'The Forest o' Tranc'

                                       

The Forest o' Tranc

By
Steve Ward


Through the harsh Pictish moors of northern Caledonia, whose lands had not been taken by the Roman legions of past centuries or the Angles and Saxons of recent times, rode a company of 'hobblers'. They where named hobblers for the way their small but swift animals moved. The riders where lean and lightly armoured for agility. Their long spears tied to their horses and short swords where close to hand. From horses hung the beheaded and bloody skulls of their recent Angle enemies. What parts of bare olive flesh that showed where covered with complex tattoo patterns. A symbol of a Pictish wolf etched into the brawny forearm of the leader of the small band of mounts indicated that he was a toisesog, a royal military leader of Pictish warriors. He was Taran Mac Du who had been attending to personal matters south in the kingdom of Fib. A personal matter that was already spreading as the grisly legend known as 'The Mac Du Larder' to the Celts and 'The Dark Raider Massacre' to the Angles.

Taran and the company had been riding hard since King Bridei's, The High-King of Pictland, messenger had spoken orders that the black toisesog was to meet with the other forces in the Kingdom of Ce to beat down the last of the Rid Clan, The warriors of King Drosten; King of Ce, and rival claimant for the Pictish throne. The Pictish confederation had more than one king. Many rulers despised being ruled and desired to hail as over-lord themselves. Foolish Taran thought to make the nation weak and open to attack from the Gaels and the Angles.

The heads of their Angle enemies splashed into the cold rapid torrent of the northern river. "How shall the Inglesogs speak to their ancestors from beneath the waves?" Laughed Nehhton, a thuggish looking warrior. A custom he did not know the Angles did not share with them, that your skull must be taken back to rest with your ancestors lest you roam the world alone.  

After a short rest by the Circinn river Taran's Black Company took the trail north towards the steep glens of the Ce border. They came to a wide and dense forest of birch and fern. "Not through the forest o Tranc Toisesog." Said Gede. Upon his wiry yet muscular lower arm was tattooed a wolf's head as he was a toisesog-mion, second in command. "Why not? This forest would take us straight to the Cairn Pass. We hae little time" Taran asked.
"Aye but ye do not ken o this place. Is to be avoided. Where beasts lurk."
"Nae match for spear and sword. As I hae seen afore." Replied Taran.
"Many a man has gone missing in these forests. Seeking the treasures of the finfolk." Gede said. The men where becoming impatient.
"Why should finfolk, dwellers o the sea keep their wealth on land?" Nahhton asked.
"For they accumulate gold and silver with nae real purpose like a magpie but they leave it as a trap for greedy men." Gede replied. "I would stand by yer side to battle any man Taran but nae the beasts o the other world. I shan't go." Gede said defiantly. If any other man had disobeyed his orders Taran would have him stripped of his warrior clothes and left with no horse nor weapon but the old toisesog-mion was wise and had stood by his side many times. "So be it. I shall travel with who ever will dare as our king hae nae time to wait."
"May the wulver watch over ye." Gede said before he took a half a score of men the long road around the forest.


The cold night was beginning to creep over Taran and the half dozen men he commanded. They journey through the narrow gaps in the dense Tarnc forest. Taran's dark grey eyes surveyed the landscape for danger. True this area was not known to him as he was from the Pictish lands of the south. For some time he had felt eyes watching his every move. Is Gede's foolishness playing tricks with my mind Taran thought. "They shall talk o the Mac Du Larder for years tae come." Nahhton said quietly breaking the silence. "Aye I should say so." Another replied. Taran kept quiet. He was now certain some beast was stalking them. "A wolf?" Galan, the one eyed warrior, said noticing the toisesog's searching stares. Hunger, anger and desperation had driven the young Pict this far. "Nae child o the forest will stop us now." Taran replied. He grabbed his long spear still caked with the blood of Northumbrians. His horse was slowed to a brisk trot. The others followed the action. Taran moved slowly daring the animal to show itself. From the dense black scope of endless ancient trees Taran heard a heavy foot snap a dried twig. He turned in the direction but saw no living creature. His heart raced and his arm grew fatigue from the raised spear. There was a sudden frenzy as one of the men cracked his heels and pitched his steed into a gallop. All the horses galloped as the animals tasted some danger was upon them. The forest was never ending, never clearing and never accommodating. Many a branch tore into the men's skin as they dodged the dark wilderness that fought them every step of the way. The inevitable soon happened, a great branch of a tree knocked Taran from his saddle and the animal sped off like a mad thing. The men did not even notice as the panicked horse dragged them through the foliage. "Tuilart!" Taran cursed the animal and took hold of his spear. He had lost all sense of direction. He could barley see his hand in front of his eyes. As the sound of his company grew fainted he became aware once again of something moving around, stalking him. A creature which was attempting to remain silent but Taran's keen ears could pick up the sounds of a slug eating.

