Stones of Fire

Agnar son of Cynebald, known as Agnar the merciless, glowered at the three captured chieftains kneeling before him, their hands bound behind their backs.

‘You chose to defy me, now your men lay dead or captured. I will put you to death, of course, but how quickly or slowly depends on you.’

The three prisoners looked from one to another baffled, none were afraid to die but this was against custom. Among the tribes if a defeated leader surrendered, he was executed, his men were then spared. If he refused to surrender, he and his army would be butchered to a man. The manner of death for a chieftain was always a sword to the heart or a beheading as befitted their rank.

‘You can command your men to join my army and march to glory or, if you refuse, you will be thrown to starving boars to be eaten alive. The choice is yours.’

Ceolmund son of Leofwine the bravest of the three captives spoke up. ‘My men will make their own choice; I will give no order.’

Agnar’s lips curled beneath his broken nose and his dark eyes glinted. He had lost many men and needed more for the coming battle. Ceolmund’s men were the best of them. All captive warriors were given the choice to join him or to be sold as slaves. They always chose to join him then a great number deserted at the first opportunity. A chieftain’s order bound them to allegiance.

Ceolmund said ‘you intend to take the Queendom of Salis from the Durotriges when spring comes, yet we have a kinship with Queen Hirtha, who lives in peace with all. I’ll not bind my men to such treachery.’

‘Then your fate is sealed Ceolmund,’ he turned to his guards ‘send for the cart of pigs, make ready the enclosure.’

Ceolmund spoke calmly. ‘Hirtha is a powerful sorceress. None who live under her rule carry arms, they say they have no need of them. All who go against her die. Twenty years ago, an invading army perished in a wall of fire sent by the gods before they got within spear throw.’

Agnar laughed ‘She has no powers other than those of a crafty she-wolf. My last soothsayer revealed her secret to me. Oil was hidden in trenches fifty paces apart and the land between soaked in it. When the army reached the second trench the oil was lit, as they turned to retreat the second was also lit. They died like the fools they were.’

And so Ceolmund was put to his horrendous death and his men ordered to be sold into slavery as they couldn’t be trusted. Agnar the merciless had not permitted his enemies wounded to be swiftly dispatched as was the mercy granted to defeated warriors. ‘They shall be left to die slowly and lie as carrion’ he had decreed, ‘an example for all who may wish to oppose me.’

Oswald, the son of Ceolmund, lay on the battlefield for two days where he had been left for dead. Slowly, he returned to consciousness. The axe that had clubbed him down had glanced off his helmet, failing to penetrate it. Slowly at first, though a curtain of fog and pain, the light of dawn filtered. He lay for several minutes before realising he was still alive. Nearby, crows were pecking the eyes and tongues of the dead, squabbling noisily over the choicest morsels. Oswald groaned and sat up, looking about him. His memory began returning. They had fought bravely but had been defeated. Cynebald’s men were just too numerous. He knew then his father was dead.

Oswald heard a few moans of wounded men barely alive. Why had not Agnar dispatched them? Truly the man had earned his title as merciless. He found a sword then staggered about ending the agony of the few remaining wounded.

Finding a nearby stream, he drank deeply. Then washed the dried blood from his face. Sitting on the bank he wondered what to do, where to go for sanctuary. He tried to stand but fell back growing dizzy. His vision blurred as a fog surrounded him and an ethereal outline appeared. A woman’s voice inside his head spoke calm and reassuring. ‘Arise Oswald son of Ceolmund and go to your kin the Durotriges. Dress as a common warrior, take no weapons or regalia’ the voice said ‘if you meet with any on the way be humble. Go now.’

The voice was clear and compelling. He took clothing from a dead warrior and cast away his weapons though he felt naked he knew he must obey the voice.

Oswald hoisted the old woman on his back. She was much heavier than he expected and stank like a pigpen, but he ploughed into the stream. They were halfway across; the rushing water rising to his waist. The old woman’s long fingernails dug deep in his flesh as she shrieked her terror in his ear.

‘Be calm mother, for I am strong, and you are safe.’

‘Oh, oh dear, my cat, I have forgotten my cat, please, you must turn back.’ She began kicking his thighs with her bony heels, the power she had amazed him.

