The Coming of the Green Man – Chapter 1
"Be vigilant for the Green Man…" the words were clear, in Caerelia's own tongue. The mouth that spoke them was familiar, the rest of the face in shadow under a hood of russet cloth. She woke up instantly, realising that this was now the third night in succession she had experienced this curious dream, and always with the feeling that it was a riddle.
The sun streaked in through the lattice glass behind the curtain, casting criss-cross shapes on the wall opposite. Rising from her bed and seizing her wool cloak from the chair nearby, Caerelia NicGabhran, an Albannaich who lived just outside the country's capital, Dun Edin, approached the window and pulled back the cotton summer drapes. Outside was the long, wooded path into the King's hunting ground, where even now the deer and wild boar were scattering in terror of King Cinneach's grandson, Lachlan, and the young noblemen on their ponies, armed with flint-headed spears. The blackbird on the branch above the window emitted a twittering cry of annoyance as the sound of the drapes moving caused it to flitter to the opposite tree. Summer had truly come now; the land was warm and burgeoning with flourishing crops in all the farms and crofts in this fertile mid-shire landscape. In the Albannaich tongue they called it An t-Og Mhíos, the young month; the Sassanaich called it June after a long-forgotten goddess. This was a far happier summer than in previous years; no war threatened the kingdom's peace and their neighbours in Sassain were slowly coming accustomed to their new ruler. Caerelia sighed, If only Father were here to see how his sacrifice was worth it. She cast the painful thought aside and left her chamber down two steps to her living room. The grate was empty; no need for fires in June. Finding her leather slippers just by the hearth, Caerelia slipped her feet into them and padded across the rush-matted floor to the larder cupboard which was at the far side of the room in the cold space nearest the wall, behind which was the main spiral stair. Berries, cream, apples, she thought, and reached for a wooden bowl from the pile on the lower shelf.
A few moments later, as she feasted on her breakfast along with a cup of apple juice, Caerelia was interrupted by a knock at her door. She rose and opened it, "Darak, what ails you this early?" she asked with a smile, seeing her friend and fellow warrior, already dressed in his navy blue doublet, white shirt, dark leather breeches and boots.
"Begging your pardon, Caerelia, but I had to tell you, the King sent me to keep an eye on the lads in the wood, and I spotted more than just our local wildlife," he began, his accent that of Eirinn, Alba's ally and neighbouring island.
"What strange beast stalks the wood then?" Caerelia wondered if Lachlan MacGabhran had come across some exotic white stag or other fantastical creature.
"Well, the lads saw what they thought was a raven, but on closer sight its feathers were iridescent, shining with every colour of nature. It flew around them and then swooped into a hollow, ye know, the place they call Cardenhaugh, the hollow thicket?" Caerelia nodded, "Lachlan, being the bold one, leapt from his pony and walked to the edge of the trees, then I heard him call me, his voice sounded as if he had been a-feared, and when I looked for myself, I saw in the far distance, a man, tall, with long hair as black as raven's wing, but shining in the sun, all the rainbow within. He looked back at us, but we had never seen his face before, and then he stepped into a bright shaft of sunlight …and vanished. The next we heard was the squawk of the raven, and that convinced me we have a shape-shifter in our midst!" Darak explained.
Caerelia's eyes widened, "That was worth coming to my door before I've even dressed. Give me a few moments, I will be with you and we can go back to the wood. What about Lachlan and his friends?"
Darak smirked, "Ah, the bold heroes were not so bold after seeing this mysterious individual, they have returned to the palace."
"Good, I just wonder… perhaps this is the meaning of my dreams of late. Did you see anything else of this man? His dress, his manner?"
"Not really, only that his clothes were mostly black with green flashes, the finest-looking leather. He looked like a warrior… a high-born one," Darak replied. "You didn't tell me you'd had strange dreams," he added.
"No… well, they didn't make any sense till now, just a word, just a line, be vigilant of the Green Man, perhaps it is, perhaps not," Caerelia told him. She stretched her hand out and patted his arm, "Just wait for me out at the stables," Caerelia said.
Darak touched her hand, "Yes, my captain, don't be long."
Dressed in her russet leather jerkin, breeches, riding boots and cotton shirt with red ribbons through the sleeves, Caerelia strode into the stable yard where Darak was already astride his grey horse, Pirate, named for the mare's black patch across her right eye. "Red ribbons, are you thinking witchcraft?" he called.
"You can never be too sure with a shape-shifter, he could be from anywhere, not just Alba, perhaps not even from the whole of the Easterlands, and these ribbons were woven from rowan fibre, no earth magic will prevail against their charm," Caerelia replied, as the groom helped her adjust the girth straps around her mount, a red stallion called Dileas.
