"They’re both well, as far as I can see," she told him. "He’s in some form of shock. Although I think we all are."
"And Gravinn?" She was scooping up handfuls of snow and tipped it back onto the ground, watching with an expression devoid of interest. Had he done this? He had been so rushed to put Dank and Gravinn back together. Perhaps he had done it wrong? The responsibility was like another weight around his neck and he couldn’t stand a moment longer. He sank to the ground, sat, let his head hang.
"There was an accident in the mines near Cairnakor," Mennvinn said. "An explosion. There were dozens of wounded. Dozens more were trapped down there for days while we dug them out. Some of the dwarfs were like Gravinn. Detached. Empty. They didn’t recognise anyone. They didn’t speak. None of them ate unless they were fed. Some would soil themselves. One cirgeon called it a trauma of the mind."
"Will she get better?" He dreaded the answer.
"Some of them did."
"Some of them didn’t."
"Some of them didn’t," Mennvinn agreed.
And they were far from any help. In fact, he had no idea where they were. And anyone who might know was dead, trapped in Faerie, or suffering trauma of the mind.
The world faded, replaced by a warm morning, his body a cacophony of aches and pains and hurts. An old woman said, “Only a fool spurns an ally.” And he said to her, “All of my allies are lost."
The foresight faded and he felt even more alone than before. His foresight was right. Ambrose was dead. Dank’s mind might never return. The sprite was gone. He had no way into Faerie. No way back to Katharine and Rose. And even if he found his way to them, he’d lost Caledyr. He had nothing to fight the fay with.
The glarn.
He didn’t understand the thought at first. But then he looked up at the mighty, fake doors Rimestenn had built, and remembered the chasm, the door, the lock. All to keep Orlannu hidden from the fay. So perhaps it could hurt them. Perhaps it could save Katharine and Rose.
"We need to get inside," he said, but it was nothing more than a whisper. He winced at the pain and Mennvinn lifted his chin, turned his head this way and that.
"There’s nothing I can do for that," she told him. But with sympathy. "How do you feel?"
"I’ve been better." He gave her a smile that he didn’t feel inside. "I need the coin."
She sighed and looked aside. She didn’t want to say what she said next. "You’re always moving. Sometimes the body needs to stop. To rest and recover."
Yes. Rest. He could almost hear Caledyr in his mind, telling him to rest. His eyelids drooped at the mere thought of sleep.
But every moment here was a moment his daughter was in Faerie.
"Later," he promised. He could sleep later.
Mennvinn pressed her lips together and made a dissatisfied sound in the back of her throat. She’d been making it a lot lately. Tom couldn’t help but smile. "We must be terrible patients," he said.
Her expression softened. "I’ve had worse," she said. She even smiled, just a little. Then she pulled the coin from her pocket, gave it to him, and went to check on the rest of her terrible patients.
Standing felt like lifting the whole of Tir on his back. Mennvinn was right. He did need rest. After they were inside, he promised himself. He stepped over to the door, placed the coin in the hollow. A perfect fit.
"What now?" Jarnstenn appeared at his shoulder.
"Now I have to perform some kind of magic."
"Magic."
Tom nodded. "Ambrose showed me how." He didn’t add how difficult it had been. "The magic burns a part of you away. A sacrifice." He pulled his right hand from its glove and placed his fingers on the old coin. Tried to feel it, the way he’d felt the twig. The old surface. The old metal. A trace of that silver-grey-veined black stone at its core. Could he find fire within? Ambrose had only taught him what to do with one of the elements. What if there wasn’t enough fire to work with? What would he do then?
But the cold, hard pebble of magic inside him stirred as he reached into the coin, and it felt like it asked him what he was looking for.
Fire, he told it.
Fire, it echoed.
And the thought seemed to echo between the stone in the coin and the pebble within. But this echo grew as it bounced from man to coin and back again. And Tom realised the pebble was growing too. The thought was feeding on him, burning him away to create the fire he wanted.
And the coin was getting warm.
What if he couldn’t control it? What if it burnt him away, until he was like Ambrose? Was he going to have to sacrifice himself just to open this door?
