The Book of the Sword (Darkest Age)

by A. J. Lake

  ‘This whole mountain is named for Loki, in memory of the destruction he wrought when he tried to bend the whole world to his will, and was bound in chains by the elder gods. But many do not know that Loki still lives beneath this mountain.’

  Edmund felt his skin go cold. All Fritha’s old tales were true! He realised that he had never really believed it – a demon-god who could control dragons; could send his will across the sea. Fritha was white-faced, clasping her hands as if to still their trembling. Cathbar’s hand flew to his sword hilt. Only Elspeth had not moved. She nodded her head slightly, as if Eolande had only confirmed what she already knew. But her eyes were dark with fear, and her right hand clenched so hard that the knuckles were white.

  ‘We know of Loki,’ Edmund said, feeling that he spoke for all of them. ‘And we’ve seen some of what he can do.’ He thought of his uncle, Aelfred: always laughing; tall and confident in his boundless ambition. But Loki had found him somehow, and had turned him mad. ‘He has power outside the mountain, hasn’t he?’ Edmund’s voice caught in his throat.

  Eolande nodded. ‘He has long been able to send his will outside his prison. He makes slaves of men and beasts, and draws life from them as they serve him. There are more of them in the lower caves, and in the waters below the mountain, never dying, but never truly alive. They crave life, and will feed on travellers if they can.’ Her face was bleak. ‘But the spirits you met have never served Loki. They were once an army, sent here to destroy him.’

  ‘An army!’ Elspeth whispered.

  Eolande turned to look at her. ‘An army of the Ice people. Sons, and brothers, and husbands … all destroyed. All condemned to drift in the caves, in the cold, for as long as Loki lives.’ Her voice had hardened, and she fixed Elspeth with such a glittering stare that for a moment Edmund was afraid of her.

  ‘So – pardon me, lady – how comes it that you are safe here?’ It was Cathbar, shifting his weight uncomfortably on the cold floor. Eolande seemed to come to herself again: her face relaxed and she smiled at Cathbar.

  ‘A fair question. I have had the help of all those who came before me.’ She stood to refill the water-cup, running her fingers gently over its carvings before she set it down between them.

  ‘I first came to the Snowlands as a young wife, travelling with my husband, the blacksmith Brokk. I knew little of Loki then – but word came that he had burst his chains and was about to escape the mountain. He had already brought fire and destruction to this land, and would destroy the world if he were freed. All the peoples of the earth were uniting to contain him, and they needed the most skilful smith to forge chains that would hold him. That was my husband.’ She stared at the carvings on the drinking cup for a moment. ‘He made the chains, and he and I helped to bind Loki again.’

  ‘You fought him yourself?’ Edmund burst out. He could not imagine this gracious woman in combat with a demon.

  ‘How did you do it?’ demanded Elspeth at almost the same moment. Eolande turned a level stare on them both, and Edmund felt another momentary shiver of fear.

  ‘I played a small part,’ she said quietly. ‘Many, many people died to fasten those chains. A few survived, with the help of spells and charms.’ She raised one graceful arm to show a twisted bracelet, wood and metal. ‘That was how we were able to attack him.’

  ‘But nothing can stand against Loki!’ Fritha’s voice was full of shock, and she gazed at the flimsy-looking charm in disbelief.

  Eolande nodded. ‘It’s a saying of the Elder Gods, isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘No single thing can harm Loki; no single thing can thwart him. But we did not fight singly, you might say.’

  She rose and walked to the translucent ice wall. The light was glowing gold outside. Eolande went on without looking at them. ‘All the peoples of the earth came together to fight Loki that day, each bringing their own skills. Even some of the Fay left their woods and moors to join us. Their magic was strongest of all.’

  Fritha’s eyes had widened in horror at the mention of the Fay, and Cathbar stiffened. ‘You called on the uncanny ones – on sorcery!’ he exclaimed.

  Eolande whirled to face him. ‘They offered their help.’ Her voice had hardened again. ‘How else could we have come into Loki’s presence and lived?’

  ‘Can you bring me close to him?’ Elspeth demanded suddenly.

