Firestone Key

by Caroline Noe

Serena’s beating heart juddered to a screeching halt. Forcing air from straining lungs, she croaked, “Drevel be died. Queen telled me she killed him, back then.”

  “Then she lied,” Gwyneth whispered. “Ye not knowing dog be Drevel?”

  Serena swayed where she stood, beneath the swinging cage.

  “Black hairy dog back at camp be Drevel?” Of course it be, she thought. Of course. Eyes be same. “We walking together all this way and ye not telling me?” Serena didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or angry.

  “Thinked ye knowed,” Gwyneth replied.

  “How I knowing?” Serena said, her whisper growing louder. “Been frog for ten year.”

  “Not time for this,” Myrrdinus interrupted. “If ye woman again, Drevel likely be man. Go back and…”

  “Priests coming,” a fellow inmate pointed out, his voice shaking with fear. The occupants of the cage began to panic, jostling each other, vying to be furthest from the door.

  “What happening?” Gwyneth asked.

  “One of us be feed for Baal!” a terrified prisoner replied, before Myrrdinus could silence him. The last thing he needed was for the volatile Gwyneth to be made aware of his mortal peril.

  “Gwyneth, ye need be going, now,” Myrrdinus insisted, desperate to get her out of harm’s reach. Her very real peril was having a strange affect on his heart rate.

  “Feed for Baal,” a distraught Gwyneth repeated. “Not leaving ye.”

  “Be not arnus,” Myrrdinus told her, his voice harsh. He would do or say anything to make her leave. “Ye going or they feed ye to Baal ‘cause ye so portly. Be joy to be away from ye, if I die. Sickly of ye. Never want ugly fatling lump like ye. If I marry, be to Serena or one like her beautily. Go home to yer dad. He be only man wanting ye.”

  Understanding what he was trying to accomplish, but feeling the waves of misery emanating from Gwyneth, Serena dragged her little friend away from the cage. From behind an abandoned cart, they watched as priests mounted the steps, climbed up to the cage and unlocked the door. Two of them pointed arrows at the cowering inmates, whilst the remainder drew their swords. There would be no attempt at escape.

  Gwyneth almost cried out with horror when one of the guards grabbed Myrrdinus and dragged him from the cage, slamming him against hard metal to subdue any resistance. Serena threw her arms around Gwyneth, preventing her from trying to defend him. The little woman’s love was constant, even if his was not.

  “Gwyneth, stop,” Serena whispered. “Look. Not taking him to moat.”

  Serena was right. Myrrdinus was being dragged through the door into the castle. Meanwhile, one of the priests randomly picked another prisoner and locked the cage. When the hollering unfortunate refused to calmly walk to his death, the priests were forced to carry him to the moat, whereupon he was chained to a stake to await Baal’s pleasure. Hours later, he was still there, watching Baal consume all the food he had fried earlier.

  The drawbridge issued a clang and began its upward rise. “Wait!” shrieked Sworder, squelching his way across the still warm drawbridge in a cloud of steam. They duly waited for him to slip and slide his way into the gatehouse before recommencing the closure.

  “Gergan!” he shouted.

  Gergan’s face or, more accurately, one eye, appeared at a loophole.

  “What?” he hollered back. “That ye, Sworder? Where ye been? Soldiers and renders comed back longly time.”

  “Where be Queen?” Sworder asked, swallowing Gergan’s implication in anticipation of his triumph to come.

  “Sleeping,” Gergan answered, appearing on an upper balcony. “Not wanting see ye.”

  “She wanting see this!” Sworder shouted, holding up the relic. “Be Key of Old.”

  “Come up,” Gergan hissed, “and keeping voice lowly.”

  As Sworder made his way inside, the rising drawbridge slotted into place, issuing a resounding thud. In the courtyard, Serena and a miserable Gwyneth realised that they were now trapped inside the castle wall.

  “Now what?” Serena muttered

  Gwyneth stood with her hands on her hips; a study in obstinacy.

  “Ye finding Gergan and Key of Old,” she ordered.

  “What ye doing?” Serena asked, already afraid of the answer.

  “Going after Myrrdinus,” the little whirlwind stated.

