Sisters of the Blade

by Shawn E. Crapo

  The creatures were bathed in the intense light, shielding their undead eyes with skeletal hands. At the same time, Maela and Braela faded from view and reappeared in several places, forming a circle of themselves around the Draugr. Igrid smiled as the multiple images began to close their circle. Mentach and his minions formed a circle of their own, cackling with ghostly voices as their own power grew between them.

  “This is a battle you will not win,” Mentach said.

  Igrid could hear that the Draugr’s voice was weaker than before. Trista’s light was having a damaging effect on all of them. Having to travel on foot took a lot of their strength as well, as they appeared far less agile than before.

  This was a battle that could be easily won.

  “I know who you are,” Igrid said. “And you will be that king once again. When I destroy your darkness, I will forgive your sins, and you will be welcomed in Valhalla.”

  Without a further word, Mentach charged. The sisters scattered, Maela and Braela’s images flickering in and out of existence as they bewildered their attackers. Igrid poised herself for a strike, keeping her eyes focused on Mentach’s blade as he neared. Then, she dropped down to a crouch, spinning in place with a backhand slash. Mentach’s right leg was severed at the knee, and the Draugr stumbled forward. Igrid leaped up immediately, thrusting forehanded as she jumped toward him.

  Her blade skewered him through the back, forcing him to his knees. His sword clanked on the stone floor as Igrid withdrew, and before the undead creature could stand again, she delivered one final strike, chopping through the armored gorget that guarded his skeletal neck.

  Mentach’s head toppled from his shoulders, the armored crown clanking on the stones as it bounced away. Then, a harsh wind began to blow, and Igrid could hear the sound of the remaining Draugr collapsing into piles of bone and armor. Igrid backed away, watching in confusion and awe as masses of spirit energy rose from the remains of the undead.

  The other sisters gathered around her, their blades still in their hands. The spirit forms gathered together in a line, standing before the sisters as they took humanoid shape. They were tall, much taller than the Northmen. Their bodies were slim, and their skin pale as it came into being. Each of them wore his pale, colorless hair long underneath elaborate and beautiful helmets, and their eyes shone the brightest green.

  Mentach was divine in appearance, almost golden in his glow, with noble features that Igrid found mesmerizing. Soon, the seven Draugr, now in their mortal Firbolga form, stood before them, material and corporeal as they once were. Igrid was awestruck with their beauty, becoming breathless as she beheld them.

  “Daughter of the North,” Mentach spoke. “You have freed us from our curse. For that, I thank you. You have cleansed this temple, and purged all darkness from its halls. It shall be a beacon of light for those who seek truth, and a refuge for those who seek Gaia. All is as it once was.”

  “Then as High Priestess of Gaia,” Igrid said, sheathing her blade. “I release you from your prison. May the gates of Valhalla open for you.”

  Mentach stepped forward, looking down at Igrid, towering above her by at least a foot. He was not only giant in appearance, but in spirit as well. Before him she felt insignificant, powerless, and a mere mortal. She was not worthy, she felt; not worthy of being in the presence of such a noble creature. Nevertheless, he smiled upon her.

  “Bring peace and order to this land once again,” he said. “Cleanse Eirenoch of evil in the name of Gaia, and the Dragon. The king returns soon, and he will bear the banner of the Dragon. Show your loyalty, and fight at his side for all time.”

  “I will,” Igrid replied. “T’kar will fall.”

  Mentach reached out, touching Igrid’s heart. She felt a strange warmth surge through her, and saw Mentach’s eyes begin to fade as he transferred a portion of his own power to her.

  “Take this blessing,” Mentach said. “With it, you may unlock the vaults of this temple, and don the garments of warriors past. May the blessings of the Firbolga and the Alvar guide you.”

  Igrid bowed her head, unsure of what to do next. Mentach smiled, likely sensing her hesitation. With one final nod, he turned and rejoined his companions, facing the sisters with his head held high. Slowly, the apparitions faded away, leaving the seven women to look at each other in wonder.

