Looking across the river, she saw her dearest friend who was doing as she did, taking in the sun with lavish affection, and she was not at all surprised. “Are you comfortable, Kimi?” The bobcat lay on an overlook along the eastern side of the cliff wall. He didn’t seem to pay any attention to her question, but his ears twitched, their long tufts of fur quivering with the sudden movement.
“I’m conserving energy.”
“You conserve enough energy to pull a dozen carts.” Lydria was happy Kimi adjusted so well to living among people, and she roused herself to begin her walk across the bridge to join her friend who waited with the patience of a prince. She hadn’t taken more than two steps across the span when Kimi’s voice sparked a warning in her head, and at nearly the same time, a blurry, shadowy figure appeared on the bridge in front of her, between herself and Hokra. Instinctively she put up a magical barrier around herself and between the apparition and Hokra.
It all happened so quickly, that Hokra didn’t even turn until after the figure began to speak. It was an Eifen, so pale Lydria thought she might be able to see through the wide shoulders of the tall figure. In life he was not a fighter, but what he was Lydria could not tell. When he spoke, Lydria heard several cries from below the bridge and held her hand to stop Hokra who was turning toward the spirit.
“The Sword of True Death has arrived. Its wielder seeks...” Before the figure could say more, it collapsed into a small pile of dust that was immediately blown away to fall far below across the face of the river.
Hokra didn’t speak, but looked at Lydria, waiting for her to say something.
“Did you hear?” She asked him quietly so the people below would not hear her. She didn’t want to start a panic.
“No. Did it speak to you?”
The spirit was only heard by Lydria, even Kimi had no idea it had spoken. To the bobcat and Hokra, the spirit seemed real enough, though it shimmered as it moved, as if it sat just below the surface of the water. But in looking deeply at the Eifen intruder, Lydria saw something else; the manner of their entry into the Melting Grae became clear to her at last, having found its focus through the cloudy lens of the spirit.
“I’ll explain soon. Hokra, gather everyone in the archives. I believe I have discovered what has been sitting just beyond my vision. I think I’ve found our way into the Melting Grae.”
5-The Melting Grae
Hokra sped off at once to find their friends, while Lydria went to see Graenel and invited the king along with Ilsit to join them in the archives. “We will be moving again soon, if my guess is correct, and I would have us all there. We can little delay for counsels or stories.” She looked apologetically toward Ilsit who smiled at her and indicated the two would follow at once.
Minutes later the solitude that had been Pars’ in the archives was interrupted as everyone who had been with the dragons earlier was now in the much more cramped underground space. No one spoke, however, though many shared looks with their neighbors to see if anyone knew what Lydria would be telling them. When Lydria stepped forward, all eyes moved to her and they waited.
“It is as Keldon has said, the dead are coming through from the Melting Grae,” the wielder said. “Moments ago, on the natural bridge, a spirit joined Eigrae for a very short time. Kimi felt its presence, and Hokra saw it as well.” The bobcat sat in a chair by the table grooming his front paws but keeping his eyes up and watching the proceedings, and the prince nodded his agreement at once. “What they don’t know is that the spirit spoke.” Whatever the silence in the room had been it became more pronounced and everyone leaned forward to hear what she had to say next, even Kimi stopped his grooming and stared at Lydria. No one had expected to be told that the figure on the bridge had spoken. “He said the Sword of True Death had come, and that its wielder was seeking something. Then he faded into a pile of dust.”
Several heartbeats passed before Keldon spoke. “What is the wielder of this weapon seeking?”
“The Nethyn Plains.” Haustis said the words as Keldon’s question faded into the air. Her voice was deeper than normal and though she barely whispered the words, her tone was stiff with a confidence in her answer that did not invite questioning. “The Nethyn Plains are a part of the spirit world, where adherents to The Grey live apart from others in the Melting Grae. It is a place of sorrow and if Wynter goes there…” Haustis did not need to say more. Everyone in the archives understood the dangers of The Grey and how during their lives people often moved up and down the circle of good and evil, only rarely entering that area between the two extremes where one’s actions might invite unintended consequences. The Eifen looked slowly around the room and saw all eyes locked on her own waiting for her to continue.
“If his mere presence in the Melting Grae can cause spirits to journey back to Eigrae, what could he do if he were to open the Nethyn Plains? What if he releases those who reside there? What if he finds a way to use the Sword of True Death so that the dead don’t float away on a cloud of dust moments after arriving?”
“How do you kill a dead man?” Keldon sat heavily on a stone bench, his elbows on his knees, head raised, his eyes searching the others for answers.
“We don’t know that Wynter will do any of these things, or if he can; just as we don’t know if the dead can survive here, or if they would come as enemies. However,” Lydria paused long enough to take a deep breath, “It would be foolish to believe Wynter would not travel there if he has the means. That leaves us only one option – it is as others have said before, we must enter the Melting Grae; not as spirits as we have before, but as living people, as Wynter has.”
Relin sighed and shook his head slowly. “But how do we get there? We are no closer to an answer than we were hours or days ago. Just because a dead body turns to dust in front of you doesn’t provide the answer to our problem.”
