The Ghosts of Dunmail Raise pt. 3
Conclusion
This piece is part of the Choc Board, a 30 day writing challenge instigated by Chocolate Knox. You can read his Substack here. This is day 29.
What follows is the third and final part of a fictional telling of a Cumbrian legend. Read part 1 Here, and part 2 here.
I struggled a little against the bonds that held me, but it did no good. I tried to hold back my feet from the water’s edge, but the spear in my back pressed me on. I braced myself for the chill of water around my ankles.
But it didn’t come. I looked down at my feet and saw that instead of plunging into the frigid tarn, I was walking on its surface.
The blade pushed me forward, and my bonds pulled me on. With every step the gap between the slate lakebed and my feet grew, until my moon-cast shadow disappeared entirely and I was walking over the depths of the lake. I felt heavy on the water’s surface, as I had felt heavy before. It seemed to me then that any minor misstep or misplaced weight would shatter the glassy veil that kept me from the hadal world below. But, with blade and bond leading me on, the surface held until I was at the dead centre of the lake.
Then I stopped, and for the first time in that night’s journey I took stock of my surroundings. The moon had risen higher now, and its brilliance lit-up the vale I was standing in. The surface of the tarn seemed to hold its breath, such was its stillness. Curiously, the only thing that disturbed its surface was a trail of footprints that followed my path from the bank, as if it was earth un-used to steps of substance.
On the shore I could see the phantom host turned away like blind sentinels, hiding their faces from the vision of starlight reflected in the pool. I looked down at the water and saw what I had been sent for.
I saw the heavens spread out in perfect reverse replica and in the centre of the vision were seven stars that shone brighter than the rest, and one of the seven surpassed even the others. The crown of King Dunmail hung in the deep heavens of that reflected sky, and the ghost wanted me to retrieve it.
I knew then that I was in greater danger than I had ever been in before. For though every other star I could see in the pool was at its post in the sky above me, those seven were below. I had heard of the perils of climbing the heavens, but what happens to those who dive to grasp stars that have fallen?
I faltered, even as I took a step forward. I was ready to turn and run and meet the consequences. But as I took that step, those seven stars aligned on my brow; a shining circlet of the heavens and a gem as bright as the morning on my forehead. I stopped and stared at my reflection, transfixed by the image before me.
As I looked, the reflection of the sky shifted and changed, every point joining together in one grand vision. I no longer stood in a moonlit vale, but amidst a crowd of people.
The image was indistinct, but I knew that I was in the centre of it. I said something, there was laughter, and every figure shifted in response, hurrying to do exactly as I had spoken.
The scene changed, and I saw myself stood on a podium of some kind, speaking to a crowd who hung on every word. They wrote down all that I said, so that no one would ever forget me or my wisdom.
The vision shifted once again, and this time another man was stood beside me, addressing the crowd, and his words displeased me. I said so, and at that the points of light converged on him and cast him out into the darkness.
I stood crowned with the stars of heaven, and it seemed good to me.
The vision disappeared and, my trepidation dissolving, I reached out to take the crown. The seven stars seemed to hover in my hands for a moment; They were mine and I would command their spheres.
Suddenly, something cracked across my head, and I felt the icy chill of the tarn wash over me. I gasped for air, just managing to stop myself from taking a lungful of water. The lake came up around my head, something grabbed me by the arm, and I lost consciousness.
I’m not certain how long I was unaware of the world. I only suppose that it wasn’t very long, for the next thing I knew I was being dragged through the shallows over sharp pebbles, and onto the shore of the lake.
I lay for a moment to catch my breath, then tried to open my eyes. I saw the host as I had left them, turned to face away from the tarn. Their commander was stood as he had been before, and I felt sure that he wanted to reach me.
Between us however, stood a man dressed in a tweed suit. He had a sword, sheathed at his hip, and I could see that he was talking to the ghost, though I couldn’t hear what he was saying.
The ghost raised his spear, at which the man touched his hand to his sword. It seemed that much hung on that moment, and for a second or two the man and the ghost stood, poised for a conflict I knew nothing of.
Then the ghost lowered his spear, raised his horn, and blew. He turned, walked into the darkness, and his phantom host followed him. A night breeze began to blow, fresh and cold.
The tweed-suited man walked over to me and pulled me to my feet.
“Do you think you can walk?” he said.
I told him that I could, and so we set off back down the side of the hill towards the road, and the car that I had left so long ago.
That journey was as silent as the first, except for the bleat of a couple of sheep that we disturbed as we picked our way down the fellside. After a short while, the road, and the car came in sight. And before long we found ourselves side-by-side, leaning on the bonnet.
The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pipe and lit it. I reached into the car and pulled out mine. I turned to him as I packed the bowl and tamped down the tobacco.
“What would have happened” I asked, “If I had taken the crown”
He took a deep draw on his pipe.
“The same thing that happened to their king” he said, reaching down to pick up a rock from the ground by his feet. “The same thing that happens to any who try to claim the stars from he who holds them already”
At that, he threw the rock. It flew a short way and splintered as it hit a pile of stones lying at the side of the road.
We stood there in silence for a long while then, smoking our pipes and looking at the sky, the smoke rising up to a throne beyond the stars, until a faint light could be seen on the horizon.
We got up, he opened the bonnet of the car and tinkered with it for a few moments. I got into the driver’s seat, put the key into the ignition and the car started.
I looked up to thank the man, but he was gone.
After half an hour of driving, I arrived at my hotel, fell asleep, and woke up a few hours later ready for a full breakfast.
I have driven that road several times since then, though never at night. Every time I pass that cairn beside the road I stop the car, and look for the man in the tweed suit, though I have never seen him again.
And every time I stop at that cairn, I listen to the dumb sheep bleating, and, taking a deep breath of mountain air, I lift my eyes to the hills, for now we have something to talk about.