As they neared the peak of the dusty heap, they became aware of a rhythmic pounding sound: dull, soft, and strong, like the pounding of blood. Modwyn and Freya climbed up to stand behind Swi?gar and Ecgbryt.
“What is it?” asked Freya. “What’s that sound?”
“It is the ’gopes,” stated Swi?gar. “They are letting us know that they bide.”
They all stood and listened to the pounding, pounding, pounding of thousands of hands against the dirt-a steady, synchronized, patient beat. “Why aren’t they attacking?” Daniel asked.
Swi?gar pointed into the darkness.
Standing at the edge of the circle of light thrown by the city’s lanterns was a dim, reddish figure pacing back and forth, just in front of the gap in the wall. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“It is Ealdstan,” said Ecgbryt.
“Ealdstan? But . . .” Freya remembered the figure falling out of the window as they raced to the Langtorr. She had forgotten about it until just now but remembered the fall replayed in her head, the swirling robes riffling like a falling flame. Ealdstan must have more power in him than he had given them reason to believe. The swaggering figure striding up and down the battle line in front of the haunting, pounding rhythm of the yfelgopes didn’t act like the old man Daniel and Freya had met. He was strong and spry. Something about the way he held himself made him seem haughty-challenging.
Ealdstan turned and strode back the other way, his chest thrown forward, daring anyone to engage him. None did. Ealdstan made another pass and then spun on his heel and walked back towards the city.
Daniel and Freya shied away slightly as Ealdstan approached the group. Freya still had a bruise on her arm where Ealdstan had gripped her, and neither she nor Daniel had particularly wanted to see him again.
Ealdstan stood for a while, staring into the city, at the ruins of the wall and the bodies of the yfelgopes, lost in his own thoughts until Modwyn addressed him. “What is it that could accomplish this?” she said, raising a hand to indicate the wreckage.
“Gad did this. It is a spell of decay.”
“A magic to corrupt solid rock?”
“He must have been weaving it for some time. He would have had to build an entropic force and then push it along an enchanted wind. The spell would have looked like a black cloud. It blew centuries away from the stone in seconds and then nested inside of it. It is in it now, slowly eating away at it . . . our first, greatest defense . . .”
At his words, a chunk of stone the size of a small shed tumbled down from the top of the wall and crumbled into a mound of dust.
“Meotodes meahte!” exclaimed Ecgbryt. “How can it be stopped?”
Ealdstan sighed like a professor answering an obvious question. “It cannot be stopped-not completely. I can slow it with my power, but it will not quit until Gad’s life leaves him-at which time all spells that he has made will unravel.
“It cannot be doubted that he will strike again,” he continued.
“This is only one move in a game that he and I have begun to play.
There is no question that he has more schemes in mind, some of which are this very moment being put into effect.”
“He must be stopped and destroyed,” said Swi?gar.
“The other knights must be roused,” rumbled Godmund, tramping up the pile of rubble to join them. “They will arrive from all the corners of England and send the yfelhost into oblivion.”
“No,” moaned Ealdstan. “Not those sleeping, not yet. It is not their time.”
“What then?” Modwyn exclaimed passionately. Daniel and Freya glanced up at her and saw a face as harsh as a thunderstorm.
“A wall has been breached,” she rasped, “that has never failed since it was made over twelve hundred years ago. Enemies have had their way with the city for the first time in a thousand. There were yfelmen in the torr, Ealdstan-one of them attacked the lifiendes! If you were to act, t’would best be done soon, and best be done well!”
Ealdstan stood motionless as the silence left by the end of
Modwyn’s rebuke hung in the air. Eventually the old wizard said, “Gad will not be defeated easily. He will not die by spear-thrust, or axe-blow, for his life is no longer in his body. He has hidden his mortality somewhere else-somewhere safe, somewhere unknown to anyone. Only if that mortality can be found and destroyed will Gad will be vulnerable to attack.”
