Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue (The First Sword Chronicles Book 2)

by Frances Smith

  "I am not sure it is possible to prepare to descend into the Black Abyss," Michael said. "Yet I am ready to do what must be done for the sake of Filia Tullia. Lead on if you will, my lady."

  Silwa nodded, and pushed open the wrought-iron gates and, her helm and armour shining like a star, she led the way down the black steps and into the pit.

  Michael followed her into the darkness. The shimmering starlight of Lady Silwa's helm was the only light to guide him as he passed from silence to cacophony and back again. Sometimes the tunnel was so silent that even his foot falls dared not disturb the peace, other times he could hear them echoing upon the cold, damp stone. And then there were times when a whole host of sounds enveloped him: clanking chains, crashing sticks and cracking whips, the moans of poor lost souls, savage bestial growling and the screams, the screams.

  Michael was almost grateful when the screaming was obscured by the cacophonous noise of drums and symbols, horns and flutes playing louder and louder to block out all other noise. But then he remembered what the badly played music was hiding and wished for silence once again.

  He reached the bottom of the steps a little way behind Lady Silwa, and immediately a feeling of great heat assailed his face. All around him fires blazed: red fires, white fires, dark fires as black as night, and in the fires the demons danced, warriors and captains and winged imps, the firelight casting lurid glows upon their faces as they careened wildly in between the blazing pits. And in the pits themselves, Michael could see the souls of the damned, withered and wizened, groaning in pain as they writhed in fire, cowering from the cruel blows of their demonic tormentors. Their skin looked as though it was sagging off their bones, and Michael was torn between his desire to turn his gaze away and his desire to assail the minions of the Eldest One and teach them the lesson he had taught the Crimson Rose before the walls of Davidheyr.

  "Please, my lady, tell me that these are grave sinners, being justly punished for their crimes," Michael whispered.

  "Sadly not," Silwa said. "This is only the first level of the abyss, and these people are merely those who had the misfortune to die unshriven, as Tullia did."

  "And I must leave them here?"

  "You cannot save everyone," Silwa said quietly. "You cannot fight my father's demonhost, and I cannot fight them in this place on your behalf."

  "Will they allow us to take Filia Tullia away from here without battle?" Michael asked.

  "That depends on whether she has attracted any attention and, if so, then whose eye she has caught."

  Silwa led him through the pits, past the fires, past the lakes of ice where souls lay buried up to their necks, past souls impaled on black stakes, past souls fighting for the amusement of demons. Some of the poor lost souls cried out to him, stretching out their hands in supplication, emitting feeble groans that were the only sounds they could make. The demons regarded Michael with suspicion, even hostility, but it was clear that they all knew who Lady Silwa was and none dared challenge her. They drew back before her face, and many dropped to their knees in abject terror as she swept on by.

  Silwa led him to a secluded place, a cave set in a sheet of black rock, and such was their distance from the other tortures that the sound of them began to fade. Instead there was only the sound of a single person sobbing in pain, screaming sometimes, whimpering in others. It took a while for Michael to recognise the voice, for he had never heard Filia Tullia sound like that.

  He stopped, feeling his hands begin to shake. "No. No it cannot be. They cannot have broken Filia Tullia so swiftly." Not Tullia, so brave, so strong, so fearless in battle and resolute in duty. The fearful mouse he heard before him could not be the same bold warrior that he had known. "What have they done to her?"

  "I do not know, but whatever it is you must stop it," Silwa said. "I cannot interfere. Draw your swords."

  Michael reached for the places where, had he been awake, he would have worn his swords, but to his astonishment Duty and Piety appeared in his hands as though thought alone were sufficient to spring them to his grasp. Both seem transient and insubstantial in this place, and yet both seemed solid and real in his grasp.

  "I will explain later," Silwa said swiftly. "Now, if it is only a lower demon, or even a warrior, tormenting Tullia then your actions may yet pass unnoticed. If there is a captain present, or worse, then we shall have difficulties. Be prepared to run once you have Tullia."

  Michael nodded. "May God's grace go with us, ma'am."

