Sive turned toward the sound and pulled the dagger from her tunic, brandishing it in the darkness.
“Who’s there? What do you want?” she hissed.
She saw a form slumped against a tree, its head bowed forward. She approached and knelt beside the prostrate form, out of arm’s reach. It was a woman. Her hair was matted, her skin covered in dirt. She was breathing rapidly, a bubbling sound emanating from her throat.
Sive crept closer and reached out to the woman’s foot. “Who are you? What happened?”
The woman lifted her head in response. Sive gasped. Deep gashes ran down the woman’s face, exposing the moist flesh beneath. Her eyes had been torn from her skull, and empty sockets stared vacantly.
A gurgle came from the woman’s throat as she struggled to speak.
Sive leaned closer to her. “What was that? What did you say?”
“They came . . . the undead came and took the village, killed everyone. Killed . . . everyone . . .”
The words hit Sive like a hammer. The undead? So soon? They were supposed to be much further west. She peered, wide-eyed, into the forest. The woman’s chest rattled as she coughed. Blood glistened on her lips. “They were looking for something, someone . . . run, get out of here. Leave me . . .”
The woman collapsed in a fit of coughing, her body jerking. Sive reached out to her shoulder, and the woman slumped forward, still at last.
Sive hesitated then withdrew her hand. She scanned the dark spaces between the trees.
She had to get away from this place.
Chapter 24: Falls Myst
Mevia heard a distant roar.
Her head throbbed. She knew the space she occupied―she had felt this way before, caught between wakefulness and sleep. She tried to move but found her limbs leaden. She felt grass on her cheek, a breeze playing with her hair. A bird called out overhead. Distant roars filled the air.
“Do you think she’ll be all right? She took a blow to the head landing where she did.”
“We’ll see. She did well . . . pulling you through the portal. I could only get to her from this side.”
“Aye, those Nephilim would’ve had us. How did you find the portal? What happened?”
“Mevia was right―magic is magic and it leaves a trail. The ancients’ magic was still strong in that place, in those stones. It drew power from the mountain and from the Erthe. My dreamcasting was a way in, a bridge―I used it to create a dream door within the circle. Its ancient magic enhanced mine, making it real. A dream become real if you like. And here we are . . .”
“All three of us―a bonus. We’ve left those Nephilim behind and saved ten days’ hard march. You don’t think they―”
“Could follow us? Anything’s possible, but I doubt it. They don’t actually know where we’ve gone. We’ll keep our guard up. The girl . . . Sive―I hope she gets here soon, and that she’s been successful.”
“Aye. This area has its own evil. What’s the story behind these falls?”
“The Shattered Falls . . . I’ve read about this place. The name comes from a time when the land was frozen, in the days of sea ice and dragons. Winter’s cloak gripped the land for an age. This river, the Arx, ran under the ice until it reached here, the end of the land. As the Arx emerged, it shattered the ice for miles around. The clans gave the river the name it bears now―it means icebreaker in the old tongue.”
Mevia blinked.
The waking world rushed in on her and she flinched, blinking back the harsh light. She groaned. A deeper unease stirred within her―Sive was in danger. Mevia forced herself into a sitting position. Her head spun violently and her stomach churned.
She closed her eyes, fighting an urge to vomit. She failed and retched onto the grass.
A hand touched her shoulder.
“Drink some water, it’ll help with your head.”
She recognized Ae’fir’s voice. She took the proffered water skin and drank. Cool liquid filled her mouth. She swallowed―her throat was parched. She took another long draught. The water was good. She opened her eyes, focusing on the two figures standing over her.
“Where are we? Did we make it?” She asked, her voice a whisper.
“Yes, thanks to you and Eriu. You pulled me through at the last minute. You have my gratitude. We are at the Shattered Falls, waiting for Sive.” Ae’fir’s voice sounded strained.
Mevia’s head began to clear. “We need to get to her before the dead . . . we can’t afford to wait here.” She stood up and staggered. Eriu grabbed her arm, holding her upright. Mevia nodded and looked out at the wild land surrounding them. “She’s out there somewhere . . .”
