor. One of the great Mothers.”

I felt O
urar’s spectral fingers brush over my arm, light as the touch of a cobweb. “Your senses are keen,” I told Ynid. “You speak truth. One of the Un-world does walk with me and guides me. Now can we go to your hut? I have much to discuss with you. I need to know as much as possible about the Horsehead clan and their settlements in this area.”

I spoke to Ynid and Blamac f
or many hours, telling them of how I wanted to fight the invaders with the aid of their folk. To my surprise, I saw a battle light begin to glow in their tired old eyes. A new proud spirit entered them, they lifted their heads and assumed the dignity of their ancestors. They wanted to prove to the Horseheads that they were not savages, mere animals to be hunted for sport. Even if they had to share their land with others, they would not be dispossessed totally.

Later, after Ynid and the other villagers had given
their word to assist me, I wandered out of the settlement of Te-ar, drawn by a mind-summons from Ourar—which came like a burst of cold lightning inside my head, behind my eyes. She had left me during my discussions with the elders, her presence weakening then vanishing altogether. Blindly I journeyed over ruined walls, burnt huts and lonely burial mounds, seeking her. At length I reached a circular earthwork standing like a crown on the summit of a little green dell. I climbed the embankment, then paused. This place was ancient and holy, and fearsome. Aye, for in the heart of the enclosure stood a hut similar to those buried under earthen long mounds by the hill folk. As the wind blew, I smell a sickly odour wafting from the hut. My eyes narrowed. I had reached the ossuary that Ynid has mentioned, where the slain men of Te-Ar were laid, their flesh picked by birds and animals until their spirits were totally set free.

I would not look inside and turned to leave, shivering as the wind blew and clattered denuded bones inside the hut. Suddenly
Ourar’s ghost appeared inside the door, her hands beckoning, a cold whine coming from her sucked in mouth. Her skin glowed livid; her eyes were the hollows of a skull. Before she had looked almost as a living woman, though pale; now she looked like one who had been dead for days. “Why have you summoned me here?” I snapped guessing that something was amiss. I could not bear to look at her.

“Power,” she whispered. “I need the power of
this dead place, of the earth ring that holds back the profane world, to assume and hold a bodily form.”

I s
hivered, cold sweat beading on my brow. “You didn’t need the ring before.”

She lifted
her pallid arms, the dying daylight shining through her flesh. “I – I am fading. Ardagh, being drawn back to Hal-Seoghl, Place of Spirits Unreborn. Soon I won’t be able to appear at all! Ah, how weary, how thin I feel!”

I mopped the sw
eat from my face, my hands shaking. “Ourar, what about the upcoming struggle?” Surely you won’t leave me unaided? You promised to be with me, to guide me?”

“I have no choice
but to leave you.” Her voice was a gravelly rasp. Her skin had turned dark, purple, and her lips pale. I could see straight through her form. “I wish it were otherwise but some things are beyond my control. At least I had enough strength to call you hence and warn you.”

“Traitor,” I screamed, fear loosenin
g my tongue. “You teach me, get me to convince others to join my cause, then abandon me!”

“Forgive me Ardagh. “ She reached out, appealing, with hands that were no more than shapeless blurs.
“I’ll aid you in the final battle if I can, but I cannot make any promises. When the world of spirit calls, it can be stronger than will.”

“Don’t bother!” I snarled. “I no longer
desire your help!”

“Forgive me
,” Ourar sighed, and then she flickered out like a tail of a falling star.

Gloomily I walked back to Te-ar, kicking tufts
of grass like a petulant child. I had to continue my quest now that I had come so far, but deep inside I felt I had little hope of victory without Ourar’s guidance.

Entering the village, I
strode towards Ynid and Blamac’s hut. There was no time to waste; we would march on the Horseheads now or not at all. Violently I yanked my sword from its sheath.

The two
elders were startled and more than a little alarmed when I burst in on them, blade drawn, but when I explained my intentions for an immediate raid on the Horseheads’ camp, they agreed to rouse the rest of the village. I think they, too, were tired of waiting and eager to make an end.

