Sive could hear her heart beating. She willed it to be quiet.
Then she saw their enemy. A form emerged from the forest, crouched low, examining the ground. Perhaps she’d left a trail―she was not as adept as her rescuer. She cursed, remembering grabbing branches and leaves along the way. Her companion let out a low sigh and placed the stone in the slingshot. He drew, taking careful aim. Sive held her breath as the Shekra hunter came closer. Twenty paces, fifteen, ten, eight. She could see his bald scalp and his beard. He looked suddenly up at their position. His eyes narrowed. Her companion let fly the stone.
Eight yards―he’d miss, surely. But the stone flew true. Sive heard a dull thud as it shattered the Shekra’s skull. He collapsed to the ground, a surprised look on his face.
Her guide grunted and stood. He walked over to the hunter’s body and started rummaging through the dead man’s pockets. Sive followed and looked at the Shekra’s face.
“He’s not one of us . . . a human, I mean,” she said.
“No, and we need to hide his body as best we can. His kin will know he’s dead―they can sense these things.”
Sive looked at the high ground, expecting to see more Shekra emerging from the forest. She looked at her guide. He had pocketed some food, a knife, and had taken the hunter’s arrows.
“Here, help me,” the man said. “We’ll drag him to the rocks and hide his body―it may buy us a little time. We’ll need to walk through water to escape them now―no one can track through water, not even Shekra.”
“We, you said we . . .” Sive said.
“Aye lass, if you want to take your chances with the Shekra, you’re welcome, although I’d not recommend it. The longer we stay here, the less chance we have.”
“OK, I get it, but who are you? What’s your name?” Sive replied.
The man looked at her for a long moment. “I am the Walker, or at least that’s what others call me. I walk the forest and the Erthe, watching, protecting, and moving. I’ve been doing this for a long time.”
“My name is Si―”
“Sive, yes, I know. Come on, let’s get this body hidden and get out of here.”
Sive stared at the man. The Walker―it was as good a name as any. She followed him and together they dragged the body into the rocks. Without a word, he turned his back on the hillside and walked down into the forest on the other side.
They wound their way through a rich variety of green and copper-colored trees. The sun had gone past its apex, and the forest was lit up. The Walker took them down a defile leading to a gorge. Below them, a river snaked through the trees, its waters were alive, sparkling.
“We’ll head down to the river. That should throw them off,” the Walker said. He led them down the gorge and into the river.
It was cold, Sive flinched as water filled her boots. The riverbed was slippery, but the Walker knew where the shallows were, so the water never extended above Sive’s knees.
Hunger came and went, and she kept thirst at bay by drinking the river water. The Walker stopped, waiting for her on the shore.
How had this man known her name? Did he know her quest? Was he sent by the Blessed One? Sive had so many questions. She bit her tongue and hurried out of the river. Without a word, the Walker turned and continued on into the woods.
Finally, as light began to fade and the shadows lengthened, they stopped. The Walker looked up at the sky and turned to face her.
“The Seventh Star will be out soon. She will be your guide from here.”
“So, you know where I’m headed?” Sive asked.
The Walker held her eyes, his face expressionless. “I know nothing and everything. I’m the eyes and ears of the mother, of the Erthe. I’ll leave you now. You may be tired but I advise you to use the night and follow your star. You can rest by day. You’ll be free from the Shekra now―there are none of their kind between here and the Shattered Falls.”
Sive stared at the Walker. “Thank you for your help,” she said at last. “Will I see you again?”
He looked at her and nodded. “You may see me again. I’m in the wind and the rain, the sun and the light. You can hear me in the rustling of beech groves, in the songs of small birds, in the rumble of thunder. I am everywhere and nowhere.”
He turned and stepped away from Sive. She reached out and tried to touch his shoulder, but her hand passed through thin air. A ray of light pierced the clouds, blinding her for a heartbeat. She blinked and looked at where the Walker had stood, but there was nothing. He had left no trace.
Sive shook her head and shivered. Had she dreamed the whole thing? No, the fear had been real―the Shekra’s smashed skull. She remembered the freezing water. No, she hadn’t dreamed it.