  "We will have need of it in this place, should things go ill," Silwa said. "Turo was the only one who never feared my father."

  Michael strode into the cave, Duty and Piety held before him, to behold Tullia, stripped half naked and lying on the ground, dirt and bruises on a face streaked with tear tracks, her hands covered in grime where she had pawed at the ground, trying to crawl away, a spike driven through her leg to hold her in place, small fires dancing across her back.

  Over her stood a demon, a demon with leathery wings like a bat and a beak like an eagle, with cold crimson eyes, with claws instead of fingers, with talons instead of toes. He was clad in armour of scraps of leather, metal and bone, beneath which garb some patches of his flayed red skin could be plainly seen.

  He looked up when he saw Michael, his features twisting into an ugly leer. "Long has it been since any mortal dared walk this place before his time."

  Inside of Michael his rage howled like a rabid beast, pawing and clawing at him, eager to be unleashed. It was with the greatest effort of will that Michael did not hurl himself upon this demon right there and then. He must be calm, and take strength from virtue. Demons were well acquainted with fury; he would never overmatch one in its own domain armed with its own weapons. He must be virtuous, so that he could overmaster it with a weapon of which it had no knowledge.

  "Filia Tullia is coming with me," Michael said in a voice as cold as winter's heart. "Allow me passage or I swear by almighty Turo, Lord of Seas and Oceans, I will end your wretched life."

  The demon leered. "Run along, mortal, your threats do not scare me. I am a warrior of the dark, bound in the service of the dread king Riate. Long have I watched this one, and for as long desired her. I will not part with her now upon your word, nor even that of him whom I must call 'master'."

  Michael's eyes widened. "You are His Highness' familiar, which Amy spoke of."

  "I am Aggaroth, warrior of the fifth rank," Aggaroth hissed, bending down to stroke Tullia's cheek with one hand. She whimpered, and tried to pull away from him. "I have waited long for this. Waited for the day when she could come to me, and I could humble her and break her haughty spirit. She has looked down on me and scorned me. She does not scorn me now."

  Michael sprang at him. "God be my strength!" Duty and Piety wove patterns through the air in his hands as he descended upon Aggaroth like a wave engulfing an island. Aggaroth had no sword, but his claws were sharp enough to parry the slashing strokes of duty while swiping out at Michael like some great cat with his own hand.

  But Michael had not trained under Gideon's tutelage merely to loose a dear comrade to the cruel claws of this abomination. He pressed the demon steadily, inexorably; avoiding Aggaroth's blows whilst with his own he scored the demon's armour and his claws.

  A stroke from Duty cut off one of Aggaroth's hands. A slashing blow from Piety severed the other.

  "Lady Silwa," Michael said. "Is there a way that I may kill this wretch."

  "We are not in the mortal world," Silwa said. "A killing blow here will destroy him."

  "Good," Michael whispered.

  Aggaroth's eyes widened. "Princess Silwa, I beg of you, have mercy-"

  Michael ran him through the heart with Piety before slicing off his head with Duty to be sure. "Mercy is for God, and I doubt he has any in his heart for the likes of you."

  The swords disappeared from Michael's hands as he ran to where Tullia lay and with one great heave tore the spike from out of the ground and Tullia's leg both. There was no visib
le injury, and Michael realised that, although the soul could of course acquire scars, it would not do so in the same way as the body.

  What has she suffered at Aggaroth's hands? And why did she say nought of it when last we spoke? Did she think so little of me that she thought I would not care?

  Michael knelt in front of Tullia, one hand held out in front of him.

  "Filia Tullia, if you will kindly take my hand it would be my honour to escort you out of here."

  Tullia looked up at him, her blue eyes beaten and haggard. "Michael?" she murmured. "No. This is a trick. I will not be fooled again."

  "This is no trick, Filia, I swear it," Michael said softly.

  "No," Tullia said, shaking her head. "You have done this before to torment me. Last time you appeared in the form of His Highness come to save me, now Michael? How credulous do you think I am?"

