Blue Fire and Ice (28 page)

The moon, a glowing ivory disc in the night sky, gave them light while they ate. Grunge made coffee and they sat around the fire, metal mugs of hot coffee in their hands. It was a perfect, peaceful time in their cosy camp and the difficulties of the climb were banished from their thoughts, though the weariness of their limbs was harder to forget. They put from their minds the problem of the cliff rising in the dark above them and put in its place the comfort of the day’s achievement. The conversation was light and pleasant and the evening passed in companionable chatter.

It was Copper who surprised them all, including Dot, by relating a tale he had heard as a child. He told them of a time long ago, almost too long ago for the memory of the people of the Land. It was a tale told to him by his father when he was less than half Dot’s age, a tale of a young blacksmith. She had not seen nineteen summers and yet she was already known as the best blacksmith in the Land. She made the ploughs and the hoes for all the people within a seven-day ride and other blacksmiths moved to far-off villages so they wouldn’t be idle.

She could fashion anything from metal, coaxing it with fire and hammer until it revealed all its secrets and ways to her and she could make from the metal whatever she wished. Her name was Amandine and she was as beautiful as her name. Amandine had large dark eyes, hair as red as the fire in her forge and satin skin the colour of honey.

Amandine fell in love with a brave young man who roamed far and wide to fight the fierce dragon-like creatures that plagued the Land. The creatures killed all living creatures, people and animals alike, as the whim took them. Their fire scorched the earth black and seeped into the Land itself, burning it from within. Some believed the beasts had fallen from another world; others believed that they were the pets of a sorcerer who had loosed them on the Land out of spite because the people of the Land were happy and that was the one thing the sorcerer could never feel; and there were those who said the beasts were of the Land, sleeping deep within it and woken when the people started digging for the riches they discovered lay within it. There was no explanation so fanciful or silly that someone could not believe in it. The only thing the young man knew was that when he killed one, none took its place and if he hunted for long enough, he would rid the Land of their foul presence.

His name was Harvand. He had come to ask Amandine to make him a sword that would enter even the toughest hide of the fiercest creature and be able to slice through the beast’s neck in a single blow. Amandine refused Harvand’s request. She had sworn she would make neither sword nor spear, nor any other thing to bring hurt and death to any living creature. Harvand pressed her to make him the weapon and, though she loved him, she would not be swayed. Amandine pleaded with Harvand to put an end to killing the beasts and settle down in the village. Harvand kissed her and swore he wanted nothing more than to give up chasing the beasts and to settle with Amandine.

‘Just help me kill this last creature. Once I have slain the beast I will put up my sword and you shall teach me how to be a blacksmith.’

Harvand pressed her so hard that she finally agreed to make his sword. For eight days she worked at her forge until she had made the finest sword in all the land. When she gave it to Harvand his eyes shone and he laughed with the joy of holding his fine weapon. Again he kissed Amandine. Then, his eyes shining, he sprang into his saddle and went to find the beast.

Not many days after, he had found the den of one of the beasts. Outside the entrance to its lair, he tied a poor, frightened young goat. Then he hid behind a large rock and waited. In readiness, he drew his sword and marvelled at how brightly it shone in the midday sun. And Harvand, the hunter of beasts, the one love of Amandine’s pure heart, waited.

The terrified cries of the goat ended his sleep. Leaping to his feet, he sprung onto the rock. The great beast was before him, its huge jaws open, ready to grab the helpless goat.

‘Beast!’ Harvand cried. ‘Come here, beast, and I will close your jaws forever!’

The creature’s roar was terrible. The trees shook and the rock on which Harvand stood trembled. The mighty head, with fearsome teeth almost as long as Harvand’s sword, turned to the brave young man. Though fear knotted his stomach, Harvand’s heart was true and he leapt from the rock to kill the beast.

The rushing wind from a single flap of the beast’s great wings nearly knocked Harvand from his feet. He staggered, and the beast struck at him. Just in time, Harvand rolled to his right. The great teeth bit the air where he had stood. Harvand regained his feet and, before the beast could turn, his sword flashed and its gleaming point hit the creature.

