The Shining One (The Swordswoman Book 2)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'I don't need tricks to fight you.' The god Bel was back in all his golden finery but only for a moment. With graceful movements he removed his winged helmet and replaced it with a simple steel cap, removed his golden armour and replaced it with steel mail, and kicked off his winged shin-guards. The golden sword became his long Norse sword and in place of the oval shield he carried a simple, heavy axe.

  'Do you remember him?' Egil lifted a head from the chariot. Even after the passage of time the features were recognisable as Hector, with the long red hair and the protruding teeth. 'I have killed five men since then and now I will kill you.' Smiling, he tied Hector's head to his belt by the hair. 'Now he can watch as I kill you.'

  Melcorka readied herself. She had faced this man before and could not kill him. Defender could not kill in revenge, yet revenge was all she wanted.

  Holding her sword two handed, Melcorka stepped into the circle of stones, aware that Eileen was sitting cross-legged on the central monolith, watching with a small smile on her face. The dark hatred in her eyes altered to deep lust whenever she looked at Egil.

  'Bradan is not yet dead,' Eileen told her, 'I will not kill him. I will keep him alive for my pleasure, again and again and again, and when I am tired of him and he is nothing but a wasted shell of a man, I will hand him to Egil here.'

  'I will enjoy that,' Egil had his sword in his left hand and his axe in his right. 'I will carve the blood-eagle on his back and leave him for the crows to eat.'

  'And we will eat him,' Eileen said, 'piece by piece over days, while he still lives and suffers, and with every peck I will remind him how Egil killed you!'

  Melcorka felt her anger rising. She glanced over her shoulder; Bradan still lay as he had fallen, a crumpled heap with one leg bent beneath him and blood on his forehead.

  Egil swung his sword. 'I call this sword Breast-breaker,' he said, 'and my axe is Skull-splitter.' He laughed. 'Good names, don't you think?'

  Melcorka said nothing as she stepped toward him, wary of Egil, expecting him to charge forward like a berserker.

  She increased her speed, forming a new plan in her head. She had lost her dirk somewhere in the tunnel and knew that Defender could not kill in revenge, but her sword could surely disarm. If she could get even one of Egil's weapons from him, she had a chance to win this fight.

  Thrusting at Egil's groin, she anticipated his involuntary parry, altered the angle of her blade and crashed it against Breast-breaker so Egil gasped audibly. He dropped the sword, which clattered across the ground to his left.

  Melcorka withdrew, smiling. That was the first stage. 'Now you only have Skull-splitter,' she said. 'Can you use it, murderer?'

  She expected his attack, with the mighty overhead swing, and lifted Defender in anticipation. The power of his blow shocked her and she staggered under his strength. Even with the magic of Defender she was outmuscled. Melcorka stepped back and tried to edge sideways toward Breast-breaker. She knew she could not match his strength or skill; she had to use guile, she had to tire him out and make him leave an opening she could exploit.

  Egil came again, gasping as he swung his axe, aiming to maim and kill, using sideways swings and underhand chops, his face a mask of concentration and hate. He opened his mouth in a bellow that could have come from a bull or a stag in the mating season, and attacked again, forcing Melcorka back, step by slow step with each inch taking her further from Breast-breaker.

  Eileen laughed. 'Even with your magic sword, Egil is your master,' she taunted. 'Perhaps we will not kill you. Perhaps we will cut out your tongue and chop off your fingers so you too can be our slave, and you can watch as I pleasure myself with Bradan, day after day and night after night. He will grow to love me, Melcorka, and you will watch.'

  Rather than demoralise her, Eileen's words gave Melcorka strength so she held Egil's next attack, crashing Defender's blade against the handle of Skull-splitter and pushing back. They remained like that, face to ferocious face, breast against heaving breast and their breath mingling together as they glared hatred at each other.

  This time it was Egil who gave way as Melcorka swung Defender and he had to parry. Although both knew that Defender could not strike the killing blow, Melcorka was not sure if her sword could still wound. She aimed at Egil's arms and legs, and although he matched her strokes, she saw the first flicker of uncertainty in his face.

