I considered this for a moment. Twenty miles a day was painfully slow, and the breaks were another delaying factor. I tried to parse out the timing in my head; it would take weeks of inching across the land. I sighed and squatted down on my heels.
“Here,” I said, pointing in front of me and sketching a line in the dirt. “This is where we are, on the eastern tip of the Chalk uplands. We need to follow the crest of the Chalk west, walking for eighty miles, then cross through the ten miles of lowlands to the Cotswold hills. We should be able to hire a boat to take us across the River Severn at Glevum and from there walk along the south coast of the land of – what is that tribe called?”
“The Silures,” Belis said, frowning at the sketched lines. “If I’m reading this right.”
“Silures, yes, that sounds familiar. We walk the entire length of the coast to the furthest point of the land. There lies Caer Sidi, the physical entrance to Annwn.”
She peered at the rough map again, tugging at a coppery lock of her hair.
“Won’t we be exposed up on the Chalk? There’s only a handful of villages up there to get supplies from. Wouldn’t it be easier to walk straight from here to Glevum? It would certainly be faster.”
I nodded. “True enough, but the Chalk is well wooded still, and I know the land well. The red cloaks have never liked it. They take the old road south of the hills or the oak road north of the Thames. Even if they follow us they’ll go slow and careful. We’ll have an advantage.”
Something was still bothering her. I could see the struggle in her face as she decided whether to speak. Perhaps she was finally learning some respect.
“Isn’t the Chalk, well, haunted? The stories say that it belonged to the old kingdom.” She lowered her voice. “Giants, redcaps, wights.”
I chuckled. Not respect, then, just mortal suspicions. “The only thing that haunts the Chalk is the dogs and me. It’s one of our favourite spots in the south. The giants have long since migrated north or intermarried with the humans. As for the rest, well, they can be found anywhere in Britain, whether inhabited or not. You are just as much at risk in your own bed in the marshes as up on the Chalk.”
She looked a little unsure still. The Iceni lived in the fens and flatlands of the east. They misliked hills. I knew she would feel safer on the plains and I was certain the Chalk was the best path. If a Roman patrol followed us, then we would stand a better chance out in the wilds than on the main roads where reinforcements could appear quickly. I looked back at Belis and waited for her to give in.
She nodded and straightened up, grabbing a long oak spear from where it was leaning against a tree. The weapon seemed tocomfort her and she squared her shoulders as she wrapped long fingers around its smooth grip. “The Chalk it is.”
We started walking. It was slow going at first, picking our way through the trees. The woods were thick, and the only paths were the occasional deer trails, footprints showing where a herd had wandered through. I kept tripping over my new boots, my feet unused to the constriction as well as the itching of the knobbly socks. I had started out in front, assuming my rightful place as goddess and leader of the expedition. Belis had accepted this without complaint but after the third time I got caught in a trailing bramble she stepped around me and began cutting a path for us with a long knife, slinging her spear over her shoulder.
I didn’t understand it. I ran through deeper forests than these almost every day and never got tangled up or twisted an ankle. There must be something different about these woods. I made a note to come back when I was restored and inspect them thoroughly for pucks and wights.
Perhaps I could gather some of the more civic-minded members of the Wild Hunt to assist me. I refrained from mentioning my suspicions of an infestation to Belis, not wanting to scare her fragile mind.
The ground began to steepen underfoot, and the trees were thinning around us. I was glad to be getting out of the forest, even if there was something strange happening to my breathing. It was quickening, though I hadn’t changed my pace. My mouth was a little dry, too. Once we got up on the Chalk I would feel better. The fresh winds would blow away the closeness of the dark woods.
Belis paused on the very edge of the trees and put down the pack she had been carrying. I stopped beside her and peered over her shoulder. As the woods had thinned out she had sheathed her blade and begun plaiting her hair. Now it sat in two neat braids, arcing from her forehead all the way down to her mid-back. Each plait was as thick as my wrist and I was struck by the strange urge to tug on them as if to ring a bell. Belis pulledout a thin grey scarf and wrapped it around her head, knotting it in a small bow at the nape of her neck.
“Red hair isn’t that common,” she said, noticing me watching her. “I’d rather not be immediately visible from a distance, not when there’s a Roman legion camped nearby. I imagine they’ll still be picking over the battlefield today but soon they’ll notice they’re missing three rather important bodies and start sending out search parties. These aren’t my lands and I wouldn’t blame a peasant farmer for giving me up if a patrol had him at sword point.”
I considered her words and decided to pick up my pace. Romans had never bothered me before, but I had seen their gift for organised destruction. I had no wish to be on the sharp end of one of their javelins in this fragile human body.
Judging from the position of the sun it was just after midday. At the speed Belis had suggested, we should be able to reach the valley of the River Boulburn before nightfall. I hoped she could keep up with me.
I made it almost a quarter of the way up to the crest of the Chalk before I had to stop.
Something was seriously wrong. I slumped to the ground, unable to carry on. Belis, who had been plodding along behind me, caught up in a moment.
“What is it?” she asked, looming over me like a storm cloud.
“I think this body is dying,” I said, clutching my chest. “The heart is beating so fast I think it’s going to just explode. My lungs feel like they’ve been peeled raw but also somehow like there’s a wasp nest inside my ribcage. My stomach hurts, my legs, my thighs, my calves are burning, literally. I think they might be on fire.”
“Oh, really?” Belis looked surprisingly unsympathetic.
“Yes,” I continued, “there are stabbing pains in my side. I think some evil creature has cast a death spell on me. I thought there was something strange in those woods. You were probably too slow to notice it. So this is the ignoble end of the Nightshade, after thousands of years. You’d better go on without me. If my soul makes it to Annwn I’ll tell the lord you’re coming.”
Belis bent down and took me by the arm. She pulled me to my feet with no discernible effort and brushed the chalk dust off my cloak.
“You’re not dying,” she said. “You’re just a little out of breath. You are as red as a strawberry in case you wanted to add that to your list of symptoms.”
“What? No, I run all the time, I run over mountains and gorges and steep valleys. The problem isn’t me. This is my fate, my final end.” I made to slump back to the grass.
“Well, maybe your old body could.” She held me up. “But this one isn’t used to it. Come on, I’m not leaving you here to feel sorry for yourself. I need you, remember? We’ll take it slow but we’re not stopping ’til we get to the top of the hill.”
