The Crystal Chalice (Book 1)

by R. J. Grieve

  Her face was deathly. She did not appear to be breathing but when he pressed his fingers against her throat he thought he detected a faint pulse.

  He turned her over onto her face and went to work on her, heaving against her ribs, forcing the water out of her lungs. He muttered under his breath as he worked, unaware that he was speaking. “Don’t give up, you little fool. Fight, damn you, fight!”

  Suddenly she gave a little choke. He rolled her over and shook her.

  “Elorin,” he urged. “Open your eyes. You are safe now, just open your eyes.”

  She choked again and he raised her up, supporting her in his arms, so relieved that he neither knew nor cared that the rain still lashed down upon them.

  She opened her eyes, staring at him without recognition for a moment.

  “Celedorn,” she gasped, “What happened? Where am I?”

  “You fell into the sea when the ship struck the rocks. We are now, once again, marooned on the coast of the Forsaken Lands.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “I have no idea. But at least it is solid ground. If I never see another boat again it will be too soon.” As her eyes were showing a tendency to close again, he added sharply: “You can’t go to sleep here or you will die of cold. Can you stand? We must find some shelter.”

  She nodded a little doubtfully but allowed him to help her to her feet. She stood swaying a little, holding on to his arm for support and looking at her surroundings with disfavour.

  “I don’t think I care for the accommodation,” she remarked sourly, looking at the rain-lashed beach and dripping forest beyond.

  The shadow of a smile crossed his face and he picked up his sword and boots, remarking approvingly: “That’s more like it. Now let’s get off this God-forsaken beach.”

  But as he turned to go, she suddenly seized his shoulder.

  “The others! Celedorn, where are the others!”

  He hesitated. “I found only you. I jumped into the sea immediately after you and was swept ashore but I think the others stayed too long with the ship and went down with her.

  “No,” she groaned, closing her eyes. “They were so kind to us. They cannot all have drowned.”

  He looked at her with unaccustomed compassion. “Perhaps they were swept along to another part of the coast,” he suggested, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. “Come,” he said gently, “we must go.”

  With a final haggard glance at the tumbled sea, she turned and followed him into the trees.

  They entered a miserable little wood of ash and elder trees stunted by the prevailing winds, their flattened tops bearing witness to the strength of the elements. No mighty oaks or beeches grew here. The thin branches dripped water onto the moss-covered ground, providing no shelter whatsoever. The trees nearest the coast tossed and writhed, tormented by the wind but as they penetrated deeper inland the power of the wind declined.

  Yet still it rained, lashing down upon them like a punishment. Soon they were both shivering violently, water streaming from hair and clothes.

  “I have flints in my pocket,” Celedorn told her, “but everything is so wet there is no possibility of starting a fire. There are no caves and no trees large enough to provide shelter in this accursed hole of a place. All we can do is to keep heading southwards.”

  “We....we have n-no food either,” Elorin stammered between chattering teeth.

  “No. If only this rain would stop.” He looked up at the patch of sky visible between the lachrymose trees but it was grey and bleak, loaded with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of rain.

  By late afternoon they still had not cleared the dismal wood. The ground had begun to rise and not far ahead of them, a round hill thrust its bald crown above the encircling fringe of trees. Celedorn guided Elorin into the only shelter they could find - a hole left in a bank when a tree had fallen victim to the storm, pulling out its roots as it fell.

  “Wait here,” he commanded, rain coursing down his face. “I’m going to climb to the top of that hill to try and get my bearings. Just stay here until I come back.”

  She nodded and sat down in the meagre shelter. He soon vanished from sight amongst the trees and after a short while reached the base of the hill. It was a steep and slippery climb but when he emerged from the trees onto the grassy summit, he was provided with a panoramic view of the forest below and the rocky coast about half a mile away. The sea still fought with the coast, hurling itself against the rocks, but out on the horizon a shaft of light escaped from the clouds and turned the restless surface to crumpled, shining metal. The mist of sea-spray and rain began to lift, catching up is silver skirts towards the clouds, and as it did so, it revealed something that it had hidden before. Far along the coast, beyond many projecting headlands, in the hazy distance Celedorn saw something he recognised - the Island of Sirkris.

