The Book of the Sword (Darkest Age) (20 page)

He heard Edmund gasp; Fritha screamed, and he thought even Ari cried out. Ignoring the panicked beating of his heart, Cluaran closed his eyes.
No
. The heat he felt was no worse than before. But his mind was still howling at him that his body was burning …

‘No!’ he cried aloud, and opened his eyes. The hand that held the torch was lapped in flame; blistering, blackening; but he looked away from it, at the others. Their stricken faces were clearly visible in the red glare. All had leapt backwards, away from him; only Ari stood unmoving behind them.

‘It’s not fire!’ Cluaran shouted. ‘It’s just seeming!’ The raw horror on Edmund’s and Fritha’s faces had not changed. He looked down at his body. His chest was blazing as if his very heart were on fire. His hands were blackened claws. He
turned his face away from them and walked briskly away down the tunnel. ‘Come on!’ he yelled, without turning his head. ‘Would I be standing if this were real?’

There was still no move behind him. He darted a look backwards, and saw that the flames had spread with him. From the place where he had stood before, the tunnel was filled with fire. He took a deep breath and roared into it.

‘
I’m not harmed!
Close your eyes, and come forward!’

They came to him through the fire. Edmund opened his eyes after the first step, looking about him in wonder as the unfelt flames licked at him. Fritha, her eyes screwed shut, held on to Edmund’s cloak to follow him. It was Cathbar who seemed the most troubled: the captain marched forward, squinting through half-closed lids, but when he reached Cluaran his face was grey, the old burn-scars standing out lividly on his cheek and chin.

Ari came last, his torch held aloft, though its flame was lost in the fire all around him. And then the fire was gone like a candle snuffed out, and the blackness returned, so thick that it took long moments for the torch flames to be visible again. Cluaran glanced up at his own torch: the cloth was tightly secured around it, double-knotted with twine. The hand that held it was his own hand again, unmarked. The relief that washed over him took him by surprise. He waited for a moment, listening to Edmund’s and Fritha’s exclamations and nervous laughter and Cathbar’s reassurances; then, when he was sure his voice would be steady, he called them to order.

‘Loki plays tricks, remember? But he can’t hurt us unless we let him, as you see. Now – we still have a long way to go.’

They set off again, and this time Cluaran did not try to pace them. They marched through the darkness until the nervous energy sparked by the fire began to wear off, their eyes slowly accustoming to the dim glow of the torches. When the others began to drop behind, taking off their cloaks in the growing heat, Cluaran slowed his pace a little, though he felt he could have gone on like this for longer.

They walked on unhindered until the red spark of the opening appeared in the distance. The torches were burning low by now, and Cluaran saw the faint red glow appearing on the walls with relief. Then, just as they were beginning to see the tunnel unaided, the ground dropped away a single step ahead of him.

‘This is the cavern?’ Fritha whispered.

The walls had given way too: they stood looking out on to a vast, empty chasm, lit by red fires a hundred feet below. There was nothing beyond; nothing but the dizzying drop.

‘Not yet,’ Cluaran said. ‘Stay where you are.’ His cloak was over his arm: he dropped it over the edge of the chasm and saw it fall, the fastening-pin flashing red, to vanish in the fires below. He knelt and stretched out a hand, closing his eyes tight. The stone floor was rough and warm beneath his hand, and there was the familiar material of the cloak, lying in a heap just beyond.

He stood, draping the cloak over his arm and extinguishing the torch; hearing the exclamations of alarm behind him.

‘Edmund,’ he called softly, ‘take hold of my back, and have Fritha do the same to you. Form a chain, close your eyes again and walk when I do. Don’t let go, and do not open your eyes, whatever happens. Is that clear?’

He took a moment to check that they had followed his instructions. Then, closing his own eyes and stretching out his hands to the walls on each side, he moved out over the abyss.

The stone walls were firm under his hands. The ground stayed beneath his feet, and Edmund shuffled behind him, one hand on each of Cluaran’s sides. After a dozen paces Cluaran risked half-opening an eye. He was suspended in empty space; the walls abruptly vanished and for a hideous second his fingers could not feel the stone. Panic overtook him and he hurled himself sideways, clenching his eyes shut. His head collided painfully with the wall, and Edmund’s hands were almost wrenched from his sides.

