The Bluestones – a novel

PROLOGUE

He was a stranger with a voice belonging to no tribe, to no land and to no brother; but very soon he would become known to all who had ever lived.

     He ran for his life. Frantic. Petrified. Across the plains of the vast clearing. Over the uneven ground, tripping and falling onto the wet grasses beneath him. He could see safety in the forest up ahead as the new rays of dawn pierced through them. It was there that he dwelled and knew each tree like a friend.

The tribal leader that was settled outside the forest thought this man far too dangerous to be kept alive. He had spoken of many things that they did not understand. He spoke to the sun. He spoke to the moon. He knew the stars that travelled and those that did not. In the forests he whispered to the serpents and he whispered to the eagles. He showed the things that only the spirits could see. Those, that were hidden and yet to be found; in the waters and in the earth, in the air and in the fires.

And now, he was being chased, running for his life. He had pleaded with the leader for an alliance between all the warring tribes of these lands that would bring all of them eventual peace. The man had travelled far and wide and had seen the death and the suffering. This tribal leader however was a strong and powerful man, too proud to take his guidance. The leader already had an Elder who became jealous of his knowledge, and so, advised this warrior to murder. He was the man who played with the snakes and the eagles, who wore their feathers and their scales and skulls. He was the man who came to them many times and was always cast out. He came to them too many times and this was his last chance.

This was his last time.

He could hear the blood thirst approaching and could smell the lick of flame in the putrid fat of their torches. He could hear the brutal tribal leader heading the war crying. The man hated that sound, that shouting. The familiar sound all hunters make just before they spear the boar. It filled his thoughts with a strangulating sickness. He was dry mouthed and choking at the neck – unable to breathe.

He barely noticed the river approaching as his pace forced him sliding down the bank, right into the cold rush of the flow. Moments passed. He felt almost invisible now. He thought to remain there, unseen, but he could still hear the tribe approaching.

They were getting louder.

He battled against the flow of the river to reach out to the other side, fumbling away in the low light of the morning; trying to grab onto something, onto anything. Clawing up, bit by bit, and finally he was on top of the embankment. He could not stand now. He tried but his knees gave and he was out of the last bit of breath and the last bit of energy. He looked back at the blurry mass of the tribe closing in on him fast. Their torches glowing – high in one hand and their spears and axes in their other. The torch fires seemed to him now strangely peaceful. It reminded him of the fire flies he encountered one summer night as a child, he was lost in the deep woods and they showed him the way out. A light in the dark was always welcome, he told himself.

He had no strength left to carry on. He turned his head on them and faced the forest up ahead. It was so close, yet too far. He closed his tired eyes and began to speak. He did not know how he was saying words. He did not know what he was saying. He whispered to the great spirits in the skies above and to all the spirits in the earth below. To his companions that slithered. To his companions that ascended.

His eyes remained so closed and his face scrunched up in so much fear that he only just realised the noise behind him was lowering. He opened his eyes and turned slowly behind him. He could see the faces of the tribe on the other side of the embankment. More behind them were slowing down where the others stood. They were all facing his way but they were not looking at him. They were confused, and they were looking up and to the beyond. His breathing began to soften as he turned his head to the far forest again. The man then spanned the horizon and tilted his head up.

There – a bright star moved ever so slowly across the dawning skies. He was transfixed to this. They all were. He did not hear them; he did not hear the birds. He only noticed there had been a dawn chorus when they had stopped their singing. Now it was silent as the night again, but lighter than the morning dawn should ever have been.

The sky did not whisper back. It did not speak aloud…It would scream.

He could feel the silence and sense the stillness. But it was all too uneasy. He watched as the star grew larger as it moved over the sky. It was at this point that he could see the beautiful shifting colours around it like it had snared and tangled a rainbow on its path. He noticed the lands becoming brighter by the second as the star became larger. Behind him his shadow grew longer and darker like a large black cloak. He could also sense that the tribe on the other side of the riverbank were slowly backing up. Just then a massive burst of birds ripped away from the forests like a rush of black smoke. He saw the eagles soar above him and away from their home.