"Father and the prayers, and fasting and charities, and calmness of the soul until death," he said. Because he had to, and because he hoped it would calm him.
There was a click, and the sound of rock grinding against rock, and stale air washed over him as the door inched open. Distracted, he dropped the connection with the coin, and the magic stopped.
And the pebble inside was now a stone.
"You did it." Jarnstenn’s voice was flat and cold, as if he despised Tom’s success. Was he thinking of his argument with Kunnustenn? Did he regret not believing in magic?
"Thanks to Ambrose," Tom said. Jarnstenn pushed the door further open. There was no light at all inside. And Tom could feel that familiar deadness to the air. Monolith stone. What had Rimestenn left inside? “It’s dark,” he said.
"It’s an abandoned city," Jarnstenn said. "Not going to have left the lights on, are they?" And he took a piece of burning wood from the fire and walked through the open doorway before anyone could stop him.
It was embarrassing and shameful to watch Jarnstenn walk in alone, but if the dwarf was afraid, he didn’t show it. He walked as if he stepped into abandoned cities every day, his torch illuminating a tunnel made of black stone veined with silver-grey. Small wonder the air felt so dead.
And then Jarnstenn’s shadow and his tiny torch stepped beyond the tunnel and they heard him take a breath. "Adalstenn’s light," he said and, as if summoned by his words, a soft, white light shone upon his face.
Tom knew he should go inside. It was what they had been travelling for all this time. But all he could think was that Katharine should be here. She was the one who would appreciate an abandoned city. Her absence made Tom feel lonely and tired.
Jarnstenn stepped further into the city and out of sight.
"Jarnstenn," Tom croaked. When the dwarf didn’t return, he forced himself up, squeezed through the doorway and down the tunnel in a crouch. The walls tugged at his mind when he brushed against them, giving him glimpses of other places, the people of Tir, laughing, working, drinking, fighting. Stay away from the walls, he told himself. The tunnel ended and he stood upright.
The cavern was huge. Enormous. Bigger than Cairnagwyn? Certainly bigger than Cairnagan, stretching for miles away from them. The ground below them, also made of the black, silver-grey veined stone, sloped downwards until it met a wall, easily twenty times their height, the beginnings of a maze that stretched the entire length of the cavern. Their vantage point gave them a perfect view of the enormity of the task ahead of them, paths splitting and splitting and splitting, full of dead ends, a geometric nightmare between them and their assumed goal: the source of the light at the end of the maze.
"That must be it," said Jarnstenn.
"Must it?" It seemed too obvious to Tom. Like the enormous fake door outside. "Couldn’t it be a another ruse?"
"No." Jarnstenn shook his head. "Don’t you see? It’s part of the challenge. He’s showing us how far away the end is. He’s trying to put us off before we start. Very clever."
And, as if in answer, the cavern echoed with a hideous scream.
"If he’s trying to put us off," Tom said. "It’s working."
"It’ll take weeks to cross that maze."
"Will our supplies last?"
"We’re assuming that monster doesn’t get us first."
"We don’t
know there is a monster."
"That scream weren’t me serenading you, sweetheart."
"Stop," Tom told them. They’d all gathered on the vantage point, illuminated by the unearthly glow, enjoying the cold breeze because it was better than the stuffy, stale air around them. "We can gather as much water as we can carry," he said, pointing back down the tunnel. "The door is still open. So Rimestenn is clearly giving us a chance."
"What do you mean?" Mennvinn asked.
"He could have rigged the door to close behind us." Trapping them in here with whatever made that scream. "So we gather water. We take stock of our food. Jarnstenn will study the maze. Can you figure out a path from up here?"
The dwarf nodded. "Maybe."
"Good. Let’s do those things first, and then we can figure out our next move."
Everyone moved to the sleds or the world outside except for Mennvinn, who stepped closer and whispered to Tom, "I still don’t have anything for Six’s pain."
Unfortunately Six’s hearing was unimpaired. "I’m happy to drink my pain away," he said. "You’ve got something in your supplies, no?" His sled was amongst the others, as if he was nothing more than baggage. It didn’t seem right.
