"I have not seen a wealth of treasures such as this since I was but a child in Dardanos," Astyræ said almost reverently.
"What is this place?" Cal mused. "Where could all this wealth have come from?" They stared in wonder at the tapestries and treasures, armor and arms, jewelry and gemstones that covered the chamber. Then the Sprite flew down in a blue-blazed hurry, and his very presence interrupted the covetous curiosity of the three wide-eyed spectators.
"We must leave, now!" Deryn demanded. "Now! He is coming!"
"Who is coming?" Cal said in a distracted voice, momentarily forgetting his earlier alarm as he stood amidst the light of so many glittering and beautiful things.
Goran whirled around, shining his torch in all the different treasure-laden crevices; searching for something they could use to defend themselves with. "He's coming back?" the woodcutter asked warily. "Arm yourself, brother!"
Goran's alarm woke Cal to the danger of the situation. "Do you know him then? Who is it? What does he want?"
"I don't know him, but he must have been the one that dragged us down here in the dead of our sleep to be imprisoned with all of his other keepsakes!" Goran replied angrily.
"Meus, Meus, Meus, Meus!" The incessant, creaking speech continued, bouncing its aged voice off the walls of this forsaken place.
Goran found and reached for a sword hilt with a grunt of relief. The sword was not ornately designed; in truth, it was a rather plain blade, short and made more for thrusting than for cutting one's way through an enemy hoard. "I would prefer to have my own axe, but this one will have to do. Can't be too picky when hoarding magicians—or whatever this mumbling monster is—are after you."
He examined the stunted blade quickly, running his fingers along its edge. His face fell when he saw that this small thrusting sword was nothing more than a token from some king, or some lord of a time long since passed, with no real promise of defense. "The damned thing wouldn't even cut a torn piece of parchment," Goran said in frustrated displeasure. "Let us hope that this hoarder is terrified by decoration, because that is all that this is."
"I still have Gwarwyn," Cal reminded his friends. "It has yet to fail, even once, no matter how grim the circumstances may seem. Perhaps it has a magic of its own that we have yet to see. Look!" he said with a bit of awe as he held the glowing blade before them. "Ever since we entered this place, it has shone with both violet and silver … all at once!"
"Do you know why, groomsman?" Astyræ asked curiously.
"I do not know," Cal replied honestly. "Though I am thankful for it, and I do trust it."
"That old, rusted relic?" Goran teased. "I'll take my chances with the décor, if that's alright with you," he said with a wink as he reached out and found a bronzed shield, shaped in the feathered form of two folded wings. "At least I can stave off his wizardry with this!" he said to the others, but their gazes were held by something even more beautiful than the ancient, feathered shield. There, hidden behind the discarded piece of armor, rested a long bow made of a luminous white wood and covered with flowering, violet blooms.
"What is that?" Astyræ whispered as a wave of awe washed over the small band that beheld this newfound beauty. "I have never in all my days seen craftsmanship such as this."
"Yes, you have," Deryn said as he flew closer to the ancient bow, his voice thick with emotion. "Though it seems that this mighty weapon of old has not felt the muting of tarnish and patina—or at least, not so much as its counterpart." Deryn looked meaningfully to the sword in Cal's hand.
"What do you mean, Sprite?" the violet-eyed woman asked, almost impatiently.
Cal looked down at his glowing blade. The silver and violet leaves that adorned its ancient hilt were more radiant than he had ever seen them.
"Arianrhod," Deryn said with stunned reverence as he knelt before the still-strung bow. "This was crafted upon the silver wheel of Blodeuwedd. It was he, the very same armorist, who fashioned and forged the heavy blade you hold in your hand now, Bright Fame."
"What? But … but what is it doing here?" Cal asked, his words both enamored and unsure all in the same moment.
"I do not know that, my friend," Deryn said as he reached forth and grasped the glowing bow with his tiny hands. With great ease, he raised it up and held it in victorious gesture of wonder. "But I do know that this must be a gift, both in design and in discovery, from the providential hands of our Great Father."