His face was full of childlike wonderment. Somehow he managed to get off his knees and rise up. His heartbeat was not pumping as fast as it did before and his breathing was easier. He could feel his whole body becoming more relaxed and could also feel that the tribes people behind were not. The whole outer rim of his head began to tingle. He could feel the tiny wisps of his beard and long straggly hair gently rise and pull towards this falling star.

He could see its pathway – heading for the forest up ahead. The dawn now became day. Nearer. Brighter. More intense. They could all feel it. They could all smell it. Some of the tribe started to run away. Others remained with their mouths agape. Now they all stood there, friend and foe together, to bear witness.

The star flamed through from behind the clouds – dissolving them instantly. Burning and deafening. They could all feel its heat and feel the beast in its beauty. His watering eyes strained against the light as his pupils became pin points and his face was a spectre of itself. All was dreamy, all was strangely slow. Heading right into the forest.

A flash of white light exploded into existence; blazing brilliantly.

The Earth convulsed in a deep sharp shock of a breath. Hot light cascaded across and towards the sky flattening the forest. The rumbling thunder bellowed to beyond hearing as the filthy dark heat shouted across the lands punching towards them all, scorching the soils in its wake.

He tried to turn away and put his hand over his face as he became a sudden ball of flame – hurled back into the river. Searing heat steamed at its water. On the other side the tribe was blown off their feet. Their silent screaming faces being engulfed by the fire.

Fiery stone and dark earth dust spat out, rose to the zenith and gently arced. The flaming rocks howled back down and stabbed into the earth, breaking into bits and predatory to the remaining scurry left behind.

Shadow overcame the earth. Darkness in the river. He could not yet feel his pain. He felt like he was back in the womb surrounded by the cool of its flow and the floating cup of its lightness. Time faded on for this man and the rage began to sooth. The exhausted and scorched blackness of the earth and the smoking hot soils were above him. The slow snow of ash began to trickle down. The now darkened clouds became thunderous and pregnant with lightning.

His head smashed through the surface of the misted river. He fought out for a huge deep breath of the life giving air. His face was bruised and burned with a deep wound on his forehead and he could feel the warm blood come trickling down. He exhaled out, choking and coughing in the foul burnt air. He reached for the embankment, fingers grabbing at the mud. The fire had burned off his garments and he was naked now, bruised and burned from the blast. He scrambled to the top of the embankment and managed to stand up. He could see the devastated forest. It had made a clearing, a huge circular formation. On the outer rim the trees burned, the smoke pluming into the dark of that morning.

There was something in the air that he could sense. Something different about the place around him. Something so amazing that he only dreamed it before but forgot. The whole circular clearing was charged with energy. A strange light was appearing in the distance and it was Blue, the colour of a midday summer sky; and it was heading for him. He looked on at the circular clearing up ahead. The blue flames were so beautiful and gentle. His whole body was tingling. He could feel it all over his skin. It felt like he had stepped into a thundercloud.

It flowed and caressed across the land, Licking the trees and rocks and boulders, gently moving over towards him. His bloodshot red eyes were wide open. His mouth began to drop. He raised his arms to embrace it. He could see it now, he remembered his dream. The remaining tribes-people in the far distance held witness as the flickering sky blue wave of light now enshrouded him.

He bathed in its rapture. He felt it. He felt all of it. He felt it through his reddened eyes. He felt the blood flowing through him. The air in his lungs. The pain in his broken body. The power in this wonderful nature and the enchantment surrounding it. The awakening of something deep within him, and it seemed like forever.

The morning sun had at last pierced through the darkened clouds. Time moved on and he lowered his arms as the blue waves began to fade out. Now he could see an avenue from the river where he stood to the circular impact site ahead. The man breathed in now easy and confident. He slowly walked up towards the clearing along the path. He knew now that the spirits were with him.

The sky had spoken. None would argue.

