The Iron Sword

by J. M. Briggs

  Raising his glass in a mock toast, Aiden gave his father a teasing smile and listened with relief as the conversations shifted back to questions about classes and professors. His father hummed loudly when Bran complained about not being able to really understand what his Modern Physics professor was saying due to his thick Chinese accent. With his own parents occupied with food, Aiden wandered over to refill his punch.

  The others were laughing now, talking loudly with energy, but Aiden couldn’t shake the split second look that had appeared on his own parents’ face. There had been a shadow, a hint of nervousness and worry that he recognized from years back when Aisling had first gotten sick before they’d known how bad it really was. His parents were worried about something: they knew he wasn’t telling them something. Sure he wasn’t really lying to them, but he was hiding a huge part of his life.

  “So what’s going on?” Aisling asked, coming up behind him.

  Aiden jumped at the sudden intrusion to his thoughts and turned to look at his little sister. The preteen girl was looking up at him suspiciously with the green eyes that they’d both inherited from their mother. Her long dark blonde hair was up in a more complicated French braid that made her look even younger.

  “Hey sis,” he greeted with a wide smile.

  “Hello bro,” Aisling returned, raising an eyebrow. “Again, what’s going on?”

  “A family barbecue with my friends and their families and me being a little worried about just how much professor authority dad threw around to get their contact information.”

  “Please, Dad didn’t look them up I did. And no school records were necessary. There’s this thing called the internet, I’m pretty sure you’ve heard of it.”

  “You’re catty today,” Aiden remarked, a smile tugging at his lips. “Any reason in particular?”

  “You’re hiding something,” Aisling observed with a tilt of her head as she put her hands on her hips. “You and your friends. Something is up and you’re not telling. Mom and Dad have noticed, but they keep saying it’s just college stuff.”

  “It is,” Aiden insisted, straightening up against the side of the house. “I’m just trying to have a little independence despite just living across town from you guys.”

  Aisling gave him a doubtful look but slowly nodded as she sighed, “Fine Aiden, keep your secrets. Just don’t get into trouble.”

  “I’m the older sibling, I’m the one who’s supposed to say things like that,” Aiden protested with a laugh. Aisling shrugged halfheartedly. Reaching over, Aiden wrapped an arm around his sister and tugged her closer. Her head barely came up to his chest, but she relaxed against him. “Don’t worry so much Aisling,” Aiden told her gently. “I know things have been changing, but I love you and mom and dad. I won’t do anything that will cause this family to fall apart.”

  “I know, I just have a bad feeling,” Aisling whispered, her words almost lost in the fabric of his shirt.

  Not for the first time, Aiden was left wondering if his little sister might not have a touch of magic in her. He pushed the thought aside, not wanting Aisling’s unease to have any impact on reality. Instead, he rubbed her back for a moment before setting his hand carefully on her crown of braids.

  “Don’t worry so much little sis, I’m right here and I’ve got good friends in addition to you and the parents. I’m doing great.”

  “Alright everyone,” his father’s booming voice called over the yard. “Come and get your burgers and hotdogs! The ribs need a couple of more minutes.”

  “Come on sis,” Aiden called, bumping his sister’s shoulder gently. “Barbequed food by Dad, what could be better?”

  His sister gave him a look, letting him know that he wasn’t off the hook just yet, but did smile at him. Aiden sighed softly in relief, catching Alex’s eye and nodding to her. Without a word about secrets, magic or potential danger everyone gathered around to fill their plates and find seats around the patio for lunch.

  6

  War Council

  806 B.C.E. Northern Cornwall

  Arto’s roundhouse was tidy with his most important treasures displayed properly on the stone shelves beyond the hearth. The only exception was Cathanáil which was strapped to his back as he never allowed the sword to be too far from him now. Gwenyvar was finishing a new basket, having already cleaned up the spare reeds and put away her weaving for the evening. She kept glancing towards the doorway, assuring Arto that she was a little nervous as well.

  The war council meetings had been happening for months now. Naturally, he spoke with the others frequently about everything, but the village seemed to like seeing them gather together one night each week. He supposed it assured them that progress was being made, reassured them that the leadership that had emerged from the gaggle of regional leaders had a strong sense of what was happening.

  In the end it hadn’t been difficult. There was himself, Merlin and Morgana of course. His brother-in-law Airril had remained in the village as a representative of his area while his cousin oversaw things at home. Medraut was the official leader of their own village even if many did defer to him as Uthyrn’s son. Thus far his cousin had been very patient and Arto made sure to direct anyone with concerns about their region alone to his cousin. His long absence from his father’s life had made it impossible for him to remain his father’s heir and so far he thought that Medraut was doing a fine job.

