Dark Embers

by R. L. Giddings

  He raised his eyebrows. “I needed to talk to you. About the blade.”

  I felt a sudden surge of panic. “You think we should give it to Salazar?”

  “That’s not up to me. I just think you should know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  There was a chair in the room but I didn’t feel like sitting down. Instead, I went and stood against the radiator on the far wall.

  “The knife you’ve got there,” he indicated the envelope tucked into my trousers. “It’s called the Seelie Blade because it comes from the Seelie Court. But that’s not its real name.”

  I was intrigued. “Go on.”

  “The story goes that Oberon, the king of the Faeries, travelled to many lands and had many adventures. Some were sexual, some spiritual and some were just there to demonstrate just how awesome he really was. One story tells of him journeying up into the night sky where he fought the Great Bear. Their fight was long and gruelling, lasting for many nights with each of them taking terrible punishment. In the end, Oberon was unable to defeat the bear but did succeed in cutting off its paw and returning with it to Arcadia where he died from his injuries.

  After his death, the Faerie Queen instructed that the five claws be removed and fashioned into knives. Each one given its own name and purpose. The knife we have here is Sigurdsil, the killing blade that no creature can stand against.”

  “But there are others?”

  “Indeed. Volgud can cut through anything: rocks, trees, metal. Inanimate objects generally. Then there’s Lillhalven which can remove memories…”

  “Memories!” his grave response quickly stifled my scepticism.

  “The minds of many have been eased by Lillhalven’s gentle touch. Doverfjell which protects whoever wields it and, finally, Ib Ure the healing blade.”

  I felt a little thrill of anticipation at the way he pronounced Ib Ure, rolling the ‘r’ in a way that was strangely intoxicating

  He continued, “The blade which can excise tumours and cancers without damaging the surrounding flesh.”

  I sat silently, trying to grasp the implications of what he was saying. It all seemed so fanciful and yet I had one of these blades in my possession. I’d seen what it was capable of.

  I said, “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because as well as this, the four blades are thought to represent stability in our home world. I used to think that was all part of the myth but now I’m not so sure.”

  “What is Sigurdsil doing here? In the world of men?”

  “The Sidhe became complacent and then it was only a short step to us being betrayed. Perhaps, if the four blades could be re-united then stability might one day return to Arcadia.”

  “It’s a powerful myth.”

  “Myth or not, now that they know where it is, the Sidhe will stop at nothing to reclaim it.”

  “But why didn’t they choose to take it from Cardoza earlier?”

  “They couldn’t be sure that he had it. Plus, Cardoza provided himself with a very useful insurance policy.”

  I took a second to consider that.

  “You’re talking about what was down in the basement. But surely, he would never consider releasing those things. Would he?”

  “Who knows? But it was enough of a threat to make our friend Salazar think twice.”

  I didn’t like the way that this was going. I wanted to be rid of the blade there and then. I wanted to get back to a normal life, with Silas. Then something occurred to me.

  “This other blade. The healing one? Could that be used on Silas? I mean …”

  “I can’t answer that. To my mind, Lillhalven might be more apposite. Which one is more real: the wolf or the man? Is the wolf some kind of suppressed memory or is it more akin to a mental illness? Who knows?”

  Even though he was trying to discourage me, my whole spirit lifted just at the mention of a possible ‘cure.’

  Macrory indicated for me not to get too excited. “I have given you hope where there might be none, which is why I didn’t say anything before. But for this to have even a chance of happening, you’d have to travel to Arcadia. Then you’d have to persuade the queen that treating Silas was in her best interests.”

  “But if I took Sigurdsil?”

  “You’d be seen as a thief. You might as well paint a target on your back.”

  “At least they’d take me seriously. The queen would be forced to listen.”

  Macrory was shaking her head. “No one forces the queen to do anything. The only reason that you’re still alive is that you’re outside her jurisdiction. Once you set foot in Arcadia, she’ll have already won. Trust me on this.”

  There came a knock at the door and an orderly bundled in.

  “Can you just give us a second,” I snapped.

  He pulled a face but then went back out into the corridor, pulling the door shut.

  I said, “There must be a reason you’ve told me all this. Raised my hopes.”

  “I wanted to make you aware,” he pointed at the pouch. “You have something of great importance here. Treat it with the respect it deserves. Don’t just give it away on a whim. This opportunity won’t present itself again.”

  I pushed myself away from the radiator.

  “I’d better be going.”

  I wanted to give him a hug but I was wary of disturbing his dressings. Instead, I stroked his arm.

  “Be careful,” he said. “The Sidhe are not to be trusted. Tricksters and con-artists, the lot of them. Whatever they offer you, there’s always a price to pay.”

  *

  Millie parked the car and switched off the engine.

  We were in the car park of a Holiday Inn. Edwin had convinced us not to return home by offering to pay for our accommodation. He’d booked a double for me and Millie and a single for himself.

  When he went to go and check-in, neither of us moved

  It was two o’clock in the morning and we were exhausted. She was in the driver’s seat and I was beside her. We sat and listened to the sounds of the car cooling.

