by Chris Ward
Sylvion was suddenly overwhelmed by a deep sense of failure and unworthiness. She could not understand what she had done, and yet the expression on the faces of Reigin and Rema confirmed it. What do I do now? She thought, but it was Reigin once more who saved her. He recovered his composure quickly.
‘It is this place Sylvion,’ he said quietly with not the slightest condemnation in his voice. ‘Remember where we are. We tread upon the lair of Ungarit, and Zydor. Who knows what evil surrounds us. You bear the Shadow Blade. Evil will seek you out. It will play with your mind. It is alright.’ And at these words the others relaxed…
And Sylvion wept soundlessly.
‘Rema I am sorry. Forgive me,’ she whispered looking sadly at him. ‘I had no right to ask that of you…’ And Rema immediately went to her and held her and she did not resist him, but rather allowed his warmth and love to enfold her.
‘It is beyond me how you have carried such a load as that which the Shadow Blade demands,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘There is nothing to forgive Sylvion.’ He stepped back and she looked at Gravyn who nodded and smiled.
‘My Lady we should be after Zydor.’
Reigin then held out the Shadow Blade to Sylvion who took it as though for the first time, fearful that it would cause her to say or do something more which would be shameful.
‘It is not the Shadow Blade Sylvion,’ Reigin reassured her. ‘It is this place. Come let us do as Gravyn says. Let us slay Zydor and take Rayven home. Let us deliver Revelyn and all others in this land from the evil we feel so close.’
And with that they began to climb the Horn of Svalbard, taking care to move quietly and not attract the attention of those who guarded the mine. The moon was now high in the night sky and its light was brighter than any moon they had ever known. So bright it seemed to hurt their eyes. The slope was hard; very steep and quite slippery, and they were grateful to Reigin for his agility and quick advice. Constantly he suggested where best to step and where to rest, what to avoid and what was to come, for he seemed unaffected by the demands of the climb. He moved up and about and then waited for them to come to him. Always he watched to see what might befall them. It was the hardest climb any of them had ever done. Even Rema who had spent his youth chasing the Oryx over mighty mountains could not remember anything so physical as climbing almost vertically up the Horn of Svalbard.
Half way up they rested and took breath, every muscle and fibre aching save for Reigin who, whilst he was breathing hard, did not give any impression of finding the going overly hard.
And then they went on and so by sheer wilfulness they reached the top.
The rim of the crater on which they collapsed in exhaustion was like a knife edge. No more than three paces wide it fell away sheer into the black depths and impenetrable shadow that hid what lay far below, for the moon was not yet high enough to illuminate the shaft.
‘Well there is no larva down there,’ Rema gasped, ‘for we would see it surely?’
‘It will be a lake, a deep black cold lake,’ Sylvion said quietly. ‘That is what Zydor would like, to match his cold black heart.’
‘There is the place of sacrifice,’ Reigin said pointing across the rim to the far side. They all looked, and sure enough there it was. The crater was almost a perfect circle, no more than three hundred paces wide and they stood almost on the highest part of the rim. It dropped away to the left and the right until almost directly opposite, in a gap, and much lower down there was a stone platform reaching far out above the void.
And on it stood a figure. And Sylvion knew it was her daughter.
Rayven.
Rayven stood alone. More alone than ever in her life before. She knew Zydor was close by. But no one was close enough to touch her. There was nowhere for her to run, so she was not closely attended. She could not see clearly. Her eyes were full of tears, and her ears with the constant mindless chanting. Ungarit, Ungarit, Ungarit… over and over. It was so perpetual that she felt held in a trance. The cold of the stone platform hurt her bare feet but it no longer seemed important. She was about to perish. What difference did a little cold make? Blinking through her tears she could not see far down into the shaft which awaited her, but the moon was now high and almost overhead. Soon the black lake would be revealed with its waters churning with the evil anticipation of Ungarit who had been invoked over and over to attend upon this moment.
You will not cut my throat. I will not bleed for you or Ungarit or any other demyn, Rayven thought.
