Aed, Circenn, and the Sea:
The Lost Chapter: Part Six
The two parties sat on either side of the ship and began to row further out of the harbor. The kings stood together at the bow, their attendants at their shoulders. The Steward of Gallgoidel eyed the two grisly looking generals with concern. He had tried to persuade his lord to stand his guard around him, but Anund only told him to be quiet.
“I have missed my friend, Ruarcc,” he said, turning to the humble general.
“My lord,” he mumbled with a respectful nod.
Anund turned to Aed, his smirk almost glowing from under his raven beard. Aed’s mouth rested in an iron firm line that betrayed no emotion. The King was tense, but he could not let his rival know. He knew from the moment he saw Anund that he was up to something. There was something he knew, about the Stone, or Aed or Ruarcc, that they themselves didn’t know. Shipboard combat could make any great warrior equal, but against Vikings, and cunning Vikings, he could not be certain of his men’s survival, should it come to that.
“I admire your pick of staff, King Aed. I can’t seem to find anyone trustworthy other than Leif, here, and he has no endurance for combat nor riding.”
He mimicked the severe look that Snechta wore so contemptuously, for he had never allowed an enemy so close before without striking at him. This mocking elicited a barely restrained snarl from the general more beast than man. Anund was unphased, merely encouraged in his peculiar praise for Circenn’s best men.
“I would trade him for a tame direwolf, if that were a fair deal.”
King Aed laid a cautionary hand on Snechta’s shoulder, more for effect than an effort to physically calm. He added another pang of worry to his nerves in the form of a berzerk Snechta in close quarters.
“Your compliments are gracious, King Anund. To speak of deals, however, is the course of action most favorable to us both.”
“A deal? Oh, for the Stone. Your stone.” Anund waved his hand in a flippant gesture of a matter irrelevant. “There shall be no deal, you have earned it through blood spilled. It is only the matter of retrieving it, now.”
Ruarcc looked away, to the sea ahead, to conceal his ill feeling about the Norse king. Ruarcc knew the King as only a man of his word, but the ones he spoke now made him wary.
“Do you refer to the blood spilled of your people?” King Aed asked, the tinge of unease present in his voice.
Anund’s smile turned genuine, before returning to a wicked grin reinforced with amusement.
“Them! I had forgotten about them. No, you have earned your people’s relic through warfare, and the blood sacrificed by your people across Alba. It is my pleasure to be your guide in the final moments of your quest.”
“God bless you, as he has blessed my people, sir.”
The kings exchanged an embrace that lasted an eternity for Ruarcc, watching with his peripheral vision. They separated, for the affection was shallow, apparent to all.
“Where is the Stone of Destiny, King Anund? And how shall we attain it? My sources tell me its sunken at the bottom, far too deep for a man to dive.”
The Norseman rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, a great secret making it all a game to him.
“Indeed it is,” he said. “But there are ways around that.”
The dark man left it at that and was quiet for the brief interim that remained until he gave the call for the rowers to stop. The longship drifted to a stop beside an ebony plank of driftwood. All the men peered over the side of the ship, searching for a mystical glow to penetrate the waves and beckon KIng Aed to receive his treasure. Anund ignored them, and reached over the side to pluck the dark wood from the water.
“Here, bear, haul this piece up,” he said, gesturing for Snechta to take up the work. “Two more of you come help him,” he added, backing away from the side once the burly man had taken the wood from him.
Two of the bigger Vikings had shuffled over and grabbed hold of the chain that was wrapped around the middle of the board. Snechta did the brunt of the heaving, while one man aided him and the third busied himself with the excess chain. The kings and their men watched them huff and curse as the chain coiled into a bigger and bigger pile on the deck.
“How deep is the blasted thing?” Mael Snechta growled.
“You’ve nearly got it, beast. Look as the chain rusts more and more. There, just haul the chest up, now.”
Snechta grunted and with great exertion, lifted an ancient looking chest of black iron from the harbor. His partners lended their hands and the extremely heavy chest was dropped onto a rower’s bench with a solid thunk of metal on wood. The Vikings returned to their side of the ship but Mael only took a step back to preside over his King’s access to the box. The men watched with bated breath as the kings crossed the deck to stand over the chest.
King Anund placed his hand on the top of the box, halting King Aed’s dreamlike reach for the lock.
“Sir,” Anund said, meeting Aed’s eyes with serious measure. “The treasure is yours, but the chest… is ours.”