  There was a silence. Edmund felt an icy shock as he looked at his friend’s set face. After all that Eolande had said – a whole army killed – how could Elspeth think of confronting Loki? How could she survive, whatever the protection?

  ‘You think you can fight him, do you?’ Eolande said softly, the glitter returning to her eyes. ‘I wonder if you understand the dangers, even now. There have been hotheads before – and all of them ended in the cavern of the ghosts.’

  Elspeth’s face was pale, but Edmund could see from the jut of her chin that she was not to be frightened off now. She flexed her fingers, and Edmund waited for the flash of light to spring out – but the sword did not appear.

  ‘I believe I can kill him,’ Elspeth said. ‘I’ve come a long way for this.’ Eolande was silent, her expression unreadable.

  ‘If you won’t help me,’ Elspeth went on, ‘I’ll look for him myself.’

  ‘No,’ Eolande said. ‘I will take you to him. I know the path that leads to his cave. I would not take it willingly, for all the protection I bear – but with my help, you may survive him.’

  Edmund looked again at Elspeth’s set face, knowing that there would be no arguing with her. Whatever happened, he would not let her go alone with Eolande. The woman had offered them hospitality and maybe protection – but something about her filled him with unease. He glanced at Cathbar, who was scowling. The captain held his gaze for an instant, and nodded.

  ‘I hope you’ll not mind leading three of us, lady,’ he put in, clambering up. ‘I go with the girl wherever she goes. And Edmund, here, will not leave her either.’

  Elspeth was already on her feet. Edmund jumped up to stand beside her, pushing away his growing feeling of dread. Fritha was standing too, pulling up her fur hood.

  ‘I will go as well,’ she insisted.

  Eolande looked at them all for a long moment. Then she inclined her head, gesturing towards the glowing ice wall. ‘It’s dawn,’ she said. ‘We can leave at once: it’s a long climb down the mountain, and best if we get there in daylight.’

  At the edge of the chamber there was a narrow crack where the ice did not quite meet the rock. Eolande gestured Elspeth to go through first. ‘It’s tight for a few steps only,’ she promised, slipping through the gap after her.

  Fritha and Edmund followed, and Edmund heard Cathbar puffing and muffling a curse as he pushed himself through at the back. They were wedged between the ice and the rock, in a space so narrow that Edmund’s shoulders scraped the walls on each side and Cathbar, at the rear, had to turn sideways. They edged forward in the steadily brightening light, and after a few paces the passage widened a little. Then Edmund heard Elspeth gasp, and the next moment, she and Eolande had disappeared from in front of them. He and Fritha pushed ahead into blinding sunlight.

  They had emerged through a crack in the ice on to the glacier. A roughened, grey-white sheet of ice stretched all about them, soaring up at their backs into a pale blue, cloudless sky. The sun was behind them, but even so the light dazzled Edmund after the dimness of the chamber.

  ‘Tread carefully,’ Eolande called, her voice sounding high and thin in the clear air.

  Blinking, Edmund looked at the ground. Smooth, sharp ice fell to a narrow ledge, almost like a path, just where they were standing. From the ledge the tumbled ice of the glacier swept down to the distant snow fields, lying in a sheet of pure white far below. Edmund stared at the scene, dizzied by the sudden sense of space around him. Beside him, Fritha was also blinking in the sunlight, turning her head as if to savour the air on her face. They rested like that for a moment, hearing Cathbar’s hoarse cry of relief as he emerged behind
them.

  ‘Don’t stop here!’ he told them. ‘Keep up with the others.’

  Edmund saw that Eolande was already guiding Elspeth away along the ledge. He started after them, his feet crunching on the snow that covered the surface. The ice above him was folded and pitted, even jagged in places, and studded with grey rubble – but the ledge, extending across the glacier ahead as far as he could see, looked smooth under its snow covering. Edmund quickened his pace, and immediately turned his foot on a hidden rock. Cathbar and Fritha were a few paces behind him, and saw him stumble.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said hastily, but he went on with more caution, feeling his way through the thin snow.

