Pagan Siege (Tribes of Britain Book 5), Sam Taw [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

still plenty of sunlight left. There was another half day’s walk to Gutter Tor on the moors ahead of us. The black smoke of heath fires billowed into the sky. I was convinced that we were all thinking the same thing; to get back on the ship and sail to the Exe and safety, but no one spoke.

When my nephew’s mind is made, there is no convincing him to alter course. He promised his mother, Endelyn and the father of the new Duro bride, that he would be bound by midsummer’s day, and he was determined to keep his word.

The problem lay before us; how could we cross the moors to the sacred circles by the tor without being burned alive? None of us knew whether the womenfolk and elders would even be at the stones, given the dangers involved. Even though we’d had word from a messenger that they intended to set off from the settlement on the Exe, they could easily have turned back.

Tallack’s jaw clenched. He scanned the horizon and pointed to a trail leading north. “We’ll skirt the edge of the moors until we can pick up a safer route heading east. The onshore coastal breezes should keep the fires at bay until then.”

I knew that he’d planned to trade with local homesteaders for horses to speed our journey, but the moorland settlers had long since abandoned their fields. Those in the surrounding regions had fled to our camp on the River Exe. The place was deserted. We had no other option but to walk the charred landscape over ridge and valley, kicking up the ash and snagging our ankles on the brittle stalks and branches left behind.

The going was tough, and I’m ashamed to say that I slowed them down, particularly where the shallow valleys gave way to steeper ones. How I longed to be on horseback, keeping up with the men and earning my place with my skills at healing. They did their best to hide their frustrations, but I could tell they resented my presence.

Ren and Tallack took us on a longer route not just to avoid fires, but to accommodate my aching joints. I implored them to go on ahead, happy to catch them up at my leisure, but Tallack would not hear of it; I’d saved his life and he felt he owed me.

At dusk, we rested for a while next to an abandoned chalk pit. I knew this countryside well. Under different circumstances, I would have collected some of the white dust to thicken my balms and scour my cooking pots. The eerie orange glow on the horizon kept us moving. It lay in the opposite direction to that of the setting sun, and reduced us all to an anxious silence as we walked. Shortly after dark, we picked up the course of the River Plym, making our navigation to Gutter Tor easy.

“Which of the sacred circles did Endelyn choose in the end?” I asked.

Tallack’s head tipped forward. He stared at his toes treading cautiously along the winding riverbank. “Um… I can’t recall.”

“But there are four sets of stones surrounding the tor.”

He flapped his hands in my direction. “Don’t fuss. We’ll just look for their fires.”

He couldn’t see me roll my eyes in the darkness behind him. How in the name of Cernonnus were we supposed to distinguish between the orange glow of a few small fires from the moorland blazing in the west? I felt the warmth of Ren’s hand brush against my arm. It wasn’t comfort so much as food and rest that I needed, but I didn’t rebuke his kindness.

The River Plym snaked to the west, steering us ever closer to the angry skies and stinking air. Two of the stone circles were close by. The area where I knew the first to be was dark and lifeless. The second circle was above us at the peak of the hill beyond. We had no way of knowing if our elders waited for us there. Senara volunteered to run up the hillside and scout the circle for us, leaving Tallack, Ren and I to rinse ourselves down in the cool water of the Plym.

I soaked a cloth and wrung out the excess, passing it to my nephew. “Is there a wood henge at Yellowmeade?” I asked him, my memory hazy from the trek.

“No, but there is at Drizzlecombe, down in the gorge to the south of the stones.”

“Then my best guess is that Endelyn will have chosen that for her binding ceremony.” I slipped off my shoes and dangled my feet in the river. The sensation was blissful.

“Why do you say that?”

I looked at Tallack and frowned in disbelief. “Do you know how much preparation she’s put into this ritual? Becoming the Ruvane of our tribe is all she can think about. She’s occupied all the Long Hut slaves for the best part of a full moon’s cycle, stripping the alder trees and dying expensive fabric for her gown and those of her maids. She sent out messengers to look for her old priest friends from the Nine Maiden’s circle, and probably many others besides.”

The Chief scratched the tiny flies crawling at his hairline. “So?”

There were times when he was beyond my patience. “The stones at Drizzlecombe are blessed by her clan. The henge in the valley nearby is beautiful. There are so many flowers and shrubs, it’s almost as though it’s under the protection of the goddess.”

“Not if the heath fires get there first.”

He had a point. Most of our journey was across a blackened wasteland where heathers and shrubs once grew in abundance. Only when we reached the Plym River, did the grass and mosses return to cushion our steps.

I waited for Senara to return with a growing sense of dread in my chest. As I predicted, she did not find the women and elders at the top of the rise. We marched on late into the night, ever westward and closer to the red blaze