  'You're not so sure now, Egil the murderer!' Melcorka said, cutting at his left thigh so he had to quickly lower his axe. The clash of steel on steel echoed around Callanish. Egil took a step back and Melcorka followed, thrusting at his groin and altering the angle to an attack on his throat.

  Egil backed off another step, snarling.

  'Your mother also thought she was clever,' he said, 'She tried to taunt me before I killed her.'

  'My mother was an old woman when you murdered her,' Melcorka reminded. 'I am not old.'

  She eyed Breast-breaker. The sword was ten steps in front, and three to the right. If she could continue her attack she might make it yet. Taking a deep breath, she sliced at Egil's right arm, felt the shock as he blocked, took another step forward and thrust downward toward his belly. Egil pulled his middle inward and she punched him in the face with her left fist, hard enough to sting. He blinked, shook his head and backed off, one, two, three steps with Hector's head bouncing from his belt and Hector's protruding teeth raking at his bare thigh, drawing blood.

  Melcorka followed, glanced at Breast-breaker and hacked hard at Egil's head. He blocked Defender and held her in that position. Overtopping her by some five inches, Egil pushed downward; his muscles vibrating and bunching with the effort.

  Melcorka relaxed, unbalancing him, and slid sideways, allowing Defender to slash at his ribs as she passed. Egil grunted and turned, bringing Skull-splitter in a sideways sweep that would have chopped Melcorka's left arm off had she not parried. Now they were face to face again, but she was within reach of Breast-breaker.

  'Good bye, Egil,' she yelled, twisted Defender to divert his attention and dived for the discarded sword.

  She had not noticed the crows. They must have been gathering around her as she fought and now they crowded between her and Breast-breaker. She landed on a carpet of feathers and beaks that moved under her, squawking and cawing as they turned to peck at her face and hands, going for her eyes and ears and mouth and fingers. Melcorka swept them away with Defender, only for more to arrive until she was surrounded by them, twenty, thirty, forty crows all around her, pecking. She gasped as one sharp beak after another penetrated her, with one bird flapping its wings as it jabbed at her face.

  'You're not real!' Melcorka shouted. 'You are an illusion caused by Eileen.'

  The crows vanished.

  Melcorka looked around, not sure where she was. In a forest somewhere with a she-wolf pacing around her, head held low, mouth agape and slavering.

  'You're another illusion,' Melcorka shouted. 'You are Eileen.'

  And she was back on the ground underneath the stones, with Breast-breaker in her left hand, Defender in her right and Egil storming toward her, axe held high. Eileen's illusions had cost her valuable time and Egil now had the advantage.

  Death.

  This was death. She knew that Defender would refuse to kill in revenge, so she had to rely on Breast-breaker. Without Defender she had no especial skill or strength; she was no match for an experienced, massively-muscled Norse warrior and captain like Egil. Lying prone, Melcorka threw Defender at Egil and saw him brush the sword aside as if it was a length of drift-wood. Breast-breaker was heavy in her hand, long and clumsy compared to the supreme balance of Defender, yet she had no choice.

  Lifting the sword, Melcorka rolled out of Egil's thundering path and staggered to her feet. Without Defender she felt awkward, un-coordinated and vulnerable. She knew she was vastly outmatched.

  Melcorka's sword stroke lacked conviction. Egil laughed, struck Breast- breaker with the flat of his axe and knocked it to the ground. It landed wi
th a dull clatter on the rocks. Melcorka looked at him.

  'I know how you will die,' she said.

  'I have decided not to keep you as a slave,' Egil ignored her words. 'Your death will complete my destruction of your whole family and entire seed. I will wear your head at my belt, as I do Hector's.'

  'I will not die so easily,' Melcorka shrieked, and jumped at him with her fingers clawing at his eyes.

  'You little bitch!' Egil swore as her nails raked long furrows down his cheek, and then backhanded her back to the ground. Melcorka's head struck a standing stone and she lay there, stunned. Egil lifted Breast- breaker from the ground and slid it back into its scabbard.

  'I hope your friends are watching as you die,' Egil said. He lifted his axe. 'I'll take off your legs first; then your arms and finally your head.'