His anger rose ‘stop that at once or I’ll throw you in. Be damned to your cat and be damned to you.’ He rushed across the rest of the water and dumped her on the bank where she lay lamenting.

‘And now I must take my leave, be off to your husband, crone.’

She looked into his eyes her face a mask of misery ’do you not have a grandmother, young sir? If she were me, would you treat her thus? Sir, I beg, my cat is ancient and without my care, she will perish this day

*

In her large roundhouse at the centre of the village, Queen Hirtha sat cross-legged on a bearskin atop the reed strewn floor. Her eyes were closed, her back erect her ageless features tranquil. Next to her sat her daughter Joscelyn in a similar pose.

For an hour they sat whilst the fire burned down in the central hearth bathing them in an eery red glow. Both stirred simultaneously, blinking as their eyes opened. Hirtha clapped her hands and a servant appeared with a pot of warm mead. Both drank a single goblet then Hirtha asked ‘You saw what I saw Joscelyn, Agnar Cynebald will come next year, and he is extremely powerful.’

‘The spring will be wet, mother, his oxcarts will sink, he will be delayed.’

‘Even so, if we are to thwart him there is no time to be lost.’

‘What are we to do mother?’ Joscelyn asked, her dark brown eyes reflecting her worry.

Hirtha brushed her long black locks from around her pale face ‘I shall sleep, Jocelyn, when I awake I shall have the answer.’

Hirtha awoke the next morning her face serene. She dressed, and went across to where her daughter lay, touching her face tenderly ‘arise daughter, I have news.’

Joscelyn looked into her mother’s eyes which this morning were the colour of the summer sky, a sign that she was ready to make a prophecy. She trembled in anticipation, ‘what is it, mother? What have you seen?’

‘First, good news. A young prince comes dressed as a common warrior, he will be your husband, if you will have him.’

Jocelyn’s joy at this news was tinged with worry ‘And what of Agnar, mother?’

‘We are in great danger for he is powerful and has a seer who can render him much service. This man is sly and evil.’

Are his powers greater than yours, mother?’

‘Alone, no, but with his powers and Agnar’s great army, I alone am not enough. I have to use my powers to build a great temple to focus the energy of the whole tribe if we are not to be slaughtered.’

‘But that will be impossible in the time we have, surely?’

‘Nothing is impossible if the power of the ages is employed correctly, my child.’

Joscelyn looked at her mother adoringly, her own powers were growing by the day but not yet fully developed. ‘About my husband?’ she asked, excitement coursing through her, ‘the next solstice will be my fifteenth, most women of my age are already married.’

‘Most women your age are not future queens, Joscelyn. The right spirit is being sought. Be patient my child.’

*

Oswald’s head ached abominably, every stride of the way seemed fraught with obstacles, a rocky outcrop to be climbed here, a bog to be bypassed there. He was ravenously hungry and now a swollen stream was flowing fiercely across his path.

The old woman sat in the pouring rain dressed in rags her scrawny arms outstretched in supplication ‘Oh, sir, fine young warrior, please, I beg of you, help me to the other side.’

He looked the wizened crone, one dark eye glinted brightly in the rain the other opaque and useless.

‘I am in a hurry old mother I have no time.’

‘Noble sir, my husband of these forty summers past lies dying, I must be at his side. Will you not aid a helpless old woman?’

Oswald looked at the pitiful crone and relented ‘Very well, but that is all I can do, I can give no alms.’

‘That is all I desire, brave warrior, for my time is also near, I have no need of alms.’

.’

Oswald took a deep breath as a picture of his late beloved grandmother came to mind, she, too, had loved cats. ‘Very well, I will go back and look for it.’

‘That will avail nought, sir, she will not come to strangers.’

Oswald grimaced as a sense of great urgency engulfed him. He needed to be off before he was discovered by one of Agnar’s patrols. He rolled his eyes to the heavens ‘what have I done that the gods punish me so cruelly this day’ he said bitterly and hoisted the crone once more. Back they went, the old woman again emitting ear-piercing shrieks of terror. Oswald felt like weeping. ’Why me? Why me? he called to the sky, ‘is the death of my father not sacrifice enough?’

