The Iron Cursed

by J. M. Briggs

  The mound gleamed in the darkness. There was a line of torches set up, providing low light to the Sídhe and a marker for him. Magic was thrumming against his skin, urging him on. Fear tried to tug him back, but he focused on the Sídhe. They had broken ranks, giving him and the other warriors a chance to catch their breath. Leugio’s eyes swept over the area. There were fallen bodies scattered about in bloody snow. Arrows were sailing overhead from the wall, but he wondered if it was enough.

  Above his head, the orb flickered. His blood kept heating up. Everything hurt, but he kept moving. The battle still raged, but his awareness was narrowing onto the mound. Leugio brought up his sword to block another strike from a Síd. His body moved on its own, slash, strike, and sidestep, but every step ached. His muscles quivered, trying to pull away from his bones. The Síd’s weaker bronze blade bent at the force of the clash. Leugio threw his weight forward to unbalance the Síd. It slipped in the snow and fell to the ground. Without hesitation he swung his sword down and sliced the blade into the Síd’s neck. It began to dissolve and he moved further down the slope of the great stone hill.

  More Sídhe closed in around him. He swung his sword, catching one in the chest. It stumbled back and another warrior took off its head. Another Síd came low, knocking him back several steps. It pulled a dagger and moved to stab him. Leugio’s eyes widened at the sudden reminder that he had no armor on. His armor was in his house. Human hands grabbed at the Síd and pulled it off of him. Then in a flurry of iron blades, it began to dissolve.

  Leugio gasped for air and looked over his shoulder. Conn was visible at the far side of the battle. His arm was bound to his chest, but he was swinging his sword with his left hand. Flaitheas was next to him, slashing at the nearest Sídhe with her mouth open in a shout. Part of the wooden wall of the village was on fire, and the sounds of people screaming echoed down the hillside. He forced himself to move, releasing another wave of white magic. The effort nearly knocked him to his knees. Bright lights danced across his vision, but only for a moment until blackness began to swirl along the edges of his vision.

  They needed more. Needed some kind of plan. There were still rows of Sídhe. At least thirty more, and while they’d killed plenty, the Sídhe just kept coming. His eyes jumped to the new mound. Maybe there were more there. So far this Teàrlach hadn’t appeared. He needed to… he wasn’t sure, but he had to get closer to the mound.

  A hole opened in the Sídhe’s rank. They were shifting to face a mass of soldiers. Conn was barking orders. Leugio looked back to see Flaitheas sending arrow after arrow into the surge of Sídhe warriors. There was a look of determination on her face. His heart tightened. He went to the left and a rock start to give under his foot.

  Leugio’s eyes were drawn to the mound once more. It wasn’t too far away, but each step hurt. He sent a bolt of magic to kill a Síd that had suddenly noticed him and broke off from the others. His head was pounding. Reaching up with his free hand, Leugio gripped the Iron Brooch and kept moving. He pushed through the battlefield, doing his best to twist around fighting figures.

  The rear of the Sídhe force was exposed. Excitement, relief, and nervousness all warred in his chest. Above the fight, his three light orbs were still in place. Closing his eyes, Leugio breathed slowly. The pain eased slightly. His grip on his sword tightened and he bit his lip. Pushing through the pain, he called more magic. It came, but it set his nerves on fire. There’d never been a warning against this. Some instinct warned him to stop now, but he couldn’t. Tears gathered in his eyes, a whimper was torn from his throat, but he didn’t stop.

  More magic gathered in his chest, twisting around his heart and inflaming the muscles. It gathered in his left hand, hot and too bright. This time sparks flew off wildly and his very skin glowed. His hand trembled. There was shouting behind him, snarls and footfalls. More were coming. Raising his hand, Leugio opened his palm and screamed. The magic blasted forward, a burning star against the dark sky. It eclipsed the orbs as it approached. Then it exploded. Dozens of tiny lights showered down. They all zipped through the air and shot straight through the chests of the Sídhe. A deafening roar of pained screams and excited cheers echoed down the hillside.

