by Ross Lawhead
“Really?” Daniel was as giddy as a child at Christmas. “Freya, that’s—” He became aware of the volume of his exclamations and lowered his voice. “This is what I’ve been waiting for ever since I left—the chance to go back and settle things once and for all. I’ve been seeing yfelgópes, you know, hunting and killing them. I knew this battle wasn’t finished, I knew it! When do we start? When do we invade?”
“Calm down, Daniel,” Alex said seriously. “It’s not as easy as all of that. We need to do more than just round up the knights. That’s just one aspect of the plan, and . . . actually, maybe this is a good time to introduce the fifth member of our party.”
“The fifth?” Daniel asked.
Alex made a vigorous waving motion into the dark bar area of the hotel. A woman emerged from the shadows; she looked to be about fifty, sturdily built, but trim and fit. She wore pea green slacks, walking boots, a wide tartan scarf, and a beige travelling jacket that appeared as old, hard-worn, and tough as she. Her hair, silver-grey, was pulled back in a short ponytail.
“Daniel, Freya, this is my Aunt Vivienne,” Alex said, introducing them.
“‘Aunt Vivienne?’” Daniel said, echoing him. “Seriously?” He made an unattractive sideways smirk at Alex.
“Vivienne Simpson—my dad’s sister,” he explained.
“His baby sister. Call me Viv,” Alex’s aunt added emphatically. “I’ll be joining you”—she lowered her voice—“down under.”
“I don’t think we can be bringing people’s aunts to Niðergeard,” Daniel scoffed. “I’ve been there. Not everyone makes it out alive. I can’t be responsible for dragging peoples’ aunts through one of the most dangerous places in the country.” Vivienne's eyes sparkled as she leaned forward, placing her knuckles on the picnic table.
“Young man,” she said in a very lightly accented yet musical voice—was it an Edinburgh accent? “I’ll have you know that I can walk thirty miles a day for weeks, if need be. I’ve hiked up K2 and over twenty Alpine peaks.”
“When? Thirty years ago?” Daniel asked.
She didn’t bat an eye. “I have made countless trips underground; not just in this country, but all over the world. Have you traversed”—Freya loved the way Viv rolled out the word tra-ver-r-rsed—“the hidden tunnels of the Tibetan mountains? Have you mapped the London subterranean passageways, the forgotten undergrounds, the Fleet River? Do you know where the seventeen sunken churches of Britain are located? Have you taken dives to Llyonesse?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Can you not only read but speak seven dead languages? Young man, if you are to have a hope of returning from the underground realms in one piece, then you will do best to heed my experienced voice.” She now straightened to her full height. “And not scoff at assistance freely given. I have already visited the Langtorr, I’ll have you know.”
“Really?” Daniel asked. “How did you get in and out when Ecgbryt only barely escaped from it?”
“How indeed?” Vivienne said coyly.
“Okay, okay, I’m sold,” Daniel said, grinning and holding up his hands.
Vivienne pursed her lips and glared at Daniel, getting the measure of him.
“So that’s settled, then. Aunt Viv, please, take a seat. The plan is this: Daniel, you and Freya will accompany Aunt Viv down to Niðergeard—as a special task force.”
“A task force to accomplish what, exactly?” Freya asked.
“Fact finding, primarily,” Vivienne said. “But we shall also function as agents of opportunity.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are additional tasks—missions, if you like—that we shall endeavour to complete, should circumstances present themselves.”
“Such as?” Freya asked.
“Such as the Great Carnyx,” Vivienne said. “It is a large horn—”
“They remember,” Ecgbryt said. “They were there; they have seen it.’"
“I do remember,” Daniel said. “The horn. It’s a bronze sort of thing, long, curved at the top and bottom—made to look like some sort of an animal shouting. You mean that?”
“That’s the one,” Alex said.
“Hey, I remember—if you blow it, then it wakes up all the knights in the country. Why don’t we just get that instead of rounding them up individually?”
