Crowe looked at Jande. “What is it?” Jande was a friend―they had walked through much blood and death together. He had saved Jande’s life on more than one occasion and Jande had returned the favor.
“Lord, the Nephilim . . . the men are not well disposed to having one of their kind traveling with us, especially a warlock.”
“I know Jande, but it’s the king’s wish. I like it no more than you, but Nuzum Mir is in. There’s nothing I can do. Just tell the men to keep out of his way. And tell them to protect the girl at all costs. The mission depends on her.”
Resignation crossed Jande’s face. “Aye lord, I’ve told them.”
Crowe nodded. He mounted his horse and rode beyond the courtyard to the open land outside the citadel, stopping at the head of the mounted column. He knew every one of these men―they were solid, dependable, a fist with which he would crush Lamorak.
So, the king wanted Scalibur and the curse of immortality? Well, Crowe would bring it and would let Loarn wallow in his prison of time. Every man was in one prison or another. He looked along the column and raised an eyebrow.
Where was Nuzum Mir?
Jande brought his horse alongside. “The Nephilim’s gone ahead on foot. He’ll be able to keep up with us in his own way, no doubt.”
Crowe nodded. The Nephilim’s magic was dark and strange and not something he altogether trusted.
Still, this was just another bounty hunt and he was the king’s hunter. He had learned long ago never to underestimate an enemy. He would give this Aes Sidhe warrior the respect his reputation deserved. But he, Farren Crowe, would have victory.
The first day was easy. Crowe was hoping to see the She Mist along the banks of the River Arne, but the river did not share her spirit as she used to. Crowe remembered seeing the river’s mist sprites dancing in the dusk as a boy. Something pure and elemental had been imprinted on his soul that day.
Some said that the river was dead, that the land was dead, that the wind no longer brought the seasons as swiftly as before. The seasons had even blended into a twelve-month winter a few years back, and men had wondered if they’d ever feel the sun’s warmth again. It had been a long year. There could be no doubt that there was something wrong with this land. The sooth-readers scryed with bones and blood, but a veil of darkness was over their eyes―they had lost the sight. Perhaps the time of Dal Riata had reached an end. Change was in the air.
“Lord, our plan is to follow the river until Drime Gate. What then?” Jande’s words brought Crowe back to the present.
“We’ll take Avarice Loch through the Devil’s Teeth Mountains to Wyndrush. There, we’ll resupply, then push south using the Serpent’s Tail to get us to the Southlands. It’s there that Lamorak has his winter camp. He’ll not expect us to come through the Devil’s Teeth at this time of year―ice is still blocking the loch. Loarn’s Nephilim has a way to cut through . . . like summer through winter, Loarn said. I don’t know what he’s planning, but Loarn assured me we’d be able to cross the loch without difficulty.”
Jande digested Crowe’s words. “My lord, the Devil’s Teeth? This time of year . . .”
Crowe turned and looked at his friend. “Aye, I know.”
“The chimera, they’ll be waiting for us. Even though we’ll be on the loch, they have dominion of the skies. We only have blades and arrows against them. We’ll be cut down.”
“What can I say, Jande? Loarn thought of that too―apparently, Nuzum Mir will defeat those winged monstrosities. What do you think?”
Jande spat. “I think none of us will get much sleep until we reach Wyndrush. I think I’ll keep my eyes open and my blade ready.” He pulled his horse away to return to the head of the column.
They reached Avarice Loch on the third day. Nuzum Mir was waiting for them, standing on the shore. The water was lapping at the giant’s feet. But it wasn’t the Nephilim that held Crowe’s eyes―it was the four longships pulled up on the shore. He dismounted and approached the Nephilim.
“Nuzum Mir, grich al nalach,” he greeted the Nephilim in its own tongue.
The Nephilim grunted, nodding at Crowe, then waved at the longships. “These will take you across the loch through the mountains to Wyndrush. You’ll be there in three days.” Nuzum Mir’s voice sounded like dull thunder.
“You seem confident. How do you know they’ll take us across the loch? The water is frozen solid not sixty paces from here.” Crowe gestured toward the loch.
Nuzum Mir’s eyes flashed green and red. “You’ll need to leave the horses, but my ships will take you across the loch. Watch and learn.”
