The Iron Sword

by J. M. Briggs

  “It seems so,” Morgana replied slowly. She held up her hands to still Merlin. “The children are all alright; I’m not sure what happened, but they all survived the encounter.”

  “That’s a good sign,” Merlin agreed, sounding much more pleased. “We’ll just have to defeat him again.

  “Last time we had a lot more help,” Morgana pointed out darkly.

  “Ah Morgana, always the optimist,” Merlin chuckled with a hint of sarcasm. “But I’ll remind you that our current group has already managed to save the Iron Soul from the betrayal.”

  “This is different, and be careful of how much you demand from them,” Morgana hissed in reply. “You asked too much of Arto and so many of the others. I won’t have you putting too much on Alex… I mean all of them.”

  Merlin’s chuckle was soft and warm and Alex shifted slightly so she could see more. Merlin was looking at Morgana with a soft and warm smile.

  “I know you are very fond of the girl,” Merlin said gently. “And that’s alright Morgana. The first Iron Soul may have been your brother, but it is alright to love others too.”

  “That’s never ended well for either of us when we’ve tried in the past,” Morgana muttered. “We’re immortal, kept alive by virtue of being neither human or Sídhe, kept alive to protect the Iron Realm. Everyone else, everything else, isn’t.”

  “And yet we keep trying, regardless of how you act sometimes my dear I know how loving you can be. I’ve seen many times, even though you always try not to.”

  Alex couldn’t see Morgana’s face, but she took a step back from Merlin and calmly told him, “I’ve got hot chocolate brewing in the kitchen. They’ll need something warm.”

  Alex closed her eyes as Morgana turned to head into the kitchen, trying to look asleep. There was a warm pulsing in her chest that made her smile underneath her blanket. Holding onto the sensation for a moment, Alex sighed softly before she yawned loudly and opened her eyes. Merlin was watching her with a small knowing look that made her blush. He stepped over to her and gently pushed a strand of her long blonde hair from her face.

  “How are you?” he asked her in a low voice.

  “Okay, this fight was harder on Nicki and Bran,” Alex explained, grateful that she had the strength to speak.

  “I’m not surprised about Nicole,” Merlin remarked. “Her powers would have been invaluable in this battle, but Bran?”

  “It tried to attack Nicki, but Bran stopped and held it in midair.”

  “Did he now?” Merlin marveled. “Wonderful.”

  The sound of plates and cups in the kitchen made Merlin look up towards the doorway. He stepped away from Alex and moved over to Aiden whom he softly tapped on his shoulder. Alex cuddled into her blankets as Merlin moved around the room and gently woke the others. They were barely awake when Morgana returned to the parlor carrying a large pot of hot cocoa and several mugs on a large silver tray. She set it down on the heavy wooden coffee table and began filling the mugs.

  Alex’s mouth watered as she inhaled the smell of the hot chocolate and she grinned happily when Morgana handed her the warm mug. Wrapping her hands around it, Alex breathed the steam in deeply before taking a sip. The hot chocolate warmed Alex’s mouth and spread an instant feeling of warmth and contentment through her entire body. It was a little too hot and stung her tongue a little, but the last vestiges of the chill in her body from being near that creature finally vanished.

  “So, what was that thing?” Alex asked after a happy little sigh. Her fingers tightened around the warm mug and she shifted back into the warmth of the armchair.

  “Well roughly translated from what we used to call them… just Shadows.” Merlin answered with a strained chuckle. “They are as you saw shadows that take the form of a creature which is immune to heat and fire. Rather nasty business. You assume that heat and light will deal with such a creature, but instead it makes them stronger. I’m pleased that you realized that in time.”

  “It wasn’t that hard,” Nicki replied with a small pleased smile. “It got colder whenever Aiden hit it with a fireball.”

  “Indeed,” Morgana agreed as she handed Nicki her own mug. “But when you’re fighting them in the dead of winter that can be a bit harder to determine.”

  “It took Morgana three fights with shadow creatures to figure out that her light attacks were useless. Then she tried fire. It wasn’t until what? Fight number five that you tried ice.”

  Morgana gave Merlin a stern look, but he just smiled and sat on the armrest of the sofa that Nicki was stretched out on.

  “Where did it come from?” Bran asked weakly before taking another deep gulp of hot chocolate.

  “The Shadows are the creations and servants of the Old One Chernobog, an exile from Avalye. Gradually he lost his mind,” Morgana explained calmly as she took Nicki’s mug and refilled it. “In the tenth century the two of us, the then Iron Soul, Dobiemir, along with an alliance of several other Old Ones fought Chernobog, 982 C.E. if I remember correctly. He was forced underground and went to sleep under a powerful blast of our magic. Sadly the current rise in magic is waking up the Old Ones and it appears that Chernobog will be leading the charge.”

  “Chernobog,” Nicki repeated slowly with a frown. “That sounds familiar.”

