The Realms Thereunder aet-1

by Stephen Lawhead

  As he watched the new coal catch, he became aware of a shuffling behind him. He expected his assistant, and was about to berate him for letting the fire burn so low, when he saw the shape in the doorway. Turning fully, he saw one of the lifiendes- the boy-clutching a sword in his hands. Clearing his throat, he gruffly asked the lad his business.

  The boy held up his weapon and mumbled something. He asked the boy to speak up.

  “I-I’ve seen some of the knights’ swords have got writing on them,” he stammered. “Could you do that for me?”

  The blacksmith said that he could.

  “I’d like to have my name on this sword, in the same writing as theirs.”

  The blacksmith huffed and stepped towards him, taking the sword from his hands. He turned it over and recognised the work and style. He tapped the steel with a hammer and listened for its hardness. It was a soft blade and he told the boy so. He saw the young one’s face fall and hastened to explain that this blade’s edge was as sharp as any hard blade’s edge but had less chance of shattering than a hard one. It would serve him well, provided he didn’t use it to fence with rocks. As to the name, he replied that it could be easily done, but why should it be done?

  The boy said softly, “Because I’m going on a dangerous mission and I might not come back. And if someone finds my sword . . . I want them to know that it was mine, and that I tried.”

  The blacksmith smoothed his beard and nodded as he turned his broad back. He rooted around on a high shelf and found a scrap of parchment. He laid it in front of the boy and gave him a stick of charcoal, instructing him to write his name in plain letters, as he wanted it to appear on the blade. As he waited he noticed the child’s thin legs, weak arms, and small chest. His mind went back to a time when children were not an unfamiliar sight, even in his own house. He thought how unsuited this child was to a sword of any type. Was he raised with an illness, or just born small and thin? Perhaps all children looked this way now. Or perhaps they always had and he’d forgotten.

  The boy finished and straightened himself, placing the charcoal flat on the table. He scratched away for a few moments and then looked up. “I’d like a name for it. What are some good sword names?”

  The smith shrugged and gave him some-many famous, others not so. Gradually, they came to an agreement about what the sword’s name should be and the blacksmith instructed the boy that the work would be sent to the Langtorr in due time. The boy thanked him and then left.

  The blacksmith returned to his forge, heaped more coal into the fire pit, and started working the bellows.

  6

  Preparations for the departure were almost finished. The group would be Swi?gar, Ecgbryt, Daniel, and Freya. For a time it looked as if Godmund would come with them-he would certainly have been appreciated-but it was decided that his skills would be needed defending Ni?ergeard if there was another assault.

  So while supplies were being gathered, Ecgbryt took it upon himself to teach Daniel the principles of armed combat. Freya watched, and after a while decided to take part as well-she figured it would be easier to stay out of the way of someone else’s weapon if she knew how they’d use it. The lessons involved far more talking and explanation than Daniel thought necessary, followed by an almost mindless repetition of motion-sword thrusts and jabs by him, and parries and blocks by Freya. This was done, Ecgbryt said, in order that the most basic strokes and motions of their weapons became as natural to their bodies as breathing.

  They became tired very quickly. Daniel was sweating heavily and Freya’s arms felt as if they were going to fall off. She found it hard to catch her breath. They went back to their rooms for a short rest and a wash in the shallow bowls on their tables. Daniel lay down on the bed and let himself drift off. When he woke up he knocked on Freya’s door, but there was no answer. He wandered outside.

  As he approached the stone bench-their stone bench-that gave the best, secluded view of the wall repairs, he found Freya already there. He smiled as soon as he saw her. She had her wooden practice spear resting next to her and was wearing a dress-one of the old-style gowns that had been provided for her. It was elaborately embroidered but of a simple design. The cloth and pattern were similar to his own shirt, but hers was a deep brick-red colour.

  “I like it,” he said.

