The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1)

by Jocelyn Fox

  A hideous black claw gouged the tree trunk above my head, gripping the branch just above me and ripping it away. The creature screamed in triumph, setting off ringing in my ears. Every hair on my body stood straight up, alerted to the vicious danger just above me. I swung down to the next branch, and then—nothing. I hadn’t climbed the same route that I had taken on the way to my refuge. I took a hitching breath—I couldn’t see the distance to the ground—but then the claws reached for me and I slid off the branch into the open air.

  I fell long enough for a stream of curses to course through my mind, lightning-fast, and then I hit the ground. I hit feet-first and then tried to roll; my sword got caught in my legs and I ended up in an undignified tangle of limbs, breathless with pain. But I scrambled to my feet as the creature screamed, and I ran. One of my ankles tried to give out, a little starburst of pain radiating from the tender tendons, but I shook my head and ran, panting from the climb down the tree and the terror of that black misshapen creature. The thought of its claws digging into my arm, ripping off one of my legs just as it had demolished the oak tree, galvanized me, pushing me to run faster.

  I ran until my legs began to shake and a knife-stabbing side-stitch split my side. I must have cut a deeper angle into the forest then I’d thought—or Kaleth had covered more ground than I had estimated, because the forest head was still thick with trees. I strained my eyes in the darkness, and still couldn’t catch a glimpse of any open ground, much less the path.

  “Well, trees are out,” I muttered to myself, trying to catch my breath. Just for my own comfort, I took out my dagger. As I walked, the throbbing in my ankle receded to a dull ache, and I started to worry about the numbness on the side of my face. When I reached up to touch the cut—I knew it had to be a cut, since it was wood that had hit me—my hand started to shake and I changed my mind. I would take care of it in the morning, or when I was out of the forest, whichever came first. Never mind that crimson stained the collar of my shirt, and I could still feel it dripping down my chin. I blinked a few times and covered my right eye with my hand, breathing a sigh of relief when I ascertained that my left eye was unharmed and fully functional.

  The shriek of the winged creature sliced through the night again, from back in the direction of the barracks. A garrelnost howled in answer, and then the creatures raised such a chaotic chorus of terrifying sounds that I shivered, even far away. I walked a little faster, gripping my dagger tightly, its silver glimmer my only reassurance against the unknown darkness.

  I stopped to rest, shivering. I leaned against the trunk of a tree, closing my eyes, feeling the slide of blood down my face. I wanted so badly to sit down and just…rest, for a while. Lying down sounded even better. The sounds of Malravenar’s misshapen creatures were far enough away to fade into the background. I felt myself sliding down the trunk of the tree until I was sitting. My feet ached. My ankle throbbed. I still couldn’t feel my face.

  “Tess,” said Gwyneth.

  I knew it was her, before I opened my eyes. There was something in her voice that reminded me of the way my mother’s voice had sounded in early childhood memories, before my father died.

  “Yes?” I murmured.

  “Go to sleep,” Gwyneth told me. “And come Walk with me.”

  Some small part of me remembered the garrelnosts, the terrible winged creature, and the shadow-servants that were all roaming the woods. I resisted sleep, despite its enticing call.

  “Trust me,” Gwyneth said.

  “All right,” I whispered, and I let go of the waking world.

  My well of taebramh was no longer covered with the impermeable film of fear, but it was still difficult to draw a thread out of it. I siphoned off enough to propel myself out of my sleeping body. The pain faded as I stood up out of myself. I held out one arm: my spectral form glowed faintly, looking convincingly solid in the darkness. I began to turn, to look at my solid self.

  “I do not think that would be a particularly wise decision,” Gwyneth said.

  I looked forward with a jolt, realizing that Gwyneth herself—or at least, her Walking form—stood an arm’s reach away from me. She was wearing dark close-fitting breeches and a white shirt, just as she had been wearing when the pendant had shown her to me. The same silver glittered at her wrists and throat and ears, intricately wrought charms hanging from fine silver chains. With a spark of surprise, I saw that she wore my pendant at her throat—except a miniature sword glowed in the center of her pendant, pulsing with the blue fire I had seen flowing down her blade in my vision.