The company took this in.
“What do you mean his mortality?” Daniel asked.
“His life,” Ealdstan answered. “His heart’s soul. It is an object of his-a hand or a finger, perhaps his very heart-into which he has placed his mortal life and then removed from himself. As long as it is safe and secret, none can touch it.”
“How will it be guarded?” Ecgbryt asked.
“It will not be guarded,” Ealdstan replied. “At least, not by any guard aware of his purpose. There may be obstacles, but Gad would rely more on secrecy than force. No, not guarded-hidden . . .”
“I do not understand,” said Godmund. “How would he be terrified of his own weakness?”
“If he were to lose his power,” Ealdstan explained, “he would still want to reclaim his life and use it. The hiding place would be near, but still forgotten . . .” As Ealdstan talked, his eyes and voice drifted off. “He would have placed it on the other side of the Wild Caves, on the other side of the Sl?pismere.”
“The Slayp-is-mere?” Daniel said under his breath.
“It means ‘the sleeping ocean.’ It is the name we give to the enormous lake of water that lies beneath this island.”
“Then it is clear,” said Swi?gar. “We gather a party and make a sally out to destroy this mortal heart. What could be more plain?”
“Even so,” growled Godmund lowly, “even were the Gristgrenner killed, there would still be his general, Kelm, to settle with, and the only thing that can defeat the Kafhand is force of arms. Whence is that to come?”
There was silence. Ealdstan stood, muttering, “Not the sleepers . . . not now . . . not yet . . .”
“But with the enchanter,” said Ecgbryt after a short silence, “surely there is no reason to dither. We must destroy Gad, come what may, and it would best be done as soon as possible.”
“It is dangerous . . . ,” breathed Ealdstan.
“I am the fiend of danger.”
“No, you understand not. Gad’s heart can only be destroyed . . . by a mortal . . . not by a sleeper, not by anyone who is now dwelling within Ni?ergeard. It must be destroyed by a lifiende.”
Slowly, all eyes turned to settle on Daniel and Freya.
“I don’t understand,” Freya said. “What does that mean?”
“Dense children!” Ealdstan sneered. “It means that none in this city can destroy him-except one of you. You really want to leave this place? Then destroy Gad and break the siege. Either that, or grow old down here with the rest of us.”
In the silence that followed, the wizard Ealdstan stalked away.
2
Modwyn led them into a room on the sixth floor of the Langtorr, high enough above the rooftops of the buildings for them to see the ruined section of wall and the work that was already being done to repair it.
Craftsmen from every corner of the city were coming to join the emergency workforce, working quickly, faces gaunt. Stone was hauled from storage by huge workhorses, rolled across the city on metal poles and lashed to the backs of the impressive animals. The old, crumbling rock was being chipped away, carved out so that the new stone would fill the gap precisely. It nearly broke Daniel’s heart to see any of that beautiful, forest-like wall fall away, however necessary.
“Why aren’t the yfelgopes attacking?” Daniel asked, staring down from the window onto the work. “Wouldn’t they beat us all if they did?”
“I do not know,” said Modwyn after a pause. “Their minds are so twisted that I cannot guess. They have always plagued us, but I have never known them to be organized thus. I fear their leader.”
“Gad?”
“Yes, and also this Kelm. He is not an yfelgop, I wist, but something more-something older and cleverer.”
“I don’t understand. Why hasn’t this been dealt with ages ago, when you first saw the yfelgopes?” Daniel asked.
Modwyn sighed. “Ealdstan prevented it-he reasoned that Ni?ergeard is of little consequence in the face of the battle that is to come.”
“What battle is that?” Daniel asked.
“Just one battle in the long war that has been raging across the universe since near time began. The war between Creation and Destruction. Ealdstan has cast his sight forward and seen great forces clashing upon this island. Although of great consequence to us, this land is just a small pebble in the vast arena, and this glorious city, no more than a grain of sand.”
