“Come on, Mel,” Bradan put a supporting arm around her. “We'll follow the oystercatchers. It seems that we're not climbing back down the cliff.”
Limping, fighting the pain, Melcorka put her weight on Bradan, winced every time her foot hit the ground, and staggered up the slope. “I can't make it, Brad,” she said.
“You are Melcorka the Swordswoman,” Bradan reminded, bearing most of her weight. “You can make it.”
“Erik defeated me,” Melcorka stopped after only 10 steps.
“Then you will defeat him next time.” Bradan took more of Melcorka's weight.
When they reached the spot where Erik had vanished, Bradan noticed a small declivity in the ground, with an iron ringbolt. The oystercatchers landed beside it, whistling.
“Pull that iron ring,” Melcorka gasped. “Let go of me and pull it.”
The ringbolt opened a square hole in the ground, with a flight of steps leading downward into unseen depths. “Come on, Mel,” Bradan was first in, tapping at the top stair with his staff. He reached back for Melcorka. “I've got you.”
They moved down slowly, with Bradan testing each step as he supported Melcorka until they heard the thud of surf and emerged at the landing place, with the oystercatchers waiting on the gunwales of their boat. Bradan's hopes lifted until he saw that Erik had smashed the bottom of the boat with a rock.
Bradan swore, looked at Melcorka as she lay bleeding and swore again. He peered out to sea and shook his head in disbelief as he saw Catriona bobbing 100 yards offshore. He swam out to her. “True Thomas said you'd come back for us,” he said in wonder.
“You can't row,” Bradan helped Melcorka into Catriona and tied the smashed fishing boat astern. “Sit there.”
“I'm not an invalid,” Melcorka complained, white beneath her tan.
“No, you're a wounded warrior,” Bradan said. “You must depend on me for a while, Melcorka.”
Melcorka gave a weak smile. “There is nobody on whom I would rather depend.” She sank into the boat as Bradan pushed them into the heaving water. He took the oars, pulling hard for shore as Melcorka swayed in the stern, her lips moving soundlessly. She saw the black blade of Legbiter swooping on her, felt the bite and winced. “I can't fight any more,” she said.
“Get healed first,” Bradan eased Catriona to the shore. “Then decide.”
Two fishermen met them beside the cluster of cottages.
“We've brought back your boat.” Bradan indicated the small fishing coble. “I'm sorry it's damaged.”
“Damaged?” a bearded fisherman said. “Nothing two men and two hours' work won't put to rights.”
“Thank you, fisherman,” Bradan wished he had a coin with which to reward the fisherman, knew the man would take the offer as an insult and helped Melcorka out of Catriona.
“Did you kill him then?” the bearded fisherman asked Melcorka, then shook his head. “No, but he nearly killed you.”
“Nearly,” Bradan said. “Not quite.” He saw the oystercatchers circling to the south.
“May God go with you,” the fisherman said as his wife hurried out with a stone flagon of ale and a leather bag of cooked haddock.
“Here,” the fishwife said. “God bless the journey.”
“Thank you,” Bradan said. “Come on, Melcorka, we're back on our travels again.” He pushed Catriona out to sea, knowing that True Thomas would look after her.
“He'll kill me next time,” Melcorka said. “Erik will kill me on a sandy wasteland, and you will walk away with another woman.”
“Is that what will happen?” Bradan stooped, lifted Melcorka bodily and placed her on his back. “Well, not today, I think.” Straightening his shoulders and frowning at the blood that seeped from Melcorka's legs, he set off in the wake of the oystercatchers.
Chapter Seven
The Rock rose before him, ghostly white, with the gannets plunging all around and a keen wind lifting the crests from the waves. From his position on the coast, Erik could not see if there was anybody on the Bass or not. Striding down to the fishing village at the foot of the cliff, he hailed the crew of a boat.
“Give me that boat.”
“We will not.” Eyeing Erik's sword warily, the three men faced him, one lifting a boathook, the others hefting their oars in defiance.
“Give me that boat,” Erik said. The Rock of Bass was only a mile away, glowing in the rising sun.