  “That was too easy,” Morrigan said. “It was obviously a test of sorts.”

  “Likely to judge your forgiveness,” Trista said to Igrid. “Evidently you passed.”

  She was right, Igrid realized. The confrontation was not about the battle, it was a test of spirit. Igrid’s leadership was tested, and it all came down to her decision whether to condemn or forgive the Firbolga who strayed too far from Gaia’s path. She had chosen correctly. Now, she knew, it would be time to awaken the Sisterhood fully by donning the armor that was promised.

  At the opposite side of the chamber, trimmed in gold and silver runes, was a carved slab of white stone with the triquetra symbol carved upon it. It was quite obviously the vault that Mentach had mentioned, where they would find the tools of the new order.

  “The armor must be in that vault,” she said.

  She headed toward the door, and the rest followed behind her. Even before reaching it, the door began to tremble, and it slowly slid back in its frame, sinking down into the floor to reveal the small chamber beyond. There, upon a golden dais, were seven mannequins wearing the most beautiful and elaborately carved armor any of them had ever seen.

  The strange metal from which the armor was forged was as reflective as a mirror, and showed a dark, silver cast. The plates were held together with what looked like fine black leather, and the chainmail skirts were formed of perfectly circular rings with no seams. Hanging over the skirts were shocks of green silk that shimmered like the stars in the sky. Even the elaborate helmets were perfectly formed, and looked as if they were made for their own heads.

  Igrid grasped the helmet from her set and held it up to her eyes to examine it closely. The inside was lined with a bizarre, soft material that felt like skin, but was as tough as hardened leather. She lifted it up and donned it, feeling it slide over her head in a perfect fit. She felt a surge of energy go through her body, and it felt as if her senses had been heightened.

  “It feels strange,” she said. “Like it’s alive in its own right.”

  She looked around at the room, seeing how detailed the stonework seemed as compared to before. She could see every crack, every tiny bump, and every insect that crawled upon the surface. She smiled as she realized it, knowing how effective such sight would be in combat. Hastily, she began stripping off her clothes. The others followed.

  Soon, as each piece was pulled on, strapped on, and buckled in place, they all felt the surge of power the armor gave them. They all felt invincible, protected from harm by the divinely-forged armor. It was even becoming clear what the strange Alvar symbols meant. They were part of a language the ancient people used, similar to the Firbolga language, and the women were beginning to understand their meanings. It was as if the armor was giving them the knowledge and perhaps the memories of the Alvar who had worn this very armor.

  “My daughters,” came an ethereal voice from back in the main chamber.

  The woman drew their blades and exited the vault. There, in the center of the chamber, stood the image of Gaia. She was ghostly, with flowing golden hair, pale skin, and a long, silk gown that flowed around her like flame. Igrid was awestruck with her beauty, and her appearance as a whole. Her presence was an uplifting one, and her heart felt warm and at peace.

  “Gather around me in your places,” Gaia said, holding out her arms.

  Around her, six circles flared into life, each of them with their own unique symbol. Igrid watched as her sisters were drawn to a particular symbol, where they turned and stood facing the image of the Great Mother. In front of the divine presence one more circle appeared, with a symbol carved upon it that Igrid was drawn to.

/>   “These are your places,” Gaia said. “They are marked with your names in the Alvar tongue. Here you will gather for prayer and guidance, under the presence of my avatar. I will grant you wisdom and strength, and you will be my swords. From this day forth, you are the Daughters of Gaia, and you will wield my weapons in my name.”

  The image began to swirl as it grew brighter. Gaia’s gown flared around her, spinning around her body. The image rose into the air and began to spread into what looked like a golden sky with clouds of pure white. As Igrid looked down from the scene, she realized that there was terrain around her. They were on the surface of the world, but the world as it was thousands of years ago. Trees began to spring up around them as the sky turned blue.

  In the distance, the image of a blue giant appeared, deftly crafting a statue in the image of a tall, pure humanoid form much like the Alvar. He was smiling as he worked on the project, showing every scrape and tap of his hammer all of the love of a master smith. He was beautiful, divine, and bore the strength of many.