They reached the other side, and the old woman made her way to a clump of shrubs calling her cat. After ten long minutes with thunder and lightning crashing and flashing from the deluge, a scrawny black cat crept timidly from its hiding place to be scooped up by the woman. She returned to him her one good eye glowing with gratitude. ‘May the gods reward you, young sir.’

‘The reward I crave, woman, is to have you silent as we cross back and not to have your dagger nails in my flesh.’

‘It shall be so, sir.’

And silent she was, but her cat climbed onto his head digging its claws deep into his scalp and howling its terror of the raging waters. This time Oswald wept.

Reaching the far bank once more, the cat jumped off his head and scurried away. Oswald placed the old lady down gently. She clung to him smiling and kissed his cheek, her few remaining teeth grotesque yellow stumps, her breath that of a dung pile. If he’d had anything in his stomach, he would have lost it then and there. ‘I have a reward for you, young warrior’ she said and took an amulet from around her neck, dangling it before him. ‘It is made from the metal that falls from the heavens. With this, you will never be lost for the longest part always points to the north. It would please me greatly if you wore it.’

Oswald took the amulet it was indeed a strange object being heavy and of silver-grey colour. It had jagged but not sharp edges roughly in the shape of a star. Touched, he realised this must be the only thing of value she possessed. He felt humbled by her generosity and bowed deeply. ‘Thank you, old mother, you are most kind’ he said ‘now, I must be gone, for it is late and I have far to go.’

Hurrying away, he had barely gone ten paces when he heard her say ‘Go in peace Oswald son of Ceolmund.’ He had not told her his name. Shocked, he turned abruptly. The old woman had vanished.

‘Call the council of the six Joscelyn, have them attend the chamber at once.’

When the three men and three women were assembled The Queen addressed them. She described the temple they were to build, the type of stone required and the date for completion.

There was a stunned silence then Willa the healer stood and bowed before she spoke ‘Noble Queen, great are your powers and great our trust in you but the stone you speak of is more than four leagues away. It would need to be cut and drawn here over the mountain, through a steep valley and across two rivers. We have not enough men. It would take years, not weeks.’

Queen Hirtha smiled and held her hands before her. Slowly she raised them, and the council rose from their places and floated in mid-air. ‘Have faith in me, Willa, for the stones will cut like butter and they will weigh nothing.’ She lowered the startled council back to their places.

‘There is a young warrior coming, he will be here tomorrow. If she is willing, my daughter will take him as her husband. After they are joined there will be three days of feasting then shall our sacred work commence.’ She dismissed the council.

The sun was setting as Oswald approached the village of the Durotriges He was surprised there were no sentries, nor did the dogs bark at him. The people he passed smiled and greeted him. Although the tribes were related through marriage he had never been here before and had expected to be challenged.

Queen Hirtha welcomed him into her house and when she introduced him to Joscelyn, the very air seemed to crackle between them. Oswald was smitten by her beauty, and it took him a great effort to tear his eyes from her when the queen spoke to offer him food. After they had eaten, Oswald was shown to the bachelor quarters.

‘Well, daughter?’ said the Queen ‘do you not think him handsome?’

‘No mother, not handsome, he is beautiful beyond words.’

‘I set him a test on his way here. He is strong, patient and compassionate. After my time he will help you rule wisely.’

Oswald arose in the morning and got his first surprise of many. The people sat in family circles holding hands and chanting. He felt a warm vibration running through his body like the current of life itself. It filled him with joy.

Over breakfast with the bachelors, they explained their way of life. They told him they lived with nature and had respect for all things. ‘Our women are our equals’ one said, it would serve you ill to treat them otherwise.’

'for the most part, the women are our betters’ one shouted and the whole hut bust out laughing. Their only law was simple. If it harms no other, then do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law.

Oswald felt uncomfortable with this philosophy. ‘Where are your swords?’ he asked ‘Where are your spears, your shields? How do you defend yourselves?’

A frail young man about his own age stepped forward ‘My name is Bloewald’ he said, ‘strike me.’ When the horrified Oswald refused, Bloewald said ‘please, then try to strike me, I will not hurt you, Oswald, I promise.’ The others laughed and Oswald’s face burned, how dare these non-warriors laugh at him.

