The Second Siege (33 page)

The moon waxed and waned and seasons changed while Max trained and suffered under Scathach, forbidden to leave Rodrubân. Under her tutelage, Max mastered many feats, but at a terrible price. In his room now, atop the highest tower, he gazed down at the town below, a twinkling of lights among the sable fields. Somewhere out there was David. For a moment, Max could not picture his friend’s face, and it shamed him.

There was a soft knock on the door.

Max turned as Scathach entered. She wore an embroidered robe of white linen and carried a green bundle of silk. This she lay upon the bed.

“Tomorrow, you shall depart Rodrubân,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“And where will I go?” asked Max.

“The others know,” she said. “They will be waiting at the bridge at first light.”

Max nodded and stepped over to inspect the bundle. Unfolding it, he saw the broken spear and Señor Lorca’s shirt of nanomail. On top of the nanomail, however, was something else: a brooch of silver and ivory fashioned in the shape of a sun. Max examined it under the candlelight.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Something to remember us by,” she said softly, kissing him once on the cheek. She turned and walked swiftly from the room, pausing for a moment on the threshold. “Never forget that you are the son of a king.”

“Will I see him again?” asked Max.

“No,” replied Scathach, shutting the door behind her.

“You look exactly the same,” said Max, clapping David on the shoulder.

The driver rapped a stick impatiently against the cart.

“We must be going,” croaked an ancient voice. Max turned to see a gray-haired woman, her face seamed and shriveled, peering at him from beneath a brown hood.

“And who are you?” asked Max.

“Caillech,” muttered the woman, scowling and turning away to face the road before them.

David shrugged at the woman’s rudeness and climbed into the cart, whose floor was strewn with hay. Max looked one more time upon Rodrubân. He hoped to glimpse a slender, black-haired figure standing at a window, but saw only ravens riding on the wind.

“Chores and trades,” said David, smiling. “I can fetch water, clean stables, feed animals, dye wool, and make a painful pair of shoes.”

“Sounds awful,” said Max.

“It’s the happiest I’ve ever been,” said David, uncovering a basket to offer Max an apple. “And I don’t think it’s boasting to say I’m the best one-handed cobbler in all the Sidh!”

Max smiled.

“What of Astaroth?” he asked, the Demon seeming a distant memory under the warm sun.

“Only rumors.” David shrugged. “Occasionally, a traveler will arrive with tales of a strange being waiting at crossroads, jesting with passersby. Wherever Astaroth is from, it isn’t from here. Even in the Sidh, I think they’re afraid of him.”

“And how did you . . . ?” whispered Max, inclining his head at Caillech’s bent form, clutching the reins.

“Meet our friendly driver?” said David, smiling. “Last night I was cleaning the cobbler’s shop when she knocked. Not so much as a hello. Just a ‘On the morn, we fetch your prize,’ and she pushed past me to sleep in
my
bed! Weird, I know, but weirdness is the way here—everyone coming and going on strange, secret errands.”

“And where is she taking us?” asked Max.

“Brugh na Boinne,” rasped Caillech, shooing away a horsefly.

Max sat up straight and turned toward their driver. Since his decision at the crossroads, that name had haunted Max’s dreams: Astaroth had said his mother would be there.

“How far is it?” asked Max urgently.

“Far,” replied the crone.

“Can’t we go any faster?” asked Max, watching the nag’s head bob in time with its plodding pace.

Caillech laughed—a low, mirthless croaking.

“There was once a man who saw Death staring at him in the marketplace,” she muttered. “Afraid, the man stole a horse and rode as fast as he could to the next town. Once there, he took a room at an inn and locked himself inside. But there was Death, already waiting by the fire. ‘How?’ cried the man. ‘How can you be here?’ Death smiled and stood. ‘I asked myself the same when I saw you at the marketplace, for it is here that I was to meet you.’ ”

Caillech laughed again and shook her head. Max said nothing, but glanced instead at David. His roommate seemed lost in thought, however, gazing quietly at the mossy remains of a wall built long ago.

For a stretch of days, they rattled along through sun and showers and wind as they followed the white road, winding through the green countryside. At times, they saw armies flying different colors, marching like glittering ants in the distance. When pressed for details, Caillech merely shrugged and said that the kingdoms of the Sidh often fought with one another. Max found the pace maddening; Caillech slept like the dead and on some days she couldn’t be roused before noon. When awake, she was miserable company—chewing her lip in silence or muttering hoarse, cryptic replies to Max’s many questions.

“What is it, Caillech?” asked David cautiously.

“This is not the road to Brugh na Boinne,” she said at length, looking past them.

Max exploded.

“What do you mean?” he cried, smacking the side of the cart. He stood and looked behind them. Theirs was the only road in sight.

“This is not the road to Brugh na Boinne,” repeated Caillech.

“And it took you this long to realize it?” asked Max, incredulous. He buried his head in his hands. “Do you have
any
idea where you’re going?”

Caillech stared at Max. Her dark eyes narrowed to angry creases.

“Do
you
?” she asked.

