The Defiler

by Steven Savile

  And there was truth in her words; truth he did not want to acknowledge.

  He hadn't tried to leave. He had allowed his strength to return, had exercised hard, pushing himself, but he had only allowed himself to think about how he had come to Ynys Afallach in his dreams. He hadn't been willing to confront his own mortality in his waking hours. He hadn't allowed himself to remember the Night Bringer or the bravery of Gwalchmai and his men. Instead he had been a willing accomplice to his imprisonment. He had convinced himself the geas that somehow prevented him from entering the water also prevented him from remembering, dwelling on the past. It had been easier to cope with the guilt that way, his mind mirroring his own predicament and making a prisoner out of it, consigning it to the deepest parts of his subconscious.

  It had taken the most natural of things, a son's love for his mother, to undo his mind's charade.

  "I don't believe you," he said.

  "That is your prerogative, my beautiful boy, but it doesn't stop it from being the truth."

  "You mean to say that we are all willing prisoners here, captive to our own lusts?"

  "There was no enchantment that made your ugly little dwarf friend crawl into Sister Urian's bed," Leanan assured him, not bothering to hide her nakedness. "And the only magic that kept him there blissfully forgetting all about you was her pillow skills. You overestimate your friend's resolve."

  "Hardly, the runt is driven by his lusts, for food, for gold, and for ample breasts and warm thighs. I know him only too well. Myrrdin on the other hand, does not strike me as a man at all."

  "The Lord of the Trees is a willing prisoner, just as you are, my pretty boy. It was his own guilts he would hide from just as you hide from yours. To him, Ynys Afallach is a sanctuary, a place free of the burdens of destiny and fate and the manipulations of your world. That is the only enchantment. The Glass House is a place of tranquillity," she explained, and he almost believed her. Almost. He could not ignore the predatory nature of Leanan Sidhe's eyes. There was more to their captivity than the woman admitted.

  "Believe me, woman. If I find you are lying you will beg to leave this place so that you can die. Your pain will be that great. I know some violent delights of my own."

  "I believe you, Defiler."

  "You take all the fun out of life, Sláine," Ukko grumbled, pulling his filthy britches up. "I was just getting familiar with this young lady."

  Urian lay on the bed, watching the pair of them with feigned uninterest. She was every bit as exotic as Leanan, her lean, supple nakedness craving the eye. Sláine stood at the window, looking out over the black water. He could not see the far shore because a grey empty mist clung to the still lake.

  "Just hurry up and put your clothes on, Ukko. We are leaving this place."

  "And from your tone," said Ukko, pulling his food-smeared tunic over his head, "I am assuming you plan on hitting a few things on the way."

  "People preferably," said Sláine. "Thieving dwarfs ideally."

  "Oh you've got a sharp tongue, Sláine Mac Roth."

  "And I've got a sharper axe. Now get a move on."

  "Speaking of which, where is the aptly named Brain-Biter? I didn't lug the damned thing all this way just for you to lose it."

  "Our hosts have it, along with the shard of the Cauldron. Finvarra, it seems, is rather like a magpie, he accumulates things that are not his."

  "Then we'd better get them back, I suppose," said Ukko, stamping his foot and wriggling around, almost falling over, as he forced it into his boot.

  "Which is why I am stood here waiting for you," said Sláine, patiently.

  "Ah, I see, said the blind man. Well, I suppose we best be off then, can't sit around here all day. Just let me go give Urian a parting gift, wouldn't want to disappoint the wee girl, then I'll be right with you." The dwarf raised a lecherous eyebrow and grinned back at the woman waiting in his bed.

  "Don't even think about it, runt."

  "It'll only take ten minutes."

  "No."

  "Five, come on, Sláine. Look at her, she's lovely. You owe me five minutes, the amount of times I have put my neck on the line for you. What harm could five minutes do? It isn't as if we don't have the time. Five minutes in a place where time doesn't even exist. It'd be like it never happened."

  "No."

  "Remember what I was saying about life and fun?"

  "No."

  "You're a hateful man, Sláine."

  "Are you finished?"