  “They’ll be here soon,” Gwenyvar observed as she finished the top coil of the basket and set it to the side, just at the foot of her bed. She stood and brushed off her dress and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Nodding, Arto rose from his place on his own bed and picked up the small stools they kept up against the wall of the roundhouse. While his wife pulled small packets of vegetables out of the fire, Arto placed the stools around the fire in a large circle. When that was done, he covered each stool with a small fur to make them a little more comfortable. Small mugs filled with water were placed by each seat and Gwenyvar nodded in satisfaction as she looked over the setup.

  “Are you nervous?” Gwenyvar asked, looking over at him. “About Luegáed I mean?”

  “A little,” he confessed with a small smile. “But it makes sense; the western isle needs to be heard on these matters.” Arto ran a hand through his brown hair making it tickle his lower neck. “We have you to speak for the north.” His wife blushed, pleased at her position. “Ideally I’d like someone who is from the eastern lowlands as well, but we’ll see what happens.”

  “I’m sure that it will be fine,” Gwenyvar assured him with a soft smile, moving closer to him.

  Her hands came up to rest on his chest and Gwenyvar looked at him, respect glowing in her brown eyes. Arto straightened up and smiled in return. His heart was beating a little faster as he brought a hand up to rest on hers and squeezed it gently. Gwenyvar nodded to demonstrate that she understood his silent gratitude. The sounds of people moving outside made them both pause for a moment before Gwenyvar leaned forward to kiss his lips quickly before she stepped away.

  “Arto,” Merlin’s voice called from outside the house in warning.

  Moving to the doorway, Arto quickly pulled back the animal pelt that kept the wind out of their home and gestured for Merlin to come inside. His mentor was holding a small glowing orb of magic in his hand and just behind him, Arto could see Luegáed eyeing the magical orb with a mixture of awe and nervousness. Containing a laugh, Arto reminded himself sternly that Luegáed probably had only seen magic once or twice in his life. While many priests had some abilities, the power and control at Merlin and Morgana’s level were unheard of.

  “Welcome, please come inside,” Arto greeted with a respectful nod. He stepped back enough to allow Merlin and Luegáed inside while still holding the flap.

  Luegáed had to bend over slightly to pass through the doorway but straightened up once he was inside. Once again, he gave Gwenyvar a small bow of greeting as Merlin greeted Gwenyvar with a soft kiss to her cheek a
nd withdrew a small pouch from his belt which he handed to her. Arto didn’t see what it contained, but Gwenyvar smiled pleasantly and thanked him.

  “Luegáed and I met on the path here, Morgana and Airril should be only a short ways behind us,” Merlin informed Arto as the animal pelt fell back into place over the doorway.

  “And Medraut?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Merlin answered as he settled down onto one of the stools. He dug his staff into the crushed earth floor, creating a small hole for it to rest in before he leaned forward on it.

  Arto shook his head and exchanged a glance with Gwenyvar. Merlin never sat in the same seat meaning that they had a ring of holes forming around the hearth. Arto privately wondered if Merlin had created some sort of new protection circle or seal against the Sídhe, but Gwenyvar was certain that Merlin did it just for a private chuckle. Either way, Arto had no interest in pestering Merlin about it.

  “So Luegáed, how has your first day been?” Arto asked pleasantly, turning his attention to the newcomer.

  “Very busy, but informative. Everyone in this village is very dedicated to the war and welcoming,” Luegáed answered quickly.

  “And your lodgings are comfortable?”

  “They are,” Luegáed replied with a nod. “I brought few things with me, but I am very comfortable.”

  The sound of more people coming up towards the house kept Arto from trying to calm Luegáed’s nervousness. Moving back to the doorway, he pulled back the pelt enough to see his sister and Airril coming up the pathway with Medraut trailing behind them with a torch. He held back the door and his sister stepped inside gracefully, the light orb in her hand extinguishing as she walked closer to the hearth to give her husband room to join her. Medraut came inside after a moment, having extinguished the torch in the dirt outside. Arto reached forward and took the torch from his cousin, carefully placing it inside a clay pot where no embers could cause trouble.

  There was a tension in the air that Arto couldn’t quite understand. It was like everyone was braced for something, but no one said anything. Luegáed was shifting nervously, his eyes darting around and inspecting each of the other people in the room. Giving his new friend a small smile, Arto made a tiny nod and moved over towards his own seat. He caught Medraut eyeing Luegáed with a frown and nearly shook his head at his cousin’s standoffish nature. Airril and Morgana moved across the Roundhouse together and Arto smiled when he caught sight of their hands linked together. He glanced over towards Gwenyvar who was on the far of the circle, opposite him, but she missed his look as she studied Luegáed.

  “Welcome friends, sister, brother, and cousin,” Arto greeted politely, giving his own family members respectful nods. “Tonight we welcome another member to this council, Luegáed son of Eaban. I have invited him so that the western isle has a voice in these matters.”

  That statement made Medraut press his lips, but his cousin said nothing. Satisfied that his cousin understood his actions better now, Arto looked around the circle, his eyes lingering on his wife for a moment.

  “Is there anything to report?”