She looked up at the sky and saw the Six Sisters. There, glistening above, through the canopy, was the Seventh Star.
She would follow it until morning.
Then she would sleep.
~
Orphir’s eyes shut tight.
She had nearly lost her way. She could have become lost in the otherside, but she had hung on, she had seen. She had guided the Walker to Sive. He had been reluctant at first but had eventually seen reason. It would take her days to recover, but it was worth it. The adults would ask questions but they wouldn’t understand―they never did.
Adults had lost their childish wisdom. They were blind to the truth and magic that lay around them. It was they who were lost in their games and struggles.
Sive was on her own now, just her and the Seventh Star.
Orphir opened her eyes. The grayness and pain of the real world surged back into her consciousness.
Chapter 21: Ancient Ways
Flesh-eating undead.
Eriu’s words ran through Mevia’s mind.
Could they send a message to the girl, Sive? She was walking toward certain death.
Eriu hadn’t been able to offer a solution. “If we were with her, we could protect her, but we’re at least ten days’ walk from the falls. If she arrives before us, well . . .” he looked away.
Why is everything so complicated? Why can’t things be simple, like the sun and moon?
Mevia looked at Ae’fir’s back as she followed him. They’d been walking along the spine of the Screaming Mountains all day. The sun had burned her neck, and it stung whenever the wind dropped. She knew that Ae’fir wouldn’t stop to rest, wouldn’t back down―where was there to back down to anyway? She smiled to herself . . . the story of her life.
She wondered if she’d ever see Aril again. Was she even still alive? Had the rot taken her or was it prolonging her pain and discomfort? Life was a form of slow death . . .
Danu’s face shot into her mind.
She thought about how Danu had been able to transport her to the crone, and how the Seraphim had transported her from the Sea Scavenger.
How?
Magic―the Erthe was full of magic, you just had to know how to tap into it. If she’d been transported twice by this magic, was she marked by it? Was there a residue on her, in her? She hadn’t told Eriu the details . . .
“Dreamcaster?” she said, turning to Eriu.
“Yes?”
“It could take us ten days to reach the Shattered Falls, you said so yourself.”
“I did. What of it?”
Mevia chose her words. “I’ve been transported twice by magic in the last two days. The first time by Danu’s Seraphim, the second time by Danu herself.”
“Interesting. Where are you going with this?” Eriu asked.
“I was wondering if there was a residue, a trace of Danu’s magic somewhere on me or in me . . . a thread, a link. I don’t know, it’s probably a stupid idea. I just thought that maybe you could find the end of the thread . . . follow it . . . use it. Maybe we could transport ourselves to the Shattered Falls and be there for Sive before the undead find her.”
Mevia’s words were taken by the wind. She looked at Eriu’s face. He was looking past her, his brow furrowed.
&
nbsp; She left him to his thinking and plodded on, her mind returning to Imraldi and the things she had done with her life. She had no regrets―everything she’d done had been to survive. Everything had been for Aril and herself―they’d had to grow up quickly when their parents had died.
The going swiftly became tough. In some places, they had to scramble on all fours down the steep rock. They entered a gully, and the descent was slow and strenuous. Without rope, they had to guide each other one handhold at a time. The day wore on until evening claimed the sky.
Finally, they reached the bottom of the gully and stood, breathless, on the broken ground. Sweat trickled down Mevia’s back. Her legs were trembling.
“There might be a way,” Eriu said, breaking the silence.
“What?” Mevia replied.
“There might be a way. I’ve been thinking on what you said. About being transported magically by Danu and her Seraphim.”
Ae’fir took a step toward Eriu and put a hand on the dreamcaster’s shoulder. “I heard your conversation earlier. Go on, what is it?”
Eriu shifted uncomfortably. “Well, all magic is interconnected. Men differentiate between the various magics: wild, white, black, blood, and fire. But that’s just men―all magic comes from the Erthe. The Mother does not differentiate between her magics, they just are. They just exist―all of them as one.”
