Firestone Key

by Caroline Noe

  Moonlight shone behind the intruder, casting her features into shadow and hiding her face. Nor could he see the dagger, hanging at her side. All the waking Harlin perceived was a hooded figure, bending over him. He assumed that it meant ill.

  “Get away from me!” he shouted, his voice carrying through the thick wooden door, wafting down the silent corridor and coming to rest in the waking ears of another young man.

  Harlin leapt from the bed and lashed out at the intruder, landing a glancing blow to her face. The resulting screech of pure anger, emanating from the figure, turned his blood cold.

  “Who be ye? What ye want?” he shouted, grasping her ragged clothing and trying to wrestle her to the floor.

  The suddenness of the attack, coupled with his youthful vigour, gave the old woman no time or space to wield the dagger, still clutched in her hand. With his vice-like grasp pinning her arms to her sides, she struggled to free herself, growing ever more frantic. They clattered into furniture, sending ornaments, bowls and candlesticks flying and broadcasting their struggle to a rapidly waking castle.

  The bedroom door burst open and Myrrdinus barrelled into the room, sword at the ready.

  “Wait!” Harlin yelled as the youth advanced. “Not know who it be!”

  At this point, Myrrdinus didn’t much care to ascertain the prowler’s identity. It only mattered that the hooded figure was an intruder and was engaged in fighting Gawain’s son. Adding his muscular bulk to Harlin’s more athletic frame, he helped wrestle the invader to the ground and tore back her hood. Myrrdinus’s facial expression, as per usual, betrayed every thought that passed through his head. This latest was a look of absolute disgust.

  The intruder appeared to be a woman - if that’s what she could be called. It wasn’t the appearance of advanced age that was so horrifying - she was only fifty three years old – it was the sunken nature of her skin, as though parchment had been soaked in blood and oil, screwed up and thrown into the mud. The hag stared up at Myrrdinus, malevolence pulsing from hollow eyes. An involuntary shiver passed through his bones.

  “For such creak, ye be strong,” Harlin muttered, when she continued to struggle.

  Her gaze transferred to his face and, as luck would have it, a bright beam of moonlight illuminated her eyes. Recognition shot through his soul like the point of an arrow and momentarily caused his grip to loosen. It was the moment for which she had been waiting. Gathering her supernatural strength, she pushed upward with all her might, shooting Harlin over her head and into the broken chair, behind. Before Myrrdinus could react, she regained her feet and hobbled towards the open window. He raised his sword.

  “No!” Harlin yelled.

  Changing his mind, Myrrdinus snatched at the hag, grasping only a handful of filthy rags. The sound of tearing material filled the room, followed by the dull thud of an object hitting the floor. The hag tried to turn back, her eyes filled with shock at her loss, but momentum carried her through. Out the window she fell, plummeting downwards and landing in the moat with a splash.

  Myrrdinus ran to the window and looked down. For a moment, he could see the old woman thrashing in the dark water and then she was gone, sinking beneath the surface. When he drew back into the bedroom, he found Harlin staring at a pebble.

  “What be?” Myrrdinus asked.

  The sound of footsteps signalled the approach of other wakened occupants.

  “Just rock,” Harlin told him, snatching it up from the floor. “Be nothing.”

  Bert threw himself through the open doorway, closely followed by Gawain, Asher and a crowd of others.

  “What happened here?” Bert asked, surveying the overturned, broken furniture. “Ye two been fighting?”

  “Some ugly hag been here,” Myrrdinus replied, when Harlin didn’t answer. “She goed out window.”

  “Guards!” hollered Gawain.

  His order was echoed through the hallway and down the stone staircase, carried by the queue of people loitering there.

  “Knowed who she be?” Bert asked the two young men.

  “No,” Myrrdinus replied, “but think Harlin do.”

  All eyes swivelled to Harlin.

  He stared straight back, fixing his gaze on Bert’s concerned face. “No,” he lied, the Firestone pulsating within his closed fist. “I not knowed her.