  Chapter 20

  No-one had spoken since Melith and Asher had imparted the full weight of heavy news to one another. The only sounds had been the thrashing of Harlin, hacking his way through the forest, and the laboured groans of one-legged Bert, trailing behind. They made their way back to the cabin to warn anyone who had returned that the location had been compromised, but discovered that it was already deserted.

  A conflicted Harlin wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Now that he was aware of having been in proximity to the Firestone, whilst with Elaine, Harlin had an explanation for his bizarre feelings and actions of the past few days. In the absence of both the stone and the woman, he had expected to quickly return to his previous state of miserable pointlessness. As it happened, his turmoil was only increasing, which was perplexing. He leaned against a tree and sighed.

  Asher helped Bert to perch on a fallen trunk, whilst Grain stretched out tired limbs. Melith, meanwhile, was ransacking the old hut for anything approximating clothing, hoping to avoid further hours of ominous wobbling in Harlin’s tunic and to find something to cover the still naked young man. She found nothing. Refusing to be downcast by a cold draft in her nether regions, she emerged from the hut to a despondent group of men, who were scarcely exchanging glances, let alone words.

  “Stop yer misery,” she announced. “We needing to…”

  Her words ceased when she heard someone running or, more accurately, crashing through the undergrowth in a manner not conducive to stealth. Everyone scattered into the shadows to hide.

  “Asher?” called a voice in the night.

  “Here,” he responded, not bothering to hide. He was far too bruised and tired for any more nonsense. The voice sounded familiar – not that that fact made it any the less dangerous.

  Leaves shifted and the owner of the voice came into view with a small boy moulded to his side. Both were breathing heavily.

  “Be…telling…Asher…what ye…seen,” Clipper’s father prompted, edging the scruffy little urchin to the forefront.

  “Be not fearly,” Asher began, trying to be comforting, but sounding rather patronising.

  “Not fearly!” insisted the boy, insulted that he could suggest such a thing. “Not fearly of ye, nor Harpy neither!”

  “Goodly for ye!” exclaimed Melith, emerging from her hiding place. “Ye bravely boy.”

  “Be spying all over for Twassock.”

  No matter how dire the situation, the concealed Harlin couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s loyalty; at least he had one true follower.

  “What have ye to tell me?” Asher interrupted, endeavouring to return to the point.

  “Seen Gwyneth,” announced Clipper.

  All eyes were suddenly upon him.

  “Where?” prompted Asher, straining to keep concern from his voice.

  “In temple…”

  Melith froze, appalled by the thought of her daughter imprisoned in that terrible place.

  “But she leaved,” Clipper continued, “with woman.”

  “What woman?” Asher asked, nervously.

  “Longly, yellow hair, beautily…”

  “Harpy!” Melith cried, her worst fear manifesting.

  “Nah, knowed Harpy,” Clipper sniffed. “Be not her. Harpy been carried by priests.”

  “Where they goed?” Asher asked, calmly. Inside, he was fighting the urge to shake the information out of the child.

  “I followed. They joined line,” Clipper advised.

  “Line?” Bert chimed in as he emerged from the shadows, closely followed by Drevel and Grain. “What line?”

  “Priests,” the boy responded. “They goed in
castle.”

  “How many?”

  Suddenly interested in the unfolding exchange, Harlin rose and approached the little boy. The eyes of Clipper and his father grew wide with recognition, shocked by his restored and naked appearance. His father slapped his hand over Clipper’s eyes and swiftly handed over his coat to a grateful Harlin. Thankfully the leather was long enough to reach his knees, covering his modesty.

  “Twassock!” Clipper cried, wrapping his arms around Harlin’s bare leg and peering up at his idol. “Ye not be ugly no more!” The boy’s smile suddenly dropped away and he swiftly let go. “Ye not needing me for friend no more.”

  Harlin knelt in front of the boy. “Ye be me best friend. Always needing ye.” The child’s beaming grin was balm to a wounded heart. “How many priests in line?” he repeated.

  “Looked like all of ‘em,” said Clipper, accompanying the words with a sweeping gesture. “And all soldiers too.”

  “Temple be empty?” an incredulous Asher asked.