  “The forges have successfully produced ten more iron swords and fifteen iron axe heads,” Merlin announced with a small smile. “Unless there is an objection they will be sent east to the lowlands.”

  “What about other areas still in need of iron?” Airril asked with a hint of concern. “We’re spreading the iron arms awfully thin.”

  “I’m afraid that we’re still not producing enough to well arm all areas,” Merlin conceded with a nod. “But there has been increased Sídhe activity in the lowlands. Nothing elaborate, just raiding parties grabbing humans and vanishing. I’m afraid the flatter terrain makes it easier for them.”

  “I have no objections,” Arto said as he looked around the circle. “But I would note that I think the next supply should go to the western isle. We’ve barely sent any iron there and the Sídhe have always been active there.”

  “Indeed Arto,” Luegáed agreed with a small relieved smile on his face. “Our priests are a little more adept at using blood signs to keep the Sídhe at bay, but we can do very little else against them.”

  “I remember,” Arto replied as he briefly recalled the time he’d spent on the western isle with Merlin. The isle had some of the oldest sites of respect and it was said that the priests born to the isle were more powerful. Arto didn’t believe that, but he knew their willingness to shed their own blood gave them an edge. “We almost have enough of our magic iron to create another gate, are there thoughts on which tunnel we should target?”

  “One of the low-lying tunnels,” Morgana insisted. “The Sídhe have created a tunnel near the Great Circles by the river. Even if they haven’t taken many people through the tunnel yet having them so near such an important site is disgusting.”

  “I agree with Morgana,” Merlin remarked with a nod of approval. “Rumors of this tunnel are spreading quickly and lowering morale. We finally have the population willing to believe we can fight the Sídhe, we can’t allow this tunnel to undermine that.”

  There were nods of agreement around the fire and Arto tried not to let his relief show. The creation of gates was a huge process of magic and even some politics. Everyone wanted certain areas protected, even his war council. It was nice to have such an easy decision for once.

  “I confess, though,” Luegáed chimed in with a slight look of embarrassment. “My understanding of how these gates are made is very poor. We’ve heard very little of the process on the western isle and my father’s knowledge was lacking.”

  Arto opened his mouth to speak, but Merlin had already begun to explain the process of making the gates. Falling silent, Arto did his best to stay still on his stool and listened to the discussion around the fire. Merlin and Morgana explained the process of infusing magic into the iron and then how Arto shaped it to form the gate over the Sídhe tunnels. Luegáed seemed disturbed to learn that he was the only one who could perform that magical task. This was followed by questions about his safety, a subject that Arto hated whenever it came up.

  “This village is walled and despite the Sídhe knowing it is the site of the iron foundries they have pulled back from the area. I daresay even the Queen has trouble getting her Riders to attack a place where nearly everyone has an iron weapon. Arto leaves this village only with myself and Morgana,” Merlin assured Luegáed. “When traveling to make a gate we stay very close to him even though Arto does have his own magic. His wife Gwenyvar and mother Eigyr remain in the village with warriors armed with iron to ensure that they are not captured.”

  “And I carry an iron sword and iron axe,” Medraut added with a proud smile. “With them, I am capable of protecting myself.”

  Luegáed glanced towards Medraut, his expression completely neutral as he nodded, but Arto thought he caught a hint of irritation in Luegáed’s eyes. He looked towards Medraut and nearly laughed at the petulant expression on his cousin’s face.

  “Is there anything more that needs discussion at this time?” Arto asked loudly to regain everyone’s attention. “The decision for the shipment of new weapons has been made and the location of the next gate has been determined.”

  “I don’t believe there is anything else,” Medraut answered as he puffed up slightly. “Our forces here are settling nicely into their roles. There is talk of expanding iron ore production; we’re having trouble extracting enough to keep up with demand. Food production has been going well and we have enough stored to make it through the winter months so I expect no problems.”

  “We may need to establish a second production village,” Airril remarked with a glance towards Medraut before looking back to Arto. “Distance between us and other villages is becoming an issue.”

  “And should the Sídhe decide to launch a major attack then it would be best if there were multiple sources of iron,” Morgana added with a nod.

  “The western isle or the northlands would be good choices,” Merlin said thoughtfu
lly as he looked into the fire. “Travel between them by ship is fast and they have a high concentration of Sídhe tunnels there due to the terrain.”

  “It will have to wait a few months, though,” Medraut insisted. “The best thing would be to send one of our masters to the new location to start construction of the smelters and forges. They could also start training men there. That way we don’t upset our own production.”

  “Agreed,” Arto replied with a nod of approval. “Medraut please start checking to see who would be willing to move either to the northlands or the western isle. We’ll send out word that we need a location that can be protected and see what information we get.”

  There was a low chorus of agreement from around the fire and Arto did his best not to sigh. Meetings were almost painful, it was so much easier to just confront the Sídhe and fight them rather than having to talk about it all the time. There were moments he missed Merlin being in charge, simply being told when and where they were going.