He threw a sudden punch. the blow stopped six inches from Bloewald’s face as if it had hit a solid pillow. He struck again with the same result. Frustrated, he kicked out. Bloewald smiled and jerked his hand forward. Oswald was propelled backwards by an unseen force. He sat down sharply, bemused.

‘What sorcery is this?’ What evil do you practice here?’

Bloewald extended a hand and helped him up. ‘No sorcery, Oswald, you, too, can do this with the right training. Not all our people can do it, just the elected defenders. The Queen herself is our teacher.’

Oswald scratched his head realising he had much to learn. Later, he was summoned before the Queen and Joscelyn who took his hand. He felt a surge of power run through him tinging every fibre of his being as he looked into her eyes.

‘My Lord Oswald Leofwine, will you be my husband? Will you plant your noble seed deep in my yoni? Will you take me this day before my tribe and prove me a worthy successor to my mother?’

Oswald knew then that the love consuming him was pure and free of lust. His voice trembled with passion. ‘I will, my noble lady.’

Among the other tribes, it was always the bride’s father who made the marriage match, this was completely alien to him, yet it felt so right as the Queen beamed her approval.

That night at sunset they took their vows before the altar stone which was spread with a white sheet. The Queen officiated in the ceremony. Then she stripped them both naked to the gasps of appreciation from the tribe.

‘You must lay her on the alter and consummate the marriage before the whole tribe. All must witness the match is pure.’

Joscelyn whispered in his ear ‘do not be embarrassed, husband, all here love you.’

And when it was done, the Queen raised the sheet for all to see. ‘Behold, the virgin blood’ she cried.

The tribe responded shouting ‘the union is pure, long live this sacred union.’

There followed three days of feasting, dancing and merriment, a great amount of mead was consumed yet no one got drunk. Oswald was amazed that no one seemed to be concerned that war clouds were gathering.

Agnar The Merciless had long coveted Queen Hirtha’s lands and it was rumoured she had a great hoard of silver. Her people were valuable for they were strong and good looking. They would fetch premium prices as slaves. But the season grew late, and the weather was foul. He sent for Mungus, his seer.

Mungus drew his highly polished silver scrying bowl from his robes along with a silver flask of sacred water. He had to get this right. His predecessor had met a gruesome end roasting slowly over a pit of charcoal. Mungus's hand trembled slightly as he poured the water into the bowl and waited until it was still.

Agnar sat watching impatiently. Mungus had predicted his recent victory and had even forewarned of an ambush his enemies had set allowing him to avoid it. ‘Speak only of what you see, Mungus, and speak truly’ he intoned.

The seer put a silver rod into the water and slowly stirred it in one full circle. From a flask of black dye, Mungus let one drop fall into the scrying dish and watched as it billowed gently until the water became dark. His expression became fixed as he mumbled an incantation.

‘Well, seer?’

Mungus held up his hands in a pleading gesture, he had no desire to be rushed. With his arms extended, his palms turned upward he mumbled yet more incantations. Bowing his head low over the bowl Mungus stared in silence. Finally, he spoke. ‘The autumn will be wet, the harvest poor, the ground unfit for your carts. The spring, too, will be wet, my Lord.’

Agnar spat on the ground, his lips curling, ‘by the Gods, have you no good tidings, seer?’

‘Yes, my lord. The ground will dry, food will be abundant, and an auspicious time will occur around the solstice.’

Agnar cursed. It would mean living in the conquered villages throughout the long winter. Well, better that than being bogged down and easy prey to his enemies.

‘And do you foresee a great victory, Mungus?’

The seer returned his gaze to his bowl ‘with proper preparation and care my Lord, yes.’

‘Proper preparation and care! Agnar roared ‘she is a woman, what does she know of warfare?’

‘She is a powerful sorceress my lord and it is rumoured she has lain with wolves and begat her daughter through sorcery.’

‘Tales for scaring children,’ Agnar scoffed ‘I believe none of it. My spies tell me her earthworks are weak and her people carry weapons only when hunting. Were it not for this rain I would march and take her this month.’