  “Harpy bleeding. They carried her in castle. Gwyneth and yellow woman followed.” Clipper finished his story with a satisfied nod.

  Melith gulped. Asher glanced at his wife. She was barely holding the tears at bay. He felt like crying himself. His daughter, Myrrdinus, Harpy, the Key of Old; all now residing within the castle walls, unreachable. No-one had the first idea where Elaine and the Firestone were.

  In fact, she was almost upon them. Hanging around the horse’s neck like a sack of potatoes, Elaine thundered through the forest being whipped and lashed by every branch. Desperately trying to locate her position in the darkness, she had been changing direction by yanking the mare’s mane. Although this manoeuvre had resulted in a zigzag course through the trees, Elaine was hopeful that they were bearing down on the cabin. She was suffering from severe chafing and the lingering fear that Harlin would not be there, when they arrived.

  Harlin was still engaged in trying to draw any remaining useful information from Clipper, when a terrible crashing reached his ears. Whatever the rider’s identity, he or she was obviously unconcerned about making a quiet approach. Ushering the child and his father into the undergrowth, he crouched beside them. Asher and the others did likewise. When Elaine and disgruntled mount staggered onto the scene, they found the clearing deserted.

  “No,” moaned Elaine, believing that she was too late.

  Sliding from the horse’s back, she landed in a crumpled heap. The mare had experienced more than enough of this particular jockey. Free of baggage, she galloped back into the night, leaving a bedraggled Elaine stranded.

  “Elaine?”

  She swiftly scanned the area, trying to locate the speaker. He made it easy for her, rising from his hiding place.

  “Harlin!” she cried, with a rush of relief. She didn’t, however, move from the spot.

  “Where have ye been?” he asked. His voice and expression were ominously neutral, although his eyes took in her thin body, torn clothes and the cuts and bruising.

  Their emerging friends had many questions of their own, but they kept silent. The atmosphere around the pair was fraught with tension.

  “I didn’t leave you,” Elaine tried to explain. “It wasn’t my choice to go. The Project pulled me back.”

  “Projek?”

  “I’ll tell you everything,” she said, still frozen in place. “But, believe me, I haven’t betrayed you.”

  That word, betrayed, echoed inside her brain, rebounding around the searing image of a dying Neil. Try as she might, she couldn’t shake it loose.

  “Cause of ye, Harpy has Key of Old,” Harlin snapped, his anger making him petulant and rather unfair.

  Elaine had already convicted herself of far worse crimes. She knew that she had cast off, and probably killed, both Leila and Neil in order to return to Harlin, only for him to glare at her as though she were disgusting. Deep within, the shattered pieces of her mind agreed with that judgement and poured scorn on her secret dream of being loved; a dream that had already passed beyond her grasp. When Harlin turned his back on her and walked away, she couldn’t endure it.

  “Here!” she cried, throwing the Firestone at his retreating form. “Take your precious Firestone. I don’t want it!”

  There was an audible intake of breath from those watching, horrified that the notorious Firestone was now residing in their midst. Edging closer to the infamous rock, they peered down at it, growing more confused with each passing second. A little boy manoeuvred himself through the sea of legs.

  “Be just stone,” a disappointed Clipper observed, picking it up.

  “Edvar!” Clipper’s father yelled. “Put it down!”

  “Be fine,” the little spy announced. “Not hurting me.”

  “Ye feeling nought?” Harlin asked, astonished at Clipper’s blasé reaction.

  “Nope,” the boy replied.

  “Give me that,” Melith said, taking the stone from the boy’s grasp and turning it over in her hands. “He rightly. Be rock, that all. Here…!”

  Melith threw the Firestone to Harlin, whose natural instinct was to catch it. As soon as it was in his hands, he felt the power rush through his body, accompanied by a wave of euphoria. Lust, greed and pride poured through his veins and flooded his mind with horrifying possibilities. He had not felt this powerful since…

  He dropped the stone as though it had burned him. His mind whirled with the force of questions: Why not others sensing power? Been ‘cause I magiking, years ago? Will I ever be free?