Aed straightened, and crossed his arms. This was the lynchpin. Opening the chest would trigger whatever machinations Anund had planned to unleash.
“Then it is your honor to present it to me,” he said, nodding at the box.
Anund’s smile soured with irritation. His attempt to recover his imperious demeanor failed, and the men grasped their swords once again. Both kings noticed this, but Aed didn’t budge.
Anund regained some dark composure and took a step away from the chest.
“Leif,” he said, “open the chest. Use this dagger.” He handed his nervous steward a blade and pushed him to begin working on the lock.
Even Ruarcc had a hand on his sword out of concern for what came next. He could tell only King Anund knew what his plan was, he trusted in his men and King Aed’s to react how he expected. The steward labored and groaned, prying the lock apart and staining his fine coat with rust and flakes of black metal. An awkward silence reigned over the ship, the warriors appearing foolish with their weapons at the ready and the kings like actors who had forgotten their lines. In an act that bumped the trajectory of the play from a tragedy to a comedy, King Anund lost his patience and wrested the knife from his embarrassed wreck of an aide and swept him out of the way. With a precise slam of the pommel, the lock was undone and clattered to the deck.
He threw the lid of the chest back and slid to the side, arms presenting the contents of the chest to the King and the rest of the ship. Noone said anything. Their faces were one collective dumbfounded expression. The King of Circenn scarcely drew breath as his numb legs shuffled him to the chest. He placed his hand upon the Stone of Destiny, hoping his effect would convince it to lower its defenses and reveal its true nature and power to its rightful owner.
“That is a rock, not a stone!” bellowed General Mael Snechta. “My castle is built out of thousands of the same! You expect this to be the keystone of Circenn’s future?” The reddening behemoth of a man rose and drew his axe. He brushed away the men who stood to stop him without a glance. He crossed the deck and stood between the kings like an executioner from Hell.
“What is the meaning of this, Gael?” Anund spat, devoid of color beside the blazing sun that was Snechta. He glanced at the Stone and did a double take, losing whatever pigment remained in the pallor of his face. “Aed, what is the meaning of this!” he hissed at the king.
King Aed opened his mouth to reply but shut it just as quickly. He had paled as well, but only slightly due to the disconnect he felt to the ship around him and even his own old body.
“Explain!” Snechta shouted. “My brothers are dead, all because of this slate, King?” His chest was heaving, well past the point of control over his temper. It was the vaulting level of rage that coursed through his enormous heart that gave him the power yet to speak. He pushed himself through the men to the chest and roughly handled the dull, oblong rectangle of sandstone that sat like a relic within the sturdy box. He could not comprehend its value stacking up to all he had heard, all the stories the King had insisted on reminding the men of at camp and on the road, which he had based his entire campaign across Alba upon.
It was too much. Or rather, it wasn’t enough. Not for Isu, especially not for Muiredach. He shut his eyes, he knew the rage was upon him. It had finally come over him, and he was glad for it. His fists shook vehemently as untapped strength pumped its way to his muscles. His eyes rolled open, and he saw nothing. A world of red was no world at all, only an existence, a phase in a spectrum.
A rumble straight from God’s Earth or Thor’s thundercloud was loosed upon the ship by the mad general. His roar forced even Aed to raise his hands in an instinctual reaction borne of self preservation. The man towered over him, and his axe seemed to judge him from Heaven itself above. The sun glinted off its dull sheen of red that coated its face before it began its swing downward to render judgement upon him. A failed king, an inept fool who led his people on death marches and hopeless sieges all to gain ownership of a common castle stone. He deserved the end Mael Snechta would give him. Causantín would make a fine king who would right his wrongs. He would place importance in his people’s bellies instead of the stones they swallowed to stave off hunger and the arrows that flew through the sky to pierce them, never to hold food for a living body again.
Ruarcc only thought one thing, ‘NOW.’
He dove across the deck, tackling his king out of the way of Snechta’s might axe. The murderous implement buried itself halfway down into the railing, sending splinters of wood everywhere and triggering the reflexes of every stunned man on board. Viking guards pushed their king behind them and took up positions at the stern of the ship. Aed’s men picked themselves up and rushed to the bow, their king and their general at the head of the packed party of Circenn soldiers. Both sides looked at each other for a heartbeat, the blink of an eye.
Mael Snechta heaved his axe free of the railing and eyed both sides like a mad dog.