It was a deadly thrust, aimed at the beast’s heart. Harvand felt the tip bite, piercing its scaly skin. With both hands on the hilt, he sought the heart. The blade stopped. Amandine’s sword was as true as her love but Harvand’s aim was not true and the tip of the weapon found the beast’s breastbone, as hard as rock.

The beast roared again, a fearsome roar that rolled through the valley, an avalanche of pain and anger. The furious creature slashed at Harvand with its great claws. Just in time, Harvand ducked beneath the razor talons. Desperately, he wrenched his sword free and whirled to the right. The beast lunged, seeking to rend Harvand’s head from his body with its bloody and decay-stained teeth. Harvand whirled again. He could hear the clash of teeth at his ear as the massive jaws clamped shut.

The beast’s lunge had left its neck exposed. Again Harvand’s sword flashed and this time the edge of the blade hit the creature full on the neck, with all the force in Harvand’s strong arm. The beast’s hide, that had defeated the thrusts of a hundred swords, yielded to Amandine’s blade. The sword went deep. This time, there was no roar of pain and hate from the creature. Now, it screamed, a cry so filled with agony and fury that it pierced Harvand’s ears and nearly rendered him unconscious. He fell to his knees, dragging the sword deeper into the beast’s neck. Once more, the terrible noise came from the creature. Blood flowed from the gaping wound, staining the nearby rocks and bushes. Barely able to think for the pain in his head, Harvand pulled his sword free.

The brave young man raised himself to deliver the fatal blow. But the blood from the beast had made the grass as slick as ice and Harvand’s foot slipped, sending him sprawling on his back. The yellow-gold sun, so high and bright in the endless blue heavens above, shone directly in his eyes.

An instant later, the beast’s head blocked the blinding rays of the sun. Harvand saw the dreadful head descend, eyes of orange hate fixed on him. Foam-tipped teeth that had ended the lives of countless animals and men filled Harvand’s vision as the beast struck.

The awful jaws came down. In desperation, Harvand thrust his sword in front of him. Its blade scraped across rows of teeth but its tip found the soft roof of the beast’s mouth. Driven by the strength of Harvand’s arms and the weight of the beast’s own head, the tip continued upwards until it pierced the creature’s brain. No sound came from the beast as it reared in vain to escape the death that Harvand had brought.

The lifeless form of the creature crashed down onto Harvand. The young man felt his ribs bend and break. He heard other bones snap and agony raced through his body. He tried to breathe but his chest wouldn’t respond. Harvand felt the strength desert him. His vision blurred and the warm sun faded from his eyes and its warmth could not chase away the coldness that wrapped itself around him. His mind imagined strength his body no longer possesed and he tried to push the beast from him. Another rib snapped. One broken, jagged end pierced his heart. Harvand would nevermore breathe the warm air of summer.

When Amandine learned of Harvand’s death, her grief was greater than any could conceive. She blamed herself for his death, and when the weight of guilt became too much, she blamed the world. She cursed herself for making the sword. She came to believe that her love, though it had filled her and made her feel truly alive, could not have been true. For if it had been, she tormented herself, she would have been able to make him forget the beast and stay by her side at the forge.

From that day she rarely spoke and when she did her words were bitter and mean. She despised herself and, despising herself, she could not respect what she did. Never again could she coax the metal into revealing its secrets to her and never again did she fashion marvels from the hot metal in her forge.

When Copper finished his tale, the others sat silent, listening again to his words in their heads. Dot sat next to Miniver, her head resting on the bear’s flank. She stared in silence at the flames of the campfire.

Brian’s practical voice broke through the silence. ‘I’ll bet, that the other blacksmiths moved back and set up shop again. That would’ve been the sensible thing to do.’

The others stared at Brian. Aunt Mag tutted, then Grunge laughed and the others joined in.

‘Thank you, Copper,’ said Crimson. ‘I think I’ll get some sleep now.’ She said goodnight to everyone and unrolled her sleeping bag beneath the lean-to. The others decided that it was time for them all to sleep and before long they had unrolled their bags under the canvas shelter and zipped themselves inside. Miniver followed Dot and lay down beside her under the lean-to, but not before she stopped by Grunge and then Crimson and wished them peaceful dreams.

*

He moved about the shadows of the cave in his usual precise way. While the food heated on the small stove, he took a metal plate from the ledge and placed it on the table.