“No, it does not, Relin. But more than a decade ago a young prince made a very brittle and not very useful piece of armor.” She looked at Hokra who shared his story with the group, leaving out some details of the extent of the treasure that lay buried beneath Safarngal, and the nature of the material in which he worked.
“Long ago, far to the west, another hero of her people, learned the art of crafting. And from her art she created the twin-blades of Wilmamen that Wynter has distorted for his purpose.” Lydria looked at each set of eyes staring at her, waiting to see if anyone would make the connections she had made on the bridge. Every eye stared dully back until she reached Pars. For a moment his face was blank, and then his eyes widened. He managed two words before bolting from his chair and tearing across the room, pushing people out of the way, and crying out in pain as his thigh smashed into the corner of a stone table.
“The model.”
Lydria held her breath as he frenetically flipped through pages of his catalog, his finger trailing along the lines of script he had spent so long writing. When he found what he was looking for he sped off down a row of shelves, a floating sphere of light following him coating the shelves in its pale blue light. Pars went straight to an alcove and took from it a box the size of his forearm. He had shown Lydria and several others the same box before they had gone south to find Wynter more than a season ago. He walked quickly back to the table, holding the box like a sacred relic and placing the container on a clear space on the table. He didn’t sit but leaned over the table, turning the front of the box toward Lydria who took a deep breath and lifted the latch, pulling from the box the Farn’Nethyn model of Wilmamen’s sword.
“I don’t know how we’re going to spread magic if we keep putting Stones of Power on things instead of people,” Lydria said, hoping the words would come out as mirthful and help ease the tension in the room, but a quick look assured her the joke fell flat.
For the benefit of Keldon and others who were not on Ep’Muta when Wynter had used the stone of Garprax on the full-scale version of the sword, Lydria told them what had happened and how the sword was able to cut through the air allowin
g Wynter to escape to the Melting Grae. Keldon nodded, and Graenel put his hand on his son’s shoulder, his eyes wide, but no one spoke. They only looked at Lydria, waiting for what she would do next until she reached into a pouch and produced a small blue sphere.
“Wait!” Hokra grabbed Lydria’s arm and pulled it away from the blade. “Do you not remember what happened when Wynter connected a stone to the blade of Wilmamen? I believe we go about the right path, but I would rather we not destroy our home in the process.” This proclamation did produce a laugh; a nervous tension-filled laugh that brought back memories of staggering power from those who witnessed the events on Ep’Muta. The laughter had a calming effect on everyone, bringing them out of a trance-like quiet and allowing them to move again. Chairs scraped along the stone floor as people stood, but though they moved they were still quiet. Even Graenel and Keldon, who between them likely had many questions, remained silent, humbled by the power of what they might witness, and by what had already been witnessed by those they loved. In this unnatural silence, Lydria led them out of the archives and they made their way to the top of the eastern cliff in a somber procession that didn’t even stop to return greetings of the Chags they passed.
On the roof of Safarngal Bartra was waiting for them, having been informed by Lydria as she left the archives. The giant blue dragon had found a place a distance away from the town that would suitably protect the Chags and his own family should anything go amiss. He had heard from Synca all the details of Ep’Muta and understood the potential for devastation.
As the line of people began to arrive in the fields where the dragon waited, Bartra spoke so that all could hear him. “I have discussed your plan with Sturmgrae, Wielder, and we believe you are set upon the correct path. If this path fails, then we will meet with Burvig, but the Melting Grae is closed to us as well and I can no more rip the air in front of me with my claws than I could drink from a spoon. And, I must tell you, that Sturmgrae has delivered three eggs and she sits with them now. I do not think it will be long before I must leave to hunt to bring back food for them. Still, that time is not yet upon me, and so I will stand with you if you will have me.’
Lydria and Hokra both bowed at once, honored to have the dragon with them, even if he could not help them with their quest.
As Ilsit and Graenel made their way up the last stairs, flanked by guards who the king dismissed to return below, Relin looked over his shoulder toward Lydria and Hokra. “We are ready, Wielders.”
Lydria smiled at Bartra and touched Hokra’s shoulder before walking to the middle of the empty field of short grass. The sun was nearing the western horizon and the air turning cold as shadows crept over the hills but Lydria smiled warmly at them all, her expression asking each of them if they believed in their course, and each nodded in turn, silently urging her to continue.
In her heart, Lydria was sure what she was about to attempt would work, although there was a small part of her, the scared part of the child within her, that hoped it would fail. If it succeeded, she would be tested again, and would shoulder a responsibility she felt unready for. Her father, she knew, would tell her that what she felt was normal and that every commander on every field of battle felt similarly unprepared. Lydria wanted to be rid of Wynter and the threat he created, but was it so bad if a few spirits turned to dust? It was an easy enough price to pay. Her friend Grettune was preparing to give birth in the north, and her sister was betrothed to the king of Wesolk. She did not want to go to the Melting Grae, or wherever Wynter might lead her. She considered for a moment not letting the stone touch the blade and carrying on with her life in Eigrae. And then she thought again of her father, and how disappointed he would be if she took the path she knew to be easy instead of the path she knew to be right.
