Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1)

by Frances Smith

  “Highness,” Michael murmured as he tried to rise and go to her.

  She raised one hand and shook her head. “No, it’s all right, I’ll come to you.” She gritted her teeth and grimaced as she crawled across the blood cobblestones, dragging herself towards him, wincing at every motion that she made.

  “Tullia?” Michael asked, his voice small, childlike, desperate.

  Fiannuala shook her head.

  “Turo save us,” Michael muttered. “What a fool I was. I am so sorry.”

  “We were all fools, and you the least,” Fiannuala muttered. “How do you feel?”

  Michael tried to say something brave, but found the pain was too great for him to manage it. "Terrible."

  Fiannuala nodded. “That makes two of us. Don’t worry, they’ll be here soon.”

  “We are not in much position to fight if they do not,” Michael said.

  Fiannuala did not reply for a moment. “Michael…we're dying. But one of us doesn’t have to. I have a spell that will…well if I was rested I could heal you completely, but as I am…I think I can patch you up just about.”

  Michael pushed himself onto his elbows. “If you have a spell like that then use it on yourself, for God's sake.”

  Fiannuala smiled grimly as she shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. Magic never approves of selfishness at the best of times, and I have to cast this spell from my own life, so I can’t use it to heal myself, see?” She raised her hand.

  Michael shook his head. “I cannot.”

  “You have to,” Fiannuala said. “Save your sister, take care of Tullia’s sister. Tullia…I didn’t think much of her before now but…she was really something, wasn’t she?”

  Michael nodded. He could not speak past the lump in his throat.

  Fiannuala smiled fondly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t get the chance to know you all better. Tell Amy…tell her how sorry I am, and to keep our promise for both of us.” She raised her palm towards Michael, and began to whisper. “I call upon Dala of the woods, I call upon Turo of the oceans, I call upon Arus of the flames and upon Mithrok of the earth, I call upon Thanates of the skies, I call upon Stratos of the storm: my own life I offer up for this power, the power to save, the power to preserve, the power to heal. With my last breath, save my friend, and let me pass from this world in his place.”

  The runes on her hand glowed blue, and a blue aura surrounded Michael as he felt his gaping wounds close up. It felt less gentle than Miranda’s healing, more forceful, more painful, and all he could think as he watched Fiannuala’s breath diminishing was how unworthy he was of this great gift she offered.

  “Win,” Fiannuala whispered. She placed her hands upon her knees, closed her eyes, and let her chin rest upon her chest. “Michael, I pass my will to you.”

  Michael stared at her, tears falling down his face, tears for Fiannuala and for Tullia, for two brave friends brought to disaster by their misplaced trust in a weak, unworthy man.

  “God forgive me,” Michael whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He was still crying when they found him: Amy and Jason and Wyrrin first, then Gideon a little later. They found him alongside the dead bodies of Tullia and Fiannuala, and stared in silent shock at what they found.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael whined pathetically.

  “And ever after that day was known as the Field of Shattered Hopes,” Wyrrin murmured. “For in that battle was all our pride cast down, our hopes and expectations dashed, our confidence destroyed along with the flower of all our folk. We put our faith in valour, and our faith was in vain though there was much valour. And so we knew that now only the blackest of fates awaited us, for hope had failed and only despair remained.”

  XX

  Shattered Hopes

  Michael ran through a battlefield, a place of shattered swords and rotting corpses. He ran, and his ghosts pursued him.

  "No," Michael shook his head desperately. "No, please, leave me alone. Please, no."

  Fiannuala pursued him implacably, her arm a mangled ruin, her face charred. "I trusted you to fight at my side. I went to your aid. And you let me die for your sake."

  Michael cried, "No more, I pray of you no more." He tripped and fell flat on his face upon the ground. "Pray God, no more."

  "I have a sister too," Tullia said, kneeling down beside him, her bloody wounds a gruesome sight. "A sister I will never see again. A sister who will be all alone because you weren't strong enough to protect me."