Knife, fork and spoon followed, precisely positioned on either side of the plate.

The dried food was stacked neatly on a ledge: tins of vegetables, fish and soup; bags of sugar, salt, flour, dried fruit, oats and tea. Beneath the ledge was the little stove with two burners and a small kettle. Further along the ledge, there were metal plates and cups, next to a rectangular tub that held the cutlery. A metal basin for washing dishes rested on a flat rock. In the middle of the cave was a small folding table with two folding chairs. It was a crude kitchen, but it was kept tidy and clean.

In the corner of the kitchen was a small, dark alcove he used as a larder. In its nooks and crannies were wedges of cheese, boxes of powdered milk and tubs of salted meat and fish.

A shadow filled the entrance from the cavern beyond. She stood there for a moment, observing him. From the corner of his eye he saw the shadow but he made no acknowledgement but just continued his preparations. He removed the saucepan from the stove and placed a serving of boiled potatoes on the plate; then, from the frying pan, he placed a gently fried river trout next to the potatoes. He filled the metal cup with water from the stone jug and put it alongside the plate. His serving complete, he stood behind her chair like a well-trained waiter. She waited a moment, enjoying his obedience, then stood between chair and table. With practised precision, he slid the chair under her as she sat. His work over for the moment, he took the other chair, placed it facing the entrance through which she had come, and sat, waiting for her to finish so he could have his meal.

‘I shall be glad to get back to civilisation and lemons,’ she said ruefully. ‘Next time, bring the lemons.’

Her voice was abrupt and cold, cruel in its complete lack of regard for him. It contained neither anger nor annoyance and held all the more malice for it. It was an ordinary voice, not one of particular power or richness. She spoke well, but with a lack of feeling for her words. This was the way whenever she addressed him.

It was her hair that one first noticed. Closely cropped around her face, it was a deep, glowing red; as red as a fire engine. In all other respects she looked ordinary; of average build and height with a handsome but unremarkable face. The perceptive person, though, would notice an intensity in her grey eyes that gave them a forbidding cast.

When she had eaten, she placed her knife and fork on her plate. The moment they came to rest on the metal surface, he was behind her. Again, the polish of the ritual showed in the way he pulled out her chair as she rose. Without a glance at him, she walked towards the doorway. At the doorway she stopped and half turned. She held out her hand.

‘Kevin. The pouch,’ she said in her haughty voice.

Kevin went over to the ledge and took down a small pouch, closed with a leather drawstring. He dropped it into her waiting hand. Without a word, she closed her hand around the pouch and left.

*

Brian wriggled in his sleeping bag. Every time he turned, he could feel his clothes twist around his body.

‘I knew I should have changed into my pyjamas,’ he grumbled to himself. He turned onto his other side. He was sure he could feel the buttons of his waistcoat digging into his back. ‘How did they get round there?’ he wondered. He fidgeted until he felt a little more comfortable and then concentrated very hard on falling asleep (which is, of course, the very worst thing to do). He was just starting to drift off to sleep when he heard a slight rustling. He thought at first that it was one of the others fidgeting and regretting that they hadn’t brought their pyjamas, but then the noise changed. Someone was moving about …

Brian opened one eye. The campfire still burned and cast a faint light through the camp. Across the other side of the lean-to, he could see a figure moving carefully and quietly. Crimson. She carried her boots in one hand as she crept from the lean-to. Brian kept watching. She sat on a boulder, put on her boots and tied the laces. (‘Too hasty to make good bows,’ thought Brian.) Then she walked way from the camp, towards the northern edge of the plateau, and disappeared into the night.

Brian was wondering about Crimson and not concentrating on sleeping at all; so, of course, he quickly fell asleep.

*

Miniver woke. She raised her nose in the air. There was a smell she didn’t recognise. A low growl rumbled from her throat. Her ears twitched and she cocked her head, listening. From near the sledge, she heard a soft footfall. She rose and walked towards the sledge. A figure in a long dark robe came out of the darkness. The figure stopped at the sledge and pushed the lever to release the brake. Moving quickly, it grabbed one of the shafts and began pushing the sledge back the way they had come. Back towards the cliff.