by Chris Ward
And then the water reached the rim and immediately began to spill over sucking Sylvion and Rayven toward an even more turbulent oblivion, cast down the side of the Horn of Svalbard and crushed to pieces in the tumult. Sylvion thrust the Shadow Blade into its sheath… the light snapped off and she grabbed Rayven and swam with her toward the edge of the rim. By some amazing fate, just as they were about to be swept over and down Sylvion found herself tossed against the rim of the crater just where Reigin and Rema and Gravyn still stood in a fog.
‘Help’! she called. ‘Rema, Reigin, help me,’ and her voice seemed to penetrate their stupefaction and suddenly they were released and in a moment the two frozen women were hauled onto dry ground by strong and willing hands. Rayven lay shaking, unable to stand. Sylvion however was driven by a deep fear that Zydor would recover and all would be lost. She had no idea what his power might allow, but she knew it would be terrible in full flight. She forced herself up and gave orders to the others.
‘Rema, Gravyn, the guards. You must defend us.’ And then she drew the Shadow Blade once more and held it up, but she found herself unable to wield it. The cold and the ordeal had taken away what she needed, the heat of the anger she bore toward all evil. She fought for it, and as she stood there in her own personal nightmare of anxiety, Rema and Gravyn began to slay the guards, for they had turned and saw them immediately as enemy, without any command from Zydor who was still struggling to clear his mind and make his body work, for he had looked at the Blade and seen its light all the way till it reached him. He stood trapped upon the stone platform of sacrifice which was now surrounded by a mighty torrent of black cold water. It poured out and down, sweeping away all the chanting worshipers of Ungarit in a moment. It began to fill the half circle fort and made mighty waterspouts through every gateway and opening, but such was the sheer volume of water rising up the shaft that it quickly filled the whole structure from behind and so as the two archers began to fell the guards, each arrow finding a deadly mark, they only had the chance to slay a few. The fort suddenly collapsed, unable to hold back the weight of such an overflow, and with a mighty roar the torrent of water, and stone, and tangled broken bodies crashed down the side of the Horn of Svalbard sweeping all before it.
And still it came. A mighty flood, and nothing could stand against it.
Rema realised that all opposition had vanished in that single collapse. All the guards had been swept away down the mountain without so much as a scream. Or at least he heard nothing above the roar of the flood. He turned then to Zydor who stood alone on his stony island struggling to recover from the affects of the Shadow Blade. Never before had he loosed arrows as fast as he did then. Three without a breath between, and each flew true. At fifty paces he could not miss; and he didn’t. Each arrow struck Zydor in the chest and to Rema’s horror, turned instantly to ash. The hits upon the sorcerer seemed only to aid his recovery for he shook his ugly head and he saw them all for the first time. He laughed then... the laugh of a creature full of arrogant pride, but one who was not sure of what might come to pass, a man who needed to give a show of what would seem to be supreme power and confidence and yet was fragile beneath.
‘Fools,’ he roared, ‘you think you can come to my realm and slay me with mere arrows. You think I am just flesh and blood. You are mistaken.’ And then he walked about upon the stony platform and seemed to be invoking his Lord Ungarit, but what he said came but faintly to them for the roaring of the flood was mighty indeed. Reigin stood quietly waiting, knowing that he could do nothing, but he watched Zydor like the true Edenwhood warrior he was. Gravyn showed no fear but also waited; his bow with an arrow upon the string. Rema also readied his bow but knew that Zydor was not for the slaying with anything he could send across the cold black racing waters. Sylvion rested her blade point first upon the ground and stood glaring across the roaring torrent between her and the one she had sworn to slay, frustrated that she could not wield her blade when most she needed it.
I have saved Rayven she thought angrily, now only this monster remains. I must do this. I must. ‘El-Arathor,’ she whispered into the night, ‘wherever you are I need you now...’
