by TJ Green
“Yes, please.” She took the bottle from his hands, trying to avoid his touch, and removing the cork, she took a long drink, conscious of his gaze before he too drank deeply.
He finished his beer in one long drink, and leaned back against the door frame, laughing. “I wasn’t sure the Lady of the Lake would drink beer.”
“This one does. Especially on a hot day.” She mimicked him, leaning back against the wall, trying to relax.
He nodded. “I’ve been inside for hours, and it’s always hot in there. I get used to it.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, “So I gather you need me to make something.”
“A sword. It must be both powerful and beautiful. It’s for a King-to-be.”
“Everyone wants power and beauty, Vivian. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve been asked for that.” He smiled, “It’s not often I find it embodied in person.”
She hesitated for a second, speechless, and he clarified, “Yes, I mean you. I’ve done my research. A powerful witch who lives on Avalon, the island straddled between worlds. I did not expect you to be so lovely.”
“You’re very flattering, Giolladhe, thank you.” Trying to get back to business, she said, “Are you able to make the sword for me? I have money.”
“When you ask for the sword to give power, what kind do you mean?”
“This King will unite many people, many warring factions who vie for power. He will repel the invaders and bring peace to the land. But he’s young, unknown, untried. It must give him glamour, so that people trust him, so that they follow him. It must also enhance his fighting prowess and protect him from bloodshed. Merlin tells me that his swordsmanship is exceptional, but this sword must enhance those skills. And it must be strong.”
Giolladhe nodded. “I can make it do all of those things. I presume then it must impress in looks as well. It will take time, but I can do it. Any specifics as to appearance?”
“I’ll leave that to you—engravings, of course, and a fine hilt.”
“I will need to use my other forge.”
Vivian was puzzled. “You have another forge? Where?”
He smiled broadly. “If you come back tomorrow I’ll show you.”
She was intrigued, and if honest, keen to see more of him. “Come here?”
He gazed at her with such intensity she felt a flutter of nervousness. “Yes. But only if you can keep it a secret. I don’t show everyone my other forge. And it means tonight I can sketch out a rough design to show you. If you like it, you can pay me a deposit.”
He named a breath-taking sum, but she nodded, knowing she had no other choice. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He smiled and took her hand, kissing the back of it, and Vivian again felt that flutter of uncertainty and promise. “Tomorrow, then.” And then he dropped her hand and walked back into his forge.
The next day Vivian turned up as requested, having left Nimue behind to go to the markets to complete their purchases. For some reason she felt nervous, which was ridiculous, and she had been reluctant to share the details of the meeting with Nimue. She certainly didn’t share how attracted she’d felt to Giolladhe. She smoothed her hair as she entered the workshop. The fire was still glowing in the forge, but with less intensity than before. Giolladhe was working on the bench under a bright lantern, and Vivian called out and walked over to him.
He turned and smiled, moving aside to make room for her. He was cleaner today, some of his hair pulled up into a short ponytail to keep it out of his eyes. He was wearing a cotton shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up showing his strong forearms.
“I’m making a ring for a client.” The bench was littered with small tools for precise work, and he was holding a ring made from a dark metal Vivian didn’t recognise. Seeing her puzzled face, he said, “Archonium. My client likes drama as well as beauty.”
Vivian nodded. “Of course, I haven’t seen it for a while. It’s not a metal I use often.” She took it from him and admired the fine workmanship. The band was wide, and he had started to engrave the area around where the stone would sit. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, passing it back to him. She looked at the shelves around the room, which were filled with objects in various stages of completion. “You do several pieces at once?”
“Sometimes. Some are personal projects, some have been commissioned.” His gaze never left her face, and he smiled again, shifting his weight against the bench. “I have the perfect piece for you. I made it not knowing who it should be for, but it called to be made anyway. And now I know why. It’s almost complete, but I was waiting to finish it, and here you are.”
Vivian could not contain her astonishment. “A piece for me? I’m flattered, but I can’t afford it, Giolladhe.”
“There’s no cost. It’s a gift.”
“I cannot accept it. Why would you—”
He interrupted, “Because I have to. And I want to.” He turned and rummaged amongst some papers. “Anyway, I have the design for the sword.” He pulled a sheet free and handed it to her.
The design was impressive, and it was clear the sword would be magnificent.
“The engravings look very detailed,” she said. “It will take time.”
He nodded, “But it will be worth it. I will use several different metals, they will enhance the engravings—it will be subtle, though. The sword will sing.”
“Sing?”
“With the power I’ll weave into it—a gentle pull on the senses,” he said. There was a flash of arrogance behind his eyes. “No one in your world will have seen a sword like it.”
For a moment, Vivian saw something else in Giolladhe, something unsettling, but she pushed it aside. “Good, that’s what Merlin wants. He’s going to arrange that Arthur pulls it from a stone.”
“Your Merlin is a showman,” Giolladhe laughed. “You should probably deliver it in a similar dramatic fashion, in a way no one will soon forget.”
Vivian laughed as well. “Maybe I should. Something to remember for all time.”
