Episode 88

Chapter 1 of the Winter's Heart Saga

Part III

Previously: Ross, Callen and Max, pirates from the Good Ship Drakkar, found themselves stranded at a lonely inn with a snow-blocked mountain pass between them and their ship. At the inn they met the wandering scholar Corvath and caught a glimpse of a trio of druid priestesses, who join their party on a trip through the pass. As they reached the crest of the pass, Callen thought he spotted something moving in the rocks above; seconds later the party is buried by an avalanche. The three Drakkars manage to find their way through a narrow channel into a cave, and seeing the caves extend further into the mountain, explore further in hopes of finding a way out. What they do find is Corvath, trapped on top of a stalactite, and an angry yeti. The four are rescued by the three druidesses - two of which seem to have strange powers over the elements of water and sand - and then find themselves prisoners of the Clan M'Covee.

Gaffer M'Covee sat on a fallen log in the heart of the forest, staring at a particular hollow stump. Sitting before the stump was a rude wooden bowl of cream. Both the bowl and the stump had been held sacred by the Clan M'Covee for generations.

The Gaffer shivered. The wood was damned cold this time of year, and not even the dried mushrooms he was smoking in his pipe, the special yellow ones that grew on the other side of the sacred stump, could make him ignore the fact. Especially since he was dressed in nothing but a loincloth, and his body smeared with a not-particularly-insulating coating of ochre.

He glanced at his wrist and sighed. Over an hour. If the little bugger didn't show soon... It suddenly occurred to him. Why should he believe that looking at his wrist would tell him how long he'd been here? He lowered the pipe and tried to shake his head clear. Spirit world or not, some of these "sacred visions" could be damned peculiar. Like that one where he'd believed the spirits had flown him across the river, although that wasn't the strange part. What really had baffled him later was that he'd spent nearly an hour afterwards walking around and around the wide, flat sacrificial stone at the edge of the village, looking for something called his "luggage".

A bit of movement at the base of the stump caught his attention. A small, brown woodchuck had poked its head out from a burrow under the stump, and was tentatively sniffing the air. The Gaffer held his breath. Cautiously, the woodchuck crept out into the open, towards the bowl of cream. It sniffed around the bowl. The Gaffer kept himself absolutely still. If it accepted the cream, he was in.

The woodchuck stuck his nose in the bowl and started lapping up the cream. The Gaffer started breathing again, but didn't relax until it had lapped up the last drop. Fully sated, the woodchuck plopped down on its back haunches and sighed contentedly.

"Cor," it said. It looked up at the Gaffer, noticing him for the first time. "Here, pass that pipe over."

The Gaffer reached out and courteously offered the pipe. The woodchuck grabbed it with its forepaws, and took a couple deep puffs, blowing smoke rings as it exhaled.

"Cor!" it said again, "That's good stuff, eh? Cor blimey, that's good stuff..." It raised the pipe to it's little mouth again and took a couple more puffs.

The Gaffer cleared his throat. "Ah... Old Father Woodchuck. Plenty grateful, am I, t'be honoured with yer presence and all, but y'see, m'family has worked hard t'produce the cream, and..."

"Right, right, go on," said Old Father Woodchuck. "Y'get three questions, y'know that. Ask away."

"Thank ye kindly, sir, very much," said the Gaffer. "The first one -- we've had tell from travellers, comin' up from the south, that the Cold One Herself has been moving through the forests. Can ye tell me if this be true?"

"Aye," said the woodchuck. "I can." It smoked silently.

The Gaffer suppressed a curse. Damn these literal spirit creatures! He'd wasted a question. He'd have to forge ahead.

"Ah... yes. Thank ye, sir. Now, the second question... what is she after?"

The woodchuck lowered the pipe and looked up at the Gaffer's eyes. The Gaffer found it disconcerting.

"Y'know very well," said the woodchuck quietly. "The Winter's Heart. She's learned its whereabouts at last, she knows where to find the Sacred Cave of Summer's Ice, and she knows the name of the Clan that's been charged with its keeping."

The Gaffer shivered, this time not from the cold of the early autumn wood. Old Father Woodchuck continued. "Now y'know I dinna give out free advice, but in this case I'll make an exception. Should the Ice Witch gain the Winter's Heart, Gaffer M'Covee, a power older than the Al Ma'tal will be hers, and not even Those Who Left shall be able to stand aginst her. Send the daughters of your Clan's most ancient Order south to the Cave, and dinna waste a moment. The Cold One will move before Midwinter."

