Sive waited, listening to the rain. It touched the desiccated body and the remains hissed. The body crumbled, disintegrating before her eyes. White smoke rose from the coffin.
Sive leaned back on her knees and waited. The smoke rose in the damp air, swirling in front of her. A shape began to form. A slender being covered in silver armor grew, shimmering in the air. Its face was obscured by a narrow, pointed helm, and smoke issued from its back like a cloak billowing in the wind. It watched her, side on, clutching something.
Poised.
Finally, the smoke coalesced around its hands and a shimmering sword materialized. Sive gasped―she had never seen such a blade. It glinted in the dark, emanating strength, and seemed to speak of life and death, of souls taken and souls yet to be taken. She could feel its intent deep in her bones, in her spirit.
She had found Scalibur. She felt like a thief―she was a throwback to the Aes Sidhe, the best Dal Riata had to offer, but she was no hero.
The apparition hissed from behind its silvery mask: “You have iron in your soul. You are of Aes Sidhe. My sister has spoken, and now is the time. You will find the road that brings you to the Shattered Falls. There, you will await the sword bearer. He is the true king of this land, not this mockery of kinghood, this puppet of the Nephilim, this Loarn.” The apparition spat the final word.
Sive nodded.
The apparition leaned forward, handing her the sword.
“Take Scalibur. Guard it with your life. Scalibur will not harm you, but it will harm all others except its true lord, Ae’fir.”
Sive reached out and grasped the sword’s hilt in both hands. It was light as air and, as the armored crone gave it to her, its blade rippled, the surface swimming and reshaping. It had become a simple dagger, complete with plain leather scabbard.
The crone nodded. “To make your journey less conspicuous.”
Sive stared at the dagger in her hands, and a cloud seemed to lift from her mind. Questions welled up inside her.
“How am I to find the Shattered Falls you speak of? When is this Ae’fir coming to meet me?”
Already the apparition was disappearing, as were the six monks.
“Wait!” Sive cried out.
“Now that you carry Scalibur, you will see the hidden stars. Follow the Seventh Star until she releases you at the Shattered Falls.”
The apparition flickered and vanished. Sive turned, but the monks and the coffin were gone. In her hand was a simple iron dagger: the great secret, the hope of the Aes Sidhe.
She felt exhausted. She would rest, find water and . . .
The monks had left a leather satchel. It contained bread, cheese, and honey―she allowed herself a brief smile. Tucking the dagger in her tunic and shouldering the satchel, Sive set off. She needed a place to rest.
It would be a long night, but at least the rain had stopped.
Chapter 18: Hidden Poison
So, she was to be the hidden poison, she was to kill Danu.
Mevia shivered, opened her eyes, and found herself on the cavern floor in front of the writhing crone. The crone was still restrained by more than simple iron bands. There was magic in this place―the whole chamber reeked of it.
The crone’s voice exploded in her head. I’ve returned you to your body. Remember our deal: kill the goddess Danu, just like I told you. You have the means.
Mevia looked down. A silver hairpin lay by her hand. It was strong and sharp and would easily pierce skin and bone. She nodded, knowing what she had to do. Tying her hair into a bun, she pinned it back.
She looked at the crone and spoke. “I know what to do―I’ll keep our bargain. Now tell me where to find Scalibur and Ae’fir.”
“Scalibur is safe, my sister has entrusted it to a girl named Sive. She’s on her way to the Shattered Falls. She’ll be there with Scalibur, waiting for you and Ae’fir. The one traveling with Ae’fir will find the way to the falls―he has the sight. Tell him to follow the Seventh Star. It will take you no more than ten days. Ae’fir is in Dal Riata―he is approaching at this very moment. Wait for him here at my feet. When he sees you here with me, he’ll know the truth. You will need to relay my message. That’s all I have to say―my work here is finished.”
The crone’s voice fell silent in Mevia’s head.
“Wait! Who is this other who travels with Ae’fir? How will I know this . . . Sive you speak of?”
Silence greeted her questions.
“Well I guess that’s that,” Mevia said.
“What is?”
She turned and saw a shadow in the doorway.
“Who are you?” she managed.