Deryn flew towards Goran with the magical weapon held effortlessly out before him. "Here, Mighty Mountain, do not concern yourself with mere tokens and trinkets, for the mightiest of all strung weapons has been found this day," the Sprite said as he offered up the bow to the woodcutter.
"No, little warrior," Goran said as he raised his hands in refusal. "A weapon such as this requires more grace to wield than my calloused hands are capable of."
Deryn paused for a moment, but as he considered the woodcutter's words, a dawn of understanding lit in his eyes. "Of course," he said with a smile. "The Blade and Bow may not be held by the same two hands, save Blodeuwedd himself on the day they were birthed into Aiénor." Deryn recounted the legend as he flew towards the woman. "And so it must be that the Silver Moon falls to you, violet-eyed lady of the Wreath," he said respectfully.
Her pearl colored fingers reached out timidly and took hold of the silvery white wood. "Me?" she whispered.
"It is made of the Jacaranda tree, and beauty both mighty and terrible courses through it," the Sprite said with a meaningful glint in his eye. "Use it well."
"Meus, Meus, Meus, Meus, Meus, Meus." The soul-chilling sound came yet again—but this time it was far closer and much louder, and the possessive tone woke them all from their wonder.
"There!" Goran said nervously as he pointed to the space where the ancient weapon had rested. "Grab that quiver of arrows if you plan to do anything more than just look at it!"
Astyræ, still a bit overwhelmed by the relic she held, reached quickly for the white, leather quiver and slung it over her shoulder, preparing with the others to climb up and out to their freedom.
"It is beautiful, Astyræ," Cal said, still a bit in awe. "Do you know how to use it?"
"I am no stranger to the bow. My grandfather used to take me hunting with him when I was much younger."
"Good," Cal said with an appreciative and gentle clasp of her arm. "Alright then."
The group looked to Cal for direction, awaiting the instructions of their unlikely leader.
"Deryn!" Cal ordered, sensing their trepidation. "Fly up first and see to it that the way is clear. Goran and I will go next, and then," he said, turning to meet her violet and yellow gaze. "My lady, you will follow and we will leave this place together."
She smiled the sweetest smile and nodded in agreement while still fingering the ornate vines that seemed to have grown both into and out of the silvery-white bow.
"Are you ready, brother?" Cal asked his large friend.
"We have been down here in this treasure hoard for what feels like days," he said as he placed his hand upon the shoulder of the groomsman. "Aye, I have never been more ready to leave a place than I am at this moment."
Deryn drew his tiny, azure blade. He and Cal nodded their mutual understanding and then, in a wash of bright blue light, the Sprite shot up out of the pit and signaled for the group to begin their ascent.
Cal was first to climb over the ledge, so he reached down to help his woodcutter friend up and out of the glittering prison. As Goran put the soles of his boots upon the dust of the cavern floor, the words of their captor cut through the torch-lit air with a deafening closeness.
"Meus," the hoarder whispered.
The hair upon the back of Cal's neck stood erect in heightened alert.
"Meus," came the satisfied murmur again, too close this time.
Cal turned slowly with the point of Gwarwyn held out before him.
"What have I here?" said the same chilling voice, and the unexpected speech caught them by surprise.
"Is this but another prize for my collection? I may be blind, but I know beautiful things when they come near!" The voice, clearly belonging to an old man, sounded as though it were almost intoxicated by the possibility of more to possess.
"I came in search of my friends is all," Cal said loudly to the shifting creature in the darkness.
"Your friends, you say?" the creaking voice asked. "Do you also collect beau-ti-ful things? Or maybe your friends collect beautiful things? Which is why they were trespassing upon my stores?"
"There was no trespassing at all!" Goran roared in protest. "We were but passers by, seeking shelter from the darkness, when YOU captured us and threw us into this treasure pit of yours!"
"I could not see what you were doing in my cave," the hoarder said with an ominous tone as he walked into the glow of Cal's torch. "Only that you were indeed beautiful ... and worth keeping."
They could see him now. They both swallowed back a jolt of fear as they saw empty, black holes where once his eyes had been. The man stood tall and lanky; his knotted, oily hair fell in filthy tangles all about his ancient face, and his wild, grey beard covered his sagging skin. His once-white robe was frayed and tattered, hanging heavy upon his bony frame.