  “This is my child Kronos,” Gaia’s voice said. “Here he is crafting the first Firbolga, modeling it after the beauty of the Alvar. But he is doing so against my will. I am the Mother Spirit, and creation is mine alone. Kronos defied my will, creating the Firbolga without my blessing. For that, he was to be punished. That is, until I saw this.”

  As the blue giant stood back and breathed life into the statue, Igrid felt the aura of love and kindness that Kronos exuded. He breathed into the Firbolga the will and love of himself and Gaia as well. Upon its awakening, the beautiful creature fell to its knees in worship—not of its creator, but of Gaia herself. The sisters could all sense it.

  “For his gift to me,” Gaia continued. “I spared my wrath. The Firbolga were created, and they now had my blessing. They would be my new children, and would tend the forests and all of the lands for eternity. When the Alvar came to my world, they too began to worship me as did the Firbolga. But soon after, when my sister created her Firstborn, the stench of evil began to spread across my world.”

  The scene darkened then. The sky began as fire, and the forest around them withered and fell to the dark clouds of evil that formed. The Firbolga, as beautiful as they were, began to darken themselves. The Alvar fled back to their world, leaving their friends to stand alone against the darkness. With the strength of the enemy, they fell to their knees, giving their souls to its evil. Their own spirits became dark as well, corrupting their flesh and depriving them of their divinity.

  “It was Kingu who did this,” Gaia explained. “They worshiped him as Kathorgo, Lord of the Earth. My Earth. My only defense was to awaken another child, one that I created long before to power the fires of the Earth. The Dragon. I gave him form and sent him after this dark god to destroy him forever. The plan succeeded for a time, and Kingu was driven back underground with his Fomorian kin, having destroyed and corrupted the Firbolga forever. Only the Dragon’s servants, the Druaga, and the few remaining Firbolga could stand against the Fomorian beasts of the Earth, and for that, those loyal Firbolga were destroyed, cursed to live in undeath in this very temple, and in tombs across the Northlands.”

  “What about the Northmen?” Igrid asked. “Were they not created by the Firbolga?”

  “Yes,” Gaia said. “In a sense. The Northmen found the ruins of the Firbolga temples in the north, and modeled themselves and their society after them. The Firbolga are truly your progenitors, make no mistake, but you are truly more divine. The Firbolga are gone, and only those darkened souls remain. They are lost to me, and only the Alvar and my new Daughters of Gaia can stand against Kathorgo.”

  “He is back then?” Trista asked. “Back from his rocky hell.”

  “Yes,” Gaia replied. “But only in spirit form. He has, however, sealed his entry into this world once more. A witch in the north will soon bear his spawn, and it will draw its power from those who give their allegiance to Kathorgo. It must be destroyed.”

  “I understand,” Igrid said. “Kathorgo will not set foot upon the Earth again.”

  “Good,” Gaia said. “Now go. Gather your army, rally them against the darkness, and join the Onyx Dragon in his conquest.”

  “Where do we go first?” Igrid asked. “How do we begin?”

  “There is a self-appointed Baron here in the Southern Reaches,” Gaia explained. “His name is Arbotach, and he is one of the few remaining Firbolga loyal to the memory of Kathorgo. He is to travel north to pledge his allegiance to T’kar and join him in the ultimate slaughter of the people of Eirenoch. This must not happen. Arbotach has a great weapon that he will use against the people, and it must be destroyed.”

  “What is this weapon?” Igrid asked. “And where is it?”

  “Before he is able to use it,” Gaia explained, “you must destroy it. Nearby you will find a mine. It is a few miles to the south of here, and not to be confused with the great crater mine near the coast. This mine leads directly to the heart of Kathorgo’s ancient temple, where black iron is mined to create weapons of darkness. You will deprive T’kar and Arbotach of this material, and destroy that mine forever.”

  “Who mines this black iron?” Morrigan asked. “My people?”