And at the mention of this name she felt her power return, and her body warmed and once more her great loathing of all that Zydor had done wrapped about her and flowed down her arms and into her hands so that the Shadow Blade tingled gently in her grasp, and as she held it up once more there was a great burst of light which enveloped all in Svalbard with its power. Sylvion directed the power of it directly at Zydor, but he was ready. He was terrified of the Shadow Blade but he had much with which to hold it back. He reacted in an instant and although he was slowed, some sorcery from deep within flowed from his hands and shielded his body so that whilst he was almost frozen like a statue, there was a strange balance between the forces which the two willed at the other. For half a span it remained this way, with neither being willing to break off for fear of what the other might do unopposed. And then they tired. Sylvion felt her strength diminish and Zydor too knew he was not able to defend himself much longer.
Suddenly Sylvion lowered her sword and as she did the light cracked and danced and then vanished into the blade. She stood breathing hard as Zydor once more regained his evil composure. Both knew then that they could not slay the other. Not in this way.
‘The light alone is not enough,’ she said quietly to the others as they too shook their heads and tried to understand what they had witnessed in a fog. ‘Only the blade upon his body, will cut him down. Only that will slay him.’ And they all looked at the roaring flood and knew it was impossible. Nothing could cross that mighty torrent. And then Zydor laughed and called scornfully across the waters.
‘And now you die...all of you,’ and with a sudden gesture he seemed to cast some enchantment at them. They saw a evil fleeting shadow and a spectre of death explode across the water and enfold them. They shook from the force of it and felt cold to their core but it passed, and Zydor screamed in frustration and angrily tried over and over but with no greater result except that he too became exhausted and finally stood breathing hard and reduced to muttering incoherently.
‘The Shadow Blade protects us,’ Sylvion whispered. ‘What he does should slay us instantly, but we are protected by the Blade.’ And then Zydor called to them again.
‘You cannot slay me woman and I cannot harm you for your evil blade gives protection.’ He screamed then in great frustration, before crying out... ‘But still you lose, for even if this flood takes me I will rise again...you know it Sylvion Greyfeld. Zelfos rose and so will I. I cannot die.’
And as Sylvion thought hard upon what next she might try, Zydor clapped his hands and seemed to have some idea which had escaped him.
‘You are not safe. I will slay you slowly,’ he screamed out and suddenly with a cry he gestured again and muttered words and incantations which they only heard most faintly, but they were startled to see a strange wave of eerie light flow from his finger and cross the water to enfold them all, even the prone Rayven who lay shivering at their feet. They felt the spell and knew it had hold of them despite the Shadow Blade.
And then Zydor laughed, and laughed and danced all about on his lonely island in the flood. ‘You will sleep. It is a gentle spell,’ he called out in sarcastic mirth. ‘A spell which your evil blade will not prevent... for what is sleep but the rest we all demand.’ He danced again and stood at the end of the stone platform and spread his arms wide defying the flood and exalted in his mighty ingenuity. And then he called again.
‘You will sleep from this Summer solstice til the same one comes again. When next you fall asleep you will not wake til every day between has passed. And so you will not wake. I have you...all of you for there is no safe place to rest your heads near here.’ And he clapped his hands again, and they saw him as a mad fool but knew his power had enchanted them and wondered what it meant. But Zydor was not finished.
‘You will fear to fall asleep,’ he mocked. ‘What a perfect agony,
knowing that if you do you will not wake, for death lurks in the forest. Where can you sleep safely four seasons end to end?’ And then he stood and stared evilly at them all and fell silent, daring them to make a response. And in that moment they knew that by the most devious means Zydor had secured their fate.
‘Let us wait and see what comes to pass,’ Reigin said sombrely, ‘but for now what can we do Sylvion? Is this sorcerer beyond us?’ But Sylvion did not reply. She remained standing like a statue, her blade point to the ground, both hands upon the hilt. She stared at Zydor and he leered back, their eyes locked in a fantastic battle of inner strength. Sylvion knew that there must be a way. Zydor had to die, not to rise again. What Zelfos had managed, Zydor must not. And so for a time only the roaring of the torrent disturbed the night. Great channels were being cut in the Horn of Svalbard as the waters tore at every weakness in the rocky slopes. Already Zydor’s palace and fortress were falling, torn apart by the unstoppable flow, and the ancient town built all around it and out onto the plain was being washed away and swallowed by the flood. People were dying as Sylvion and Zydor stood there staring at each other. Some fled only to be caught by the racing waters. Others stood mutely in shock and let death embrace them. Many used their Diabules pushed hard into their foreheads, thinking some escape into a better place of dreams would hold them safe until the calamity passed by.
