The Iron Sword

by J. M. Briggs

  The other photo was of herself and her high school friends, all gathered together in a park during a school picnic. Everyone was smiling, eyes covered with sunglasses and hair blowing in the wind. She’d always liked the photo since her best friends were in it, but now she was hard-pressed to remember the last time she’d talked with any of them. Amy and Betsy were at the University of Washington and she’d seen them a few times last summer but hadn’t called since. Becky was at Washington State and thanks to an internship she hadn’t even seen her last summer.

  Alex flopped back on the bed and looked up at the white ceiling, telling herself that she was being melodramatic. She didn’t have a bad life. Sure her connections to her family were strained by the secrecy, but she had her fellow mages. She couldn’t complain: Morgana and Merlin only had each other, and they’d watched generation after generation of people they cared about pass away. What right did she have to feel sorry for herself?

  But still…. It was hard not to tell them. There were reasons on both sides of the argument: if her family didn’t know then they didn’t have to worry about her as much and they didn’t have to live in fear of what might be out there. She got to come home and just be their daughter without any complications, but… she had to keep secrets from them. It was tempting to see how they’d react; she wondered what they were would say. She could show them magic easily enough even if her powers weren’t as flashy as the others; Alex was getting better at doing simple tasks. She shook her head; this wasn’t something she was going to sort out here and now.

  A knock on her door made Alex sit up and look over as the door opened. Ed poked his head in with a smile.

  “Hey sis, Mom wants to know if you’ll join us for Yahtzee?”

  “Full card?” Alex asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

  “Anything else is a waste of time,” Ed replied with a raised eyebrow and a very serious voice. “Come on.”

  Nodding, Alex stood up, stretched out her shoulders. She told herself to smile and headed out to the living room to spend some time with her family. Maybe someday she’d tell them everything, but for now, she just needed to focus on them as people that she loved and who loved her.

  24

  Future Draws Near

  801 B.C.E. Near the shores of Loch Torridon

  Violet eyes glared hatefully at him as Arto swung the softly glowing Cathanáil in a smooth arch in front of his body. The blade impacted the shining gold armor, sliding over it with a sharp hiss and scraping sound. Stumbling back, the Síd tried to gather some magic in its hand, but he moved too quickly. With a quick step forward, Arto brought the sword down on the creature’s arm, spilling silvery blood across the ground which began to fade away in mere moments. The Sídhe released a terrible scream of pain mixed with a curse. Without hesitation, Arto stepped closer, thrusting Cathanáil forward and forcing the Síd to dodge. He pushed more of his magic into the blade, causing the soft white glow to intensify and fully illuminate the area around him and the Síd.

  Around them, the steep hills were slick with snow and rocks were shifting beneath their feet. They both paused and Arto glared at the Síd who met his look with one of equal hatred. He noted with satisfaction that the Síd’s eyes were now squinting in the bright light of his magic. Down the hill, Arto could hear the clanging of swords and there were flashes of light behind them, reflecting on the snow.

  Not waiting for the Síd to make the first move, Arto swung Cathanáil again, this time releasing some of the magic in the sword. Magic flashed off the sword like a burst of lightning and struck the Síd in the chest just before the sword collided with its armor. Arto grinned as the golden metal buckled under the double attack. It began to crumble into dust as the Síd retreated.

  Arto allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at the look on the Síd’s face. It knew it was going to die; that much was clear from the way its violet eyes turned murky and its face muscles twitched. But it didn’t try to run. Arto almost respected it for that. He tightened his grip on Cathanáil and steadied himself on the rocks.

  Sounds of battle rang up the side of the mountain and Arto had to resist the urge to look around for signs of the others, but he knew better than to turn his back on a Síd. Maybe they weren’t all brutal enslavers who favored children that they could train to be obedient and serve their every need, maybe they weren’t all vicious warriors that killed and enjoyed it and maybe they weren’t all able to quickly summon forth and release their magic, but enough of them were. If there were Sídhe who weren’t like that, Arto imagined they were probably slaves of their own kind.

  An orb of golden magic blasted past him into the darkness and left a burning sensation dancing over his cheek. Snarling, the Síd jumped forward and swung its golden sword in a last violent assault. Arto twisted to the side to avoid the wild thrust and brought Cathanáil up over his head as the Síd fell forward on the rocks. Bringing the sword down, Arto closed his eyes momentarily as the sharp edge of his blade impacted with the back of the Síd’s neck. There was no resistance as the iron blade sliced into the flesh. His eyes opened and the body was already vanishing before the sword had passed all the way through its neck.

  Arto nearly slipped on the icy rocks as he backed up. Using Cathanáil as a support, Arto caught himself and shook his head at his own foolishness for chasing a Síd so far up the hills. Carefully, he kicked at the ground to solidify his footing and raised Cathanáil up, pushing more magic into the sword. It glowed brightly and shed light over the entire rocky hillside.

  Arto looked around with a small thoughtful frown which turned to a deep scowl as he caught sight of the archway opening in the rocks up ahead. For a moment he struggled to contain a surge of anger. They’d just been attacked after sealing one entrance and here was another less than a mile away. He was almost impressed with the Sídhe, it was clever in a way and he hated it.