‘Good bye kindma,’ she whispered. ‘I love you wherever you are. Perhaps one day we will meet again.’
And so she bided her time and readied herself for one final act of defiance.
Sylvion wanted to scream. She wanted to call out to her daughter. ‘Hold on Rayven, I will come for you.’
But she did not. Instead, fighting her emotions she calmly took the King’s Eye from her shoulder and looked down upon the place of sacrifice. She could see Rayven so clearly now, standing on the stone platform high above the mighty drop to oblivion. She wore a simple flimsy gown. Her feet were bare and there were tears on her cheeks. She seemed to be in a trance, standing like a statue, but her eyes were open, and she seemed aware of what was happening. At least Sylvion hoped this was true.
‘I love you Rayven’, Sylvion whispered. ‘Be brave. I will come for you.’
And then Sylvion looked all about where Rayven stood. She saw people behind her, hands raised and chanting. The sound of it came to them softly on the breeze. Zydor was there. She had never seen the sorcerer but he was clear enough. A tall and ugly man in a flowing robe of some finery. He stood by a small stone altar at the side of the platform where a shining knife glinted evilly in the moonlight. He too raised his hands to the moon and seemed to chant in unison with the others. Behind them Sylvion saw the tops of the battlement. A half circle fort upon which many guards stood facing south. She smiled and thought. You look the wrong way fools. You wait in vain.
Having satisfied herself that she had seen all that she could she lowered the King’s Eye and put it safely in its leather sheath. She laid it upon the rock for it was no longer required, then she put her hand upon the hilt of the Shadow Blade.
‘Not a sound,’ she ordered. ‘The breeze comes to us so we cannot be heard if we are quiet. They can see us if they look this way, but they are calling their demyn so perhaps we can get closer without been seen.
‘I can shoot him,’ Rema said in a whisper. ‘You know I can Sylvion.’ But Sylvion held up a hand.
‘No Rema you can’t. No arrow will slay this man. Only the Shadow Blade can defeat him. Any arrows will only give us away. There are guards on the wall behind. These you will slay if they see us, but first we will approach as close as we can. I cannot use the Shadow Blade from this distance. I must be closer.’ She paused. ‘Are we ready?’ A murmur of agreement followed and so they began the precarious walk around the rim toward the place of sacrifice, and with each step they descended and became more visible should any of the worshippers focus on the far side of the crater rim. But they were not seen, and slowly they approached. Two hundred paces, then closer still.
Reigin cast his eye quickly all about. He saw everything, and wondered how they could not have been spotted. The guards all stood facing south, looking out over the plain of Svalbard towards the southern gates. They think we will come from there he thought.
Rema placed an arrow to his bowstring, and Gravyn too. They walked silently but ready to act on any threat or alarm.
At a point where the rim suddenly dropped down toward the stone platform they halted and took breath. So close. Sylvion calmed herself and looked at Zydor. Fifty paces no more. She felt a familiar great anger burn in her breast and then everything changed. Her plan to slay Zydor fell apart.
Rayven knew that the moon was now overhead for she could see down the shaft and suddenly the churning water below was illuminated; black and foreboding. She knew that Zydor would soon take three steps from his
altar and with the knife he would cut her throat and commit her with a mighty thrust to the void and to Ungarit. Time had run out. If she had looked up only a little she would have seen Sylvion her kindma, and her companions, and hope would have burned bright once more.
But she did not. And so she ran as Rubii Varanii ran, and Zydor did not suspect it.
Her movement made Zydor turn and call in anger for he could not believe that she would do what the stupid Varanii wench had done. Surely she waited for rescue, why would she take her own life? And then he howled in frustration for he wanted the sacrifice to be right as Ungarit demanded. The throat cut, the blood spilt upon the stone, the dying in the falling with the blood all about. But he was denied, and so Rayven launched herself far out into the abyss and fell.