  Unable to move, Melcorka saw crows perched on top of all the standing stones, watching through intelligent, predatory eyes. She saw Egil poise with his axe aimed at her left leg and she murmured.

  'Wait for me mother; I am coming home now.'

  She did not expect the high piping call of the oystercatcher, or to see a whole flight of the birds swoop up the length of the avenue, their red beaks probing at the breasts of the crows. Nor did she expect the shaft of shining light that followed the birds, making each stone into a beacon and the spaces in between turn bright green with budding life.

  'What?' Egil hesitated with the axe poised.

  'I think that is my mother coming to talk to you,' Melcorka stood up as the stone behind her glowed with iridescent light.

  'Your mother is dead,' Egil said. 'I killed her!'

  'I know that,' Melcorka said. She watched as Egil dropped the axe.

  It was not Bearnas who walked down the avenue, but a man that Melcorka had never seen before. Tall and lean, he wore a long white robe and had the serenity of an angel. He was in the centre of the beam of light and his passing made each standing stone shine in different colours, as if the life inside them had been waiting his arrival for hundreds of years.

  He passed Melcorka with a gentle smile and moved on, following the stones of Callanish until each one was blazing with colour. As the light touched Bradan he rose, shook his head and joined Melcorka, hand stretched out to hold hers.

  'The Shining One,' Bradan whispered. 'The real one this time, not some trick of the mind played by Eileen or the Morrigan or whatever you wish to call her.' He held Melcorka close. 'God alone knows who he is, or what he is, or what he wants here.'

  'Nothing bad,' Melcorka said. 'Can you feel the peace? Can you hear the music?'

  The music was birdsong, sweet and natural, with the piping of the oystercatchers as a chorus and the singing of blackbirds, mavis and robin interwoven to form a choir that would tempt angels out of heaven. A cuckoo called softly in the distance.

  'Look!' Braden pointed as the crows vanished and Eileen stood alone before the Shining One. She cowered before him, bending her knees; he shook his head, touched her with a silver hand and she powdered into dust before them.

  'No!' Egil drew his axe and rushed forward to do battle, only to stop and look down at himself in consternation. The slight, almost unnoticed wound that Hector's teeth had made during Egil's battle with Melcorka had opened and ran red with blood. Egil put a hand to his thigh, looked at the blood, and collapsed. He writhed on the ground, frothing at the mouth, spewed bloody green bile and lay still, eyes and mouth wide open.

  'Just as Fitheach predicted,' Bradan said. 'He died from the bite of the dead and you were there.'

  'He died because of the life he had lived,' Melcorka said. She held Bradan tight. 'It will be my turn next; I live as a warrior, I will surely die the same way.'

  'You are a warrior, Egil was a murderer.'

  The Shining One walked toward them, his white cloak undulating behind him and his eyes glowing.

  'Who are you?' Bradan stepped in front of Melcorka. She felt his fear and admired his courage.

  'You already know the answer to that.'

  'If I did, I would not have asked,' Bradan refused to be bowed. 'Are you the man known as The Shining One?'

  'That is one of my names,' the man said. 'You have been seeking me.'

  'I have been seeking Abaris the druid.' Bradan said.

  'And now you have found him.'

  'You are Abaris,' Bradan took a deep breath and stretched a hand forward. 'I seek your wisdom.'

  'You have your own wisdom,' Abaris touched Bradan's hand.

  Melcorka saw Bradan stiffen. His eyes opened wide, his knuckles whitened for an instant and he sagged downward. The Shining One looked at Bradan and walked away, taking the lights with him.

  Callanish lay silent under a grey sky. Melcorka did not know how long she had lain beside the central monolith. She touched Bradan. 'Are you all right?'

  Bradan stirred. 'Did you see that?'

  'I saw Abaris,' Melcorka said.

  'Did you see all he showed me?'

  Melcorka shook her head. 'I saw him touch you.'

  'Touch me? I was away for days.' Bradan sat up; his eyes were glowing, his face alight with joy.

  'You were not,' Melcorka said. 'He touched you and then withdrew.'