Astyræ made her way up the last rung of the birch ladder, peering over the top with a wary gaze. Though they knew he had no eyes to see, it seemed as though her glowing violet and yellow eyes instantly caught the attention of the blind hoarder. He shook violently, then began to rock back and forth in a singsong trance. "Meus, Meus, Meus, Meus, MEUS, MEUS!"
"Shut it!" Cal screamed violently at the strange man, stepping in front of Astyræ in a defensive stance. "She is not yours and neither are we!"
"Oh?" the hoarder said smugly. "But you are! Did you not know that it is my right, my des-tin-y, to gather, to col-lect the lost and beautiful things of this world?"
"We are not lost!" Cal insisted. "You are mistaken!"
"Oh! It is not I who is mis-tak-en," the old man said gleefully. "You are more lost than you ...
could ...
pos-si-bly ...
see."
With a quick wave of his spindly finger, the hoarder called upon some unknown magic and flung them all through the air and against the wall of the cave. The chamber echoed with the hard thud of soft flesh colliding with the cold stone. With his left hand, the hoarder called forth the birch ladder and slammed it against the chests of the two men and the violet-eyed woman, pinning them mercilessly in place against the rock.
Cal coughed violently for air as his very breath was stolen from his lungs. Astyræ screamed in horror and Goran gritted his teeth. "What do you want with us?" Cal managed to sputter out. "We don't want to take anything from your collection. Just let us go!"
"Ah ah ahh!" said the magician. "That is not how things work in my realm."
"Enough!" Deryn shouted angrily as he darted directly between the hoarder's hungry gaze and his three trapped friends. The man recoiled against the blue light that radiated all the more with the blaze of the Sprite's fury. As he did, Cal was able to free his glowing blade and dismantle the birch shackle that held them prisoner in a single slash of desperate anger.
"What is this trickery?" the hoarder shrieked in wounded disgust. "The tree guardians are dead! And beauty ... beauty ... she promised that you were no more!" As he screamed his rage, he threw his gnarly hands in a violent fit, sending a shockwave of anger reverberating throughout the cache of hoarded treasures. The collection violently clanked and crashed as the contents were jostled in the wake of his magic.
Deryn stood his ground, blade outstretched in peaceful defiance of the magician's fury. "Let them go! They are not yours to keep."
"But I found them!" he protested viciously. "MEUS! They are MEUS!"
"No, we are not," Cal said with less confidence than his blue-winged guardian had. "We belong to something greater than the mere greed of cursed, blind beggars."
"Do not speak to me about greed, boy," the hoarder said through gritted teeth. "Beauty is mine to hold, to keep, to hide ... and I will have my just due this day!"
With a flick of his hands, a storm of rocks and dust flew up in a messy cyclone of rage and hurled itself towards the three of them.
"Quickly!" Goran shouted as he held his newly found shield out before them all. Cal grabbed Astyræ and held her close to himself, ducking behind the mighty frame of the massive woodcutter. "What do you want from us?" Goran roared as the flurry of rocks beat against the bronzed feathers of his shield.
"Only what was promised me long ago, only what is mine by all rights!" the hoarder demanded.
"The cursed bind themselves to the root of their curse, chained without mercy, prisoner to their appetites," Deryn whispered to them. He zoomed towards the fallen torch that lay burning at the feet of his friends; then he took the fire and held the terrified attention of the hoarder as he flew to the edge of the pit.
"I offer freedom for you this day, if you but accept it," the guardian said before he dove headlong into the treasure pit, fire outstretched before him. The eyes of the Sprite went wild, aflame with the azure hue of his ancient magic as he spoke in his native tongue.
"Sruthán tú fonn meargánta, go dtí go bhfuil gach go bhfanann an deannaigh an fear tar éis titim sular ghlac sé air féin an ifreann."
(Burn you reckless desire, until all that remains is the dust of the fallen man before he took upon himself this hell.)