  “Is it that bad?” I asked, motioning back toward my body.

  “It is not pleasant,” she replied, “and you have not been in battle yet, young one. You have not seen the suffering and the blood.” Her words lilted, heavily accented with an Irish brogue. Then she stepped forward and embraced me, feeling very solid and very real. When she drew back, she put one hand on either side of my face. She was a bit taller than me, but not by much; her gaze was level with mine. I could see a bit of myself in her face—not in the fierce otherworldly beauty, but simple things, like the curve of her nose and her dark eyebrows. She wore her thick golden hair in an intricate braid, pinned like a crown about her head. “It is good to see you, daughter of my heart,” she said.

  “I don’t understand. How are you here?” I asked softly. “I thought you were…”

  She tilted her head, a spark of mischief entering her wise eyes. “You do not believe in ghosts, Tess?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it all that much. But I suppose it’s not a stretch, considering everything I’ve been through in the past couple of months.”

  Gwyneth smiled. “I knew the blood would come to the right one.” She opened her belt-pouch and took out four polished dark stones. “Wait for just a moment.”

  Without directly looking at myself, although I did get the brief impression of slick blood and a hideous gash on the side of my face, I watched Gwyneth as she placed the stones upon the ground in a deliberate, precise pattern. One stone represented each point of the compass, forming a diamond around the tree and my unconscious form. She spoke a soft rippling word under her breath, and the stones glowed briefly with blue light. After a moment, the blue light faded, leaving the stones gleaming softly in the slight moonlight.

  “There,” Gwyneth said in satisfaction. She turned back to me and scowled when she saw me watching. “Didn’t I tell you not to look, my galya?”

  “I didn’t look at myself. I wanted to see…what you were doing,” I finished lamely.

  “You could have asked,” Gwyneth said with the tone of a mother in her voice. “And I would have gladly explained. A spell-stone at each point of the compass, and a touch of the fire, will keep out most dark beings. Your body will be safe, while we Walk.”

  “Shouldn’t I be getting to the river-tree as fast as I can?” I protested as Gwyneth took my arm and guided me away from my body.

  “If you are to be the Bearer,” my ancestress replied, “you must first understand that you do no one any good at all if you don’t take care of yourself.” She held up a finger against my reply. “No. It is not an opinion, or an arguing point, my galya. You must make sure you are strong enough to wield the Sword. Only in dire need do you go into battle less than full strength.”

  “It seems like dire need back at the barracks, or it will be when Malravenar attacks,” I pointed out as we glided through the forest.

  Gwyneth’s silence and the chorus of horrible cries rising from the forest in the direction of the barracks told me all I needed to know. My blood ran cold as I thought of Ramel, Emery, Donovan....and even those I knew only for fleeting moments, like Eamon and the guard who had lent me his whetting-stone, Moryn.

  “I need to help them,” I said desperately. “They’re trapped in the iron circle, and they’re surrounded.”r />
  “They are Sidhe fighters,” replied Gwyneth crisply, “and they will be able to handle themselves for a good while without your help.”

  I noticed that Gwyneth was wearing the sheath of the Iron Sword on her back, the battered black leather sheath completely incongruous with the buzz of pure power emanating from the sword within it. We came to a small clearing in the forest and Gwyneth stopped. She turned to me.

  “Tess,” she said, “this night is a turning point. There are certain days, certain hours, that define past and present and future. This day, and the coming hours, will define the future of Faeortalam.” She took my hands and pressed them between her own. I felt the sword-calluses on her palms, rough against my own skin. “And, daughter of my heart, you stand at this crossroads. The path you choose will determine whether Faeortalam falls under shadow, and our own world slowly loses its dreams and its beauty.”

  A heavy stillness settled over me as I listened. I nodded and waited for her to continue.

  “I am able to speak to you here because you are the daughter of my soul—my blood runs as strong in you as it did in my own daughter, in the child of my flesh.” Her vivid green eyes bored into me. “And you stand here, at the edge of the cliff, at the crucial hour.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t see what choice I have, Gwyneth.”