  "I am not a trick or an illusion sent here to torment you, Filia," Michael said. "I am the same Michael whom you fought beside while you lived, and whom you aided from beyond the grip of death. I am the Michael who promised to care for your sister, should you fall. I am the Michael who led you to this undeserved fate, and who has come to make it right as best I can."

  "This is no illusion, I assure you," Silwa said. "No demon would dare to impersonate me."

  "Michael..." Tullia whispered. "Oh, gods, Michael."

  She took his hand, and Michael pulled her onto her feet and into his embrace, where she stayed for a moment, shaking in his arms, her face buried in his shoulders.

  "Thank you," she said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear it. "I cannot-"

  "You need not, Tullia," Michael said. "This is not even worth the excess on the debt I owe you."

  "We should go," Silwa said sharply. "Aggaroth was not notable enough to attract immediate attention, but if any demon takes it into their head to challenge us if will not be easy."

  Michael's brow furrowed. "Filia, can you walk?"

  "It would be better if you carried her," Silwa said. "That way we can be sure she will not fall behind, and the demons cannot focus their attentions on her. But we must be swift, you will have to run rather than fight."

  "With your permission, Filia?" Michael asked, and when Tullia nodded he swept her up into his arms like a bride. "Then lead on, my lady, I am ready to be a hare."

  With Tullia in his arms Michael followed Silwa's swift-running feet, past the fire and the ice and the callous, cruel demons. They looked at him, growled at Tullia, reached out for her, making such faces and such noise that she clung to him, but whatever else they might have done Michael did not see as he bounded past them with feet of quicksilver. In Silwa's wake he ran past every demon and every other tortured soul he could not save, following her light he ran up the dark tunnel, ignoring the sounds that hounded at his back, until he burst out of the iron gates and emerged into the grey, mist-shrouded shadowlands.

  With a flick of her wrist Silwa caused the gateway to disappear behind them.

  Michael set Filia Tullia upon the ground, and as he did so her torn garments repaired themselves, and the bruises faded from her face, although there remained in those blue eyes a certain hollowness that he guessed was born from her mistreatment. Aye, souls did scar indeed.

  "Thank you," Tullia said quietly. "I...an eternity in that place..."

  "I will not ask what was done to you, Filia," Michael said. "But, when you appeared to aid me against the Voice of Corona, you seemed hale and hearty and you said nothing of this."

  Tullia looked him in the eyes. "What good would it have done? It was not my place to worry you or His Highness with such trifles as my situation."

  "Trifles?" Michael repeated.

  "Aye, trifles, in the scheme of things," Tullia said. "And besides, if I seemed hearty it is because you presented me with a welcome reprieve, a release that Aggaroth did not have power to deny me, for a while. To see you and Fiannuala again... I did not want to ruin that with whining of my troubles."

  "I would have come sooner, had I known," Michael said.

  "That you came at all is beyond hope," Tullia replied. She smiled at him. "You are-"

  "A man, Filia, take all in all," Michael said. "Now, much as I would love to lead you to the Heavenvault this very moment, with your permission I feel that we must tend to Princess Fiannuala first."

  "Of course," Tullia said. She got up off the ground, seeming a little more the brave warrior-mage that he remembered. "I will help however I can."

  "Lady Silwa," Michael said. "Do you where the princess may be found?"

  Silwa closed her eyes, still and silent for a moment. Then she began to run, her helm beginning to shine like a light to guide Michael and Tullia in the mist, and they ran behind her.

  Michael found that Duty and Piety had appeared in his hands once again. "Ma'am? Is there time now for an explanation?"

  Lady Silwa looked back. "Objects, creatures, which endure prolonged contact with spirit magic begin to undergo a metamorphosis, becoming more than they were created, better. For want of a better word they begin, in time, to develop a soul; some blades, the property of long lived or particularly powerful spirit warriors, have even been known to speak to their masters in the tongues of men. Those blades are the property of a First Sword of the Empire, a spirit warrior; and since you have carried Duty into battle they are familiar with you, and have responded to your need. No other weapons would serve you in this place."

  "But what if I lose them?" Michael asked.

  "They are not really here, even as you are not," Silwa replied. "And they cannot die. Unlike you. So worry less for them and more for yourself."