  * * *

  Gawain’s men did what they could to search for the old woman in the still waters of the moat, but darkness made the mission pointless and fruitless. By now, all they would find would be a corpse, anyway. At first light, the sluice gates were opened and the still water began to flow out of the moat, to be replaced with fresh from the river. Gawain and Asher were amongst those who stood beside the lower level gate, waiting for the body to be washed out. Nothing materialised except her torn rags, a few leaves and a stray eel, slithering its slippery way downstream.

  Myrrdinus and Harlin had been left in their beds, supposedly sleeping off their night’s exertions. In actuality, neither had closed their eyes all night.

  Bert’s less than dulcet tones could be heard ringing across the courtyard and bouncing off castle walls. Clearly, he was less than impressed by the lax state of security that had allowed an intruder, whoever she was, to accost Gawain’s son in his own bed.

  “That he not murdered be due no merit to yeselves!” he was booming. “Be no more selling days here! Be castle, not market!”

  “Bert!”

  Melith’s voice floated down to him from an upper window.

  “What?” he called back.

  “Stop yer shouting. Some be trying to sleep.”

  Her shutters closed with a bang. A chorus of relieved laughter followed.

  Asher smiled. Be leaving it to Melith to making things rightly again.

  * * *

  The black eel undulated through fast moving waters, allowing the current to carry it away from the castle and its temporary captivity. As the land began to level out and the river slowed, the eel made its way towards the bank, slithering out of the water to lie on warm earth, energy spent.

  When a stray dog chanced on it, he thought to make it his breakfast, only to flee in terror as the eel reared up and began to pulsate. Swaying back and forth, the fish grew and stretched, bulging here, thinning there, until it began to take shape. Scrawny fingers poked out of slimy flesh. Bent legs formed beneath the thin body. Eyes, head and a mouth followed, uttering the deepest of moans. A naked, withered hag fell to the ground and lay still, without means of protection or will to survive. She had used most of her power in the first transformation and, without the Firestone, reconstitution had almost killed her - almost, but not quite.

  * * *

  Gergan was still living in his remote cottage, preening himself and happily pottering on with his limited version of magiking depravity. A knock at the door, followed by the collapse of a naked old woman on his doorstep, was far from entertaining. He was even less pleased when she managed to whisper exactly who she was. Ten years of blissful forgetfulness were suddenly thrown to the wind. Dropping a blanket over the hag, he lifted her into his arms, willing himself not to gag, and deposited her on his bed. Whilst she slept, he paced back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

  He toyed with the idea of throttling her where she lay, or at least throwing her back outside, but he was still petrified of her power and couldn’t risk retribution, should she recover. As with all cowards, he decided to let time choose for him and sat in his chair to await fate’s outcome.

  The hag survived that night and the next. By the third night, she was sitting up. On the fourth, Gergan, who had been out for some fresh air, returned to his cottage to find she had gone. His relief was palpable, if short lived.

  * * *

  A rumour surrounding the return of the rebel, Adam, accompanied by a Darkland army was true, if somewhat premature and exaggerated. The Darkland element of his forces actually numbered five men, but such was the fear surrounding them that they might have been five hundred. Their
presence, whilst provoking disgust amongst the locals, also elicited confidence in Adam’s growing plan.

  Travelling through the lands beyond alliance held territory, he collected the disaffected and criminal from every village through which he passed, finally amassing a large enough force to attempt an attack on one of the alliance tribes. Personally, he favoured the hated Gawain, but, when another rumour wafted in on an odorous breeze, he changed his mind.

  A prematurely old woman had also heard the rumour: Gawain was about to replace his missing magiker wife with a much younger, sanitised version. The anger this engendered brought her to Adam. Scrying her way to the outskirts of his secret camp, she was captured and dragged into his presence by her scrawny throat.

  Without the Firestone’s power, she was left to her own, waning devices in order to convince the murderous wretch to listen to her. The transformation of her assailant into a bird achieved the necessary level of respect. The entire camp took one, large step backwards. Adam, however, availed himself of his bow and shot an arrow through the squawking bird’s tiny body.