  "I'm sorry," Michael said. "God, I'm so sorry. If there was anything that I could do-"

  "You said you'd always protect me," Felix said bitterly. "But when I needed you most you let me down."

  "Please, Felix, take pity on me," Michael begged.

  "You were always weak," mother said. "To think I once thought that you could be made strong. You have failed at every task with which you have been confronted, and you will fail Miranda just as poorly."

  "How my sisters will weep when they learn of my death," Fiannuala said. "How they will curse your name. I don't suppose you have the courage to face them, do you? You're a coward."

  "Listen for the sound of my Lucilia screaming," Tullia hissed.

  "Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!" Michael screamed as the ghosts pressed close about him, cowering with his arms over his head, crawling into a hollow between the roots of a tree. "Go away, go away, leave me alone!"

  "Michael, are you all right? Michael, wake up!"

  Michael's opened and he saw Jason looking down at him nervously.

  "Jason?"

  "You were thrashing, screaming, I was worried," Jason murmured. "What's wrong?"

  "Everything," Michael said. "Nothing. I had a nightmare."

  "I see," Jason said softly. They were sheltering in the ruins of an Aurelian house, a little fire burning beside them. Outside, the rain was falling heavily. The sky was dark and the world was wet, but Michael was glad of the downpour. They had buried Fiannuala in a garden they had found, and this rain would cause a tree to sprout over her grave. Hopefully it would grow tall and strong, a fitting memorial to her. If the gods were good. But then, when had the gods ever been good?

  Tullia they had burned using Jason's sorcery, and scattered her ashes. None of them really knew how to perform a Novarian funeral ceremony, but Jason knew more than most, and was a lay preacher at that, so he had said the words. Michael hoped they were enough, but feared that they would not be.

  Seized with cold dread at the thought of what might be befalling his fallen comrades, Michael glanced at Jason nervously. "Can I ask you something?"

  Jason nodded. "Yes, of course."

  Michael frowned. "I don't know, but I hope you do. What happens to the spirits of the Dalanim when they die? And the Novarians? I only know the Turonim beliefs. What has happened to Tullia and Fiannuala? Do you know?"

  Jason sighed, hanging his head. "You do not wish to know the answer to that question."

  "Probably not, but I have to know," Michael said, his eyes wide and his tone pleading. "Please, tell me. Where are they now?"

  Jason closed his eyes, clenching them tight shut against the truth that Michael feared to hear. "Of the Eldar, the Old Gods, only Turo created his own domain separate from his brothers and sisters. The followers of the rest all dwelled in the upper levels of the Heavenvault, the celestial city where the old gods dwelled.

  "But when the Young Gods rose against their parents they destroyed the lower levels of the Heavenvault, the mortal dwellings, and took over the upper levels in the dreaming realm. It is written that they cast out all the souls that dwelled within, the worshippers of their parents, and banished them into the Shadowlands round about. In their present state, the Old Gods cannot create any new resting place for the souls of those who love them, and Turo's Halls are only for the Turonim. It seems the Shadowlands are where their souls rest still."

  "Fiannuala," Michael whimpered, remembering what a terrible place the shadow plane was, how filled with da
ngers for the friendless and unwary. "God under wave. And Tullia? She was Novarian, if lax about it; surely a better world awaits her then the one she left?"

  "I fear not," Jason said softly. "The rules of the Novarian Church are harsh and cruel. In order to pass the gates of Heavenvault one must be shriven by a priest before death, to cleanse the dying of their sins. Tullia was not shriven."

  "So she is in the Shadowlands as well?" Michael asked.

  Jason hesitated. "For the unshriven, those who die with conscience laden with sin, the Black Abyss awaits."

  "Turo almighty, no," Michael murmured. "But, but Tullia had no sins, what had she done to earn the flames?"

  Jason laughed harshly. "To those Novarians bastards everyone is a sinner, and everyone can be forgiven. It does not matter if you stole a breadroll once or ordered a million people put to death it is all the same to them. And the mass murderer can enter into the Heavenvault while the thief is consigned to the Black Abyss simply because one had a priest on hand and the other did not. Now do you see why I despise them so?"

