“Go back to your crypt!” she said, and she waved the mace before her, as if she were striking that unsettling aura.
The creature stood there, unmoving and unblinking, its red eyes like eternal fires. Then it prepared to charge, kicking up the dust into an aura of its own.
And suddenly the dust became so blinding that none of them could see the white-horned stag—until it was upon them. Thúalim gave a cry as he was knocked down by the beast, and then Geldirana gave an answering cry as she smashed through one of the stag’s glistening horns with her mace. The creature roared and bucked, but Thalla fired several arrows into it, Ifferon stabbed it in the stomach, and Geldirana struck it in the head until it fell dead before them upon the bodies of its kin, until those fiery eyes no longer burned.
Before they even had time to catch their breath, the ground rumbled around them, as if another great stag was still kicking and bucking upon it.
The company regrouped, and Thúalim shook his head as he looked upon the remains around them. “So much waste,” he said, clutching his chest. “I hope Rúathar did not see these things ere his death.” Ifferon knew there was little hope of that.
“You are hurt,” Thalla said to Thúalim, and she helped him up.
“My Beldarian is safe,” Thúalim said.
“You are also hurt,” Thalla said to Affon, who tried to hide the bruises on her arms.
“The medals of battle,” Geldirana said. “We pin them to the flesh.”
Thalla looked at her as though she could not believe her ears. She clearly had little experience with the Garigút. Though it had been many long years, all of this was very familiar to Ifferon. Yet now it seemed a little crueller, perhaps because he had grown older, but perhaps because it was his daughter that she now spoke of.
“I am fine,” Affon said gruffly, and she tried to fold her arms, but bit her lip from the pain.
“This is no place for a child,” Thúalim said.
“There are worse places,” Geldirana replied. “I have been to some, even as a child. So they shaped me, and so I moulded them in turn. She will go where she pleases.”
“You weren’t of the same mind when it came to Théos,” Thalla said.
“He was different,” the Way-thane replied, and Ifferon noted the dissatisfaction in her tone at being challenged by Thalla.
“He was still a child.”
“And look what became of that. He was where he should not have been, and so he died.”
“And now he is alive again, with Corrias too. Perhaps he was meant to die,” Thalla said.
“Perhaps we all are,” Geldirana replied, and there was the subtle suggestion in her voice that she had the power to make it so.
“These creatures are new to me,” Ifferon said. “Even the evil birds seemed tame compared to them.”
“The Alar Molokrán of this moon has an affinity with nature,” Geldirana said. “But I have never before seen anything quite like this. Too many beings will bend their ear to the shadow. Thankfully we are in the final week of this month, and so the Molokrán have retreated once more for the Passing of the High. We can be sure, however, that they will be out in force again when we are on the battlefield with Agon.”
“And what is the power of the next Alar Molokrán?” Ifferon asked.
“Weather,” the Way-thane replied. “He can control the winds and the rains, and so we will have many enemies in our war.”
* * *
So they continued on, until the trees parted like retiring sentries, revealing a large rocky knoll that marked the border of Alimror with Telarym, and the western terminal of the Morbid Mountains, which looked more morbid than ever now that Agon had arisen.
The knoll reached up like a crooked finger, a broken digit of some ancient relative of the Moln. Its grey rock was even greyer than the faded land of Telarym, and perhaps it stood out so much because it sat against the black mountains of the Morbid range.
Upon this knobbly piece of rock, many metres high above the company, was the Black Eyrie, in which nested all manner of foul birds. Their intermingling species might have been commended as a show of brotherly acceptance were it not for the unbrotherly actions they so often enjoyed, against both each other and any other creature upon the earth. They lived on outcrops, where straw and twig was knitted together to cushion their young, and each outcrop gave way to the next like a series of awkward steps, leading up to the pinnacle, upon which the oversized black and red-feathered crows not only lived, but thrived and reigned supreme.
“So this is where they are,” Thúalim said with scorn.
“Defilers and deceivers,” Geldirana said, and she matched his contempt.