“I might ask you the same.”
Something broke in Mevia, and she opened like a book. “I’m Mevia of Imraldi, sister to Aril. I’ve been abducted, used by Danu and her cohorts, and by this . . .” she gestured toward the writhing crone behind her, “this . . . thing.” She paused but was met with stony silence. “I’m to wait here for Ae’fir of the Aes Sidhe. Are you him?”
The figure in the doorway stiffened at her words. “You’re the one I’m supposed to meet? Has the crone given you the location of the item I seek?”
Mevia tasted the momentary reversal of power. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
The man stepped forward into the chamber’s dim light. Mevia’s eyes met his, and she felt a connection. This was Ae’fir. He stood a good foot taller than her, and his long hair was tied back with cord, the sides of his head shaven. His eyes were strange in this light―they seemed to look straight through her.
She shivered. His eyes were silver.
He was dressed in wool and leather and wore a heavy cloak. Two short swords were sheathed at his side.
“Your eyes . . .” she started.
“I know . . . and yes, I’m Ae’fir. I’ve come to take the knowledge you’ve gleaned from the madness in her head.” He nodded at the crone. “Do you―”
“Yes, I have it,” Mevia interrupted. “You’re traveling with someone. A guide?”
“Aye, a companion. He’s above, keeping us safe.”
Mevia stared into his eyes. “I’m supposed to go with you, according to the crone. I have a role to play in all this.”
Ae’fir shrugged. “We’ll see what Eriu says when he joins us. So where is the sword?”
Mevia looked away. She closed her eyes and sighed. “She said we’re to travel to the Shattered Falls using the Seventh Star. The sword you seek is held by a woman named Sive. The sword was entrusted to her by this one’s sister.”
“Another piece of the puzzle falls into place,” Ae’fir said. His eyes darted around the chamber. “Then there’s nothing left to do here?”
Mevia looked back at the writhing husk that was the crone. “No, we’re finished here.”
“Let’s go then,” Ae’fir replied. “I must warn you: we have enemies in the valley above. Stay with me, do exactly as I do.”
Mevia nodded and followed Ae’fir back up the passage to the outside world.
The scene outside was wild. A blizzard had engulfed the valley and it was impossible to see anything. The wind roared down the valley, blowing through Mevia’s bones.
“Eriu, you’re a genius,” Ae’fir muttered, “this is perfect.” He turned to Mevia and was surprised to see her kneeling in the snow, shivering. This girl wouldn’t make it far. He took his cloak off and wrapped it around her.
Mevia clutched the cloak, feeling its warmth. She looked up at Ae’fir. “Thank you, I―”
He cut her off. “Follow me, use my footsteps. Don’t talk, don’t shout, no matter what you see. Our enemies are waiting out there.” Mevia stood up, drawing the cloak around her. She nodded. Ae’fir turned and stepped into the blizzard.
They made it down the barrow’s slope. Mevia’s eyes were glued to Ae’fir’s feet. She kept close, using his steps. The going was difficult, the snow soft and deep. The swirling white flakes reminded her of cherry blossoms raining down at the end of spring.<
br />
Home.
Her mind flew to Imraldi. The cherry blossoms would be out, early summer scents filling the air. The sun’s warmth would be making people smile. She was used to snow, but not like this. Winters in Imraldi could be cruel, but at least in the city you could find company, warm hearths, songs, and music. She missed her home, her sister, her past.
Nothing was going to be the same after this. This was going to change things beyond all recognition. She was the poison within―she had to kill Danu. She laughed inside. Her, Mevia, the grave robber, kill a goddess? The thought was ridiculous. She had made a promise, but did a promise to a mad crone count?
Her thoughts turned to Aril. Amaren, please watch over Aril, she prayed, protect and save her from the rot. She’s all I have left. Thank you, Lord.
Ae’fir stopped. Mevia came rushing back to the present. Ae’fir raised his hand.
Mevia could hear nothing but the wind, elemental, unforgiving. Then she saw it: a darker white, a shadow on the snow.
A second shadow appeared on her left, larger that the first. She looked back at Ae’fir and knew these were the enemies he had referred to. She held her breath, waiting for a signal, a command.