  Michael closed his eyes. God strike me dead, for I do not deserve to be forgiven. "Tell me, as a clever man, why do you think such good people as they had to die, and must suffer so in death, while miserable wretches live on."

  Jason looked at him sharply. "Fia gave her life to save yours. You should honour that by living to be worthy of her memory, not indulging in self-pity about how much less worthy than her you are."

  Michael laughed. "Live on, you say. How do I do that, after what has happened?"

  Jason stared at him for a moment. "Only you can say what you find worth living in this world, but I hope for Fiannuala's sake that whatever it is is worth it." Jason sighed. "You should try and get some more rest."

  Michael nodded. "Good night, Jason."

  Jason looked at him for a moment. "You've...never mind. Good night. I hope you have better dreams than before."

  "I doubt it," Michael muttered. "I only hope that I can do what I know I must do."

  In the land of dreams and death, Michael turned around and round, casting his eyes about for the sight of her, that dread mistress who had brought Tullia to such a cruel fate, who had condemned Fiannuala to the land of shadow. His pride, his vanity, had killed them both but it was her and her siblings and cousins whose iron laws were punishing them even after death.

  "I always took you for a bold man, but never thought you would be quite so desperate as this," Silwa's voice came from behind him. "To try and kill me...it has not yet been done despite great efforts."

  Michael spun around, the blade Fiannuala had given him appearing in his hand, "Why? Tell me why it has to be this way. Give me one good reason. Just one!"

  "For what?"

  "Any of it!" Michael yelled. "Why did Fia and Tullia have to die? Why did either of them have to get involved in this in the first place? And after all that, why can they not even enjoy a restful afterlife? Why is the world so full of tears?"

  Silwa regarded him dispassionately, no hint of emotion in those grey eyes. "I am not the goddess of death. I am not fate's author. I did not slay Tullia or Fiannuala."

  "You got Tullia into this," Michael spat. "You wormed your way into Jason's dreams same as you got into mine, drawing him on, dragging Tullia behind him. Did you know that she would die? Two companions, you said. Two, not three. So you must have known that Tullia was fated to perish, didn't you?"

  "The future is not-"

  "Did you know?" Michael demanded.

  Silwa regarded him coolly. "It was the most likely outcome."

  "Why?" Michael asked. "What did she die for?"

  "For the world."

  "Damn the world, let it all burn!" Michael shouted. "Let all perish for Tullia's sake."

  "Do you think she would want that?"

  "I think she's dead and it doesn't much matter what she might have wanted," Michael said. "And what about her soul? The Black Abyss, for such as her, why?"

  "I did not make that rule," Silwa said.

  "Oh didn't you, how very convenient," Michael said. "I suppose it isn't your fault that the Heavenvault is barred to Fiannuala either?"

  "That was Bael's notion, backed by Alectar and Cuuinthan," Silwa said. "Even at the time I thought it a little harsh-"

  "Oh did you now?" Michael spat. "I suppose next you will tell me that you never really wanted to rebel against the Old Gods either. And I am called a coward, why don't you stiffen that divine back of yours and take some responsibility for the things that you've done?"

  "You speak to me thus?" Silwa demanded, eyes flashing. "You talk of responsibility?"

  "I will answer for my acts before Turo almighty," Michael replied. "Who must you answer to?"

  "I must answer to myself each and every day."

  "Your self is very forgiving with evasions it seems."

  "What would you hear from me?" Silwa cried. "Shall I say that I gloried in Heavenvault's destruction, that I cringe now at the glee with which I then expelled souls even as they begged for mercy? Shall I tell you how I encouraged my cousins to rise up against our parents, planned our strategy to take them all by surprise, slaughtered the naiad knights guarding the celestial city? Shall I perhaps tell you how I did all those things for no better reason than that I was bored, and feeling constrained by the limitations that my mother placed upon me? Or shall I tell you how many tears I have shed since then for all those things, how I have regretted every folly of my youth a thousand times, how I have worked each day for the betterment of mankind in vain attempt to atone for my crimes, and perhaps earn some slight forgiveness for them?"