  “What do we do now?” I said. I’d relayed what Macrory had said on the drive over.

  Millie said, “We should perhaps try and get a good night’s sleep. Think about it tomorrow.”

  Normally, I would have agreed with her, but not tonight. I had too many ideas spinning around my head and needed to talk them through.

  “Look, I just don’t know what to do for the best. I had no idea how significant this bloody knife thing was or I would never have agreed to go along with it.”

  Millie rolled her head along the head-rest to look at me. “Well, you can’t keep it, that’s for sure. It’s too dangerous. I can’t understand why you can’t just give it to this Salazar bloke. I think I missed that bit. Isn’t he the one who’s got Silas, after all?”

  “That’s the problem. If he hadn’t taken Silas then I’d be more likely to trust him. Now I don’t trust him at all.”

  “But what’s going to happen to Silas if Salazar doesn’t get the knife?”

  I pulled a face that made all the tendons in my neck stand out. “Aargh! I don’t know! But if I just give them the knife then – at best - we’re no better off. I still think that we could use the knife to get Silas changed back. I’m not sure how that would work but I do think that the queen has the power and I want to be sure that I tried everything.”

  “You really love him, don’t you?”

  “Oh, Millie. It’s so hard. I don’t know what to do for the best.”

  As I slumped forward, Millie wrapped her arms around me. She started to rub away the tension in my neck.

  “Oh, more of that please!”

  It felt so good just to have somebody touch me. We stayed like that for a while as she gave me a mini-massage.

  When she’d finished, I sat back in my chair.

  “So?” she said. “The blood must be rushing back to your brain now. What’s the plan?”

  “Well, I can’t take this to the C
ouncil.”

  Millie nodded. “Because of your mother?”

  “That’s right. She’s the last one I’d trust with this. She’d use it against the Sidhe and no mistake.”

  Millie took the key out of the ignition and pointed it at me.

  “Okay. We’ve worked out who we don’t trust. Is there anyone we do trust? What about that bloke O’Hagen? You liked him, didn’t you?”

  “I like him but I don’t trust him. He has his own loyalties.”

  “But he’s the one backing Macmillan. Which means he’s working against your mother. Doesn’t that mean something?”

  “I’m not sure. His loyalties are to the Inner Council. If she got elected leader he’d end up supporting her eventually. He’s a real political animal, at the end of the day. You just can’t trust them.”

  “Well, that’s it then. You don’t trust anybody.”

  I squeezed her wrist in the dark. “I trust you. And Kinsella. And my dad. But that’s about it.”

  Edwin appeared at the door of the hotel and gesticulated for us to come in.

  “And Macmillan,” I said. “You know, I think I might just trust him.”

  “But he’s just another politician, surely. You just said you hated politicians.”

  “Normally, I do but Macmillan knows his stuff as far as the Sidhe are concerned.”

  Millie unclipped her seat-belt and pushed open the door.

  “Well, that’s settled then. First thing tomorrow we need to get you to his office.”

  *

  We took the Tube to Temple Underground arriving at Middle Temple Lane for 7am. Edwin sometimes worked in the same building as Macmillan and he told us that the professor liked to arrive at least an hour early before attending to his appointments. We hoped to catch him before he left for the declaration of the vote at The Globe. Technically, his presence wouldn’t be required until later in the day when the results of the election would be announced, probably around 4pm, but Edwin figured that Macmillan wouldn’t be able to stay away for that long. Natural curiosity would invariably draw him south of the river.

  The Inns of Court School of Magic is a funny place. It’s the location from which the Inner Council operates and the majority of council members have offices there. It has a monopoly on granting qualifications for practitioners from all over the world; it’s where I still hope to get my obligatory pupillage qualification from if I ever do become a fully licensed practitioner. Originally, the school was based around the Ptolemy, the magical library which transferred to its current site in the 1940s. Today, apart from its offices, the school provides lecture spaces for the teaching of all aspects of magical theory. It’s widely recognised as the foremost educational facility anywhere in the world.

  The school is incredibly rich and generates a huge amount of revenue. It offers various grants for fellows to study new areas of magic. Out of this comes the annual Prestige prize, which is the equivalent of the Nobel Prize of the magical world. Macmillan had won the prize himself some years earlier.

  Working out how we were going to get in to see him was not going to be easy.

  But our current problem was of a more practical nature: we were having a terrible time actually finding the building.

  We were in the heart of the city but you’d struggle to realise it from the wide lawns and cobbled walkways. The area was also closed to traffic so the place had a stillness about it which you don’t normally associate with city living. Add to that, the glorious early morning sunshine and you could be forgiven for thinking you were out in the wilds of the country. We’d been walking eastwards for twenty minutes but the town houses that we passed looked strangely familiar, as though we’d been walking in a circle all this time. But that was frankly impossible.

  “Leave it to me,” Millie said and strolled across to a man who appeared to be hurrying to work.

  The man tapped his bowler in acknowledgement as she approached then stopped to listen to her. They stood like that for some time, the man nodding every now and then. There was something odd about his attire. Though very smart, his clothes appeared oddly dated as though he’d just stepped out of a photograph of London in the 1950s. Finally, he straightened, smiled and waved me over. I don’t know what she’d said to him but it seemed to have done the trick.

