Age of Swords

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Persephone noticed a throbbing in her head. She reached up and felt a lump on the back of her skull. She must have hit her head on the floor or wall, but had no memory of doing so.

  “Suri, can you make a fire?” Persephone asked.

  A short pause, a faint humming sound, a clap, and then a bright flame appeared. The brighter light revealed the rest of the cave. Everything that had been in the middle of the cavern was scattered, thrown away in equal measure from the center point that had been Balgargarath. Brin had an ugly cut across her forehead that bled into her eyes. Moya, who still held on to the bow, sported a scrape on one cheek and a set of bloody knuckles as if she’d been in a fistfight. The three dwarfs and Roan had only minor scrapes. Being so far away and close to the wall, Suri and Arion showed no injury; Persephone knew better.

  The dragon was still there as well. In the light of Suri’s fire, she turned around three times before lying down. The great beast tucked her serpent tail around herself and lowered her head between two great claws. Her open eyes focused on Suri.

  “You did it,” Frost said to Moya. “You killed Balgargarath.”

  He spoke in a disbelief mirrored by his fellow Dherg. “That creature has denied us access to our hallowed halls, our first and most ancient home, for six thousand years. Warriors, great heroes, and kings fought with magic swords and armor and died trying to do what a small band of witches did with sticks and a string.”

  Moya bent down and picked up one of the practice arrows that had been gathered with the rest of their things near the side of the Agave. “You really want to call us names while I’m holding this?”

  Flood took a step back and held up his hands. “Good witches…of course. Wonderful, wonderful ones, really. Witches don’t have to be bad, right?”

  Moya stared at the dwarf for a moment, pursed her lips, and nodded. “Fine.”

  Persephone knelt beside Suri and Arion. “How is she?”

  The Fhrey looked better than she had. Some of her color had returned, and the bleeding had stopped, leaving only the telltale sign of a dried and flaking crust on her upper lip. She was breathing easily, eyes closed. Suri held Arion’s bald head in her lap, stroking her gently, not unlike how she used to pet Minna.

  “I took too long.” Suri sucked in a ragged breath. “I just took too long, and now they’re both…” She shook her head rather than finish.

  Persephone took Suri’s hand and gave it a strong squeeze. “You saved us. You know that, don’t you? We’d all be dead if you hadn’t.”

  “She saved us…” Suri looked up across the room at the dragon. A hand fluttered to her mouth.

  “Yes,” Persephone agreed. “You’re right, of course, but you did, too. You need to remember that.” She watched the mystic struggle to breathe. “You know, I remember seeing a white wolf throw herself at another wolf, a bigger and meaner one, because that other animal was going to hurt you. I think, Suri…I think if you could have explained what you were doing, Minna would have agreed. She was a very wise wolf.”

  Suri cried.

  —

  They ate what food they still had and prepared to leave the cave that had been their refuge for…

  Suri had no idea.

  She didn’t care.

  The others struggled with complications arising from the fact that Arion was still unconscious. The little men suggested leaving her and coming back with more help. Brin offered to stay. She wanted more time with the tablets. Persephone refused. “No one is remaining here. No one left behind.”

  Suri sat in the dark, watching them pack. Persephone and Roan gathered their things into bags and a pile. Brin struggled with the tablets, but the stones were heavy and she could only manage to take a few. Moya rounded up the arrows and practiced with the bow while two of the three little men worked on constructing a sling to carry Arion using Persephone’s breckon mor. Rain, having found his pickax, went out to clear a path to the stairs that the dwarfs referred to as Death by Steps.

  Suri watched the activity in the privacy of the dark beside the body of a wolf. After seeing her sit down next to the still form, the dragon left the Agave and went out to the lichen-covered cavern.

  “I’m sorry,” Suri said.

  She had spoken to Minna every day since the white wolf came into her life. They’d held endless conversations concerning the stars and the flight of bees, but now this was all she could think to say. Other words refused to come, her throat tight. She brushed her fingers across the familiar fur.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  Suri’s hand found a paw. Her lifelong friend lay beside her, and in the dark, she could imagine Minna was only sleeping, except for the limpness of that foot. Her sister, companion on countless adventures, wasn’t sleeping. Minna was gone.