  His relief was so intense he almost gasped when he saw it. It was completely unmistakable. It was perfectly circular and its gently rising dome was smooth and grassy, devoid of trees. All around its circumference, without exception, its edges fell in sheer perpendicular cliffs to the sea. Nature has fashioned an impregnable fortress - which was fortunate, as it stood facing the tall cliffs of the Forsaken Lands, so close that a fragile rope-bridge - not to be recommended to the fainthearted - connected it to the mainland. It was the last outpost of humanity. A thorn in the flesh of the Destroyer and consequently much harassed by the Turog. The end of the rope-bridge on the mainland was protected by two mighty towers, heavily guarded with unceasing vigilance. In times of great peril the ropes were cut, isolating the island. A chasm lay between the two bodies of land, a dark, narrow defile through which the sea perpetually churned and thundered. Though narrow, it was so dangerous a stretch of water that it was known as the Devil’s Dyke and was avoided by all who were not yet tired of life.

  Celedorn was too far distant to see the rope-bridge but he knew it was there from a previous visit long ago. He also knew that the light that showed the island with such clarity, made it seem deceptively near and that it must be more than ten miles distant - a daunting distance to two people who were cold, exhausted and starving. He carefully surveyed the land in between and decided that the best course was to follow the cliff-top by the sea. It was exposed and would make them vulnerable to being detected by any Turog hardy enough to be out in such weather, but it would be less exhausting than forcing their way amongst the trees further inland.

  When he returned, Elorin was curled up fast asleep in the muddy hole. She was still soaking wet and a long muddy streak was smeared across one pale cheek. Reluctantly he shook her awake.

  “Where are we?” she murmured.

  “I have good news,” he replied bracingly. “I can see Sirkris from the top of the hill. If we walk briskly we should be there by nightfall.”

  All he got in response was a discouraging groan.

  “Come on,” he said, hoisting her to her feet. “If you sleep there any longer you will never awaken. Sirkris has many comfortable inns with soft beds, warm fires and good food. Just keep that in mind and we’ll make it.”

  She made no reply but began to plod along behind him, her head bowed. For the rest of that dreadful day they travelled slowly southwards. They cleared the trees and turning towards the sea, were soon climbing the majestic shoulders of the tall sea cliffs. The gleam of sun Celedorn had seen earlier, was extinguished by a fresh bank of clouds which brought more rain in their train. Finally, Elorin fell to her knees shivering uncontrollably.

  “I c-can’t go on,” she sobbed between chattering teeth. “I can’t. I’m h-holding you back. Go on without me.”

  “No!” His refusal was laconic but unequivocal.

  “I must rest. I must sleep. I’m s-so very tired.”

  “Nonsense!” he said harshly. “You have more strength than you know.” He caught her arm and tried to drag her to her feet but she wouldn’t move.

  “Don’t you see?” she pleaded. “It’s me. I’m the
problem. This is a-all my fault. I bring nothing but disaster and misfortune wherever I go. Twice you have nearly been drowned because of me. I have been dogged by ill-luck ever since I appeared in that stone circle. I wish with all my heart that Relisar had not meddled. I b-bring destruction to everything I touch. Maybe the townspeople of Addania were right, maybe I am cursed. Those fishermen died because of me. If I hadn’t lied to them, forcing them to leave, they could have weathered the storm safe and sound in Skerris-morl. It’s j-just no use anymore.”

  He knelt before her and caught her shoulders in a vice-like grip, his expression fierce, his eyes hard. “Now listen to me. I want to hear no more talk of defeat, no more feeling sorry for yourself. You are going to get to your feet and walk to Sirkris and I want to hear no more nonsense about being cursed. That’s just coward’s talk.”

