by Ann Hunter
Inches away, Idegwaed glinted in the firelight. Xander scurried over and retrieved her. He was on his feet instantly and brandished Idegwaed at Sylas. “No more tricks, warlock.”
Sylas was still stooped over the hole, watching his monster. “Do you not see? I cannot take back the blade of which you have paid so dearly. My donestre--”
“Tried to kill me.”
Sylas looked over his back and rose. “I saved your life.”
“You destroyed it with this sword.”
Sylas brushed off his hands. “You believe your curse is the result of your actions, but I tell you, Xander, it is so much more than that. Your actions have far-reaching consequences. Farther than you can fathom.”
Xander tilted his head, squinting. His grasp on Idegwaed tightened. “What have you done?”
Sylas strode toward Xander, his hands clasped behind his back. “Can you not see? The price you have paid in blood has brought forth a new era. My era. By sacrificing your wife and child, you have opened the way to my creatures—creatures from the ancient lands. Many portals, both seen and unseen, are ripping through the Twelve Kingdoms. The innocent lives you took now return to haunt you in the form of those supernatural. Honest men who fought for their masters return as giants; brigands as barghest, righteous kings as great stags and unicorns… do you see?” Sylas paused. “This is the price you have paid. I cannot take back the sword. It is too late. You may think I am trying to kill you, but it is quite the opposite.” Sylas’s smile widened enough to reveal his stained, razor-like teeth. “I am trying to protect you.”
Xander swore aloud.
Sylas continued. “There is another whose destiny is intertwined with yours. They alone can end your son’s torment. Please take one of my creatures as a guardian of your own.”
“Enough!” Xander roared and raced toward Sylas, ready to strike.
A gash of blue light shot from Sylas’s hands. Xander was ready for it. The bolt bounced off Idegwaed, downing a tree branch. Idegwaed cracked visibly, but did not break. The gap became filled with a sliver of blue light. Xander spun and swung the blade at Sylas’s thigh. The warlock sidestepped and waved his hand. Another streak of blue snaked toward the blade, but missed. Sylas vanished just before Idegwaed struck him. Xander stumbled from the force and cried out as electricity snapped him between the shoulder blades, forcing him to the earth.
Idegwaed let out a low squeal. A new crack filled with light.
Sylas reappeared near the shack. Xander forced himself upright and hurled Idegwaed at him. The blade tumbled through the air, singing with each turn, then suddenly hovered. Sylas held up his hands. Idegwaed was surrounded by light, floating only inches from her creator. Xander watched as the black blade seemed to split into pieces, yet remained intact, filled with the same light that surrounded her.
Xander’s chest rose and fell rapidly. He crossed the camp and looked into Sylas’s eyes. They were bright white with the reflection of it all, so focused and intense. Xander could see himself and Idegwaed as though in a mirror. His trembling hand reached out to the hovering blade. He didn’t want the blade, yet it called to him in agony. She cried, saying his name over and over. She begged to be released from her prison. Xander flinched as his fingers passed through the light between he and Sylas. His other hand clasped his wrist, trying to pull it back. Idegwaed screamed. Xander’s hand short forth and took her from the light.
Sylas slumped with a sigh of exhaustion.
Xander’s chest heaved, and he stared at Idegwaed. Without hesitation, he raised the sword. He expected Sylas’s back to split in two with a spray of red ooze as he buried Idegwaed in the warlock’s shoulders. Instead the Barwn of Blackthorn was hurled in to the dirt as Sylas rose into the air, face turned skyward, spread eagle, full of light-filled cracks and burst in an explosion more blinding than the noonday sun.
Xander’s dark hair whipped around, trees swayed, the campfire went out. Xander lay motionless in the dark, listening to the crickets and bullfrogs and the hungry growl of a donestre. Rhun whinnied nervously. The swamp filled with light again, this time from Idegwaed. Xander leapt to his feet as the sword flew from his hand, surrounded by green light. She floated, humming. All of her cracks and jags were visible. Xander shielded his eyes as Idegwaed burst into shards that soared into the stratosphere.
