Hyperborea (Veteran of Rome Book 4), page 33
In the river the two native guides were staring at the approaching bear in alarm and fear as they clutched their stone knives and raised their sharp, bone-headed harpoons above their heads. However, Cunomoltus was the first to react. Snatching his bow from his back, he raised it, strung an arrow and with deadly accuracy sent the projectile hurtling into the bear’s exposed back. The blow sent the great animal crashing into the water. With surprising speed however, the bear emerged and leapt back onto the bank, and with the arrow still sticking into it, the beast swiftly vanished into the trees.
“Get back to the canoes now,” Marcus yelled as he frantically gestured at the others to head back towards the spot where they had left the canoes.
***
The native camp stood in a clearing in the forest at the river’s edge, a collection of small, domed tents and in, the midst of the settlement, smoke was rising up into the air. Slowly Ail steered the lead canoe towards the camp and, as he did, he silently gestured to one of the native guides. The man turned and called out softly to his colleague in Marcus’s canoe. On the shore Marcus could see no one. The camp looked deserted. It was noon and on the embankment, four canoes lay pulled up out of the water and beyond them he suddenly caught sight of a small, domed hut that seemed to be set apart from the others. A single Hyperborean was sitting cross legged before the entrance, his eyes closed and his chin resting on his chest as if he was meditating. The entrance of the lodge had been blocked and covered with wood and branches. Silently the canoes drifted into the soft, muddy river-bank and cautiously Ail and the others slipped out into the water and swiftly hauled the canoe up onto the embankment.
“What’s going on?” Marcus muttered, as he quietly joined Ail on the shore. The druid raised his hand in warning. The two native guides had stopped well short of the camp and were peering at the solitary Hyperborean sitting cross-legged on the ground.
“We should not go any further,” Ail murmured.
Marcus was about to say something else, when he suddenly caught sight of the bodies lying scattered across the ground. In some of the domed tents the Hyperborean’s lay half-in, half-out of the entrances to their homes, their arms outstretched clawing at the earth. It was as if, in their final moments, they had tried to crawl out into the daylight. Marcus grunted as he saw that the bodies looked wasted away and covered in evil, puss-filled sores. Beside the hut with the blocked entrance the solitary Hyperborean had not moved.
“So the reports were right,” Ail growled as he stared at the ghastly scene, “They are dying from starvation. Another failed hunt. The gods are still angry.”
Slowly Marcus turned to stare at Ail with an incredulous, angry look.
“This is not starvation,” he hissed, “You know full well what this is. These people are dying from disease. I have seen those symptoms before. You don’t want to admit it but, over there is why they call you the bringers of death. That’s why some of the Hyperboreans are becoming hostile. You have brought disease with you to their land. Disease that they can’t cope with.”
“Are you calling me a liar,” Ail growled turning to face Marcus. “Where could you possibly have seen these symptoms before. In the Roman army, on campaign perhaps?”
Marcus’s hand dropped to the pommel of his sword as his face darkened.
“I am no Roman soldier,” he snapped, “I told you who I am.”
A contemptuous look appeared on Ail’s face as he stared at Marcus, “Jodoc says you served in the Roman army. He says you are not who you claim to be.”
“He is lying,” Marcus growled. “He is saying these things because he is angry with me. He blames me for his father’s death, but Caradoc died in an accident. I swear it. If I had murdered him, would I really have continued on with this voyage? Wouldn’t I have just gone back home? You should not listen to Jodoc. The boy is being foolish.”
Ail turned away to look at the young man and in that moment Marcus thought he saw a glimmer of uncertainty in the druid’s eyes.
“When we return to the coast,” Ail growled at last, “the others will need to hear about this. The Council will decide who to believe.”