"That alcohol is for cleaning wounds," Mennvinn replied. "It’s not suitable for consumption."
"I’m willing to compromise on taste."
"It’s more than the taste," she began, but Tom raised a hand.
"He’s joking," he murmured. "I think it helps him." She nodded, and he added, "Help the others take stock of our supplies. Maybe there’s something hidden away that might help."
There was little chance of that, and she knew it too. But she nodded and went to help the others. But Draig wasn't helping. He was stood, fists clenched, his expression like stone as he said to Tom,
“Explain you what Dank said.”
Time to put this fire out. And there was little point in denying any of it. So Tom met Draig’s glare with as much honesty as he could muster. “Melwas demanded I fight him, in return for keeping Katharine and Rose safe. If I lose, I have to swear my loyalty to him.”
His words sent a hush over the others. But Tom didn’t look at them. He just watched the disbelief, anger, and cold certainty warring on Draig’s face. “Swore you to him loyalty?” the elf growled.
“No,” Tom replied. “But I will have to, if I lose the fight.”
“So what?” Jarnstenn scoffed. “Swear your oath and stab the blighter in the eye.”
“No.” Six’s voice was cold. “Tom can’t lie. If he swears to obey Melwas, he’ll be be bound to it.”
The chill in the air didn’t come from the wind blowing through the open door. No-one moved. But Tom could feel everyone recoiling from him.
“I did what had to be done,” Tom told them.
“Did we lead you to this Orlannu,” Draig said, “And will you turn and give it to the fay.”
“If I lose.”
“Are you no swordsman.”
“He beat Tree,” Mennvinn offered.
Jarnstenn nodded, and even Six seemed to relax. But Draig just said, “Where is Caledyr?”
And Tom knew that was the last handful of dirt over his grave. “The fay kept it,” he said. “When they sent me back, they kept Caledyr.”
Draig said nothing, but his body tensed and Tom felt his own body tense in response. Was the elf going to hit him? But before he could do anything, Emyr spoke up. “Did you trade it for their lives?”
Draig didn’t want to step aside. But, after a long moment, he turned. Just enough that Tom could see the old king. Haggard. Angry. Hurt. “No,” Tom said. It stung that he had to say it. Did Emyr really have to ask?
But if Melwas had demanded it, would Tom have handed it over? Possibly.
Emyr stepped forward until he stood before Tom, looking up at him, Draig looming over both of them. “My friend is dead. Kunnustenn is dead. Six crippled. Katharine a captive in Faerie. Gravinn and Dank mindless. And you’ve lost the sword and sworn yourself to Melwas.”
Emyr was blaming him. And part of Tom told him that the old king was right to. Who else was to blame if not Thomas Rymour?
But a spark of anger raged that Emyr had left Rose off his litany of losses. As if she wasn’t the greatest loss of all. “They have my daughter,” Tom growled.
"Because you took her to Faerie." There was no accusation in Six’s tone, though it seemed like there ought to be.
"I did what had to be done."
"She’ll hate you for that."
"Perhaps."
"I think I hate you for it, a little."
"She can’t die there."
"I know." It wasn't that Six accepted the way things were; it was that he couldn't see an alternative.
But Emyr shook his head. As if Katharine and Rose were of no consequence. “I’m so disappointed in you.”
It was a surprising blow, and Tom wasn’t ready for it. It left him breathless, eyes hot with suppressed emotion, jaw tight with inarticulate fury. He didn’t trust himself to speak, but Emyr turned, and Tom would be hoisted by iron nails if he was going to let the other man walk away from him. “I did what had to be done,” he snapped. “To protect my family. Or should I have let them die?”
Emyr didn’t turn back. “My family is dead.”
“I gave mine to the watch,” Six said.
“I watched mine die,” Jarnstenn said.
“And wouldn’t you have done anything to save them?” No-one replied and Tom nodded. “I do what has to be done,” he repeated. “I fought Draig so we could free the dragons. I killed Tree so we could escape from Tirend. I almost lost myself trying to rescue Dank and Gravinn. And now the fay have Katharine.” His voice hitched as he added, “They have my daughter. If I have to challenge Melwas, and swear my loyalty to him to keep them safe, I’ll do it.” They understood. Tom could see it in their eyes. They just didn’t want to admit it. “You can judge me if you it makes you feel better. You don’t have to trust me. You just have to help me find Orlannu, get back to Faerie, and to stop the fay.”