  "Haven't even bloody started, thank you very much."

  "You can come back and play when we have what we need; if time doesn't exist it isn't as though you'll actually have to wait very long is it?"

  Ukko screwed his face up. "I hate you."

  "I think you might have mentioned that before."

  "And I'm sure I will mention it again." He turned to Urian, a rueful smile on his faced and shrugged. "Hmm, just, you know, hold that thought. I'll be back as soon as Mister Muscle here has got his toys back and we can say goodbye properly."

  "I look forwards to it," Urian said, stretching out luxuriously. The white sheet slipped down to reveal the secrets of her anatomy.

  "Oh believe me, so do I, so do I."

  Sláine turned away from the window, took two steps to come up behind the dwarf, and cuffed Ukko across the back of the head with the flat of his hand.

  "What was that for?" Ukko grumbled, rubbing at his head.

  "Just reminding you which head you're supposed to do your thinking with."

  "Hmm. Don't expect me to say thank you."

  "Where are they keeping Myrrdin?"

  "How should I know?" Ukko grunted, walking three steps behind Sláine in a sulk. "I'm not his keeper."

  "No, but you were alive when you came here with him, so I think the chance of you knowing is a damned sight better than mine."

  "Leanan left me with Urian. I didn't see him after that."

  "This place is huge. How are we supposed to find him?"

  "Maybe if we put our ears to the walls and listen for the grunts?" Ukko said, helpfully. "That's assuming he wants to be found," Ukko mumbled, falling back another step beneath Sláine's withering stare. "Well, they are attractive and he has been imprisoned in a tree for hundreds of years. It doesn't take a genius to work out he might be enjoying himself. You could try shouting, I suppose, maybe he'll come running."

  An unseen hand came down on Ukko's shoulder, long white fingers digging in to the fabric of his dirty tunic. His bones nearly climbed out of his skin in fright. "By the Crone's withered tit, woman! Sneaking up on people like that... damn near gave me a bloody heart attack."

  "My apologies, little man," Leanan Sidhe said, smiling. The ruby glass of the crystal passage suffused the folds of her dress, making it come alive with light. Despite the absence of a breeze her skirts billowed out behind her legs as she moved. She moved like a ghost, gliding across the floor. "I did not mean to scare you. I assumed you would be looking for the Lord of the Trees and thought to make your task easier. My sister, Modron, is taking your friend down to the lakeside even as we speak. Finvarra would see the three of you. I can escort you." She inclined her head, bidding them follow, as she turned and walked away.

  They followed the Sidhe woman through the labyrinthine twists and turns of the Glass House, always heading down. Despite the fact that Ukko had walked these corridors for weeks - to and from the kitchens - there were many passages he did not recognise. The hues imbuing the walls shifted, the colours deepening and becoming thicker and more substantial the lower they went. In the distance they heard the chime of bells - it took Ukko a moment realise what the sounds actually were: women walking about the Glass House, their footsteps resonating through the palace like music. After a few moments he began to distinguish the sounds, how each of the Sidhe women had their own unique harmony determined by weight and grace. He wondered how they sounded to the sisters: Sláine dull and heavy most likely, a bass profundo, while his lighter, quicker steps as he hu
rried to keep up would be more akin to a falsetto warble.

  Leanan rounded a corner that opened onto a teal stairway leading down towards the huge foyer and the imposing doors that led back outside to the maze monsters and the lake. The stairs themselves had been worn smooth by the endless shuffle of tired feet coming and going. They added a sense of perspective to the sheer size of the Glass House, rising six times Sláine's height as they curved and curved again around the fringe of the foyer.

  They did not leave through the massive double doors, but instead through a small side door cut between the facets of the crystal wall so as to appear invisible from the stairs.

  The air outside was fresh, invigorating after the stale air of the palace. Ukko breathed deeply, swallowing a lungful of the cold and savouring its chill inside. He shivered involuntarily. Leanan led them down a narrow path towards the jetty. The stones crunched beneath their feet. Ribbons of stratus clouds filled the sky.

  Ukko looked up, a flicker of movement catching his eye.

