baseloaf
As Sexy As Viggo
Posts: 472
(10/6/03 7:56 am)
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The Wild Hunt for Idreille
Ok, this is a story I wrote for a Halloween writing contest at Eowynn´s board.Enjoy!
THE WILD HUNT FOR IDREILLE
“Prynhawn da, Bwarran! Sut ydach chi?”
Bwarran looked dup from his work. He´d been chopping wood all afternoon, preparing for the great bonfire tomorrow night. The day had been warm, and he´d taken off his tunic to bare his broad muscular chest, now slick with sweat after his hard labour. Brushing his long hair back from his face with one hand, Bwarran smiled at his friend.”
“Hello, Gwartlog. I´m fine. Lots of work to do, but that´s good. Keeps a man fit. A man needs to stay fit these days.”
“Ie, my friend. That´s true. We live in a grim land, and it breeds grim people. Like you and me.” He laughed heartily.
Bwarran smiled and threw his axe aside. This part of northern Cymru was sparsely populated. The villages were small and lay far apart, the surrounding countryside barren and rocky. Even so, harvest had been plentiful this year, and the people in Dun Dywyd, the largest village in the area, planned to celebrate that on Samhain night tomorrow. Bwarran had plans of a different sort, plans only his two closest friends knew about.
“Ble mae Bwaellyrch?” he asked Gwartlog.
His friend laughed again. “He´s off with his precious sheep as usual. Said there was no better way to get his festival spirits up. Gwyn take him. He´s completely insane, out good old Bwaellyrch.”
Bwarran snorted. “I hope he´ll be back for the bonfire. I´ll need both of you if my plan is to succeed.”
“Oh, don´t worry, lad. You´ll have your cariad Idreille. We promised to aid you in this.”
Bwarran nodded but said nothing. He´d chosen to play a dangerous game this Samhain, perhaps more dangerous than his friends thought. Stealing a maiden away to force her into marriage was a serious crime, likely to cause his death if anything went amiss. But the fair Idreille was worth it. She most certainly was. Why else would she be betrothed to some great lord from the Clyde? Bwarran frowned when he thought about it. The girl claimed she loved him too. She´d laughed when Bwarran tried to convince her she´d be better off with him than with that foreign lord. He´d felt like a fool then. Well, they´d all see who was the fool after tomorrow night.
* * *
Bwaellyrch sat alone in the darkness, watching the sheep graze the thin autumn grass. “Wel, dyma i chi ddefaid da!.” he whispered to himself. My goodness, such magnificent sheep. He´d spent the entire evening with them, and even if it was late and he should return to the village he lingered in the pasture, admiring these wonderful creatures.
He leaned his back against a rock and reached for his leather bag, and rummaged through it until he found the small bottle of brandy he´s brought with him. Taking a deep swallow, he sighed and smiled to himself. There was nothing like a good drink after a long night with the sheep. He drank again.
Bwaellyrch had never understood the pleasure his friends found in chasing the village maidens, bringing them sweetmeats and flowers in hope of a kiss or a chance to touch their breasts or buttocks. What was a woman´s body compared to the warm, soft wool of a fine ewe? He shook his head.
Even so, he´d decided to help his friend Bwarran in this mad prank of his. Of course he could not understand how someone would want to risk his life and honour for a woman, no matter how fair. Bwarran had spent more than a year swooning over Idreille, and now he´d decided to steal her and run away. Bwaellyrch didn´t feel any of the excitement Bwarran or Gwartlog felt, only sadness at the thought of never seeing his friend again. He took another swallow of brandy.
He was just considering one last round with the sheep, now no more than grey shadows in the full darkness of night, when he suddenly heard the sound of galloping horses coming closer. He frowned into the blackness. There was no road within a mile of where he was, and no one would drive a caravan of horses and wagons through the fields. He rose to his feet. The sheep were as restless as he, moving aimlessly back and forth around him.
Turning around in circle upon circle, Bwaellyrch tried to find the source of the sounds. It has to be a large party, making a noise like that, he thought. Yet he saw nothing, not a single movement in any direction. He started to spin faster, not able to distinguish from where the sound came. It kept increasing in strength, until it felt like it was all around him. Bwaellyrch felt panic rise within him. He stared wild-eyed around him, still seeing nothing but the dark pasture and the dark shadows of the sheep. Then he looked up towards the sky.
His scream of mindless fear was cut off, and only the bleating of the frightened sheep remained to fill the cold night air.
* * *
Bwarran rose early the next morning and loaded the farm´s biggest cart with the firewood he´d chopped the day before. He had less than a mile to go into town, and the family´s old mare was strong and stubborn, pulling the heavy cart at a steady pace along the hard-packed dirt road. Bwarran whistled a merry tune as they approached Dun Dywyd.