  “It should, he’s become a rather popular evil god to reference in literature and film in the last few decades. Unlike many so-called evil gods, Chernobog really was evil given form. He didn’t care much for worship or offerings, the only thing that he seemed to enjoy at all was causing devastation. He spurred on many famines and pestilences in early medieval Poland before he was locked away.”

  “The shadow form that you fought is one of the reasons he is so dangerous,” Merlin added with a shake of his head. “Chernobog seemingly has power over cold, but in truth, his ability is to draw power from light and heat. He takes the power of heat and light and leaves the world cold in his wake. Darkness and cold are mere byproducts of his presence and his shadow forms are little bits of his power that he sends out in the world. His very own conjured army.”

  “Which we’ll be seeing more of in the coming months,” Morgana remarked with a sigh. “I suppose at least we understand that part of Bran’s vision. The massive dark figure certainly matches my memories of Chernobog.”

  “At least until Chernobog himself arrives,” Merlin added with a shake of his head as he glanced at them all. “I’m afraid that you’ll need to be on your guard day and night now. Hopefully the Sídhe will remain trapped long enough for us to deal with Chernobog.”

  “Indeed,” Morgana agreed darkly. “Wars on two fronts are never a good thing.” She turned her attention to Alex and gave her a small sad smile. “All of you need to be very careful and protect Arthur. Unlike the Sídhe, Chernobog is not limited by anything as simple as a tunnel entrance. It’s likely that his attention is fixed on Ravenslake as the focal point of the rising magic, but he can send his shadow forms anywhere.”

  “So going home is no longer safe,” Bran said softly, a deep frown on his face. “Are our families safe?”

  “They should be,” Morgana informed them gently. “Chernobog doesn’t know about them and they have no magic to draw his attention. He’s powerful, but spying and clever plots are not his strong point.”

  “Great,” Nicki sighed, clutching at her own hot chocolate. “At least the Sídhe only came out at night. Now we’ve got living shadows to contend with.”

  “Drink your hot chocolate,” Morgana told them sternly. “You can stay here and rest this afternoon until you’re strong enough to head for home.”

  “What about Arthur?” Alex asked, worry clogging her throat.

  “I spoke with him earlier today to confirm his safety,” Merlin replied gently with a small smile. “He’ll be home tonight and we’ll brief him on what is happening.” Merlin gave them a wider forced smile and added, “Please keep in mind that Chernobog has been asleep for a thousand years: his powers are still returning to hi
m. He won’t be able to attack you all the time. Keep living your lives and protect each other. For now, that’s all we can do.”

  Swallowing thickly, Alex managed a quick nod but dropped her eyes into her hot chocolate mug. A moment later she felt Morgana’s hand drop to her shoulder and the older mage squeeze it gently. She raised the mug in a silent toast to her fellow mages and draining what remained of her serving. The chocolate lingered on her tongue, much cooler and tasting far bitterer than before.

  9

  The Plain of the Circle

  806 B.C.E. Salisbury Plains

  Traveling was the worst part of their mission and the worst part of the war in Arto’s opinion. It was always a pain, even on the treks when they had some horses to carry them. He suspected that his sister had become as comfortable with their stationary life as he had because Morgana had insisted to Merlin that they weren’t walking this time. Still, it was boring and tiring in its own way even if they made better time. Arto looked over to where Luegáed was sitting rather uncomfortably on a brown horse he’d been paired with.

  “Not fond of horses?” Arto asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

  “I’d only ridden one a handful of time before this,” Luegáed admitted with a sheepish smile. “We mostly use them with carts for transport and sometimes in the fields.”

  “I’ve only ridden a few times myself,” Arto told him with a chuckle. “Merlin and I traveled on foot most of the time when I was young, occasionally we borrowed horses from local villages for quick trips, but it’s new for me.”

  “Why didn’t you use horses if you traveled so much?”

  “Lots of reasons I suppose,” Arto answered with a small shrug. “We didn’t have any way to protect them from the Sídhe, we would have had to stop to let them eat and keep them tethered all the time. They are pretty difficult to keep calm and we do have to fight a lot.” Arto chuckled and glanced at the head of the party where Merlin was shifting uneasily on the horse he was riding. “Besides, I don’t think Merlin likes them very much. He complains about them a lot.”

  Luegáed chuckled, sharing a look with Arto. The tension in Luegáed’s shoulders eased slightly and Arto internally smiled, glad to see the newcomer adjusting. Luegáed had volunteered to come to the great stone circle with them but was still very uneasy around everyone. Arto could understand it: he’d grown up traveling so he was used to meeting new people and working with them, but he knew from Gwenyvar that most people did not live their lives that way. Everyone traveled a bit, usually to take part in the winter and summer celebrations and return their ancestors or tools to the earth, but Luegáed had come much farther than that.

  “So what will happen when we get there?” Luegáed asked, breaking into Arto’s thoughts.

  “We should be there soon, I think you’ll catch your first glimpse of the circle when we come over that hill over there,” Arto replied, pointing at one of the sloping hills in the distance. “We’ll be staying at a village near it. Depending on how late it is we’ll review the protection from the Sídhe, make any changes that we can tonight and try to rest up. Beyond that…. well it just depends on if we can track the Sídhe back to their current tunnel and how long it takes to accomplish that.”