‘Don’t open your eyes!’ he snapped, as if Edmund had disobeyed him. He moved on, clinging to the wall and feeling each step with agonising slowness, until his hands reached the opening, and his face felt the hot air that breathed through it.
You can stop your illusions now, monster!
he thought, savagely.
You have us before you
.

There were voices in his ears – real voices. He heard Elspeth, crying out in protest; and another voice, low, cool and painfully familiar.

Cluaran shook off Edmund’s hands, and in two paces he
was in the cavern, its echoing spaces and red light calling back all the memories he had hoped so much to bury. He peered through the flames at the cavern’s end: the prisoner was still in his shackles, shrunk to man-size. But there was someone with him. Across the river of fire, someone had charmed a frail bridge, almost eaten away already by the flames. Cluaran broke into a run, hardly hearing the cries of Edmund and the others behind him.

Elspeth stood as if turned to stone, gazing at the chained Loki. All the life in her body seemed to have gone into the sword, which twisted and writhed above her head like a living thing, blazing white. A cloud of after-images danced in the air around it. Eolande stood behind Elspeth, both her hands on the girl’s sword arm, urging her towards the chained figure on the rock.

And as Cluaran rushed towards them, Loki turned his head to look him in the face, a figure of flame, yellow eyes flashing, his mouth stretching in a grin of ferocious joy.

Elspeth took a single step forward, and the woman guided her hand down – but not towards Loki’s breast. The sword screamed as it sliced through the chains binding his feet – one, two! Cluaran was almost at the bridge as Eolande brought the blade up to free the prisoner’s arms. Loki was on his feet, bound only by the one remaining chain at his neck. His smile broadened as he reached out towards Elspeth, and the flames around them roared upwards, hiding him from sight.

Howling wordlessly, Cluaran leapt into the trench, launching himself through the flames and feeling the last of the bridge crumbling beneath his feet. He threw himself on Elspeth and Eolande, hurling the girl to the ground and grasping the woman by both arms.

‘Stop!’ he gasped. ‘Mother – what have you done?’

I have destroyed all I held dear.

My son burst in on us as Ioneth entered the sword. I had not known he was capable of such suffering. He will not speak to me again.

The sword is like no other. After it took Ioneth, it vanished, but I felt it in my hand, and feel it there still. Yesterday the Chained One called forth his rock dragon, and the sword sprang forth to meet it. Ioneth and I beat the dragon back; we saved many lives.

I am tired, and very old. But the battle is not over.

For a moment Elspeth lay where she was, her head spinning. Someone had burst through the flames shouting and stopped her from killing her father – no, from killing
Loki
. She opened her eyes and blinked in a glare of firelight. Flames danced near her face, scorching her. She pulled herself to her knees, gazing about her in confusion. Where was her father?

He had gone. A figure that was too tall to be her father stood before the rock, tethered to the stone by a single chain. He seemed to shift and flicker as she looked at him, almost as if he were burning. There was a voice in her head screaming at her, telling her she must do something, but she could not remember what it was, and could not make out the words.

In front of the chained figure, only a few paces away, Eolande stood like a stone, facing the man who had thrown Elspeth down. She saw, with a dull surprise, that it was Cluaran. What was he doing here? And had he just called Eolande ‘mother’? He was holding the Fay woman by the shoulders, shaking her and shouting into her face.

‘How could you do this?’

‘But I have to free him.’ Eolande’s voice was bewildered. ‘I have worked so long for this! Cluaran – do you not know your own father?’

NO!
screamed the sword in Elspeth’s head, and her gaze snapped to the chained figure at the rock. She could see his face clearly now: a handsome young man, his eyes slanted and flame-yellow. As she watched, his mouth turned up in a mocking smile.

Cluaran was staring at Eolande, still gripping her shoulders. ‘Mother …’ he said at last, his voice almost gentle, ‘My father is dead. You know that.’

Eolande tried to pull away from him, shaking her head. Elspeth stared past them both, at the chained man.
My father is dead…

Loki!
The sword shrieked in her mind.
The deceiver! He must not trick you again. Kill him, now, while one chain remains!

Elspeth found that she was on her feet. She took a step forward, then another, bringing her alongside Eolande. The Fay woman seemed not to notice her: she was talking, pleading with Cluaran, but Elspeth could no longer hear her.