‘There is a warning here, my Lord but the dish grows unclear. I beg leave to retire now and attend you tomorrow when I shall scry again on the matter.’

Agnar nodded and Mungus departed, a dark foreboding in his breast, displeasing Agnar was highly dangerous.

‘I have consulted the spirits of the Earth; we are to build a temple of stone to focus our power.’ Hirtha announced to her people. ‘We shall be guided in this mighty endeavour.’ Her people muttered among themselves until she held up her hands for silence. ’Do not be afraid, do not be faint-hearted, we can accomplish great things together.’ She nodded at Joycelene who unfurled a calfskin with a plan drawn on it. She explained her plan to her silent tribe. ‘One hundred and thirty of us depart at dawn the rest will dig the pits according to my plan under the guidance of Jocelyn.’ No one questioned her, no one cast doubt, all had faith in Hirtha.

At the site of the stones, Hirtha lit pungent herbs in her tent and sat in a trance listening to the silence of the Universe.

The next day Hirtha selected the stones she needed and drew the shape upon them with charcoal. She traced her finger along the lines and had her people cut there. The stone parted like butter, so the work of twelve months took only twelve days.

‘Tie your ropes to the stones’ Hirtha ordered then she raised her hands and the stones rose and floated. ‘Take them home’ she commanded. Her face remained serene for the people must not see the terrible strain she was under. Performing powerful magik had to be paid for and the price was high.

At the village the work on the pits went slowly, water had to be removed each day before work could commence. Jocelyn used her powers, but the rain was relentless they had barely completed the task when the stones arrived marvelled at by all the tribe.

Hirtha retired to her home for three days of solitude, drinking herbal infusions and resting uneasily. Her sleep was invaded by dreams of Agnar and his hordes, burning her village, raping and plundering. On the fourth day, she emerged calm of mind with purpose in her stride.

She called the council and issued instructions the purpose of which they didn’t understand but obeyed without question. Mead was gathered in great quantities and boiled, the vapour returned to liquid on copper sheets and collected. Small clay pots of strange shape were made, baked and set aside. She also sent a party with carts to the sea with instructions to buy huge quantities of salt from the people there. Meanwhile, the circle of stones was being erected according to her plan.

‘Jocelyn, my daughter, send for your husband and attend me.’

When he arrived, she told them ‘I grow weak, my children, my powers are fading, I am no longer young, but you can help me.’ She lit incense and lay upon a reed mat. ‘Lie beside me closely, Jocelyn on my right and each take my hand.’

Oswald felt strange as he stared upward. A beam of light shone from the smoke hole in the roof. ‘Look at the light and empty your minds of all thought’ Hirtha said.

As he did so, Oswald felt a great peace sweep through him, and he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke Jocelyn was holding his hand and smiling at him ‘you are so powerful my prince, my mother is much improved.’ But Oswald sensed an air of uncertainty in her.

The winter passed but the spring was cold and wet as Mungus had predicted. As the solstice approached, the weather began to improve and the ground slowly dried. Agnar was anxious to conquer the Durotriges and sent for Mungus. ‘Read the omens for me Mungus, tell me how great our victory will be.’

Mungus scried. ‘The most auspicious time to attack will be before dawn on the solstice, master, we must complete victory before sunrise.’

‘Ah, yes, the solstice. These superstitious Durotriges will be too busy practising their rituals to keep a proper watch. But you set a time for victory, Mungus? Do you doubt my invincibility, you scoundrel?’

Mungus withered before Agnar’s baleful stare, he was on dangerous ground. ‘No, my Lord, it is only that surprise will reduce our loses leaving your army stronger for your next great conquest.’

Agnar sneered ‘leave the tactics to me, seer, they are none of your concern.’ And so Agnar marched on Hirtha.

‘He comes at the solstice, mother, and his army is huge. too many for our protectors.’

Hirtha nodded solemnly, she knew her daughter was right. ‘There is a magik, daughter, that no one has practised in many lifetimes, but it will take all our combined strength.’

‘What must I do, mother?’

‘You must obey me without question in all things. Oswald, too, must do my bidding even if it seems wrong to him.’

‘We will do so, mother.’