The giant pushed the longships into the water one by one. Crowe gave the order and his men began to board. The horses had been relieved of their livery and supplies and would return to Loarn’s citadel when the command was given.
Nuzum Mir strode into the loch at the head of the longships. The water came up to his waist. “I’ll meet you in Wyndrush. The ships will pierce the ice for you and will protect you from the chimera, just so long as you keep rowing, keep moving. If you stop, the enchantment will fade and you’ll be vulnerable. Do you understand?”
Crowe nodded and shouted the order to his men. “Do as he says―start rowing. Let’s see what these ships can do!”
Nuzum Mir watched as Crowe’s ship lurched forward, followed by the others.
Crowe hunched his shoulders against the cold. How were they going to pass through the ice? “Put your backs into it,” he bellowed. His men were used to rowing―there were many lochs in Dal Riata, and his veterans were equally at home on a horse or a longship.
Crowe’s vessel raced toward the ice. Just as the prow reached the first berg, Nuzum Mir’s throat exploded in a deep rumble. His words echoed across the loch.
The longships’ hulls burst into an intense blue flame that sizzled and crackled as they passed through the water. Crowe’s ship struck the ice first. The hull shuddered for a moment, but then the flame bit. The ice steamed and sloughed away, opening a channel up in front of them.
Crowe looked on, his eyes wide. “The bastard was right. This might just work,” he whispered.
His ship slowed and he remembered Nuzum Mir’s words. He turned to his men and shouted. “Keep rowing! Don’t stop, the enchantment will fail if we stop. Keep rowing!”
His men understood and redoubled their efforts. The water seemed to push them along. They smiled; they could do this, they would do this. They’d make it to Wyndrush after all.
Crowe looked back at his men. His eyes searched for Nuzum Mir.
The Nephilim was gone. Crowe’s eyes searched the land, then the water. He saw a trail of bubbles vanishing beneath the ice to their left.
“Well, I can see why Loarn likes these Nephilim warlocks. I’m glad I’m on its side. Lamorak, you poor bastard, I almost feel sorry for you.”
Crowe smiled despite himself.
What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter 8: Golden Dawn
“Are you ready?” Tara Lau asked.
Ae’fir felt small, overshadowed by the responsibility being thrust upon him by the Maidens, by his people. The plan was good―he would creep in and infiltrate the enemy’s ranks.
Ae’fir looked at the mountain range through the crystal visor. This was no illusion, no dream. The Maidens had given him the visor, but he would have to find his way out of the Banishment alone.
Tara Lau put her hand on his shoulder. “The Shewind comes from those mountains. It’ll wane soon and won’t be back for another year. You must leave Ae’fir. Go, return to Dal Riata. Find the crone that lies at the heart of the Screaming Mountains. Her mind holds the location of Scalibur. Once you have Scalibur, you’ll be able to channel Eriu’s dream magic. You’ll be formidable―you’ll make it to Inis Cealtra and open the way for us into Dal Riata.”
Ae’fir looked at the Screaming Mountains shimmering in the distance. The Maidens had channeled energy into the visor, he alone could see the way out of the Banishment. He too
k the first step out of Eynhallow swaying, his head light―the visor only told the partial truth. Even the ground felt different. Ae’fir felt Eriu’s presence through the rope around his waist. Gone was his uncertainty―there was only one way for him now, and his fate and that of the Aes Sidhe lay ahead. He took a second step. It was easier this time, and the crystal visor shimmered purple around its edges. He looked down as the ground opened up around him. When the dust cleared, he found himself on a narrow ridge, just wide enough to stand on. A sheer drop into darkness lay on either side.
One step at a time. It’ll take as long as it takes.
Ae’fir forced himself onward. He tried not to think what the darkness held. His heart pounded and his breath rose in gasps. He glanced up intermittently to check if the mountains still lay ahead. They goaded him on with their promise of freedom. If he made it, he’d be the first Aes Sidhe in Dal Riata for a thousand years.
A thousand years.
History stretched out behind and before him, and Ae’fir felt his resolve falter. Fear penetrated his heart, followed by doubt. He froze, panic rising in his chest.
