by J. M. Briggs
“I’m actually sorry that your wife ran off and left you,” Medraut’s voice announced calmly as he stepped around in front of him, a vicious sneer on his face. There were long cuts and burns across his cheeks and his tunic was badly torn. “I had designs on her myself; thought it would be a nice way to usurp you. I already took your family’s base of power, and then I’d take your wife.”
“Medraut?” Arto asked weakly, his mind stumbling over what was happening.
“Hello cousin,” Medraut greeted coolly, raising his bronze sword up so Arto could see the dark red blood covering it. Medraut shifted his blade to let the blood drip off on the ground. Arto saw small flashes of red as the blood magic absorbed more of his blood, but it did not activate against Medraut. “This tunnel has been ready for months, just short of the final connection to this realm,” Medraut said in a conversational voice as he gestured to the tunnel entrance behind him. “The place for the final battle when you were vulnerable. Tonight I made contact and gave the order and the Sídhe finished breaking through.”
“The gates are all over the place, they can’t go far!” Arto reminded him a tight voice, nearly chocking on his words.
“Those little bits of metal can be broken easily enough,” Medraut hissed with a glint of victory and pride. “If you have the right weapon.”
Against his will, Arto’s eyes flashed over to Cathanáil. Everything they’d done couldn’t truly be undone so easily, could it? He’d channeled his magic through Cathanáil every time he’d made an iron gate and the sword itself was even stronger than any of the iron used in the gates. Maybe… he tried to reach for his sword, but the pain in his pain made it almost impossible to move.
“I suppose there is one last secret you should know Arto,” Medraut told him seriously. “Think back to the day your father died. All that chaos all around you and you used a blood spell… think about where your father was, who was nearby.”
Clutching at the wound in his side, Arto stared at Medraut barely able to still see straight much less attack him.
“Can’t manage it huh, I suppose a side wound isn’t quite as good as a back wound, but allow me to clarify.” Medraut leaned closer to him, a twisted little smile on his face. “I stabbed your father in the back.”
He should have expected it, but he hadn’t. A gasp escaped him and he stared at his cousin completely dumbstruck. He’d hoped… he’d hoped that maybe the betrayal was recent, the result of simple jealousy or the Sídhe making him an offer but…
“No,” the word spilled with blood from his lips.
With gleaming eyes, Medraut stepped towards Cathanáil with his hands extended. Arto’s eyes jumped to his sword lying forgotten in the grass only a foot away from him. Weakly he tried to reach for it once more but felt something tearing in his side. His vision went black for a moment and his lungs constricted. As he regained awareness Medraut knelt and began reaching for the sword’s hilt, his fingers twitching eagerly. Arto knew suddenly with perfect clarity that Medraut would undo everything. He’d willing hand over hundreds of people to the Sídhe and help them expand to the south and the west and however far the world went. He’d surrender everything if only for the sake of holding some grand title. Arto tried to gather more magic, but his connection was barely flickering.
Medraut’s fingers brushed the hilt of the sword. White magic enveloped the sword and lashed out to strike Medraut in the chest. He screamed and was thrown back towards the tunnel as white magic danced over his body like lightning. Arto nearly laughed in relief, but instead blood and spit spilled out of his mouth and he gasped painfully for air.
Raising his eyes, Arto stared into the tunnel entrance and into the darkness beyond. He could see violet eyes in the distance as more and more Sídhe marched to invade his world. Arto could hear the sounds of battle, the clash of metal on metal and the sounds of the dying. The scent of smoke was tainting the air and the red glow in the night sky confirmed the worst. Screams echoed up the hill from the village far behind him. They had failed.
“Luegáed,” Arto sobbed softly, blood filling his mouth at the effort of speaking. Tears were rolling down his cheeks. “I needed you here.” His vision was becoming hazy from his tears even as darkness crept into the edges of his vision. “Gwenyvar…” he whispered her name sending blood trickling from his lips.
