Another river or an ocean or wherever those things go.”
“A water treatment plant, perhaps?” Freya suggested hopefully. “Isn’t that where all sewers go?”
“The soul box won’t be in a water treatment plant,” Daniel said. “It’s more likely to be somewhere away from anyone who could just stumble upon it. I think it’s this way-against the flow.”
“But we’ve been following the water all this time-it’s what Ealdstan told us to do. Why abandon that now?”
The knights exchanged a look. Freya saw that a decision was made between them without even speaking.
“We must divide our party,” Swi?gar announced. “One of us will go with one of you.”
“What?” blurted Freya. “But that’s the worst thing that we could do!”
“We are close-too close to go slowly. If we went the wrong way, our blunder could alert those guarding the heart and we would have lost the element of surprise that we desperately need for this to work.”
“But we only got this far because we all stayed together! Would we have gotten past the gnomes and the Faerie if it were just two of us? What if there’s an even bigger test coming up?”
“We’d either of us be able to handle it,” Daniel said. “So long as we have the element of surprise.”
Freya scowled. “If something happened, then the other two would be too far away to help. We could lose everything.”
Swi?gar looked at her with an immovable expression.
“What if there are more splits? Is each of us going to end up going alone?”
Swi?gar shrugged. “It may come to that.”
“It’s stupid.”
“It is what we are doing.”
They decided that Ecgbryt would go with Freya, and Swi?gar with Daniel. They divided the provisions in their now very light packs and prepared to separate. Freya had a sad, reluctant look on her face, contradicted by Daniel’s confident expression.
“We’ll meet again,” Daniel said, sticking out his hand.
Freya hugged him. “Be careful,” she said.
They parted and, without backwards glances, went their separate ways.
5
Daniel and Ecgbryt walked down the tunnel, along with the flow of the sewer water. The walkway they were on took several sharp turns and sometimes the stream they followed moved fast, other times it moved slowly. A few times they passed a couple of deep, square pools of water, but the walkway never branched. They didn’t go up, and didn’t go down, just kept snaking through the darkness.
They had been walking for quite a long time when the section of the walkway they were on collapsed beneath their feet. It felt as if a rug had been pulled from beneath them-there was only the slightest sound of crumbling stone, and then they were falling. Daniel spent a frantic few moments clawing for handholds and kicking his feet against the shifting stone helplessly before they came to a stop.
“Are you hurt, ??eling?” Ecgbryt asked.
“I don’t think so,” Daniel replied. He had lost grip of his lantern, but it was lying quite near him. He checked himself for damages, but beyond the buzz of adrenaline, there was nothing.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
He rolled over to pick himself up. Ecgbryt had already made it to his feet and was looking over the collapsed section of the bank.
Coming to stand next to him, Daniel gazed up at a large scoopedout area where the path they were walking had been, and beneath it, a pile of rubble. It looked pretty impossible to get back up.
“It would seem,” stated Ecgbryt, “that our best course would be to follow the burn with an eye to the path. If it wanders from us, then we will find a way to pursue it. But for now we must ensure our way is fast. I fancy that path fell by design, not by accident, and that our steps are not going unnoticed.”
They gathered themselves quickly and moved on without a word more. They were walking along in the sludge now, so their progress was unsteady at first in the slippery canal but then more sure-the sewage water pulled at their feet, urging them faster and faster onwards.
6
Freya and Swi?gar crept up the tunnel, against the flow of the water.
They walked in silence, alert to their surroundings-trying to be ready for anything unexpected. There was now more evidence of modern handiwork around them. The ledge they were on turned into a metal walkway that bridged the streams beneath them and led them under stone archways and through metal pipes, but their path never diverged from the narrowly railed walkway. Eventually, after about an hour, they allowed themselves to stop and rest.
“What’s it like to be a knight?” Freya asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
“It’s not an easy life,” Swi?gar answered. “There are hardships and uncertainties. At the root of most events in the warrior’s life is death. It is our stock in trade. For payment a merchant will provide goods, a nobleman will provide services for the tribute you give him. A warrior will deliver death.”
“Were you always a knight?”
“Very nearly always. I was young when I entered into the service of my dryhten, my lord. I was just thirteen winters, but I had seen much already. My father was a scribe in Eoferwic, one of the capitals of Britain in my time. A wonderful city. He was a church man-a holy man. At that time, a great heathen army from the Danish lands arrived and settled in the area, promising peace and trade with those who lived there. The greedy men clamored to be the first to trade with them. They stayed there for a week. And when all the goods were sold, the Danesmen produced swords and started attacking the lands to the south.
“They raided Eoferwic, killing many, including our king, forcing the survivors to barter for surrender. The Vikings lived in my city, in the homes of the men they had killed. They piled the dead bodies in the wooden church and set fire to it.” He bowed his head. “My father was one of those in the burning pile of the dead.”
Swi?gar said no more, and after a moment Freya said, “I’m sorry.”
“I had a choice, then,” Swi?gar continued. “I could stay and help rebuild and fortify-perhaps take over my father’s work, as
I had started to apprentice to him-but my heart was filled with anger. So, in despair, I fled south. I came across news that the king of Wessex, ?thelred, and his brother ?lfred were gathering forces to reclaim the land that was taken, and so I sought them out and joined their warband.
