by J. M. Briggs
“Alex?”
“I know, I feel it too,” Alex whispered back, “But I think I need the help.”
“Focus on the hill,” Bran told them both. “Direct everything there: focus on Arto and finding him; focus on us needing a way to get to him.”
Nicki dared not open her eyes but called upon every film or TV episode that she could think of to help her visualize a tunnel opening in the hill. For a moment all she could see was the dark gaping tunnel of the Sídhe, but she repeated the name Arto again and again in her mind. She felt her magic shifting around her; some still flowing into Alex, but her left hand began to feel hot as icy blue magic swirled off her fingers and into the hill.
“Keep us hidden,” she whispered to the wind as it breezed across her cheek. “No one notices us.” She pushed her magic out into the air, willing the sparks, the energy to follow the words on the wind.
“Come on,” Alex grunted as if in pain. “It has to give. It has to.”
Nicki’s right hand held captive by Alex felt hot as if it was too close to a burner. Nicki hissed as the magic began to slip away from her like melting ice. With one final push, she shoved everything she had left building up in her chest towards the hill. The ground beneath her feet rumbled. Everything went black and she was dizzy. Then she was aware of arms holding her up and opening her eyes. In front of her was a long shallow slanting tunnel leading deep into the ground with darkness looming before her.
26
Funeral Rites
The opening they’d created radiated their magic. Alex wasn’t sure how, but as she walked down the long tunnel through the dirt and rock, she felt encased in warmth and wasn’t reminded of the Sídhe tunnels. The musky scent of dirt surrounded her, and she could see the layers of the earth around them as they followed the shallow slope into the hillside. The tunnel gradually turned to stone, yet the reassuring smell of earth remained.
Then the tunnel ended at a strange alcove that was at Alex’s waist height and went a couple feet deeper into the hillside forming a large shelf. Alex forced herself to bend over and look into the alcove. It was carved from the rock with smooth walls and she could almost feel Morgana’s magic. The whole little chamber was like an oval except for the flat floor where a skeleton stretched out neatly.
Her brain stopped for a moment along with her heart and lungs. Her eyes still worked just fine and she took in the small items around the skeleton. An iron sword that had left a red stain on the rock as it rusted, a string of jet beads, small pots and things that were so old she had no idea what they might have once been. A hand on her back spurred her to suck in a deep greedy breath. She almost choked on the stale air but trembled as she stumbled back to full awareness.
“Okay,” Bran whispered in a soft voice that resonated through the tiny chamber. “Touch the skull.”
She didn’t want to touch the skull. She really didn’t, but Alex began to reach into the alcove. Alex trembled as she felt tiny electric jolts run up her fingers and around her forehead. A burning headache was forming between her eyes and she struggled to not just curl up right here. Then her fingers brushed over the skull and the ache eased. Alex sighed in relief even as a strange warm feeling moved up her arm.
“Alex?” Bran called softly, but then his voice faded away.
Closing her eyes, Alex leaned her head down against the rock and fought back a shiver as the ache in her chest eased a little. Her spine tingled with the odd sense that her father usually called someone walking over your grave. She opened her eyes and looked up the line of her arm to where her hand was resting on a three thousand-year-old skull. Alex’s eyes widened as she saw what at first glance she thought was smoke seeping out of the skull and into the air. It shimmered and glittered with white sparks as it swirled towards her. Another jolt of magic jumped up her arm and she started to pull her hand back. Tiny threads of magic formed between her fingertips and Arto’s skull, moving with her and keeping them connected.
“Alex?” Bran called softly. “Are you okay?”
The magic threads shuddered in the air as Alex readied herself to try and explain what was happening when the walls around them began to glow. She heard Jenny gasp, and the sound of a flashlight hitting the ground behind her. Thousands of tiny streams of golden magic poured out of the walls like a million falling stars.
“Alex?” Jenny asked in a weak voice that sounded torn between awestruck and frightened. “Where’s the light coming…?”
Her voice trailed off and the tunnel went silent as the tiny sparks of magic danced around them. Alex felt her whole body relaxing despite the lingering pain in her head. Breathing was easier and the tension in her shoulders was fading away. There was a whisper at the back of her mind followed by brief flashes of faces, places, and things. She saw a younger Morgana with fewer worry lines and Merlin, a staff in hand, near a large wooden structure at the bank of a river.
Then it changed: she could see the river. She was flying down it. There was a small circle of standing stones, and a long road leading towards a pristine Stonehenge. Gleaming rocks stood tall with the upper rocks all carefully perched at perfect right angles. A ditch surrounding the large inner stones and a circle of smaller stones around the perimeter were clear. Footpaths had been carved into the landscape through use and stretched out from the monument toward the river and towards another circle in the distance.