  “I’m sorry,” Suri whispered, rubbing her thumb along Minna’s leg.

  She stayed with her in the dark until Persephone called for them to leave.

  Suri stood up then, and raised her hands. She placed them together palm-to-palm and began to slowly rub them in a circular motion, moving them faster and faster.

  “I love you, Minna. I always will.”

  In the quiet of the cave, the loud clap caught everyone’s attention and they all turned to see the burst of fire erupt where once there had been the wisest of all wolves.

  —

  Death by Steps was, as one might imagine, a steep and endless series of stone blocks. Suri, who was used to trotting up cascades, shouldn’t have had trouble bounding up the steps, but she was tired. No, more like drained, as if some part, an important part, had been poured out. The others needed to pause frequently, and on one occasion, they fell asleep. Suri sat in the dark on the bottom step behind them, her legs curled up, arms folded—so cold without Minna. She laid her head down and closed her eyes.

  “You need to be careful,” Tura had said. The old woman was crouched on the floor of their home, sorting the ripe berries from the green. “That’s a wolf pup.”

  “She’s cute,” Suri said.

  “She is now.”

  “You didn’t leave me in the woods.” Suri tried to steal a berry and got her hand slapped.

  “That was different.”

  “How?”

  “One day, one day soon, she’ll weigh more than you, run faster for longer, and have teeth and jaws that can rip flesh that will provide her all she needs to eat. Minna won’t need you then; you’ll just be a nuisance.”

  Suri looked down at the bundle of white fur with the black nose and the curled tail. “Minna would never hurt me.”

  “She’s a wild thing. She listens to the wind and to the will of Wogan. If a situation calls for it, she could turn.”

  “What kind of situation?” Suri asked.

  Tura shrugged. “Life and death. If the two of you were starving in a cold winter, she could see you as nothing more than a tasty rabbit.”

  Suri smirked as she played with the little pup, whose needle-sharp teeth pulled at her belt bag until Suri lost her balance and fell over. “Minna would never hurt me, not even then.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she loves me, just as I love her.”

  “Maybe. But if I were starving…if you and I were going to die…I think I might consider what wolf meat tastes like.”

  “That just proves Minna is better than you. You hear that, Minna? You’re wiser than old Tura. You must be the wisest of all wolves.”

  Suri tried again and this time managed to steal a berry. She popped it into her mouth before Tura could stop her. The old woman frowned.

  Suri grinned and chewed, but the berry had been a green one, and tasted bitter.

  Suri woke up with a crick in her neck, one still-sleeping leg, and an aching sense of loss. The blissful dream broke apart, leaving only traces of joy that rapidly dissolved in the acid of reality. The others were getting to their feet and Suri joined them, struggling with the pins and needles in her lazy leg.

  She heard it
then, such a familiar sound—panting.

  Suri snapped her head around, looking behind her, but the glowstones were both up ahead, and all she saw was black. She peered into the void but saw nothing.

  “Minna?” she whispered.

  No response—even the panting had stopped.

  She waited until the others were far ahead. She wanted it to be true. Flashes of her dream came back. Images of a wolf pup rolling on a floor.

  “Minna?” she called louder.

  Silence.

  “I miss you,” she said. Then she turned and followed the others.

  By the time they reached the top of those stairs, even Suri was exhausted—and still they were far from out. Instead of reaching sunlight, they entered a large hall in the city of Neith. Suri’s legs throbbed, feeling tight to the point of snapping. She lay down with the rest of them, the cold stone feeling good against the heat of her back.

  “We’re only to here?” Moya said in agony.

  Tilting her head up, Suri noticed that the hall was vaguely familiar. Pillars lined the open space except a large section where the floor had fallen away.

  “Is this…?” Persephone started.

  “This is where we fell,” Moya confirmed. “We still have all those wide stairs left to go.”

