Marisa was snapped from her thoughts. ‘The markings indicate in which order to join the swords. If one were to make a guess, then the swords would not align properly, and a portal in which to commune with the gods would not be created.’
Marisa checked the order again and after a few moments remained satisfied. Carefully, she positioned one sword above the others and where before the swords were smooth save for the strange markings, there now appeared alignment holes and square rivets. The first two swords clicked together, and so she repeated the action, joining the swords together to create one thick sword. She heaved it up and took it to the section of the altar that reserved a sword slot. However, the sword would not fit. It was too thick. Marisa looked puzzled. ‘I must have missed something.’ She turned to Coinin. ‘Did you bring the book?’
Before he could answer, a bell began to chime the hour. The panic on Marisa’s face was sudden and rightly justified. If they did not solve this riddle before the stroke of twelve, they knew the consequence. The total annihilation of Er’ath.
‘What do I do?’ she almost screamed. ‘This was not in the book. But maybe I missed something.’
‘I think I might know the answer,’ Draken announced calmly.
All eyes turned to his.
‘It would seem logical that the Rose of Cerathil plays a big part in this ritual. Perhaps it, too, has a home.’
Marisa puzzled for a moment, and then the light glinting off the sword caught her eye. She turned it over and there, underneath, was a shaped hole within the pommel. She could have kissed her brother. Quickly, she ripped the Rose of Cerathil from a chain around her neck and placed the Rose into the hole. Almost immediately the sword began to glow red and all at once it slimmed. With just seconds to spare, she rammed the sword into the receiving slot.
The bell struck twelve and then there was silence.
Coinin, Marrok and the others looked around nervously. Had they made it? Was the ritual complete? Without warning, a crash of thunder sounded outside. Everyone rushed to the windows and looked out.
A sudden swell of dark, thunderous clouds formed around the tower, entirely covering the top half. A high-pitched whine began, so everyone had to cover their ears. Just when no one could take any more of the noise intermingled with crashes of thunder and bright flashes of lightning, an intense bright white light formed inside the room, filling every crevice and crack until suddenly it stopped, and three figures stood before them.
It took a moment to shake off the disorientation, and then Coinin suddenly cried, giving everyone a shock. ‘Mama, Papa.’
Marrok looked on in disbelief. There before him stood Ædelmær and Godwen Wulf. Not only that, Trenobin, the friendly dwarf also stood silently watching.
Coinin made to run towards the newcomers, eager to greet them. But Ædelmær held up his hand. ‘Stop! You cannot approach. We are a representation of the gods you worship.’
Coinin looked confused and saddened. ‘You are not –’
‘That is correct,’ Godwen replied. ‘I am the Goddess Taminoth.’
Ædelmær dropped his hand. ‘I am the Lord, your God, the High King, Rindor.’
‘And I am Maresh,’ declared the dwarf.
Everyone, including Draken, dropped to a prone position and waited.
Rindor chuckled. ‘Do you not tire of that? You are in the presence of your gods, a privilege shown to few. Stand so that we may commune.’
With uncertainty, the devotees rose and stood silently in awe.
‘You have done well today. You have crushed the forces of evil and brought balance back into the world. You have heeded my request to unite the swords once every thousand years, and declared to my brothers and sister that I am the one true ruler of the heavens. How say you, brother and sister?’
Taminoth, who was closest, bowed her head in supplication and kissed the outstretched hand of Rindor. ‘I submit to your rulership.’
Maresh was next and followed suit.
Rindor stood proud and pleased. Sword Bearer, step forward.’
Marisa did as asked. ‘Yes, my Lord?’
‘Marisa Wulf, make note that the next Sword Bearer will be born of the House Ratukin, in Astanoth. Second born to that house in the year 1304 M’Ranis,’ Rindor explained.
‘I shall keep that knowledge sacred.’ Marisa bowed.
Rindor smiled. ‘Then for your actions today, I will permit one question from each of you. Think wisely before you ask. You shall have only one.’
