Chapter 33 - Bearded Bull
Camp of Eskola. Wilds of Eagle Owl. SE Britain
Before we depart with the perilous orphans, we must first address the issue of our newly adopted son. It feels too reckless to drag a mute waif into certain danger. By our act of rescue Qan has become our responsibility. I enter a witch’s lodge to ask for the advice of the sorceress. Her immediate response is,
‘First we should go to Qan and assess the boy. There the spirits might guide our decision’.
We depart from her smoky shelter and cross the campsite to where Qan is busily engaged in one of his fantasy games. Too busy for him to notice us.
Zawalla whispers, ‘Tashkilla, carefully watch this game he plays’.
He amuses himself with four dolls, fashioned from acorns and thorns. Three of his acorn-people are stalking an acorn-beast with thorns to represent bullhorns. Qan places a new item into his little theatre, a small pearl-white object, which he has his acorn-bull approach as the three acorn-people follow from behind. Instantly I recognise this toy as Ur’salla’s moonstone that I had concealed last night within the heathers of our den. Hairs prickle up on my nape when I grasp his gameplay, the acorn-people are our accidental little family, and we’re not stalking the bull. We are following it to Ur’salla’s moonstone.
With my jaw dropped I turn to Zawalla who knowingly grins back. Zawalla steps forward interrupting Qan’s play with a foreign word,
‘Galarri’.
Immediately our boy jerks up his head.
With care, she slowly repeats the same word, ‘Gah-Lah-Rri’’.
This time Qan brushes his toys aside, rising up to his feet. Retaining his usual silence, he stoops forward, strokes his smooth chin with a hand, and places both hands to either side of his curly head. With a solemn face, this child has signed the most magical bull. He follows by tapping his chest with a clenched fist. Zawalla gasps with joy, clapping her hands together. As though some secret divination has just been realised by Qan’s act.
She beckons me away, ‘Come Tashkilla, we should leave Qan with his games’. Once out of his earshot, she explains, ‘Your Qan is a special orphan of the recently vanquished Galarri folk. They were the most ancient people who’d prospered on the wide prairies which stretch across the chalks of the south’.
This does make some sense to me. His wild nation would have been driven north by the barbarian invaders, into the woodlands where we found him.
Zawalla tells me of Qan’s origins, ‘The Galarri were the children of the Bearded Bull of Old. They had been a proud nation who forced earlier incursions of barbarians back into the sea. Then the Terrible Sickness arrived with the Leva, and they were weakened’.
We slowly pace around the camp. The sorceress pauses, placing a hand onto my shoulder, ‘Do you not find it interesting that the spirit guided you to cross the Serpentine river, for you to find a mute child of the most mystical bull?’
It’s certainly true my senses have been rocked both by the nature of Qan’s play, and the revelation of his origins. Nonetheless I fear she’s about to suggest we take Qan with us to the east.
This objection I make, ‘We can’t take Qan into the wolves’ den! The boy is already too frail. It wouldn't be safe for him to accompany us’.
Zawalla remains calm, ‘Qan wouldn't be safe even if you were to leave him here in Eskola. One day barbarians will cross the water to invade this wilderness. The twineheads will graze their cattle over the ashes of this camp. I can safely prophesize to you, free of magic’.
I gaze around Eskola at these gentle people who’ve dwelled in these forests so long. I fear Zawalla speaks a truth I don't wish to hear. Qan’s own mother was defeated by the same wave of progress, and she’s no longer here to defend her child. This duty I take personally,
‘Why do you insist we risk his young life now?’
‘Do you still not see? Qan has a destiny to fulfill in saving Ur’salla. He’s stronger than you credit him. A sole survivor of a brave nation. Didn’t you witness the magic of his ancestors in the night sky, when you made union with Su’lan. To be blessed the next morning with a son of the Bearded Bull?’
How can Zawalla know so much detail of our night under the stars? Ah, but of course, she is the Sorceress. Nevertheless I feel the instinct to protect Qan from obvious perils.
I make my last weak stand, ‘He, he can’t even speak for himself!’ This I had accidentally shouted in anger at my mentor and friend. Tears have welled in my eyes, nevertheless I see a seriousness descend onto her features.
Her eyes grow dark with witch’s power, ‘I offer a magical prophecy for you. Tashkilla I declare that in the moment of greatest necessity, Qan of the Bearded Bull will use his voice to awaken the Ghost’.
With this prophecy cast by a great oracle, I cease more futile attempts of protest and wipe away my childish tears,
‘I'll speak with Su’lan on this matter’.
On leaving Zawalla to visit the Storyteller, I fear he'll consider me careless when I deliver the news. It transpires he readily agrees with the wisdom of the Sorceress. Next we both deliver our answer to the rogues who await our departure with them. They’re impatient to catch a return tide.
It’s Su’lan who falsely tells Saabiaske, ‘Brother, thank you for your kind invitation. We three would be delighted to follow you to the east’.
I smile deceitfully although in truth I’d prefer to throttle these orphans right here. That wouldn't bring me any closer to finding Ur’salla. Ugh, I have be nice to feinds. I sense the need for her rescue has increased. For too long she has endured captivity among alien brutes. My nightmares of recent have been plagued by Ur’salla’s despair. I fear for her wellbeing.
Once more we say our goodbyes to hosts. Today we take back to the waters of the Serpentine, this time in the company of devious wolves. I feel sad to leave Zawalla behind. The wise woman has become a dear friend. Before we left, I visited her den just one more time. There the Sorceress summoned a spirit, revealing a further prophecy. One I promised to keep a secret until I have rescued Ur’salla.
We're beckoned by danger in the east. Although we travel in a dugout, these orphans travel their waterways by means of coracles which they paddle two abreast. Those vessels are convenient to fashion, but travel poorly against the flow of such a large river. Most lazily these rogues favour ebb, and elsewise take rest ashore.
Despite the relative sleekness of our own craft, cautiously we follow behind the two coracles. This river is already salty. It sweeps in exaggerated snake bends to its estuary. Occasionally we pass by other users of this famous waterway.
I share friendly waves with them although Su’lan warns me, ‘Be ready with a spear should any watercraft approach’. As if I was not already unnerved by the dangers of more immediate company in the coracles?
Never before have I witnessed such a magnificent flow of inland waters nor one so busy with human-kind. Our numbers in this world of my own lifetime are rarely more than sparse. Here these few people dot these marshy shores. In your future-time, a great metropolis of civilisation will tower over sturdier banks of this river. Today in our own time, all that I see are reedbeds, silty isles, otters and the occasional fisher-boy.
Qan appears cute in his squirrel-skin cap. He has been so patient and well behaved. Su’lan last night fashioned a small paddle so Qan can enjoy participation. I watch him as he bores from paddling to gawp at the margins, spotting a small herd of wild cattle enjoying a drink, or at a boar waddling in silts, then at playful otters sharing an eel.
The tide slowed and turned to make work harder. We’re hungry having paddled for hours. All we have had to put inside our mouths are birch pitch, and slithers of inner pine tree bark. We don't enjoy chewing upon such foods, but it helps us to stifle hunger.
Lanella beckons our attention, and shouts from her coracle, ‘Follow us into those beds of reedmace there. They hide a small creek where a pleasant beach offers rest. There our men can hunt for better food for our bellies’.
I hide my deep trepidation of following Ur’saller’s kidnappers into their trap. I watch sleepy headed Qan and wonder how I'm going to protect him? I have no choice. Reluctantly we steer our bow through a labyrinth of reedmace and sedge.