“You’re the Lady of the Lake, aren’t you? Perhaps the lake should carry the sword to shore.”
“Maybe my disembodied hand should lift it from the water!” she said, teasing.
Giolladhe became serious. “That’s brilliant, Vivian. Who would forget that?”
“It was a joke.”
He gazed at her with an intensity that was almost a caress. “No. It will deliver the right amount of mystery to begin weaving the legend of a chosen King. And who better to do that than you?”
Once again her heart beat uncomfortably and she broke his gaze, reaching into her cloak for the money. “You’re quite the showman, too, Giolladhe. I had better give you the deposit.” She placed it on the bench.
He barely glanced at the money, but watched her carefully.
“Do you still want to see my other workshop?”
“Of course,” she said, trying to subdue the flutter Giolladhe seemingly always managed to produce.
“Then come with me.”
He took her elbow and led her into another room, to a large cupboard concealing another door. He opened it, revealing blackness. “My private portal.”
“To where?” Vivian had never used a portal, and was wary of doing so now.
“To the Realm of Fire. Don’t worry, it’s fixed. We can return here anytime.” He held out his hand. “It’s safer to hold hands when crossing, just in case.”
She placed her hand in his and felt a surge of attraction race through her. He pulled her close, his arm pressed against hers, and then he stepped forward and she followed him into the portal.
All her senses tingled and her magic flared, responding to the wild magic that tied the portal to two realms. The power she sensed was vast and she felt she had barely touched a portion of it before it was over and she was stumbling into another room.
Giolladhe steadied her, and still holding her hand pulled her further in, gesturing with his free hand. “Welcome to the Realm of Fire!”
&
nbsp; She turned, taking it all in.
She was in another dark cave, but this time the ceiling was high, and the floor was made of polished stone with a trace of sand across it. Shelves lined the room, and a deep pit glowed in the centre. A huge tripod was erected over it, supporting a cauldron on a chain. An anvil was almost lost in the shadows on the far side of the room. An archway led into another room, carved around the edge with strange designs. Again, this room had half-completed projects scattered about.
“You like your caves,” she observed.
He smiled and said, “They’re usually distraction-free.”
“Why is your fire pit so deep?” She pulled free of his hand and stood close to the edge, peering down.
“It’s a river fire pit, channelled from the mountains.”
“How?” She turned to him, concerned. The potential for this to go wrong was huge.
“I made it, and it was tricky. I summon the river fire when I need it. It burns far hotter than any fire I could make. It’s perfect for making detailed objects such as swords that I have to work on for hours.”
“Isn’t it unstable?”
He frowned. “Sometimes. The djinn worry I will bring down their city, but the fire mountains themselves are likely to do that.”
She tried to disguise her concern. Giolladhe seemed to have a cavalier attitude toward safety. Maybe that was what was so attractive about him.
“Come and see the city.” He turned and she followed him through the archway, gasping when she entered the next room.
It was an extension of the cave, but with big long windows on one side, through which a muted pink light illuminated the space. The walls were made of deep red sandstone, carved with bas-reliefs like the strange designs over the archway. The room had a couple of low tables with divans around them, piled with cushions. “This is my ante-room,” he explained.
He crossed to a small doorway and led her out into a narrow street. There was another building directly opposite, its doorway shut by a solid wooden door. The street ran right and left, and she could see several doors and archways leading off it. Suffocated by the closeness of the walls, Vivian looked up and gasped again.
The walls towered above them, high and oppressive, so high that she couldn’t even see the top. Far above them was a strip of bright blue sky.
“Where are we?” she asked, alarmed.
“The Citadel of Erfann. The djinn call it the buried city, because of the way they have carved it from the rock. Beyond it is desert.”
“But where is everyone?”
“The djinn do not show themselves as others. Have you ever met one?”
“Never,” she looked around as if one would appear. She had heard of the djinn, part fire, part earth, and possessed of a wild, strange magic that was probably more powerful than any across the four realms. “I’d like to meet one, though.”
“They have mostly left this place. The mountains are too volatile. Let me show you a better view.”
Giolladhe turned and led her back through his workshop, and as Vivian followed, she wondered how much she could believe him. He was so confident, and yet there was something dark beneath his surface, and she couldn’t work out if she liked it or not.
He led her through another arch and up a long stairway cut into the red rock, until they emerged at the top into a large space with high walls, a vaulted roof, pillars, and frescoes. The heat was suffocating, and dust hung in the air, making her cough. A soft red light sliced in through high windows, striping the floor and walls. Gently taking her arm, he led her up the wide aisle to two enormous doors at the end.
“What is this place?” she said, trying to take in everything.
“A meeting place, old, and not used much anymore. Beautiful though, yes?” He stood, head thrown back as he gazed around, and the faces of the djinn carved into the walls gazed back, unflinching.
Vivian could barely believe she was in the Realm of Fire, and yet was still more intrigued at Giolladhe than her surroundings. As if aware of her gaze, he smiled, and then headed through the huge doors at the end.