The place chosen for the bonfire was a hill just west of the village. Other farmers had already dumped their loads of firewood, so Bwarran had only to pile his contribution atop the already sizeable mound. Some of the village children came to help, asking him if this was going to be the biggest bonfire ever. Bwarran laughed and told them it probably would. The children´s eyes shone with excitement in the morning sun as Bwarran left them and went back into the village.
Passing through the narrow streets he went through his plan once more . There would be lots of drinking tonight, and most of the villagers would be too intoxicated to notice much of what was going on around them. Bwarran himself would stay fairly sober, though he´d have to drink a few tankards to avoid suspicion. Then, when it was time for the dragon climb up the hill he´d stay close to Idreille, making sure not to lose her from sight.
After the bonfire the villagers would return to the feasting hall to eat and drink until they passed out. However, several young couples usually went off into the woods to spend the rest of the night in each other´s arms. No one would be alarmed if Idreille was one of those who didn´t return to the great hall after the bonfire. She was the most beautiful maiden in the village, she´d probably done this before.
The one part of his plan Bwarran didn´t like was that he might have to knock Idreille unconscious to keep her from screaming and trying to escape. Stealing a maiden was one thing, beating her was quite another. But if she mad trouble he´d have no other choice, and may the Goddess forgive him for it.
After that, he wasn´t sure. They´d have to move fast, even if the sleepy villagers probably wouldn´t comprehend that Idreille had been abducted until late the following day. Bwarran and Idreille would have to get as far away as possible, most likely out of the land of the Cymry. Perhaps they´d steal a boat and sail to Ireland. Over there no one would know who they were or where they came from. They wouldn´t ask how they´d gotten there or whether Idreille was betrothed to some lord or not.
“Bore da, my son.”
Bwarran looked up from his thoughts. An old man dressed in a long brown robe, wispy white hair blowing in the morning breeze, had walked up to him and strode alongside his now empty cart. Bwarran reined his horse in. “Good Morning, Father Venomenus.” he said, trying to smile at the priest. From the frown on the old man´s face he understood it´d been more of a wolfish grin. “Since when did I become your son?”
The priest took a deep breath as if about to give a long lecture about the goodness of Jesu Christi. Bwarran hurried to interrupt him. “Will you join the dragon climb tonight, Father? The bonfire will be more magnificent than ever.”
Father Venomenus crossed himself. “Jesu protect me! You must be mad to think I´d join in your pagan rites. I wish I could turn your evil hearts away from the darkness, that I´d lead you to the light of the Lord. The old druids have corrupted your souls, my son. Will you never learn to see it?”
“Be silent, you old naïve. Your God is no better than anyone else´s , and your preaching gives me a headache. Look at the bountiful harvest the gods have given us this year. What has your Jesu yielded us? Nothing but an annoying old man who talks too much.”
The priest looked at him, eyes wide with despair. “The Devil has blinded your sight, my son. The Lord gives us everything, life, food, happiness, everything that is good in this world. He gives mercy to the sinners, blessings to those true to him, if you would only…”
Bwarran stopped listening. A man came running down the street as if the Wild Hunt itself was pursuing him. When he came closer Bwarran saw that it was Gwartlog. He hailed him cheerfully. Gwartlog skidded to a halt, breathing heavily from his run. Bwarran had to wait a while before his friend was able to speak again.
“Bwarran! I´m so glad I found you. I was going to run all the way to your farm. I had to let you know.”
“What´s happened? Gwartlog, calm yourself.”
The short, plump man gave him a bewildered glance, then took a few deep breaths trying to steady himself. “They found Bwaellyrch.” he finally managed. “He´s dead. They found the body in a pasture about two miles from here.”
Bwarran´s heart froze in his chest. He heard Father Venomenus mumble a prayer in some foreign language. He stared at Gwartlog. “W-what happened? Was he killed?”
Gwartlog shrugged, suddenly the most controlled of the two. “They say it looked like he was torn apart by some animal. Only there were no traces, no footprints. Only a herd of sheep grazing all around.”
“Sheep?” the priest exclaimed. “What would he do in a pasture full of sheep?”
“Never you mind, priest.” Gwartlog growled. Then he turned back to Bwarran. “It´s a bad omen. Perhaps we should abort. We don´t have much chance of success if it´s only the two of us, and after what happened to Bwaellyrch….” He shivered, looking into the distance.
Bwarran thought for a moment. Gwartlog had a point. It´d be more difficult for them to carry out his plan without Bwaellyrch, but he knew he´d never get another chance like this. In a few months Idreille would leave the village to marry her Lord, and after that she´d be out of his reach. No, it´d have to be tonight, with or without Bwaellyrch. He faced his friend with a grim expression.