A hand touched the small of his back and a voice reached into his mind.
Steady my friend, be strong. The hope of the Aes Sidhe lies with you. You can do this―you will overcome, and we will find the way. Breathe, look within, find the courage of our ancestors, draw on their strength. You know the way―your feet will bring us back to our homeland, to freedom.
Ae’fir looked at his feet and the glittering ridge stretching ahead. He would become one with the ridge―his feet would glide over it, conquer it. It was his, he owned it, he owned the way.
Ae’fir felt a rush of strength. The ancestors, he knew, were willing him on. His feet began to move faster, and he walked briskly along the ridge, Eriu trailing on the rope behind. The ridge was not the barrier―his own fear was the barrier.
He soon lost track of time. It seemed as if he had walked for days, but it could have been hours or minutes. He didn’t feel hungry or thirsty. He looked up for the hundredth time and stopped. The Screaming Mountains were nowhere to be seen. He reached up to check the visor, finding it still in place. He rubbed at its surface tentatively. It had become opaque. He was blind, the visor now a useless cataract impeding his way.
He reached up and pulled it from his face.
No, Ae’fir, don’t remove the visor . . . your eyes . . . the Banishment will take your eyes.
Eriu’s words came too late. Ae’fir saw the glittering ridge stretch out before him, only fifty more paces, and an opening at the far end. He broke into a run. As the opening neared, his vision began to warp. The ridge took on a dazzling brightness. He made it to the opening and threw himself through the cavernous arch.
They fell.
Ae’fir landed hard on his side. Everything went black.
Wake now Ae’fir, come back to me. Now is not your time―we have work to do.
Erui’s words reached into his skull. Ae’fir turned his back on the darkness and swam to the surface. His eyes flickered and daylight and mountains greeted him, as did pain. Pain filled every muscle and bone. Eriu was kneeling by his side. Yes! You are back! I wasn’t expecting that fall at the end, but you’ve done well―we’re here. Dal Riata, the Screaming Mountains. The first Aes Sidhe to stand on this land in a thousand years! We’ll get our power back Ae’fir, Dal Riata will be ours. Come, let’s search for the crone. She holds the key to Scalibur.
Ae’fir’s mind cleared. He harnessed his pain and looked at his arms and legs. His armor had protected him from the worst of the fall. He’d have bruises, but he didn’t think they was anything broken.
“I’m weak Eriu, the walk through the Banishment . . . I need rest.”
Eriu looked concerned. His voice opened in Ae’fir’s head. We do not sleep, my lord, Aes Sidhe never sleep. Sleep is for the fleshbones. You’re just unused to the feel of the Erthe’s pull. Things are heavier here, heavier than in the Banishment. We were ghosts there, beings of light, transparent, weightless. Here we are real, at one with our homeland. This weight you feel is the Erthe’s claim on you, on us. It is good―your body will adapt, but it will take time. But here―this will help in the meantime.
Eriu produced a small clay bowl, removed the lid, and put some dried leaves inside. He sprinkled powder on the contents and poured in a splash of liquid from a flask at his side. He whispered words with closed eyes and in an instant the bowl began to steam. He brought two curved metallic pipes from his bag and put them into the bowl, taking a sip from one before handing it to Ae’fir.
Here, my lord, take the hiphil essence. It will fortify you and give you strength.
Ae’fir took the bowl. He sipped the hot liquid, feeling his lips tingle, then his tongue and throat. A warmth spread across his chest, through his body. “I hope this isn’t an illusion, dreamcaster,” Ae’fir said, shooting a glance at Eriu, iron in his voice.
Eriu shook his head. No master, no illusion. The hiphil’s bounty is real, as real as the sunrise. Look, look over there, to the east.
Ae’fir looked over his shoulder and gasped. A different warmth flooded his body as emotions tugged at his soul. The sun crested the lower mountain ridges and the dull, lackluster daylight burst into golden rays, lighting up the surrounding land. He stared in wonder and felt his cheeks flush with the gentle touch of the sun.
He looked at Eriu and smiled.
Eriu glanced at him and froze, his eyes wide.
“What is it dreamcaster? What do you see?”
Eriu hesitated. This time he spoke out loud.
