The Book of the Sword

by A. J. Lake

  Somehow, his presence reassured her. The world was not at an end yet. She tried to smile back at him, found even that too much effort, and fell asleep again.

  When she awoke, the motion had stopped. She was lying on the ground beneath a tree, swaddled in furs, with other trees around her. Snow lay on the ground in the gaps between overhanging branches, and she shivered in spite of her fur wraps. Through the tall trunks came slanted red rays of sunlight: whether early or late in the day, she could not say. Edmund leant beside her, grey with exhaustion. Cluaran was sitting against the tree next to hers, talking quietly to Ari, who knelt near him. To the other side of her, Fritha and Cathbar lay stretched on their cloaks, sleeping deeply. And further away, crouching among the trees like a hunted animal, was Eolande. Elspeth hardly recognised the Fay woman at first: she seemed to have shrunk. Her glossy hair fell in matted straggles about a face which seemed sunken in on itself; her eyes were haunted and she stared straight ahead of her, ignoring the others.

  Elspeth wondered what ailed her … and what other thing was wrong. Her friends were all here, and apart from Eolande, they seemed to be unharmed. So why did she feel that someone was missing? Why this terrible sense of loss?

  And then she felt the emptiness in her right hand.

  Ioneth!

  She must have cried out, for suddenly Edmund was leaning over her, his hand on her arm. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You’re safe, Elspeth – we all are.’ But the tension in his face belied his words.

  ‘No!’ she said urgently. ‘It’s not all right. Edmund – what happened? What happened to Loki? And the sword?’

  He only shook his head, not meeting her gaze. Elspeth tried to pull herself up against the tree trunk and found she could manage it without too much dizziness. ‘Tell me!’ she insisted. Terror made her voice hoarse. ‘Please, Edmund!’

  ‘Loki is free,’ Edmund said softly. ‘You … the sword … Eolande made you cut his chains. The sword has gone. You wounded him with it, and it seemed to … burst.’ His eyes were full of misery. ‘I’m so sorry, Elspeth.’

  The memory came flooding back. Her father’s face, his voice … Eolande’s cold hands on hers … and the demon’s laughter as he took the life of the sword. She wanted to raise her head and howl, but no sound would come.

  Cluaran had risen and come over to her. His face looked pinched, and he huddled in his cloak as if cold to his bones. ‘How much do you remember?’ he asked quietly.

  Elspeth must have revealed her horror and guilt in her face because he knelt and took her by the shoulders with a gentleness she had not seen in him before. ‘It was not your fault, Elspeth. Eolande, my mother, betrayed you; betrayed us all. She tricked you into cutting his chains; all but the last, and that he broke himself.’

  ‘I thought he was my father,’ Elspeth said.

  Cluaran nodded, his face drawn with grief. ‘He has always been the trickster. He deceived Eolande as well. And the one he could not deceive, the sword … he has taken her life to feed his power. He will be as strong as he ever was.’

  ‘We’ve been running from the mountain all day,’ Edmund added. ‘It’s been spitting out fire. Cluaran says it will soon be molten rock – it could cover the whole of the snow fields. But we should be far enough away to be safe now. Safe from the mountain, at least …’ His voice tailed off unhappily.

  ‘Brokk …’ Eolande’s voice came to them from where she was slumped. She spoke dreamily, almost in a singsong, without looking at them. Cluaran whirled to face her.

  ‘My father is dead – don’t you understand? How could you let Loki trick you? You had such wisdom, such knowledge of truth and lies. How could you do this?

  ‘He did not die!’ Eolande’s eyes came back into focus, for a moment there was a flash of the proud woman she might have been once. ‘No one saw him die! I waited for him long after you and all the rest had abandoned him in the mountain. And at last I found him, chained. And I worked to free him – how could I do less?’

  ‘It was a hundred years ago!’ said Cluaran, his voice strained and desperate. ‘He was already an old man when he went into the mountain. How could you think he would still be alive?’

  ‘It was an enchantment.’ Eolande’s voice had softened. ‘I despaired for a long time. But then I heard Brokk’s voice, and saw him, and spoke to him. He was young and beautiful as when I first knew him. But he suffered and wasted in the chains! And then he told me I could free him, if I really wanted.’

  ‘And you did all he asked!’ Cluaran said hotly. ‘You sowed treachery and murder; you sent the dragon to wreck ships and kidnap children. Do you think my father would have asked that of you? He gave his life to defeat Loki!’ His voice broke. ‘And so did Ioneth. Now all their sacrifice has been for nothing.’