  “Leave me” she moaned.

  He shook her until her teeth clicked together. “If I have to, I’ll carry you all the way to Sirkris. Do you hear me? So get to your feet and stop whining.”

  “What am I going back for? I have no family, no home. I don’t even have a name!”

  Celedorn did not make the mistake of trying to argue with her. “You’ll go back because I tell you to,” he said acidly. “I don’t recall asking you what you wanted and if ever I have the smallest desire to find out, I’ll let you know. At the moment you will do as I tell you, and I’ll thank you to give me no more foolish arguments or you will really find out what I am capable of.”

  A spark of anger flared in her eyes. “My life is my own.”

  The old mocking sneer came back to his face. “A quaint idea not shared by anyone who matters. You are still my prisoner. Your life belongs to me.”

  This statement had all the effect he could have desired. She rose to her feet her eyes blazing in her white face.

  “How dare you! I am not your prisoner and I’m tired of you ordering me about. I’m tired of your sarcasm and your cutting remarks. There are times - and believe me this is one of them - when I think I hate you!”

  The mockery deepened in his face. “Fine. You can tell me in detail how much you hate me when we get to Sirkris. A good row is always better enjoyed in comfortable surroundings.”

  She flung away from him in disgust and headed off along the cliff in the direction of Sirkris.

  He followed her, a strange expression on his face. After a little while she stopped and waited for him to catch up.

  When he drew level with her, their eyes met.

  “You did that deliberately, didn’t you?” she accused. “You unprincipled blackguard, you deliberately said what you knew would make me angry to give me the strength to go on. You set out to provoke me.”

  He returned her gaze seriously for a moment, all mockery gone from his face, the expression in his grey eyes difficult to fathom. He wiped the rain from his eyes and turned to face the sea.

  “Did you really think I would leave you?” he asked quietly.

  The wind had stilled and the sound of the sea surging around the rocks below them sounded oddly distant. The steady silver curtain of rain fell all around them.

  “You are a strange one,” she finally said.

  He remained silent, his profile turned towards her as he continued to stare out to sea.

  “The wind has dropped,” was all he replied. “The sea has calmed a little.” He lifted his arm and pointed to a tall headland projecting into the sea. “Do you see that headland? Sirkris lies just beyond it. If we hurry, we should get there before the light goes.”

  He was over-optimistic, however, because they had not reached the summit of the mighty headland when the daylight faded.

  “It’s dangerous to continue in the darkness,” Elorin gasped, leaning against her companion for support. “One wrong step and we could easily fall over the cliff.”

  “On the other hand, if we spend the night here we will most certainly be dead from exposure by morning. I think we must risk it. It can’t be far now.”

  Painfully slowly they stumbled up the grassy shoulder of the cliff, keeping as far as they could from the precipitous edge. The dangerous void obligingly signalled its proximity by the sound of breakers crashing on the rocks far below. Panting and trembling in every limb, they emerged on the top of the steep headland to be greeted by a cheering sight - the lights of Sirkris glittering through the darkness and rain.

  But by the time they has descended from the headland and fought their way through a dense wood of hazel trees, Elorin’s strength had gone. When the tall towers guarding the rope-bridge finally came in sight, Celedorn had his arm around her, half carrying, half dragging her along.

  Torches blazed in the archway that connected the two towers and as they approached, many guards armed with bows and spears appeared and blocked their path, their weapons raised suspiciously.

  “Who and what are you?” demanded a voice in the darkness - a question that could only be asked by a beleaguered people living right against the Forsaken Lands.

  “Travellers shipwrecked on the coast north of here,” Celedorn replied. “We seek shelter in Sirkris.”

  “Come into the light!”

  Celedorn stepped forward, half carrying Elorin. Her head hung forward limply and she was barely conscious.

  “My wife is ill,” Celedorn said. “We are cold and tired. I ask permission to cross to the island.”

  The guards, relieved to see that the strangers were at least human, relaxed a little.