  Elspeth was at the front of the party, moving carefully but surely along the ice track. Unexpectedly, it was Eolande who stumbled. She looked back as if to check where the rest of them were, staggered suddenly and flung out a hand against the sloping wall of ice at her back. A crack spread across the ice from her fingertips, racing up the wall above her head. Edmund, already leaping forward to offer his help, heard the creaking noise from several feet away. Next moment the crack was a foot wide, stretching down below Eolande’s feet. Elspeth had turned at the sound and started back, shouting something he could not hear.

  ‘Elspeth!’ Edmund screamed.

  He was running towards the gap now, careless of the treacherous surface, with Fritha and Cathbar pounding behind him. He heard Cathbar bellowing his name. And then there was a great, crunching groan as if the mountain itself were bellowing in pain, and the ice dropped away beneath his feet.

  Fritha caught him under the arms and hauled him painfully up, his back scraping against the lip of the crevasse, his feet kicking at nothingness. Lumps of ice were breaking off on both sides of him and falling into the yawning gap, to shatter on grey rock or vanish into the invisible depths. He was still staring down at them when Cathbar dragged both him and Fritha away from the edge to sprawl on the path a few yards back. At last the hideous noise was stilled, and even the skittering of falling ice faded to nothing.

  Edmund pulled himself up and edged forward again. ‘Elspeth!’ he yelled, his voice sounding so thin he wondered if she could even hear him. Elspeth was a distant figure on the far side of the crevasse. She was standing on the very edge, calling to him; her voice sounded urgent, but he could not make out the words.

  ‘ELSPETH!’ Cathbar roared behind him, making Edmund jump and setting off another small fall of ice. ‘Wait for us, girl! We’ll find a way around! Halfwit that I am!’ he added in an undertone. ‘I knew the woman wasn’t to be trusted!’

  Elspeth was still looking at them, but now Eolande took her arm and began talking earnestly to her, pointing outwards across the ice. She’s telling her not to wait, Edmund realised, and he knew at once that Elspeth was in terrible danger. How could Eolande have made the ground crack open? He remembered the woman’s still figure standing at the very edge of the crack as it spread; her calmness, as if she had always known what was going to happen. She had her arm around Elspeth’s shoulders now, and Elspeth was waving to him, then turning to go on. He opened his mouth to yell, No! Stop! – and instead, almost without thinking, reached out for Eolande’s eyes, as the woman bent protectively over his friend.

  He could see nothing but whiteness, and feel only a whirling mist: neither thoughts nor vision to catch hold of. Alarmed, he drew back – to find that the small figure of Eolande had stopped and was staring back at him. For an instant he heard her cool voice in his head.

  You can’t do that to me, little boy.

  Then both she and Elspeth were walking away from him, down the path. Neither looked back.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I finished the chains on a day of clear skies and sun. A shadow fell on the forge, and I looked up to see the three Fay who had sent me here.

  – Where is the sword? they asked.

  I told them I could not make it sharp enough: that I had forged these chains instead. I said nothing of Ioneth.

  – The Ice people will help me to bind him, I said.

  They looked at me in silence for a while.

  – It may contain him, the tallest said, but his tone was doubtful.

  – It will not, said another, a woman by her voice. But if he must make the attempt, we will help him. The time grows short.

  Did we really have to leave them?

  The doubt had been growing in Elspeth’s mind ever since she and Eolande had set off, leaving Edmund, Fritha and Cathbar stranded on the far side of the crevasse, but Eolande had guided her onwards with an urgency which matched her own impatience. She looked back in vain for any trace of them. The ridge stretched out behind her, marked with two sets of footprints, the pitted, rock-strewn ice soaring above it and stretching away to the edge of sight. She could no longer see any sign of the crevasse, or of her companions. ‘I hope they’re safe,’ she burst out. She only realised that she had spoken aloud when Eolande turned to look at her.

  ‘Why would they not be?’ The dark-haired woman’s voice was calm. ‘There’s a clear path back to my chamber in the rock; the spirits won’t trouble them now. And if they do choose to come after us … well, the girl who was with you, Fritha, has lived in these lands all her life. She’ll know how to stay safe on the ice. And the man, your servant, did not look to me like one who takes unnecessary risks. But we have no time to wait for them.’