“We could if we knew where it was, which is the point of going to look for it. In any case,” Vivienne continued, “we’re not exactly certain what it does. Do either of you know what the inscription says on it?” They shook their heads. “It’s printed up one side and it reads: ‘Bláwst þes horn and se æftera here laðiast.’ ”
The enchantment that Daniel and Freya received on passing through the first arch to Niðergeard still worked, for their minds already understood the words and their meaning.
“‘Blow you this horn and summon the next army?’” Freya said. “Is that right?”
“Yes, you have it,” Ecgbryt said.
“Why wouldn’t that inscription refer to the sleeping knights?” Freya asked.
“It may,” Alex allowed, “but it doesn’t expressly refer to them. It could be talking about something else. And without Ealdstan to confirm, we just don’t know.”
“So how do you find out for sure?” Daniel asked. “I mean, if it could be anything . . .” Visions of otherworldly armies crossing through fields of mist at the horn’s call flooded his imagination.
“It’s going to be your job to find out,” Alex said.
“You mean find the horn and blow it? Sounds simple enough—if it’s there to blow.”
“A war is not fought with just might of arms,” Ecgbryt said. “It is also won by wit and cunning. Especially when numbers are few or uncertain, a small amount of knowledge can be key. Why, I remember—” He caught himself and frowned, his gaze seeming to turn inward for a moment and then back to them. “I remember times when just a little information has turned the tide of an entire war. That is the sort of information we will need. We not only need to know if this horn can be found and made use of, we need to know what happened to Ealdstan, Modwyn, Godmund, Frithfroth—anything you can find.”
“Mostly we want information,” Alex continued. “If the worst has come to the worst—and we now have every reason to suspect that it has—then Ealdstan has been imprisoned, incapacitated, or even killed. He would not have allowed Niðergeard to fall otherwise.”
“Are you sure?” Freya said, clearing her throat. “I mean, when we met him, all those years back, he didn’t exactly seem on top of things. He stopped you from blowing the horn then, if I recall. What’s to say that he didn’t turn traitor?”
Ecgbryt gave a vigorous shake of his head. “Niðergeard has been Ealdstan’s labour of love for near a score of centuries. To let it fall into disgrace—he would quicker slit his own throat.”
Freya bit her lip. They weren’t factoring Gád into the equation. Should she tell them? It would be admitting to guilt, admitting to being a silent witness to Swiðgar’s death—of hiding what really happened to him. She opened her mouth to say something.
And then closed it.
“So he’s dead or being held captive,” Daniel said. “We need to free the city and, therefore, free him. I’m ready now. When do we get going?”
“Wait,” Freya heard herself say. “Just wait a moment. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of . . . charging back into the city and starting a war by summoning the sleeping knights. Is this really the best plan?”
“The city is occupied,” Daniel said, smacking his palm on the table. “We must liberate it. Stop the dragons, save the world. Right?”
“Okay, but is this the best way? Do we even know what’s going on in—”
“What exactly do we need to know, Freya?” Daniel broke in. “They wouldn’t hesitate to kill us. That’s all I need to know.”
“But we don’t even know what’s going on down there. Maybe it’s best that Niðergeard has fallen. I mean, what good has it been
doing anyone?”
Daniel nearly exploded. “It’s . . . Freya! It’s been—”
Alex held his hand up. “It’s not about what good it’s been—although it’s been plenty over the centuries, that’s certain—it’s about the future, about protecting this country from future invasion—about stopping the one that’s already in progress.”
“Right. Exactly,” Freya said. “It sounds like—with the dragon and everything—as if there’s a larger problem beyond Niðergeard. Shouldn’t we address that, instead of a dusty old city that everyone has forgotten about?”
“Young Freya,” Ecgbryt said after consideration, “you may be right. But the situation is as you stated—we simply do not know enough yet. We need answers from Niðergeard and her people. And you three are the best for the job.”
“Three?” Freya asked.
“You, Daniel, and Vivienne,” Ecgbryt said.