  She smiled slightly. “I know why you say that. But there is always a choice, Tess.” Gently letting go of my hands, she stepped back and in one smooth entrancing motion she reached over her shoulder and drew the Iron Sword from its sheath.

  The Sword looked like any other blade, its hilt wrapped in worn black leather, an emerald in the pommel. But a wave of power swept out from the weapon as Gwyneth drew it out of its sheath, knocking me breathless. A fierce hot longing consumed me, burning in every ounce of my being as I stared at the Sword. I realized I had taken an involuntary step toward it, as though I had been tugged closer by an invisible wire.

  “It calls to you,” Gwyneth said softly. “But it is your choice to heed the calling. You may choose to go back, and let this burden pass from you.”

  “Go back? To where?” I stared at her.

  “To your home. To your brother, and your mother, and the mortal world.”

  I blinked, stunned. “That’s not possible. I would need to go through one of the Gates.”

  “The Gates are only one way to travel between the worlds, Tess,” Gwyneth replied. “The Ancient charged me to lay this choice before you.” She looked away, and my eyes were drawn to her face, despite the siren-call of the ghostly Iron Sword. “The Sword is a great burden, Tess. Being Bearer is an honor unmatched by any other, but it carries a price of pain and suffering, and perhaps even death.”

  I could see the heaviness in her green eyes, and I wondered what Gwyneth had suffered while she bore the Sword. The gravity of her statement frightened me. But I took a breath and shook my head. “I won’t walk away just because I might suffer, Gwyneth. I can’t turn my back on Ramel, and Molly, and Finnead.”

  Gwyneth nodded. “Loyalty has always run strong in our line.” She smiled slightly. “I did not expect you to choose differently, but some small part of me wished to spare you the trials of bearing the Sword.” She lifted the Sword and launched into a series of lightning-fast strokes, making the blade sing through the air. With each pass, a ripple of power hit me, as though the Sword was creating waves in water. Gwyneth stopped, just as suddenly as she had sprung into motion. “The second lesson of being Bearer,” she said in her thick accent, “is that the idea of the Sword is often enough to suit your purpose. Only an enemy strong enough to counter the power of the Sword—and there are not many—or an enemy stupid enough to underestimate the Bearer will come against you, once it is known you wield the Blade of Greatest Power.”

  I shivered as Gwyneth gave the Sword a name I had never heard, impressing its importance into my mind. “How is it that you have it now?” I asked curiously, the question popping into my mind suddenly.

  “The story of its loss is not yours to hear, nor exactly mine to tell,” Gwyneth replied enigmatically. “But suffice it to say that I am coming to you from a time in which I am still Bearer. It is my curse and my blessing to know my future. It is a blessing especially to come to you, though, my young galya.” She smiled. “It makes my spirit glad to gaze upon your face, and help you in what little way I can.”

  I pulled the pendant out from beneath my shirt. “You’ve already helped me so much, just with this.”

  “Ah, I am glad it came to you. I think the Ancient had a hand in the Sidhe who found it,” she said contemplatively. “And that is older than I, as well, so treat it well.”

  As I tucked the pendant back beneath my shirt-collar, I nodded. Gwyneth swung the spectral Sword up, resting the blade on her flattened left palm, holding the blade parallel to the ground.

  “Now for your anointing, my child,” she said, and blue fire flowed down the blade. “Place your hands upon the blade.”

  I stepped closer. The raw power vibrating through the air made my teeth hurt. I wondered in amazement what the real Sword would feel like, if this was a dream-form from hundreds of years ago. I held my hands out and hesitated; then I steeled myself and plunged them into the blue fire, touching the blade above Gwyneth’s grip. The blue fire—Gwyneth’s taebramh, I knew suddenly—flowed up my arms and into my chest, mixing with my own white fire, forming a silvery sheen that flared up through my throat, bursting out my mouth like a plume of fire. I was breathless, suspended in the moment. It didn’t hurt, this new fire, but it was more intense than just my own, and the Sword beneath my hands ignited that fierce longing, planting a seed of want so intense that it throbbed with every beat of my heart.