  ‘Ioneth.’ Eolande’s voice was bitter as poison. ‘It was she who drove you both away from me. From the time you met her you would look at no one else. And later, when the sword was found, and Brokk was not, you chose to go away, to follow the sword. You would not stay for your father … or your mother.’

  ‘I should have come back for you,’ Cluaran said, very softly. ‘But you should have known that there was nothing left for you here!’

  ‘Brokk was here,’ Eolande insisted. ‘And now I have freed him, he will come back to me.’

  ‘No,’ said Cluaran, and the way he spoke told of a hundred years of grieving. ‘Brokk is dead. You freed Loki.’

  There was a silence. Eolande’s eyes were dark as she stared back at him.

  ‘If that is so,’ she said, ‘if Brokk is truly gone, then let the world turn to dust. What do I care?’ She stared ahead of her, dead-eyed, and said no more.

  Elspeth had listened with pity at first, but then with growing anger. All their loss, all the long journeying – the loss of the sword – were all the fault of this woman! And now, to dismiss the fate of the whole world! But she saw Cluaran’s face, and kept silent.

  ‘She does not know what she’s saying,’ Ari said quietly to Cluaran. ‘Blame Loki for this, Cluaran, not your mother.’

  ‘You are right,’ Cluaran said heavily. ‘How long will it be, do you think, Ari, before he regains his full power? Until he can burn the world with a thought?’

  Ari did not answer at once. ‘He drew power from the sword’s death,’ he said at last. ‘But he could not take the sword for his own use, nor take Elspeth’s spirit. And that band your father closed round his neck – that was still there when he left us. There is poison to him in the iron: it will prevent him from doing all that he wishes. If I were to guess, I’d say we have until he looses the final band.’

  So there may still be hope? Elspeth thought. Or would be, if the sword had not shattered. She looked down at her burned hand. A dark-red band ran across the palm, and it throbbed with pain as it had when the sword first came to her.

  Her arm was throbbing, too. She had felt nothing there a moment ago.

  Think, Elspeth – what happened when the sword broke? Loki had tried to take it from her. Her arm had burned as he wrenched out each nerve that clung to it. And Ioneth had been pulled with it. She could still hear the terrified voice: Help me! Hold on!

  And she had held on. Loki had not taken the sword from her; it had shattered. So where was Ioneth?

  Elspeth looked down at her right hand. If she concentrated, could she still feel the hilt there? Maybe … maybe there was something.

  Ioneth! she called inside her head. Ioneth – can you answer me?

  And there was the voice, hovering on the very edge of thought, so faint she could hardly hear it, but as familiar to her as her own heartbeat.

  Elspeth…

  Elspeth leapt to her feet, ignoring Edmund’s startled cry. ‘She’s still here!’ she gasped.

  ‘Who is?’ Edmund said – and stopped as a livid yellow light flashed beyond the trees, and the ground shook beneath them.

  Fritha burst through the trees, a bundle of sticks under her arm. ‘You must come!’ she sa
id breathlessly. ‘The mountain burns …’

  They followed her to the edge of the trees. The sun was setting between the mountains – but a brighter glow had burst from the top of Eigg Loki. Fire was pouring down the mountain’s side, driving the snow before it in clouds of vapour. Even so far away, Elspeth thought she could hear the ice of the lake cracking, and see the spirits writhing in the black water as it hissed up into steam. There were few remaining lights from fishermen’s fires – some went out abruptly as tiny black figures were pitched into the lake or scuttled away across the snow.

  Edmund was gazing away from the lava stream, towards the foot of the mountain a little to the left. No, not gazing: his eyes were closed, and his lips moved urgently. There was a sudden disturbance at the mountain’s foot. What had looked like a low snowbound hill slowly heaved itself up and stretched to reveal a long neck and head – then wings, surely bigger than were possible on a living creature. A white dragon!

  ‘How …?’ Elspeth gasped. The creature must be bigger than Torment – half the size of the mountain!

  The dragon lumbered away from the fire, flapping ponderously until it gained the air. For an instant, its scales were lit by the brilliant glares of sunset and flames, and a glittering stream of water flowed from its tail as it swooped over the volcano. Then the creature wheeled slowly in the sky, becoming black against the fire’s glow, and soared away to the west, losing itself in the setting sun.

  Edmund let out a sigh of relief, and Elspeth saw to her astonishment that he was smiling. ‘I’ll tell you about her when there’s more time,’ he said. The others had already vanished back into the trees, and they ran to join them.

