Chapter Thirty-eight
Morcant is not dead, nor trapped in the wolf’s body for ever! I fall on him like a foolish girl and my tears mingle with the she-wolf’s blood and thus anointed he wakes again as a man.
There is not time for a reunion.
I can hear men cheering and shouting and see that the battle is over. Victory belongs to the celebrating tribesmen. The druid calls to Caratacus’ men to help us.
The leader is a young man no older than Morcant, with the dark hair and blue eyes of a westerner. I show him my garnet ring. I hear his swift intake of breath and see the pain in his eyes.
‘Caratacus has gone to speak to Cartimandua to ask for her help in the fight against Rome.’ I pause and see him fight for self-possession.
He speaks quietly, his voice hard to hear. ‘It is not over then? She will come?’
The druid looks at me. Should I say more? ‘Tell them, Trista. It is as well that they know.’
I hesitate. I can see the hope in their eyes; it pains me to destroy it. ‘I have seen that she will betray him. She will hand him over to Rome. The Brigantes will not come.’ The men grow silent.
‘What else did he tell you, Trista? He gave you something important?’ The druid’s voice is urgent. I don’t think he gave me anything to give these people hope. Without the Brigante, we cannot defeat the army.
‘He gave me this ring, and charged me to watch over his son.’
‘And?’
‘And he told me his story.’
The druid sighs. ‘Good. All is as it should be. Did you promise to tell his story, to keep it alive?’ I nod. It did not seem like a great burden, not compared to the responsibility for his son. ‘Then it is decided. You and Morcant must both come to Mona.’
No! I open my mouth to argue, but he commands here. Three men lift and lay the she-wolf on the shield of a fallen Roman and tie it to the harness of one of the ponies so that she may be dragged along the ground and has no need to walk. Morcant wants to carry her himself, but the druid insists that he does not. I hear the druid promise by the mother, by Lugh and by Taranis that the she-wolf and Morcant will not be separated. He makes Morcant dress in the druid’s own spare robe. Morcant’s natural colour is returning, and his flesh now looks less corpse-like. I can no longer see the faint silver shadow of the wolf around him, yet the wolf is awake. He has to be. I see it in the confidence of his walk, the assurance of his stance. He lopes towards me, smiling.
‘She will be well.’
I love the way his face looks in the druid’s white cowl. He takes my hand. It is warm and strong and human and I am struggling for control. I bend his stiffened fingers into a more human shape and clasp his hand as I did before when we travelled together. It seems a long time ago. When I look down, I see the silver paw under his pale human skin and his grey eyes are yellow with the power of the wolf.
This is not how it was. It is as if the wolf is inside him now, no longer a shadow but part of him. ‘How? What?’ I begin.
The druid is watching us both.
‘He has learned his first lesson,’ he says and his old eyes are sharp and golden. ‘He has embraced his double nature.’
I think I know what he means, but I am still confused. Something is going on that I haven’t yet understood.
‘I owe you an explanation,’ the druid says, and takes my arm as we walk, as if he were my elderly grandfather. It is an honour I could do without. I am wary of druids. Morcant still grips my other hand. The druid continues, ‘I knew that you had a rare gift when you came to us that night in the village. Even among druids the gift of true prophecy is rare. You can imagine my surprise when I sensed another presence, another rarer talent with you, his fate entangled with yours.’ He pauses for effect as druids do. Is he talking about Morcant? I thought that he’d suspected something. ‘I sent Ger to help you as soon as I could and made my own way to Mona – and then to Caratacus. I think you know the road, Trista. Have you still got the arm ring?’ I nod and taking it from my pouch slide it on to my arm. I can’t help but cry out. Somehow I see within him the form of a great golden wolf. He is surrounded by hundreds of the Wild Weird.
‘You see?’ I see that he is a werewolf, as Morcant is. I should have seen that before.
‘Note how the Weird are drawn to us. Those of us whom the gods bless belong in part to their world.’
Morcant surprises me by adding, ‘When I was a shadow, I learned some things about the Wild Weird. They are sustained by the old gods and when the worship of them dies, they die too. That’s why they can only live now in the most ancient and sacred of places.’
The druid looks at him approvingly. ‘The Wild Weird between them are the soul of the land. We are not just fighting for our tribal territories, but for the summer country, the territory of the soul. If the Romans invade the Sacred Isle, they will destroy everything. The sons and daughters of the tribes will live on, their blood will flow in the veins of their descendants whatever tongue they speak, but the beat of the land’s heart will be stopped. We have to remember who we are. Caratacus knows that: his story, the hope of freedom, our pride in who we are, will keep the old ways alive. Stories sustain the soul of the land. His story is worth an army in this other battle.’
I don’t know what to say. ‘We need you, Trista. We need the things that you can do and the stories you now know.’
I am still overwhelmed, confused. I find myself leaning against the solid bulk of Morcant. I don’t ask any of the important questions that I need to know. Instead I just mumble: ‘How did you get here?’
‘I fought with Caratacus but you both slipped away before any of us could get to you.’ I am startled by this and then I remember hearing the howling of wolves. ‘Morcant’s lived wild for too long. Your talent woke his. The wolf is very strong in him, as the fire of prophecy burns too brightly in you.’ He grins and I wonder if he knows about my fire-lighting. ‘If I’d not found him, he might have been lost for ever. I have been tracking him since the battle. I’m glad I was not too late. But you both need to come with us to Mona.’
Morcant grips my hand more tightly.
‘We have to go there, Trista,’ he whispers. He speaks quietly but of course the druid has a wolf’s keen ears and interrupts. ‘You have made mistakes against our rule, both of you. It was your calling as a seeress, Trista, to warn the Parisi chief of the Roman attack on his fort. You failed in your duty then. Morcant, you lost control of the beast in you and that too is a betrayal of gifts bestowed by the gods. You need to learn what we can teach you. Morcant has agreed to submit to the discipline. Trista, will you too come with me to Mona?’
I know what Morcant wants me to say, but even with the arm ring I know I have not seen all that the otherworld holds. There is darkness there and a strangeness that I am afraid to confront. I’ve had nightmares about Mona since I was a child. My father, my courageous father, would never speak of it without fear. Dare I go there?
‘I promised Caratacus I would watch over the baby . . .’
Ger has joined us while the druid has been talking. He is bloody, but unhurt, and he rests a gory hand on my shoulder. ‘But, Trista, I told you – we are going to the Deceangli lands. The Sacred Isle is in Deceangli territory. Me and Bethan and the boy will be as close to Mona as it is possible to be.’ I know that he is bursting with pride that he will have the care of Caratacus’ son and he wants me to be part of his happy ending.
I can sense Morcant holding his breath. I feel all the skeins of my life and of my visions weaving themselves into shape around me. I am like a spider caught in my own web. So many of my dreams have been about Caratacus, the wolf and Mona. I never thought I saw my own future, but it seems that it has been haunting me for my whole life.
There is only one answer I can give. I take a deep breath. I know that I am making a vow. The Wild Weird are watching me as if my answer matters. The assembled men are waiting for my response and Morcant is willing me to answer. It still comes out as little more than a whisper. ‘Yes, I will come with you to Mona.’
Ger hugs me as a father and Morcant kisses me as much more than a comrade. I don’t ever want him to stop. I thank the gods for their blessings.
I am Trista. I am a seeress and my visions are true.