  “Very cleverly, old creak,” admitted Adam, as the changing bird fell from the sky. It was a naked rebel who landed on the earth, an arrow protruding from his heart. “Get rid of him.” Men and women scurried to remove the corpse. Adam’s eyes never left the old woman. “Who be ye and what ye want here?” he demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am,” she replied. “Gawain’s son has something of mine that I want back. You help me get it and I help you conquer them all.”

  “How?” Adam asked, maintaining an interested scepticism.

  The old woman’s smile was utterly hideous. “Serena,” she told him.

  * * *

  Whether or not Gawain would have married Serena, even if she agreed, was hardly the point for the brooding Harlin. Just the rumour of it brought ridicule on the scorned son and deepened his angry sense of rebellion. With proximity to the Firestone feeding all the suppressed worst elements of his self-entitled character, Harlin began to indulge his mind with plots and schemes that all resulted in his receipt of respect and the body of Serena. Accordingly, his actual behaviour markedly deteriorated. His elitist treatment of Grain rotted into snide disdain, whilst he lied to Bert on a daily basis.

  Although Gawain correctly guessed that his son’s rudeness had a connection to the rumours of himself and Serena, only Myrrdinus suspected that it also had its origins in that strange encounter with the murderous hag. Feeling rather guilty, a suspicious Myrrdinus took to following Harlin at a safe distance, telling himself that he was acting for the safety of the realm.

  * * *

  The hag was old and clearly dying, but her logic was inescapable. Once told of her plan, Adam had no hesitation in putting it into practice, especially as it also happened to appeal to his vicious nature. Together with his entire force, he concealed himself in the thick foliage surrounding Styrx’s fortress.

  Although it was not the size of Gawain’s castle, nor did it have a moat for protection, the fortress was sturdy enough and, with luck and good defending, could have held off a direct attack for several days – long enough for help to arrive from the rest of the alliance.

  Adam had no intention of attacking the fortress. His plan relied on the best intelligence that bribery could buy and, sure enough, the subject of the circulating rumour appeared early one morning.

  Serena was a stunning woman at any time, but the sight of her on horseback, her mane of yellow hair flowing in the wind, was little short of magnificent. Crouched low in the undergrowth, Adam licked his lips with anticipation. Styrx, the old fool, had sealed his daughter’s fate with his own rage.

  Styrx loved to hunt, but would not trust his daughter out of his sight. He had set his purpose on her marrying Gawain and refused to allow her to be left alone, for fear of Drevel’s attentions. Despite being banned from the area on threat of death, Drevel was not easily intimidated. He would surely meet Serena in secret, if she wasn’t tied to her father’s side. Thus, shortly after Styrx and his men rode into the forest, accompanied by a Goddess of the Hunt, they found themselves the prey.

  Adam was about to give the order to attack when something very curious occurred: Styrx and his men veered away to the left, pounding at breakneck speed in the direction of mud plains instead of the forest, effectively abandoning Serena in mid gallop. The young woman was as surprised at this turn of events as her would be kidnapper.

  “Father?” she called after Styrx, watching the rear of his horse thunder into the distance. Tugging on the reins, she brought her horse to a stop, feeling rather exposed. Apart from when she was inside the castle, she could not remember the last time she had been left alone and it felt extremely strange, not to mention disconcerting.

  Adam was congratulating himself on his good luck, when the cause of the strange event sauntered into view and his luck improved even further.

  Over the years, Serena had experienced snatched conversation with Harlin and had endeavoured, as gently as possible, to make him understand that a marriage between them was impossible, particularly as she had been privy to her father’s harshly voiced opinion of him on many occasions. Each hurried conversation with the lovesick young man had ended with Harlin’s handsome features distorted with disappointment. She had never witnessed the expression he now wore and it scared her.