“We´ll proceed as planned.”
* * *
In the evening all the inhabitants of Dun Dywyd, except those to young or too old to take part in the feasting, gathered in the great hall of Brian Mac Dugel. Even if he was scotti, the town´s mayor was well liked among his people and known to handle all conflicts with fairness and justice. During his fifteen years of residence crime and violence had virtually vanished from Dun Dywyd, and even from the smaller villages surrounding it. Everyone agreed that Brian Mac Dugel was the best mayor in all of Cymru.
There was no lack of food and drink in the feasting hall. Mutton stew was served in great black cauldrons, and the mayor´s servants distributed plates of smoked ham with turnips and onions among the guests. There was also fresh-baked bread and hard yellow cheese, boiled eggs, long black blood-sausages and roasted, grease-dripping chickens. The people of Dun Dywyd ate and drank while a harper played well-known songs in one of the hall´s corners.
Bwarran and Gwartlog sat near the long table´s rear end, as far from the mayor as they could get. Far from Idreille too, but that didn´t matter. Bwarran knew he´d see enough of her later this night, and in the days and years to come. He raised his wine goblet and toasted to the health and prosperity of the mayor and the people of his village, but took only small sips of the red liquid. His senses had to remain sharp if his plan was to succeed.
He and Gwartlog had prepared bags with provisions and clothes for Bwarran´s flight with Idreille, and hidden them in the woods half a mile from the place of the bonfire. Gwartlog would only accompany them for a few miles before returning to the village to fulfil his part of the scheme. Bwarran hoped his friend would manage to delay the pursuit, allowing him and Idreille to get as far away as possible before the mayor set his hounds on their trail. He´d need every hour his friend could give him.
By the time the mayor rose, clapped his hands for silence before announcing that the time of the dragon climb had come, the major part of the villagers were thoroughly drunk and made enough noise for a crowd ten times their own size. Many staggered as they made their way out into the chilly autumn night. Bwarran smiled to himself. So far everything goes as planned, he mused.
Torches were lit and handed out among the bustling villagers. It took a while for them to form a long column, each man and woman clasping the shoulders of the one before them. The harper walked before them, followed by the mayor and his family. Slowly, the procession wound its way towards the bonfire.
When they finally reached the top of the hill the traditional rites were performed, the druids raising their voices thanking the Goddess for this year´s plentiful harvest and praying for another good year, without plagues hitting men, animals and crops, pleading for many healthy children to be born and for strength being granted to the villagers so that they´d be able to defend themselves against their enemies. Old pagan songs were sang as the flames spread through the huge pile of firewood.
As the rituals proceeded Bwarran slowly moved closer to Idreille. She stood close to the fire, the light of the flames playing across her delicately beautiful face. Bwarran felt his blood boil with desire. The young woman wore a long dress of creamy white embroidered with purple and black. The way the cloth clung to her curvy body made Bwarran´s mouth go dry. Dw i’n dy garu di, he whispered, too silently for anyone to hear. I love you, Idreille. I want you. Soon you´ll be mine. Very soon.
The Samhain rites seemed to take forever, but at long last they ended and the villagers began making their way back to the feasting hall. In some places maidens´´ tittering laughter could be heard, and Bwarran saw dark shapes disappearing into the woods. He yawned and looked around for Idreille. She was gone.
Cursing softly he began pushing his way through the crowd, causing some harsh comments as he ruthlessly pushed people out of his way. How could he let his attention drift like this? He´d almost been asleep where he stood listening to the chanting of the druids and feeling the warmth of the bonfire against his cold skin. Where was she? He had to find her.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his left shoulder. Spinning around, he almost raised his fist to strike the bastard who´d interrupted him, but stayed himself when he say Gwartlog smiling at him. “Have you seen her?” he demanded, unable to hide the desperation in his voice.
Gwartlog nodded and pointed towards the woods to the north of the hill. Bwarran looked that way and saw a white-clad shape move slowly into the trees, alone. Bwarran grunted and set off in the same direction, half walking and half trotting.
Idreille had vanished out of sight by the time the two men reached the edge of the forest. Bwarran only stopped a moment, peering into the deeper darkness among the trees, before resuming his pursuit. As he and Gwartlog stumbled through the blackness, tripping over roots and underbrush, Bwarran wondered what the young woman was up to. Was she meeting a lover somewhere? He was sure she´d been alone when she left the bonfire. He might be forced to kill the man, should there be one. He continued on.
Suddenly Bwarran and Gwartlog burst into an open space, a stretch of barren ground between two wooded sections. Bwarran halted. Idreille stood in the middle of the field, her white gown shining in the night as if reflecting the faint light cast by the stars above her. She was looking to the north, up to the sky. Bwarran was just about to go to her when he heard a rumbling noise in the distance. He turned to look, the same way Idreille did. For some reason he held his breath.