***
The large lake lay shrouded in the dawn mist. As he slowly dug his oar into the quiet, peaceful water, Marcus peered ahead into the fog. Ahead he could just about make out a heavily-wooded promontory and from somewhere amongst the steep, mountain slopes he could hear the roar of a waterfall. The tall, pine-tree forests covered the land fading away into the eerie white-misty vapours. Marcus twisted his neck to get a glimpse of the canoe carrying Jodoc, Cunomoltus and the Hyperborean guide, which was following on behind them. Jodoc was sitting in the front, the horrible-looking black eye that covered half his face, easily visible. Marcus turned back and thrust his oar into the water, so that the boy would not see his grim satisfaction. Sitting behind the boy, Cunomoltus dug his oar into the water in silence. The iron box was still strapped to his chest. Jodoc had haltingly explained that he had hit his head on a tree during the night when he’d gone to relieve himself, but Marcus was not sure whether Ail had truly believed the story. As he stared at Ail, who was sitting in front of him, Marcus bit his lip. Lately the druid seemed to have become withdrawn and his suspicion seemed to be growing for, now and then, Marcus had caught him staring at him with a hostile, worried look. But if Ail suspected something why was he still leading them towards Emogene? Why had he remained so calm? Or was he planning something?
“How far till we reach Emogene’s camp” Marcus called out.
“We should be there by noon,” Ail replied, as he dug his oar into the water.
Marcus nodded and looked down at his sheathed gladius that lay on top of his pack, in the bottom of the canoe. If Ail was planning something, then he would be ready but the druid had him at a disadvantage. He was in charge and for all Marcus knew he could be leading them straight into a trap, to a native camp where Ail would be easily able to overpower him and Cunomoltus. But there was nothing he could do about that. He would just have to endure the uncertainty and hope that his deception was still working.
As they paddled on across the long, twisting lake the mist slowly lifted and, as it did, one of the Hyperborean guides suddenly cried out and pointed at a mountain that had appeared, towering above the lake and the dense forests. The sheer granite and boulder-strewn upper slopes were devoid of trees and the horse-shoe shaped ridge line dominated the land, a mile high; its mighty peaks pointing at the sky in majestic and unconquerable silence.
“Mount Katahdin,” Ail exclaimed, as he stared up at the mountain.
Marcus peered at the distant mountain in silence. To the north, dark clouds were gathering but above the mountain itself, the heavens were clear and blue. Behind him Marcus heard the Hyperborean guide muttering to himself in what sounded like a hurried prayer and, as he stared at the mountain, Marcus wondered what had driven Emogene to come here; so far from civilisation; so far from anything. What madness had driven her to this life of solitude?
The canoes scraped onto the stony beach and Ail was the first to leap out of the boat. He was swiftly followed by Marcus and the Hyperborean, who splashed into the shallow water and helped drag the canoe up onto the land. Stiffly Marcus straightened up and quickly looked around, as he fixed his sword to his belt. Trees covered the shore, but a little way inland, he could see a forest clearing. He swung his pack over his shoulder as the second canoe came sliding and scraping onto the small lakeside beach.
“Emogene’s camp is over there,” Ail said gesturing at the forest clearing. “She must be up on the mountain.”
“How do you know,” Marcus said guardedly.
“If she wasn’t, she would be here to find out who we were,” Ail growled, as he started off through the trees.
Marcus glanced at Cunomoltus, who gave him a quick, tense look before, clutching his bow, he followed Ail into the woods. With a grunt Marcus set off after him and, as he did so, he caught sight of Jodoc, his bruised and battered face contorted in sullen rage, giving him a look of pure, unbridled hatred.
Emogene’s camp was a short walk through the trees and, as they approached Marcus saw a small, ring of blackened-stones, inside which lay the remnants of a dead fire. Close by, stood a single, small Hyperborean, domed tent made of birch- bark and branches and on a line between two trees, fish were hanging up to dry. An old discarded, broken-looking canoe lay in the grass alongside the hut. There was no sign of anyone. Marcus paused beside the dead fire as Ail pulled aside the animal fur,s that hung over the entrance to the hut and poked his head inside.
“She’s not here,” he said as he turned to look up at the mountain that towered above the campsite. “We will wait here until she returns from the mountain.”
Marcus cleared his throat as he stood beside the dead fire.
“No,” he said, “We shall go up the mountain. There is still enough time to find her.”
“Why are you in such a hurry to find Emogene,” Ail suddenly exclaimed turning to face Marcus with sudden irritation. “I said we will wait here for her. This is her camp. She will be back before nightfall. Why the rush?”