  Bradan shook his head, his eyes wide with wonder. 'I saw all the wisdom of the world; I saw places that have not yet been discovered, countries that nobody knows about, people with the strangest ideas and cultures.' He looked at her. 'I must go there, Melcorka, I must see what Abarus showed me.'

  Melcorka looked around. Tuath was leading the people of Ulvust toward them, with Igraine holding Alva by the hand. 'We will go together,' she said. A few black crow-feathers showed where Eileen the Morrigan had once been; Egil lay dead on the ground, his face twisted in agony and his leg swollen and discoloured. 'My work here in Alba is done.'

  Bradan retrieved his staff. 'I've always wondered from where these strange things come that are washed up on the beach.'

  'We will have Tuath pick up Catriona,' Melcorka said. 'And we shall go and find out.' She looked over the sea to the west. 'It may be the end of the world, or the beginning of a new one.'

  'As long as we are together,' Bradan said and tapped his staff on the ground.

  Author's Note

  The Standing Stones of Callanish exist. They are on the western side of the Island of Lewis in Scotland. The legend of the Shining One has been told and retold for many centuries, while there are many tales of selkies and mermaids around the coasts of Scotland.

  Abaris the druid may have been a genuine historical figure. Diodorus Siculus, scholar and writer, mentioned him as a learned man from beyond the North Wind who visited Athens to exchange knowledge. He was said to have come from a winged temple, which may well have been Callanish.

  And Melcorka and Bradan? They have further adventures ahead, which may be chronicled.

  Malcolm Archibald

  Moray, Scotland

  December 2016

  About the Author

  Born and raised in Edinburgh, the sternly-romantic capital of Scotland, I grew up with a father and other male relatives imbued with the military, a Jacobite grandmother who collected books and ran her own business and a grandfather from the mystical, legend-crammed island of Arran. With such varied geographical and emotional influences, it was natural that I should write.

  Edinburgh’s Old Town is crammed with stories and legends, ghosts and murders. I spent a great deal of my childhood when I should have been at school walking the dark roads and exploring the hidden alleyways. In Arran I wandered the shrouded hills where druids, heroes, smugglers and the spirits of ancient warriors abound, mixed with great herds of deer and the rising call of eagles through the mist.

  Work followed with many jobs that took me to an intimate knowledge of the Border hill farms as a postman to time in the financial sector, retail, travel and other occupations that are best forgotten. In between I met my wife; I saw her and was captivated immediately, asked her out and was smitten; engaged within five week
s we married the following year and that was the best decision of my life, bar none. Children followed and are now grown.

  At 40 I re-entered education, dragging the family to Dundee, where we knew nobody and lacked even a place to stay, but we thrived in that gloriously accepting city. I had a few published books and a number of articles under my belt. Now I learned how to do things the proper way as the University of Dundee took me under their friendly wing for four of the best years I have ever experienced. I emerged with an honours degree in history, returned to the Post in the streets of Dundee, found a job as a historical researcher and then as a college lecturer, and I wrote. Always I wrote.

  The words flowed from experience and from reading, from life and from the people I met; the intellectuals and the students, the quiet-eyed farmers with the outlaw names from the Border hills and the hard-handed fishermen from the iron-bound coast of Angus and Fife, the wary scheme-dwelling youths of the peripheries of Edinburgh and the tolerant, very human women of Dundee.

  Cathy, my wife, followed me to university and carved herself a Master’s degree; she obtained a position in Moray and we moved north, but only with one third of our offspring: the other two had grown up and moved on with their own lives. For a year or so I worked as the researcher in the Dundee Whaling History project while simultaneously studying for my history Masters and commuting home at weekends, which was fun. I wrote ‘Sink of Atrocity’ and ‘The Darkest Walk’ at the same time, which was interesting.

  When that research job ended I began lecturing in Inverness College, with a host of youngsters and not-so-youngsters from all across the north of Scotland and much further afield. And I wrote; true historical crime, historical crime fiction and a dip into fantasy, with whaling history to keep the research skills alive. Our last child graduated with honours at St Andrews University and left home: I decided to try self-employment as a writer and joined the team at Creativia . . . the future lies ahead.