But not all. Far out across the Svalbard plain, hard up against the south western sheerness of the outer cliffs, the walled town of the Varanii came to life. At the first sign of the terrible waters pouring from the top of the Horn, the Svalbard guards had fled, back to the central town to find their families, locking the gates and sealing the Varanii slaves inside the walls which had held them prisoner for generations. A watcher, an old man whose eyes were good and who slept little saw the flood and the mighty collapsing of the buildings on the Horn. The rumble of the earth came to him through his bare feet. He smiled toothlessly and went and rang the great bell which had never tolled before. And so the town woke up and gathered quickly and saw what approached; a mighty flood. And they gave thanks.
Rayven lay shivering and hardly able to think at all, but she saw her kindma standing and confronting Zydor and the sight of the odious evil sorcerer gave her a new strength and resolve. And so the words of the Wisden came to her, for she had their blood; and she remembered.
‘Kindma,’ she called as best she could through her chattering teeth. ‘Sylvion... the last prophecy. Now is the time Kindma...’and Sylvion heard her daughter’s cry, but did not turn away from Zydor lest he gain some advantage which might seal their doom. The last prophecy, she thought and from deep in her memory it came to her...
When the blade and arrow are one
It shall pierce the evil heart
And it shall be done
The light of understanding filled her mind and instantly she knew the answer to the mighty impasse which stood before her.
‘Rema,’ she ordered, and such was the tone of her voice that he responded immediately, knowing that some important decision had been reached.
‘My Lady,’ he replied.
‘Bring your bow and arrow Rema,’ Sylvion said whilst not turning for a moment from Zydor’s hateful gaze.
And Rema obeyed.
‘Take an arrow and hold it before me,’ she continued without any loss of focus, and once more without a question, Rema did so. And then Sylvion lifted the Shadow Blade and brought the light from it, but gently so that all could see what was to happen. She held it to the tip of the arrow and allowed its deadly power to transform the arrow head into a glowing white hot dart . For half a span she stood thus as more and more of the Shadow Blade’s amazing force was gifted to the arrow, such that it gave off radiant beams of dazzling light which played all about them as they stood and watched, and Zydor too was mesmerized and unable to understand just what was happening.
Suddenly Sylvion lowered the Shadow Blade and the arrow continued to radiate all on its own, like some tiny sun upon a shaft.
‘I will wield the blade Rema,’ Sylvion said clearly, ‘Stand before me and you will not be so affected by the light. All others will be and Zydor most of all. Shoot him in the heart Rema. Do not miss his heart and he will die.’ And in that moment they all understood and Zydor screamed in terror and disbelief for he knew the Shadow Blade was coming over the waters to slay him. But even then he did not think it could; not an arrow. He was surely far stronger than such a weapon.
Instead he looked about his tiny island prison and thought what he might do to escape, but then his world about filled with the paralysing light of the Shadow Blade and his movements became slowed once more.
Rema stood in front of Sylvion and did not see the Blade and was protected from the slowness. He drew his bow and aimed at Zydor’s heart. The sorcerer stood and watched as everything took place in the slowest manner. He saw the archer’s fingers straighten, releasing the bowstring. He saw the arrow start its journey and with a mighty effort and muttered incantations he moved left out of its path, and felt a wave of relief until in horror he saw the arrow bend back toward him. A sudden shiver ran through his foul being. The archer bends the path. Zydor moved back and once more felt safe but the arrow followed. It was now half way to him as the water roared past undiminished.