Bowing his head, Arto felt a sob rising his chest. It was agony, only adding to the pain that was slowly dulling as he lost feeling in his body. Gone was his early rage, his earlier determination, and stubbornness. Even the earlier exhaustion from sorrow was gone. Now all he felt was a strange sense of resignation and relief. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to survive now. Those hopes of a peaceful life with Gwenyvar were gone, that desire for children to hold and be there for had vanished and there would be more no happy moments with Luegáed. Morgana had Airril and Merlin would be alright. He could… no, he would do this.
White magic exploded forward, sweeping over the Sídhe warriors bearing down on him and pushing Medraut back towards the tunnel entrance. Briefly he watched his cousin fight to stand, but his movements were sluggish. Taking a desperate breath, Arto raised himself up onto his knees. His wounded side screamed at the movement and for a moment the pain blocked everything else, but he pushed through it. His hands were shaking and covered with his own blood as he brought them up. Arto pulled on his connection to the earth and felt magic flooding into his body. The connection, the thin thread that he could feel binding him to the ground was stretching painfully tight. It felt raw and ready to snap.
“This is it then,” Arto whispered to himself, closing his eyes for a moment and savoring the soft warm sensation that was buried beneath the pain in the connection. Another tear slipped from his eyes, born not from pain, but this time from a bone-deep sorrow. “I’m sorry,” Arto said to no one in particular and everyone all at once. “I tried.”
Another breath and another heartbeat then he pushed all of his magic forward towards the tunnel. Streams of fluid magic twisted and turned in the air, scooping down and collecting all the iron that Arto had summoned earlier. Each piece of iron began to glow faintly as it flew through the air. The metallic forms began to change, stretching out and glowing brighter with each passing moment. Molten iron shimmered as it flowed past Arto and into the hole in the hill.
Arto kept gasping through the pain and the shaking of his body. He couldn’t hear anything other than the beat of his own heart in his ears as it began to slow. In the corner of his eye, all he could see were dark shapes and flashes of silver magic. Morgana was fighting to get to him; the thought made him smile softly. Closing his eyes, Arto visualized the magical iron flowing together and weaving into the familiar iron gates. He’d made so many over the last decade that he knew the beautiful way that the gates came together. His magic began to fade away and Arto opened his exhausted eyes.
The gate was shimmering with magic as the iron bars carved their way into the rocky tunnel walls. He took in a shallow breath that made his chest convulse painfully. Arto licked his lips weakly, tasting the iron of his blood as more trickled from his mouth. Each inhale was becoming harder and harder. The heartbeat in his ears was slowing. He could barely see anything except for the brilliantly glowing white bars of iron as they wove themselves into a barricade. Medraut was slowly climbing to his feet, a heavily bleeding gash on his head.
“You!” A sharp vicious female screamed near him cutting through the din in his ears, but it wasn’t familiar to him.
He couldn’t support his weight anymore; everything hurt too much. Closing his eyes, Arto lowered himself to the ground and dug his weak fingers into the dirt. He couldn’t move anymore and the unyielding pressure of the earth against his chest and stomach felt strangely pleasant. It was familiar; the feel and smell of the ground and he suddenly remembered lying here with Morgana and watching the clouds as a child. For a moment he regretted that he wouldn’t speak to her, that he couldn’t reassure her one more time that he didn’t b
lame her for anything. He wished that he could tell Airril to look after her, that he could thank Merlin and tell the old mage that he loved him and he’d been a great father.
A soft breeze washed over him and Arto shivered. A few tears leaked out of his eyes as he tried to open them, but he couldn’t see anything more. His chest ached as a sob tried to escape him, but he lacked the strength to make even a single sound. Silently, he curled his fingers deeper in the dirt and wished for his sister or Merlin to get to him even if he couldn’t speak. Just having them there… a soft smile at the memory of him playing with Morgana on this very hill when he was young and another clench of his fingers in the bloody mud forming under his hand as the pain in his side became unbearable. Then the pain was gone, he felt faint, and then nothing.