Before Marcus could reply however one of the Hyperborean guides spoke in an animated voice as he pointed up at Mount Katahdin.
“What’s he saying” Cunomoltus growled, as he clutched his bow tensely.
“The guides do not want to go up the mountain,” Ail retorted, “They say they are going to stay here. They fear Paloma. They say it is forbidden to climb the sacred mountain.”
“Then let them stay here. We however will go on,” Marcus growled.
“I know why they want to find Emogene,” Jodoc suddenly blurted out, as he took a step forwards his hand clenched into a fist.
“They have come to kill her,” Jodoc exclaimed. “That one over there,” he cried pointing at Marcus, “he has some feud with her. He wants her dead. They threatened me. They threatened my father. They said that if I caused trouble for them they would kill me and destroy my father’s book. That’s why that one over there is carrying around the iron box with the book inside it.”
The campsite fell silent.
Ail took a step forwards and frowned in confusion and, as the silence lengthened from the corner of his eye, Marcus caught sight of Cunomoltus wearily reaching for his sword that hung from his belt.
“What,” Ail exclaimed, as his frown deepened. “What are you talking about? We already have the book. Marcus gave it to us before we departed up river. The Council already has it.”
Jodoc’s mouth opened and then closed again. Then slowly he turned to stare at Marcus, with wide, horror-filled eyes as realisation finally dawned.
“You lied to me,” the young man hissed. “You made me believe that you still had my father’s book. You were worried I was going to talk. Well fuck you, fuck both of you!”
Rapidly Jodoc turned towards Ail and cried out in a voice that was nearly hysterical.
“I am telling the truth. They are here to kill Emogene. It is they who hired the Hermes and its crew. This whole voyage was their idea all along. They have lied to you since the beginning. Now do something about it.”
With a frustrated growl, Cunomoltus pulled his sword from its scabbard and came at Jodoc but before he could strike, Ail cried out and one of the Hyperborean guides caught Cunomoltus arm. Cursing, Marcus wrenched his sword free. Ail was fast but not fast enough and, as he pulled his knife from his belt, Marcus punched him in the face, with his left hand sending the druid staggering backwards into the side of the hut. There was no time to see what was happening to Cunomoltus. With a high pitched howl, Ail came at Marcus, the blade of his knife arching through the air aimed at Marcus’s throat. With practised ease, Marcus evaded the clumsy blow and with a sickening, bone-cracking noise, he drove his sword straight into Ail’s head. The man’s blood and brains splattered onto Marcus’s face as the red-bearded druid collapsed to the ground like a rag doll. Calmly wiping the mess from his face Marcus turned to face, Jodoc and the others. On the ground, Cunomoltus was grappling with one of the Hyperboreans, whilst the second man was limping away into the trees trailing a bleeding leg. Jodoc however, stood rooted to the ground, stunned by the speed and violence but, as he saw Marcus coming towards him, his eyes widened in terror and without a word he turned, and bolted for the trees.
Marcus face darkened, as Jodoc vanished amongst the trees. There was however no time to go after him. On the ground Cunomoltus, needed his help. His brother was bleeding from a cut to his shoulder, as he rolled over the ground in a vicious, snarling, life and death struggle with the Hyperborean. Swiftly Marcus caught hold of the native’s hair and, yanking it backwards he slit the man’s throat with his sword sending a stream of blood gushing and spurting onto Cunomoltus’ face, neck and chest. Snarling, Cunomoltus rolled away from the corpse and staggered to his feet, panting, his chest heaving and his eyes filled with wild adrenaline-fuelled emotion.
“Jodoc’s getting away,” Marcus hissed, as he paused to catch his breath. “Bastard has made a run for it.”
Without saying a word, Cunomoltus stooped to pick up his discarded bow and joined Marcus as the two of them ran towards the beach, where they had left the canoes. As they burst from the trees however, they caught sight of Jodoc and the Hyperborean guide paddling furiously out into the lake, pulling the second canoe with them. Quickly, Cunomoltus strung an arrow, raised his bow, took aim and released but, as the projectile shot through the air, it fell harmlessly short into the lake. Beside him Marcus growled in frustration. Jodoc was getting away and there was nothing he could do about it. Cunomoltus lowered his bow and sent a stream of foul curses out into the lake.