"What if he is not of earth?" Darak commented.
Caerelia looked up at her fair-haired friend, "I'm no enchanter, but I'll deal with it when it comes, at the point of a blade if necessary!" she told him, reaching behind her neck and patting the hilt of her sword, which was encased in the sheath across her back.
The woods around Dun Edin were full of hills and hollows, ancient trees and streams. Most of it was known to Caerelia, Darak and the rest of the royal war band, especially Cardenhaugh, where the shape-shifter had been sighted. "The place where King David saw the holy vision," Caerelia commented, "My mother often told me the story of how his majesty went hunting on a sacred day after a white stag which drew him down to the hollow and cast him from his mount."
"Aye, it's a tale I know only since living here, makes me think our boy fancies himself as a usurper if he would walk in a sacred space," Darak replied.
"Maybe not, maybe he is ignorant of our history, maybe he's a fugitive looking for sanctuary," she said, thinking of her dream. The voice had not said "be vigilant of", but "for", which suggested this green man was someone she was to look after, watch out for his interests, perhaps?
They directed their horses down a softer bank into Cardenhaugh, and Caerelia dismounted. She felt there should be some signal of the shape-shifter's presence, and began to scan the forest floor for anything out of the ordinary. "Ah, he leaves his calling card," she exclaimed after a few moments, "A feather, a great black raven feather!" Caerelia lifted the feather in her hand, twisting it in the dappled light, the sun catching every shaft which sparkled blue, green, silver, all the colours that are hidden when the bird was in flight. There was one difference, this feather had a fine, bright green stripe through it, the colour of emerald. Green man, or green bird? She thought. "Why don't you ride down by the loch at the foot of the bank and see if there is any trace there, that's where he would have emerged if he had returned to human form," Caerelia suggested.
"Will do, Captain," Darak replied and turned Pirate up the soft bank, the horse clambering quickly onto more solid ground.
Caerelia looked at the undergrowth, noticing broken twigs and bent grass where someone had walked recently. If this creature had changed his shape into a bird again, perhaps it was only because he knew he had been observed, thus the trail might appear further down the long hollow which led to the loch. She walked slowly and purposely between the birch trees which stood like silver-barked sentinels along the tiny path. She could hear more birds, blackbirds, sparrows, starlings, and then the alien chirp of a magpie. The bird sounded angry, agitated. Something was disturbing it. Caerelia followed the sound, looking up and down as she went. The sun seemed to dim as a damp mist arose from the ground, obscuring the tops of the birches. Suddenly she heard a voice, the very accent from her dream, and she was face to face with a hooded figure, dressed in an ancient traveller's coat of buckskin leather, a sturdy walking staff in his hand, old-fashioned boots made of leather wrappings on his feet. It had to be a male, as evidenced by the shape of the broad shoulders, the powerful sinew in the bare arm which stretched out the hand clasping the staff.
"Caerelia Mairead NicGabhran MacMaelcolm, be vigilant for the Green Man," he said, his features hidden by the hood, only the mouth visible, lips fringed with the shadow of a red beard. She stopped in her tracks, a shiver of recognition at the shape of that mouth.
"Only one knows my full name and that my grandfather was the late king, who is it that addresses me thus?" she asked, her voice carrying in the swirling mist.
"I bring a message to alert you, be vigilant for the Green Man, he means you no harm, he requires sanctuary, you shall be blessed to offer it to such as he," the man said.
"Traveller, please give me your name, and tell me, is the Green Man in our wood this day? Was he the shape-shifting raven that Lachlan my cousin saw earlier?" Caerelia ventured.
"You know me, Caerelia, you need not ask my name."
She stepped closer, "Father? My father? But you are dead, you gave your life at the Battle of Cuil Lodair to defeat the Sassenaich! Are you my father's spirit?" Caerelia begged.
"The Green Man is in the wood. You may fear to trust him, but cast aside your fear, you will be his redemption, and he will purge the Easterlands from a long-feared threat. Just be vigilant of your heart, my girl, the Green Man is not of your kin, take care of your affections," the traveller replied.
"Oh!" she gasped and ran forward to pull the hood from the stranger's head, but as she did so, he vanished in the mist. Instead, a large raven fluttered down from the tallest birch nearby, pursued by the angry magpie. Caerelia drew her sword and swiped at the black and white bird which swerved away, leaving the raven to swing around behind another tree, a large solitary oak which marked the spot where the legendary king had seen the vision of the holy cross.
Caerelia felt a shiver down her spine; she almost wished she'd asked Darak to stay with her. Her anxiety had peaked now; why would her father's spirit prophesy to her of this mysterious green man? Sword still drawn, she stepped around the oak, and to her surprise stood a tall, raven-haired man with black and green leather coat. He looked equally surprised, unsheathing a similar broadsword to Caerelia's from the wide crafted belt around his waist. He was a stunning fellow, whoever he was; a fine golden complexion, straight, aquiline nose, slender lips which smirked with uncertainty and eyes which flashed a mixture of blue and green.