It was at that moment that minds went blank, all except Draken’s. He stepped forward and bowed his head. Without fear, he spoke quietly. ‘My Lord, I am a sinner. I have repented and forsaken my past life. I wonder if your forgiveness can stretch far enough to permitting me access to the heavens upon my death.’
Rindor looked searchingly at the old man and sighed. ‘Draken Wulf, you have –’
The air turned foul, like rotten fish guts with a mixture of sewer, and a blinding red light punctured the room. Everyone except the gods closed their eyes tight until the light faded.
‘Mort! You should not be here,’ Rindor reminded forcefully. ‘By my decree, you are not permitted to materialise amongst my peoples.’
Mort looked angry. ‘Shut up brother. For too long you have ruled with an iron fist. You cheated me out of rule. I am the elder brother. I am first in line.’ The air crackled around Mort, who this time held his true appearance.
Coinin and the others were shocked to see Death, and he looked furious.
Mort began to pace and cast glances of hate at anyone who caught his eye. The room felt stuffy and warm, as if heating up in his presence.
Rindor held his patience. ‘I created you, brother, as I created all those who stand before you. You are not elder. Now, return to your realm.’
‘Never!’ Mort yelled, his eyes glowing red. ‘I shall die before I go back to that hell. You shall die, brother, then I will rule.’
Rindor shook his head pityingly, and Mort flew into a rage. In just two steps, he held Rindor by the throat in a powerful grip. He began to choke, harder and harder.
‘Watch now as your God dies,’ Mort raged.
Maresh and Taminoth raced to Rindor’s aid, only Mort swung with the back of his spare hand and caught each one unawares. They were thrown against the far wall and vanished in a flash of intense white light. ‘Hah, even your faithful slaves cannot save you now.’
Rindor did not fight back, which Coinin found strange. Here Mort was, strangulating Rindor, and the God stood idly by. By sheer force of will, he encouraged his legs to move, and he raced to the sword. He attempted to grasp it but his hands merely passed straight through the grip. He tried again and again and then turned in a panic. ‘Someone do something!’
Draken launched himself forward and tried to grasp Mort, despite his chains. However, Death sensed him and thrust out his arm and punctured the old man’s chest. Seconds later, as Draken fell dead, Mort raised the dead man’s heart in the air and threw it across the room. Coinin vomited on the floor, and Marrok looked on stunned, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Draken had sacrificed himself to protect Rindor.
Mort turned his head deliberately to Coinin. ‘I promised you death did I not? Stay there boy, you’re next.’
Before Coinin could contemplate those words, Marisa moved next, quick as lightning. She pushed Coinin aside and gripped the sword in both hands and pulled it from the slot. There was an accompanying crack of thunder and lightning as in one fell swoop she sliced the air with the sword. It hit home, slicing Mort almost in two, shoulder to waist.
Death screamed deafeningly as every cell of his being began to split apart, the energies holding them together evacuating his body in a stream of ethereal light that circled him briefly, obscuring him as he grew ever opaque. After several seconds, he vanished in an explosion of particles that mixed with the appearance of a bright white light stream that carried him upwards and beyond sight.
With that single stroke o
f the sword, the destiny of the Wulf was complete.
Rindor looked sadly at the remains of his brother, Mort, which slowly dematerialized, and then he turned his attention to Coinin. ‘Our brother, even now, is reborn in the heavens, though his likeness and temperament is changed. He is anew. I shall call him Coda.’
The celestial being leant forward and whispered into Coinin’s ear. The young man’s mouth dropped open in shock.
Rindor stepped back and looked at the gathered. ‘The ritual is complete. Your High King rules righteously.’
With a high pitched whine, the god disappeared in a flash of light and, after a few moments, the clouds covering the tower dissipated.
Everyone stood there in shock, not noticing that the room had reverted to its normal state. The Cerathil Swords were now laid upon the ground as four pieces, whilst the fifth was again guarded by the blue column of light and red orb. The Rose of Cerathil lay on the floor, waiting to be collected.
After several long minutes of silence, pondering, and grieving at Draken’s loss, Coinin broke the silence. ‘So, killing Death never actually killed him, or did it?’
