by A. J. Lake
In seconds Elspeth was the centre of a whirlpool of the creatures, and a thousand voiceless whispers breathed a name she had heard before: Ioneth. There was no more substance to them than smoke, but there were so many of them … flocking thicker and thicker until she felt she was suffocating under a physical weight. And suddenly the sword was speaking inside her head. I’m sorry, the voice said. I can’t … Oh … so many! So many!
Through her own fear and confusion, Elspeth was aware of a new emotion, keen as a knife-edge: grief?
Edmund, Fritha and Cathbar had all vanished: there were just the whirling creatures, the whispered name and the weight of her own limbs … so heavy, suddenly, that she sank down to the ground, her eyes closing.
‘Opith ther!’
It was a woman’s voice, low and commanding. The whirling spirits rose and dispersed at the order; spinning back to the cavern walls, writhing over and through each other in their haste to be gone. Elspeth blinked as the last of them vanished into the rock, leaving nothing but an empty chamber, quiet and dimly lit. The sword faded again as Edmund ran to her and helped her up. Fritha was sobbing quietly, leaning against Cathbar, but she seemed to be unhurt.
‘You are strangers here, I see.’
Elspeth looked up speechlessly at their rescuer. A tall woman was standing in an opening at the far end of the cavern, smiling and holding out a hand in welcome. Her pale grey robe fell to her feet, and her dark hair was plaited and wound in a coronet on her head. She might have been a thane’s wife at home, offering hospitality to guests. But what made both Elspeth and Edmund gasp was that she spoke in their own language.
‘So few visitors come here, not all of us know how to make them welcome.’ Her low, musical voice was warm, and she smiled at them ruefully. ‘I am sorry that the spirits attacked you; they won’t harm you now. Please, let me make amends: come and eat with me. It would be pleasant to have company.’
Chapter Twelve
I found a mountain cave to be my forge, where fire burned beneath the ground.
There was a glacier close by, and at its foot a frozen lake. I saw movement beneath the ice: eyes and mouths and hands beckoning me. The voices called me to join them, become part of the ice; and I was kneeling on the surface, about to break through, when hands pulled me back. My son had come after me, and Ioneth.
She told me the creatures were the spirits of men trapped beneath the ice by Loki, left with just enough life to hunger and pine. Such spirits are everywhere, she said. From the sadness in her voice, I guessed her people to be among them.
Cluaran’s horse was a good one, and the sharp-tasting air of the forest raised his spirits after the oppression of Erlingr’s council. And though that council had wasted valuable time, it would be good to have Ari with him when he reached his destination.
‘Nothing like woodland air to keep a man awake,’ he called to Ari as they cantered between the thick trunks, ‘even if this benighted land does produce nothing but pines.’
Ari merely nodded, urging his own horse to go faster. The pale man had been more silent than usual since they left the council chamber, and Cluaran wondered if he was already regretting his offer of help. No matter: like most of his people, Ari would keep his word, once given.
They left the forest a few leagues to the east of the lakes, so that they could approach at a gallop: the snow fields here were covered in grass in the summer, Ari said, and for a moment Cluaran pictured it purple and yellow with flowers and loud with insects. He had never seen this land when it was not under snow – except for the one time when everything was burning. That will not happen again, he vowed.
The lake shore was unusually silent as they approached. Some of the fishermen’s tents stood in their usual places, but there were no fires lit, and most strangely, no men fishing, though it was the middle of the day.
‘Something is wrong here,’ Ari said.
They led the horses for the last hundred feet, and looked around the deserted camp, Cluaran checking the fishermen’s tents while Ari scouted along the edge of the frozen lake. Cluaran had been through half-a-dozen door-flaps and discovered only that their owners had left in too much of a hurry to take their bedding, when he heard Ari shouting his name.
‘Over here,’ the pale man called. ‘Something happened at this spot.’ He showed Cluaran a confused mass of footprints at the lake’s verge. ‘See: three men came from the camp and stopped here, and met a single person coming from the other direction – someone with much smaller feet. There was a scuffle here; I would say a fight. And then …’ Cluaran had already seen what Ari was pointing at: a jagged hole in the ice, much larger and more irregular than the fishing holes. ‘Someone fell through.’