“My lord, your eyes. They are . . . different. You took the visor off . . .”
“What do you mean? Eriu, tell me . . .”
“Your eyes, lord, are silver.”
Chapter 9: The Wish
Sive wished Orphir was with her. The wish felt like cobwebs on her face.
What would Orphir do now?
She stared at the golden body hanging from the two columns.
Who is this person? Why is he here?
Sive had never felt so alone, so cut off. Her mind went back to the voice that had spoken through Orphir, the voice that had called her Aes Sidhe. It had told her to free the island, to lift its curse.
Get moving, you’ve a job to do. You won’t find answers on these cliffs.
She looked back toward the inlet. No skiff, no way back to the mainland. The only way was the way ahead. She sighed and stood, heading toward the chained body. Three crows squawked and flew from nearby rocks as she approached. They were large and well fed. Sive shuddered.
The whole scene screamed . . . sacrifice.
A low moan came from her right, from beyond the cliffs. She looked over her shoulder. No one there. She turned back to the platform and its twin pillars. The crows had landed on the rocks on either side of the dais, and they watched her in stony silence. She remembered tales of evil spirits using birds to spy on the living. She shuddered and walked up the steps to the platform.
The low moan came again, this time from in front. She looked up, terrible realization creeping through her consciousness.
No . . . he’s dead . . . Half-sick, Sive stared at the painted body above her twisting in the breeze. The sight stole her breath. Her legs felt weak, her chest tight.
The moaning ceased . . . perhaps it was the wind after all? She passed under the body and looked down at her feet, her neck suddenly stiff. The stone was engraved with an image of the sun. Whether it was sunrise or a sunset, she couldn’t tell.
A drop landed on her bare shoulder. She froze.
A man’s voice croaked beside her ear.
“They come out at night. You best be prepared . . . they got me . . . strung me up here. I came for gold . . . many years ago. My body they’ve entombed in gold, but my spirit is trapped here at these gallows. Watch your step girl, the Nephilim have dominion between the cliffs and the statues. The Aes Sidhe hold the land beyond the statues―it’s still theirs. Their trea
sure lies at the heart of the island. I made it there but their magic expelled me. Beware sunset . . . if you’re out, they’ll get you and harness your soul, like mine. Go, find a way, and if you get to the treasure, remember me . . .”
Sive looked left and right. No one was there. She put her hand on her shoulder and touched the wetness. She looked at her gold-smeared fingers. She felt a presence, an energy. She ran and didn’t look back.
She should cut him down, bury him, but she knew she couldn’t. His gift to her was his warning. She had to get beyond the statues to the land controlled by the Aes Sidhe. She knew of the Nephilim, had even seen one once at the spring markets in Imraldi. The Nephilim served the king―she knew the stories, she had quizzed Orphir. The Nephilim of old were far more powerful than today’s Nephilim. Some said they had even ruled Dal Riata after the war with the Aes Sidhe.
This island was a backwater and yet the Aes Sidhe had somehow retained control of a small pocket of land somewhere in its interior, a foothold in a world they were otherwise exiled from. Stories, whispers―a web of supposition and conjecture. She had no desire to meet the Nephilim’s servants, to be captured, strung up, and painted gold.
Sive stopped running and stood, panting. The island was windswept and the heath stretched bare, with only occasional bushes, scrub and outcrops breaking the monotony.
She remembered Orphir’s words: “Make sure you bring steel to free Inis Cealtra of the curse.”
Well, she had her steel; her fingers touched the dirk strapped to her leg. How was she to use it?
The sun broke through the clouds and the landscape lit up. A glint caught her eye from a distant outcrop. She stared at the crag and blinked. After a moment, the glint came again. She started walking toward it.
Wind agitated the long grass, and it whispered to Sive as she went. Whispered voices touched her legs and her soul. By the time she reached the rocks, the glinting had stopped and the sun had clouded over. It didn’t matter―she found its source.
A large statue had been placed in an alcove. It was golden, finely detailed, its face incredibly lifelike. It stared at her with blue opaline eyes. Its mouth, however, was not where a mouth should be. Everything below the eyes was featureless and smooth. Instead, the mouth split the statue’s forehead, its red tongue partially evident. The effect was disturbing.
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