“I do not regret the road that I took. It has brought me honour of many kinds, and I believe I have brought honour to my land, my king, and my God with my service. But I have learned that a man cannot be just a soldier if he is to remain a man and not a monster. Destroying evil is never enough-you must also be willing to build good.”
Swi?gar fixed his eyes on the tunnel up ahead. Glancing up, Freya saw a shimmering gleam in his eyes.
“That is my one fear,” Swi?gar stated. “That throughout my life, I have not built sufficient good.”
Swi?gar said no more, only rose and started gathering his things.
Morosely, Freya joined him and they continued their journey.
The path gave a sharp turn along a wide channel that fed into an even larger river, and they were forced to walk away from the main waterway. There didn’t appear to be any other choice. The large tile channel looked fairly unscalable and there was no visible walkway on the other side.
Freya’s unease at this new tack quickly evaporated when she noticed a sparkle in the distance. “Swi?gar,” she whispered, “lower your light for a minute.”
He did so, and she shaded her eyes from the light it still gave.
“I think that there’s a light up ahead. It might be electric.”
“Electric?”
“It’s a sort of . . . light made out of . . . it’s kind of scientific. It’s a light made by machines.”
“I see.”
“Sort of enchanted.”
“Yes.”
They walked on, slowly drawing closer to the dim light. Freya’s gaze was
fixed on it as if it might disappear if she even shifted her eyes. It was a lightbulb-a single, naked, uncovered bulb. Her stomach was tense with what she supposed was anticipation- though it felt more like a giddy dread. Finally, they were standing underneath it and Freya let out a long, ragged sigh-and then found herself gasping in the cold, dank air.
“I can feel it too,” said Swi?gar.
“What?”
“The power in this place. As if all things-the walls, the air, the water-as if they all wanted to hold you down, to pull you back. For whatever reason, these things are trying to keep us away from what lies beyond. Either trying to guard it or perhaps guard us. We will walk carefully from here onwards.”
It may have been Swi?gar’s words, but Freya did feel that her feet moved more reluctantly than before.
That lightbulb was the first of many; they could see more in the distance. They reached the next and found the others closer together, spaced maybe three or four meters apart in a single line above their walkway, that neither swerved nor branched off into other directions. Their presence was staggering to Freya. Not only was this a place where people had come, at least one person had come regularly enough to replace the bulbs when they burnt out. She walked beneath them, counting as she went, finding comfort in their spaced regularity. She sent her gaze farther along, counting the bulbs in the distance, when she saw something that stopped her in her tracks.
Gasping, she took a step back, falling against Swi?gar. “What is it?” he asked.
“I thought I saw someone-a person dressed in white. They just darted across the . . . the walkway up there. But they were so quick, I don’t-I mean, I’m not sure what I saw. They startled me . . .”
“Stay behind me,” Swi?gar said.
They continued more slowly, with Swi?gar cautiously leading a wide-eyed Freya, eventually coming to an intersection. There were two iron walkways that went to the right and to the left.
Both were nearly identical and both led to enormous iron doors.
“I think they’re pressure doors,” Freya said. “If the water gets too high, then they’ll stop it from getting in. You open them by turning the wheel in the middle.”
She stood looking at them critically. “Well,” she decided, “the person I saw was moving from right to left, so I guess we should maybe take that door?” She pointed to the door on their left.
Swi?gar stroked his beard and then nodded. He put his large hands on the wheel in the middle of it and gave it a mighty turn. It gave and opened without a sound, revealing a man standing just inside, holding a large book open in front of him. He was dressed in a heavy cream-coloured robe that was slightly open to show a white robe made of some lighter, more comfortable cloth. He was old, with shoulder-length white hair and sharp features. He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Hello-?” he began, but was cut off by a cry from Swi?gar.
“Devil!” the knight shouted, leveling his spear and pulling his arm back, ready to strike.
“No!” The old man flinched and dropped his book. He leapt to the side just in time to stop being skewered by Swi?gar’s spear, but not far enough to avoid it altogether. It tore into his side, causing him to cry out in agony. He dropped to his knees as Swi?gar brought his spear back again.
“Quick, lifiende,” Swi?gar urged.
“Is it Gad?”
“It is!”
“Are you sure, I mean-”
“I’m certain! Hurry, now, before he can recover-before he can speak-kill him! ”
“What? But that won’t-Daniel has to-”
“He may have done so already; in any case, it’ll keep him down. Hurry now!”
Freya looked down at the old man, blood seeping from his side. “No, I-I don’t think-”
Swi?gar pulled his spear back and lunged for another attack, but it was the worst thing he could have done. He thrust the spear forward just as Gad leapt aside, missing him narrowly. With unbelievable speed, Gad gripped Swi?gar’s spear, bent the top end of it back, snapping it off completely, and-gripping the head by its splintered shaft-thrust it back at the knight with incredible force. It penetrated his mail coat and lodged deep into his chest.