“OK,” said Mevia, “so what’s your point?”
“Well, the answer to your question is . . . yes, there should be some residue, some memory on you or in you. If we could find some place, a sacred place which taps into the Erthe’s innate magic, we could―well, I could use my discipline, my dreamcasting, to access this thread you mentioned.”
“Like following a trail of breadcrumbs?” Ae’fir interjected.
“Yes,” Eriu replied, “and if we could find the end of the trail, we could pick it up again, pull on it. We might be able to send you to the Shattered Falls.”
“Wait a minute,” Mevia spoke, concern edging her voice. “Send me? Alone? Where would you be?”
“Well I could try, but it’s more likely that just you alone would be successful. It’s your trail of breadcrumbs after all, your thread. You were the one touched by this magic.”
Mevia fell silent. Ae’fir stroked his chin. “Where are we likely to find a channel for the Erthe’s magic? You said a sacred place―you mean like the ancients used to build? A stone circle or barrow?”
Eriu nodded. “Yes, anywhere like that. The ancients were closer to the land than we are, they knew where to build their sacred places, their tombs. If we could find one of their sites, I could try and tap into the energy there. I might be able to transport Mevia and maybe even us to the Shattered Falls. We’d be there . . . instantaneously.”
They fell silent.
Ae’fir shrugged. “It’d be good to outrun the Nephilim―they’ll track us down sooner or later. It’s worth trying, Eriu. There have to be sacred stones somewhere in these mountains. The ancients lived all over Dal Riata.”
“Their monuments were linked to the moon and stars. There’s stone in this region that glows silver in moonlight―they used it for their stone circles. If we keep our eyes open after dark, we may find one of their sites,” Eriu said.
Ae’fir looked at the sky. “There’s only a few hours until nightfall. Let’s rest and eat―something tells me it’s going to be a long night.”
They found shelter under an overhang and ate what little they had left. Mevia closed her eyes after the meal and lay back on the rocks. She woke hours later in darkness, shivering in the mountain air. Eriu was shaking her arm.
“Wake up! The Nephilim are near, we need to leave.”
Mevia felt sick. She had seen the size of the Nephilim and she remembered stories of them tearing men limb from limb in the old wars. She nodded in silence and gathered her things. She stood up and ducked down again. Lights were flickering on the mountain side half a mile away.
They were close.
Eriu pulled her arm and nodded after Ae’fir. “Follow him, his vision’s good. He’ll find a way.”
Mevia crouched and followed Ae’fir, who was focused on the terrain ahead. She watched him, taking his exact route. The wind howled along the crags. At least it was dry.
A quarter moon hung in the sky, bathing the mountainside in a cold glow. At least we can see, Mevia thought. But the moonlight would give their pursuers an advantage too. She pushed the thought from her mind, willing herself onward.
As they crested the next crag, Ae’fir held up his hand. The ground dropped sharply on their right.
“Look down there!” Ae’fir hissed.
Mevia scanned the valley below. A river glinted in the moonlight.
“What? Where?” she asked.
“Yes! I see it,” Eriu answered.
Eriu pointed to the left of the river to a small rise in the land. Then she saw it: a faint glow.
A circle.
“Aye, I see it too, look how steep it is. A fall would be fatal,” she whispered.
“Hurry, let’s go. These Nephilim are crafty bastards. I don’t like stopping when they’re around,” Ae’fir said.
They began the descent. It was slow and treacherous; the rock was wet and slick with moss, and a steady trickle of water ran down the rock face. Mevia followed Ae’fir’s route, not daring to look beyond her feet. Instead, she concentrated on the rock crystals beneath her fingers―the next handhold, the next foothold.
Eventually, Mevia planted her feet on solid ground. The breeze cooled her forehead. Her arms were shaking, her muscles aching. The pain was good―it told her she was alive, that this wasn’t a dream.
Ae’fir was already moving, heading across the grass to the river.
Eriu patted her on the back. “Come on, keep going, we’re almost there.”
As he spoke, a shout came from above and a hail of stones cascaded around them. The Nephilim lined the ridge, shouting to their brethren.