  Cathbar was on his feet and ready to go. ‘If you’ll take us to the nearest village,’ he said to Cluaran, ‘I’ll see to it that young Elspeth and Edmund get home. They’ve done more than enough.’

  Cluaran was already nodding when Elspeth spoke.

  ‘No. It’s not over yet.’

  They all turned to look at her as she rushed on, her words falling over each other. ‘Edmund – Cluaran – she’s not dead. Ioneth’s not dead! I can still feel her, inside my head. She’s here, Cluaran!’

  The minstrel flinched as if she had hit him – but his look was one of dismay, his gaze involuntarily flicking sideways to where Eolande stood, passive and blank-faced.

  ‘It’s not one of Loki’s tricks!’ Elspeth insisted impatiently. ‘He plays with your eyes – but I can’t see her. I just know her voice. And I can feel her.’ She went to him, taking his hand and willing him to trust her.

  Edmund believed her, she could see that at once. Cathbar looked troubled. But Cluaran stared at her speechlessly, his face torn between hope and despair. The voice was in her head again, fainter than a whisper: Yes. Tell Cluaran he must remember … I never died.

  ‘She tells Cluaran to remember that she never died,’ Elspeth repeated, and watched as the spark of hope on the minstrel’s face became a blaze. She could see the belief in Ari’s expression too – but the pale man shook his head slowly.

  ‘There’s little hope, even so,’ he said. ‘Loki is no longer bound, and even if he lacks part of his strength, he can still destroy – and he will, I fear.’ He gestured to the red light growing behind them, clearly visible through the trees. ‘And we no longer have the sword.’

  ‘We’ll find it again.’ Elspeth was surprised by the confidence in her own voice. ‘I was the one who freed Loki. It’s for me to capture him again.’ She felt once more the faint presence in her head, giving her strength and courage. ‘And this time, I will kill him.’

  Epilogue

  The King’s Rede at Winchester was in full session for the first time in four years: its last members had all returned from exile, Aagard among them. His beard was whiter than when the Rede had seen him last, and his scarlet robes more ragged, but every man there, from the king down, heaved a sigh of relief to see him restored to his rightful place.

  Ill-founded relief, Aagard thought as he looked at the expectant faces before him. For an unworthy instant he wished that Godric had not given him the spell books, and that he had never used the divination charm he had found there: it was hard to return in triumph, only to bring the worst of news. But the kingdoms would have to work together now as never before: it was no time to despair. Not yet.

  ‘Masters,’ he announced, ‘I am glad and honoured to be here again. But I wish I could mark my return with happier tidings.’

  Ah – the hall erupted into whispers. This was not wholly unexpected, then, and Aagard was glad to see that some among the Rede had been prepared. Even so, his next words brought stunned silence.

  ‘I have learned that the Chained One is chained no longer. He has escaped from the mountain where he was imprisoned. We must prepare for battle.’

  Through the cries of horror and alarm, Godric’s thin old voice asked, ‘And the children?’

  ‘The minstrel Cluaran saved them,’ Aagard told him. It was the one ray of hope he possessed. And even here, there was something ominous to add. ‘They remain our best hope of destroying the monster. But …’ he heard murmurs of alarm building as he spoke, ‘… it seems the girl, Elspeth, tried to kill him and failed. She escaped, but the sword was lost.’

  The groans rose all about him now, and he saw stark despair on many faces. ‘There is still hope!’ he insisted. ‘Our fathers defeated Loki, and we can defeat him again. We must prepare ourselves, and we must stand together!’

  He managed to rally them. Those who were wealthy promised horses and armour, and hurried to prepare them. Others, with friendly links to the neighbouring kingdoms, would leave that night with gifts and messages of goodwill. Every man went home to find his sword or his bow, and by evening the town was full of planning and activity.

  Aagard stood behind the great hall, watching nervous townsmen queuing to practise swordsmanship with the king’s soldiers. Should I have kept the children here? he wondered for the hundredth time, as he watched the inexpert men hacking at straw targets. If I had done things differently, Loki might still be chained.

  But for how long? Sooner or later he would have escaped, and it would have come to this. Either Elspeth and her friends will find a way to destroy him, or he will destroy us. All the mortal world.

  He looked towards the north, seeing in his mind’s eye a red glow on the horizon – a great wave of fire, waiting to engulf the world.

  ‘Let them find a way,’ he whispered.

  By the Same Author

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  Copyright © Working Partners 2007

  First published in Great Britain in 2007

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  This electronic edition published in December 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

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