31
Guardian Cyrridven
Alex was in a daze as she stared at the magical figure. She was both in awe and disappointed by the sight of the mythical lady of the Lake after hearing Merlin talk about Cyrridven so much. The figure was tiny compared to Chernobog but seemed unconcerned as the sword in her hands cast light all around her. Silence had descended over the lake. The shadow monsters were gone and Alex suddenly found their absence disconcerting. She wanted to turn and look towards Arthur, maybe start putting distance between them and Chernobog, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away. Inside her chest, the thread that tied her to magic was beginning to hum as the burning sensation of exhaustion began to fade away.
Cyrridven moved along the surface of the water, the soft sound of the lake rippling was suddenly the only noise in the area. Alex stared at the feminine figure as she moved and her eyes dropped to the sword that she was carrying in both hands. Cyrridven floated around Chernobog, seemingly unconcerned as the massive creature turned and kept his glowing green eyes on her. Then she stopped in front of Chernobog, placing herself between Chernobog and Alex and Arthur on the shore. Alex felt the air becoming warmer with a sweet smell wafting around her. It smelled like fresh grass, flowers and something that she couldn’t put her finger on, but it was familiar.
Slowly Cyrridven raised the sword, shifting it in her hands so that the blade pointed towards the sky. Water dripped off of it and the sword began to glow brightly with a brilliant white light. Around Chernobog the dark clouds began to break apart leaving the massive skeletal form exposed in the moonlight. Its glowing green eyes turned down to the lady with the sword, but then Chernobog began to chuckle. The very human laugh rolled over the shore of the water making Alex shuddered.
“Cyrridven,” a deep, but soft voice echoed through Alex’s body making her shudder. “You still stand with the humans.”
“You stood with them once long ago,” a smooth female voice announced. “Before you lost yourself.”
It took Alex a moment to realize that she wasn’t hearing the words in her ears, but rather they were echoing in her head. There was a moment of desperate panic before the uncomfortable reality that she could do nothing about it settled in.
“Depart from here,” Cyrridven commanded sternly, her hands tightening on the sword she was holding.
“I will not,” the dark voice whispered in her mind. “There is power here.”
“That is the power of the Iron Soul and it belongs to this realm. Return to your slumber. Sleep here in these waters and perhaps you shall be cleansed.”
“Cleansed?” An incredulous laugh rolled over Alex and she instinctively stepped back from the lake. “You are but a pet dog to the humans Cyrridven, you and the others who resign themselves to slumber.”
“This is not our world.”
“No, but here we are gods!”
“You have not always thus!” Cyrridven shouted even as Chernobog made a threatening step towards her. “Is Belobog truly dead?”
Chernobog did not answer her and instead brought up a hand in front of his chest as shadows began to swirl around his long fingers. Cyrridven rose up in a wave of water with a rushing sound as she reached out a hand towards Chernobog. The huge dark creature released a deafening roar leaning towards Cyrridven as the shadows in his hand burst forth in a stream of black magic. The Lady of the Lake took one hand off of Cathanáil and raised it gracefully. All around her water rose up in a flowing curve putting a wall between Cyrridven and Chernobog that his black magic crashed into and dissipated in. Then the wall surged forward striking Chernobog and forcing him to stumble back in the waters of the lake. Water surged up around Chernobog, wrapping around his legs and solidifying into ice. Cyrridven from her perch high above the surface of the lake on the fountain of water was moving her free hand and directing the water in a swirl of sea green magic.
Chernobog raised his right hand towards the sky. The temperature began to plummet as dark clouds gathered in a rush of shadows and icy wind above them. Swirling like a tornado the clouds churned down through the air and into Chernobog’s open hand. Black magic flashed ominously and Chernobog’s left hand reached up and clawed viciously at his own chest. The dark mass of flesh gave way to shimmering gold blood.