  His legs gave out. The burn consumed everything. The blackness sank in all around him. Then rough hands grabbed him. There was cold as he was dragged through the snow. More shouting. Leugio realized that his eyes were closed. Forcing them open, he looked towards the shouting. Humans were running towards him, but a small group of Sídhe was moving to block them. Some were still alive. How? The mound, his mind provided. He’d dropped his sword somewhere.

  A groan escaped him. His leg hit a rock. He tried to move, but only managed a soft whimper and a slight shudder. There were two Sídhe dragging him. It was too hard to focus: his head fell back, sending a sharp jolt down his spine. There was more light now, but it wasn’t his own white, warm glow. It was the red glow of fire. He was turned around and dropped in the snow on his stomach.

  He looked up. There was a line of torches in front of a rough earthen mound. It rose up sharply from the ground, bare stone and pounded down earth around a stone arch. Leugio wasn’t sure how tall it was, but it was at least the height of man with room to spare. Nothing grew on it. A faint shimmer moved over the mound. Was it magic or just a trick of the light? Had this been made of magic or created in one massive push by a determined workforce by hand?

  His body protested. It didn’t move right, it hurt too much, but he forced himself up onto his knees. The fire in his veins suppressed the awful cold. Somehow, he managed to stand, and look at the figure before him. The Síd was dressed in leather armor like the rest, but gold had been inlaid in elegant designs across the breastplate. There was a scar through the Síd’s right eye, making it milky white. It was waiting at the entrance of the new mound, just watching him. Struggling to catch his breath, Leugio locked his knees and straightened his back

  “The mage.”

  “I’m guessing that you are Teàrlach.” His voice was too thin and weak.

  “I am,” Teàrlach said. “You are dying.”

  “Not yet.”

  “You have used too much magic: your body is decaying. I can smell death on you.” Teàrlach’s tone left no room for debate. “You have killed much of my army. It will take years to regroup, but we will. My people will not suffer this indignity any longer!” His one violet eye narrowed. “I will at least watch you die.”

  Numbness settled on his shoulders. The instinct to fight for his life flickered out like the last embers of a fire. He inhaled deeply, but the scent of the world around him was gone. Sounds were dull, and the darkness on the edges of his vision was creeping in. Magic had brought him here, but he’d never thought that there might be a price beyond the war. If his chest hadn’t burned so, he might have laughed bitterly.

  By old habit, his hand came up to touch his brooch. Teàrlach took a step back, eye widening uncertainly. The brooch burned hot beneath Leugio’s fingers, but there was no pain, only warmth. Magic was pulsing through the iron. It was comforting. The smell of his home surrounded him. All of the aches eased. His vision cleared and he found his eyes fixed on the mound, then shifting back to Teàrlach. He couldn’t destroy all the Sídhe; that was beyond him, but this enemy was right here.

  The worn symbol suddenly brightened. Pulling it off his cloak, he brought it up where he could see. It was a triskelion, worn and battered, but now bright in the darkness. His eyes widened and Leugio tightened his fingers around it. The metal threatened to cut into his skin, but he didn’t care. Beneath his skin, the magic reached and pulled. Magic. There was more magic in this. Iúdás’ words suddenly made more sense.

  Everything fell away. His thumb brushed over the symbol. The glow was spreading through the rest of the iron. White sparks flew off like embers from a fire, but instead of floating away, they all swirled in front of him. He couldn’t hear anything now. He couldn’t feel the cold or the ache in his bones. There was only the s
oft flow of magic from the brooch into the air. Its warmth washed over his skin and his eyes slid closed.

  He was in the roundhouse with his family. Leaning against his mother’s knee by the fire, his father was picking up his sword from beside the bed. Small Keelia was cooing in her little bundle of fabric. Reaching towards his father with his small hands, Leugio tried to speak, but nothing came forth. His father knelt next to him, offering a warm smile. Then his father removed an iron brooch from his cloak and fastened it to Leugio’s own tunic. There was a large hand on his head, and he reached up to touch the metal in an action he would repeat for years. There was magic beneath his fingers. Leugio pulled on it, begging it to help him, pleading for whatever power it held to help him.