  Elaine watched as the spasm tore through Harlin. His reaction was intense, even though he had barely touched the Firestone. It was now obvious to her that Neil had been right. The stone responded to those of his familial bloodline, and Harlin was Leila’s son.

  Asher retrieved the stone. “What matterly, boy?” he asked, noticing that Harlin had blanched.

  “I…I...” he stuttered.

  Although shame threatened to send him running back to the hills, Harlin decided that he was finished with hiding. He was whole again – in body, if not in spirit – and it was time to take up the duty that had always been his. First, there was the little matter of the truth. He marched up to Bert and stopped directly in front of him.

  “Ye need know, firstly, be sorry most for lies to ye. Ye have no reason trusting me, but never be lying to ye again.” Harlin took a deep breath. “Truth be, I not able touching Firestone, for I feeling its power and be not goodly thing.”

  Bert’s eyes never left Harlin’s as he held out his hand. Asher laid the Firestone in his palm.

  “Feel nought,” Bert said. “Ye saying that ye magiking?”

  “Been magiking with me mother when childlin, as ye know,” Harlin confessed, his gaze remaining locked with Bert’s. “But ye not know, how I been magiking after. I tried using stone to take Serena.”

  Drevel was advancing on Harlin, fists clenched, ready to beat the life from him, when Asher caught hold of the big man’s arm and pulled him back.

  “Let him finish,” Asher told Drevel. “We need know all of it.”

  “That be why Adam captured me and Serena,” Harlin continued, laying his sin bare for all to know. “Fore then, Firestone and Key been together in me hands. I could have ended this, but keeped for meself cause I loved how powerful stone maked me feel…Me father, all that died, yer leg…all me fault.

  There was a long moment in which Bert’s gaze bore down on his former charge. Harlin bravely held the gaze, refusing to look away.

  “Ye able conjuring with it now?” Bert asked, voicing the question that everyone was pondering.

  “Aye,” Harlin admitted. “But will not. Be evil thing and only bring forth evil. Wanting no part of it.”

  “Even for saving us?” Asher asked.

  “Stone not saving us,” Harlin responded. “That much, I know. Be only ruin. And if I magik with Firestone - nough to beat Baal - will never be me again. Will become like me mother.”

  Bert looked down at the black pebble, lying dor
mant in the palm of his hand. “Then, what be doing with stone?”

  “Giving back to Elaine,” Harlin instructed.

  “I don’t want it!” Elaine exclaimed.

  “Not caring,” was Harlin’s harsh response. “Take it!”

  Crushed at his attitude, Elaine snatched the stone from Bert and thrust it back into her pocket.

  There was a rustle in the undergrowth and a third interruption burst upon them, in the form of a villager.

  “This place secretly from anybone?” Bert muttered, as another man fought to catch his breath.

  “All soldiers...coming…here,” he panted.

  “What ye mean, all soldiers?” Asher prompted.

  Waving his arms wildly, the man forced out, “Castle emptying, following her.” He pointed directly at Elaine.

  “Pilt,” said Grain.

  * * *

  “Have plan!”

  Those had been the last words spoken by Harlin, hours before. Since then, there had been only silence from the rejuvenated son of Gawain. Puffing and groaning in his wake, the others followed him through the forest, heading for another ramshackle clearing. It was located perilously close to the castle, but Harlin had deemed it the appropriate venue for an extraordinary meeting of the people. He had got underway before anyone could argue with his choice, sending Clipper and his father to the outlying villages to recover the Elders and, indeed, anyone else who cared to listen to Gawain’s son. In the face of his determination, no-one, not even Bert, had attempted to thwart Harlin’s desire for leadership. They would listen to what he had to say and make their decision afterwards.

  With Harlin’s seeming rejection of Elaine patently obvious to everyone, Melith came alongside the miserable woman.

  “Heared ye goed to Harpy to save me,” she told her. Elaine sniffed and looked away. “Thank ye for caring,” Melith continued, giving her a friendly nudge.

  “Obviously, you didn’t need my help,” Elaine admitted. “You found the Key. I just made things worse.”

  “We all making things worse, sometime,” replied Melith, raising her voice so that Harlin could overhear her words. “Dropped Key meself. But we only able going forwardly.”