  “And if we find the tunnel?”

  “Then we create a new iron gate with the iron we brought with us. That will help protect this area,” Arto informed him with a pleased smile. “The magic radiates out and protects at least a few miles around it. I hope to someday have enough gates that the Sídhe can’t even come through at all anymore.”

  “That’s quite a dream,” Luegáed remarked, “But one I hope to see come to pass.”

  “You will,” Arto assured him with a firm nod.

  An odd expression crossed over Luegáed’s face, his eyes flickering for a moment. Then the other young man swallowed and nodded firmly. They both settled into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just contemplative. Arto wondered if Luegáed was regretting his father’s decision to send him off to the war. He wouldn’t have blamed him, Arto was very aware that his life was difficult and dangerous, the sort of life that people didn’t want to live. Honor and glory mattered to some, but they lived in a largely peaceful world except for the Sídhe, not like those in the south who seemed to occupy themselves with battle at all times.

  The landscape around them was filled with gently rolling hills, patches of forest and farmlands. The southern plateau was home to many small villages, most with simple wooden walls and little else to defend them. Earthen walls kept livestock penned and small roundhouses were scattered amongst fields of crops.

  Many people stopped to watch their small procession, hope in their eyes, but also nervousness. Arto couldn’t blame them for that. He knew that failure on their part would just bring the Sídhe down harder in this region. His stomach clenched as the terrible thought of what would happen if he died crossed his mind. Merlin and Morgana would, of course, keep fighting, he had every confidence that his death would not stop those two, but would the others keep following? Arto glanced towards Luegáed with renewed curiosity. Mages were poorly understood, the people valued magic and their priests, but did not understand them. If he died then they’d need someone to keep leading the nonmagical side of things.

  He shook his head; he was getting ahead of himself. Still, Arto conceded to himself, it was something that he needed to think about. His father was proof enough that great warriors could be struck down. Just thinking about the stab his father received in the back was enough to make him angry all over again.

  They reached the crest of the hill and Arto grinned when he heard a soft gasp from Luegáed. A short ways ahead of them stood one of the largest and more elegant stone circles in the whole isles. There were larger ones, some with more stones, but Arto couldn’t help but admire the great achievement of the circle. Large, tall stones stood in a circle with other stones perched carefully on them, forming great arches.

  Also visible was the large timber circle, only two miles to the north-east of the great stone circle. Arto doubted that Luegáed could make it out that there was anything special about the site from their position, but he surveyed the area with a sense of pride. Their ancestors had built something truly great here. Beyond this site, Arto knew that the river and the circle of smaller stones completed the network of monuments that together served as the great funeral site. The place where the greatest of them were returned to the Earth.

  “It’s fantastic. We have funeral and celebration sites in my homeland, but nothing quite like this. I wonder how the builders managed to raise those stones so high,” Luegáed remarked with a grin, looking over at Arto.

  “It is the greatest of all our circles,” Arto agreed with a nod. “There are many, but none match it. Traditionally anyone who can manage comes here at the Winter Solstice and there is a great slaughter of pigs. We return the dead to the Earth so they may guide us and help keep the realm safe and we celebrate their lives.”

  “Have you been here often?”

  “A few times,” Arto replied with a nod, his smile fading away slightly. “The last time was for my father.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It is the way of things, especially when the Sídhe ride,” Arto muttered before he forced himself to smile. “But I have been here many times for the Winter Solstice celebration. You can’t see it from here, but there is an avenue leading from that circle to the river where there is another circle made out of smaller stones.”

  They slowly made their way down the hill, turning away from the stone circle and heading towards a small village to the north near the edge of the river. Arto glanced up at the darkening sky and towards the head of the line of horses where Morgana was urging hers to speed up. He glanced toward Luegáed and noted that his friend had his hand on the hilt of his iron sword. A quick look around revealed that everyone had noticed that they were running out of daylight as thick clouds on the horizon clouded over the setting sun.

  His h
orse whinnied nervously, shifting beneath him and Arto clutched tighter at the leather straps. The horse’s nostrils were flaring, its ears were perked and its tail was high. Looking around, he tried to find the source of the beast’s nervousness. He didn’t know much about horses, but he could recognize fear and aggravation when he saw it. The sky was darkening fast above them as the clouds blocked the low sun from sight, but he could see no signs of a threat yet. Then his horse made a squealing noise and shifted backward, fighting against the leather straps.

  A long eerie howl ripped across the plains, echoing against the low hills and the horse made a sudden jerk. Arto looked towards Merlin who was staring off into the distant hills. His own horse was moving and tossing its head. Merlin shook his head and swung down from the horse, planting his staff into the ground with a heavy thump. Scrabbling off his horse, Arto grabbed the leather bag on its back that held the iron. As his horse tried to pull away, Arto tore open the knot holding the bag and let the bag fall to the ground. He did nothing to stop it when the horse squealed again and backed away.