  Smoothing some of the folds of her skirt, she gave a self-conscious smile. “Thanks. My school clothes were getting really tatty. And with those traveling cloaks they made for us, I thought- why not?”

  “It looks good-the dark red works on you. It’s nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  Daniel nodded and took a seat next to her, his eyes on the reparations to the wall. The workers were starting to fill the gap with new cut stone and had moved large iron pulleys and winches onto the battlements to lift the heavy blocks.

  “I really don’t want to go on this . . . mission,” Freya said.

  “How did I guess?”

  “We’ll probably get killed if we go.”

  “We’ll probably get killed if we stay.”

  “It’s ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t.’ That’s what my dad says sometimes.”

  Daniel smiled and picked up a few pebbles from the ground. “I think I’d rather die doing something than die doing nothing,” he said, throwing one of his pebbles at a larger rock. “Especially something heroic. Something that no one else can do except for us. Something that will destroy something evil.”

  Freya sighed and picked up a handful of pebbles as well. She started throwing them at the same rock. “I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t think this is a happy story. The world is so much more complicated than that cheesy ‘because they were children they were able to overcome the evil-but-stupid wizard’ nonsense they feed to you in kids’ movies. That stuff never really happens. It’s just something grown-ups come up with to make children feel better-to make them think that they aren’t small and insignificant.”

  Daniel threw another couple stones. “Maybe. Although we have come this far. We survived an yfelgop attack. We even survived Ealdstan,” he said with a grin. “Here,” he said brightly, “look what I got.” He lifted a bundle he’d been carrying that was wrapped in an oilcloth. Unwrapping it, he showed her the sword he’d picked out, pulling it partway out of the scabbard. The words that the blacksmith engraved were easy to pick out on the polished surface, but Freya couldn’t read them.

  “See this?” Daniel showed one side to her, which read HAELE?SCIEPPENDE IC EOM. “It means ‘Hero-Maker, I am.’ That’s the name of my sword, Hero-Maker. And on this side,” he said, flipping the blade over, “it says ‘Ic agenes a Daniel Tully’, or ‘I belong to Daniel Tully.’ ”

  “Now if I stab anyone,” he said, smiling, “at least they’ll know my name.”

  Freya couldn’t help laughing.

  “Whatever happens,” Daniel said, sliding his sword into its sheath, “I’ll protect you. You know that, right?”

  Freya turned to him, her eyes lively and a sardonic grin on her face. “Why would I need protecting from you? I was the one who saved you when that thing had you on the floor.”

  “Well, yeah, but-”

  “He was going to eat your face,” she teased.

  “Gross! He was not.”

  Freya stood on the bench and grabbed her spear, brandishing it at him. “I completely saved you. You only want me to come along because I’m a better warrior than Swi?gar and Ecgbryt put together!”

  Daniel started to duel with her using his sheathed sword. “Hey, you said their names right! You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Freya grunted, attacking him with the blunt end of the spear. “Admit it, you want me to come so that I can save your life again.” He held on to her spear and she spun around and grabbed his arm, twisting it playfully around his back. “Admit it!”

  “Ah! Okay, okay! You’re right! Leggo!”

  Freya released him and fell back, laughing. She seemed to
come to herself again and her laughter stilled. “What is going to happen to us?”

  “I don’t know,” Daniel said, a smile still on his face. “So let’s find out.”

  7

  The travelers gathered silently around the base of the Great Carnyx-Daniel, Freya, Swi?gar, and Ecgbryt. There were also those who had come to see them off-Modwyn, Godmund, Frithfroth, the servants Cnafa and Cnapa, and another man- one who stood a small distance apart, making it clear that he didn’t want to talk to anyone; the blacksmith who had worked on Daniel’s sword. Ecgbryt fiddled with his pack’s straps as Swi?gar clamped his teeth on his empty clay pipe. Freya tugged at her dress and Daniel fidgeted with the hilt of his sword.