The Gaffer nodded fiercely. "Aye, aye, I'll do exactly as ye say, Old Father Woodchuck. Keep the pipe, and the bowl. 'Tis the least I can do to repay this unlooked-for generosity."

By making this gift, he was effectively forfeiting the Clan's right to call on the spirit ever again, giving Old Father Woodchuck his freedom from mortal disturbance. The woodchuck nodded. "Aye, indeed. 'Tis the least."

"Thank ye, sir, and all the blessings of our Clan upon ye." The Gaffer stumbled stiffly to his feet, and made to leave. The woodchuck called after him, "Ye still have another question, y'know."

The Gaffer stopped. His head was spinning, from the drugs in the mushroom, from the strange encounter, from having the worst fears of the Clan's elders confirmed... He knew there were a thousand questions he should ask, about how to defeat the Ice Witch, about the fortunes of his family and the Clan, about the crops and the coming seasons... But one question pushed itself to the fore of his mind, and he could not restrain himself.

"Aye... Sir, I've always wondered... how much wood -- "

People for miles around saw the lightning strike the forest from out of a clear blue sky. When the Gaffer returned to the village, he looked distinctly singed, but refused to say anything about it.

And so it was that, less than a week later, Girvanna and her sisters, Sorcha and Ita, left for the Cave of the Summer's Ice. They were hit by the full force of the unnatural winter on the way down, and by the time they reached the mountain range where the Cave was hidden, many weeks later, they knew the entrance would be all but impassable. Reluctantly, they joined up with a party of travellers heading through the pass, acknowledging that even their arts would not get them through alone. The plan was to follow the party as far as the entrance to the caverns, then slip away.

As soon as they entered the pass, Girvanna could feel the presence - a frigid, fearful prickling sensation. Sorcha felt it most strongly, her art being the most opposed to that of the Cold One.

The avalanche caught them unawares, and was something none of them could defend against. Sorcha had been able to melt her way out with her Sun Magic, and found her sisters quickly enough. Girvanna asked if they should try and rescue the other, but Ita, rightly enough, Girvanna supposed in retrospect, that it was not their problem, and if She Herself or her agents had been responsible for the avalanche, then they didn't have time anyway.

The entrance had likewise been buried, but Sorcha had melted their way in. It would be an obvious sign, Girvanna thought, but then the Ice Witch was the last person who would be stopped by a covering of snow, anyway. She sealed the way after them with sandstone, anyway. That might slow her somewhat, and there were other entrances they could use if they needed to leave.

They had no need of any map; though they had never been in the caverns before, they had memorised its natural labyrinth at a young age from the ancient maps of the Clan's elders. Sorcha lit their way by summoning a globe of daylight, which floated an inch or so above her hand. They were well on their way to the Sacred Cave of Summer's Ice, when they heard the cries of the cavern's wild guardian. A simple spell cut through the echoes and distortion of the sound, and told them its source. Changing paths, they ran in that direction.

Upon arriving, however, they found it was not the Ice Witch or any of her supernatural servants that the yeti had cornered, but four of their fellow travellers. The old man, a scholar, Girvanna had heard, had been chased onto one of the chamber's natural columns just out of the creature's reach. And in the yeti's massive grip were the three brigands masquerading as sailors.

Girvanna and Ita forced the yeti to drop its captives and chased it away with torrents of sand and sea water, respectively. Ita then strode into the cave, drawing her sword. As the leader of the three brigands was sitting up, she pointed her sword at his throat and declared them to be their prisoners.

Sorcha and Girvanna exchanged puzzled glances. Things weren't that much clearer to three rescuees, either.

"I'm sorry?" said Ross.

"I'll make it clearer for ye," said Ita, "I think it was you three that caused that avalanche, and that ye're here as agents of the Ice Witch."

Ross and Callen, seated side by side in a pile of luke-warm water and sand, exchanged looks of utter incomprehension. Max continued to lie flat on his back, with a look of utter horror on his face.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," said Ross. "Could you kindly point this thing in another direction, I find it a bit difficult to have a conversation like this. "

The sword did not waver.

"How could we have caused the avalanche? We were right in front of you," said Callen.

"He's got a point, Ita," said Sorcha in Gaelic. Ita pretended not to hear her. Callen looked past Ita towards her, and did a double take at the globe of light now illuminating the cavern that floated over her outstretched hand.