“Why should we give you help?” Draig was angry, disappointed, resigned and incensed. He wandered over to their sleds, picked up an iron blade, and Tom tensed, ready to leap away from any strike as Draig stormed towards him, teeth gritted. “Have we lost so much, and still you give yourself to the fay. Are not you a knight. Are not you a leader.” He stopped, his chest an inch from Tom’s face. But Tom refused to back away. He just stared up into Draig’s scowl. “Are you a traitor,” the elf said.
Tom didn’t need Caledyr’s help to fend off this attack. Perhaps it was because a liar knows a liar. But he could see in Draig’s eyes the lie the elf was telling himself. So he just said, “I suppose that’s something we have in common.”
Tom hadn’t been sure if those words would provoke Draig into an attack. But instead they doused the flames of the Easterner’s anger. His shoulders sagged, his scowl saddened. “Did I betray my oaths for the good of Tir.” But there were no teeth in his argument, and he knew it.
“We have so few weapons against the fay,” Tom said. “We have to use the ones we have.” Draig took a step back, and Tom spoke to everyone. “We all have our reasons. But we all want to stop the fay.” One by one, they looked aside. It wasn’t hearty agreement. He hadn’t roused the troops. But there was no challenge anymore. So he said, “Jarnstenn, get to work on that map. Six, you can help him. Draig and Mennvinn can assess our supplies.”
“And what should I do?” The old king still had his back to Tom, and there was a dead bitterness to his voice.
“You can tell us how we should honour Ambrose.”
The ground was frozen; there was no burying him. But they could still perform the ceremony. So they gathered in a circle around the mound of snow that had almost buried Ambrose, and Tom said, "We are of the dirt and we return to it."
And Mennvinn said, "Who returns to the dirt?"
"Ambrose," Tom replied. "Who helped me find my king.”
>
"Ambrose," said Mennvinn. "Who I did not understand, but who saved our lives."
"Ambrose," said Jarnstenn. "Who smiled at my jokes."
"Ambrose," said Draig. "Who was to me a man who deserved to be better known."
"Ambrose," said Six. "Who I found frightening and inspirational in the same breath.”
"Ambrose," said Emyr. "Who was to me a true friend, an example to follow, and who sacrificed everything for the people of Tir."
Yes. That was why they stood here, outside Cairnarim. For the people of Tir.
Tom found he couldn’t remember the end of the ritual, but didn’t want to ask Jarnstenn. Thankfully, Mennvinn said, "Ambrose, who has been taken from our world, and whom we envy the world for taking back into itself."
Tom waited a moment, before adding, "Ambrose. Take this offering." Nothing seemed more appropriate than the coin that had opened the door to Cairnarim. It was now warped by heat, the sun a smear, Emyr’s face a horrible, warped vision. Tom pushed it down into the snow. "Take it with you to the Isles of the Dead and let it buy your passing into that place, where the sun never sets and it is always summer." He touched a morsel of bread to the ground, no bigger than the nail on his smallest finger. It didn’t seem big enough, but it was all they could spare. He put it in his mouth, chewed it, swallowed it. "You have done wrong in this life, as have we all. I take your wrongs and bear them on my shoulders now, so that you may enter the West in innocence and goodness. Go in peace."
He had said those words too many times on this journey.
"The father and the prayers," Emyr intoned. "And fasting and charities. And calmness of the soul until death."
The silence that followed was long and uncomfortable. Was it because Ambrose had had such a chilling presence that few felt they would honestly miss him? Or was it because they were all questioning this journey, questioning Tom? Let them question. As long as they did what they needed to do, they could be as silent and awkward as they needed to be. So Tom was the first to step out of the circle and enter the abandoned city again. Mennvinn was close behind. “I’ve been assessing the supplies we have remaining,” she told him. She fished a cigar from her pocket. “We only have enough food for five days.”
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 105