The dull roar echoed once more over the plains. Mevia could see mist rising from the falls. Birds flitted about in the midmorning sun. How long had she had been out for?
“Here, take this,” Eriu said, his hand open.
“What are they?”
“Seeds of the poppy, they’ll help your pain and will settle your mind. You’ve been through a lot. You were distressed in your sleep. They’ll help . . .”
Mevia reached out and took the seeds. “I’ll take them dreamcatcher, but I’ll keep them for later. I want to know what my body is telling me right now.”
“As you wish,” Eriu said, tilting his head.
She looked across the land. To the west, she saw the sea. To the north, distant mountains beckoned. To the east and south lay dense forest.
“This is the land of the undead?” she asked finally.
“Aye, this part of the coastline is cursed. For generations, murderers, criminals, and prisoners were executed by the western clans and their spirits denied access to the otherside. Their remains were brought here, and their spirits imprisoned by the curse.” Eriu glanced into the trees only yards away.
“They say the undead are more active at night. Is that true?” Mevia asked.
“Aye, and I guess we’ll find out,” Ae’fir said.
“We can’t just stay here,” Mevia said, “we can’t wait for Sive―she’ll need help, she may be in trouble. We’ve got to find her.”
“How do you expect us to find her?” Ae’fir asked. “Look out there―pick a direction. You’d get lost a few steps into that forest. At least we are where we should be and she knows where to come.”
Mevia paced up and down. “Yes, but there are undead in there. Flesh-eaters. How’s she going to survive? Is there anything you can do, Eriu?”
Eriu was looking at the ground, locked in thought. Finally, he glanced up. “Scalibur is a magical sword. It’ll have a presence, an imprint that magic users can pick up on if they know how to feel for it. I could try to sense Scalibur using my magic. I can’t guarantee success, and I might only get a rough approximation, but yes, it’ll be worth a try.”
“Well get on with it, Eriu. Time is short, and I don’t want to be in that forest when night falls. The sooner you find Sive, the sooner we find Scalibur,” Ae’fir said, exchanging glances with Mevia.
Eriu closed his eyes. He was mumbling, his eyelids trembling.
“What weapons have you got, Mevia?” Ae’fir asked.
“I did have a blade but Danu and her Seraphim took it.”
“So, we just have mine . . .” Ae’fir sounded exasperated.
“But surely Eriu can steer us clear of any undead?”
“True, his magic allows him to see more than us, but nothing is certain.”
“He is a seer too?” Mevia said.
“To a point―in order to dreamcast, he has to feel the past, present, and near future. This allows him access to the target’s inner world, which can then be manipulated.”
Mevia nodded. “I’m still without a weapon.”
“Here, take this, it’ll see you through a tight spot.” Ae’fir took a dagger from his belt and handed it to Mevia. She took the blade, weighing it in her hand.
“Funny . . . I’ve stolen from the dead, back in Imraldi, but I’ve never fought the dead. I guess there’s a first time fo
r everything.”
Ae’fir grunted. His eyes were on the forest. Mevia sat down on the damp ground and looked at Eriu. He seemed to be deep in conversation with someone; his lips moved, and every so often his head jerked as if he was making a point or agreeing to something. She had little experience with magic users―they were treated with suspicion in the slums of Imraldi, considered merely playthings for the rich and privileged.
The lung rot could be cured if you had enough coin. Ten thousand gold was the price of a life. Ten thousand gold. Where would she ever have found such a sum? The most she’d ever made in a month was a hundred and twenty silver. She smiled―that had been a good month. She and Aril had eaten well; they had splashed out and bought tangerines. It was the first time they had tasted such fruit, and she’d never forget the sweetness. This was what the rich and noble-born could eat every day. The world was a curious place to let such inequity exist. She took comfort in the knowledge that rich flesh rotted the same as poor―everyone was equal in the grave.
Eriu snapped his head to the right, and his mumbling stopped. He opened his eyes and half stumbled before sitting on a rock nearby. He looked exhausted; deep rings had formed under his eyes and his breath came in ragged gasps. He looked at Ae’fir.