Xander crumbled to his knees, staring skyward. The shards hovered briefly, then shot out in twelve directions over the treetops.
Xander dropped his head and wept.
Part II
THERE’S NO SUCH THING
AS MONSTERS
The early spring sunlight glinted off the polished black blade. Ten-year-old Glory, daughter of High King Balthazaar, reached out to touch the cool obsidian, but her friend, Colin, pulled it away.
“Don’t touch it! Father said she is not a toy.”
Glory’s face scrunched up at the admonishment. “Than why are you showing it off as though it were?”
Colin sheathed the dagger carefully. “I got it for my birthday. I’m a man now.”
“Only nearly. You’re twelve.”
“I wanted you to see her.”
“Her. You speak as though it is a person.” Glory stuck her tongue out to feign disgust.
“Father said her name is Ilyndiil.”
“Only weapons of legend have names. Why would a falconer have such a thing? And why would he give it to you?”
Colin squared his shoulders and stood proudly. He opened his mouth to speak, but Glory batted his arm and began to jog off. “I’m the princess, so you be the giant. Chase me!”
“There’s no such thing as giants,” Colin said.
“There is so. My nursemaid, Maeb, told me that when a princess marries, they bay at the moon and dance in the dark.”
“That’s silly.”
“No, it isn’t. Maeb says there are fairies and unicorns in the world. Last night, I asked Papa to catch me a unicorn.”
Colin rolled his hazel eyes. “Your father told the kingdom no such creatures existed.”
Glory scowled. She stomped her foot. “Chase me!”
“I’m nearly a man now. Your game is childish.”
“That didn’t stop you the day before last. Are you slow now that you are old?” Glory taunted and dashed off.
Colin sighed, exasperated, and ran after her.
Glory liked the way Colin followed her around and that she could generally get him to do what she wanted. She bolted through the garden gate and outside the castle grounds toward the line of trees over the hillside.
Brown leaves and the last remnants of snow crackled under their feet. Birds scattered from trees as they raced by, laughing and leaping over their shadows.
“Fee, fie, foe,” Colin roared. He reached out to tag Glory but only brushed her skirt. “Fum!”
Glory squealed. “You cannot catch me!”
Colin grew winded and slowed. “Why do I have to be the giant? Why do your sisters not play with you?”
Glory hid behind a tree, her palms resting against the smooth birch. “Half of them say they are too old. Except Portia, but she is so…”
Colin caught a glimpse of Glory’s skirt and crept toward the tree. “Fat.”
Glory’s nose wrinkled. A rush of excitement filled her as Colin stalked closer. She squeezed her eyes shut as if doing so would cause her to vanish.
“Portia is so fat, I am surprised she does not make up half of your sisters. She is so fat that the earth shakes in fear when she steps on it,” Colin murmured. His voice escalated gradually. “She could single-handedly fell trees by getting stuck between them. Animals flee before her. Rawr!”
Glory didn’t like what Colin was saying. She peeked out from behind the tree. “Do not be so cruel. She is my sister.”
Colin slapped her arm. “Got you!”
Glory’s face drew into a pout. “I don’t like this game anymore. You are a mean giant.”
Colin beamed. “I play my given part well. Perhaps
I shall be an actor when I am grown.”
Glory sprinted away while Colin gloated. She crested a hill, deeper into the woods, and screeched as the ground caved from under her. She fell into darkness and landed with an “Umph!”
She trembled and sat up slowly.
A rhythmic thumping drummed overhead. Colin stopped just in time. He peered into the hole. The sunlight blocked out his features so that only his silhouette was visible. “Are you all right?”
Glory tried to shield her eyes from the sun. Something rustled in the darkness, and she jumped. “Colin, I don’t like this.”
Roots had thrust themselves through a stone ceiling and surrounding walls. She swallowed and tried to shake out her nerves. The fourth wall was not made of stone. She scuttled to it and felt earth beneath her fingernails. She raised her hand and closed it around one of the roots and tried to pull herself up. It slipped instantly from her.