At first he saw nothing, but then he discerned something that looked like a dark cloud moving at unnatural speed across the stars. Combined with the rumbling sound it made Bwarran think of a thunderstorm moving in over the land, but then a sudden realization came to him, making his heart freeze in his chest and cold sweat trickle down his face. The cloud moved against the wind.
As the darkness drew closer the rumbling became louder. Bwarran suddenly realized it wasn´t thunder at all, but the pounding of horses´ hooves. When he strained his eyes to see better in the darkness he thought he saw riders galloping across the night sky, followed by wagons drawn by teams of two or four. The procession seemed to descend, heading for the open space before him. When he looked to Idreille he saw that she´d raised her white arms to receive them.
Bwarran wanted to scream, to run away from this nightmare, but his legs wouldn´t move. He heard Gwartlog gasp beside him as the first riders reached the ground less than a hundred paces away, reining in their animals in front of the young woman standing in the middle of the field. The rest of the procession followed.
A faint light seemed to surround the riders and wagons, making it easy for Bwarran to see the ghastly company. Not a single one was human, even if they resembled humans in size and shape. The faces he beheld were taken from nightmares more horrible than any he´d ever experienced himself. Demons and imps with faces distorted by horns, beaks and tusks, some with more than one head. Their fur-covered hands ended in claws more often than fingers, and some had bat-like wings on their backs. Bwarran knew of this company. The Wild Hunt, riding the night in search of human souls to bring with them down to Annwfn. Fear washed over Bwarran, pulsed through him, but he was still unable to turn away, much less flee. He stared wide-eyes at the horrors before him.
The demons and spectres screamed as Idreille approached the head of the column, staining the ground with their filth and excrement. The stench was so horrible Bwarran gagged, struggling to get the foul air into his lungs. He saw the white-clad woman move to the foremost rider, sitting silently of a tall black stallion. Bwarran knew him from the old stories of his people, Gwyn of the Otherworld. The Demon God looked more frightening that he could´ve imagined, half human and half animal. As Idreille seated herself behind the demon and put her arms around his waist she turned and flashed Bwarran a ghastly smile. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth and he saw maggots writhe on her tongue. Finally the spell broke and Bwarran screamed, falling to his knees. He lay there shivering, his face pressed hard against the cold earth. He didn´t look up until he heard the horses moving away from him.
A shrill shriek cut through the night. Bwarran looked up. It had been a human call, not one of the demons´ mad cackles. The Wild Hunt passed before him, heading south, but in its path stood a dark shape, small but erect. It was Father Venomenus, holding a silver cross before him like a sword. Bwarran thought he heard the priest mumbling words in latin, but then Gwyn the Demon God rode him down, Idreille behind him on his black steed. The priest fell to the ground, lying motionless as the procession vanished into the night sky. The sound of the horses´ hooves dwindled until it was completely gone. The Wild Hunt had moved on.
Bwarran and Gwartlog rose as one and ran over to kneel beside Father Venomenus. The priest lived still, but his breath came in short gasps and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were clear, though, peaceful and without fear. He coughed twice before speaking, his voice no more than a faint whisper. “I´m sorry, my sons. I couldn´t save her. She´d strayed too far into the darkness already. There´s not much one man can do against such evil. Please remember me. Remember what happened on this night. Don´t let it happen again.”
The priest turned limp is Bwarran´s arms. He suddenly regretted all the mocking words he´d said to this man. There, in the darkness on Samhain night, he saw Father Venomenus in a new light. A brave man with a good and unselfish heart. A man worthy of respect. He took the silver cross that the priest had dropped in his fall and lay it upon the dead man´s chest. It still seemed to glow in the darkness even if the light in the priest´s eyes had gone out for ever.
* * *
Walking through the gardens at the monastery of Shelterbury, Bwarran felt assured he´d done the right thing. The memories of last year´s Samhain night still haunted his dreams, but apart from that he felt at peace. The new religion wasn´t half bad, once you got used to it. He remembered how averse he´d been when Father Venomenus first introduced him to Jesu and his prophets. The pagan gods he´d worshipped back then were already fading from his mind, seeming more and more like children´s tales. Except for Gwyn of the Otherworld. Bwarran knew he´d never be able to forget the night he saw Idreille carried away by the Wild Hunt, knew he´d never forget that inhuman smile the young woman had shown him. He wished Father Venomenus could see him now. He would be proud of me, Bwarran thought. He´d know I honour his memory.
Smiling to himself, he went to find Gwartlog.
THE END
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may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.*~
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