 

# # #

 

The remaining tribes’ people left far behind in the settlement were mostly the women and their children. Around the circumference the children watched him closely, pensive, their little torches alight whilst their mothers searched and wept for their dead. They had come to see this strange man, curious as to why he stood there naked in the middle of the crater staring up at the black night. They all began to think why he never blinked and were transfixed by his own stare.

One half of his face and body was very badly burned as he turned away from that oncoming wave of fire. The skin was starting to peel and look like the scales of his snakes; and the children could smell the burns from there. He did not feel any pain though. He was concentrating on something else. In his eyes were the blurred reflections of the night sky. He looked further and deeper; into the black of his pupil he could see the full moon. The stars that remained still in their familiar patterns and the stars that travelled. His eyes could no longer hold it. The pain became a watering and he had to eventually blink which caused the children to twitch their heads. He then quickly snapped his whole body around – the children each reared back in surprise. He paused there for a few moments before his eyes began to roll back and he collapsed down.

The children stood up. They looked at each other and murmured. Two of them came down slowly into the crater. Others soon followed. They poured water over his face and in his mouth whilst two others helped to put their own warmed furs from their bodies on him. They then all helped to carry him off. It took a lot of effort and it took many of their tiny hands, but they managed it. They carried him out of there and passed their shocked and weeping mothers over their partner’s remains. The mothers saw their children move passed and they slowed their tears. The children were sad of course for their dead, but more saddened for their mothers. This man they carried was kind to them, he made them laugh and he seemed to understand them more than their fathers ever did. Eventually the mothers followed the little ones with the man back to the settlement as well.

 

# # #

 

Many days passed for the man’s health to return to him. It could have been as long as one cycle of the full moon. In his waking dreams he saw the eagle and he saw the snake and he saw the fire. He remembered seeing the days pass, the stars out overhead of the circular opening in the shelter and the moon wax and wane passed it. He could hear a child sing to him too sometimes and could feel the soft touch of a woman’s hands as she bathed his burns with soft water. He could smell herbs and flowers infused into it. All this was a comfort to him and he did not feel alone.

One bright morning, when he was strong enough, he rose from his sleep and dressed himself in some clothing left by his bed. He was limping as he walked out into the bright day. He had to close his eyes at first as he had not seen the sun for so long. His pulse started quickening when he saw many men were waiting right outside. Word had got out to other tribes in settlements from far away and now they had joined the fatherless children to see what this man was all about. They seemed friendly. They parted their line to make a path for him. He walked through nearly falling over from his limp. One of the men caught him in time and steadied him to his feet. Another man, older and wiser who must have been the medicine man of his tribe gave him his staff to aid his step.

He journeyed forth through the settlement and passed the other tribes people heading back towards the burnt forest in the distance. They all slowly followed him. No one spoke to him. The children’s’ mothers said he only learned a few of their tribe’s words but every time he came back he learnt more and more and each new word and sentence he said scared them even greater. None of the tribes dared go into the new clearing in the forest and the mothers were strict on their children not play curious there.

When he arrived he looked at the place with new eyes and in the clear light of that day. Among the boulders of blackened earth and debris and rocks he noticed something shining straight at him. It shone like the sun does on river and sea. He moved over to the shiny rock and noticed that it looked very different to the other boulders. This one was lighter in colour and it looked like a gnarly bit of tree root. The sun shone on an open crack in it revealing the glow beneath the crust. He poked at it with his staff. He paused for a moment then hit it harder. It seemed to sing back at him. It was not like any other rock he knew. He bent down and placed his hand over it. He placed his fingers into the crack and could feel the warmth of it. He thought that even on the hottest day, no cold stone should be this warm.

That evening, right in the middle of this tribe’s settlement a great fire was burning. Not a fire that would cook a boar or a stag but the kind used in ceremonial pyres to burn tribal leaders into the spirit world. It had taken most of the strong men there to carry and roll that boulder up to their settlement and now it was in the middle of this mighty fire. They fanned the fire, added more wood to it. They chopped down the remaining trees in the forest to make it as hot as they could possibly imagine. The man thought that it should be warmer than the pyre, warmer than the sun itself. They all saw the large dusty rock become white hot when the evening arrived.