“But if Ni?ergeard is threatened,” reasoned Daniel, “that means the knights are threatened, and that means that the country is in danger.”
“Not necessarily.”
Daniel and Freya gazed blankly at Modwyn.
“But,” said Freya, “if protecting this city will help to win the battle-and then each battle afterwards-why not do it? Ni?ergeard may be a pebble, but if it falls, it could start an avalanche.”
“There are many ways of winning a battle,” Modwyn said quietly and unconvincingly. “What you must understand about Ni?ergeard,” she continued after a moment’s thought, “is that nothing changes here-it’s not intended to. That is the enchantment’s purpose. It is the price we pay when we give up our mortality; because our lives have no end, nothing we do can have an end. We must always look after the knights, we must always be opposed by the forces of destruction and decay, and we must always keep fighting against the opposition, whatever form it may take, though that fight has no end.”
“That’s-that’s terrible,” Freya said. “To keep doing the same things over and over again.”
“Is that why everyone looks so worn out?” Daniel asked. “So tired? So . . . grey?”
Modwyn nodded. “It is our sacrifice. It is the nature of things.
To gain a gift, we must relinquish a gift.”
“What gift did you have to lose?”
“We had to lose the gift of death-the gift of completion. The door between life and death must always be open for us, but we may never walk through it nor cause others to pass through it. We cannot affect anything completely, neither start nor finish a significant act, such as to create life, share love, or . . . or even destroy an enemy. We must continue, unchanged and unchanging, until our purpose is finished.”
“But you can kill the yfelgopes.”
“They exist on a plane much like ours. Their curse, their sacrifice, is living a half-life, never fully alive. We can kill them individually, though not as a whole. Neither their source, nor their master, may be destroyed by us. We may operate within cycles and affect their course by degrees, but we cannot end or create them. We may alter the balance, but not overturn it-for our lives are thin.”
“But what’s the point of even being here if you can’t change anything?”
“We do not exist to win the battle, you understand-that task has been given to others. We exist to support those who fight.”
“You mean the sleeping knights?”
Modwyn nodded.
“So what are the knights waiting for?” Daniel asked after a time. “Why are they asleep?”
Modwyn drew a deep breath. “They await one of two things. Either for this island’s enemies to invade it, at which time the knights will wake and drive the attackers into the sea. Or they wait for the battle at the end of time, when they will rise up with all sleepers everywhere and fight for Creation.”
“How long until then?”
Modwyn’s clasped hands started to fidget. She looked away from them and smiled coldly to herself. “To speak truly, we did not dream the wait would be this long. When the first knights were laid down, it was thought a hundred years, perhaps longer. But never more than a thousand.”
They sat in silence. Daniel broke it by slowly saying, “But Britain has been under attack lots of times. Have you ever risen up and helped anyone then?”
Modwyn looked up at him and her smile seemed to warm. “Britain has warred many times, occasionally with itself and often with its neighbors, but its people have not yet been in the direst of danger, in peril of the death of their souls. Rulers come and rulers go-the Normans, the Saxons and Jutes, the Angles, the Romans, the Celts, the Picts, and the hidden races before them-and rule of the island is passed from one set of hands to another, but the spirit of the isle remains strong, and soon it is the island that conquers the conquerors. Its ways become their ways, its loves become their loves. In time, they fight for it and its people as fervently as those whom they replaced.”
“So England hasn’t been in enough danger yet?” asked Freya. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“There have been times-as in the period now referred to as the Dark Ages-in which evil spirits began to manifest themselves physically, taking on twisted forms to enslave and destroy the people of this isle-flying creatures ravaged the skies, chilling the hearts of the people, and any manner of striding beasts stalked the forests. It was thought that the time of the greatest threat was near, and so many knights were awakened to join the living heroes who rose at that time to fight them off.”
“You mean-dragons?” Daniel asked, amazed.