  “Fine,” he grumbled, kicking a rock into the darkness stretching into the ground. “I’ll be back.”

  Arto didn’t dare turn around, all too aware that a Síd might be lurking just beyond his view. They were creatures of a much darker world and had the advantage at night. Stepping carefully, Arto walked down the hill sideways, his eyes darting between the opening and his footing. It took longer to descend the slope than it had to run up it after the retreating Síd. Arto kept looking back towards the fight, illuminated by both Sídhe and Morgana’s magic. He nearly slipped several times on the ice covered rocks, but soon enough found himself nearing the valley floor. Arto could see Airril and Boisil further up the valley with a Síd and Gareth swinging at a hound that was snapping at his legs. Another flash of Morgana’s silvery magic against the snow drew Arto’s attention over to his sister. She was facing two Sídhe, one of which was trying to circle around her while she swung her magic like a whip at the other.

  The snow slushed around his feet, but Arto forced himself to keep moving towards Morgana. She spun around, throwing a blast of silver magic against the Síd who’d been trying to flank her and sent him to the ground. The Síd didn’t vanish and Arto glanced towards Airril who was still occupied as another hound came rushing out of the darkness and attacked him. Bosil shouted something and crashed his iron sword against the Síd’s head. It began to vanish and they both turned their attention to the hound.

  Looking back to Morgana, Arto began to gather white sparks of magic in his free hand. The Síd she’d attacked was standing up while she sent the other crashing back against a boulder and calmly sidestepped its own blast of magic. Magic crackled off his sister’s fingers and struck the Síd with a satisfying ringing. It was vanishing just as Arto ran up to join Morgana.

  “Arto,” she greeted calmly, turning to study the remaining Síd.

  It eyed them both and Arto raised an eyebrow as it brought its golden sword up in front of it. Glancing towards his sister, Arto relaxed at the look in Morgana’s eyes. She wasn’t worried; instead the sharp cold look in her eyes was one that he was familiar with at this
point. Morgana knew that she was about to destroy one of the race that had enslaved her and Arto wasn’t going to get in the way of that wrath.

  His sister’s magic flashed through the air with a sharp crack and crashed into the Síd. It howled, head thrown back as its golden armor crumbled. Another blast of magic, this time in the shape of a simple orb caused the Síd to dissolve into a golden mist. Smirking, Arto watched the softly glowing flecks darken and blow away in the wind. In the corner of his eye, he saw his sister shake herself quickly, like a dog shaking off a layer of water.

  “Are you alright?” Morgana asked, stepping towards him as she scanned the area.

  “Morgana?” Airril’s voice called, causing them both to turn as her husband moved into view. He relaxed in visible relief at the sight of her, his brown eyes warm as he moved towards him.

  “I’m fine,” Morgana assured him, a soft smile on her face and her eyes softening. “And you?”

  “Boisil and I teamed up against one so it couldn’t focus on harming either of us,” Airril told her before he looked over to Arto. “What about the one you chased? It didn’t hurt you?”

  “No, it didn’t and yes, it’s dead,” Arto informed him with a nod. “But while I was looking around I found another entrance up the mountain,” he gestured up the valley towards the slope where the entrance was. “It’s higher than they usually build, but it’s there.”

  “You sure it’s one of theirs and not a cave?” Airril asked, grimacing at his own question and running a hand through his brown hair in aggravation.

  “I’m sure: it’s straight up the hill from a large stone up that way,” Arto said, pointing back from he’d come.

  “They must be getting desperate,” Morgana remarked with a pleased, slightly vicious smile. “This is a terrible place to put an entrance. They can’t use their steeds.”

  “It’s not going to be easy getting back up there to close the gate and we’ll need more iron,” Airril reminded his wife, stepping up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Two entrances in this area were more than we were expecting.”

  “I suspect that they figured we’d only find one of them and leave the other,” Arto added with a nod. “But you’re right about the iron; we’ll have to return to the village and come back later.”

  “After you get some rest,” Morgana told him firmly, looking him over quickly with a frown.

  “I’ll be fine,” Arto insisted quickly, preparing to argue more, but the look on his sister’s face made him stop.

  “You just made a gate before we were attacked,” Morgana reminded him with stern green eyes. “After you rest then we will return with more iron and take care of it.”

  Arto exchanged a look with Airril, pleased to note that the older man was smiling softly. Giving up the fight, Arto nodded and allowed his sister to reach out and straighten his cloak before leading him down the ravine.

  “At least we travel with a lot of iron these days,” Airril chuckled as he fell into step beside Arto. “And Merlin will be joining us with more soon.”

  “True, but I’ll admit I sometimes wish we didn’t travel with so much. It would give us an excuse to go home more often,” Arto grumbled as they found the small path that would lead them back to the village.