“Emogene has a canoe,” Cunomoltus suddenly exclaimed, “I saw it. We could use that to go after them.”
“If it floats,” Marcus snapped, “It looked broken.”
“We can’t let that little shit get away,” Cunomoltus gasped, as he turned to Marcus with an alarmed look, “If he reaches the druids before we do, he is going to tell them everything. Jodoc’s going to raise the alarm and then we are never going to get home. We should go after him. He can’t be allowed to reach the druids alive.”
“I know, I know,” Marcus said in a tight voice. Then slowly he turned to look at the mountain that loomed above the forests. “But we came here for Emogene,” he said in a quieter voice, “We came here to carry out Corbulo’s final instruction and that is what we should do. We should find her.”
“But that little shit…”
“We will just have to take our chances,” Marcus interrupted. “The longer we delay confronting Emogene, the more trouble we are likely to find ourselves in. No,” Marcus said, giving his brother a grim look that brooked no discussion, “The time has come for us to finish this. So let’s do it. Let’s find her.”
For a long moment, Cunomoltus remained silent as he stared moodily at the canoes, which were getting further and further away. Then with a weary sigh, he reached up and undid the cord that strapped the small iron box to his body and unceremoniously dumped the box into the water.
“No need to carry that piece of shit around anymore,” he muttered.
Chapter Forty-Five – The Temple of the Hyperboreans
Marcus slung his pack over his shoulder and raised his hand above his eyes to shield them from the fierce sun, as he looked up at Mount Katahdin. On the barren, rocky, upper-slopes and ridges however, there was no sign of life and nothing moved. The mountain was giving him no clues as to Emogene’s whereabouts. At his side Cunomoltus was cleaning his knife in the grass. They had dragged the two corpses, to the water’s edge and pushed them out into the lake so that if Emogene did manage to slip past them and return to her camp, she would not know what had happened.
“We will head for that peak,” Marcus growled, as he pointed at one of the mountain’s peaks. “If we can’t find her, we will move on to next peak and if that doesn’t work then we’ll come back down again and wait for her here.”
“Would it not be better and easier if we waited for her to return to her camp?” Cunomoltus muttered. “The druid had a point.”
“No, he didn’t,” Marcus snapped, as he started out towards the trees, “We are going to find her on the mountain. Who knows how long she spends up there. That camp fire over there has not been used for several days. We can’t afford to waste precious time.”
The two of them were silent as they picked their way through the forest. Amongst the pine trees nothing moved and in the hot noon sun they were soon sweating and reaching for their water pouches. The ground began to rise and, in amongst the trees, they started to come across huge boulders and rocks that had tumbled from the mountain a long, long time ago. As they steadily climbed up the lower slopes of the mountain the trees started to thin out, until at last they stood at the base of a steep, dangerous-looking slope filled with loose stones and gravel. The heat from the sun beat down on them as Marcus wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked up at the mountain peak, towering above them.
“There,” he suddenly exclaimed in an excited voice, as he pointed up at a distant ridge; “smoke!”
Cunomoltus raised his hand above his eyes to block out the sun, as he turned to look in the direction in which Marcus was pointing. And there curling up into the clear, blue sky were puffs of brown smoke.
“Do you think it’s her?” his brother said, as he rubbed the flesh wound on his shoulder with a grim, painful expression.
“Maybe,” Marcus growled, “Who else could be up there? No Hyperborean dares to climb the mountain. Come on. Let’s go.”
As they started to clamber up the loose stones and gravel, Marcus found the going harder than he had expected. The loose stones made it treacherous to find his footing and, as he and Cunomoltus scrambled up the slope, they sent showers of stones, gravel and dust hurtling and clattering downwards. At last, after what seemed like an age, and with their aching bodies and tunics lathered and soaked in sweat, they made it onto firmer ground. Wearily Marcus paused to crouch beside a large jagged rock as he sought to catch his breath and pick the loose pebbles from his boots. Cunomoltus was leaning against a rock and peering at the smoke. His chest was heaving from the exertion.