Alex was jarred back to the present by her head slumping forward. There was a moment of clarity that something was pulling at her, and probably at all of them. Some magical force much more potent than anything she’d ever felt before was tugging her like a strong hand on the shoulder. This wasn’t Morgana or Merlin’s power, and she didn’t think that it was Arto’s either. Yet there was a sense of peace slowly washing over her, gently pulling her back into the dreamlike state. Alex felt the tug of the magic as the vision replayed in her mind. No, she realized, as she felt her own magic link with the swirling power around her and pull it inside. This was something else; this, she realized with a small giggle, was whatever force had created the Iron Soul.
Her soul.
Alex moved her fingers and pushed some of the magic building up inside of her out. Gray sparks swirled through the air lazily. She wasn’t sure what she wanted them to do and felt the magic lashing back against her chest as it wildly spun in the air. Untamed and undirected, like a lightning bolt in a storm. Then she heard a whisper in the back of her ear, a soft smooth thing that she didn’t understand. Her magic flared, sweeping itself together like a wisp of smoke and spun through the air towards Arto’s body. It began to encircle the bones.
Blue and yellow streams of energy drifted past her, and Alex was vaguely aware that Nicki and Bran must have been releasing their magic as well. She wondered if they were even aware of it or if the magical pull was guiding them too. Their magic joined hers in spinning around the laid out bones. The magic spun tighter and tighter around the bones, wrapping them in a veil of shimmering colors. Then the mass of magic and bones lifted off the bottom of the alcove wrapped up gently in magic.
Alex blinked as the streams of sparkling light shimmered through the air around her. She could only sort of see them; they were vague and hazy like a vanishing sunbeam, but she was certain they were there. It was like the magic she’d pulled out of Chernobog’s creations she realized, except she wasn’t pulling the magic towards them… or was she? Glancing towards Arto’s body, Alex felt her stomach flip and reached towards the cocoon of magic with a shaking hand.
Magic rippled over her skin, sinking into her body and swirling through her veins like it was her own. Beneath her feet, Alex could feel a soft and steady pulse of energy being released and pulled in. Her fingers brushed through the magic keeping the body afloat and touched one of the long delicate bones of Arto’s leg. A sharp flash erupted in her head making her unsteady, but she kept moving.
Alex felt the fluttering little spark of magic beneath her lungs jumping about as if dancing from excitement. Alex be
gan to fall, but she caught herself with her left hand, gripping the edge of the shelf where Arto’s bones had lain. Beneath her fingers, she could feel an electrical charge that made her shudder. Her brain began to feel heavy, as if a dream was pulling her back into the gentle embrace of sleep. She started to move back, the cocoon with the bones following her as she began to walk. Passing the others, Alex was aware of the vacant, slumbering expressions on their faces. They were all sleepwalkers now, playing through some magical dream. She wanted to protest, but the steady hum of magic seemed to calm her. Reassured her it was okay. This was her magic, Alex told herself, surely it wouldn’t harm them.
No one said a word as they began to move back up the tunnel. Bran led the way with Alex behind him, feeling magic spilling out of the walls and flowing towards Arto’s bones. Nicki was behind the body with Lance and Jenny at the back. The ground trembled softly and Alex didn’t have to look back to know that the tomb was closing up behind them. Magic sparked around her, filling the air and her lungs with energy as they returned to the surface. The press of magic down on her shoulders felt even heavier than before, but Alex managed to turn and look back at the tunnel. As Lance stepped out onto the hillside, following them with a dazed expression, the earth began to shift and fill in the tunnel. A moment later there was no sign of it except a bare patch of dirt in the snow.
Down the hill was the circular outline of Woodhenge, but Alex could see the streams of magic around them already flowing down the hill. Her feet began to move again and Bran stepped up even with her as the magic-encased skeleton floated between them. Snow crunched underfoot as they all moved towards the circle. The world around her blurred; shifting out of focus as the wave of magic rippled outward. Near her feet, the concrete posts set into the ground to mark out the circles of Woodhenge shimmered as the magic flowed into them. She heard a gasp, unsure if it came from her or the others as the posts began to transform.
Glowing white magic swirled up around them. The concert posts faded turning to wood, the gray vanishing into a warm brown. They grew towards the sky as one, stretching up as magic rolled across their surface. Suddenly they stopped far over the mages’ heads and branched out, joining together to form a roof. Shimmering walls stretched forth, enclosing them in a large wooden building. It was ghostly; there, and yet not there at the same time. She could see the sky, and yet she could also see the roof. Alex swallowed nervously, uncertain if they were walking through a memory or time itself.
Her feet kept moving: she kept walking through the building as it formed around her. In the corner of her eye, Alex could see the others still keeping pace with her, strange awestruck expressions on their faces. Above their heads in the center of the structure was an open area through which she could see blue sky scattered with clouds. Magic was pulsing around them, pounding in her veins and rushing towards them, swirling in a mass about their small group.
Looking back at Lance and Jenny, Alex’s eyes widened. Both of them were walking alongside Arto’s body with wide glassy eyes. Magic was spinning around them both and for a moment Alex could see different faces and forms interposed over them. One second Jenny was a young Hispanic woman, but the next she saw a Caucasian lady with long brown braided hair. Then it was gone, and she closed her eyes as the dull feeling clawing at the back of her mind returned. There was too much: the magic swirling and spinning around them, the way it was infusing everything, was making it hard to see anything else. Alex’s brain ached, her body felt exhausted and she couldn’t feel her limbs properly anymore.