“But . . . the army. Shouldn’t you go around and gather them before we know what the deal is?”
“Freya,” Ecgbryt said in a stern voice. “Kelm and the yfelgópes will need to be defeated, whatever the situation. Trust me on that. Their progress will only harm us.”
Freya shook her head. “Count me out,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Daniel asked.
“I mean, I’m not going. You don’t need me.”
“Oh, what? You’re losing the argument so you’re going to sulk?”
“Not at all. I’m no good at fighting, I’ll just get in the way. More likely killed. It’s dangerous and I’m not prepared for that, so I’m not going.”
Daniel’s mouth hung open, a half smile of disbelief across it.
“Let’s all take a moment and find some space to have a bit of a think,” Vivienne said, rising. “It’s a lot to take in all at once.”
“Freya,” Alex said, when she eagerly rose too, “don’t go too far. Stay on the grounds and try to avoid others—you’re a celebrity now. Your picture has been plastered all over the news. The ‘twice abducted girl’ story has rather sparked the public imagination.”
Freya nodded.
“If someone does recognise you, just say that you are already in the escort of two police officers and find a way to contact Ecgbryt or myself. I’m Constable Simpson, he’s Constable Cuthbert.’"
She nodded and struck out toward the golf course to stretch her legs.
_____________________ II _____________________
Freya skirted the edge of well-cultivated woodland. It wasn’t the messy, organic sort of woods that you got in actual forests; it was the thinned out, well-tended woodland where anything rotten or dead was quickly carted off.
“They tricked you. They blindfolded you with their lies, told you all sorts of fantastic tales until your head started spinning, and when you were all mixed up, they took off the blindfold and pushed you where they wanted you to go.”
Gád’s words came back to her easily. It had been so hard to repress them, to push them away into any dark closet of her mind, but now they were coming back to her freely, in complete snatches. They’d obviously left more of an impression on her than she knew.
“They want to control us, make us live in the past with them, give up our identities, our hopes and dreams—make us something less than human.”
She had expected a villain but instead found someone who made a lot of sense. And he’d given her what she most wanted: an escape from their underground prison—which was considerably more than anyone else did for her. Even for all the hype about his power and wisdom, Ealdstan did not do that.
However, Gád had told her to lie, and he had killed Swiðgar. Those two things could not be forgotten.
But his words kept coming back, as if she were hearing them for the first time. It was like digging for a skeleton in the ground; every so often a bone unearthed, and she would fit it together with what she already had. Given time, she felt she could piece together the entire conversation.
“They told you I was an oppressor, but what if I’m a freedom fighter? A revolutionary?”
Rationally, she knew that there was little reason to take what Gád told her on trust, any more than Ealdstan. But even if Gád was not completely right, he couldn’t be as wrong as Ealdstan and Modwyn and the rest of them, with their secret battles, stockpiled soldiers, and weapons and enchantments for some supposed future mystical battle. With a creeping realization, she found that she sided more with Gád that with any of the Niðergearders. Ecgbryt and poor Swiðgar included.
She suddenly noticed she was walking faster now—her hands, arms, and shoulders were clenched, and she was sweating. Anxiety was taking over; it almost had control of her.
She wished she had her pills, but her pills were long gone. She hadn’t escaped Stowe with them, and right now it would be next to impossible to pick up a new prescription. Her heart was going as fast as an alarm clock bell. Without the pills, life was like a deathmetal soundtrack with the volume kicked up to eleven. It was hard to think and hard to feel anything except the Fear. She ran through some exercises that a therapist once tried to teach her—she built up the mind-wall and tossed every fear that she came across over it, but that was only of limited help. She could still hear her fears behind it—scrabbling, skittering, climbing . . .
“You’re right, you know.”
Freya whirled and found Aunt Vivienne looking into the trees.
“Sorry to interrupt your solitude, but I wanted you to know: you’re right. I know it, you know it—and that’s why we all need you to go down there with us.”