  Magic hit his chest. Stumbling back, Leugio sucked air in greedily. His chest was expanding. The dull pained muscles were suddenly thrumming with energy. The Sídhe nearby all froze and stared at him. Sheer panic took over Teàrlach’s face. He screamed for them to stop him, but then Leugio released the first crashing wave of magic. It exploded around him. His own skin burned, his hands blackened as the heat flared back against him. Three Sídhe died screaming and Teàrlach dove into the snow as the wave crashed into him. Leugio’s body swayed, but he saw the leather armor crumble and long lines of burning flesh appear on Teàrlach’s exposed back.

  There was more magic. His heart was racing too quickly, but Leugio kept pulling. Teàrlach was dragging his broken body through the snow towards the entrance, calling orders. Sídhe were running, retreating into the new mound. The entrance was small: too small for all of them. New, just formed by whatever power they had. How long had they been digging? There’d be no answers.

  Pushing the magic forward, Leugio sent it twisting all around the mound entrance. Inside the Sídhe were screaming; they protested and ran, but it didn’t stop. In his hand the Iron Brooch began to crack. More flashes of magic exploded into the air and shot towards the mound. Teàrlach shifted his body and looked back at him. His eyes were wide and fearful. There was no rush of pleasure, no satisfaction in Leugio: just a cold acceptance.

  The magic hit the mound. Earth flew into the air. He heard stone crack. The ground trembled. His ears rang and flashes of magic lit up the night sky. Torches fell out of the quivering ground and hissed as they hit the snow. There was screaming from up the hill. More magic flashed, splitting open the ground and making dirt and snow pour into the hole. Gone was the mound: all the raised earth crashed into the remains of the tunnels. In a shimmer of gold Teàrlach vanished, and a few remaining warriors took off running into the night. The brooch began to crumble to dust in Leugio’s hand.

  Collapsing forward, Leugio grimaced as snow compressed beneath his cheek. Cold was spreading, but he couldn’t move. The ache was gone. Now there was only the dull burn. Where he’d once had magic there was only emptiness. There was nothing left.

  It was beginning to snow. Fat flakes fell onto his cheeks and his eyelashes, making it harder to see. He could hear people, but they were muted. Leugio’s eyes began to slide closed. Exhaustion weighed down on him. There was no more magic. He had nothing left. In his right hand, the last of the dust from his brooch slipped from his fingertips. A tear gathered in his eye, but it couldn’t fall. His chest shuddered with a sob, but turned into a painful shiver against the cold.

  Fear, grief, and disbelief. Was this what it meant to be a mage? Was this always how the story was going to end? He saved Keelia and came here. He’d done as the king wanted, done what he thought was right, and now he was here in the snow after his magic deserted him. There were voices behind him. Someone touched his shoulder, but he hissed in pain. A droplet of water hit his cheek. Hands carefully turned him over. He was looking up into a thick black sky, though there was the glow of a torch next to him.

  “Leugio,” Flaitheas’ voice called. “Can you hear me?” Her voice was distant; too soft and thick with emotion. He couldn’t nod. “I’m here,” she said. Then she leaned over him, her brown eyes suddenly meeting his own. Tears were running down her cheeks.

  He wanted to smile for her– wanted to say something. His mouth didn’t work. In his chest, his heart slowed. It was like drifting off to sleep, there was a vague awareness of something creeping up over you. There was no fear, just a distant sense of regret. He’d never learned what he had wanted to about magic, never really become comfortable with the life the king had given him, and hadn’t seen his mother and sister for over a season. Regret. It tasted bitter and filled his mouth, but it was too late. Flaitheas took his hand and squeezed, only enhancing his pain for a moment. Then the sudden flash faded. The burn in his chest dulled. He couldn’t sense any magic anymore. It wasn’t just out of reach: it was gone. Letting his eyes slide closed, he exhaled the last of his breath.