“I don’t think I can get out.”
There was a groan from the shadows. “Who’s there?” Glory bleated. A drip, drip, drip echoed. Dankness filled her nose. “I am not afraid!”
Her heart hastened its beat. She yelped as Colin’s boots landed behind her. “What are you doing?”
Colin brushed himself off. “I’m rescuing you.”
Tears welled in Glory’s blue eyes; her lungs began to ache with a swollen, staggered breathing. “You stupid boy. Why did you not get my father?”
Colin pushed her aside. “Shh!”
Glory clenched her fists. “I want Papa!”
“Be quiet,” Colin hissed.
Sobs echoed in the shadows. Colin unsheathed Ilyndiil. “Show yourself.”
Glory whimpered. The shape took its full height and pressed its form into the light. The face of a lion with great, furry ears and a shaggy mane rested atop the body of a man. He was muscular, clad only in a loin cloth, and otherwise human. His nose wrinkled as he took in the new scent on the air.
“What is it?” Colin whispered.
Glory’s head felt empty. “I don’t know.”
“Think! Now is not the time to forget Maeb’s stories.”
Glory squeezed her eyes shut, racking her memory. Maeb had mentioned such a creature that gobbled up its victims, save for the head, then sat and wept over it. Her whole body vibrated with fear. “Donestre.”
Colin’s hand tightened around Ilyndiil.
The donestre covered his face and bemoaned itself, then peered between his fingers at the children. His snout wrinkled, revealing gleaming fangs.
Colin’s breath was ragged. “Stay where you are.” Ilyndiil gleamed in the light. “I’m warning you.”
The donestre charged, snarling savagely. Glory screamed. Colin sunk Ilyndiil into the donestre’s ribs and spun away. The donestre doubled over and tumbled past. He groped the oozing wound then lifted his shaking, bloody hand to stare at it in the light streaming in from above. Colin tried finding a foothold in the earthy wall, but his boots slipped in the mud. He faltered. Glory caught his back and nudged him right again. With a bellow, the donestre rose and lumbered toward them. Colin gripped Glory’s arm and swung her away as he slashed the donestre across the back. The donestre reeled and pivoted, gnashing his teeth.
Colin reached for Glory’s hand. “We have to get out of here. We have to tell someone.”
“How?” Glory cried.
The donestre charged. Colin sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, grabbed the donestre’s mane and plunged Ilyndiil into its left eye. The donestre howled, wobbling backwards. Colin remained on guard, watching with terror.
The donestre reached to pull Ilyndiil from his eye, wailing and shaking his head. His heel knocked against a skull on the floor, and he tripped over it.
Colin turned his face upward, searching frantically for a way out. He found a dry root and jumped hard, snatching the end. His legs and hips swung as, hand over hand, he pulled himself up.
“Don’t leave me,” Glory begged.
Colin disappeared into the sunlight. Glory quaked alone in the cell, which had grown quiet except for the constant drip of water in the background. She jumped, startled, when Colin’s head appeared over the edge of the hole. He leaned in as far as he could and reached down. “Give me your hand.”
Glory stood on tiptoe. She reached, but her hand swept through empty space. “I can’t.”
“Try!” Colin urged.
Suddenly, a massive form lurched through the shadows. Glory screamed as a bloody, one-eyed donestre hurled itself at her with snapping jaws. Glory leapt. Her fingers brushed skin, and she was propelled into the light. She barreled through the damp, hard ground on one of her shoulders.
Colin lay on his back, panting. Glory touched her fingers which were sore from being yanked so hard.
Colin swallowed as he caught his breath, then rolled over and pushed himself up. “Let’s go.”
Glory pulled herself together and rose. “Who should we tell?”
Colin marched toward a hut next to the castle. “My father knows every beast in the kingdom.”
“This morning magical creatures did not really exist. Why would your father know of this one?”
Colin paused. “I… because… I’m sure he will know what to do. Alright?”
The little thatched cottage sat on a hillside overlooking the kingdom. Smoke wound its way through a cobbled chimney into the clear blue sky.
