Once more the Morrigan took the shape of Scarabek. She smiled and came toward me. Distracted by his own rage, Cuchulain was no longer a threat to her. Now she was coming for me!
I turned and sprinted toward the river, as he’d instructed. When I reached its bank, I saw to my dismay that the water was high and fast flowing, a silver torrent that I could not cross. Where was the ford? The Morrigan was strolling toward me now, almost casually, as if she had all the time in the world….
All the time in the world? That was exactly what I didn’t have. Midnight was approaching, and as soon as the bell had pealed twelve times, years would have passed back home. I scanned the riverbank and spotted the stepping-stones. They lay to my left—eight of them, their tops just visible above the water.
The Morrigan saw where I was heading and began to run, but I reached the ford first and took a mighty leap toward the first stone. It was wet and slippery, and I almost lost my balance. But I managed to jump across to the second, and then the third. When I reached the fifth, I looked back. The Morrigan was leaping from stone to stone, too. I’d half hoped that she wouldn’t be able to cross running water. But, although in the guise of a witch, she was a goddess, and the torrent proved no barrier to her. There was just one more stone, then I could jump up onto the riverbank. However, the Morrigan was close behind me now. I would never make it. So I turned and held up my sword, preparing to defend myself.
She came for me, her hands outstretched, her talons glinting. I swung the sword with all my strength. It struck her hard on the right shoulder. Blood spurted up, and she screamed and fell into the water with a tremendous splash. This was my chance. I made it to the final slippery stone, then leaped onto the bank, my heart pounding.
I could see the entrance to the cave ahead, a dark gaping mouth in the silver cliff. I hurried toward it. At one point I looked back. The Morrigan had risen and was following me again. She wasn’t even running. Did she think that I’d be unable to escape?
The cave was gloomy, but not as dark as it had first seemed; it was gleaming with that same mysterious silver light that illuminated all of the Otherworld but the sidhe. I studied the back wall. It looked hard—and solid. I ran toward it as Cuchulain had instructed, but at the last moment I slowed a little and flinched, anticipating the impact.
I collided with solid rock—a tremendous blow jarred me from head to toe. I stumbled backward, the sword spinning from my hand, and lay there, stunned. My head and knees hurt. I could taste blood in my mouth.
What had gone wrong? Perhaps the Morrigan had worked some type of enchantment, I thought. Was that why she’d strolled after me, not even bothering to run? I came up onto my knees and crawled across to the sword. I took it in my left hand and managed to get to my feet before taking slow, painful steps toward the mouth of the cave. When I reached it, the goddess was only a dozen paces away, advancing steadily.
I took a deep breath to calm my fears and readied the sword in my hand. But the nearer she came, the more my confidence ebbed away. I saw that her gown was unmarked—there was no sign of the wound I’d inflicted. A goddess of such power would heal quickly. The silver blade could certainly hurt her and slow her down—but not destroy her. All I could do was buy a little time for myself….
Time! No sooner had the thought entered my head than the first peal of the midnight bell rang out in the distance. I knew that when the twelfth one sounded, time back on earth would lurch forward. I was desperately wondering what to do next, and thought of what Cuchulain had said about the doorway.
The second chime rang out….
Full pelt—you had to run hard and fast at that back wall of the cave. Just now, I’d slowed and flinched at the last moment. It was difficult to imagine an impact harder than the one I’d suffered, but it had to be done. It was my only chance of getting back to the world I knew. But first I had to deal with the Morrigan….
She ran at me now, claws outstretched, eyes blazing with a ferocious anger. As she lunged toward me, the bell tolled for the third time. I spun away to the left, and she missed me, her talons gouging the rock close to my head.
Then I struck out at her with my sword, but the blow was delivered clumsily and in haste. The blade clanged against solid rock, jarring my arm. The bell pealed again….
The next few seconds passed in a blur, and I knew that I had to bring our struggle to a swift end. Above the sounds of my labored breathing, the snarls of the Morrigan, and the scuffling of my boots against the rocky ground, I could hear the slow, steady peals of the bell. By now I’d lost count. How long before the twelfth chime?
I thought back to the cave wall. I had to believe I could pass through it. I began to focus my mind. Strangely, as I did so, I felt the sword vibrate in my hand, and a single drop of blood fell from the left ruby eye.
As the goddess ran at me again, I feinted to the left, then changed to a right cut, bringing my sword down fast, almost horizontally, toward her. It was a perfect blow. As if it was slicing through butter, the sword took her head clean from her shoulders. It fell to the ground with a sickening crunch, but then went spinning and rolling away down the hill toward the silver river below.
For a moment the Morrigan’s headless body stood there swaying, the neck spurting blood. Then, rather than falling, she staggered off down the slope in pursuit of her head. It seemed unlikely that she’d catch it before it rolled into the river.
Wasting no time, I hurried back into the cave. Faster and faster I ran, straight toward the waiting wall of solid rock. It took all my willpower not to slow down, not to flinch or twist away. I still felt a tremendous blow—and then everything went black.
I heard a distant final peal of the bell. Then silence.