  Airril reached out and put a hand on Arto’s shoulders, squeezing it gently and Arto felt himself relax a little. His brother understood duty keeping him separate from family all too well. After all, during the years when it was just himself, Morgana and Merlin, Airril and his sister had barely seen each other. Smiling, Arto nodded to his brother in law and looked ahead to where his sister was creating another light orb as the other warriors joined them on the path. Everyone was silent, the exhaustion of the day weighing on them.

  Dawn was breaking as they climbed the last hill between them and his wife’s former village. Even at a distance, they could hear the sounds of people beginning their days and Arto sighed in relief. Hopefully, that would mean some warm food would be available before he collapsed into bed.

  As they drew closer, however, Arto could see a crowd gathered near the edge of the village, clearly waiting for them. He couldn’t back a sigh of resignation that earned him a wry chuckle from Morgana and Airril. They exchanged a knowing look and Arto nodded to her after their silent communication.

  “I’ll deal with Cailean then,” he concluded.

  “And I’ll inform Merlin of the situation,” Morgana agreed. “Just as well he stayed here to protect the village. He’ll have some energy to see to things.”

  “Good, that means we can get some sleep,” Airril chimed in with a soft smile for Morgana and a sympathetic one for Arto.

  Sure enough, as soon as they were a few yards from the village an older man with gray hair and using a walking stick decorated with gold strode out to them. He passed Morgana and Airril, moving to intercept Arto with a beaming smile. Forcing a smile, Arto nodded in greeting to his father in law and wondered, not for the first time, how his calm and sweet wife was this man’s daughter.

  “Arto,” Cailean said warmly, stepping up to grip his shoulder, all the while smiling proudly at the assembled villagers. “You are the greatest of warriors my son.”

  “Thank you Cailean,” Arto replied, trying to sound pleased and just as warm, but he couldn’t manage it, not even for Gwenyvar’s father. “If you’d excuse-”

  “Quite a man my daughter married, isn’t he?” Cailean continued, speaking with the crowd and tightening his hold on Arto’s shoulder. For an elderly man, he had a surprisingly strong grip.

  “Cailean,” Arto said through a forced smile. “I’m afraid that we located a second tunnel entrance in the area. I need to rest while Morgana and Airril collect the iron necessary to build a second gate.”

  “Another tunnel!?” Cailean gasped, his pleased expression falling away. “Truly?”

  “We believe that they intended to let us seal one tunnel and then continue their raids with the other one once we departed,” Arto announced, well aware that the gathered crowd could hear them. “But we’ll deal with it quickly. Once we are rested up and the iron is collected.” He looked at the crowd and added, “So continue to be cautious and keep the children in the village.”

  There were murmurs in the crowd and many quickly turned to collect their children or rushed back to their homes to check on them. As Arto walked forward, the remaining people began to disperse and make room to let him and the others pass. Arto smiled and nodded to the people who looking at him curiously and sighed softly in relief as he cleared the crowd. His relief faded quickly as Cailean caught up with him and walked along beside him.

  “You have no sense for a crowd,” Cailean berated him, his brown eyes flashing with irritation and his lips thinned. “That was no way to announce the tunnel. You should have returned victorious and then patrolled the area. You could have easily said you found the tunnel then. Tell me, boy, what do you think is going to happen once the Sídhe threat is no more. What will you do with yourself then?”

  “Cailean,” Arto said as calmly as he could manage through gritted teeth, trying not to hiss at the use of the word boy. “You seem to have a very different idea of the future than I do.”

  “With the Sídhe gone, our lands will finally be able to fully enjoy our riches!”

  “Our riches are based in bronze, which as you’ve no doubt heard is declining in value. The demand in the south is shrinking with the spread of iron. They won’t need us to supply them with metal much longer.

  “Exactly why a strong leader will be needed,” Cailean insisted with a nod. “Someone who can keep us strong and prevent chaos. Someone who can build a new future and power base.”

  “Already I have about had my fill of conflict,” Arto grumbled. “I don’t know what the future will bring, even though I know it is marching closer, but I’m not interested in trying to take power.” He turned and began to walk away, hoping to avoid making a scene.

  “Arto, my son, listen to me,” Cai
lean called as he raced after and grabbed his arm. “In the south, there are kings and emperors. Our land is rich, fertile and enjoys natural protections, but perhaps it could be much more.”

  “Our land is home to regional leaders, not kings and not emperors,” Arto reminded him calmly. “The population isn’t large enough to require conflict amongst ourselves beyond family feuds. This is a good thing. I don’t want to see that changed by war.”

  “War might not be necessary,” Cailean told him firmly. “The regional leaders respect you; they might not all like you, but they know your magical power and the importance you hold. The people love you: there are stories about you scattered throughout the lands.”

  “Yes,” Arto laughed. “I’ve heard some of them; they get more wrong than right.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Cailean insisted with a shake of his hand and dismissive wave. “What matters is that you won’t need to fight for rule over the isles. You will be a hero when this is all over; the greatest man the Isles have ever had. All the power can be yours; the people will give it to you. When the time comes you just need to accept it and be careful in your dealings with the regional leaders. As you say, bronze is fading and so is their influence and wealth. Be careful and you will have the chance to decide the future.”