  “You’ll have trouble finding a room at any of the hostelries, my friend,” one remarked. “Refugees, shipwrecked on this coast, have been streaming in for the last two days. They say it is the worst storm in living memory. Many vessels have been lost.”

  Celedorn lifted Elorin into his arms. “Have you any idea where I might find a room?”

  The guards looked with pity at Elorin’s white face. “Try Mother Sorna’s,” one suggested. “The Inn of the Grey Dolphin. Take the right-hand street immediately you cross the bridge and follow it to the end, high up on the cliff. She might be able to accommodate you.”

  “Thank you,” said Celedorn, carefully keeping the injured side of his face turned from the torchlight.

  He stepped beneath the arch, and thankful that it wasn’t daylight so that he could not see the yawning abyss below him, he started across the footbridge. It was wide enough to accommodate two people abreast and was made of planks lashed together by sturdy ropes, with more ropes set at chest-height as handrails. From experience, he knew to place his feet gently, or the entire bridge would start to bounce alarmingly. However, he got safely across, carrying his unconscious burden, and found himself immediately in the town, amongst a maze of narrow, cobbled streets lashed by the rain. Many lights glowed in the cosy windows of houses and taverns but the streets were completely deserted, no one caring to venture out in such dreadful weather. He passed several taverns and peered closely at their wooden signs hanging on creaking hinges above the door. The houses on the right of the street ceased and were replaced by a low, stone wall from beyond which he could hear the distant crash of the sea echoing up from the rocks far below. To his left, the row of houses straggled up the hill, their rain-polished roofs set at different levels, the lamplight spilling onto the cobbles from tiny latticed windows.

  The last building before the hill rose sheer was a large, rambling inn. Above the door, swung a wooden sign depicting a rather mischievous grey dolphin leaping out of a wave. He nudged the door open with his elbow and staggered into the warmth and light. A plump, matronly lady turned at the sound, and with a gasp, almost dropped the jug she was carrying. Always arresting in appearance, he guessed that he must make a startling sight, with clothes wet and torn, several day’s growth of black beard, and the villainous scars.

  “Mother Sorna? I.....my wife is ill, she desperately needs warmth and rest.....I was told you might have room for us.” As he spoke, he turned to show her Elorin’s pale face resting against his shoulder. Reading refusal in her
face, he added: “We were shipwrecked north of here and have been travelling in this awful weather for a long time, desperate to reach Sirkris. I.....I don’t think we can go any further. If you turn us away, my wife will surely die.”

  He saw the plump lady’s face soften as her motherly instincts overcame her distrust of his appearance. She placed her hand against Elorin’s cold, wet cheek.

  “Oh, the poor child,” she said compassionately. “I do have a room, young man,” she said briskly. “It was booked by another party but they haven’t turned up - not surprising in this weather. You come along with me. I have a fire lit in the room, which I’m sure you will be glad of. You say you were shipwrecked? I suppose you lost everything. There never has been such a storm. All the poor, lost souls drowned in those dreadful seas.” She bustled along the corridor, chatting away, apparently not requiring him to respond, and led him into a low-pitched chamber. As she had promised, there was a bright fire burning in the hearth. Two padded armchairs stood invitingly by the warmth and in the centre of the room was a large bed covered by a feather quilt.

  “I’ll lend the poor dear a nightdress,” she said kindly. “She must get out of those wet things.”

  She bustled away, as Celedorn carefully set Elorin down in one of the chairs.

  He sat on his heels in front of her. “Elorin,” he said, gently slapping her cheek. “You must change out of those wet clothes.”

  She groaned a little. “Where are we?”

  “We have arrived in Sirkris.”

  She closed her eyes again just as the landlady returned carrying a nightdress. “Here you are,” she said, handing it to Celedorn. “She’s taller than me, and,” she chuckled, “an awful lot slimmer but at least it’s dry. Now, some hot wine is what she needs and some for you too, young man. You look just about finished yourself.”