CHAPTER XX
NOBODY WILL HEAR YOU SCREAM
EVEN before I opened my eyes, I felt a cool breeze on my face and the grass beneath my prone body.
I sat up and looked about me; I realized I was still holding the bloody sword. It was almost dark now. I was at the center of the circle of standing stones at Kenmare. But had I returned in time? How long had passed—a century?
I got to my feet and headed toward the pit. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it looked the same. Had it been abandoned, I thought, even a few months would have filled it with grass and weeds.
Then I saw my staff lying on the ground. That gave me a flash of real hope. The Spook would have come in search of me. He would have found the staff and taken it away—not left it lying there.
So I picked up the staff and set off for Shey’s house. When I arrived at the gate, there were two guards prowling about, but they nodded me through as though nothing had happened.
When I walked into the hallway, the Spook and Grimalkin were standing there. The witch assassin was carrying the stakes, wrapped in sacking, the Spook holding his staff. I felt so relieved. Clearly less time had passed here than in the Otherworld. They both looked at me in astonishment.
“Are you hurt, lad?” my master asked.
I shook my head. “A few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious.”
“What happened? Where have you been?” he demanded.
“That sword!” exclaimed Grimalkin, her eyes wide with astonishment, before I could answer. “Let me see it!”
She put down her bundle of spears, and I handed it to her. The witch assassin examined it closely but avoided touching the silver-alloy blade.
She looked at me. “Do you know what this is?” she cried, peering at the strange marks engraved on the hilt and touching the carving of the skelt’s head.
I shook my head. What did she mean?
“It’s a hero sword, crafted by one of the Old Gods called Hephaestus,” she told me. “Only three were ever made, and this is the best of them!”
I smiled at her. “I met the hero!” I confirmed. “We were in the Otherworld, and he gave me his sword. Without it I wouldn’t be here. The Morrigan attacked me, and I cut off her head.”
“The Morrigan will heal h
erself,” said Grimalkin. “You can count on that. But I’m thinking of our forthcoming struggle against the Fiend. This weapon gives us a far better chance of success. It goes by another name that is peculiar to it alone—perhaps a name that better defines its purpose. It has been called the Destiny Blade. The one who wields it fulfills what he was born to achieve.”
“I don’t hold with that,” interrupted the Spook. “We shape the future with each act we perform. There is no such thing as destiny. It’s just an illusion—something we think we can see retrospectively.”
“I disagree,” said Grimalkin.
“Aye, I thought you might, so let’s agree to differ,” my master told her. “The lad’s hurt and weary. We all need to be at our best to bind the Fiend. We’ll leave it until tomorrow.”
Grimalkin nodded in agreement.
“So get yourself to bed, lad,” said the Spook, looking at me sternly. “You can tell us the full story in the morning.”
I woke up, aware that someone—or something—was in my room. I could see the silhouette of a tall form against the gray dawn light shining through the curtains. I sat up quickly and realized that it was Grimalkin.
“Stand up, boy!” she ordered. “We have much to do today.”
I had fallen asleep on top of the covers, still wearing my shirt and breeches. I got to my feet as she’d commanded. The witch moved closer; she towered over me, a full head taller than I was.
“Take off your shirt.”
When I hesitated, Grimalkin shook her head and smiled, her black-painted lips parting enough for me to glimpse the sharp teeth behind. “I’ve seen skinny ribs before!” she mocked. Then I saw that she was holding a gray garment in her left hand.
I unbuttoned my shirt and peeled it off. Grimalkin began expertly draping the garment around my chest. As she did so, she paused, noting the mark on my arm where Alice had once dug her nails into my flesh. “This is Alice’s mark, isn’t it?” she asked me. I nodded, my heart heavy at the thought that I was never going to see her again.
I turned my attention to the garment that Grimalkin was fitting. It was some sort of shirt but seemed to be padded at the shoulders. There was another padded section that ran diagonally from my right shoulder down toward my left hip. The witch buttoned the shirt quickly with nimble fingers, and then, from a scabbard on one of the leather straps that crisscrossed her own body, she withdrew a pair of scissors.
I flinched and stepped backward. These were the scissors she used to snip away the thumb bones of her enemies. Some said that she did so while they still breathed.
But it wasn’t my bones that she wanted. Quickly she cut away some material, trimming the bottom of the shirt and then the sleeves, so that they now finished above the elbow.
“This is a padded undershirt,” she explained. “You’ll wear it to stop the straps and scabbard from chafing against your skin.”
She now held a length of leather in her hand; attached to it was a scabbard similar to the ones that she wore. She set to work fitting it. After first trimming its length with her scissors, using a needle and thread she tacked it to the undershirt with just a couple of deft stitches.
Once she’d finished, Grimalkin picked up the sword and handed it to me. “Sheath it!” she commanded.
“Am I to use it right-handed?” I asked.
“You’ll use either hand, but since your primary weapon is your staff, which you wield with your left hand, you should draw the sword with the other.”
I sheathed the sword.
“Now draw it as quickly as you can!”
I obeyed.
“Sheath and draw it again….”
When I’d done as she asked, Grimalkin repositioned the leather strap, and this time used several stitches to attach it firmly to the undershirt.
