The Book of the Sword (Darkest Age)

by A. J. Lake

  Then, without warning, Fritha stopped. Edmund saw Elspeth hesitate, then haul herself up so that she stood beside their guide, and found that he could do the same. They had reached the broadest ledge yet, so wide that it might have been cut deliberately in the stone as a resting place – but above it the rock wall rose sheer, higher than Fritha’s head, with no visible handhold. Following Fritha’s gaze, Edmund saw that this was where the crevice ended. To their right the ledge on which they stood was cut off by the stream of ice, but to their left both rock wall and ledge ran onwards, facing the chasm and disappearing into the darkness under the ice shelf. There was no other way to go.

  Fritha muttered something in her own language, staring out along the ledge. Her face was blank with terror and she stood as if paralysed. It wrenched Edmund to see her so helpless, and without thinking he pushed past Elspeth to go to her. As he did, Cathbar hauled himself half-up beside them. The captain looked up at the impassable rock wall and shook his head.

  ‘They’re still coming,’ he said softly. ‘They’re frightened, and that makes them more angry. But they can’t see us from where they are. You go down that ledge – just out of sight where the moonlight stops – and hold still. I’ll try to get away without fighting – scare ’em off with a ghost tale.’ But Edmund noticed that he checked his sword hilt as he spoke. ‘If not,’ Cathbar added, ‘you’ll have to get to Fritha’s cave without me. Make your stand there, if it comes to it. Feel your way with your feet, and go slow – they won’t run, not up here.’ He gave them a last urgent look, and lowered himself back down the rock face.

  Fritha was still motionless, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. Edmund slipped past her and took her hand.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll go first.’ And without giving himself time to think, he edged out along the ledge towards the chasm, pulling her with him. He heard Elspeth’s small exclamation of surprise as she followed.

  The stone was rough underfoot, but firm. Fritha walked next to him as if she had no will of her own, her face fixed and staring at nothing. Remembering how she had led them over the ice fields, Edmund moved with exaggerated caution, testing each step before he trusted his weight to it, scanning the rock wall for obstacles or handholds … not letting himself think of what followed behind them, or what waited ahead; not looking down. Below them was thick darkness, more terrible than any jagged rocks. ‘Úminni-gjar,’ Fritha had called the crevices: forgetting-places. A single step into that blackness and you would vanish as if you had never been. Stop that, he chided himself. They depend on you now! One more step, then another.

  The next step took him into complete darkness. They had reached the ice shelf: a massive roof of grey ice met the rock wall behind them and cut off the moonlight. Fritha stopped abruptly, her hand tightening in his.

  ‘The spirits are in there,’ she murmured.

  ‘Just two more steps,’ he whispered, trying to sound reassuring. ‘Just out of the light – then we’ll stop. We can go back after Cathbar sends the men away.’

  She bit back a whimper of panic, but followed him into the dark. Elspeth, stepping quickly behind her, put a hand on her shoulder. Edmund could see no fear in Elspeth’s face, only a strange eagerness, almost a hunger. They stood huddled together, pressing their backs against the cold stone, looking back at the moonlit mountainside and listening.

  For what seemed an age, there was no sound at all. Then Edmund heard faint voices: Cathbar, speaking in a tone of great reasonableness; another man sounding alarmed and angry. Cathbar’s voice became more vehement; there was a small chorus of exclamations; and then one voice – the leader, he thought – cut through the rest in a shout: ‘Skrok-mathr!’ He was calling Cathbar a liar. Next moment, they heard the metallic clash of blades.

  Edmund turned to Fritha and found her looking at him, her face ghostly in the darkness. ‘We should help him!’ she whispered.

  ‘We have to go on,’ Elspeth said firmly. ‘That’s what he said.’

  She couldn’t mean it, Edmund thought. Surely the crystal sword could defeat five men. ‘But they’ll kill Cathbar if we don’t help!’

  Elspeth stood like a stone. Edmund glared at her, about to insist – and saw an icy distance in her eyes that choked the words in his throat.