And so Zydor was trapped in the slowest dance of his evil life, and Rema bent the arrow back and forth and matched his every move. There was no escape. When the arrow was but ten paces from him Zydor forced his hands up against the paralysing light and tried to protect himself, but the arrow came on relentlessly and though one hand was held out before his heart Zydor watched in painful horror as it passed right though his cringing flesh; undiminished it shattered bone and released his blood to fall upon the sacrificial platform. And on the arrow came...Zydor tried then to step back but there was no avoiding Rema’s burning shaft. He felt the tip split his breast bone and looking down he saw it carry on right into his body. So slowly, so completely unable to be stopped. He knew the moment it pierced his heart that all was lost, and then he screamed and cursed all he knew, even his Lord. Lord Ungarit who had failed him.
And Zydor stood for a moment with the deadly arrow protruding through his back, his blood pouring foully down upon the stone... and then he fell, his eyes staring and unseeing but his mind’s last thought was clear enough. I cannot rise from this.
And Zydor thought he heard an evil laugh and a greater terror came upon him. Ungarit did not care. And then he lay still upon the rock and those who watched from over the water took breath as Sylvion let the light diminish and finally disappear.
‘Well done Rema,’ Sylvion said, as she put the Shadow Blade back in its sheath. ‘I saw every move you made. You slew Zydor, the most evil of all who have ever sought to destroy our land. Well done. And as they watched the racing waters suddenly increased and swept over the stone platform which had seen so many evil murders, and in an instant Zydor’s body was gone, lost in the deadly tumult and smashed into pulp as it was carried down the Mount.
‘Go to Ungarit Zydor!’ Sylvion called and in reply a mighty howl shook the air about them, and then silence, except for the flood which seemed now to increase before their eyes. And then Sylvion went to Rayven and they embraced, and wept.
‘I lost hope kindma,’ Rayven whispered hoarsely. ‘I thought it impossible in the end. I am sorry.’ And Sylvion stroked her hair and comforted her frozen daughter.
‘You were right Rayven, all along you were right. No it is I who should be sorry. Gryfnor is Zelfos returned. He and Zydor are... were twins. There is much to tell and still much to achieve, but not now...’
‘No,’ Reigin interrupted, ‘we must flee, look the Mount is tearing itself apart,’ and as he spoke a great crack close by deafened them and they saw the torrent rip away some of the crater rim and the ground shook as it tumbled and shattered on its way down to the plain, which was already becoming a vast lake.
‘I am so cold,’ Rayven whispere
d, ‘and I have no shoes.’
This simple lack was indeed a problem none had foreseen for the path was difficult enough without stumbling along on bare feet.
‘I will carry you,’ Reigin said and before Rayven could protest she was slung upon his mighty back. ‘Hold on for if you fall you might not survive this time,’ he said with a grim smile and he led off back around the rim. The others followed and were amazed that Reigin even carrying another, was still able to set the pace. Rayven clung to his back and for the first time in a long time felt secure and safe.
‘You must be Reigin,’ she whispered in his ear as they went. ‘Sylvion has spoken of you often. I always wished to meet you...’
‘We can’t always choose the time or the manner,’ Reigin replied quietly, ‘but it is a pleasure Rayven.’ And she clung to him and felt his warmth and great strength and wept in relief.
They quickly came to the place where Sylvion had placed the King’s Eye to mark where they had climbed up the Horn of Svalbard, and then began a perilous decent for the mount was shaking as it tore itself apart. Half way down they rested as before and saw the plain below now covered in the waters of the mighty flood. Although they could not see the destruction behind them, they heard it clearly and imagined that at any moment the whole mountain would collapse. Indeed as they sat recovering a sudden gush of water broke out from a crack in the rocks to their right and immediately began to scour a channel down the slope. Two more quickly developed on their left, and so they hurried on fearing that they would be swept away. As they neared the bottom of the trembling Horn of Svalbard, Rema pointed to the flood below.
‘Look, it has reached the causeway from the south,’ and they paused a moment and watched as a wave of water swept across the plain from the south and smashed into the side of the rocky path which was their escape. And then another wave came sweeping around from the other side and suddenly the causeway was a road between two bodies of water as the mighty lake began to rapidly fill the huge caldera of Svalbard.