Woodhenge towered around them with magic whispering and tugging at them. The road between them and the river faded away like mist as the magic thickened. Looking back, Alex could see the great wooden structure vanishing as the magic followed them, leaving only the concrete posts behind. She felt a hint of fear pushing its way up her chest as they stepped out into the road. Bracing herself, Alex pushed against the magic surrounding her with her own. Instead of it doing anything her own magic just joined the storm around them. A car came zooming towards them: a gasp escaped her, but the car just sailed through them like it was a ghost. Or like they were ghosts.
The Avon River wasn’t impressive given the places that Alex had seen in the United States. It wasn’t that wide or, judging from the flow of the water, that deep. For a moment she was at a loss as her legs stopped being compelled and she almost toppled over in surprise. She had a chance to breathe and consider the river, but the release from the magic was short-lived. Magic swept around with the small streams of colors twisting together over the water. Alex’s eyes widened as the shape of a boat began to form. It settled on the surface of the river, sending out a rush of ripples as a shallow boat rocked gently and waited for them. Alex had just a moment to note that there was no rudder or paddle before the magic sank into her limbs once more.
As her legs jolted forward, Alex remembered that they weren’t supposed to control it. The boat rocked gently on the water but stayed perfectly still as the group climbed into it. Then it slowly rolled forward, carrying them down the river and following the gentle curves of the shore. Swallowing, Alex looked down at the bundle of magic that was holding Arto’s remains. She was suddenly reminded of the myth of King Arthur’s remains being carried away by a magical boat and almost chuckled. This was a bit of the opposite now.
“What is going on?” Jenny asked in a tight soft voice. “I feel…”
“It’s magic,” Bran whispered. “It’s guiding us.”
“I’m not a mage,” Jenny whimpered, and Alex fought off the weight of the magic enough to look back at Jenny.
Lance had his arm around her and looked just as distressed as he stared down at the bones in their midst. He raised his brown eyes to meet Alex’s own and she flinched as they suddenly changed their shade and shape. It passed quickly, but she had to take several deep, almost pained breaths and looked forward again.
“No,” she said weakly. “You aren’t mages, but you were connected to this man.”
“What are we doing?” Lance pressed. His voice was shaky but stronger than her own.
“Giving Arto his funeral rites,” Nicki offered softly. “That’s why it’s affecting you; you knew him and without Morgana here, you stand as his family.”
“That wasn’t us,” Jenny whimpered. “That was our previous lives.”
They were coming around another bend and the magic began to swell up around them once more. Up ahead the ground was shimmering and glistening stones were rising up with a swirl of golden light.
“I don’t think that matters to the magic,” Alex forced out just before the magic pressed down on them again.
The stones were smaller than the ones at Stonehenge as the boat slowly came to a stop by the snow covered shore. Alex felt the fire of the magic settling onto her again and tiny electrical jolts jumped through her body. Shuddering, Alex tried to fight it, but the whispers were back and she couldn’t bring herself to properly fight when the small spark inside of her was humming happily at the connection. She stood up, and with small steps climbed from the boat with Arto’s bones floating behind her.
White magic streamed in front of them; seeping up from the ground and dancing in the air. A circle of twenty-seven standing stones stood near the shore to greet them. In the soft winter light, the stones shimmered a soft blue color as magic jumped from stone to stone. Each step in the snow made Alex feel lighter as if she could float off the ground any moment.
The avenue stretched out before them with small standing stones lining it. Mounds of earth marked out the course which went northwest from the river and then turned twice on the way to Stonehenge. As they followed the avenue across the snow covered fields more ancient stones appeared alongside them only to vanish once they’d passed. Alex wanted to speak with the others, but her body wasn’t fully her own anymore as magic flowed through her and kept her moving.
People were milling around Stonehenge, taking photos and talking happily even as they were bundled up against
the winter air. Was it cold, Alex wondered as her feet crunched down on the snow? She couldn’t feel it. No one was looking at them and the itching in her skull was getting stronger. None of the tourists seemed to see them. As the magic rolled over the area like a fog they all began to move away from the path around Stonehenge as if in a trace.
The stones in front of them shifted, magic overlaying yet another image of what it once was before them. Alex could still see the fallen stones on the ground, but then they were tall and proud with the outer ring standing complete. Each step brought them closer and closer. As the magic settled, the present condition of Stonehenge was a mere ghost to the stone circle waiting up ahead for them.
In her head, the faint whispering was getting louder. Forcing her head to move, Alex looked down at her hand and saw the glistening streams of magic connecting her hand to Arto’s skull were still there and pulsing, even as her gray magic continued to swirl as a part of the cocoon. They followed the avenue amongst the stones, and Alex noted that the area was still and silent without any tourists.