  ‘We must go further in,’ she said.

  Edmund felt his way along the ledge, full of resentment and worry. Fritha followed him, shivering. It was as black as a tunnel now: the roof of ice cut out all light and he could not see the chasm that must still gape just beyond his feet. He stopped, holding Fritha’s arm and peering into the blackness until he could make out the surface of the rock again, and the wavering grey line of the ledge stretching ahead of him. And something else: somewhere in the distance the grey line gave way to a black spike surrounded by less intense darkness, like an opening in rock or ice.

  The clashes and cries behind them grew louder. Edmund risked a look back to where the moon still shone at the tunnel’s entrance. Elspeth had not moved: she was standing very still, close to the opening, looking intently down at her right hand. Beyond her, Cathbar was clambering up to the ledge, a small black figure silvered by moonlight. Another figure climbed after him, the moon glittering on a long blade in its hand, but Cathbar gained his feet and kicked out, sending his pursuer sprawling back. There were grunts and curses below him, and then two men were scrambling up, the first lunging with his knife while the second tried to hook Cathbar’s legs from under him. The captain sidestepped, brought his sword round – a shrill yell told them he had hit home – and caught the knife-wielder on his weapon arm with a shove that almost sent the man over the edge into the crevice. The attacker dropped out of sight, flailing, and Cathbar turned to call blindly along the ledge.

  ‘Make for the cave! I’m coming after you!’

  There was a dazzling flash of light. Edmund staggered for an instant and forced himself back against the rock wall, throwing out an arm to steady Fritha. Elspeth was still standing near the opening, brilliantly lit by the crystal sword, which had sprung to life in her hand. As Edmund and Fritha watched, she moved as if sleepwalking back to where the ice roof began, and raised the sword over her head.

  ‘NO!’ Edmund screamed. He had seen the sword cut through rock before now. It would be a small matter for it to cause an ice-fall from the overhang, to block the ledge and leave Cathbar to the bandits and their knives. ‘ELSPETH! What are you doing?’

  Elspeth started violently, looking at her arm as if it did not belong to her. Then slowly, with effort and fury visible on her face, she lowered her arm and stood for a moment, breathing hard. She made her way back towards Edmund and Fritha, the sword held stiffly down at her side, while Cathbar, his face bewildered, came after her.

  ‘You would have killed Cathbar!’ Edmund hissed at Elspeth as she reached them. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘The sword … it seemed to be …’

  ‘Don’t stand there mithering!’ Cathbar yelled, lumbering along the ledge towards them. ‘Run!’

  Their pursuers had not missed the appearance of the sword. There were yells of amazement, and three of them clambered up to the ledge, pointing and shouting. The other two, both apparently wounded, joined them more slowly. The leader began to move along the ledge, shouting abuse at Cathbar, closely followed by his uninjured companions. Edmund grabbed Fritha’s hand and began to pull her towards the ice wall at the end of the ledge, the narrow entrance in it now clearly visible in the sword’s light.

  And then suddenly there was a noise like ripping cloth – a sound Edmund had heard before, knew at once – and the men behind them started to scream as the moon and stars beyond the ice roof were blotted out. Through the opening an eye looked in at Edmund, bigger than the moon, the black streak across it seeming to focus its cold hatred directly on him. His legs turned to water.

  Torment.

  ‘Run!’ Fritha shouted, pushing him forward.

  The dragon’
s roar shook the stone under Edmund’s feet. He staggered, nearly fell but regained his balance and reached the cave entrance in a dozen steps. He collapsed with Fritha on the icy floor as Elspeth and Cathbar raced along the ledge towards them. Behind them the dragon picked one of the nithingar off the ledge and held him struggling in its claw as it shot a jet of blue flame directly at the ice roof. Next moment everything was lost to view in a storm of falling rock and ice.

  For an instant the dragon felt the old joy of the hunt as it swooped on its prey. There were some of them down on the rocks, exposed and there for the taking. And under the glacier were the ones it had been sent to find, the ones who had hurt it…

  No, the voice in its head commanded, you must leave those. The others you can have.