"I hope you don't intend to start tossing that thing around," he said.

"There's no telling what we may decide to do if ye dinna start tellin' us the truth," said Ita, giving him a meaningful look. Callen had no idea where Max's sword had gotten to under all of the sand; not that he suspected it would do much good.

Girvanna and Sorcha turned around at a sound from behind them. Corvath was half-climbing, half-sliding down the column on which he had been perched. He slipped about a meter from the bottom and landed in a heap at the base. Girvanna went and helped him to his feet.

"Ah, thank you my dear..," he said, brushing himself off. "It's very kind of you. Now... what's all this about, eh? I'm sure there's no need for anything, er, drastic, magical or otherwise?"

"You, go and stand with the other prisoners."

"Ita!"

Girvanna grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her away, causing the sword point to lightly graze Ross's neck. Ita glared at her sisters, and they started a low, heated debate in Gaelic.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" asked Girvanna.

"They're not the Cold One's agents, Ita," said Sorcha, "I think they're just in the wrong place at the wrong time..."

"Well, what else do you think they're doing here, then?" said Ita, "It seems awfully convenient that they should survive the avalanche and show up here!"

"The Ice Witch has no use for mortals, " said Girvanna, "Not while they're still warm, anyway."

"They may well be supernatural creatures in disguise," reasoned Ita. "We should kill them immediately."

"A little extreme, don't you think?" said Girvanna, "Even if they are here with some ill intent, which I doubt. "

"Well, there's an easy way to tell, isn't there...," said Sorcha. "If they're agents of the Ice Witch, then the Winter's Heart will respond to them, won't it? Like calling to like, after all? If not, nothing will happen."

Ita looked at her in disbelief. "Sorcha, are you insane? You're truly not suggesting that we lead them straight to the jewel, are you?"

"Well..."

"The easiest thing would be to get rid of them regardless. Even if they aren't working for the Ice Witch, they'd just be in the way."

"Since when have you been so blood-thirsty?"

"There's too much at stake to be soft and generous here, Girvanna... "

Corvath, meanwhile, sidled around to where Ross and Callen were picking themselves up and brushing themselves off. Max, however, remained sitting, with the same look of abject horror. The sand and water covering him was beginning to ice up, but he paid no attention.

Callen knelt down and shook him by the shoulder. "Max!" he said in an urgent whisper.

Max looked at him.

"Are you all right?" said Callen, his face showing earnest concern.

"It sat on me...," said Max.

"The yeti?"

"It was female..."

"Max...," said Ross.

"The smell... my God, the smell..."

"That will do, Max," said Ross, gingerly rubbing his throat.

"I think I'm scarred for life."

"Try and put it behind you. We have more pressing concerns to face."

"Don't say 'pressing' and 'face'."

Ross suppressed a shudder and turned to Corvath. "Have you got any idea what these women are on about?"

"I'm going to need to drink an awful lot," said Max. "I mean, really, really a lot."

"There, there," said Callen, helping him unsteadily to his feet.

Corvath shook his head in answer to Ross's question. "Not a great deal more than you, I confess. My knowledge of Gaelic is confined to written, I'm afraid, though I would presume they're arguing about what to do with us..."

"Precisely what I'm worried about," said Ross. "What about this 'Ice Witch' they mentioned? You've been travelling in this area for a while, any idea?"

"I have heard of her," said Corvath, "though many of the people I talked to were reluctant to discuss the subject. She would seem to be a figure of local folklore, a sort of bogey associated with the more severe aspects of the winter. Traditionally, she is supposed to be a mortal woman who sacrificed her humanity in exchange for power over Winter. Many people seem to blame her for this unexpectedly early winter storm. I presumed that it was the usual story, of a pagan deity surviving in the local lore as a demon after the coming of Christianity."

"These women think we're allied with a fairy queen," said Callen.

"They are druids, supposedly," said Ross.

"I'm not sure exactly what to believe anymore," said Corvath. "Given their own display of superhuman abilities, we may be dealing with something considerably more dangerous than folklore."

"Superhuman abilities?" asked Max.

"Magic," said Callen, tilting his head towards the orb of daylight floating over Sorcha's hand. Corvath brushed a thickening clump of briny ice and sand from Max's shoulder. "Where exactly did you think all this sand and sea water came from, Max? The Mediterranean?"