  “I’m not supposed to be encouraging casual visitors, you know. But, seeing as you’re part of the professor’s team, I think we can make an exception just this once.”

  He led us down a winding cobbled path, which I could swear hadn’t been there a few seconds before, and out through a gateway. We found ourselves in a courtyard at the rear of a large building. There was an ancient wall over to our right.

  “This used to be the wall of the refectory where the original Advocates lived. No women in those days of course.”

  I looked at the wall. It seemed to be constructed of thin tiles rather than bricks. Even though it had been carefully maintained it still looked fairly rickety, as though a good storm might blow it over.

  “And this wall is the only protection the school has?” I said recognising the significance. “Couldn’t someone just climb over it?”

  “Many have tried,” he grinned. “All come to regret it.”

  We kept on walking for a few minutes past a line of old buildings from which issued a cacophony of strange noises.

  “These are the testing sheds. You don’t want to go in there unannounced. They reckon more magic has been discovered in this small area than in the rest of the world put together. Anyway, this is as far as I go. Have a pleasant day.”

  Millie and I just looked at one another. We were standing in a little cul-de-sac, facing a brick wall. When we turned back to address our guide, we were just in time to see him disappearing around a corner.

  “He’s abandoned us,” Millie sounded aggrieved.

  “Do you think this is one of those tricks they play on newcomers? You know, like go and get me a tin of tartan paint?”

  “What are you talking about, Bronte?”

  “Like, an initiation ceremony. The first time you visit.”

  “Good morning.”

  A man in his sixties came past wearing a tweed suit and sandals. We were both taken by surprise so that it took us a second before we thought to wish him ‘good morning’ in return. He seemed to have come from the direction of the brick wall itself.

  “I’m sorry,” I called after him. “But did you just…”

  He held up a cheery hand as he carried on his way. “Don’t look – leap!”

  I turned to Millie but she was already walking towards the wall. I moved to catch up with her. She stopped when she was a metre away and slowly inclined her head first to one side and then to the other.

  “I think I can see it.”

  I stood behind her and tried to line my head up with hers. All I could see was a brick wall.

  “I can’t see anything,” I said.

  “Don’t focus on the bricks. Try and look through the mortar. There are cracks just there.”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about but I tipped my head to one side just to humour her.

  “Did you see that?” she turned to me, clapping her hands. “There’s something on the other side.”

  I tried to look again, without much success. But then Millie did an odd thing.

  She bent her arm at a strange angle and sort of eased her fingers ‘behind’ one of the bricks. Next, her whole arm slid in, disappearing up to the elbow. She laughed in delight.

  “It’s like there are two walls, not one. I reckon I could get my head through there.”

  I reached out and touched the bricks, eventually running my hand across the face of the wall. It felt completely solid. I was at a loss as to what I should make of it.

  Millie had no such reservations. Without another thought, she raised her right foot and pushed it into the wall. Then she stepped in up to her hip and lifted her back leg completely off the ground.

  “Millie don’t!�
�

  But I was too late. She pushed her head inside and slowly started to disappear. It looked as though she were hiding behind a half completed wall. And then she was gone.

  “Millie! Millie!” I pressed my hands against the brickwork but it stood firm. I checked it again, looking for any crevasses, cracks or hidey holes. There were none. The wall was complete and absolutely whole. There was no way that Millie could have done what she’d just done. And yet, she had.

  I was relieved, a few seconds later, when her hand reappeared. I grabbed hold of it and made to pull but she resisted.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “This is the way in. Close your eyes and lift your foot.”

  Hesitantly, I did as I was told.

  “Okay, can you feel that little ledge?”

  “Oh! Yes, I sort of can.”

  “Right. Just step onto that.”

  As I transferred my weight, Millie yanked me forward and I opened my eyes. It appeared as though I was somehow inside the wall, but then I was through it. I found myself standing at the top of a flight of steps. Behind me was a plain brick wall.

  We edged down the steps and then turned to our right. The Inns of Court School of Magic stood directly in front of us.

  There were signs that it had been raining here, not long ago. Raindrops dripped from the trees and the flagstones were slick with the wet. And yet there had been no sign of rain where we had just come from. Quite the reverse in fact. I checked that the watery sun that was starting to break through the clouds was actually real.

  Millie ran out across the square. “This is fun, Bronte. I’m glad we came.”

  *

  We passed a group of Advocates as we approached the main entrance. There were seven or eight of them. They didn’t so much as look in our direction but I felt a sense of foreboding just being so close to them.

  Kinsella calls them, ‘Over-weaning zealots.’ I wondered if any of them had been tasked with guarding him now. It was the sort of thing they were good at.

  Most advocates are simply frustrated practitioners. It’s a lazy jibe but there is some truth in it. They are siphoned off as teenagers when it becomes clear that they lack the skills to prosper at a university of magic. Their actual magical ability is usually fairly limited although that isn’t always the case; Nyatrix the Great was an Advocate who went on to make several breakthroughs in the area of magical study.