  “Yes,” Gaia said, sadly. “You must not risk saving them, however. Your first task is to destroy the mine. If they can escape on their own, so be it. If not, that is their fate. Such is the way of things. It is important that Arbotach not achieve his goals, lest the world fall to Kathorgo once more.”

  “I understand,” Morrigan said. Igrid could see the sadness in her eyes.

  “Go now, my daughters,” Gaia said. “Perform this task, and then you can begin your true battle. Do not forget your powers, and do not waiver in your strength.”

  With that, the image faded, leaving the sisters to stare at each other in an apprehensive and awkward silence. It was only Igrid who dared speak.

  “Come now,” she said. “We have work to do. Arbotach’s supply must not reach him.”

  The sisters all nodded, smiling in anticipation of their upcoming crusade. It would be a uniting cause for them all, and their exploits would be written down in history. The Daughters of Gaia would live on forever, and nothing could stop them now.

  Nothing.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Who is this man, Randar?” T’kar asked as they led a small army of soldiers southward.

  “His name is Arbotach,” Randar replied. “He is not a man.”

  T’kar winced. “What?” he coughed. “What do you mean? What is he?”

  “Surely you’ve heard of the Firbolga, sire.”

  The king shrugged. “Of course. Who hasn’t? But they are long dead.”

  “That is correct,” Randar replied. “All but him.”

  T’kar sighed. “So we are going to meet someone who should not exist, who has agreed to pledge his loyalty to me?”

  “There was no word of him pledging his loyalty, Sire,” Randar explained. “He is simply offering a truce in exchange for rule of the Southern Reaches.”

  “Which he already rules,” Malthor added.

  T’kar glared over at the necromancer. “Is that so?”

  Randar nodded. “So he claims,” he said. “He had been in hiding under Daegoth’s rule, as he fears the Dragon, but he has been campaigning to regain the south. He has been doing so since the day you killed the former king.”

  “And why have I not heard of him?”

  “His current domain lies in the southeast area of the island,” Randar said. “He has been waiting for this meeting to continue his expansion west and northward.”

  T’kar grunted. “And he expects me to share rule of this kingdom with him?”

  “I believe the messenger said he would be willing to accept title and lordship, as opposed to wiping out our armies and having your head on a pike.”

  T’kar glared at Randar, who remained expressionless. If he were any other man, T’kar would have drawn his blade and chopped off his head
then and there. But there was something in Randar’s eyes that told him he was serious. But why would this Firbolga, who wasn’t supposed to exist, want to kill him? Why not join him and serve him. T’kar was the king, after all, not him.

  “Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this Arbotach?” he asked finally.

  Randar chuckled. “You don’t truly like anyone, Sire,” he said.

  Malthor laughed loudly, drawing glances from both T’kar and Randar. The king, shook his head, looking back at the soldiers that trudged tirelessly behind them. They were the best he had; those who had served him faithfully for years. Lorcan was among them, riding alongside the procession, keeping the men in line. He liked Lorcan, and Randar, but he never let on that he felt as such. That would be against his character.

  “I hope that Lilit is in good hands,” T’kar said, thinking of the wretched thing lying in agony with the demon spawn growing in her belly.

  “Sirl is taking care of her,” Randar said. “She is in good hands.”

  T’kar grunted. “I have half a mind to plunge my blade in her gut and cut out that dark thing inside her.”

  “We may have use for such a spawn, Sire,” Randar said. “Arbotach has sensed its growing presence, as he once worshiped Kathorgo as you do.”

  “Kingu,” T’kar said. “The actual entity, not the idiotic chunk of rock that resides in my dungeon.”

  “Kingu will return in the form of this spawn,” Malthor said. “And he will no longer be a useless piece of granite. He may earn my respect yet.”

  T’kar laughed, throwing his head back and guffawing into the morning sky. He was beginning to enjoy Malthor’s company, and truly respected the fact that the man did not fear Kathorgo. In fact, Malthor thought the entity was as useless as he did. Perhaps Malthor was tolerable yet.