‘When the attack comes, Joscelyn, it will be before dawn. We must hold him until the sun rises or we are doomed.’ She gave instructions for the salt to be laid in the ditch around the village and other instructions that puzzled Joscelyn, but she obeyed her mother.

Agnar halted his army in a valley a league away from Hirtha’s village where they lay all day resting and preparing for battle. At sunset, Agnar gave his commanders their orders. They were to silently surround the village on all sides and await his signal to attack one hour before sunrise. Agnar positioned himself opposite the two pillars of the temple that led to the altar stone. That is where she and her daughter would be he knew it. her. He gave a cold laugh; he would take great pleasure in slaying them both.

In the village, men women and children sat calmly around the temple. Between each ten of them sat a protector. They held hands calmly yet each knew their lives depended on their queen’s instruction.

Agnar’s torch flared, and he waved it above his head. Beside him, Mungus chanted spells. His men charged.

Hirtha sang out in a high-pitched cry and from the salt appeared a wall of blue flame. The protectors threw their arms forward, as the enemy charged howling their war cries. As they ran into the wall of flame their clothes caught fire, desperately they tried to turn but the weight of warriors pressing from the rear forced them through, leaving them to burn. The men at the rear charged on over the bodies of their fallen and ran at the ring of tribespeople. The first were hurled back by the defenders but they were too many. ‘Now, daughter,’ said Hirtha and Joscelyn arose and screamed an order. Every man, woman and child lit the cloth on the clay pots and threw them at the advancing horde. They burst on them blazing in an almost invisible flame. The burning warriors screamed hideously as they burned, The men behind faltered. They had seen nothing like it but all had heard the rumours of Hirtha’s great magik and how she had destroyed an army twenty seasons ago with fire. They started to retreat as the people continued to throw these fireballs at them.

At his place of command, Agnar screamed his rage. He could see Hirtha sitting cross-legged on the altar stone her face placid. She must die. Once he had killed her the magik would die with her and he would be victorious.

‘Mungus,’ he roared, and the trembling seer approached him.

‘I did foretell a warning master…’ he began.

Agnar placed his dagger at the seer’s throat ‘a pox on your warning, break the wall of fire for me now, I must kill the witch.’

Mungus raised his hands and, giving a mighty shout, shot his hands towards the flames. They died down to almost nothing. ‘Hurry my lord for time is short, the sun rises soon.’

Agnar thrust his dagger into Mugnus’s throat ‘so much for your great victory, dog.’ Then he turned and ran towards Hirtha. Oswald, who was sitting beside the queen, rose and drew his sword. ‘Remain seated’ Hirtha said but the young warrior charged at Agnar, closing the distance quickly. Agnar saw him coming and snarled his contempt as he continued his run smashing his shield into the young man’s chest, knocking him over.

Oswald’s sword fell from his hand, and he looked up in horror as Agnar’s spear skewered downwards. But the point hit the amulet around his neck. There was a flash of light and the spear stopped. Agnar had no time to thrust again for he had to kill Hirtha, with her death the magik would die. He threw his spear with all his might, and it flew towards her heart. Hirtha waved her hand as if swatting a fly and the spear flew harmlessly upward but then she seemed to weaken as her head fell forward.

With a cry of triumph Agnar dashed forward, sword raised to strike a death blow.

His sword poised high to strike, Agnar saw Hirtha’s head rise from her chest. The first rays of the solstice dawn sun shone into her face and her eyes blazed with two pillars of flame. Agnar’s eyes were instantly burned out and he screamed his agony, reeling away and clutching his face. The queen continued to stare and Agnar burned slowly, writhing in his death throes and shrieking. Hirtha continued until her enemy was a heap of ashes.

‘Draw near to me Joscelyn and Oswald for my time has come.’ Hirtha lay on her bed, a peaceful smile on her lips. Joscelyn and Oswald hold my hands.’

They did as she bid, tears filling their eyes.

‘Do not weep for me my children for we all have our time, mine is now. I pass my powers to you both that you may reign in peace and wisdom.’

‘Is there nothing we can do for you great queen?’ asked Oswald. ‘There is my son. I beg you burn my body and place my ashes under the temple altar stone. Henceforth I would have it named as the Great Henge of Stone.’

The end.

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