‘No!’ Zydor started to scream but then a mighty light blinded him and he could not seem to move…
Sylvion could not believe her eyes. Rayven ran from her. Her own daughter was ending her life and she was so close. She saw her run, she saw Zydor turn with an angry cry, and she saw her daughter leap and then plummet down into the shaft.
And then she did what she had never thought she might or could. It was pure instinct, based on the faintest hope. No more.
The Shadow Blade appeared instantly in her hand. Her anger was powerful in that moment and so the purest white light poured from the blade. The sound of its coming shook the mount and Zydor knew that he had been tricked. He knew the Shadow Blade was close by. A deadly fear caught his heart but he could move no faster than a snail. Sylvion in that moment however had no thought for Zydor. Only Rayven. She would not die like that, alone and not knowing that she, her kindma had come for her. And so as the world changed for all on the Horn of Svalbard and things slowed to almost nothing, Sylvion ran. Like a lightning bolt she leapt down and was on the platform in a blinding flash, the light pouring all about. She sped past Zydor and swept the blade at him, but he was a hand span too far from where she ran... straight down the platform; and then she too leapt into the void and fell. None who watched knew exactly what had come to pass, except Zydor and in his mind he exalted. In an instant he knew that he had them both, the Queen who had stood so long against all their plans, and the Shadow Blade. They were going to Ungarit and to death. If he could he would have screamed with joy but he could not move save the smallest bit despite all his evil resolve, for his world was consumed with the white light of the Shadow Blade.
Sylvion fell. The power of the Shadow Blade filled the shaft and sent a beam of light up to the heavens above. She fell faster than Rayven for the laws which ruled her world were set aside by the powers of the Shadow Blade. She fell head first with the blade giving off its light in one continuous flow.
Rayven fell head over heels, spinning around and her eyes closed. She knew that it would be a long fall but the end would take only an instant, the water was surely like rock. And so as she fell she thought of other things, and many images came to her in that deadly fall. But then an amazing light penetrated even into her dark world. And then a voice.
‘Rayven I am here, take hold of me.’ And Rayven opened her eyes and there falling with her was Sylvion her beloved kindma and the light of the Shadow Blade all around. She thought that it was a dream and what might happen to some just before a sudden violent death… but no, the vision took hold of her and they fell together.
‘Kindma?’Rayven wept.
‘Hold me and do not let go,’ ordered a most familiar voices. ‘And take a breath for we will go deep.’ And so they clung together, as they fell, head first toward the water and the realm of Ungarit.
Sylvion knew the Shadow Blade could not save them. She could not slow her fall; there was only one chance and so she turned her anger upon the water, upon the place where Ungarit lurked, and the Shadow Blade responded with a mighty pulse of power and light which sent another thunderclap to the heavens and loosened rocks which fell… but not then, for time was now different for Sylvion and Rayven Greyfeld. The pulse hit the water and parted it, blasting it away and turning it to froth and bubbles. It continued on down into the depths. Sylvion and Rayven, locked fast together fell into the parted water and were slowed by the spray and mist, and great bubbles of air which were sucked down with them. Their fall was broken and then deep under the surface the water came back and swallowed them. It was cold. It took their breath away, but they were not injured.
Nor could they breathe.
Far below them the pulse of light and pure energy from the Shadow Blade raced down, deeper and deeper until five leagues below, where the ancient volcanic shaft was constricted at a point where a mighty rocky collapse has shut off the channel, the light hit the blockage and shattered it into tiny fragments.
Below that point, long blocked for ages past lay the caverns of the deep; a mighty chamber full of water heated by the molten rock which lay even further down. It was vast, so huge that all of AlGiron would have fit inside with room to spare. It had long fed the shaft on the Horn of Svalbard with seeping water from below, renewing it and churning it at times when the demyn Ungarit thought best to have it do so. But now it was released and with a mighty rush it surged up and pushed all before it.