  ‘He’s not my servant!’ Elspeth began, but Eolande was already moving away. The ridge had narrowed: a little way ahead of them it lost itself entirely in the shelves and folds of the ice below. The slope beneath them was shallower than before, and Eolande took her arm to guide her into one of the ice furrows.

  ‘The ground will be rougher from now on,’ she warned. ‘We must go carefully, but we cannot lose speed. If you are to succeed, you will need to be at the foot of the mountain before midday … you and Ioneth.’

  Elspeth stopped. ‘You … you know that name?’ She had heard it murmured by the creatures under the lake; hissed at her by the spirits that tried to suck her life away, but never spoken by another living being.

  ‘Of course,’ Eolande said. ‘It is the name of the sword you bear, as you must know yourself.’ She had not stopped walking, as if unwilling to lose even an instant.

  Elspeth started after her again. ‘So how do you –?’ she began.

  ‘I knew Ioneth when she was a living woman.’

  An image flashed through Elspeth’s mind: a young woman standing as still as stone in a fire-lit cave, determination on her face. She had caught hold of a sword blade, and had dissolved; melted into light. And the sword was left glowing white … I saw her! Ioneth: the girl in the cave … and the man who made the sword.

  Eolande had quickened her pace, her eyes on the path ahead. ‘She had no family,’ she said. ‘She was adopted as a child by Ingvald, a leader of the Ice people, and his wife. It was Ingvald and his three sons who helped my husband to bind the Destroyer. Brokk survived that day, but Ingvald and his sons were all killed.’

  Elspeth thought she could hear the sword’s voice in a low sob, almost at the edge of hearing; but she only had ears for Eolande’s story.

  ‘Ioneth was left to the care of her grandfather, the clanleader Erlingr, but she spent most of her time after her father’s death with me – and with Brokk. She would stand by his forge and watch him work. I grew to know her, or so I thought.’

  They were making their way directly down the glacier now, still within the fold in the ice; their footing made easier by the stones and rubble studding the floor. But the channel narrowed until there was scarcely room for one foot in front of the other, and ahead of them, Elspeth saw, it closed entirely.

  Eolande turned to the side of the ice channel, clambering up it and moving across the glacier towards a furrow further along. ‘This way,’ she called. She said nothing more while they picked their way across the slippery surface and lowered themselves into the next rock-strewn furrow.

  ‘So what happened?�
�� Elspeth demanded when impatience became too much for her.

  Eolande turned to look at her. The dark-haired woman’s face was suddenly wary, as if she feared she had said too much. But she answered after a moment, without slowing her steps. ‘When Brokk came to the Snowlands, it was not only to remake Loki’s chains. He was asked to forge a sword – a sword unlike any other – that could kill Loki if the need arose.’

  Elspeth’s hand began to throb. She hurried alongside Eolande, stumbling as she watched the dark woman’s face rather than the path; afraid to miss a word of her story.

  ‘And the need did arise. Loki was chained, but the land still burned, and the hungry spirits began to appear, in the crevasses and in the waters of the lake. But Brokk said the sword was not yet ready. He had been working on it for many months – for longer – but he said there was something lacking in it; that it would not work. And then Ioneth came to him. She said that the sword needed a living spirit if it was to kill Loki. And she offered herself.’

  The throbbing in Elspeth’s hand had become almost too painful to bear. ‘And he said yes,’ she murmured through clenched teeth. The whiteness all around her was blotted out for a moment by the vision of the red-lit cave; the slender woman with her arms outstretched, and the grey-bearded man … Brokk, the blacksmith.

  ‘Was Brokk older than you?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Grey-haired, with a lined face and brown eyes?’

  Eolande stopped walking, and turned on Elspeth with something like anger in her face. ‘Older?’ she cried. ‘No! How could you …?’ She strode off again, walking on in silence until Elspeth feared she had offended her, and began to stammer an apology.

  ‘You could not know,’ Eolande said shortly. Her voice sounded strained, and she did not turn to look at Elspeth. ‘Brokk was younger than me.’ She lapsed into silence again, and for a while Elspeth walked behind her uncomfortably, not wanting to speak.

  But I have to know! If the sword … if Ioneth is mine now, surely I have a right to know about her? ‘Please,’ she said softly, after a pause, ‘tell me what happened when the sword was forged.’