  For a moment his mind refused to believe what his eyes showed him, then the dull whump whump whump of huge leathery wingbeats filled the air above him. The shadow cast by the beast momentarily blocked out the light of the sun as it banked low, angling towards the water. It opened its huge maw wide, a shriek like the scream of a thousand dying men spilling out as its massive wings trailed through the water, stirring up a spume in the otherwise flat and rippleless surface. Wickedly sharp talons raked at the skin, powerful legs running across the water before the immense wyrm submerged. A moment later it rose, exploding out of the black water in a shower of spray, and arrowed back up into the wisps of stratus. The beast's scales dripped black water like rain.

  Ukko clutched at Sláine's arm. He stared at the creature, unable to take his eyes from its elongated, serpent-like head and its yellow eyes as the beast swooped low again, almost close enough to touch. "Well knock me over with an menhir. Is that a... ?" he couldn't say the word.

  Leanan chuckled. "It is the Knucker, Finvarra's war mount, though now the beast is more of a pet. I doubt it even remembers how to hunt."

  "I don't," said Ukko, remembering the creature's teeth and the feral hunger in its eyes. "Makes you feel like a rat staring at a cat."

  The Knucker landed with surprising grace, settling beside the water's edge. Two figures stood beside the huge wyrm, while a third sat on the jetty, engrossed in the hidden secrets of the black water. Myrrdin was recognisable even from a distance, the tattoos marring his flesh seeming to shift to the whim of the wind, becoming dark smears. He approached the beast, laying a hand on its ridged brow. Beside him was the Sidhe woman, Modron. Like her sisters, the woman's beauty was unnerving, though there was a sadness about her that was missing in the other Sidhe, her skin more luminous and more waxen at the same time, as though she harboured a sickness within her limbs, Ukko thought. He could not help but wonder if they kept their ugly sister locked away in some dark room inside the Glass House. The third figure, he assumed, was the Wounded King, himself, although Finvarra did not look particularly regal, sat cross-legged on the wooden jetty, a fishing pole braced beside him.

  Sláine strode purposefully towards the jetty. Rather than struggle to match his pace, Ukko gave up trying. He kicked stones, dragging his feet, none too eager to get too close to the enormous Knucker.

  TEN

  "So this is the fabled Defiler?" the Wounded King mused. "I must admit after all this time I was expecting something more."

  "More what?" Sláine said, obviously irritated by the crippled king's condescending tone.

  "Just more," Finvarra said.

  Ukko watched his friend. Sláine was looking at the man, gauging him as he would any foe on the battlefield. Ukko could read his face as easily as he could read Feg's Ragnarok book, meaning he knew well enough when to duck, when to shut his mouth and when to run.

  Finvarra favoured his left side; it caused his spine to curve slightly to the right to reduce pressure on whatever wounds he bore beneath his simple homespun tunic. A small stain had already begun to seep through the bandages. His hair was close-cropped, snow-white, his face gaunt, the bones emphasised beneath loose-fitting skin. His cheek bones were proud, angular, his nose aquiline. A scar sliced through the white of his thin beard, from high on the cheek into the cleft of his chin. In the dark shadows, his eyes were cruel, the only real clue to the Wounded King's resolve and a testament to his immortal suffering. Despite his slight frame, Ukko did not doubt for a moment that Finvarra would make a formidable opponent.

  Seeing his scrutiny, Finvarra said: "It ought to have been a fatal wound - but for the druid it would have been, I suspect. But in this place it will not whiten, just as my flesh will not succumb to death. So I bleed, but that is a small cost for living. I trust you have found my house to your liking, little man?"

  "You have something of mine, old man," Sláine interrupted, cutting across the pleasantries. "I would have it back so that I might be on my way."

  The Wounded King turned a disapproving eye on the warrior. His lip curled into sneer "Would you indeed? First I suggest you remember that pleasantries cost nothing. I asked your companion if he had enjoyed the hospitality of my house. Do the little fellow the decency of allowing him the chance to reply." He turned back to Ukko, brushing off Sláine's obvious anger. "So tell me, good dwarf, has my house lived up to your every desire? And remember, it is customary for the guest to at least lie and pretend their host has been gracious even if he has been little more than a gaoler."