Astounded, winded, and now mortally wounded, Swi?gar made a grab at the frail old man, who ducked and dodged out of his way. Gad then delivered a blow to Swi?gar’s chest, which drove his spearhead farther into him and caused him to fall backwards against the metal door opposite.
Freya cried out and dashed to Swi?gar’s side. Swi?gar moved his lips, trying to speak, but only blood came from his mouth, exploding at first, and then in cascades as he fought for breath.
“What have you done?” Freya said, turning angrily. “What have you done?!”
“Hurry,” Gad said, his hand moving back to his bloodied side. “I must talk to you. You are not out of danger yet.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gad
1
Gad took Freya by the arm and pulled her gently across the doorway. She now found herself standing at the entrance to a large, luxuriously furnished room-completely out of place in a sewer and oddly unreal, like a movie set or a French palace. The room was several storeys high and square, with a multi-tiered floor. The walls were lined with bookcases and electric lights in extravagant sconces. Deep, red-patterned carpets were laid around the room atop white marble floors. Expensive-looking furniture filled the interior-grand armchairs, plush couches, wide tables, and a long desk-all beautifully carved and polished to a shine. There was a grand chandelier overhead, an enormous fireplace in one wall, and even an ancient TV set, the kind that looked like a small cabinet with a screen on it.
“Let go of me,” Freya said, pulling her arm away from Gad.
“I really mean you no harm,” he said, bending down before her. “I must talk to you for a few moments. Do you want to sit down? Are you hungry? Thirsty? I do so want to help.”
“Then help Swi?gar. He’s still alive. He-”
“Believe me,” said Gad, standing up and moving to an armchair, “that no good would come of that. You saw his reaction upon seeing me. Is violence the first response of a reasonable man?”
“But you’re evil . . . ,” Freya said, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
“Yes,” Gad said, sitting. “I assume that’s what they would have told you. That’s just one of the lies of Ni?ergeard. Please, sit down and allow me to explain.”
Cautiously, Freya approached and stood near the chair opposite. She cast a look back at Swi?gar. “Please,” she said, “before it’s too late. Help him!”
“Yes, I will. But first I must see to the wound that he gave me,” Gad told her, indicating the gash at his side. “Come inside, there are things I must talk to you about.”
Reluctantly Freya followed him inside.
“I don’t blame you for your trepidation,” Gad said with a wince. He leaned forward and drew out a wooden box that was underneath the chair. “It’s not your fault, I know. You’ve been told all types of lies about me-lies that left no room for question, lies that you thought could not be challenged.”
“What lies? You control the yfelgopes. You’ve had Ni?ergeard surrounded for decades. I was there the last time you attacked. I was almost killed.”
Gad brought the box up onto his lamp and opened it. It contained bandages and bottles. He shook his head. “Lies spun with the threads of truth are always the hardest to disbelieve. Yes, I control the yfelgopes, and with them I’ve surrounded and attacked Ni?ergeard-several times now, in fact. But why have I done so? For what purpose? Can you tell me? Do you know?”
“Because you’re ev-”
“No!” Gad snapped, thumping the box with his palm. “The exact, specific reason! No one is simply ‘good’ or ‘evil’ entirely. You can’t tell me, can you? You have no idea!” Gad spat these words angrily, his face turning red. He jerked forward in his chair, causing Freya to flinch. “Stupid girl!” he spat at her.
Freya clutched the back of the chair, wanting
to run but now afraid to. Gradually, however, Gad leaned back into his chair and placed a hand over his eyes.
“Forgive my temper,” he said. “I have been unjustly imprisoned by Ealdstan for hundreds of years and I have forgotten my manners. It is unfair to you, I know, and I apologise.”
He turned his attention back to the box and withdrew some sheets of sterile cotton and a bottle. He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off his shoulders, then set about cleaning the wound.
“Yes, I’ve raised an army and intend to crush Ni?ergeard, but there is more than one reason that a man may revolt against the established order. They told you I was an oppressor, but under what circumstances would they tell you anything else? Authoritarian regimes need scapegoats to blame for their own mistakes. You’ve been there, you’ve seen what kind of place it is. The people are wasted, lifeless, spiritless. They want to die, but they keep hanging on. And whose fault is it? Not theirs, for the choices they’ve made. Not Ealdstan’s for deceiving them. No, it’s mine-the evil wizard’s. Yes, they told you I was an oppressor, but what if I’m a freedom fighter? A revolutionary?”
Gad, satisfied that his cut was clean, rubbed some balm onto another sheet of cotton and removed a roll of bandages from the box. “Ni?ergeard is a hostile occupying force in this land, a malignant dictatorship. They want to control us, make us live in the past with them, give up our identities, our hopes and dreams-make us something less than human. Deny us of our basic humanity, our chance to be glorious.”
“I know what you’re try-” Freya began, but was cut off again.
“Would you help me with this?” he asked. “Could you hold this bandage, just behind the shoulder here? It’s rather hard to reach . . .”
Freya cautiously rose and helped Gad bandage himself.
“Let me ask you a question. Was it your idea to come here? To go on some sort of mysterious quest underneath the surface of the earth?”
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