"Who are you?" Caerelia asked, both hands on her swordhilt.
"Oh, I have many names, but I am not a native of your land. I know your name, fine one, you are Caerelia NicGabhran MacMaelcolm, as that traveller said," his voice was like smooth honey, speaking in the Sassenaich tongue which she understood perfectly.
"A bheil Gáidhlig agaibh?" she asked in her own language.
"Tha, beagan, tha mi ag radh a rithist, is thusa Caerelia," he replied faultlessly.
"So, you saw him too? Does his prediction apply to you?" she asked again.
"I know not of what the man spoke, but he seemed to know you very well. He was in spirit, that I know too," the stranger replied.
"Give me your name, stranger, you are in the king's wood, his majesty is gracious to those seeking sanctuary, if that is what you seek!" Caerelia heard her voice rise in tone. She did not know what she felt; a mixture of fear, puzzlement and something she did not understand, a feeling she dared not even name.
"I am Loki, prince of Asgard, the one they called Trickster, lord of chaos, troublemaker, all those who despise me that is," he replied.
Caerelia gripped her sword tighter. "I know of you, my father told me stories when I was a girl. My brother couldn't get enough of your mischievous adventures, but we did not think you were real! So, where is Asgard's kingdom? This is Alba, kingdom of Cinneach MacGabhran MacMaelcolm, and I am the king's champion, so I suggest you declare your intentions, mischief-maker, or prepare to demonstrate your fighting skills!" she retorted.
Loki laughed, a mocking, careless tone which riled her, "Fight? A mere girl? Oh believe me, I have heard of you too, and I struggle to believe that a child such as you can be her country's champion! Where is your famous warband?" he said, a sarcastic smile playing on his fine mouth.
"You dare question me? Without even striking a blow? Then more fool you, Loki of Asgard, I'll tame your ill-mannered tongue!" Caerelia was now angry at his words. Not one of her countrymen questioned her ability, so for some stranger from a far away land of mythical legend to call her a mere girl was enough to ignite her temper.
"Ooh! As fiery as your red hair! Then I shall enjoy this sword-play, little one, begin, begin!" Loki sneered.
Caerelia swung her sword straight into his as he lifted it to deflect her blow. She followed it up with another resounding clash, sending the stranger staggering backwards. "Fight then, stranger, fight this girl and she'll give you a taste of cold steel!" she hissed.
He was laughing again, "You know little of me, I am the very god of mischief, the son of Laufey, the last Frost Giant, foster-son of Odin, king of Asgard!"
Their swords clashed and flashed in the wood, small twigs being sliced as they attacked each other fiercely. "You are no ancient power, you are a man like any other, don't claim anything other than your conjuring act for the boys earlier! The Empress of the Easterlands can shape-shift, that is nothing, merely magic learned from the grimoires of the past!" Caerelia cried.
"Nothing? You call my powers nothing? I was born of ice and fire, of chaos and mayhem! Loki is everything Odin wishes he was! They thought to mock me, and now they seek me in fear of their end!" he retorted.
"You know nothing of power, you have not seen the army of the dead fighting on behalf of the living, as did the spirits of Alba's ancient clans on the day of our great battle against our enemies! Can you raise the dead?" Caerelia jibed.
"Can you call fire to your hand with a word? Let me show you!" Loki whirled around, avoiding her sword and opened his hand towards her. She dived instinctively out of the way, a split second before a blast of green and yellow flame shot out of Loki's palm and scorched a tree behind her.
"Vandal! There'll be none of that on the king's property!" Caerelia snapped, leaping forward, her sword arm outstretched, the blade connecting with Loki's chest. He staggered backwards, surprised at her swiftness.
"You have fire of your own, little pet, you could outshine Freya herself with it!" Loki charmed, as he tried to grab her with his left arm. She seized his wrist and twisted it backwards, causing him to gasp in pain. He swiped his sword at her arm, slicing a neat shaft through the cotton, bringing a ribbon of blood to the surface. Caerelia let go and swung her sword with both hands towards his neck, "Avalon's power of command subdue this fool!" she cried.
Loki was quicker; his sword blocked hers, the steel sparking as the two blades connected. Caerelia roared and pushed hard, smacking Loki into the trunk of the broad lime tree behind him. She leaned her whole weight against him, but was puzzled that the swords sizzled and crackled against each other like lightning. Loki grabbed Caerelia's short hair with his free hand and pulled her head back. "What is this? Witchcraft?" he demanded.