  The dragon let out a roar that shook one of the little figures off the ledge, to fall away, down, down into the chasm. But it managed to grasp another in its talons, and saw one more running back to the rocks, where it could be caught later. The dragon beat its wings lightly, hovering in the air above its squealing prey. There was one final command, and it sent a burst of flame into the edge of the glacier, bringing down rock and ice to trap the little creatures beneath … Then, freed for a while from the voice, it flew down, finally, to feast.

  Chapter Eleven

  – I am all my people, Ioneth said: a whole race of ice dwellers. What better spirit could you find to guide your sword?

  I turned from her, telling myself I would forget the sword I had laboured over for so long, and forge chains instead, to bind the demon for a while longer.

  I could not sacrifice her. Young though she was, she had a light in her that all could see: she shone out among those pale folk like an eagle among geese. I could tell my boy liked her, too, though he tried to hide it from me – and I thought she liked him.

  For a while, all four of them lay where they had thrown themselves on the floor of the cave. The sword still glowed brightly, showing them the two walls of their refuge: one of rock, one of ice; both grey, meeting somewhere far above their heads. Nothing showed beyond the cave’s entrance; not a single gleam of moon or stars. Perhaps the dragon’s attack had sealed it off – but for the moment Elspeth was too tired to get up and look. This was where she was meant to be, the sole aim of their past days of travel – and suddenly her mind was filled with doubts. It was the sword that had told her to come here: the sword that had gradually become a part of her. She could not remember now exactly when it had happened: the blade feeling like part of her own arm; the sword’s voice in her head becoming as familiar to her as her own thoughts.

  But they were not her own, she told herself fiercely. She could still hear the voice in her head: They must not follow! Hurry – block the path! She had seen in her head the picture of what she must do, and without thinking, without question, she had gone to do it … If Edmund had not called out, she would have killed Cathbar, her protector, many times over – sacrificed him to a purpose she didn’t fully understand.

  You do understand it, the sword told her. We are here to kill Loki. You’ve known that ever since the dragon took you – but you would not say the words before.

  The others were climbing to their feet, groaning and exclaiming at their escape.

  ‘Where now?’ Edmund asked.

  He was looking at Elspeth. She started – but of course, they had no guide now. Fritha had never been here – should not be here at all, she thought, looking at the girl’s terrified face. She knew the paths up the mountain, but neither she nor any of her people would willingly venture into its heart. No: it was Elspeth who had led them inside Eigg Loki, and they expected her to know where to go. The sword’s voice rang in her head again, but she shut it out for the moment.

  ‘I think we should explore,’ she said to Edmund. A distant roaring sounded somewhere outside: the dragon, still hunting. ‘Find a safe place where we can rest,’ she added. ‘We can use the sword for light.’ But not for directions, she told herself; not until I know it won’t threaten anyone else.

  Cathbar, leaning against the rock wall, looked at the sword with a new wariness, and did not speak to Elspeth as she led the way deeper into the narrow cave. He was wounded again, she saw: a deep cut on his burned face, and a bloody gash on his arm. His silence was hard to bear – but what could she say to him?

  The ground was rock, not ice, and the walls narrowed to a tunnel as they walked on, cutting deep into the mountain. Darkness pooled around them, the sword’s light showing only an endless stretch of rough stone to each side. It was absolutely quiet now, their footsteps the only sound. Edmund talked a little to Fritha, asking how she was, but the ice seemed to muffle their voices, and soon they walked in silence.

  I did know the sword’s purpose, Elspeth thought. It was created to defeat Loki; Cluaran told us that. How could that mean anything other than killing him? And if that’s what I must do, I think I could do it. But not if it means killing my friends!

  She glanced at the little group behind her. Cathbar was walking at the back, holding his arm stiffly.

  He’s one man. The sword’s voice whipped through her head before she could block it. Loki has killed thousands, and if he is freed he means to burn the world. How can you set one life against that?

