Chapter Eight:
Into the Earth
“Eirrin,” Wulfhere Skullsplitter said, “is wet. The weather’s less damp asea.”
“It’s a healthy lot we of Eirrin are, meaning the weather agrees with us,” Cormac told the grumbling Dane. He waved a hand. Misty grey-blue sky; green plain sweeping into deep woods with multicoloured leaves, green hill patching into brown; distant blue mountains.
“For sea-dogs,” the Dane retorted, “mayhap Eirrin is healthful.” He looked about. “Aye, and mountains ever in view, no matter which way one turns. This land has a million rivers, a million foul dark bogs that give off worse air than the grave, and two million mountains.”
“Forget not the clouds ye’ve grumbled of,” Cormac said, a bit wearily.
“Ah! The clouds-they rush about overhead driven by ever-changing air currents like ants from a kicked hill. And… it’s ever wet.”
“Misty,” Cormac said.
“Wet.”
Cormac mac Art compressed his lips. He knew it was not the weather or the scenery of Eirrin that had Wulfhere a-grumble so. Both men were weary. They’d been at the hill of Bri Leith for two days, and now they trudged, rather than strode. Worse, because of the autumn chill and the dampness and Wulfhere’s nagging at Cormac about his native land-even unto the clouds overhead-they had been here two, nights. Despair hovered over them like a vulture.
They had walked. And walked. Up the hill and down the hill. Around it and around it, wading through gorse and daggerbushes and furze. There was no sense in splitting up in their search for the Doorway to the Danans’ subterrene demesne; Wulfhere would not find it. He could not. The Doorways, Cathbadh had said, would reveal themselves to him who wore the Sign of the Moonbow-and only to him. Only to Cormac, then. Otherwise the entrances were invisible, the protection of the Tuatha de Danann within the earth from those who had displaced them and lived on its surface. The two men must remain together. They roamed together, and Wulfhere grumbled aloud.
Cormac remained outwardly taciturn… and grumbled in his heart.
With them always came the apparent druid who
“Bas”; twice Wulfhere had, and then launched into a vicious hailstorm of curses. That had put thought on the Gael.
“An any should separate us, Cormac told Thulsa Doom, “it is my command that ye resume your own worse than ugly form at once. The robe and form of Cutha Atheldane, and the skull that is all we know of your face. Ye be understanding?”
“I understand.”
“And ye’ll obey, though we’ve separated and I not there to order or see?”
“Aye. I must.”
And they trudged on.
“An island,” Wulfhere said, “is a piece of land afloat but anchored on the bosom of the sea. Aye, and completely surrounded by the water.”
Cormac said nothing. They trudged.
After a time he could not bear the silence that followed the Dane’s remark, and he said, “Aye.”
“Eirrin,” Wulfhere said with pleasure, “with all its rivers and lochs and fens and thrice-damned bogs, and with its mountains all along the coast so that the whole land slopes inward to the center. Eirrin is water, completely surrounded by land.”
“And Loch-linn of the Danes is perfection itself,” Cormac said, hanging onto his temper only with effort. “Which is why ye left so long agone and never return. Come, blood-brother, it’s only weary of this searching ye’re after being. There’s more grass under my two feet this instant than in all of Loch-linn… and more moisture in a lungful of the air of Britain than in all Eirrin’s sweet air!”
Wulfhere only sighed, without reply. The other man was right; in this sort of situation, he’d have muttered darkly even about the paradisic Isle of Danu. He sighed anew. With all its anxious womenfolk… he should have remained there!
They walked slowly along the hillside, stumping, one leg long and the other short, for it was easier than walking up and down, up and down. Though their movements were not quite listless, they were hardly energetic. Nor came this from lack of sleep. Though the nights were cold and heavied with the added chill of dampness and their limbs and backs complained at morningtide, both men slept well enough. The lives they’d led had hardly accustomed them to soft beds and the warmth of night-fires. If ever men could sleep anywhere, under any conditions, and indeed nigh at any time at will, the Wolf and the Splitter of Skulls were among their number.
Nor did their captive provide any problem. It was the growing feeling of fruitlessness that preyed on their minds.
Despair was a brooding shadow that hovered over them and their thoughts were dark with it. Surely they had trod every inch of this mocking hill, and of the greensward at its base. They had found no Doorway, not even a cave; there was no sign. They were weary of the search, and nervous that it was to come to naught.
Samaire, with Bas and Brian, had reluctantly parted their company and gone on to Tara. With Thulsa Doom in the likeness of Bas as he was now, the two weapon-men had struck westward-afoot. Neither was accustomed to horses, and Cormac hated that sort of transport that made a man’s tailbones and thighs sore-and worse next day. Too, he stated a further reason for walking. What would they do with their mounts once they discovered the Doorway and entered the earth? The horses could not remain tethered. Nor could they be turned loose to roam free and doubtless cause consternation and damage for others. Nor, on this mission, was there a way to hire someone, even a boy, to accompany them and return the mounts once the Doorway was found. He’d likely become a flying gibbering idiot when his employers vanished… and might well be waiting with an army of angry, fearful men and stern druids when Cormac and Wulfhere emerged from below ground. If they emerged, after-how long a while within the earth?
And so they had walked, and, waded, and forded, and slept out in damp chill, and now two days and two nights had passed here, and the third day still brought them nothing to lift sagging spirits. And so Cormac mac Art was morose, and Wulfhere grumbled about Eirrin and its clime.
Yester eve they had conferred. For two days, confident, excited, they had merely walked about, hither and thither, each expecting at any second to espy the object of their quest. When whim struck, one announced and both hastened to that place, only to experience a renewal of disappointment. Cormac felt no qualm about asking Thulsa Doom for the location of this Doorway. But Thulsa Doom did not know.
Last night they had decided to do what they should have done on arrival after their trek from the coast: put the quest on a systematic basis. Walk every inch of the hill. They would not admit defeat and leave this area until they had walked, one behind the other, around and around over every finger’s breadth of the hill and its perimeter.
With them trudged the cause of this anguish and so much else that was unpleasant and evil, him whose death they sought, and him dead beforetimes. His green robe was a mockery that rustled as he walked. Nor, seemingly, did Thulsa Doom tire.
“An we find it now,” Wulfhere said from behind the Gael, “we’ll have to decide whether to rest ere we… go in. My belly’s begun to growl.”
“When has it not? When have ye not? Wulfhere!” Cormac jerked and came to a halt so that the Dane ran full into his back. “It… it be time to make that decision,” Cormac said, in a voice that was not without a bit of quaver.
All weariness flowed from mac Art’s limbs and spirit as he stared at it: a wound had opened or appeared, huge and gaping in the hillside. A dark hole it was, twice the breadth of his shoulders though several inches shorter than his height. But a moment ago had been naught here but grass. Now gaped the cave, closer to him than the length of his forearm. It yawned darkly, a cavern into the hill but a few steps above its base. Wide enow for two men to walk abreast-two short men. And women. And the animals the Tuatha de Danann had taken with them from the face of Eirrin…