‘Sounds to me,’ said Jonjo who had entered the room, ‘like he was killed, but reborn as a different god.’
‘Who knew gods could die?’ Marrok said.
‘I think if you consider that Rindor created him, perhaps the lesser gods can die. It is reasonable to assume that Rindor is immortal while the others can be killed,’ Coinin added.
‘It’s very complicated,’ said Quindil, from behind Jonjo.
Coinin shook his head. ‘I don’t think it is. But I know one thing. My hand will be aching after I have written this in the official record.’
Marrok approached his brother and held him in a bear hug. He was, even as a surprise to himself, saddened at the loss of their uncle. ‘Poor Draken.’ He released the grip and looked at Coinin carefully. ‘You don’t seem upset by his death.’
Coinin grimaced. ‘I feel numb, to be truthful. Rindor whispered something to me, and I have a choice to make,’ he said quietly.
Marrok raised his brows and waited.
The younger brother turned away from the sight of his uncle’s remains. ‘Rindor said that if I should so desire it, I could resurrect one worthy life today. I won’t explain how. That is a closely guarded secret. But suffice it to say, death can be reversed once and only once.’
‘You mean –’
‘Yes, as I said, I have a choice. Whom to return to life.’
‘That’s a big decision,’ Marrok whispered.
‘So many magnificent people have perished.’ Names of the dead popped into his head. Menin, Trenobin, Ædelmær, Godwen, Draken, Hur’al, Axl, Eraywen, Reena, Jericho and Aniol. The list went on, and it hurt to think of so many lives lost.
Jonjo interrupted their talk. ‘What do we do next?’
Coinin frowned and listened to the myriad of voices in his mind all vying to offer their own suggestions. After several seconds, he nodded thoughtfully. ‘We rebuild. Jonjo, seek out Prentis and bring him to me.’
Jonjo blew out a long breath. Today had been a long day, and it was nowhere near an end. ‘As you wish.’ He made to leave and then stopped and turned back. ‘Does this mean you will take on the role of archmage?’
Coinin looked around the room. ‘I have loved another outside of the rules. If that is forgiven by the faithful, then I will consider it.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ Jonjo smiled and turned about face and left.
Coinin bid his own farewell. ‘I need time alone to consider my options. Please excuse me.’
The others watched him leave, and a sense of calm filled the room for the first time that day.
All the rest of that day Coinin pondered his choices. Should he restore the life of Menin, Reena, Aniol, or any of the others who had died? It was a difficult choice, and the decision weighed heavily on his mind. He neither ate nor rested while he deliberated.
For one, Menin was happy and comfortable in her place beyond places, so that ruled her out.
It was close to midnight when he had finally made up his mind, and one factor alone sealed his decision. Innocent life was the most precious.
Tomorrow he would enact his decision.
FAMILY
They had arrived close to sundown, and Coinin and Marrok advanced on a cottage attached to the blacksmiths forge.
After several moments, the old door to the cottage opened with a creak and a familiar face poked his head around the gap.
Before Coinin and Marrok could speak, they were besieged by a tan bull terrier who barked with sheer excitement and bounced upon, pawed and licked each of them in turn. He turned quickly in ecstatic circles and nibbled at fingers, eager to greet them.
It took a minute for the blacksmith to calm the dog and shoo it inside. He shut the door after the animal. Though the dog continued to bark, the noise was lessened enough to be heard.
‘Sorry about ‘im, he gets a little excited, so he does,’ the blacksmith drawled.
Coinin waved away the matter and studied the man … his grandfather, intimately. He looked just as he remembered him when the then Brotherhood had visited the forge to obtain Axl’s iron icebreaker, the day before they had set sail for the Black Tower.
The pits, creases, and nails of his hands were as dark as coal from the years of his trade. His face, though kindly, needed a wash. Large, skin coloured circles surrounded his eyes, where he had worn goggles while forging, and every crevice of his face thereafter bore the marks of hard labour and dirt. He wore a simple cotton undershirt, rolled up to the elbows, and both a leather apron and coverings over the tops of his leggings.