  Elspeth stopped, so suddenly that Edmund collided with her. ‘How can I …?’ she echoed out loud.

  Edmund and Fritha looked at her, startled, and she deliberately lowered the sword.

  Like this, she said in her head, and she clenched her hand as if to crush it. Go! Leave me! You will not throw away my friends’ lives for your plan!

  The sword vanished – and they were plunged into darkness. Behind her, Edmund exclaimed and Fritha gave a small cry of terror. There was a moment of silence – then slowly, reluctantly, Elspeth opened her hand to let the clear light spill out again. I can’t let them walk in the dark, she told the sword. But try to control me again, and I will shut you out.

  ‘What happened just then?’ said Edmund, his voice not quite steady.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Elspeth kept her voice calm. ‘I lost my concentration for a moment. I’m fine now.’

  There was something else, though, as they moved slowly on through the stone tunnel. In the darkness, she was sure she had seen drifting white shapes ahead of them, clinging to the walls. Now, in the light cast by the sword, the shapes were gone.

  The ground began to slope upward and their steps became slower. Fritha stumbled, and Elspeth realised she was staggering with weariness.

  ‘Let’s stop for a while,’ she called, and all four sank gratefully down against the rock wall.

  Fritha had a tense, wary look that Elspeth had not seen on her before, like a cat before a storm. Edmund seemed intent on cheering her, asking her questions about charcoal-burning and the way to cure a wolfskin – but not, Elspeth realised, anything about the tales of ghosts and spirits that had so interested him before they came to the mountain. Elspeth was not so sure, now, that those stories were fables. Her father had always scoffed at the sailors’ tales of sirens that enticed a man and then dragged him down – but what of the creatures she herself had met, under the ice? Her clothes had long since dried, but she shivered at the memory. The drifting shapes she had glimpsed in that moment of darkness had looked like the creatures in the lake, and had twined around each other in the same way.

  Cathbar spoke, the first words Elspeth had heard from him since they entered the cave. ‘Don’t know if any of you have noticed it, but there’s light somewhere up ahead. Maybe we can give that sword a rest.’

  Elspeth could not read his expression, but she felt warm with relief to hear his voice again. ‘I hope so!’ she said fervently, and hoped he might understand.

  Now that Cathbar had drawn attention to the light, they all saw it: a faint, greenish tinge to the darkness that showed up as the smallest gleam on tiny irregularities on the walls to each side. The thought of some natural light cheered all of them, and they clambered to their feet again. The pa
th became much steeper and more rocky, and soon they were scrambling up a series of natural steps, while all the time the greenish light grew brighter. And then they were at the top, in a passage seemingly roofed with ice, for the light appeared to come down through it.

  ‘We’re under the glacier,’ Fritha whispered.

  Elspeth gratefully let the sword fade – and then hesitated. Ahead of her, just as before, was a white, insubstantial form, drifting like smoke … but she would have said it looked human if it had stayed still long enough. None of the others seemed to have noticed it. They pressed eagerly forward, walking abreast of her as the passage widened to a cavern.

  Fritha screamed.

  The cavern was walled with the writhing forms – there was no mistaking them now. They hung in the air like ice dust, each one human in form, long and thin, with great hollow eye-spaces glowing green in the chamber’s light. They gathered around the travellers like moths drawn to a flame.

  ‘Tæl-draugar!’ Fritha gasped. The creatures from her stories: grave-dwellers who sucked the life from unwary visitors. She flailed at them, but her arms went through them. All four of them had backed into the corridor, but the smoky creatures came with them, clustering about them so thickly that they were losing sight of each other. One was trying to push inside Elspeth’s mouth, feeling like icy smoke. In panic she called for the sword and it flared in her hand, but its light was dim and faint, overshadowed by the glow that came from the spirits themselves. The things were drawn by it, though – just as the water creatures had been. They drew away from her face and body to cluster around the blade, though none of them came close enough to touch it.