“Sive’s in danger. She’s in the forest called Monkwood―it is two day’s walk over there. She’s surrounded by undead, and they’ve detected the magic she carries. They want to use it to break free from the curse that binds them.”
“Well, we need to find her before they do,” Mevia said. She stood up and glanced in the direction Eriu had indicated. The forest extended in an unbroken swathe as far as the eye could see. “How are we going to keep our bearings once we get in among all that?”
Eriu smiled grimly. “Leave the pathfinding to me, I can hear Scalibur now. Its call is faint but present. What I’m worried about is running into a horde of undead―one or two we can cope with, but they feel and think as one. If one of them finds us, others will know.”
Ae’fir shuffled uncomfortably. “We’ll just have to deal with that when it happens. Let’s get going―the sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll find Sive and Scalibur. This is a race.”
“Aye, a race against the dead,” Mevia added.
They set off from the edge of the falls toward the forest. Eriu took them away from the river, its sound vanishing as they entered the trees. Mevia had been in dense forest before, but this was different. The ground was all root, plant, and weed, and the light was low, as if the forest was caught in a perpetual twilight. Mevia could hear animals rooting through the undergrowth. She gripped her dagger tight.
If they were attacked, there was nowhere to run―they’d have to hold their ground and fight. Mevia’s fingers went to Falinor’s charm hanging around her neck. She had taken it from a corpse in Imraldi’s Temple District. She’d resisted the temptation to sell it on―the corpse had been a highborn, and she’d liked the idea of taking Falinor from the rich and redistributing the god’s good fortune to others less fortunate. She wondered if Falinor’s influence extended into this cursed domain. She whispered a prayer to Amaren just in case.
The air in the forest was chill and the rustling of the canopy made Mevia wonder if the trees were whispering, conspiring against them. Were the trees in league with the undead? Her imagination ran riot.
Get a grip.
She reached out to Ae’fir, touching his shoulder. “What do we do if we’re separated from each other?” she whispered. It seemed wrong to talk in this place.
Ae’fir was silent for a moment then caught Eriu’s eye. “Don’t become separated, whatever you do. But if it’s truly unavoidable, we’ll meet back at the falls.”
Eriu nodded.
Mevia mouthed her understanding. They turned back to the dense undergrowth. The air was saturated with moisture, and the forest floor was heavy with decaying leaves and moss. The trees were swathed in moss tendrils that brushed Mevia’s face as she passed. Wind moaned through the branches. They were making slow progress, but Eriu seemed confident. Every so often, he’d stop and tilt his head, listening. After a few moments, he would nod, then set off again with renewed purpose.
The light in the forest dimmed as the day wore on. Mevia was tired―they’d not rested in hours, and her eyes were getting heavy. The shadows grew long and the trees took on a sinister look. The moss at their feet began to glow luminescent green, bright enough to see by.
And enough to be seen by, Mevia thought.
They came to a dip in the land. On one side, the trees extended down a long slope. Eriu held up a hand. He tilted his head, listening, then pointed down the slope.
Ae’fir turned to Mevia. “Do you smell that?”
“Smoke,” Mevia mouthed.
She glanced hurriedly around. The green light gave Ae’fir’s face a ghostly sheen.
Eriu leaned back. “Scalibur is near. Stay close.” He set off down the slope. Ae’fir and Mevia followed closely, eyes and ears alert for any threat.
Eriu slowed, then stopped. He got down on his hands and knees and lowered his face to the ground. He turned his head to one side and placed his ear against the moss. His eyes were closed, his face furrowed in concentration, like an animal tracking a scent.
He snapped his head up and crawled forward. Mevia and Ae’fir followed behind, weapons drawn.
Eriu stopped. “She’s here,” he hissed.
Ae’fir looked around. “Where?”
Eriu reached out and grabbed a handful of moss and pulled it from the forest floor. A clump came away, revealing living flesh underneath. A muffled groan came from the ground.
Ae’fir put his sword to the remaining moss. “Get up, we can see you.”
The sound came again and the moss parted. A foot and leg, an arm and shoulder and, finally, a head. It was a girl. Her pale, distraught face stared out at them from under a crown of moss and grass.