  “Remember,” Godmund said, reiterating the plan for the umpteenth time, “there are many paths through the Wild Caves that will take you to the Sl?pismere-and all of them bend downwards. Once across the Sl?pismere, look for any sign that might lead you, but remember that which you are pitched against is devious and diabolical.”

  They were waiting for Ealdstan, and he was not soon in coming. From time to time Daniel glanced up at the large metal horn-the Carnyx-suspended in its small, blunt fortress. The great horn possessed an oddly attractive power. It was captivating, hypnotic. They would tear their eyes away, only to be unwittingly drawn back to it again.

  Daniel wondered how many knights would wake up and where they’d be if ever the horn was blown. How would they know what to do?

  Freya, however, was wondering what sort of enchantment empowered it and how it worked. Perhaps there was a rational, scientific explanation. Perhaps it was a vibrational thing.

  A bell tolled from across the city, signaling the change of the watch, and Godmund made his good-bye. He embraced Swi?gar and Ecgbryt and wished the “fair lifiendes every good fortune and preservation on the journey,” which he hoped would be swift. He shook hands with them awkwardly and left.

  Frithfroth puffed out his cheeks impatiently and scuffed his feet against the close-set green and red marble flagstones.

  Removing his pipe and placing it in a small leather pouch, Swi?gar cleared his throat. “Time marches on,” he said firmly, “and so must we.”

  “Hold,” said Modwyn. “He approaches.”

  They turned to see Ealdstan striding across the square, a scowl on his face. He met them and turned his weary eyes to Daniel.

  “Destroy it, boy,” he commanded. “Destroy whatever houses Gad’s mortality-whatever the soul box contains-and all his spells and sorceries will unravel.”

  Freya didn’t appreciate being ignored in this exchange but was glad she didn’t have to talk to the mean-spirited wizard. Daniel returned Ealdstan’s gaze with a fixed face and gave a solemn nod.

  “I won’t let you down.”

  Then, with a mournful look, Ealdstan sighed. “I truly wish it was not necessary for you to become involved.” He raised his hands and uttered in a steady voice:

  “May the Hand that Makes guide your hearts, May the Light that Illumines shine on your path, And the One that Goes Between aid your steps.”

  He dropped his hands unceremoniously.

  Then he offered one final piece of advice. “Follow the water,” he said, and turned away. Modwyn frowned after him and turned to Freya. As she opened her mouth to speak, the alarm bell tolled violently. She stiffened, startled.

  “Another attack!” Frithfroth exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear. He bowed quickly to Daniel and Freya. “Good-bye, children, may you return swiftly and whole, your task complete.” He rushed away with the two servants behind him.

  “You must hurry,” Modwyn said, pushing Freya and Daniel towards the Carnyx building. “The entrance to the Wild Caves is within.” They dashed into it, closely followed by the knights, passing under a low archway, next to which stood several anxious guards. Once through the arch, large metal doors were swung shut and locked behind them.

  The inside of the building was like a small maze. The walls and paths twisted and branched, making, supposedly, the centre easier to defend. The knights very quickly led them through the narrow passages. Looking up, Freya saw that it was the central chamber that housed the Carnyx suspended above their heads. Set into the wall was another pair of stone doors a foot wide, tilted back at an angle, like the doors to a bunker or storm cellar. Ecgbryt and Swi?gar flung these open, revealing a tunnel that sloped downwards.

  Grabbing two silver lanterns and passing one to Ecgbryt, Swi?gar hurried them inside. With tremendous effort, he pulled both the stone doors closed. They met with an earth-shaking thud and sealed so that they were neat and flush with the other stones in the wall-as if there had never been a doorway there at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Trolls in Morven

  1

  Now . . .

  Alex moved carefully among the loose rocks and stones that formed the base of Morven’s northern slope. Its name could be translated from Gaelic as either Big Mountain or Big Hill. Its technical classification was a “graham,” but its name fit either way. At over seven hundred meters in height, it was certainly a big hill, though on the small side for a mountain. However, in contrast to the otherwise level plain of Caithness, it seemed enormous, being the only feature in an otherwise completely flat landscape.

