Day of the Druid

  Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from Amazing Stories November 1948. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.

  He had to strike at the source of their power ... they leaped to prevent him]

  DAY OF THE DRUID

  by Knut Enferd

  Be'al, all-powerful god, drank the blood of his victims. Would Gaar be able to save Marna, whom Be'al kept in eternal sleep, and avenge her people?

  * * * * *

  Fog lay heavy on the North Sea, fog wreathed the land, fog crept intoa man's very bones. Meanwhile the ships were locked in the harbor.Gaar lay stretched on the skin before the fire and cursed the fog.

  How much longer was this infernal whiteness going to last? A man wasthirty years old, in the prime of his life, with the blood running hotthrough the seven foot length of him. How much longer was he going tohave to lie here in the great hall, eating and drinking and waitingfor the roll of fat to show around his middle? A man wanted action andinstead he was forced to loll around listening to stories.

  Niffleheim and Hotunheim were all right, Gaar thought. A man didn'twant to offend the Gods. On the other hand, Wodin forgive the thought,a man could tire of listening to the same old tales.

  But wait. The voice that was speaking had stopped. This was a newvoice. Elgen was finished with his tale and Vornung had started one.And this one wasn't about the Gods. Gaar twisted around and got up onone elbow.

  "Who?" he demanded. "What did you say they called themselves?"

  "Picts," Vornung said. In his day Vornung had sailed with the best ofthem, but now he was old. "It was many years ago. After a storm wefound ourselves washed up on this strange shore."

  "What sort of people are they?"

  "An unlovely bunch, hairy, dressed in skins."

  "Could they fight?"

  "Ptuh." Vornung spat into the fire. "One touch of our swords andthey'd had enough. Only one thing they could do well. They could tellstories."

  He leaned back and took a draught of mead and wiped his mouthreflectively.

  "But what stories! We were stuck there for months and I learned enoughof their tongue to understand them. They told tales that could curdlea man's blood, tales of a land that lies to the south of them, oftreasure, of a beautiful woman locked in eternal sleep by the priestsof her people."

  Treasure and a beautiful woman. This was something to make a man situp. Gaar's big hands were locked about his knees as he rocked back andforth thoughtfully.

  "How far?" he asked.

  "That they would not say. When they spoke of this they spokefearfully. We might have pressed them, but we were in a hurry to gethome."

  Gaar was on his feet now. He went to the door and looked out. Therewas a hint of breeze, from landward for a change. Maybe the fog wouldlift soon.

  "Tell us more," he said over his shoulder....

  * * * * *

  Vornung had been wrong about these Picts. They weren't afraid tofight, and they weren't waiting for the fight to come to them. Undercover of darkness they swarmed in over the gunwales of the ship.

  Unlovely they were, and unwashed. Gaar had the scent of one in hisnostrils as the dark fellow came at him. Gaar struck out and the Pictwent overboard.

  Luckily, the surprise had not been complete. And these Norsemen wereused to fighting in close and rocky quarters. They sailed in with awill. Gaar was not too busy to do a bit of wondering.

  A man was crazy to trust an old fool like Vornung, crazy to follow adream of white skin and red lips and incredible beauty.

  Of course, these men of the North would have admitted that they wereall a little mad to begin with. Who else but madmen would take such atiny craft across hundreds of leagues of stormy sea?

  Gaar laughed aloud. With ten men like his he'd sail anywhere, fightanyone. Elgen, up in the bow, had a Pict in each hand and was crackingtheir heads together. In the stern, Asgar was making short work ofthree Picts.

  This fight wasn't going to last long. And a good thing. The way thePicts swung their clubs they might just happen to knock a few holes inthe hull. Gaar breathed easier when the last of them went down.

  "Now," he said. "Maybe we can talk some sense to them."

  Vornung had taught him as much as he could recall of the language ofthe Picts. With a silent prayer that Vornung's memory had been good inat least this one respect, Gaar hauled a swarthy, bowlegged fellow tohis feet.

  "Look here. Can you understand me?"

  Then the sun came up and the Pict got a look at the man who held him.

  "I understand you." His words came through chattering teeth.

  "Good. Don't be afraid. We mean no harm."

  So Vornung hadn't been completely wrong. Gaar talked, keeping his eyesglued on the man before him. The fellow knew what he was talkingabout. Mention of the girl who slept brought a secret gleam to hiseye. What about all the others? What about the priests?

  "_The Druids._" It was a whisper.

  "Is that how they are called? How far to this land?"

  Gaar saw there wasn't going to be any answer to that. The Pict wasscared. He was shaking his head. Some of his friends were comingaround and they'd heard too. They were all turning pale around thegills.

  "Tell him we'll hold his head under water until he speaks up," Asgarsuggested.

  Gaar hesitated. Fighting was one thing, torture another. It was allright to cut a man to pieces as long as he had a chance to do the sameto you.

  Maybe threats would do the trick. He told the Pict what Asgar hadsuggested and the man licked his lips. The rest of the Picts were in apanic, babbling among themselves.

  Gaar understood enough of what they were saying. They were pointing atthe sun. What the devil? Was this going to turn into one of thosethings? Were the Druids some sort of gods who lived in the sun?

  No, that wasn't it either. The Druids were real enough. But they hadsome power that came from the sun, that could turn a man to cinders.To speak too much about them would mean death.

  "No more certain a death than awaits you if you don't talk," Gaarsaid.

  He narrowed his eyes, made them as cruel as he could. He drew thesword from his scabbard, ran his finger along the edge.

  The blood was hammering at his temples. That dream wasn't so crazynow. He could see her as though she were before him. Black hair hungabout alabaster shoulders. Lips as red as ripe berries, lips that hadwaited a thousand years for his kiss.

  "Wait," Gaar whispered. "Not much longer now." His sword glinted inthe sunlight, hovered at the man's throat.

  "I will tell you all I know," the Pict said.

  * * * * *

  The inlet was a perfect hiding place for the ship. There were enoughbranches about to screen it from distant eyes. And yet Gaar had thefeeling that they were being watched.

  He swung around suddenly. Nothing to be seen except the gently wavingbranches. A harmless scene, the dancing waters of the inlet and theserenity of the woods, and yet terror lurked there.

  Considering the fact that their knowledge was only from hearsay, thePicts had directed him well. Down the coast of this great island, theyhad said, and then through a long channel. And then you sailed aroundthe southern end and to the westward. There was a smaller island and asmaller channel.

  And now it would be overland travel. Not far, the Picts had said, andthey had wondered at these men who had the daring to sail throughstrange water
s to certain death. There was a plain rising from thecoast. Somewhere on that plain Gaar would find what he sought.

  "I have a feeling," Asgar muttered. He was as blond as the rest, but afoot shorter than Gaar and with a chest that threatened to burstthrough his breastplate.

  "So have I," Gaar admitted. "In my bones." And out of the plain to thenorth came a scent like an opened grave.

  They walked through the forest with their hands on their swords, thesemen of the North. A long twilight here, a twilight that broughtshadows that could deceive a man. A strange land this, where Springcame early and where the air was soft.

  Swords were worthless here, the Picts had said. A man's strength meantnothing.

  A voice whispered to Gaar's mind that the Picts were right. But therewas another voice, a voice that had grown stronger night by night ashe sailed southward. This was a voice that came from long dead