  "Would that every gaol I've been thrown in was as comfortable, and the guards so, ahh, accommodating, your kingness."

  "Very good, very good, now on to less pleasant things." Finvarra turned back to Sláine. "Now, young man, what is it you believe I have that belongs to you? And while we are talking about impossible things, what brings you to believe you can ever leave this place? Did Sister Leanan not tell you that you are bound here now, just as I am, alive at the whim of a geas placed on this island, Ynys Afallach, by the great Myrrdin himself? With that in mind I would say you want much that you cannot have." The old man studied Sláine's face much as he had just been studied himself, weighing the warrior's worth. A slow smile spread across his thin bloodless lips. "Ah, I see you are aware of the geas. Perhaps you have even tested its limits?" he raised a curious eyebrow. "Frustrating, is it not? To be able to see freedom and not be able to reach it? Such is your life now. Still, I am sure you will learn to love it here. The sisters offer many distractions, as I am sure you have already realised. Imprisonment need not be iron masks and manacles, sometimes a captivating smile and a warm bed is enough."

  "Where is my axe, old man?" Sláine said, ignoring the taunt in Finvarra's words. Ukko watched Sláine's face contort as he struggled to rein in his temper. In another place the earth itself would have responded to his anger, firing his blood, and the Wounded King would have been confronted by a monster. Here at least it was just anger.

  "You have no need of it here, I assure you. No one on the island means you harm."

  "Still I would have it at my side - it was my father's. Now tell me, where is it?"

  Finvarra turned to the druid. "Did you teach your boy no manners, Myrrdin? Not even a please when he makes demands of his betters."

  "He isn't my boy, Finvarra," Myrrdin told him. "You would do well to remember that there is a reason your people named him the Defiler."

  "A threat from you? After all this time? And I thought we were friends, Lord of the Trees," the Wounded King chuckled.

  "Rulers have no friends; they have allies and subjects, Finvarra. Do not be coy with your word games. You have taken things that are ours; a fragment of the Cauldron of Rebirth, the warrior's stone axe. We would have them returned."

  "Would you now? That is a shame, to be honest. You took something from me, druid, something I too would have returned. Perhaps when I get that back you can have your precious things... but then again, perhaps not. This is my kingdom, druid. You
would do well to remember that. The whims of your Goddess mean nothing here, and even less to me. Now, enough of this bickering. The truth is your trinkets are a part of my collection now. You remember how much I love beautiful things? Believe me, the Defiler's axe is a relic to rival even Cúchulainn's Gae Bolga and Gwyddbwyll Gweddoleu's miraculous chess board. It is a true treasure of Albion if ever there was one. And, thanks to you, I have in my possession two shards of the Cauldron of Rebirth. I would not give it up for the world. Indeed, I need only the final fragments and I can have my life restored. With it I can live again, a real life, not this half-life, trapped on this damned Isle of Glass. So as I said, I will have back what you took from me before I even entertain the thought of returning a few trinkets to you. I suggest you put all thoughts of these treasures from your mind now. Consider them the cost of your stay, if you like. Payment for the Defiler's life. The price is fair, I believe."

  "Well I do not," Sláine said.

  "Then that is a pity and you are a damned fool, warrior," the Wounded King said, his words heavy with malice.

  Ukko had no liking for the turn the conversation was taking.

  "Perhaps, but I have already decided that this place is a blessing - I can tear you limb from limb and still you won't die. I can reach in and rip out your heart, and despite all the blood and all the screaming, you won't escape the pain."

  "You think to intimidate me?" Finvarra said, shaking his head in mocking disbelief.

  "I don't waste my time thinking, old man."

  "I can vouch for that," Ukko said, helpfully, earning withering glowers from the young Sessair, the druid and the king.

  "Tell me, which would you like broken first, arm or leg? I can't promise I will make it clean. Perhaps tonight I will claw your eyes out and leave them on the stones as food for the Morrigan's crows. There are so many ways pain can be brought to a body if you take the time to be inventive."