“Sive? Sive, is that you?” Mevia spoke first, her heart in her throat.
The girl’s eyes widened. “Yes, my name’s Sive. Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“We’ve come for you. I’m Mevia. This is Ae’fir of the Aes Sidhe and Eriu, his dreamcaster. We’ve come to rescue you and take possession of Scalibur, if you have it.”
At the mention of Scalibur, whispers filled the forest.
Sive stood up, brushing the moss from her body. She looked at each of them in turn. “If you’ve come this far, you’re already too late. We are surrounded by an army of undead. I’m surprised you made it . . .” she hesitated, her voice cracking. “Unless they let you through . . . to find me . . .”
The whispers became louder, filling the damp air. Shadows flitted from tree to tree. Ae’fir reached out to Sive. “Quick, do you have Scalibur?”
Sive nodded and reached into her tunic, pulling out a plain dagger.
Ae’fir looked at the dagger. He rounded on Sive, his face a mask of anger. “What? What is this?”
Sive offered the dagger, hilt first. “Take it―if you are who you say you are, you’ll have Scalibur.”
Ae’fir reached out, taking the dagger. As his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he felt pain in every fiber of his being. He dropped to his knees, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He felt a rush up his arm to his heart. Something seemed to possess him, searching for his core, his spirit.
Something inside splintered. His will bent, fractured by Scalibur. He recognized the royal blade, and at the same time, it recognized him. The plain iron dagger blossomed in his hand, erupting in a burst of bright light and silver sparks. Hot steel shot out from a sublime hilt, and the air hummed and sizzled. Light swam across his form. He was the blade, the blade was him.
Ae’fir felt the lives of Aes Sidhe kings extending back through time, each monarch reaching out to now, to this moment, to him. They lent him their strength, their wisdom, their experience. He embraced his ancestors, his history. Their pain became his.
He screamed.
It was a scre
am so elemental, so raw, that it pierced the air, carrying a challenge to life and death and all those who would harm him or the Erthe.
And harm was in the air.
The sibilant whispers magnified, answering his challenge. Their disparate voices rang out, merging into one throat, one threat. Death to the sword-bringer, death to his servants. Specters stepped through the trees and hung in the half light, followed by scores of skeletal warriors, malevolence burning in their baleful eyes.
The specters multiplied in the air. First one, then ten, then thirty . . . they rushed in.
Mevia watched with wide eyes as the undead swept toward her. She would fight, she would not let them take her down, she would . . .
A wave of bone-snapping cold rushed through her, and her muscles, heart, and blood froze instantly. Her eyes remained open, seeing. Her ears relayed the unfolding battle to her mind. Her thoughts slowed as she watched the scene unfold. Like a gathering noose, she felt the glade tighten around her.
A dazzling light exploded behind her, and Mevia felt a fierce heat battle the cold. Ae’fir’s voice erupted, litanies of bitterness and anger tearing through the trees. Burning runes appeared in the bark of the nearest trees, glowing brightly, sucking in the darkness and specters, consuming them. A multitude of screaming voices seared Mevia’s ears.
The sound of steel biting into flesh and bone came in waves from behind. She noticed small things: a beetle crawling on the moss at her feet, a drop of blood landing in its path, her breath misting the air in front of her face. A form that looked like Eriu flitting around her, waving its arms and releasing words into the fray, colored light flickering around its fingers.
How long was she held in the glade, frozen? How long did the battle last? She lost her grip on time. She felt herself falling. Was she dying, frozen in someone else’s battle? She was so far from home, from Aril.
The last thing she saw were more rotting figures crawling between the trees, drawn to the fury and white heat of the light behind her like moths to a flame. Ae’fir wanted to kill, wanted to unleash the hunger within Scalibur. He felt its rage―it had been hidden for so long, denied its revenge on those who had taken its king and his lands. It, he, was incandescent with rage. Ae’fir stood on the mossy earth, grounded in flesh, steel, and magic. Everywhere he looked, he saw enemies, a swirling army of undead circling, snapping, and raking the air, hungry for his flesh and the flesh of his companions.
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