Deryn caught fire every tapestry and scroll, every wooden chest and woven basket; his words seemed to breathe power into the very flames themselves until even the bronze and gold began to melt and droop in the wake of such enraged heat.
"No! No!" the blind hoarder shouted in heartbroken protest. "Meus! What have you done? Meus!"
The onslaught of rock and magic ceased in an instant as the blind man recoiled in agonized loss.
"Run! Run now!" Goran whispered to his friends.
Cal reached back to take Astyræ's hand, but as he did the violet-eyed woman plucked an arrow from her quiver and strung it upon the silver bowstring of Arianrhod, aiming with a fury of her own disgust at the nape of the blind man's neck.
"Take," she said through gritted teeth. "Greed! Is this all that men desire? Treasures and trophies? Where has all of your greed and gathering gotten you now?"
The hoarder wept eyeless tears as the labor of his obsession burned in the ruinous wake of the Sprite's justice. He could not answer the woman who threatened him with death, for he cared not to notice more than his precious treasure as it burned to ruin before him. She drew back the string and breathed a steadying breath, but the hand of the groomsman stayed her revenge.
"No! Let him watch, and let us be glad that he does," he said, calming the fire within her. "Besides, we have a long journey ahead of us, you and I. We might just need every arrow in that quiver of yours."
"You do not understand," she said, looking at him through the tears of her vengeance. "I have seen this hunger before. It is the same hunger—the same obsession to serve self, to take and ravage no matter the cost—that ruined my people, that stole my father, and that has raped this darkened world of its true beauty." The flames of revenge still burned in her twice-colored eyes, and Cal could see the depth of both her conviction and her wounds. "When will this greed be satiated? When the whole world burns in the fires of the very hells it wrought upon itself?" She pulled back the bow again, ready to end the tangible manifestation of the greed that had so devastated her.
"It was at the hands of the same kind of greed that I lost my family too, my lady," Cal said with a pang of long-lost innocence still raw in his voice. The quiet churning of decision was held there in the tension of the taut, silver bowstring, but Cal held her shoulder with a gentle patience, calming her with his steadying gift. "This greed is ugly and vile, you are right, Astyræ; but I will choose to hope still, that this ruined world of ours is not fully lost, nor is it beyond repair. And I choose to hope that there will be light enough in the heart
s of a few of us ruined people to aid in its mending."
Astyræ took a deep breath, and then slackened her pull upon the string. She closed her eyes for a moment, weighing his words against her wounds before she holstered the ancient arrow in its white quiver. "Very well then, groomsman," she conceded. "Show me the way out of this place."
Cal smiled a saddened smile and took her slender hand. They glanced at the broken creature that had once been their captor, but he could not hear the sounds of their escape over the noise of his own mournful wales. The four of them wound their way back and forth through the maze of a passageway, seeing well enough by the slight illumination of the Sprite and the mingled light of their violet hope. At last, they made it to the mouth of the dreadful cave.
"There! There it is!" Goran said, pointing to the cave entrance as the wailing screams of the magician carried his lament in waves of heartrending echoes.
"Come on then, let's be rid of this place," Cal said as his picked up the double-bladed axe of his woodcutter friend. "There is still work to be done yet.
"Aye," Goran said with a smile. "There is still light to seek, ah groomsman?"
"Indeed there is," Cal said as he handed the axe to Goran and slung the satchel of abandoned provisions over his shoulder. "Indeed there is."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
"HURRY!" ENGELMANN URGED. HIS WORDS roused the small band of newly found brothers out of the nightmare they were witnessing.
"But what are they doing, Engelmann?" Michael said. "Why would they kneel? Why would they surrender?"
"Have you not learned a thing from my tutelage, dear groomsman?" Engelmann asked sadly. "For hopelessness can lead even a king to bend his knee a thousand different times, making him slave to a thousand different masters without so much as a single clash of iron."
"But this … this is not just a master," Michael said softly.
"Enough now! Quickly, we have not a moment to spare," Engelmann ordered his friends. "Follow this road. It climbs all the way to the great garden."
The Ravenous Siege (Epic of Haven Trilogy Book 2) Page 33