Cluaran was silent for a long time, pushing down the fear that grew in him and wondering if Ari would let him take the next step. But he had to find out. ‘I’ll call up one of the lake spirits,’ he said at last. ‘If someone fell in they’ll know what happened – and whether he’s still there.’
Ari had stepped back with a look of horror. ‘You’ll not speak to those creatures!’
‘I will, if they have information for me.’
‘But they’re monsters – eaters of their own kind!’ Ari’s face twisted in disgust.
‘You mean they used to be people of the Ice once, like you – before the Chained One took hold of them?’ Cluaran spoke gently, but Ari turned his back on him and stalked off, back to the horses. Cluaran sighed and felt in his belt for his knife. He cut his arm, let three drops of blood fall into the water in the jagged ice hole, and stepped smartly back.
There was a boiling in the water, and cloudy shapes writhed about the surface. Cluaran leant forward so that his cut arm extended over the water, and waited. Presently a thin, greenish arm snaked out of the hole and groped towards his feet; then another. He kept well out of their reach and after a while they both retreated into the pool.
‘Come on!’ Cluaran muttered. He shook his arm so that another drop of blood fell – and before it could hit the surface a skinny figure shot out of the water and lunged straight at him.
Cluaran was ready for it. He grabbed the creature with his free hand and hauled it out of the water, holding it down on the ice as it struggled ferociously. The thing was slimy and almost without substance, slipping through his hands like waterweed, but Cluaran gripped it by the neck and waist and held on. Eventually it subsided, gasping.
‘What do you want?’ it asked sullenly, the voice bubbling in its throat. ‘I will die if I’m kept out here – let me go back!’
‘Oh, I will,’ Cluaran assured it, ‘as soon as you’ve answered my questions. And I’ll reward true answers with blood.’
The water spirit opened huge green eyes. ‘What questions?’
It took a long time to get all the answers he needed, and even with a dozen drops of blood, the creature was weak and half-dry when it had finished. It glared at him when he finally released it, slipping back into the lake with a loud splash which told him how much substance his blood had given it. Cluaran bound up his arm and pulled his cloak over it before he went to the horses: Ari would not want to know those details. The pale man was still scowling, his lips thin with disapproval, but he listened to the minstrel’s news.
‘A human man and girl fell in the water just before sunset yesterday,’ Cluaran told him. ‘For a wonder, both escaped drowning. And the girl, the spirits said, was accompanied by Ioneth.’
Ari’s eyes blazed, and for a moment the two men looked at each other in silence.
‘The girl and some others were threatened by the fishermen and fled from them across the ice,’ Cluaran continued. ‘They went in the direction of Eigg Loki and began to climb the mountain. The bandits who camp there followed them, climbing up the same path that the girl took. And later that night, the mountain was attacked by a blue dragon.’
‘Kvöl-dreki,’ muttered Ari.
‘It seems so,’ Cluaran agreed. ‘So, by whatever bad counsel or mischance, it seem
s they are at the mountain after all – and the dragon-sender knows they are there.’
‘We must go at once!’ Ari cried. ‘They’re nearly a day ahead of us – he may have them already.’
Cluaran smiled tightly. ‘Those were my thoughts as well,’ he said. ‘Except that he does not have the sword.’
‘How can you know that?’ Ari asked him as they mounted their horses and set off at a gallop around the lake.
‘Because the mountain is not yet burning!’ Cluaran threw back over his shoulder.
*
The sun was still high when they reached the ledge that led into the mountainside. Their horses had baulked at the bottom of the path and had to be left at the mountain’s foot, but both men had gone that way before, and the climb was soon done. Ari shook his head at the signs of the dragon’s attack: a dropped knife, a few torn strips of cloth caught on the rocks; and higher up, a patch of blood frozen on the stones. The ledge, when they neared it, was blocked by a great chunk of ice fallen from the glacier above, covering the dark crack that led into the mountain.