  The ascent was relatively gentle. Alex walked beside Reverend Maccanish, who had insisted on accompanying him and being his guide to the area once Alex had more fully explained what he expected to find, and what he would have to do once he found it. It took the reverend little time to change into hiking clothes and rubber boots. Alex changed into some heavier gear-motorcycle gear, actually. Tough, padded leather trousers and a padded leather jacket, reinforced in the forearms, upper arms, chest, and back with metal plates. He also grabbed a rucksack with different sorts of emergency provisions and a long black object, which he slung on his back. He finished by lacing up a pair of army-issue, steel-toe boots. And they set off.

  They had walked only about forty-five minutes and had made it about halfway around the graham. It was a little after noon, so they stopped for a break.

  “Are you sure it’s a cave you’re looking for here? I know of none around here.”

  “There will be . . . something,” Alex answered. “But incidentally, do you know of any caves or other rock formations in the area?”

  “No, nothing like that. Why, do you think it more likely we’ll find the . . . creature there?”

  “No, it’s probably here,” Alex said, offering another oatcake to Maccanish. “We just have to keep our eyes open. And our ears.

  Even our-” Alex paused. Even as he was about to say it, he caught a whiff of something rotten on the wind.

  “What is it?” Maccanish asked, slightly alarmed, twisting around. “Do you see-?”

  “No, it’s alright,” Alex assured him. “Finish up,” he said, taking a long drink from his bottle of water. He packed his things together and brushed his hand over the long rectangular object wrapped in black that lay in his lap.

  “Do you mind if I see it?” Maccanish asked, gesturing.

  Alex thought for a moment and raised the black object- almost four feet long-and handed it to him.

  Maccanish fumbled with it for a few moments and then found its rubberized handle and withdrew it from its scabbard.

  “It’s like no sword I’ve ever seen,” Maccanish said, holding it upwards. It had just one cutting edge, which sloped and tapered at the top so that the blunt end was completely straight to the tip. It had a grey, brushed finish, which meant it didn’t shine or glimmer, except along the sharpened side. It was nearly five inches thick at its widest point and would have been heavy because of this, except that it had three irregularly spaced oblong holes to cut down on mass. A rivulet ran parallel to the cutting edge.

  “It’s the latest modern design,” Alex said with an ironic air. “I had it custom-made and designed, as well as stress-tested. I told them I was being commissioned by a Hollywood movie studio. I said I was making a vam
pire movie. It’s high-strength, low-alloy steel that’s been subzero treated and coated with a synthetic fluoropolymer. It cost a bloody fortune.”

  “I can imagine,” Maccanish said, sheathing the sword once more. “And you’ve actually used this thing?”

  “Just a couple times. When circumstance warranted it.”

  “Would not a rifle or machine gun do better?”

  Alex shook his head. “Not for what we’re hunting.”

  “My uncle has my great-grandfather’s old Claymore, but I wouldn’t put that up against this,” Maccanish said, handing it back to Alex.

  “Ready?” Alex asked, standing up.

  The reverend gathered his things together and stood. “Ready. Lead on.”

  They set off again along the side of the mountain where the ground became firmer and covered with heather and ferns. The stench that Alex had smelt was still in the air and getting thicker.

  “Do you know what that is?” he asked Maccanish. It was obvious what he was referring to.

  “Something died. Maybe several things. Is it what we’re looking for?”

  “Could be. What’s this crevice up here?”

  It seemed as if there were a fold in the mountain, running from the peak to the foot. It showed bare rock where rainwater washed the plants away.

  “It’s just a burn. It fills to no more than a trickle when it rains.

  There couldn’t be anything there.”

  “Listen, do you hear that?”

  Maccanish tilted his head. “It’s a sort of . . . buzzing. What does it mean?”