“Get away.” The bearded man with the boathook gave a tentative prod toward Erik. “Push the boat out, lads.”
Striding forward, Erik drew Loki's blade and killed the man with the boathook, then sliced at the legs of the other two men. With the spirit of the sword coursing through him, he marched to the nearest cottage of the hamlet, kicked in the door and slaughtered the woman and two young children inside. Ten paces in the rear, the grey man watched, wordless and expressionless.
“Who are you?” Women from the remaining two cottages came out. Two screamed in horror at the scene of carnage, and others lifted stones to try to repel Erik. With Loki's blade still sticky with blood and human brains, Erik strode forward and killed the women, then finished off the terrified children who remained inside the cottages and the three dogs who attacked him, madly barking. With his lust temporarily sated, Erik stepped into the blood-spattered fishing boat, tossed the corpses into the sea and pushed out to the Bass.
Knowing exactly where to go, he steered for the landing stage and disembarked without hesitation, striding to the hidden tunnel that pierced the Rock and gave access to the surface far above. The grey man followed, 10 paces to the rear.
“Swordswoman! Where are you?” Erik emerged on to the summit of the rock. Autumn sunshine made the rough grass appear verdant, while gannets rose in fluttering hordes. Erik looked around, seeing the ominous dark stain where Melcorka had lain. “Where are you?”
Only the gannets replied, screaming and wheeling in uncounted thousands.
“No!” Erik looked around at the empty slope of the Bass. When he drew Loki's Blade, he could sense the faint glow where Defender had pressed into the ground.
“Master!” he shouted, “I have failed you.”
The dark shape emerged through the ground. “Where is the sword?”
“I could not get it.”
“Fool.” That single word drove Erik back to the edge of the cliff, with the 300-foot drop to the sea sucking at him. “Fool!” The words curled around Erik lifted him high, poised him above the sea and dashed him down to the surface of the Bass.
“Get it.” Once again, the words seared into Erik's brain, making him cringe.
“Yes, Loki.”
“I chose you because your father killed the Swordswoman's mother.” The words were softer now, lacking the cutting edge. “I chose you because you are an adventurer from warrior blood, a man who has been where others dare not go.”
Erik rose, straightened his back and tried to face the shape. “I am Erik Egilsson,” he said. “I have travelled beyond the bounds of the Western Ocean and seen empires and lands that few others know exist.”
“Have I chosen badly?” The voice asked hardening again. “Are you not fit to carry my sword?”
“I am fit, Lord,” Erik said.
The darkness came from below, covering the surface of the Bass and wrapping itself around Erik. He tried to breathe, choked and tried again.
“There are other warriors, Erik Egilsson, other men who would welcome my blade. You have until the end of this year to bring me Defender.”
“Yes, Lord,” Erik bowed his head.
The darkness increased again, with an earthy smell in which Erik caught a whiff of sulphur. The blood trail led to the tunnel through which Erik had just come. He stopped at the landing place and swore again when he realised Melcorka's boat was missing.
“Swordswoman!” Erik roared to the bright bowl of the sky. “Swordswoman! You cannot hide from me. You will die of your injuries, and I will have Defender!” A thousand birds rose at his wo
rds, calling and screaming. “Wherever on this land you go, I will find you!”
Still 10 paces in the rear, the grey man looked directly at Erik.
“You will need help.” The words exploded inside Erik's head. “I will send you help.”
“I will find the sword,” Erik said. “I will find Defender!”
“What is the use if you cannot lift her?” The words were hard-edged. “You failed me again.” The pain hit Erik in wave after wave, each one more intense than the last. When it finished, he lay on the ground, gasping. “You have men to kill.” The words cut into Erik's brain. He cringed on that landing stage with the waves washing at Melcorka's blood and the gannets crying all around.
“Oh, great Odin, have mercy on me,” Erik prayed. “Loki, I am your man.”
Chapter Eight
The triple hills reared ahead, three green peaks against a sky of ragged clouds.