The water was ice cold, so cold that Sylvion thought her heart would stop, and all she wanted was to breathe, but it was impossible. She fought the urge, not knowing how deep they were. Rayven struggled by her and seemed to be kicking for the surface. She held the Shadow Blade grimly, knowing that to lose it now would be death. It glowed dully, its power for the moment unable to flow for she had no means to make it, but it lit the water around them enough to show the way to swim, their bubbles rising clear and shining like diamonds all about; Sylvion knew she was surviving, but barely. Suddenly from below there was a sense that they were being pushed upward, but they had no way to measure it.
Reigin had seen in a flash what had happened. The horror of Rayven’s blind plunge to oblivion being overtaken by the blinding light which he had seen often enough. Sylvion had moved like an arrow, a blur; but then she too had fallen. He had seen Zydor scream, and turn to follow Sylvion’s path, but they were all slowed as though moving in honey, all thoughts and reactions had become almost impossible. And then the light had ceased, snapped off and now they were recovering. Zydor remained looking down into the shaft from the edge of the stone platform and Reigin realised they had not yet been seen.
‘Do not move,’ he whispered to Rema and Gravyn, ‘We are not yet discovered.’
‘What happened?’ Rema replied equally quietly, ‘where is Sylvion?’
‘She went after Rayven,’ Reigin whispered…
‘She fell?’ Rema asked, grief stricken in an instant.
‘She fell,’ Reign said sombrely. ‘The light has gone…’
‘She is dead?’ Rema asked desperately looking down into the shaft.
Reigin shook his head. ‘I do not know. But the Shadow Blade cannot make one fly…’
‘The water is rising,’ Gravyn said in a voice which also was tinged with sadness despite his stony face.
And sure enough as they watched the black lake came up the shaft toward them.
Zydor was triumphant. His mind was still fogged but he knew he had won. Ungarit would take them. The fall would kill them. The Shadow Blade was now beyond any human hand. He exalted as he looked down upon his victory. The water churned and then….it seemed to move. It was rising.
‘Ungarit, Mighty Lord, you come to me,’ he whispered, his eyes transfixed upon the amazing sight.
Sylvion and Rayven broke the surface with a mighty cry, their lungs sucking in the wonderful air; they spat out the water, and wept with deep emotion whilst shivering with the cold. All at once. Rayven grasped Sylvion and wept. ‘Kindma you came…I had lost hope. Do we die together...I am sorry. I am so sorry…’
Sylvion fought to stay above the water and pushed her daughter away.
‘Swim Rayven,’ she ordered angrily, ‘we are not beaten yet…look the water is rising. Some for
ce beneath is pushing us up.’ And sure enough the walls of the shaft seemed to be sinking into the depths; but it was not so. They were rising. Sylvion knew that without the light of the Shadow Blade her companions were left exposed to Zydor and his sorcery, his guards and all else that might stand arrayed against them. And then the cold began to slow her mind, and Rayven too started to shake uncontrollably as all warmth was sucked from her. Sylvion forced herself to raise the Shadow Blade above her head and in that moment she caught sight of Zydor staring down at them for they had already risen a great distance up the shaft. His evil face ignited within her a familiar anger once more and with a sudden thunder clap the Blade gave off its light and Zydor was immediately blinded. The heavens above were lit up and all who gazed upon the amazing beam of pure white light were held in its thrall.
Zydor felt a deep fear run through his evil being, and thought in terror, despite his stupefied senses. She lives. The Shadow Blade is with her and it comes for me. Ungarit where are you? He wanted to flee for this was the only thing he feared; the Shadow Blade in the hands of its rightful bearer, Sylvion Greyfeld the White Queen of Revelyn. But he could hardly move.
And the water rose unhindered, pushed up by the mighty caverns of the deep now released from unnumbered ages trapped far below the earth.
Sylvion shivered. Rayven seemed unable to move and floated only with Sylvion’s assistance, and she too was tiring quickly. Holding the Shadow Blade and keeping her focus on making it give the deadly light left little energy for trying to keep Rayven above the surface, but she knew now that the water would reach the top…Hold on she thought hold on, and grimaced with the pain and effort.