  “Is there really no more food?” Brin asked.

  “I’d be happy with water,” Moya said. “I’m sweating like a rat in a cat’s mouth.”

  “Water on the level above us,” Rain said.

  “Then I say we head up, have a long drink and a rest before we go any farther,” Persephone declared.

  “Okay,” Moya said, but she took her time getting up.

  Nevertheless, everyone had moved off toward the stairs except the mystic, who remained seated. She waited, looking back down the dark hole of the steps.

  “You okay?” Persephone called back.

  “No.”

  “Right, stupid question. Sorry.” Persephone came back to her. She sat down, pulled her knees up, and offered Suri a sympathetic smile. “When my husband, Reglan, died it was just a few days after my last son’s death.” She shook her head remembering. “I felt all alone in the world. Empty. Lost. Angry, too. Lots of anger really, hate even. I had plenty of that. I hated the world, myself, even Reglan for dying, as if he’d done it just to hurt me.”

  Persephone was trying to be comforting, but she wasn’t helping. Her loss was nothing like Suri’s. Minna hadn’t died. She’d been murdered by her best friend.

  “Want me to leave you alone?” Persephone asked.

  Suri nodded, though she wasn’t really sure. She didn’t feel like talking, or listening, but silence didn’t help, either. Nothing helped.

  “Okay.” Persephone started to walk away, then stopped. “Here,” she said, holding out the glowstone. “We’ll be at a fountain one flight up. Don’t take too long. You’ll make me worry.”

  Suri listened to the shuffle of Persephone’s feet until they faded away and she was alone again.

  She set the glowstone down, hugged her legs, and watched as the others, marked by their bobbing light, climbed the steps and disappeared.

  Then Suri waited.

  My imagination. That’s all it was.

  She sat as still as she could, listening. So strange to be alone in that silent dark. Suri strained to hear anything, but not a creak, not a rodent scuffling, not even the drip from some unseen pool disturbed the quiet. Suri sighed and stood up. Partway to her feet, she froze.

  Panting.

  The sound was close—very close—right behind her.

  Minna?

  Suri started to turn, but before she could, an icy, damp hand clamped over her mouth.

  —

  Persephone began recognizing things and realized they were nearly out.

  The hardest part of the trip was over. Already Persephone began wondering: Have they appointed a keenig? Is it Raithe? It has to be him, who else? Certainly not that limp bit of a man, Lipit, or the skittish Alward. But maybe Raithe had remained adamant in his refusal, or maybe he had simply left—gone with Malcolm to his hill past the Bern River to build a new life. Maybe the chieftains had given up. Have they disbanded the Council of Tirre, gone their separate ways, leaving the question unresolved? Or have the Fhrey attacked? This last one frightened her more than any of the others. Although she was surprised to discover that not seeing Raithe again came in a close second. Now that she was heading back, Persephone was seized with fear and worry that she’d be too late, had taken too long. She saw faces in the dark: Padera’s mushed-melon frown, Gifford’s lopsided smile, Habet’s boyish grin, even Tressa’s scowl. What if while she was gone the Fhrey had killed them all?

  “Where’s Suri?” Brin asked.

  They were gathered alongside a stone fountain. About the size of Brin’s old roundhouse, it had a basin like a shallow bowl, partially sunk into the floor. In the center, was a statue of three dwarfs standing back-to-back, though they could hardly be called dwarfs given they were at least seven feet tall. At the feet of each sat a bucket, partially tilted and spilling water into the basin. When Persephone arrived, the others had already drunk their fill, and some, like Moya, splashed their faces and wet their necks.

  “Just downstairs,” Persephone replied. “Wanted to be alone. She’ll be along in a little while.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Flood made a disparaging sound. “It was just an animal.”

  Persephone whirled on him. “Don’t say that again! Not ever. Do you hear me?” She flashed a glare at the rest of them. “Not any of you.”

  “You’d be taking your life in your hands, that’s for sure.” Moya was nodding. “If Suri hears you say that, you’ll be a grease spot.”