Alex’s stomach heaved as Chernobog gathered the golden blood in his palm before the dark magic spun into his bloody hand. He closed his palm with a strange smile twisting his face. Moving his arm in a lazy motion, Chernobog flung his hand towards the shore. Droplets of gold turned black in midair as they sailed through the air, the darkness seeping into the blood. They twisted into strange shapes over the water.
“Look out!” Arthur shouted behind her.
The black shapes hit the shoreline and in jerky movements finished taking form. Six shadow monsters were snarling at her, three shaped like giant sabretooth cats, one long and lanky like a human, one hunched forward like an ape with horns and the last low to the ground with a huge hinging mouth. There was a sound of alarm from Cyrridven as Alex stumbled back.
Two of the shadow monsters were caught in a wave of water that surged up onto the shore and dragged the hinged jaw creature and one of the cats out into the lake. There was a shimmer of sea green magic beneath the surface of the water.
Dark silver magic flickered in Alex’s hands as she dove away from the first of the shadow beasts and kicked the second one in the head. Alex couldn’t pull on any more magic, the ache in her body was making her sluggish. In the corner of her eye, Alex saw flashes of black magic colliding with sea green magic. Alex glanced towards Cyrridven hoping for more help as a tiny orb of dark silver magic finally materialized in her hands. She threw it at the ape-like creature and twisted to avoid one of the cat-like shadow monsters as it rushed past and up the hill.
“Arthur!” she called frantically in warning as one of the shadow monster swiped at her arm shredding her coat and slicing into the skin. “Look out!”
Then Cyrridven raised Cathanáil and turning her back on Chernobog, she threw it towards the shore. The sword sang as it sailed through the air, a soft haunting sound that spurred Alex into action. Rushing forward she nearly slipped in the snow but paid no mind to the shadow creatures or to Chernobog as the massive figure reached towards her. The sword’s hilt hit the palm of her hand and Alex tightened her fingers around the grip. One of the creatures slashed at her, slicing into her arm, but Alex barely felt it as magic surged through the sword. It was a heady feeling, but the chill of the shadow monsters around her kept Alex grounded in the moment.
“Arthur!” she called, turning and extending her arm to throw the sword, but a loud snarl made her spin on her heel.
The tall shadow creature lunged at her with a wide open hand and Alex forgot all plans of handing off the sword. Swinging the sword in front of her body, Alex felt off balance for a moment as the blade collided with the flesh of the shadow creature. It screeched and vanished in a burst of light that almost blinded Alex.
With wide eyes, Alex looked at the sword in her hands. White sparks were dancing over the surface of the blade as dark silver flickers of magic from her hand swirled around the hilt. The pain in Alex's magical connection began to ease and she felt her
body relaxing. She spun with Cathanáil raised and swung at the other shadow monsters with a shout. The shadow monster tried to dodge but vanished in a flash of white light. Inside her chest, Alex could feel her heart racing and her own magic flaring. The third shadow creature began to move back, but Alex jumped forward and slashed at the creature. She looked over her shoulder in time to see Arthur kill the last of the shadow creatures with a spear of ice.
A cry of pain from the lake made Alex spin towards Cyrridven and Chernobog once again, the sword still clutched in her hand. Black magic crashed through a wall of ice cracking the structure and sending chunks splashing into the lake. On her pillar of water, Cyrridven waved both her hands in a rush of sea green magic and pushed the cloud towards the dark creature. Chernobog raised both hands and a dark cloud appeared between them. It formed into a lance and blasted through the cloud of magic striking Cyrridven.
A cry of alarm ripped from Alex’s throat as the Lady of the Lake fell from the pillar of water which splashed back into the lake. Chernobog lunged forward, a long bony arm reaching for Cyrridven. Her cloud of magic lingered on his skin and Alex could see ice forming, but the dark being resisted her spell. He caught the falling Cyrridven in his large hand and tightened his fist around her. Chernobog’s fist began to shimmer as magic sparked around it both sea green and black.