Strike!
the sword cried.
Close your eyes and strike!

Over Eolande’s shoulder, Cluaran threw Elspeth one glance of desperate appeal.
Please, kill him!

The chained man at the rock smiled still wider. Elspeth looked full at the fiery, grinning face, no longer certain if the voice she heard was Ioneth’s or her own.
He takes life, and gives back lies. KILL HIM!
And now she was darting forward, the sword blazing in her hand.

‘Good. Good!’

Loki’s voice rang out, rich and powerful as a bell, in the heartbeat before Elspeth reached him. It reverberated through the cavern, sounding in her very bones. (
No!
Ioneth screamed.
Don’t listen!
)

Loki looked down at Elspeth, ignoring the sword, and reached out a hand to her. ‘Come to me, child. I still have need of you.’

And he was her father again: on the day she first learnt to swim, his face blazing with love and pride as he held out his dripping arms to pull her up from the water.

Elspeth clenched her eyes shut.
Now!
Ioneth screamed, and
the sword surged in Elspeth hand as she leapt blindly forward to strike.

She felt the blade make contact, with a clash as if it struck sparks from stone. There was a cry of triumph filling her head, and all around her a howl, so shrill it could not be human.

Her enemy was standing before her, hands by his side, his candle-flame eyes wide with shock as he looked down at the long gash down his shoulder and chest.

Strike again!
Ioneth’s voice rang in her ears.
Strike now!
And Elspeth raised the blade and drove it straight at Loki’s heart.

Loki was quicker. With the speed of a snake he darted aside and lunged at Elspeth, catching her sword hand and forcing the blade up between them. The smile had gone from his handsome face, and the yellow eyes blazed at her.

‘Now,’ he breathed, ‘come to me.’

Ioneth’s song of triumph had become a shriek of terror. A bolt of agony shot down Elspeth’s arm, as if every nerve was being pulled from her.

Help me!
Ioneth screamed through the roaring in her head.
Elspeth – hold on!
And she tried to pull back, to stand against the demon’s force, though her arm was withering in the fire, and her eyes blinded by searing light.

There was a sound like a high, clear bell, or like a smith’s hammer giving one final tap. The sword shuddered violently in her hands and shattered, fountaining into a million motes of light which winked around her before dissolving into the
air. They faded, and faded, until there was nothing left but darkness.

Edmund had watched it all through the curtain of flame, standing with Cathbar and Fritha at the edge of the fiery river. He clenched both hands into fists as Elspeth ran forward, but did not dare to utter a sound. When his friend wounded Loki, then lunged at his heart, Edmund had wanted to shout in triumph – but the demon had caught Elspeth’s hand, and a moment later the sword had burst into a glittering cloud, and vanished. It was not until he saw Elspeth fall to the ground that Edmund cried out. But there was nothing he could do.

Loki was glowing as if lapped in flames. His face convulsed in fury as he glared down at the motionless figure of Elspeth, his whole body seeming to swell with rage. The iron band around his neck, the only thing that still kept him tethered to the rock, swelled with him, and he raised his hands to tug at it.

‘He’s still bound!’ Cathbar cried.

But Ari, beside him, groaned. ‘No. That chain was fixed by a mortal man, Brokk. I saw him do it. The other chains were cast by gods, long before. That one alone was made anew during the last battle.’ The pale man’s voice was dull with despair. ‘It will not hold!’

The wolfish grin was back on Loki’s face as he turned to inspect the chain that linked the band to the rock.

Cluaran leapt to his feet, his dagger drawn in one last desperate attack, but Loki knocked him to the ground as casually as a man swatting a fly. The demon took up a double handful of the chain, strained for the space of a heartbeat, and broke the links. The clatter as the twisted metal fell on to the rock echoed around the cavern.

Loki stood for a moment more surveying them all: Elspeth and Cluaran on the ground; Eolande standing as if turned to stone, gazing at him; and the others, watching helplessly from beyond the burning river. He sighed, throwing his head back as if in ecstasy. A broad, delighted smile spread across his handsome face; spread until it was no longer handsome; the lips stretching too wide for a face to bear them; the teeth flashing sharp as a wolf’s.