Freya looked away. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said. “I don’t really want to go back. For years I’ve been terrified—literally terrified, often almost paralysed with terror—of being sucked back into that world, of what would happen to me if it did.” She looked about at the trees, then back to Vivienne. “It’s ruining my life—it’s ruining me. I’ve thought of killing myself lots of times. Regularly, I would say. I probably never had a chance of a normal life after getting sucked into Niðergeard, but I think I could have a life without fear if I could go back there and deal with it.”
Vivienne came closer to her. “Well, don’t go off and do anything foolish. You’re a good thinker, and I feel that we need thinkers more than we do fighters in a situation like this.”
“I’m worried about Daniel, that he’ll mess things up. He’s too eager to run in and start chopping people’s heads off.”
“I believe I can keep him in line. I know his type, but I need you with me.”
“And Ecgbryt. We don’t need the knights yet. It’s stupid to send him off to get them. Wouldn’t we be better off taking him with us?”
Vivienne shook her head. “We not only must find out if we can find and wake the knights; we need to try and save them. They’re already being tracked down and killed. The dragon Alex discovered had killed all the knights and made their chamber its lair. We have to get to the others before they’re discovered too, and Ecgbryt and Alex are the best qualified and able to do that.”
Freya chewed her lip. This was the time to tell Vivienne about Gád if she was going to, but she still wasn’t sure.
“They told you I was an oppressor, but what if I’m a freedom fighter? A revolutionary?”
Freya looked out over the green landscape of Scotland. A light rain was moving in on the hills ahead of them, misting the horizon in a grey blur. If I’m really going to wade into a war, she thought, then I want to make sure I’m on the right side before I start sharing information.
“Dreary weather, eh?” Vivienne said.
“We’ll miss the view when we go underground.”
“Does that mean you’re coming?”
“I don’t think I have much choice.”
“Wonderful.”
“How do we get there?”
“Through the Langtorr tunnel,” Vivienne said matter-of-factly.
“The what?”
“The Langtorr tunnel. You must know the Langto
rr, correct? Ecgbryt said that’s where you all stayed. If you go to the top of it, it connects here—well, to the midlands at least. We’ve been keeping a very close eye on it. It seems to be still open and unguarded by the yfelgópes.”
Freya felt like she was plunging downward already. “The Langtorr . . . It’s been there all this time?”
“Indeed. I even did a quick scout of it myself.”
“You’ve been to the Langtorr? Recently?”
“Just to see if I could or if we had to arrange something else. There are scads of entrances if you know how to look for them. The Langtorr is the most direct one.”
“Would Ecgbryt have known about it? Even years ago?”
“Certainly. It’s one of the oldest gates.”
Freya turned her back to Vivienne. She could feel her face flushing with rage. There had been a direct exit from Niðergeard. They could have been sent home at any time at all. The only reason she’d agreed to go on that ridiculous quest was to get back home—something Ealdstan told her was impossible to do unless they destroyed Gád. She had known they were being used but had consoled herself by knowing that there was no other way through the terrible situation they were in. But it was another of Ealdstan’s lies—and one that all the other Niðergearders—Modwyn, Godmund, and Ecgbryt and Swiðgar included—were complicit in.
That settled it. She may not wholly be on Gád’s side, but she certainly wasn’t on the side of those who would manipulate small, helpless children into going on missions of assassination. Was he a revolutionary? Then she was too.
_____________________ III _____________________
Kelm Kafhand sat on the hero’s throne. It was a chair made of rough-hewn stone and sat atop an irregular pile of rubble in the largest courtyard of Niðergeard. Coal fires burned in braziers at the base of the pile. It was difficult for him to heave his powerful but unwieldy form up the heap, but the view gave an appropriate perspective for his thoughts.
Kelm huffed in large, ragged breaths as his enormous chest moved up and down with a slow, inevitable regularity. His body may be still, but his mind was racing—running through exercises and evil thoughts to help while away monotony. His scowl was deep—he had been frowning for decades.