Ifferon peered up to see if he could spot the Scroll dangling over the edge of one of the outcroppings, or nestled like an egg with some confused chicks. Had he not experienced the attack on the Mountain Fortress, where the birds bit and clawed, he might have felt some concern or compassion for them, but that was now replaced by a mounting rage, which compelled him to reclaim the relic they had stolen from him.
“So we climb,” he said, and he began the ascent without awaiting their approval. He hauled himself up the wall, which had many round knobs, perhaps for future nests, but now for foot and hand. Affon quickly joined him and soon passed by him, nimbly scaling the rocky ladder. The others joined, Thúalim and Thalla straying to the rear, and Geldirana keeping alongside Ifferon. He was curious that she did not race ahead, as she might have done in her younger days, but stayed with him, as if to protect him as he went.
The climb was tiring, and Thalla complained of vertigo, but soon they all approached the summit and peeked over the first of the massive nests, which might house a hundred birds. This one was empty but for many broken eggs, some of which looked as though they had been forcibly torn apart long before the young inside were ready to face the world.
The wind whistled by, highlighting the uncanny lack of other noises. There were no flaps of wings, nor taps of beaks. There were no caws or screeches, nor cries or songs. Just the taunting wind and its unnerving whistle. It almost threatened to blow them off, almost asked them if they had wings.
Affon hoisted herself into the nest before Ifferon could pull her back, but there was no movement or noise in response, and so the others joined her there, from which vantage point they could see the next nest a metre or so up from the current one. It too looked abandoned. The wind whistled again.
“I thought you could track them,” Ifferon whispered to Thúalim, and though he noticed a hint of disdain in his voice, he did not feel apologetic for it, for his desire to reclaim the Scroll of Mestalarin topped his thoughts and erased his emotions.
“I can, and I did,” the Al-Ferian said. He seemed more confused than the others for the lack of activity in the Black Eyrie. They all knew well that many of the evil birds had survived the assault on the Mountain Fortress, and that this was their perfect resting place, a mountain fortress of their own. And the wind whistled.
Geldirana rummaged through the broken eggs for clues, and she found a dead chick amongst them, which looked as though it had been half eaten. From her estimates, it had been dead for days. Apart from that, and the feathers and droppings of other birds, there was little sign that this nest had been used.
Geldirana stood up, dropping broken egg fragments from her hand. “I do not like the feeling this gives me,” she said. “Something is not quite right here.”
None of the company answered her, for there was little to say, and their own fear was as much a gag to their mouths as a vice to their hearts. Yet the wind answered, and it whistled once more.
They climbed up further into the next nest, carefully edging around the grey tor to where the rock began to blacken, to the very part of the abode that earned it its name. The climb grew steeper here, and they wished they had wings, not merely to make the ascent, but for fear of the sheer and terrifying descent that was possible on a slight miscalculation of foot. They kept close to the central spik
e of rock, both for balance and support, and to hide behind as they peered around to see the third, equally abandoned, nest.
“So do we climb to find nothing at the top?” Thalla whispered, and she clung to the rock more than the others, and she dared not look down, not even in her imagination, in which the drop was even greater than it was in reality.
“I worry about what we might find,” Thúalim said, voicing the opinion of them all.
“Yet still we have to look,” Ifferon said, speaking another view they all reluctantly shared.
And so they continued up, climbing and clambering, and sometimes jumping across the growing gaps between each nest. In time they passed through a dozen more nests, all as deserted as the others, and came to the pinnacle, where the gigantic nest was filled with bones that stood out palely on the soot-coloured ground. There were many bones of all shapes and sizes, but no birds to gnaw them. Just the uneasy presence of the all-pervading wind.
Just as it seemed that naught would come of the company’s climb, Affon spied a hidden crevice within one of the many oddly-shaped obsidian rocks that lined the place like tombstones. In this she found several unhatched eggs, and further in was the rolled up Scroll of Mestalarin, hiding its power like an egg hides the vulnerable young inside.