Other men and women during that day spent the time carving into a long heavy stone. They carved a shape that resembled their spears and their axes. This one, however, was wider and shorter.

Something happened to the large boulder of hot white in that fire. Only the man was expecting it. He quickly ushered the people to bring the carved stone out and ram it in just underneath it. They all looked on as the boulder began to drip what looked like the brightest golden honey they could imagine. There it poured – filling up the crevice in the carved stone. They were all still with him when he pounded a heavy curved rock into the dimmed glow of this mysterious thing and the sparks of fire flew out heavy and plenty. Each thud of his rock made this liquid stone sing to them all. It was a sound that they never heard of before. They thought that it might be the spirits of their ancestors. After awhile he had asked them to leave and to return with sand and leathers. They could here him in his shelter polishing it all night as they did sometimes on their small stones.

Time moved on from that night to see six full moons wax and wane. Word of this man stretched out onto all the four corners of these lands. A mass gathering of tribes was now taking place at the new clearing of the old forest. In that time a massive stone, three times the height of this man was carried away from the banks of the hills a few days walk away. It had taken all the men and women to bring it, and now it stood, erected into the earth, just above the shallow hole. They also made under his instruction steps from wood and bound with tree bark.

They all hushed their chatter as he walked up those steps, his staff in hand and cloaked by dark heavy bear furs. He stepped to its peak and now and below him he could see them all. The thousands of tribes’ people, man women and child were all awaiting him. He raised his arms up to them like a mother greeting a child and called out. His voice reached them all; be it on the wind, by the spirits of their ancestors or by something altogether else. He spoke with such clarity and with a voice so loud and soft it was like he was standing next to each and every one of them, talking as a friend would. His arms swayed with each stress of a word. His staff could be seen from the very far reaches of the gathering, controlled in time to his voice.

He then raised his long finger to the bright blue winter sky above. He went quiet. His hand then came down to go inside his cloak. Before they could make out what it was that he had brought out it was already stabbed high over his head and into the air. Each and every one of those tribes took a sharp catch of breath in. The front of this gathering didn’t know what to do at first, but one after one they sank to their knees. Some of the women and children started to weep with smiles on their faces. Some men just stood and stared at it. Some held their hands up in welcoming gesture as he had done. Their palms opened out. Their fingers stretched apart. Something told them that this was right, and then one after the other it carried on like a wave throughout the masses. They all stared at it. This mighty and wonderful thing. It was as if this man had captured the roots of the white fire that came from their thundering clouds. He had captured the rage and soothed it. He had captured the heat and cooled it. A beam. A ray of brilliant light. It pierced the sky and radiated beautiful in the glare of the mid day sun.

He bellowed out to them that what he was holding was a pure symbol. The spirits had sent it to him so there could be no more warring among men. Man must live in peace with others and himself. Man must understand who they are and where they are. He would lead them, and they would follow. He would teach and they were to be taught.

Once finished he turned around to walk back down those steps when a child’s voice near the front shouted out. Everyone grew silent again. The child and asked him what no one yet knew.

The child had asked him his name.

The children of this past would bring forth this story to the future, and that would later become the legend. They would tell the story of the man who had spoken to the spirits in the air and in the fires. he who became a father to everyone, to the young and to the old. The man who captured the power of our nature from the sky. The man who forged his own arm into spear, as pure as the spirits and stronger than the sharpest of flints.

He was the eagle and he was the snake. It was he who had soared with the serpent into the heart of the sun where it was forged and born anew. It was he who had awoken the beast that burned through their skies in all its fury.

The man paused there and tried to remember his name. It had been so long since he had heard it spoken. All was silent. They all waited, breath baited. He turned back again and saw the little boy who had asked.

He pulled the dark hood of his cloak over his head and gripped at his staff. He looked at him for a few moments. The boy could just about see the wry smile forming in the shadow of his hood.

“My name”, he gently replied, “…is Myrddyn.”

…and he was to become known as The Dragon.