Max swallowed his reply; it took all his effort to smother his temper.

“Take the reins yourself or be still, you impudent child!” hissed the crone.

Max remained standing, staring at Caillech with rising anger. After a moment, David spoke.

“She didn’t mean to take the wrong way,” he said gently. “Sit back down, Max.”

Max nodded but kept his eyes on their driver, who returned his glare with a defiant scowl. Sinking back into the cart, Max knitted his fingers behind his head and stared up at the sky. The mare snorted and they began the slow, laborious process of turning the cart around.

The miles passed and it was nearing twilight, but they had yet to see a crossroads. Even David’s cheerful whistling grated on Max’s nerves. Rolling onto his side, Max flicked his finger against the cart’s rough planks and tried to smother his irritation. He sighed as the horse gave a tired whinny and the cart slowed to a snail’s pace. Glancing up at the sky, Max saw they still had a smidgeon of sun remaining.

“We are here,” croaked the old woman as the cart rolled to a stop.

“And where is here?” snapped Max.

“Brugh na Boinne,” replied Caillech.

Max cracked an eye open. David was standing up in the cart, gazing at something ahead of them. Sitting up, Max turned and blinked. The road had come to an abrupt end, tunneling into the side of a great hill studded with rocks and roots. Max climbed from the cart and stared.

“But we didn’t come this way before,” he said, glancing sharply at David. “And haven’t we been on the same road this whole time?”

David nodded and shivered, rubbing his arms as the sun’s last rays began to fade at the horizon. While the landscape darkened about them, a pale light glimmered from the hill’s dark opening. Faint and veiled it began, but as the light grew stronger, its flickering luminescence spilled out from the hill like a welcoming light. A fire was burning inside.

A tingling arose in Max’s neck and fingers, the same sensation he’d experienced when he discovered the tapestry.

Caillech stepped down from her seat and hobbled toward the cave’s opening.

“What are you fools waiting for?” she hissed. Bent nearly to the ground, the old woman shuffled inside. Max took David’s pack from the smaller boy and closed his fingers around Cúchulain’s spear. Side by side, the two boys walked into the earth.

The road did not end at the hill but continued within it. Max and David’s footsteps echoed off the cobblestones as they descended slowly, following a long, slow curve. Yellow firelight flickered on the walls, broken by Caillech’s shadow, which looked misshapen and monstrous as she muttered and shuffled ahead of them.

At last, the road ended, terminating at a large cave deep within the hill. Many tapestries hung along the walls, illuminated by a massive brazier that burned at the cavern’s center. Against the far wall was an alabaster dais and upon its smooth white surface were several objects.

“Behold!” croaked Caillech. “The Four Treasures of the Tuatha dé Danann and that which you seek!”

Following Caillech around the burning brazier, Max and David approached the dais. The crone pointed a bony finger at an enormous cauldron of etched bronze from which protruded a heavy shaft of wood.

“The Dagda’s Cauldron,” she muttered. “They say it can feed an army and raise the dead. And within it, the Spear of Lugh—deadly to all save his kin and so terrible, it must sleep beneath water laced with poppies. And there is the Sword of Nuada, Claíomh Solais,” she gasped, pointing at a gleaming sword of silver. “And next to it, Lia Fáil—the stone that was kingmaker until Cúchulain himself split it in two!”

Max walked over to the stone, running his hand over its rough surface to the smooth, sharp plane where it had been halved. He glanced at the weapon he carried and wondered if it had done the deed long ago. David passed behind him, arriving at the last object on the dais.

There, suspended within a case of blown glass, was the Book of Thoth. David and Max peered closely at it. The glass distorted its appearance, but some details could be seen. It had a cover of tarnished gold, etched with hieroglyphs and the profile of an ibis-headed man—the Egyptian god himself. With a sharp intake of breath, David tried to lift the case. It did not move.

“Let me help,” said Max, taking hold of the glass and giving a heave.

The case remained fast and the two boys were left staring at the Book as though it were a pastry beneath a domed cake plate. David gasped suddenly and fished frantically inside his shirt. He brought out Bram’s talisman, holding it gingerly by its slender chain.

It was glowing a dull red, the heat within it intensifying even as they watched.

“We have to hurry,” muttered David, wrenching the chain off his neck and tossing the hot medallion aside. “The Book’s in danger.”

Max stepped back as David began to chant. Strange words rang through the cavern, powerful spells that seemed to make the very earth hush and listen. Nothing happened, however, and Max saw that David was frustrated. His words became songs, lilting chants and melodies that saturated the air until it hummed with magic. Still the glass remained. The songs became whispers—slow, terrible words that echoed off the walls and whispered back, distant and mocking. David bowed his head and the echoes subsided to silence. He raised his eyebrows and glanced wearily at Max.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed. “I must have lost my touch.”

Max had a sudden flash of memory.

“You haven’t lost anything,” Max cried, shaking his friend in his excitement. “Remember Bram’s Riddle?” Max almost hyperventilated as he recited the poem’s second verse.