  “That’s not it at all.” Persephone lowered her voice but not her tone; if anything there was more heat in her words, more condemnation than ever. “That wolf…Minna…she meant everything to Suri.” Persephone fixed each of them with a hard stare. “If it were just the two of them down there, if just Suri and Minna were trapped in that cave, they’d both still be there. Suri sacrificed Minna for us. Don’t you ever make her regret that. Do you hear me? Even for a minute, or Mari help me, I’ll…” She continued to stare until she had garnered a nod from everyone, short of Arion, who still lay unconscious in a sling that looked very much like one of Roan’s hanging chairs. Then Persephone took a breath and calmed down. She shrugged. “And there’s what Moya said, too.”

  Persephone looked back down the stairs. The glowstone below didn’t give off enough light for her to see clearly.

  “Suri’s been known to forget about time,” Moya said. “Her idea of a little while could range anywhere from a minute to a month.”

  “Let’s give her a bit longer,” Persephone said.

  After another few minutes, she called down. “Suri?”

  Silence.

  She got up and walked to the edge of the stair. “Suri, we really should be pushing on.”

  More silence, but she could see the glowstone right about where she’d left it. Fear gripped her stomach as she descended the stairs. As she got closer, her eyes told her what her heart already knew. The glowstone was still there but Suri wasn’t. She picked it up, panned it around, but still nothing.

  “Suri!” she shouted. Her voice echoed. “Suri, can you hear me?”

  The panic in her voice brought others. When they reached her, Moya had her sword out, as did Brin and Roan.

  “Suri!” Persephone yelled once more while pulling her own sword. “Suri, where are you?”

  Persephone’s voice bounced back, and then…

  “Lost another little one?” A voice came out of the dark, speaking skewed Rhunic, a cold haunting voice with a rasp and a high, taunting lilt. “It’s ours now. We have the small one in the dark where you can’t find us. Your dog is gone, and you can’t track where we are.”

  The voice was right. Persephone struggled to determine where the voice came from; echoes confused her. The words
came from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

  “Suri can do magic,” Moya whispered to Persephone. “She can defend herself, right?”

  Brin overheard and looked at both of them, horrified. “She needs to make sounds. To do her singing. And she needs her hands to wiggle her fingers. It covers your mouth and holds your wrists with long, clammy hands and a grip that’s so strong. You can’t get it off.”

  Persephone took a step, but didn’t know where to go. The stone floor spread out into darkness in all directions, running under a forest of pillars that eventually disappeared into the dark.

  “She has a lovely face,” the voice teased.

  “Oh, dear Mari.” Brin shuddered.

  “Suri!” Persephone screamed.

  The only answer, besides the echo, was a horrible little laugh.

  Persephone looked to each of them, but there were no answers to be found, and no time to find one. “Let her go! Let her go, or we’ll kill you. We’ve already killed Balgargarath.”

  Another chilling laugh. “You are all flies in my web. All little children to be swallowed. Please come look for me. Come into the dark and search for—” The voice paused.

  They waited.

  Then a wind rose, blowing so hard that Persephone had to steady her stance.

  From beneath, they heard a rhythmic beating: thrump, thrump, thrump.

  This was followed by a crack of stone that jarred all of them off their feet. Persephone fell, her sword and the glowstone clattering onto the floor. She felt the spray of pebbles and finally heard a deafening roar. She knew that roar. Trapped in the Agave, she’d heard it over and over, until it had hurt her ears. Then she heard a scream, a high, raspy, gurgling scream. This was followed by a snap, crack, crack, and snap as if someone were walking over brittle branches on a cold winter’s day. The screaming stopped. The thrumping of the wings halted.

  Persephone had the presence of mind to scoop up the glowstone. Cupping it, she searched the area. Across the vast room, the light revealed the dragon lying down, tail curled, head tilted. They rushed down, crossing the room until they spotted Suri. She stood beside the dragon, rubbing the bridge of its massive snout.