After stumbling almost blind in the post Samhuinn darkness for many hours tiredness had set itself upon Taran. The Pictish warrior sat to rest a while. He rested his back against the rough bark of an old tree. Taran stared into the darkness his eyes had become accustomed to. All that filled his horizon where various shaped and shades of black. One of the shapes was out of place. It was the silhouette of a tall furry beast watching him from a distance. It seemed as tall as a man, maybe a head taller. Taran's limbs shook. Whether it was from adrenaline or fear the toisesog did not know. Nor did he have time to consider it. The tired Pict slowly rose to his feet. His muscles aching and yearning for rest before the acidic burning of fatigue returned to them. He kept his spear locked in his cold sweaty hand. The beast moved in Taran's direction. In an instant the master hunter hurled his spear. It sang threw the air with the power to kill a deer. The beast let out a wolfish yet unnatural yelp but Taran was already increasing the distance between him and what ever this beast was. As Taran ran he slid his crude dagger from his brass girdle. He felt better with some form of weapon still in his hand. Taran stopped in his tracks as a greenish bright spectre blurred in his peripheral. The figure stalked quickly in front of him. Taran's grip tightened on the steel. Moving towards him was a giant wolf, that glowed with an unnatural emerald light. The hellish hound stared at him with clear white eyes. It's body was as if a smoky composition yet it was solid. "Cu-Shee!" Taran muttered. He had no thoughts of what to do. His ear pricked at the sound of another beast approaching from his rear. They'd trapped him? "Very well!" Taran spoke clearly. "Who shall die by Taran Mac Du's blade first." He spat on the ground in defiance. The ghostly cu-shee answered his question by leaping silently towards him. It's great jaws opened showing an array of long sharp teeth. Taran braced his back leg and thrust his blade outwards. The monstrous creature howled, the first noise it had made, but the sound seemed distant  like a wolf far away. Taran looked up. His meagre blade had not come within two heads of the creature. The massive cattle sized half hung from a great silver spear. The Pict turned and saw the creature holding the spear. It was the shadow that had stalked him through the woods. It towered over him, it's heavy muscular body was covered by dark fur and it's head was that of a wolf. A wulver. Taran understood now that he hadn't been stalked he had been protected. Watched over by a devilish guardian. The wulver, sworn to protect men from the other world as the Pictish stories told. The wulver drove it's spear deeper into the green wolf's guts. Blood like liquid fire poured from the wound but nothing touched the forest floor as if the creature was there and not at the same time. The cu-shee clawed wildly the air grew denser, a smell like burning flesh. Then the great wolf was gone like a flame gone out. Taran returned his dagger to it's sheath. Taran nodded respectfully at the wolf-head. It gazed down at him and returned the gesture. Then the wolf-man vanished back into the forest's black veil.


A gloomy morning was beginning. The air was damp with approaching rain. Galan searched the horizon. His long hair clung to his face with the wet breeze. He and the rest of Taran's men had been searching for their commander. He spotted a lone figure appear on the other side of the marshy meadow. The figure grabbed his weapon, a long spear, as they drew nearer.

Taran's intensity halted as he recognised his men. "Toisesog!" Galan said. "We had thought some beast had gotten ye. Yin moment ye where upon yer hoarse and the next ye had vanished as if some winged devil had clutched ye in the murkness."
"There was otherworldly beasts in there. I did see them battle each other. Gede was right. The wulver was watching over us." Taran replied as he mounted his horse. "The Morrigan best watch over us the day Toisesog. For we hae still to battle." Nehhton said.
"Then let us ride. We shall put an end to the Rid Clan yinst and for all!" Taran shouted. The men yelled as they followed their leader. "MacDu!, MacDu!" A slogan that would stoke the fear in all those who knew what it meant.