Ae’fir remained still for what seemed an age, the blizzard raging around him. Despite the cloak, Mevia felt her temperature plummet, and she started shivering. Finally, when the blizzard intensified and she could hardly see Ae’fir, he made his move. He didn’t look back, didn’t check to see if she was following―she would have to make it on her own. She almost lost him in the whiteout.
Mevia looked for more shadows but couldn’t see any. She had come across Nephilim before in Imraldi, where they’d been part of the king’s guard. It was said that some carried magic and that once, they’d been able to fly. She shivered with cold and fear. Perhaps it was a good thing she couldn’t see them.
The ground started sloping. Mevia knew they were leaving the valley. Her legs were tired but she forced herself on―she knew that death waited if she fell behind. Ae’fir strode ahead through the drifting snow. Twice they had to retrace their steps as the snow was so deep. Ae’fir continued up the mountainside, the blizzard becoming less powerful the higher they rose. It should be the reverse, she thought, but if this was a magical ruse, it made sense. The magic user, Ae’fir’s companion, would be responsible.
When they finally broke free of the blizzard, it happened all at once. One minute they were battling the elements, the next they were above the storm. Mevia shielded her eyes from the bright sunshine and deep blue sky. She looked back and saw a churning blanket of dark cloud.
They had made it.
Ae’fir looked at her and nodded. “You kept your nerve. Good work, Mevia of Imraldi. We’ll look for my friend now, and then we should get away from this place. Those Nephilim will work out what’s happened once the storm abates and they’ll follow. Our enemy now is time. It’s a race to the Shattered Falls.”
Mevia stared blankly at Ae’fir. She’d been hoping for a rest. She dug deep and followed the Aes Sidhe warrior as he strode out along the ridge.
They followed the high ground north until they came to a sheltered spot.
Ae’fir was muttering to himself. “Here in an hour . . .” he said, his eyes closed.
Mevia sat down on the dry rock and took off the cloak. The cool breeze chilled her shoulders. She felt alive―she was alive. She looked at Ae’fir. So, this man was going to be king? The way the crone had spoken, she wondered if he knew it himself. So far, this whole plan seemed tenuous; a banished race seeking to establish dominance on its old realm by sending one man to open the floodgates. A long shot . . .
They certainly had their work cut out. King Loarn was no fool―he was strong, had many men under his command, and controlled strongholds scattered the length and breadth of Dal Riata. Then again, he was flesh and blood, and if he could be reached, he would die just like any man. History had shown you didn’t need an army to kill a king. She’d come along for the ride. Her hand went to the silver pin in her hair.
And she would kill Danu.
They sat in the sun, waiting. Ae’fir reached into a small pouch on his belt and took out some food.
“Here take this, eat, it will sustain you for a time.” He gave her a dark biscuit and took one for himself.
Mevia eyed the biscuit suspiciously and watched him eat his first. She took a bite. It was sweet and pleasing despite its appearance. She devoured the rest and soon felt her aching muscles lighten and her head clear. She felt revived―this food was the product of alchemy no doubt, but welcome alchemy.
“Tell me of your family,” Ae’fir said after a while.
Mevia looked up. “There’s not much to tell. I live in Imraldi. Aril is my younger sister―it’s just me and her. My family―my mother, father, and younger brother―were all taken by lung rot. Just me and Aril are left, and she has it now . . . it could be days or months, but she’s dying. There is medicine, but only the rich can afford it. King Loarn left the city when the rot struck. He’s away, hiding in one of his strongholds, waiting for the rot to burn itself out.”
“Tell me about your king, this Loarn. Is he a just king?”
Mevia looked down into the valley. The storm clouds were thick and swirling. “Loarn?” she said. “That bastard, no, he’s not a just king. He’s a murderer. He sends others to do his dirty work and rules through fear and intimidation, just like his father before him.”
Ae’fir shrugged and lifted his face to the sun. “Then we’ll just have to bring light to the darkness, weed out the unjust, and rip the heart out of his corrupt kingdom. We will take back what is ours.”
Mevia stared at Ae’fir. “All power corrupts in the end. Are your people any different to Loarn and his sons?”