“Those are the Eildon Hills,” Bradan lowered Melcorka to the ground and eased the strain on his back. He watched as the oystercatchers circled his head before flying, arrow-straight, towards the peaks. “I have no wish to visit for I've heard that Elfhame sits beneath them.”
“I have also heard that legend,” Melcorka leaned on a solitary elm to rest her aching legs. Despite all Bradan's ministrations and the power of Defender, her wounds still wept blood. She crouched down, trying to force a smile. “The People of Peace live in Elfhame. The Daoine Sidh, or the fairy folk, if you prefer.”
“I do not trust the People of Peace,” Bradan said.
“I know.” Melcorka lifted one leg and then the other to alleviate the pain. “Yet the oystercatchers are leading us there. Don't forget, the People of Peace raised Maelona, and she was the gentlest person I have ever known.”
Bradan nodded. “I remember Maelona, the good queen, but the People of Peace are deceivers of the worst kind, people who lure you in with false promises and take away years of your life.”
As they spoke, they stared at the triple peaks, which seemed to have a strange glow, as if something lit them from within.
“Bradan,” Melcorka said. “There is no need for you to go closer. I will enter alone.”
Bradan did not even contemplate the idea. “You cannot walk,” he said. “We both go.” He lifted his chin. “And may the Lord have mercy on our souls.”
The deer came silently to them, a young stag and two hinds, walking at their side, watching them through velvet eyes without venturing into touching distance.
“The People have seen us,” Bradan murmured, grasping his staff tighter. “Let's hope they're still wary of rowan wood.”
“Your staff will protect you,” Melcorka said, “although I think there is no need for worry.” She released her hold of the tree, stumbled, gasped and fell headlong, causing Bradan to drop his staff and rush to help her.
“I've got you.” Bradan lifted her on to his back. “You're all right now.”
The instant Melcorka fell, the deer closed around them and the sky altered colour. Balancing Melcorka on his back, Bradan realised his staff had vanished, and with it, any protection against the People of Peace. Feeling a surge of fear, he looked around, to see he was no longer in a familiar landscape. A green mist formed around him, softly alluring, while the harmony of distant harps augmented the quiet caress of bird song in the trees.
The undulating land of fields and farms had changed into a single stretch of open woodland, through which deer and hares ran free, while the dull autumn sky had altered to bright sunshine.
“We're in Elfhame,” Bradan said hopelessly. “And the People of Peace have hidden my staff.”
Melcorka nodded. “We're in Elfhame.” Despite her previous words, she felt uneasy, for the People of Peace were unpredictable. They could be the best friends imaginable, or they could spirit away a human for 100 years or more. It all depended on their mood, or how the humans treated them.
“They are watching us.” Bradan fought his fear.
The animals closed in on them, deer and hare, pine marten and foxes, badgers and wolves and the tusked wild boar, until the pressure of bodies forced Bradan to hold Melcorka ever tighter. “Put me down,” Melcorka said. “I need to stand.”
As her feet touched the ground, Melcorka's legs gave way. She stumbled again, grabbed at Bradan for support, missed and tumbled into a dark pit that opened beneath her, taking her down to a bed of soft leaves. The green-tinged darkness surrounded her, impenetrable, squeezing the breath from her lungs so she could not breathe.
“Bradan.” The name rasped in her throat. “Are you there?”
There was no reply. “Bradan?” When Melcorka tried to move, the green darkness thickened, choking her until she gasped. Unable to move, unable to breathe, she drifted into unconsciousness.
With the darkness came the pain. It came in waves, spreading from the deep wounds in her thighs to crash across her body. She lay still, fighting the fear, battling the pain, not sure where she was or why she was there. She could feel herself slipping away as her life forces ebbed.
“Melcorka!”
“Mother?” Melcorka looked up into the sternly loving face of Bearnas, her mother. “Are you in Elfhame too?”
“No, Melcorka. I am in another place,” Bearnas said.
“I thought you were dead,” Melcorka said. “I thought Egil the Norseman killed you.”
“Egil the Norseman did kill me, little one,” Bearnas said.