  "As you will, ma'am," Michael said.

  They ran through the mists, over floors like glass and surfaces like barren earth. At times the fog almost cleared; at others it was all Michael could do to see the light from Silwa's helm through the incredibly dense mist. He was grateful they did not come across any of the denizens of the shadow-lands; at times he thought he heard a creature roaring, or the forlorn howl of the forgotten dead, but none strayed across their path.

  And then Silwa stopped, resting her aegis upon the ground, "We are close now. I can sense a soul close by, fighting."

  "Then we must go," Michael said.

  "Wait," Silwa held up one hand. "I will not be able to assist you in this battle, Michael. Tanuk prowls these lands and he will disapprove enough of my cleansing Tullia's sins without me fighting at your side. I must be circumspect how I trespass against the laws of my relations, especially in this place. I must stand aside, as I did before when you were rescued by Metella."

  Michael nodded. "I understand ma'am, and bear you no ill will for such. Princess Fiannuala is my comrade, and if I must go to their aid alone that seems only right and proper. Now, which way do I go?"

  "Which way do we go," Tullia said.

  Michael looked at her. "If you would prefer to wait under the protection of Lady Silwa then-"

  "I fight with you," Tullia said. "Now and forever."

  Michael smiled. "And I am honoured to stand beside you, Filia. My lady, which way?"

  "North west," Silwa said, pointing the way. Michael ran as he was directed, Tullia not far behind, and this time it was Silwa who had to follow them as they were drawn to the sounds of battle up ahead.

  "Get off of me you moaning, spitting, gah! Take that!"

  "Princess Fiannuala, is that you?" Michael shouted.

  "Michael? You’re not dead again already, are you?"

  "No, I'm here to help," Michael yelled. "Filia Tullia is with me."

  "Tullia!" Fiannuala shouted. "I was wondering where you'd got too. I could use some assistance."

  "Keep shouting, I'm coming," Michael said.

  "Here! Here!" Fiannuala shouted. "No, not you, you ugly creature, get away!"

  Michael sprinted through the fog in the direction of their voices, and as their shouts and cries got louder he began to see Fiannuala's outline in the mist, surrounded by a pack of the dead
who had already forgot themselves and become no more than howling husks living from one meal to the next.

  As he ran to them, he saw Fiannuala pick one of the shades bodily up by its waist and throw it to the ground, striking it in the head. The shade turned to ashes before his eyes.

  "Corona! The Bull and the Rose!" Michael shouted, Duty leaping up to slice a shade in half. It turned to ash before his eyes. A single blow from Piety struck down another. Michael did not give it a second thought as he tore into the rest of the pack, and together with Tullia and Fiannuala destroyed every last one of them. They were too far gone, too long bereft of their humanity, to even know when to flee when destruction threatened.

  "Thank you," Fiannuala said, after she had recovered a little of her breath. "I think they might have gotten me that time if you hadn't turned up. I have to run more often than I fight, but they boxed me in before I realised it. I'm in your debt."

  Michael smiled. "You crossed back through the veil of death to aid me when I needed you. That was a thing deserving of a debt. All I do is but the due to comrades dear and departed."

  "Passing through the gate of ivory wasn't hard at all," Fiannuala said. "I didn't even have to look for it, it just appeared in front of me and I could see you through it and I just knew what it all meant. And it got me out of this place for a while. It actually felt safer out there than back here."

  She bent half double, hands resting on her knees, her golden hair falling down across the green skin of her shoulder. "When I first got here I thought it was a game, fighting the monsters. But after a few days the fun has gone out of it."

  "It could be worse," Tullia murmured.

  Fiannuala looked up at her. "Where have you been, Tullia? I thought we'd end up close by, considering how we died."

  Tullia looked away. "I would rather not speak of it."

  Fiannuala nodded. "Fair enough. You're here now, and stuck with me I suppose. You may not feel that this is the easy option after a few run ins with the mindless dead." She sighed. "That's us, isn't it? We're going to turn into those things, if they don't devour us first. Did my mother turn into one of those things?"