“You are the leader now, not your father,” Kimi said. “When your emotions are high, you cannot hide your thoughts from me. But I think you were sharing them with me though you weren’t aware. Look, Lydria. Look at the people before you. Kings and princes, dragons, and leaders of their own people – yet they stand with you. They wait for you. You must lead them.’
Without answering the bobcat, and with no prelude, Lydria raised a blue sphere with her right hand and brought it down in the small willow-leaf space between the thin blades of the model Farn’Nethyn weapon. The movement of her hand seemed to take a long time, and she saw it all with clarity that astounded her. The dazzling brightness of the sphere and the small space between the blades. She wondered how the stone would fit. Her hand moved closer to the blade, the blue brightening against the fading rays of the setting sun as it approached the utter darkness of Farn’Nethyn, until small arcs of light danced from her hand to the blade as the gap grew ever narrower. Just before they touched, Lydria saw a stone break away from the sphere and jump to the blade, making contact and the blue spreading to fill the gap between the spines. It all happened in an instant and when it was done, Lydria saw everything move quickly once again and in her hand the model glowed dully with a dark blue line between its blades - a gentle indent, a fuller, filing down the length of the blade and emptying toward the shorter tip. The blade, Lydria thought, was ready to draw blood.
Lydria picked up the small sphere that had fallen to the ground. There were three segments left. The devastation caused by Wynter’s connection of stone to sword did not happen with the smaller weapon.
“Perhaps the blade is not of sufficient quality?” Keldon asked? “What if we cannot enter the Melting Grae?”
“Keldon,” Haustis walked toward the giant man she had fought alongside in Solwyn and held his hand. She lifted her voice so everyone in the meadow would hear her and understand the importance of what they attempted. “Each of those who pass from the Melting Grae to this world, and who turn to dust, they are truly dead. They will not go back to the afterlife they attained – their families have lost them now forever. Did you not hear what the spirit called the sword now amongst them? Wynter holds in his hands the Sword of True Death. Even if he uses it as a spade and digs a garden, he is killing people again by simply being in the Melting Grae. We must go, and we must end his threat for good.”
“Perhaps before you swing that thing, then,” Pars muttered, “We should get our gear and weapons.”
Lydria smiled at the scholar and conjured a blue sheath into which she placed the weapon and hid it all behind a fold in her clothing. “Well said, Pars.”
It didn’t take long to prepare but they did it without magic. Some few had good-byes they needed to make, and others, such as Pars, needed to find equipment that alone amongst the items of the archives, seemed not to have been catalogued and accounted for in a manner that would ensure their speedy discovery. An hour later they were back on the hilltop with only the moon and stars to guide them. To Lydria it felt right that it should be dark, that the moon should be the only witness to what they intended.
Mindful of the destructive lightning that had appeared when Wynter opened a void to the spirit world, everyone spread out in a large circle around Lydria. She wasted no time in drawing the weapon and holding it in front of her, both hands finding a purchase on the hilt. There were no words to be said, and everyone, she was sure, was ready to start – to end what should have never happened had any of them done what they knew they should have done. Picturing Wynter, Lydria knew her father would have chosen the same road she chose now – and she knew he would have chosen the road she chose when she healed Wynter instead of killing him, and when she imprisoned him – and she swung the weapon in an arc that would have cleaved the mental image she held of Wynter from his left shoulder to his right hip. As she finished the follow-through of the stroke, the air sparked with power and a bolt of lightning scorched the earth inches in front of Lydria’s feet, throwing her a body’s distance backward. The noise followed a second later, startling those who had not been at Ep’Muta, and reminding the others of what they had seen.
In front of all of them, in the center of their circle, the air was cut as
if someone had torn a painting with a knife only to find a different painting. In the darkness of the meadow they all saw a thin ribbon of sunshine and pale blue skies, green leaves, and grass that looked soft and inviting.
“Who will accompany me?” Until the barrier was open Lydria had thought everyone would go with her, and all her companions stepped forward, but it was Haustis who first stepped through the gate, her body simply disappearing from view as if she had fallen into a hole. Keldon rushed forward and lifted his foot high to enter the Melting Grae and when his foot came down again, he remained in the field. Twice more he tried and each time he did not follow Haustis. Relin and Pars went next and remained, standing next to Keldon, wondering if any other would go through until Hokra jumped up and vanished into the other space. Ilsit and Graenel stepped forward but were held back by both Lydria and Bartra, leaving only Lydria. Before she could make a move forward a large shape rushed past her and Kimi bounded toward the gate. He landed in the field next to Keldon and the others.
“I am sorry, Lydria, but it appears I may not go with you. I will go north to be with Grettune and Perryn and help them with their cubs. I will look to the dragons for news of your arrival, and I shall be waiting when you return.”
Lydria looked at her friend, her best friend, and her face wrinkled up about to cry before Kimi ran to her and put his paws on her shoulder and licked her face. “Now is not the time to cry. I am not dead. Neither are you. I will be here when you return. I’m going to lick your face more now until I’m such a nuisance you push me away. I love you, Lydria.” She stroked his thick fur and scratched his ears and then pushed him away suddenly, his rough tongue leaving her face raw and red.
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