“Now,” she said with a grim smile, “it’s time to go down to the cellar.”
The cellar was situated far below the living quarters of the house. I obediently followed Grimalkin down the long spiral of stone steps. Inside, the flagged floor was empty save for a table pushed back against the near wall. About a dozen torches in wall brackets lit the area. It looked like it had recently been swept.
Grimalkin closed the heavy wooden door behind us, and then turned the key in the lock before removing it and tossing it onto the table.
“Why have we come down here?” I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.
“For one thing, we have plenty of space,” she replied. “But not only that—down in this cellar, nobody will hear you scream.”
I took a step backward. Grimalkin took one toward me. “There’s nowhere to run, Thomas Ward,” she said, her voice quiet and filled with malice. “You impaled me once with your staff. I owe you for that—and I always pay my debts. Nothing less than your life will suffice, so draw the sword and defend yourself—if you can!”
It was true that I had once driven my staff through her shoulder, pinning her to a tree. Then I had been acting in self-defense—she had been hunting me down, ready to take my life. But since then we had fought together side by side; I’d thought that we were allies now, and that Grimalkin had come to Kenmare in order to help us bind the Fiend.
Had it all been a lie? I wondered. Was her need for vengeance so great? Had she rescued me from the fort just so that she could put an end to me in this cellar herself?
I was scared and my knees trembled. I barely managed to get the sword clear of its scabbard before she attacked. Drawing two blades at once, Grimalkin ran directly toward me. I raised the Destiny Blade and managed to deflect the one in her left hand, twisting away so that the other blade missed my left ear by less than an inch.
Before I’d recovered my balance properly, she whirled toward me again. In a panic, I chopped down at her head, but she parried and smiled grimly before stabbing toward my left shoulder. I wasn’t fast enough, and I felt a sharp pain as the blade cut into my flesh. How badly was I hurt? I glanced at the wound and saw blood dribbling down toward my elbow.
To check the severity of my wound was a foolish mistake—one that almost cost me my life. The moment I glanced down, Grimalkin took advantage of my lapse and launched an all-out attack. I stumbled under her onslaught, but somehow her blades missed me.
I rolled away and jumped to my feet. She approached me again, her eyes glittering, her mouth open wide as if she was going to take a bite out of my flesh. Those teeth, which she had filed to deadly points, were one of the scariest things about the witch assassin.
I was beginning to despair now. What chance did I have against Grimalkin? How could I hope to beat the most deadly assassin the Malkin clan had ever produced? I realized that I had just one faint hope. Somehow, in the heat of battle, I had to concentrate my mind and try to slow down time itself. That gift, inherited from Mam, had saved my life on more than one occasion. I had to attempt it now.
Before I could carry out my plan, Grimalkin charged. A sudden anger surged through me. What was she doing? I didn’t deserve to die in this cellar. And if she killed me now, the Fiend would be waiting to torment my soul. With a surge of newfound confidence, I stepped forward and swung my sword at her with all my strength, forcing her to lean back quickly, then step to the side. I attacked again, and this time switched the sword from my right to my left hand. It was a trick taught to me by the Spook when we practiced with our staffs. That’s how I had wounded her last time.
It almost caught her out again, but she dodged away to safety and then came forward again. I took a deep breath and started to focus, drawing on the power that lay deep within me.
Concentrate! Squeeze time. Slow it. Make it halt!
Grimalkin was moving toward me, her approach almost taking the form of a dance. She was balancing on her toes and flexing her knees, skipping away to the left, raising her arm to deliver a fatal blow to my heart. But her movements were slowing, and I was faster. My blade intercepted hers and dashed it from her hand.
Gleaming in the torchlight, the assassin’s dagger spun over and
over again, slow as a feather, falling gently toward the flags. But then it halted. It was immobile, frozen in space, hovering above the floor. I had actually halted time!
I reversed the movement of my blade, slashing it back toward the witch’s neck. Grimalkin was helpless; I’d won.
I watched my sword slice toward her unprotected throat. But then I noticed something else. Grimalkin was frozen in time, helpless, but she was also looking me in the eye—and smiling! She was smiling at me while my blade was inches from her throat!
At the last moment I pulled the blade upward so that it missed her. Then I stepped away and went into a crouch. Why hadn’t I killed her while I had the chance? What was wrong with me? On the Isle of Mona, I’d been unable to kill Bony Lizzie when I’d had the opportunity. I had held back then because she was Alice’s mother. But what was happening here? I asked myself.
And suddenly I knew. I relaxed and allowed time to move on once more. Grimalkin quickly sheathed her other blade and moved toward me. She was still smiling.
I realized then that it had been some sort of trial. She’d been testing me. Then she spoke.
“I once consulted Martha Ribstalk, then the foremost scryer in Pendle,” Grimalkin said, “and she told me that a child had just been born who represented a force that might somehow counter that of the Fiend. Powerful though Martha was, someone was hiding him from her sight. I now believe that this protector was your mother; you are that child—and my ally in this struggle against my sworn enemy. Together we will succeed. It is meant to be. It is our destiny to destroy the Fiend.”
My hands started to shake a little. Now that it was over I felt a rush of relief.
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