“Am I dead?” Melcorka tried to sit up, but the pain forced her back down again.
“Only you can decide that, Melcorka.”
“How can I decide?” Melcorka asked.
There was no reply. Bearnas had gone, and she was alone in a world that consisted only of pain and doubt. She closed her eyes, feeling the pain grow until it consumed her, spreading from her legs to every part of her body. Unable to resist, she groaned, trying to push the pain away. There was something additional to the physical agony, a mental darkness she did not understand, something that gnawed at her very essence, something that drove her lower than she had ever been before.
“Melcorka?” The voice came from outside her reality, from somewhere that people walked and talked and laughed. That was not Bearnas.
“Melcorka?”
The voice did not matter. It was nothing to do with her. Melcorka felt herself sliding downward, headfirst into a great hollow of frozen light. She was not reluctant – it felt natural for the brightness to draw her as a flame attracted a moth, or the headwaters of a river attracted spawning salmon. She was going home, travelling to the ultimate destination of all life. It was comfortable here, with so many other souls heading in the same direction. There were no worries, no decisions to make, no cares. The voice intruded again, jarring her easy descent.
“Melcorka.”
“No,” Melcorka said. “Leave me alone.” She tried to ignore the intrusion, tried to allow herself to drift back into the pleasant nothingness.
“Melcorka.”
“Go away.”
The light was beckoning, its glow gentle beneath her, so alluring she could nearly touch it. Once her fingers could grasp that welcoming softness, Melcorka knew she would be home. She reached out, stretching for peace.
“Melcorka. It is not your time.”
“Leave me.” Melcorka”s fingers scrabbled at the edge of that inviting light. As her downward slide halted, she tried to pull herself the final few inches, desperate for the comforting peace that was so close.
“It is not your time.”
The voice was familiar; Melcorka had heard it before, somewhere, not here.
“Come back.”
“No! Leave me alone.”
The light was further away as Melcorka moved in the opposite direction to the souls that slid toward the brightness. Melcorka passed them at increasing speed as something dragged her further and further away from the comfort of the light.
“No. Leave me. I want to go there.” It was easier to accept than to resist, more
natural to slide down than to toil.
Movement surrounded her and the harsh sounds of life. People were there, talking, laughing, faces all around, some concerned, others relieved, some she knew, others she did not know. Melcorka cringed under the babble of noise and colour, trying to return to the place of welcoming light.
“Is she alive? Melcorka, are you back with us?”
“Bradan?” Melcorka tried to sit up, only for strong hands to push her firmly back down. “Where am I?”
“Elfhame,” Bradan said. “We thought we had lost you.”
“How?” Melcorka looked around her. “How did I get here? I was fighting Erik Egilsson on the Bass Rock.”
“The oystercatchers brought us.” Bradan was on his knees at her side, his face gaunt, lined with worry. “Don't you remember?”
Melcorka shook her head. “I remember fighting Erik. Did I defeat him?”
“No.” Bradan”s face loomed closer, his eyes sunk deep into his head with exhaustion. “He defeated you. He sliced your legs open.”
“My legs?” Melcorka looked down. She was lying naked on a bed of leaves, with bandages covering each leg from hip to knee. “I remember. Erik had Legbiter, his sword.”
“Defender was powerless against it,” Bradan said. “He cut you and left you to bleed to death.”
“I remember,” Melcorka said as the memories slowly returned. “Where is he now? I must stop him.” Groping for Defender, she tried to rise, until that new blackness overcame her and she sank back down.
“Not yet, Melcorka.” A new voice joined in as an ethereal woman knelt at Bradan's side. “You are not ready. Do you remember me?”
“Queen Maelona,” Melcorka said. “You were Queen of Alba when we left. Why are you back in Elfhame?”
“There is an evil,” Maelona said.
“I can't remember,” Melcorka tried to regain lost memories from her confused brain. “What happened?”
Maelona shook her head sadly. “You helped me gain the realm,” she said, “and I married Aharn, remember?”
“I remember. That was long ago,” Melcorka said. “He is a good man.”
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