The building they exited was situated on a high rocky outcrop, giving a commanding view of their surroundings. Vivian could see an ocean of sand dunes, and below her the tightly woven walls of the city lay at her feet like a complex carpet. Steadily encroaching on the city were rivers of blackened lava. She realised her glimpse of blue sky from below was misleading; a pall of smoke drifted across the city and hung on the air, heavy and gloomy. The city was dying. Was Giolladhe to blame with his pit? Surely not; the destruction would certainly have happened anyway.
She gazed at his strong profile. He was so handsome, so sure of himself, but so dangerous. She could sense it now. His pride in his knowledge and power. How far would he go to preserve that? She asked, “So, what will you do if you can’t harness the power of the mountains?”
“There’ll be other ways,” he said smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Giolladhe,” she said. “But I think it’s time to go. Nimue will be worried.”
She met Nimue in the Dragon’s Tale, the inn on the edge of the markets. Nimue looked as cool and unruffled as always. She cupped a large goblet of the rich red wine they called Dragon’s Kiss. “How did it go with Giolladhe?”
Vivian decided to keep her own council. “He will make a fine sword, Merlin will be pleased.”
“Will it change Britains’s future?” Nimue leant forward, her eyes bright with intelligence. “Will the invaders be repelled?”
“How can I know that?” she remonstrated. But then she softened. “I think it could. Giolladhe is a master. I think this Arthur could change everything.”
“And what is Giolladhe like?”
“Complex. Clever. Powerful. Beyond that, I honestly couldn’t say.”
Nimue looked at her thoughtfully. ”Do you need to see him again before we go?”
“No. I will return in two months to collect the sword and pay the remainder. And then Merlin can collect it from us.”
But she would also collect the gift Giolladhe had made for her. He had insisted, and she found she couldn’t refuse him. And now that she was leaving, she felt a deep sense of regret she couldn’t quite place.
The weeks passed restlessly. Vivian found she couldn’t settle into her work, and her concentration often drifted. There were times she didn’t think of Giolladhe at all, and then his image would rush into her mind and stay there. She tried to explain it away as nerves about the sword and what gift he would give, but deep down she knew it was about more than that. She wasn’t sure she could trust herself.
She eventually travelled north to Dragon’s Hollow and stood once more in front of Giolladhe’s workshop, but this time the copper door was firmly shut. She summoned her courage and knocked once before trying to open it, but it was locked. She paused for a moment, puzzled. Giolladhe didn’t strike her as someone who would lock his doors, whether he was in or out. She knocked again, using magic to amplify the sound, and a loud thumping resounded into the hill.
Just as she was starting to think he was out and she had understood the date wrong, the door opened and Giolladhe stood on the other side, clean and well-dressed, wearing a fine linen shirt, dark trousers, and knee-length leather boots. He grinned when he saw her, and it seemed a flash of relief passed across his handsome face.
“Welcome back, Vivian.”
His gaze swept over her and he took her hand, kissing it gently before pulling her through the door and shutting it behind her. For a few seconds he held onto her hand, and they stood in the semi-darkness, unbearably close.
Vivian’s heart pounded, and she couldn’t decide whether to pull free or lean closer, but then he turned and led the way down to the workshop.
As they entered the room, he stepped to the side and extended his hand, gesturing to the workbench. “Behold, your sword.”
The sword was mounted on a plinth under a lantern, and the soft
yellow light played down it, highlighting the hilt and the engravings along the blade. It seemed to glow, and she stood mesmerised before it. It was more than she had hoped for. She could sense its power, a gentle radiating wave that emitted from it. She glanced at Giolladhe, not wanting to look away from it. “May I pick it up?”
“Of course,” he said laughing. “You have to take it to Avalon.”
“I’m terrified I’ll damage it.”
“It will take far more than you picking it up to damage it!”
She lifted it gently, and turned to Giolladhe, surprised. “I thought it would be heavier—I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s quite heavy, but not as much as I expected.”
“It’s the quality of the metals. And it is perfectly weighted. See.” He took it from her and laid it flat on his hand, balancing it close to the hilt. “No one will have a sword as fine as this in your land.”
“It’s magnificent.”
“I have woven power within it, all as you asked. I have even inscribed something along each side—‘Take Me Up’ and ‘Cast Me Away’—because of how you will deliver the sword. And,” he turned aside and pulled a beautiful scabbard from beneath the bench. “This also has powers. It will shield your Arthur from dying from loss of blood.”
She looked at him, confused. “But we didn’t ask for this.”
He smiled again. “No one should have a sword as beautiful as this without a fine scabbard. Call it vanity on my behalf. I forbid him to store it in anything of inferior quality.”
“Of course. You are far too generous,” she said, feeling a little overwhelmed. She pulled the money from her cloak and put it on the bench. “It is worth every penny. Thank you.”
He gazed at her for a moment, his green eyes becoming dark, and then he turned again, pulling a small box towards him. As she watched him, Vivian became aware for the first time of how bare the benches were compared to the last time she was here.
“Are you leaving Giolladhe?”
He looked at her thoughtfully, a hint of doubt, and maybe regret flashing across his eyes. “Just for a while. There are other places I need to be.”