“Attack!” King Anund cried out.
His men roared a battle cry that seemed half hearted in the shadow of the one Snechta let loose that drowned out the cry of Circenn men in their reluctant charge forth. Snechta sweeped his axe through the legs of Viking and Gael alike as they crowded around him in a chaotic melee. The King slew Vikings and the Vikings pounced against the mad man again and again to no avail. Ruarcc saw Snechta’s axe come around from another destructive swing to arc toward his head. He shot backwards, missing the axe by an inch that tore through his beard easily as flesh.
King Anund jumped up and swung himself over his men from the bottom of the sail, landing behind the mighty Mael on his rampage. He drew his dagger and sunk it into the brute’s back. Snechta screamed in pain and whipped his axe over his head, catching the King of Gallgoidel under his crown and flinging him overboard. The steward squealed and dove over the rail after him. The Vikings let out a furious cry and rushed against Mael to their last man.
They were crushed and decapitated without quarter and only the few Circenn men remained. Aed held onto his bleeding shoulder, his sword still raised in defense. Ruarcc stood at the ready with the last capable soldiers in a loose ring beside him around their former ally. Snechta breathed deeply in and out, his mad, shifting dark eyes the only part of his body not soaked in blood.
“Mael. Mael Snechta. Lay down your arms. Let us take you home, to Alba,” the King said hoarsely.
Snechta laughed a heartless laugh but did not smile, his face did not shift one muscle from that pained look of murderous intent. “My home is ruined. Rebuild it with your stone, King.”
His eyes were on the King, now. Ruarcc took a step forward, and then another.
“I am as surprised as you are, Mael! I know this won’t save Circenn. I should have known better than to trust in old fairy tales.”
Mael smashed his axe into the deck. He didn't speak. Ruarcc had wheeled almost behind him, his sword poised to strike. Only one step remained, one additional moment of frenzied oblivion.
“Stop, for the sake of your brothers, Snechta. They acted in Circenn’s interests. They-”
Mael’s face screwed up and a snarl cut through the tension. He tucked his shoulder and charged toward Aed, the sea his destination for both of them. Ruarcc saw his power as a man unveil in the tender spot in the man’s neck. At this moment, Ruarcc, and Aed, were everything, and nothing awaited the King and his kingdom at the bottom of the harbor.
Ruarcc leaped, with all his strength he pushed himself off the deck and into the air, his sword tearing through the air toward Snechta’s throat. The lumbering man was stopped dead in his tracks. The blade sunk to the guard through his body, Ruarcc clinging to it against the side of the man’s stunned form. He slowly turned his head to Ruarcc, ignorant of the blood flowing from his mouth. He fell to his knees, he dropped his axe, and the last Mael brother was dead.
Ruarcc didn’t bother withdrawing his sword from Mael. He picked himself up and looked at the carnage of the ship.
“Ruarcc,” the King attempted, but neither man had anything to say about that.
They turned the ship around and set sail back toward the harbor. The men still capable rowed the oars while the King and General Ruarcc policed the wounded and set them away from the remains of the battle. The crowd waiting on the pier could already see that something had gone wrong; more than half of the occupants were missing from their benches. The longship clumsily docked, and the peasants peered warily at the gore strewn ship.
Aed and Ruarcc stood together before the open chest; untouched by the battle and still defiantly useless looking.
“Lord, what shall we do now?”
The King shook his head but caught himself, he thought better of it. “We will go home, Ruarcc, to our wives. I think the way to save the kingdom, is to live in it, and believe in it. So, we must go home. We must count on ourselves to lead the nation back to unity. I wouldn’t want my son to grow up in a kingdom dependent on magical artifacts anyway.” He turned to Ruarcc, and put his good arm around his back. “I want them to depend on men like you. Men who make a difference, and know where right and wrong belong.”
Ruarcc laughed. He always thought the Stone of Destiny a silly tale, but his old friend Aed not believing in it truly tickled him. “Boys need stories. They don’t need cold old men.”
King Aed considered his most trusted man, and smiled. “You’re right. Come, let’s tell our families the story of the Stone of Destiny.”
The peasants reluctantly volunteered to pull bodies off the ship and tend the wounded. None noticed the Stone or its ebon box. They didn’t see it crack and shatter, leaving nothing but a bright pebble bluer than any sapphire sitting at the bottom of that ancient chest.
THE END, ONCE AGAIN, BUT NOT FOR ALL.