"My sword is my father's. He was Alba's champion before me, this blade he used against Sassain's grasping king, and sliced his head from his shoulders like the vile, murderous dictator he was! It is named Avalon by its creator, Wayland, the blacksmith trained by the best craftsmen on earth! His blades are supernatural, but of them there are only seven. For this to happen must mean your sword is one of his too!" Caerelia snapped, feeling the strength in his grip.
Loki looked down at the blades crossed against his chest, and suddenly the rune inscription on his made sense. "Ha, now it is revealed, the rune reads I am the king's blade; White Fire is my name. Wayland, the king of the smiths! I thought it was my legacy! My father surely inherited it from the crafter himself! White fire, the flame that creates in the smith's forge, the converse of what I am, the bringer of destruction!"
"That is as may be, but no sword of Wayland will defeat its brother! So, tell me, Loki, does this make you the Green Man of whose coming I was warned?" Caerelia said sharply, taking one hand off her hilt and sinking her nails into his wrist.
He hissed and let go her hair. "I know not, but you are more than a worthy adversary if you wield a sword of Wayland. He was trained by Divalin and his brothers, they are the dwarf lords of the deep, with them lies the secret of making both weapons and jewellery which everyone desires to own. My foster-sister Freya fell under their spell concerning a necklace they named Brisigamen."
"The one you stole from her, if the story is true?" Caerelia commented.
"I had to, Odin asked me to get it from her to uncover her foolishness. But you are no fool, Caerelia, I beg your pardon for my … facetiousness," Loki's eyes danced with excitement.
Caerelia pushed Avalon hard against Whitefire, watching the sparks of green, red and white glitter off both surfaces. "Don't try and charm me, Loki, I'm a warrior, not a maid!" she retorted. "There is green in your eyes, green on your coat and your tunic, I wonder if that's what my father meant. So, what mean you that Asgard runs in fear of you?"
He looked at her, admiringly, "They have already sealed the fate of my sons, and now they're coming after me. Odin knows that their end is at hand and that I will lead the rebel army on the day of Ragnarök, when Asgard will fall. They think by imprisoning me they will stop it, but all that will do is delay the inevitable!" Loki's eyes seemed to soften as he pronounced the words, now talking in Caerelia's own language as fluently as he could in the Sassenaich one.
"So, what are you telling me? You came looking for me, why? Because you thought I'd take pity on you?" Caerelia asked, without malice.
"No! I expect no pity, I was born to be a king, I will bow to no man, what I wish is sanctuary, a place to escape my pursuers, at least… for a while anyway," Loki answered, his demeanour suddenly sincere.
"Sanctuary. And you know that as the king's champion that is one of the things I can give, I can take you under royal protection if you agree to the terms. I wonder that such an arrogant man as you could even contemplate it, considering you have just declared you bow to no man!" Caerelia retorted.
He smiled like a boy who had stolen apples from a neighbour's orchard, "I didn't say I wouldn't bow to any woman, though, did I?"
"Huh, that would be a spectacle to see, Mischievous One! So, you cannot defeat me, I cannot defeat you while we are armed with blades of Wayland's making, do you then agree to go with me to the palace and ask the king to gain protection? He is my relative you see, the Clan Gabhran are the rulers of Alba, they founded it under Fergus Mór MacErc, many generations ago. My father and King Cinneach were first cousins. In our law, anyone from the royal clan may be king or queen if they can lead an army and be father, or indeed mother to their clansmen. So, you speak to one of royal blood if that concerns you," Caerelia explained.
He laughed a little, "Yes, I would not expect less from someone who has fought so fiercely yet with chivalry and graciousness. And yes, I will agree to go with you, but not as a vanquished foe, as a traveller seeking sanctuary!"
"Agreed… now, I already don't trust your words, so, what surety can you give me of your sincerity?" she asked.
"I will give you my sword if you let me move an inch!" Loki grinned.
Caerelia stepped back, allowing Loki to shift position. He examined the half-moon indentations on the back of his hand from her nails. One had drawn blood. "I should call you Firefly, you bite like one!" he commented blithely.
"Your sword, Loki," she replied seriously.
He handed her the weapon, which she took. She then dug both blades in the undergrowth and swung a punch at his stomach, causing Loki to double up in agony. Caerelia followed up the blow with another to his chin, sending him over on his back, gasping in pain.
"Darak! Darak where are you? I've got us a fugitive!" Caerelia yelled. She seized Avalon in her grip and placed her foot on Loki's chest. Leaning down over him, she snarled. "You will never call me 'pet' or 'girl' again! I am Caerelia NicGabhran, and I bow to no man for any cause, save my king!"
Loki sighed, "Firefly, then! You bite like one!" he muttered, and sank back against the bracken.