‘They’re inside,’ Cluaran said. ‘That path was not blocked by accident. Ari, do you know of another way in?’
Ari was already starting down the track. ‘To the west; around the other side of the glacier,’ he called back. ‘It’s lower, and more dangerous: the tunnel leads to the dungeon levels, where the spirits are hungrier.’
‘And I’m short of blood already,’ Cluaran muttered, but only to himself. ‘Lead the way!’ he called. They could ride again: the horses were growing skittish, but they would probably carry them around the foot of Eigg Loki. It would be better, much better, to get there before dark. He bent all his thoughts on speeding the journey – it did no good to think about what they would find at the end of it.
Chapter Thirteen
Once I began work on the chains, I had neither eyes nor ears for anything else. Erlingr’s men brought me wood, and made alliances with the Stone people of the inland mountains to find me the ores I needed.
My son and Ioneth brought me food: they were always together in those days. She would not let him venture too near the lake as it thawed, saying the spirits there would feed on his blood. When she was with Starling she never spoke of the sword, and I knew there was more for her in life than her dreams of sacrifice and revenge.
The ghost-things still swirled above them as they crossed the huge cavern to meet their rescuer. Edmund could feel the creatures hovering just over his head, whispering words that he could not make out, but at least they were no longer pulling at him. When they had surrounded him, drifting into his mouth and nose like sour-tasting fog, he had felt that they had hold of something inside him and were teasing it out like thread.
One of the creatures drifted in front of his face, and for a moment its pale eyes looked directly into his. Edmund shuddered as the words it was whispering sounded clearly in his ears: Ripente … Ripente …
What were these things? Why had they been so drawn to Elspeth? he wondered. What had happened to her in that instant when the press of the creatures had blotted her out from sight? When they flew up in a cloud at the sound of the woman’s voice, Elspeth was on her knees, her eyes closed and face contorted as if in pain – but she seemed to have recovered, letting Edmund pull her to her feet. She walked slowly, though, holding herself upright as if with an effort.
‘This way.’ The dark-haired woman was waiting for them under an arched doorway carved out of the rock. The lighted torch she held cast a warm glow on her face as she gestured down the dark passageway. ‘The spirits are hungry all the time, and they are drawn to warmth and light,’ she told them. ‘But they don’t venture into the higher passages – and they know better than to harm my guests.’
‘Who are you?’ Edmund blurted out. ‘Do you live here?’
The woman smiled at him. She was beautiful, Edmund thought: slender and hazel-eyed, like his mother, though narrower in the face. Her bearing was as elegant and straight-backed as that of a queen, and he wondered what she could be doing in this forsaken place.
‘My name is Eolande,’ she said. ‘I am staying here a while, though it is not my home.’ Her smile faded. ‘But come with me; we can talk later.’ She held out a hand to Fritha, who was white and shaking, and the fair girl went to her gratefully. The others followed, though Edmund saw Cathbar cast Eolande a look of deep suspicion before he took up his place at the rear.
The new passageway was black, without any of the cavern’s greenish glow, and without the sword there was no light but the flicker of Eolande’s torch ahead of them. Fritha walked silently beside the dark-haired woman. Edmund kept one hand on the cold stone of the wall and Elspeth, next to him, did the same on the other side. Now that the swarming spirits were behind them she seemed to have recovered her strength, but she stayed close to him as they walked, and he found her companionship comforting.
‘What were those creatures doing to you?’ he asked her, quietly. She did not answer for a moment, and he felt a stab of concern. It was only natural that she should look drawn and tired, but there was a distant look in her eyes too, as if nothing he said could quite reach her.
‘Weighing me down,’ Elspeth said at last, with a shiver. ‘They were flocking all around me, and calling … But I’m better now. I’m glad Eolande came when she did.’
‘We were lucky,’ Edmund agreed. ‘What do you think she is doing here, under the mountain?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Elspeth said, but her voice was vague, and she was looking at her right hand again.