“It’s here!” Affon cried, and her voice was so loud that many knew immediately that no good could come of it. The wind caught her voice and carried it high, and instead of its usual whistle, it gave a different response this time: the screech of a crow as it came in for the kill.
As Affon stretched her thin arm into the crevice, the huge black and red-feathered crow, which seemed even larger now than it did when it stole away with the Scroll from the open rooftop of the Mountain Fortress, swooped in and snatched her before she could snatch the parchment. She yelped as the talons caged her, and she screamed as they hauled her into the sky. Geldirana and Ifferon gave another cry, both in unison, the kind of cry the crow made when it saw the girl’s mauling hand reach in towards its young. And then their voices were stolen, for the crow released its grip, and Affon slipped out and down, plummeting towards the edge of the Black Eyrie, and the edge where all who looked upon the scene knew she could not grasp, but would fall down to her death in the bleakness down below.
Ifferon’s horror, which was like the endless lash of a thousand whips, stayed his mind, but his instinct spurred his feet. He raced to the edge, as if he might somehow extend the arm of Telm the Lighthand, and reach out further than the arm of a Man could reach, and grasp Affon’s hand with the strength of a god. But he reached for nothing, and held nothing, and saw nothing. Even the girl’s voice had faded out as she fell, stolen by the taunting wind with its mocking whistle.
A new horror nested in Ifferon’s heart, and perhaps it nested also in the hearts of the others, but all he could think of was Affon falling, and his heart falling, as if leaping to save her. Suddenly he thought of Théos and that harrowing moment when all turned to madness, and that haunting moment when he saw Délin’s will break, and those hounding moments when he thought the knight could never be whole again. And even more suddenly he felt all those emotions he had felt in empathy, but now he felt them truly, and felt that none could truly empathise.
But the hunter leaves no time for grief, and in those brief moments that felt endless to the company upon the Black Eyrie, the crow circled around and came back in again, like a black cloud streaked with the angry red of the vengeful gods of the sky. Its eyes were little comets of their own, burning with an intensity that seared all they looked upon. But Ifferon turned to it, and his eyes burned back. He stepped forth, and the sound of his foot striking the ground was like the foot of Telm upon the earth. He continued on, and the armour of that god began to form around him. As he passed the crevice, he reached inside and seized the Scroll as if it were the handle of the sword called Daradag.
All who looked upon the god emerging, and the crow descending, were stunned into silence, frozen to the spot as if they could do naught in the battle ahead. The crow crashed down just as Ifferon’s Telm-armour formed fully around him, and the strike was like lightning, and the sound was like a thousand thunders. Feathers flew into the air like arrows, and light sparked violently from the impact. Ifferon was knocked back, and the crow came down upon him, but the force of the conflict sent both of them over the ravine, down to where Affon had fallen, as if the very Land of the Dead lay in that direction.
Geldirana raced to the edge, and just as she peered over, she was caught off guard, for the monstrous crow came back up, clawing and scratching. She unleashed her mace, and she swung at the feathered beast. Her blows would have crushed skulls and broken limbs, but they did little to harm or hinder the crow, which struck back with a crushing of its own. Geldirana was thrown back into a bed of shell shards, and she cried out as her back struck the ground, reminding her of her old wound.
All the while Thúalim was summoning a force of his own, and Thalla armed her bow, firing shot after shot, and discovering one disappointment after another, for the arrows bounced off the bird as if it were wearing armour. And so it was, in its own way, for its form had grown huge over these last few days since the attack on the Mountain Fortress, its body bulging beyond any natural mass, and once Thúalim called down a single bolt of lightning upon its head they discovered just how it had grown so large. The bolt forced a cry from the crow, and when it opened its beak some could see the bits of bones of other birds stuck in its mouth, and then they could see parts of its belly bulge as if some of its victims were still alive inside.