  Although he had only held the Firestone for four days, enough poison had already seeped into Harlin’s soul for him to be able to dispose of the beauty’s guards. The magical effect was only temporary and would fade rapidly with distance, but, by the time they came to their senses, Harlin hoped that matters would have progressed beyond any objection Styrx could muster.

  Intrigued at the turn of events, Adam watched as Harlin approached Serena’s horse. The young man’s right hand was raised at a curious angle, with his palm towards the animal. Sensing danger, Serena dug her heels into the horse’s sides, trying to ride away, but the mare ignored her, seemingly frozen to the spot.

  “Get down,” Harlin ordered.

  “No.”

  Serena kicked again, but there was still no response.

  Harlin arrived at her side, holding out his right hand to assist her. It was then that she noticed the black rock resting in his left palm.

  “Not making me force ye,” Harlin told her, ominously.

  Serena swung her legs over the horse’s back and jumped down on the opposite side, placing the mare between herself and Harlin. No sooner had her foot touched the ground than the mare sprang to life, galloping away before she could grasp at the falling reins.

  “Not hurting ye,” Harlin announced.

  One look in his wide, almost manic eyes convinced Serena of the contrary. “What ye doing, Harlin?” she asked, her eyes flicking around the scene, trying to locate the best direction in which to flee. “Ye scaring me.”

  “Ye never be scared of me again,” was his cryptic response. “Ye loving me now and for always.”

  Granted, it wasn’t much of a plan, but Harlin’s decision to conjure Serena into falling in love with him might have worked - at least long enough for a deflowering and a swift wedding - if not for the vastly amused Adam. Availing himself of a large rock, he dealt with Gawain’s son via a savage blow to the back of the head.

  As soon as Harlin fell, and the Firestone tumbled from his hand, the spell dropped away, leaving a bemused Styrx and his men staring at uninviting mud plains. Styrx was neither an idiot nor an innocent and immediately recognised that they had been the victims of conjuring. A swift look around revealed that Serena was missing and told him that the smitten young magiker was the likely cause. Driven by rage, he thundered back into the forest in search of Harlin and his daughter, closely followed by his confused men.

  Unaware of the imminent return of her father, Serena faced Adam with as much dignity as she could muster. Ever since he had knocked Harlin unconscious, the victor had chuckled to himself and periodically kicked the young man, while his men su
rrounded them. When Adam drew his sword and poked at Harlin’s face with the tip, Serena bravely inserted herself between them.

  “Please, not marking or killing him.”

  “Why ye want protect him?” Adam asked, his chuckle accelerating into a full cackle. “He badly as me. Ye can beg though. Be liking that.”

  His men guffawed, being almost as vicious as their leader. They knew that an entertaining show was about to begin.

  As the sound of horses’ hooves grew closer, Serena realised that her father and his men were riding headlong into an ambush.

  “Father, go back!” she screamed.

  Unfortunately, her warning was swallowed up in the noise of the approaching stampede and she was unable to repeat it. Adam punched her hard in the face, splitting her lip and filling her mouth with blood. Throwing her to the ground, he gestured for one of his men to restrain her. The foul smelling wretch held both her wrists in his left hand and thrust her face into the dirt with the other, whilst kneeling on her back. Serena bucked and kicked, but was held fast, barely able to breathe.

  Styrx and his men stood no chance. The ambush was on them before they had the chance to draw a weapon. Heavily outnumbered, they were easily despatched by sword and arrow, leaving Styrx the lone survivor.

  Simply because he found it amusing, Adam dragged Serena to her feet by her hair and allowed her to run to her father. She had almost reached his arms when Adam nodded to another of his leering wretches. An arrow was loosed from a bow, its flightpath carrying it over Serena’s shoulder and straight into the left eye of her father. They had barely a moment to grasp one another’s hands before Styrx toppled forward, jerked in a death spasm and lay still. Serena neither collapsed nor howled her intense grief; she simply placed one hand on her father’s heart in a poignant goodbye and then turned to face Adam with dignity and courage. She was her father’s daughter.