So with a handful of keen archers and sturdy spearmen at my back, I marched to the closest Gobyrchin settlement, which stood on a nearby hill. Ynid had told me it was the largest outlander holding in the country, and that a gold-rich queen and her brother held sway there, so I was surprised how poor the village looked. The huts were round and thatched, like those of my folk, but smaller and dingier, more like huts for livestock. A half-complete earth wall formed an insecure defense around them. I had expected better from a people famed for their riches and advanced weaponry.

As I drew nearer I heard babies wailing, dogs barking, cattle lowing. I shuddered. These people, my enemies, who had taken on almost demonic proportions in my mind, sounded all too human now. Would I, Ardagh Ni Unjin, be the one to set those huts aflame, and by sword and fire end forever the barking, lowin
g and yes... the crying of Gobyrchin babies?

I bit my lip and pushed
the thought away as I climbed the earth wall that should have served as a defense. Night-shrouded, I stood like an avenging demon on the bank, Tulkar’s sword flaming in my fist, my shield pale as the moon on my arm. Taking a deep breath, I shouted, “Horseheads, awake! Bring your leader to meet Ardagh of the Bry-andi!”

The village below rumbled into life. Sleepy—
eyed heads poked from doorways of huts. Just ordinary heads, some dark, some fair, their hair tousled from sleep. Not monster-heads, not even very fierce-looking heads. I heard one woman scream, saw a child run to hide behind a wall.

To hide from me, Ardagh.
I felt sick.

But then a woman and a man sw
aggered out of a large central hut capped by a horse’s skull that was draped in holly and mistletoe. Their arrogance quickly replaced my nausea with rage. They were both tall, with pale, haughty faces and fair hair limed into fantastical shapes. Masses of jewellery – some of which had been stolen from my village – dripped from their limbs.

Planting herself in front of me, the woman threw back her head and cried, “I am Rianona, rul
er of this clan. Are you a dark-folk demon? If so, be gone, you do not frighten me! Your magic is dead magic!”

“I am no demon,” I replied. “
I am Ardagh of the Bry-andi, who you slaughtered for no reason other than that you are evil and cruel. I am here to claim vengeance for my people, end the bloodshed you’ve brought to this land.”

Riaonna laughed and drew from her side a long sword glowing cold as a dead star. “See this? It is iron, stronger than bronze. If you dare to stand against me, you will fail, you animal...”

“I am no animal,” I snapped. “It is your people who behave like cowardly wolves, hunting the weak. Well, many wolves have been hunted down till their packs are no more. I will do the same to you, unless you cease your slaughter.”

Rianona
waved her arm dismissively. “I’ll not have dealings with a witchy savage,” she replied bluntly. “Warriors – deal with this creature.”

“No!” my voice rang out, echoing around the compound. “Below me on the slopes I have armed men of my own. They’ll slaughter
all of you before you can reach your weapons – unless you hear me out. Queen Rianona, you will learn that the folk who dwell in Albi are not beasts. We have made this isle and have lived here long and we will have your respect if nothing else.”

Rianona flushed. “You…
you…” she spluttered. “So be it then. We will meet in hand to hand combat, right now. I will bash in your skull in one blow!”

She raised her blade and charged at me, howling in rage. As she ran she ripped off her clothes and ran naked
, which shocked me for my people would never enter a battle thus. I was till a little dazed when she dealt the first blow, a vicious clout that sent pain tingling up my arm as I blocked her swing. Instinctively, I stepped back, and then, remembering my training, thrust forward – fighting for tribal honour, and my life. My weapon clashed with Rianona’s and the two blades caught, sawing on each other. Bronze groaned under the strength of the unholy metal Iron, which some men claimed had fallen from the Stars.

Rianona had the advantage of height—she was as big as most men—but I was more nimble. I managed to free
Tulkar’s sword and dance circles round her, jeering and taunting, ducking under her wildly swinging arm. Rianona screamed angrily, and hewed at me, her cuts frenzied and ill-thought out. Her sword sliced through thin air as I sprang high into the air, doing a jump learned in the Solstice dances of my childhood. I laughed, but my laughter became a cry of horror as I landed heavily on my ankle, which twisted beneath my weight, sending me tumbling in a heap at Rianona’s feet. She grinned and raised her blade, sensing victory.