But there was no freedom to be had, for the crow reared up and flapped its wings violently, and the force caused a whirlwind there and then upon the Black Eyrie, sending both Thúalim and Thalla over the edge. They fell, despite clawing for a grip or hold, and they landed several metres down upon one of the many nest ledges around the monolith. As they struck the nest, sending twigs and egg fragments into the air around them, they saw Ifferon, still shimmering in the armour of Telm, and he leapt across from one nest to another with an agility they had never seen from him before. They struggled up, but he was already out of sight, returning to the arena where Geldirana now faced the crow alone.
Geldirana had barely struggled to her feet before the crow was upon her again. It snapped and pecked at her, and she narrowly dodged the sharp beak, but she never dodged the evil look of its eyes, which fixated upon her as if there was nothing else in the world. She swung her mace at it again, but it bounced off the feathers as if its body were a pillow, and Geldirana thought suddenly of the futility of this fight, and that she might die not to the Molokrán, but to this creature of the air that all the laws of Iraldas suggested should never be able to exist. But it existed, and it reminded her constantly of just how real it was, and that just as it had in some way been made, she could be unmade.
It stretched its wings out wide, knocking the mace from her hands, and the gust of air that came through sent her back to the familiar ground. The bird loomed tall above her, stepping forth, and in those moments she could see that between its feathers there were many bulbous sores, as if it were afflicted by some great and terrible disease. It looked at her and stepped forth, and there was menace in the step, and murder in the glare.
But before the crow could finish her, Ifferon leapt onto the pinnacle with a murderous glare of his own. “Dehilasü baeos,” he shouted, and there was anger in his voice. “Dehilasü baeos,” he cried again, and there was anger in his stride. The crow backed away, its looming presence diminished by the greater presence of Telm in the shimmering armour that surrounded Ifferon, and the glow of light that surrounded the Scroll.
He advanced upon the beast, and it retreated, but before it could take flight he seized it by the wings, and the touch was as Telm the Lighthand, and the crow cried out like Geldirana had cried, and like Affon had cried. It jumped up, trying to get airborne, but Ifferon pulled it down with a strength that was not his own, and yet one that formed the very ess
ence of his blood. The crow snapped and bit and pecked and clawed, but just as Geldirana’s mace struck at nothing, the bird’s attacks were blocked by the glimmering armour of Telm. The light around the Scroll grew larger, shifting shape and form, until it seemed to Geldirana’s eyes that it became a sword. Ifferon stabbed the creature with this, and it gave a terrible cry, and then its terror was no more.
Yet Ifferon continued to strike the beast even as it lay limp upon the ground. He tore feathers from its coat, and he bashed it with his fist and with the sword of light, until the armour around him collapsed and dissipated like water, and he found he was still bashing the bird with the rolled-up scroll, still striking it even as the ground beneath him quaked. He continued this for a time, shouting that same Telm-cry in the Aelora tongue, as if it were the most terrible of curses, until Geldirana came up behind him and grabbed him and held him, and they collapsed together, and he wept.
“It is dead,” she told him, repeating what his eyes said. “It is gone.”
Ifferon sobbed, for though this was a victory, the Scroll had been reclaimed at a price. “She is dead,” he whimpered. “Just as I learn I have a daughter, she is taken from me.”
Geldirana did not weep, even though a part of her heart tried to mock her with that weakness. She locked it away, imprisoned it, so that it could not imprison her. She knew well what grief could do, and she had seen what it had done to Délin, whom she tried to protect from a fate that was beyond all of them.
“There might be a time for sorrow,” she said, “but not while Agon still threatens this world. You have an armour that none of us can match, but I would not have told you that Affon was your child if I had known it would become a weakness in you.”
Ifferon shrugged off her embrace, for it felt at odds with her words. “Do you not feel?” he asked.
“I feel everything,” she said. “More than you know. It is not courage to not know fear, but rather it is courage to know fear and face it anyway. It is not strength or resolve to not know the pain of parting, but rather to know that pain like a partner, and not let it destroy you.”
The Children of Telm - The Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 61