‘The sword – is it …?’ Edmund began, without really knowing what he was going to ask. Is it controlling you? What else will it make you do? ‘How is it?’ he finished lamely.
Elspeth stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’ she said. ‘It’s fine.’ She looked back at her hand. ‘I know how to use it now,’ she muttered.
The passageway sloped upwards, twisting and branching, so that once or twice they nearly lost sight of Eolande’s torch. Edmund tried to work out how close they were to the surface. They must still be under the glacier, surely. There was ice on the walls and floor, and there seemed to be more light than there had been when they first entered the mountain – but that could just mean that his eyes had adjusted. His feet slipped on the icy floor, and he and Elspeth clung to the wall and to each other for balance.
Suddenly there was a pale glow of light ahead of them. Eolande led them into a chamber roofed and walled with ice, through which they could see the beginnings of daylight outside.
‘This room was carved out of the glacier, many years ago,’ she told them. ‘We can rest here.’
Edmund saw that the chamber was furnished: a straw mat on the floor, a wide seat carved out of the rock to the side of the entrance, a large wooden chest and – incongruously in this rough-walled place – standing on the chest, a beautifully wrought bronze cup and platter. The workmanship was as fine as any he had seen in his father’s hall, showing coiled dragons and graceful branches. Something about the design tugged at his memory.
‘Elspeth, look!’ he whispered, pointing. ‘Wasn’t there a carving like this on Cluaran’s lute?’
Eolande had overheard him. ‘Cluaran?’ she echoed. There was a note of recognition in her voice when she spoke his name. She picked up the cup and turned it in her hands. ‘My husband made these for me,’ she said, tracing one of the engravings with a slender finger.
‘Do you know Cluaran?’ said Edmund. The minstrel had been a demanding companion on the road to Venta Bulgarum, even infuriating at times, but he had proved a good friend in the end, and it warmed Edmund to remember him in this cold place.
He was about to tell Eolande that he had seen Cluaran only days ago, and offer her some news of him, but she merely said, ‘Yes, I know Cluaran,’ in a tone that invited no further questions; then, with a sigh, she set aside the cup and knelt to open the chest.
Edmund realised how tired his legs were as he sank down beside Fritha and Elspeth
on the rock bench. Fritha was still shivering, sitting upright on the edge of the seat as if it was impossible for her to relax. Edmund squeezed her arm. ‘I think we’re safe here,’ he whispered. ‘The spirits won’t hurt us now Eolande’s with us.’
Fritha flashed him a smile, and sat back a little. But Edmund was not sure how much he believed his comforting words. Eolande was very gracious – and a friend of Cluaran’s, it seemed – but they still knew very little about her. How far would – or could – her protection extend?
Eolande brought them a sackcloth bag containing some sort of dried fruit, which she poured out on to the carved platter, turning away with a smile when Edmund tried to thank her. His stomach was growling, but Fritha seemed too nervous to reach for the food, and Elspeth was looking down at her hand again, absorbed in thoughts that Edmund could not share.
‘Here – eat,’ said Cathbar gruffly, lifting the platter and brandishing it at the three of them. Edmund was surprised at the concern in the captain’s voice. ‘Eat, all of you. You need to keep up your strength.’
Edmund ate gladly, and Fritha seemed as hungry as he was. But Elspeth raised a berry slowly to her mouth, and chewed as if she did not taste it. Eolande filled the great bronze cup with ice-cold water from a barrel in the corner of the chamber, and they passed it from one to another. There was no other seat, so Cathbar sat on his cloak while Eolande knelt on the straw mat, looking as much at ease as a lady at table.
The water seemed to revive Elspeth. She drank a great gulp of it, and her eyes seemed to come back into focus.
‘Eolande,’ she said, ‘what were those things that attacked us?’
Eolande’s face darkened. ‘They are spirits – spirits of the Ice people,’ she said.
Beside Edmund, Fritha’s eyes widened in fear, and he felt her tense as the woman went on. ‘They were killed by Loki – I think you must know that name?’ Elspeth nodded. Edmund thought he heard Cathbar groan under his breath.