  Michael turned away from her. "There is no forgiveness for the likes of us."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because we don't deserve it," Michael said harshly. "If I tried to kill you, would you kill me to defend yourself?"

  "No," Silwa said.

  Michael snorted. "I might have guessed. Then there is no point. Huh, there is no point. What an apt phrase for all occasions."

  "Michael-"

  "Stop," Michael said. "I don't need your pity or concern. Send me away from here. I don't ever want to see you again."

  Michael woke up the next morning to find that the rain had cleared. Jason was still watching over him. No one else was anywhere to be seen.

  "Amy, Gideon?" Michael asked.

  "They took Wyrrin and went to get the sword," Jason said. "I volunteered to stay here and keep an eye on you."

  "Thank you," Michael said. "About Tullia, I-"

  "I know," Jason said. "You don't have to say anything. I know you're feeling as bad as I am."

  Michael swallowed. He would have preferred Jason to have raged at him. "She was-"

  "You don't need to say anything of that sort either," Jason said quickly. "I know exactly what Tullia was."

  Michael bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

  "Me too," Jason said. "I had wondered, you know, if the reason Silwa had brought me here was so that Tullia could join the party. She seemed so much more capable, so much more useful, than me. But now...now she's...I wonder what the point of it all was."

  "There is no point," Michael said. "There never was."

  "I think," Jason murmured. "I think...if she could have chosen a death, this is the kind of death she would have chosen. A warrior's death. A good death."

  "There are no good deaths," Michael replied. "No warriors either. We are all just fools, blundering in the dark, groping for something to make sense of that which makes no sense at all."

  "You don't believe that, not you," Jason said. "You, of all people, should know better than that."

  "Why me?" Michael demanded. "Because I act like a child, because I think like a child, because I profess childish notions? Perhaps I have grown up at last, and put aside childish things."

  "And become insufferably pretentious at the same time, it seems," Jason snapped. "Blundering in the dark? Groping for something to make sense of that which makes no sense at all? You
sound like an adolescent who's just discovered Post-Romantic Expressionism."

  "Better that than sound like a swaddling babe," Michael said.

  "You know, I'm starting to wish that you'd go back to calling me 'Your Highness' and all your other nonsense."

  "I do not wish that at all," Michael said.

  "Good, you're awake," Amy said as she walked in. "How are you feeling?"

  "You won't be glad he's awake as soon as he opens his mouth," Jason spat.

  Michael pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the aching in his wounds as he did so. "I'm going out for a walk."

  "Where?" Amy asked.

  "I don't know."

  "Then stay here, it's dangerous," Amy said. "We didn't see any more of Quirian's men but that doesn't mean that they aren't here."

  "Good, I hope I find them."

  "Getting yourself killed trying to find vengeance won't bring Tullia or Fia back."

  "Who said anything about looking for vengeance?" Michael snapped.

  He tried to push past her, but Amy was able to stop him in his tracks with one hand. "Michael. What's going on?"

  "Let me by, I want to be alone," Michael said mulishly.

  "I told you, it could be dangerous."

  "That's why I wanted to be alone," Michael replied. "I need some time to myself."

  "Tough," Amy said. "Talk to me."

  "Why should I?"

  "Because I'm your friend, and I always come to you when I need help; I don't mope around keeping it to myself."

  "Yes, you do, don't you?" Michael muttered. "You tell me all your wretched little secrets. How you aren't really a knight. How you cried over your mother. How you're as false as everything else in this wretched world." He laughed, a strangled, joyless sound. "You know I used to look down on other people. I used to hate how stupid the world was, how crass and vulgar. I used to think this world was so full of fools and liars that I was sick of it. Turns out I was the biggest fool and liar of all of them."

  "No you weren't," Amy said. "You were sweet and kind and always there when I needed you. Where is that boy, where's the Michael who always dried my tears when I was sad?"