  34

  Herald of the Lie

  Alex couldn’t move. There was something so wrong about the sight of Brekszta just standing on the retaining wall. Behind her feet was a small flower bed that separated the wall from the lawn. The Old One just giggled and kept waving at them. It went on too long and Alex’s body was tensed, preparing to fight.

  Then Brekszta dropped her hand and her smile fell away. A cloud of glittering dark blue magic surrounded Brekszta like a nebula of stars. At another time it would have been beautiful. Alex could understand ancient humans thinking she was a Goddess of the Night.

  There was a hungry, desperate look on the Old One’s face. She took a small step forward on the retaining wall, barely balancing on the edge. Brekszta curled her lips thoughtfully and held out her hands. The magic behind her swept forward, curling around her body and creeping towards them. Around them, the lights flickered. The scents of the grass and coffee faded.

  “What are you doing, Brekszta?” Alex demanded.

  “I have something of yours,” Brekszta announced. Giggling again, the Old One’s eyes widened gleefully and she waved her hand.

  The dark cloud of magic rolled back. It had been covering something, hiding something, Alex realized with a nervous turn of her stomach. Two figures appeared, and as the light of the nearest street lamp hit them Alex couldn’t hold in her gasp. Her brothers were collapsed on the ground, both of them in sweatpants and old t-shirts. Brekszta had grabbed them out of their hotel room. Only the steady rise and fall of their chests reassured her that they were alive.

  Her heart beat. Her lungs kept working and Alex’s muscles eased. For a moment the voices quieted under the weight of her own shock. For a moment she was alone in her terror. The Old One had her brothers. Brekszta’s face went from amused to completely blank. Alex could feel the heavy gaze on her as Brekszta watched her reaction. Alex walked towards Brekszta, not daring to look at her brothers and fighting back the fear.

  “Isn’t this is a bit much?” Alex asked.

  “Maybe this time you’ll listen,” Brekszta said. “You have to listen.”

  “Fine,” Alex said shortly. The voices were growing louder again. All around her the magic was thickening. “I’m listening. What’s your message?”

  “The lie has to die,” Brekszta said. “The lie has to end!”

  “What lie?” Alex asked. Trembling with anger, she fought to stay calm. “What are you talking about? What is this lie?”

  “You,” Brekszta replied.

  She didn’t have time to ponder what the Old One meant by that. Dark blue magic in the sky rained down like a meteor storm. Alex’s vision lit up with the streaks of energy and she threw her hands up reflectively. A sharp tug of fear in her gut spurred her into action and she released a wave of her own dark gray magic. It pushed away the bolts of dark blue and she glanced the others. They’d managed the same, and there was even a shimmering bubble of sorts around Nicki.

  Yellow magic streamed past. Bran’s magic swept around her brothers and lifted both off the ground, bringing them back towards him. There were no signs of injury. Relief and suspicion hit Alex at once and she sniffed at the air. She could smell ozone, but it was light and
barely there. Brekszta was just testing them. Or toying with them, and Alex didn’t like either option. Dark blue clouds hung around her brothers’ chests, and there were sparkling dark blue lines of magic leading into both of their heads.

  “I’ll get your brothers further away,” Bran said softly.

  Barely nodding, Alex didn’t dare look at him. Her heart was pounding in her chest. The voices were loud, but now they were mostly saying the same thing. There were remarks of caution, bits of advice on how to fight an Old One, and urgings for her to stop Brekszta. Shifting her fingers, Alex released more dark gray sparks.

  There were only a few moments of calm while Brekszta glared at them. But then the figures appeared. They were moving across the lawn and along the sidewalks towards her, stretching out their hands as their figures became clearer.

  “Ghosts are back,” Nicki muttered. “Alex, you alright?”

  “I’m fine,” Alex replied.

  Nonetheless, her eyes jumped between the figures. She knew all of their faces and the voices provided names. Even Cuthbert was drawn towards one, but she kept her feet firmly on the ground. Magic rose up from the Earth and rushed up through her legs making her stronger, but it also made the voices stronger. Shivering, Alex shook her head.