‘Well, bless me, if you ain’t that youngster that came by my forge … well, that must be …’ he scratched at his stubbly chin. ‘A long time anyway. You’ve certainly grown, and if it ain’t too impolite to say, you look a little worse for wear, and that’s no mistake,’ he continued.
Coinin looked down at himself, and true enough, even though the clothes were neat, both he and Marrok were bruised and battered somewhat.
Marrok burst into laughter, followed by Coinin. ‘We’ve had quite an ordeal, that’s the truth. But we’re here on personal business.’
The old man looked put out and perhaps even worried. ‘Oh?’ he uttered.
‘I think, perhaps, you will have a need to sit down, and if you have something strong to tickle the throat, I suggest you pour a snifter of it.’ Coinin mimed drinking. ‘May we enter your home?’
The blacksmith stepped aside and turned the handle of the door. It took a minute or so to get inside properly due to the smith’s dog, once again overly excited to see them. The old man shooed the animal outside and closed the door. He looked at the two young men, one powerfully built and the other not so, though his eyes held a lifetime of wisdom and pain.
Stepping across to a small dining table, he picked up a bottle that contained a dark liquid and poured himself a small mug’s worth. He brandished the bottle to the two men, though both waved it away.
‘If you won’t drink, at least sit.’
Coinin looked around for a seat and took in the scene. A small fireplace dominated the room, where a soot stain had formed on the outside and extended to the ceiling. The cottage was a two-room affair, and a door to the right led to a kitchen area.
It appeared that the blacksmith slept on a small cot in one corner of the room. The room smelled a little damp, and a pile of dirty clothing rested upon a leather armchair opposite the bed. Aside from a small handcrafted dresser, two wooden chairs and a bench awaited the guests.
Coinin ducked slightly to avoid the low ceiling beams and sat upon a chair beside the fire, feeling the warmth from it upon his legs immediately.
Marrok joined him, with a pronounced limp, on the other chair and waited silently, hardly able to control his excitement.
The blacksmith took a seat opposite them and took a sip of his drink, and winced at the sharpness of
it. He looked both Coinin and Marrok squarely in the face, assessing the men. ‘Welcome to my home. I’m Aatu. I don’t think I got your names.’
‘He’s Coinin, and I’m Marrok,’ replied the older brother.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ He took another sip. ‘You said you were here on personal business. Though I can’t, for the life of me, think what that could be. Please, go ahead.’
Marrok looked to Coinin, who was anxiously wringing his hands. There was both good news and bad to be discussed, and he thought he’d best start with the bad. ‘We have news concerning your daughter, Godwen.’
‘I have a daughter, but not of that name. Unless –’
‘Unless she changed it to appear male to care for your forge while you were sick,’ Coinin finished.
‘This is true,’ said a shocked Aatu. ‘She adopted the appearance of a man and took a male name. No one would have traded with us if it were known that a woman was forging horseshoes and the like. Thankfully, times have changed. Are you saying she kept the name, even when she … when she left with him? Is she well?’ A look of desperation appeared across the man’s face. Any news of his daughter would ease his mind.
Coinin’s lips formed a thin line, and he looked away for a moment. ‘The woman we knew as Godwen, is dead. I’m sorry.’
The news sank in slowly to the man, who went limp and let his cup drop to the floor where it spilt its contents. His expression changed from that of hope to pain. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he looked at the floor. ‘A part of me knew. Why would she not visit or write in so many years? No wonder I could not find her. Lord knows I tried. She kept the name Godwen. I see it all now. Yes, we argued bitterly the day she ran off with that Brotherhood soldier, but even then –’ he trailed off.
‘That soldier was our father, Ædelmær Wulf,’ Marrok added quietly.
Aatu jumped to his feet and slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Yes, that was his name! Wulf, who took her from me.’ The blacksmith paced the room mumbling curses to himself.
Marrok and Coinin waited patiently for the man to control his private grief and pain.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 138