“It’ll be all right, you’ll see. I’ll keep you safe.” The dreamcaster tilted his head and looked into her eyes. “Keep the faith, girl.” He tugged her sleeve, breaking her fear.
Mevia nodded and moved across the grass after Ae’fir. She’d not let fear drag her under―she’d always fought the darkness when it threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyes locked onto Ae’fir, she tapped into her remaining strength, taking bold steps after him.
They made their way through unending gorse and bracken, tearing their clothes and boots. The stone circle stood before them, glowing dimly in the moonlight as it must have done thousands of years ago.
Mevia wondered if they were the first people to visit since it had been abandoned all those years ago. Ae’fir stepped into the circle and beckoned Eriu to follow.
Mevia glanced nervously up the mountainside. There was no sign of the Nephilim.
“Eriu, we’re here; can you do anything?” Ae’fir asked.
Eriu was already lost in thought. “I’m searching . . .” he said.
Mevia looked back into the darkness. Ae’fir came over to her.
“Do you think we’ve lost them?” she asked.
“Not a chance. Nephilim are relentless once they have your scent―they’ll chase you to the grave. The only way to stop them is to kill them.”
“What if Eriu isn’t able to transport us to the Shattered Falls or can only send me?” Mevia gave Ae’fir a sidelong glance.
“Then we make our stand here. The Nephilim will have won, and the Aes Sidhe will not return to their rightful Dal Riata and your corrupt King Loarn will continue to rule,” Ae’fir said, his voice flat.
“Maybe the ancients hold the key to all this . . .” Mevia whispered.
“Perhaps you are right,” Ae’fir said. Mevia stiffened.
Was that movement on the hillside? Were her eyes playing tricks? She blinked, straining to see.
Ae’fir sighed. “They are here. We will have to fight.”
Mevia saw them: shadows within sh
adow. Dark and huge, six towering Nephilim strode down the hillside, massive clubs and axes by their sides. Mevia imagined them smashing her bones to a pulp. She turned, looking to warn Eriu.
The dreamcaster was nowhere to be seen.
Mevia gasped and took a few steps. “Eriu? Eriu?”
Her voice, small and brittle, pierced the air and seemed to rupture the silence. Six Nephilim throats roared in the distance. Mevia stared at the twelve glowing stones . . .
Was Eriu hiding? She hurried to the center of the circle. She swung around, shouting for the dreamcaster, Ae’fir at her side.
Far above, a large bird cut across the moonlit sky. The stones glowed brighter. One by one, they began to move. Mevia held out her arms, grimacing, as a blinding light cut through the atmosphere next to her. A hand reached out and grabbed hers. Mevia flailed, grasping Ae’fir’s arm and pulling him after her.
The last thing she saw was a band of Nephilim emerging out of the darkness, their weapons raised against twelve glowing stone warriors.
The chink of light shut, and she felt herself falling.
Chapter 22: Cradle of the Grave
“To me!” Crowe shouted.
The streets of Wyndrush were eerily quiet. At his call, Crowe’s men emerged from side streets, doorways, and rooftops. Time was of the essence.
“Come on, let’s get the bastard. Follow me!” Crowe shouted. “Bring the horses.”
He turned and followed the blood trail. He wondered who he’d stabbed. Rysa? Lamorak?
With the amount of blood still on Crowe’s blade, the wound should be deep. Then again, he could have killed one of his own men. He cursed, his eyes darting from the blood to the street to the surrounding rooftops.
The trail was fresh and led down a sizable street to the edge of town. The city walls loomed ahead. Crowe glanced back. His men were close behind with fresh horses. A drop of blood glistened on one of the steps to the wall, and Crowe ordered the ascent. He looked left and right but knew he’d find nothing. He peered over the edge of the battlements, and there it was: a rope ladder.
Crowe marked the position in his head and returned down the steps. The clouds parted and the sun broke through, glinting on his armor. Crowe mounted his horse and, arm in the air, ordered his men to follow. He thundered out of the nearest gate.
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