As they entered, a young falcon sat on a perch, and food was on the table. A hearth fire crackled in the back of the hut beneath a bubbling pot.
Colin gently stroked the snowy breast of the bird whose eyes were covered by a rufter to keep it calm.
“Father?” Colin called.
Glory crouched by the fire, warming her hands. She wondered how anyone could live in such a meager home.
A door near the hearth opened, and a tall, burly man with brown hair and a beard entered, wiping his hands on a chamois rag. “What is it, boy?”
Glory had never met Colin’s father before, although she had seen him with the king in the bailey before their hunts. She got a good look at him now, clad in a buckskin tunic and leggings. She thought he looked like a tree with his barrel chest and trunk-like legs and arms.
Colin crossed over to him. “Father, Glory and I found something.”
Colin’s father glanced at Glory. He seemed surprised to see the princess and a bit put off in a way that made Glory feel very out of place.
“Let’s see it,” he said.
“Well it’s not really a thing, that is.” Colin shifted from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his sandy-blond head. He grew nervous. “We sort of fell into a hole, and there was a creature… in a jail cell.”
Colin’s father’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. “Do not lie to me, boy.”
“He’s not lying, sir,” Glory said quietly. She felt intimidated by this man. She wondered if Colin did, too.
Colin opened the front door, and Glory followed his cue. “Let us show you,” Glory implored.
The man grunted and trailed behind.
Colin led them to the line of trees where they had been playing. As they drew closer, his father grew more and more agitated, huffing and muttering curses under his breath. “What in the name of the gods were you doing out here?”
“It’s not much further,” Colin called, ignoring him.
“Haven’t I told you not to play in the woods?”
Glory bit her lip. Oh, Colin, please don’t say it was my idea. If Papa knew…
“This way.” Colin darted toward the hole. He picked his way around the muddier places carefully.
“You are wasting my time.”
“It was right,” Colin stopped, staring at the ground, “here,” he said blankly.
Colin’s father crossed his massive arms.
Colin stared at the ground where the hole should have been. “I swear by the gods it was right here, Father.”
“I cannot believe you called me out here for a child’s game. You have
wasted my time.”
Colin shook his head. “It was here. We fell, and…”
Colin’s father began stomping away. Glory wondered if he had ever bayed at the moon or danced in the dark.
“It was right here!” Colin yelled.
“There was a donestre,” Glory called after Colin’s father. It stopped him in his tracks.
He turned, his eyes narrow. “What did you say?”
Glory felt very small and insecure all of a sudden, but she stepped forward. “We fell in the hole, and there was a donestre. Colin stabbed him in the eye and saved us.”
The man’s hands curled into boulder-like fists. His eyes shifted to Colin’s side. His expression turned dark. “Where is Ilyndiil?”
Colin’s hand went to his scabbard, but his hand grasped thin air. He looked to his hip with horror.
“You lost it?” the man roared. He lurched toward Colin and began boxing his ears. “You stupid, stupid boy!” He pinned Colin against a tree, backhanding his jaw. “How could you lose it? You’ve not yet had it a day.”
Glory staggered back. How could a father treat his child so? She watched as the man grabbed Colin by the collar and lifted him into the air, continuing his tirade. Spittle slung from his lips like a rabid dog with the force of his words. “Do you realize what you’ve done, you dim good-for-nothing whelp?”
“Please, Father!” Colin cried. “I can find it again. Please! Give me a chance.”
Colin’s father shook the boy like a rag doll.
“Please, if you let me go, I can find it… I’m sorry!”
Colin’s father grew red with pulsing, plump veins in his neck and forehead.
Glory couldn’t stand to watch anymore.
“Stop it.” Her voice was quiet at first as she cowered in the man’s presence, but it grew stronger. “I said, ‘Stop it!’”
She charged toward them. “Let him go.” She gave the man’s ankle a solid kick. “By order of the princess.”
The man growled and looked down at her.
Glory crossed her arms. “I charge you to let him go.”