  “Blood of my blood, soul of my soul, I seal you to the Blade of Fire, to the Great Weapon forged in the fire of a star at the birth of the world. I marry you to the Blade of Greatest Power, a mortal shield-maiden of the Ancient,” Gwyneth intoned, her voice becoming many-toned, imbued with a power far greater than her own. She spoke in a different language, an ancient language, yet I understood every word, as if the meaning had been written into my heart. “Walk with the blessing of all Powers, heeding the will of the Ancient. Go with love, and carry always peace in your heart.”

  With every word she spoke, the silver fire within me expanded, until my bones ached with the power of it. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move—but I had no desire to pull away. It felt perfectly right, perfectly painful. After her last words, the power left Gwyneth’s voice, and the blue fire gradually faded. I gasped as the fire within me receded, releasing its grip enough for me to draw in breath.

  “Ancient willing, you shall pass on the Sword to the next Bearer in the flesh,” Gwyneth said, smiling gently at me. She looked down at our hands, clasped on either side of the blade. “Now, daughter of my heart, it is time for you to awaken. Come.” She sheathed the Sword. It no longer reached out to me with its siren-call; instead, I looked at the sheath and knew deep within myself that the Sword was mine to wield.

  “I wish I could teach you more,” Gwyneth said as we traveled back toward we had left my body. “But my time runs short. Even with the blessing of the Ancient, a Walk across four centuries is tiring.”

  “I can believe that,” I said.

  “The spell-stones will not have healed you,” continued the priestess as neared the tree against which my physical body rested. “But the flow of blood should be staunched, and you will find some strength from your short rest.”

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully.

  “It is the least I can do.” The slight glow about Gwyneth’s form was fading, and she picked up her pace, striding quickly through the pitch-dark forest with sure steps. “Quickly, now. Remember, the idea of the Sword is often weapon enough. And bend it to your will—sometimes it needs a firm hand, but you are its mistress, no matte
r how new.”

  We reached my sleeping body. Gwyneth embraced me fiercely. She felt less solid, and her voice was soft as she said into my ear, “Go with love, Tess, and remember who you are.”

  Gwyneth stepped back and called up a small blue spark, blowing it like a kiss toward me. It flew like a firefly and settled on the tip of my nose. Gwyneth smiled at me, her image wavering, and then I opened my eyes. She was gone, and my body was heavy.

  I blinked a few times and groaned, trying to reconcile myself to the feel of my unwieldy physical body. My head hurt, but I wasn’t exhausted anymore. I stood stiffly, and noticed the spell-stones gleaming in the slight light of the moon. I picked up all four, walking in a slow circle around the tree, and examined them in my cupped hands. They radiated a slight warmth, and I slipped them into my pocket, pointing my feet in the direction of the river-tree.

  Chapter 31

  Though Gwyneth’s spell had opened some small reserve of strength within me, I found my legs heavy as I tried to find the path, cutting back toward where I thought it to be. Swelling on my left cheekbone began to force my eye shut, rendering me even more sightless in the dark of the night. For half a moment, I considered creating a small torch, lighting it with my taebramh; but I knew it would be a beacon for creatures like the monstrous winged beast that had torn through the oak tree, snapping branches as thick as my waist like twigs. The left side of my face felt heavy. I still couldn’t muster the courage to touch the wound. The idea of it made me feel sick, so I pushed thoughts of my injury to the back of my mind. Never mind the sticky, congealed blood crusting my cheek and chin; never mind the fact that hideously swollen flesh pushed my eye half-closed.

  I slipped one hand into my pocket, feeling the smoothness of the spell-stones, still radiating warmth even after Gwyneth had departed. Distantly, back in the direction of the barracks, I heard faint clashing and ringing—blade upon blade, battle cries and shrieks from the creatures. The knowledge that Malravenar’s forces had attacked spurred me to walk faster, even though I stumbled over unseen roots and once fell, skinning my hands as I broke my fall.