"Sorry, I was getting to third base with the abominable snow-woman at the time."

"Third what?" said Ross.

"Never mind," said Max. "I'm trying to forget."

"For an ex-monk, you seem awfully calm about all these druid magicks and fairy ice queens, Corvath." Callen looked at him expressionlessly. Corvath smiled cheerlessly in return.

"I've seen my share of 'miracles'. Though most of them were hardly divine in origin," he said.

"Fine," said Ita, exasperated, "We'll do it this way, then. Sorcha and I will go on to the Sacred Cave. You and your bleeding heart can stay here and make sure they stay out of the way. We'll call if we need you, and you can smother them in sand or something."

"All right, then," said Girvanna.

"I don't like dividing our forces like this," said Sorcha.

"Well it's your own bloody fault, the two of you won't let me kill them. Come on, then."

Sorcha uttered a brief spell, and tossed the orb of daylight into the centre of the room, where it hung in mid-air like a miniature sun. With another few words, a second appeared in her hand; then she followed Ita back down the passage, leaving Girvanna alone with their captives. She drew her own sword, and settled down to watch them.

Ross studied the druidess for a moment. "Excuse me," he said.

She looked at him curiously.

"I don't mean to be rude," he continued, "but I hope you don't think that one woman, however physically gifted she may be, is enough to stand guard over three skilled swordsmen of questionable moral character?"

She simply smiled back at him.

"Ross..." said Callen.

"What I mean to say is," said Ross, "the four of us could easily overpower you and escape. Or worse. We are after all rough men of adventure, as Corvath put it."

She raised her hands and spoke a quick phrase in Gaelic. A torrent of sand seemed to erupt from the somewhere near her hands and hit Ross squarely in the face, knocking him off his feet. Callen, Max and Corvath leapt back, then rushed to help him dig himself up. Girvanna laughed.

"All right, point taken," said Ross, spitting grit. "I'm glad to see you find yourself amusing."

She managed to stifle her laughter. "Ach, but ye had it coming, yer so arrogant. Sorry, I just wanted to prove t'ye that I could defend myself."

"So you can," said Callen. "Who are you people, exactly?"

"I s'pose we owe ye that much," she said, eyeing him speculatively. "Though I admit that Ita's right in being cautious... They call me Girvanna of the Sands. My sisters and I are from the Clan M'Covee."

"Girvanna," said Ross. He smiled disarmingly. "It's a lovely name, if not particularly Scottish."

"Ach, ye're full of it, aren't ye?" Nonetheless, the smile seemed to have the desired effect. Her posture relaxed.

"To the brim, m'lady. Now if I may continue being impertinent, what's a nice sorceress like you doing in a cave like this?"

"My job, is what."

"This would have something to do with this Ice Witch you mentioned?" said Callen.

"Aye. Our Clan is charged with protecting something she wants," she said simply, "and there'll be great deal of trouble if she gets it..."

"What is it, exactly?" asked Corvath softly.

She shook her head. "Nae, 'tis better if I dinna tell ye. I dinna think ye're workin' for her, but that dinna mean I trust ye."

"Fair enough," said Callen, "I'm happy with that as long as you decide not to kill us."

"Agreed," said Ross, "In fact, in the interest of deepening our ignorance, perhaps you might even consider showing us out of here, so we can be on our way and out of yours."

Suddenly the globe of daylight began to strobe. "What, already?" Girvanna uttered an oath in Gaelic, then took off at a run down the passage her sisters had taken.

Corvath called after her, "Girvanna, wait!", then hurried into the dark passage after her.

Ross, Callen and Max exchanged glances in the light of the flickering orb. "I don't suppose she's just very eager to lead the way out of here, is she?" Ross sighed.

Callen shook his head, and dug into the wallet under his vest for a torch and flint. "Gentlemen," he said, striking the flint, "in the event we don't live through this, it's been nice knowing you."

"Likewise," said Max. "Anyone seen my sword?"

"Try under the sand."

"Never mind, Max, I doubt it'll help anyway. Well, come on."

Taking the torch from Callen, Ross led the way into the passage.

Head first into Danger! Are our intrepid Corsairs walking into the clutches of the Ice Witch? Can the M'Covee sisters save the Winter's Heart from her unthawable evil? Will Max ever get over his terrifying experience?

"No!"

Find next week in the thrilling conclusion of...