“Yes. It was the hardest task of all to rid the island of its dragons. There were some that had gained a firm hold. They are devious creatures-more cunning than men, with souls as cold and powerful as glaciers. They feed on fear and terror and are never wholly out of the hearts of men. But they were not the only foes.”
“There were others? More monsters?”
Modwyn drew in a breath. “Yes, of many various kinds: those of the mischievous variety-wisps, brownies, kobolds, hobgoblins, and ghouls-as well as the larger types-ogres, trolls, and changelings. All of these have been exiled to the lower parts of the world, where it is hot and watch is kept on their doorways. For if once a foothold is gained by that world in this, then the two start mixing.
Babies are stolen to become elf princes; those who would be witches and warlocks sell their souls for power; men are knitted into were-creatures, and it is harder to separate the undead darkness from the world. That was how the elves-the hidden people-became corrupted. It was very hard to force them out of the land.”
“And you said that the knights woke up to help the heroes of that time, right?” said Freya as she started to make sense of this fantastic information.
“Yes,” said Modwyn.
“So you always needed living heroes because mortal people are the only ones who can destroy evil and put an end to the cycles,” said Freya.
“Well said,” Modwyn nodded. “It is just so.”
“And right now,” asked Daniel, “are we the heroes?”
“They can’t destroy Gad or the yfelgopes,” said Freya, gazing levelly at Modwyn, “but we can, because we’re mortal.”
Modwyn nodded again.
“Because we can die,” Daniel added.
“That is right,” said Modwyn softly.
“If Gad is getting more and more powerful,” Daniel continued after another thoughtful pause, “and the yfelgopes are getting to be more and more, then doesn’t that mean . . . eventually . . . that all the monsters will come back?”
“It will mean that,” said Modwyn, “if we don’t find a way of stopping him. The tides of darkness continually wax and wane, and we are in the middle of a strong flow at the moment. For years, evil has been building and gathering on these shores. But that question doesn’t rest on us below, it rests on the state of the souls of those above. If things get worse-if events occur as Ealdstan predicts- then we may yet see monsters again on the Island of the Mighty. We wait and watch. It is what we do. It is what we have always done.
“But don’t look so sad, children,” Modwyn said with
a genuine smile. “The battle against darkness is not our battle alone. Whether that darkness be within him or without, it is a war that man has fought since first he awoke. It is the most sublime battle in the universe, and it brings freedom to whoever fights in it, to whatever effect. Although our suffering may be greater than another’s, so also is our blow against the opposer, and our victory and reward the sweeter. For this reason we were placed in this life to fight, and we are fighting as best we can. It may be dark now, and it may be darker henceforth. Our strength may leave us, but what we achieve will not be insignificant, and it will not be unnoticed. The greater the toil in our agony, the greater our glory at the last.”
Daniel and Freya sat still, hardly breathing. They knew that something was expected of them-some sort of commitment or response-but it meant that they would be in danger of pain and death and everything in between. Neither of them could bring themselves to speak. Modwyn herself seemed to be pressing them to say what they knew they had to say.
But still, they said nothing, terrified.
“Come with me,” she said, rising with stately grace. “There is something else you should see.”
3
They ascended the stairs again and went higher up the tower than they had yet gone. She made several halting pauses as if she didn’t completely remember where she was going.
Finally the three came to a metal door that Modwyn opened by turning a large wheel in its centre like a submarine hatch. Freya thought this rather odd and out of place, but had only a couple of seconds to wonder at it before she saw what was on the other side of the door.
They gasped. The room, which was as big as Freya’s bedroom, was filled with modern machinery. At least, it seemed modern in comparison to everything else in Ni?ergeard. It was more like the sort of technology in old science fiction TV shows-large metal banks and cabinets with dials and switches on them-dials and switches like those in World War II bombers. There was an ornate wrought-iron chair of typical Ni?ergeard design at a small desk that held a pair of massive headphones that were connected to the bank by a dangling, decaying, coiled cord.
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