Ae’fir looked at her, a bemused look on his face. “We are Aes Sidhe. We are above the petty intrigues of men.” He said his words with an air of finality and looked away.
They heard noise a short distance below. Mevia’s gaze snapped to the mountainside. A bobbing head with a twisted topknot came into view.
Ae’fir nodded approvingly. “Our dreamcaster is here.”
“Dreamcaster?” Mevia repeated.
Ae’fir went to greet his friend, helping him up. “Eriu, that blizzard was . . . impressive.” Ae’fir slapped his friend on the back.
“Impressive yes, but foolish perhaps. The Nephilim now know we are here, and they’ll follow us to the ends of the Erthe. What have you found?” Eriu replied, looking at Mevia.
“Eriu, meet Mevia of Imraldi, sent by Danu to open the crone’s mind for us. She knows where Scalibur is.”
“Tell me,” Eriu said.
Mevia looked at the diminutive dreamcaster. “The blade you seek is to be found at the Shattered Falls. You can navigate there by using the Seventh Star. A girl named Sive is heading there, an Aes Sidhe throwback who’s been entrusted with Scalibur by the third crone, the Blessed One.” The words tumbled from Mevia’s mouth. Eriu’s face fell.
“What’s wrong?” Ae’fir demanded.
Eriu did not answer at first, instead looking away. Ae’fir reached out and touched the dreamcaster’s shoulder.
Eriu turned. “The Shattered Falls are in the Realm of Shade. The dead rule there. This Sive you speak of is walking into the land of the undead.”
Chapter 19: Shadow Dancing
The bastard.
Clever though. A clever bastard. Crowe stared at the fire.
Here he was, sitting in the jarl’s seat in the jarl’s hall in Wyndrush on the south shore of Avarice Loch, just short of the Serpent’s Tail and the Southlands . . . and there was nothing he could do.
The clever bastard had made the first strike.
What does he expect me to do? What does he want me to do? What does he know about me? Crowe mused.
“How did Lamorak know we were coming, lord?” Jande asked.
“Do we have a spy in our midst?” Crowe replied.
“The girl?” Jande s
uggested.
“Maybe, maybe not. Who knows? I need to see him, this Lamorak. I need to understand him, to look in his eyes.”
“Where is Nuzum Mir?” Jande changed the subject.
“He said he’d work to do. He left at first light, took to the hills . . .”
Jande stirred uncomfortably. “Do we have to wait for him to return?”
Crowe stared at Jande. “I’m in charge of this mission, Jande. We do as I say, not what that creature says.”
Jande shrugged. “So, lord, what do you have in mind?”
Crowe was silent for a moment. Finally, he rose and went to the fire at the center of the hall. “Bring me the girl. She’s the key to all this. She’s not telling us everything.”
Jande nodded and left the room.
Crowe stared into the flames and wondered what the future held for him, for the king, for all of them. There were two men in the field: him and Lamorak. There was only room for one, and it would end in death as it always did. Death was the solution to every problem. War, Crowe knew, was the ultimate form of communication.
The fire crackled as if in agreement with his thoughts. It was good to stand in its warmth―Avarice Loch had chilled his bones, leaving a residue of rage in him. Rage was good―he could use it, and it was in short supply these days. He’d been far angrier as a young man. His memory flitted back to battles hard-fought. Yes, rage was an advantage . . . as long as it could be controlled.
He heard steps, the sound of chains against a stone. The prisoner, Rysa.
Footsteps behind, Jande’s voice: “The woman, lord. As you ordered.”
Silence.
Crowe kept his back to them and waited. The silence was his. He listened to the silence, tasted it, explored it.
Jande watched before shoving the prisoner to her knees. He had seen Crowe use this method before. He stood back, knowing not to interfere.
Crowe stood still, emptying his mind. He inhaled the smoky air, breathing in the woman and her lies. He felt her lies, owned them. He turned and looked at her.
“I know you’ve lied to the king, and I know you’ve lied to me. I know you’ll lie again to me today, so anything you say will be ignored. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll believe, but I do know this. When a person is wounded, they return to their kin, or their kin will come to them . . . they cannot resist.”
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