Halvdan stirred at these words. “No, I want to know more, I want to feel my legs, I want to feel the wind and sun on my skin in this land of yours. Take me outside.”
The two men looked at each other, then Shiel nodded at Halvdan. “If you’re sure, yes of course, it’d be our pleasure. We’ll let you dress first.” He indicated a wardrobe. “Come to the door, we’ll be outside when you’re ready.” The men glanced at each other, then left the room.
Halvdan stood, numb. Alone. Standing on his own legs, in this room, in the school of magic, in the city of New Haven, a city of spires.
He smiled, a strange feeling unfolded within, his body shook. He laughed out loud as he recognised the feeling.
He felt joy.
Chapter 23: Saxavord
Jack swore.
Raven was gone.
He had a bad feeling. Darkness was approaching, Sabine was still hunting, their party split. Something was wrong. He dropped the firewood and went over to where Raven had been, he saw her footsteps in the earth; nothing out of the ordinary.
Then he saw it. He froze.
A few feet away on a fallen leaf was a drop of fresh blood. Jack took out his blade and listened intently. He looked round, covering the area systematically, nothing. He widened his sweep and saw another blood stain and this time, drag marks. He debated, time was critical, he could not afford to wait for Sabine, she might not return for another hour, by then the trail would be cold and darkness would reign.
He bent his head and followed the trail through rapidly fading light. He was relieved to find that instead of fading the tracks were easy to follow, whoever had taken Raven was not trying to hide their route. It occurred to him it could be a trap, but he had no choice as Raven was in obvious danger.
He moved swiftly and silently through the woods. Something was out of place, not right. He focused and after a moment realised it was the silence; too still, not a bird stirring, not a breath of wind.
All was quiet.
He held his blade in front of him, ready. He shivered. His breath misted the air. What was happening? He felt cold. Tired, as if the life was being sucked out of him. He looked ahead and saw a shadow move through the trees, he wrenched himself awake and threw himself forwards in pursuit.
Jack winced, he had betrayed his cover, his headlong dash was noisy, twigs and fallen branches snapped beneath his feet like broken bones.
The shadow ahead stopped and waited.
Jack slowed and strained his eyes against the gloom. He noticed the trees had thinned, he was in a glade. He looked around frantically for an angle, an advantage. He noticed a pattern to the glade, his mind struggled to make sense of what he saw. Shapes danced around the periphery of his vision as his eyes darted back and forward.
The riddle revealed itself. The glade was ringed by ivy clad standing stones. It was an ancient site, lost, reclaimed by the forest and nature. The inky shadow was watching him from the edge of the stone circle.
Jack waited. A standoff, who would blink first? A trickle of sweat ran down his back. It was surreal, his mind flashed back to a gloomy evening in Fallujah, city of death, a similar standoff with an insurgent, a boy no more than twelve or thirteen. A boy with an R.P.G., he had shouted at the boy to stop, to put the weapon down. The boy chose not to.
He had taken the shot, he had to. The shot that would stop the boy and his trigger finger, dead. The only shot that would count. The boy’s head disappeared in red mist. He had stopped the boy with the R.P.G., he still carried the boy’s last gift in his heart, that look of hatred. Along with the others, the other ghosts, the other scars.
The shadow stepped closer. Jack did not understand what he saw. He breathed deeply, his head spun, a strange feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, a sweet, smoky smell filled the glade. His arms and legs felt heavy and weak as if moving through mud.
The shadow had become a shape, half human, half tree. Jack’s breath misted, his heart thumped. He could not move.
“What do you want? Where’s Raven?” Jack said.
The figure approached, its trunk, arms and legs glowing green. Branches and twigs protruded from its body, he could see its heart pumping in a woody chest. Skin merged into bark at its wrists and ankles.
A gravelly sound came from the thing’s throat. “Saxavord, Saxavord. You dare… trespass, you walk on our sacred glade, Saxavord. You will die for this sacrilege.”
The figure grew in stature, the green light danced around its gnarly head, settling into the empty eye sockets. Jack could not move and watched unblinking as the thing reached him. Its face hovered inches from his, its breath smelt of moss and decayed leaves. Green eyes bored into Jack’s skull, he watched as spindly limbs wrapped around him, squeezing, becoming stronger, crushing, suffocating him.
“We will take you and yours back to the soil, back to the Erthe, yes we will. You will become the soil, the loam beneath our feet, your blood and memories will feed the trees, will feed Saxavord.”
Jack felt his chest tighten, his heart was going to explode, his ribs at bursting point. The thing’s branches were pricking his skin, his eyes looked down, his mind detached, he saw branches and roots burrowing into his skin.
A crazy way to die, he thought. After all that he had been through, this was to be his end. He felt his consciousness slip as the air was leeched from his lungs.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
The grip on him weakened. Burning, smoke. A spasm, a breath. Survival, fight back the darkness. Jack drew in a deep breath, his vision returned.
“Die! Spriggan, take my fire to your heart, release my friend.”
A familiar voice, Sabine. Jack held on to her voice, onto the word friend. Hope flooded through him, he felt the branches and roots retreat from his skin.
Another double whoosh, more fire and smoke. The thing dropped him and burst into flame. It turned to face its attacker. Two more fire arrows slammed into the Spriggan’s torso causing a cascade of sparks to issue from its back. Jack rolled over and away from the burning figure, his mind blank.
“Yield Spriggan, yield! We do not come for your stone circle, return my sister.”
The incandescent figure staggered towards Sabine’s voice, its claw arms outstretched raking the air. Its voice shrill and broken through the flames.
“You… will not… find… the within… beneath…”
Two more flaming arrows burst forwards out of the darkness disappearing into the thing’s chest. It stopped in its tracks, a soft sigh came from the trees surrounding the glade. A breeze moved through the forest, stars glittered in the hard evening sky. The Spriggan crashed to the ground, a burning husk, the green light dimming in its chest, some of the green luminescence escaped from its fingers to the glade’s grass and undergrowth.
The light wended its way to the nearest standing stone and flickered across its surface in silence before vanishing in a haze. Peace returned to the glade. Jack sat up his head clearing, his strength returning. He looked round and heard movement outside the circle, in the darkness. He followed the sound, it moved to where the Spriggan had been.
“Thank Falinor!” Sabine’s voice reached him. “Raven can you hear me? Are you alright?”
Jack stood, a little shakily at first, then crossed the glade to join Sabine.
“Wait! Jack, don’t move! Stay within the circle, we need to wait until the magic has left.”
Too late, Jack had crossed the boundary marked by the stones. What did she mean? What now? That thing, that Spriggan was dead, his tired feet reached Sabine, he looked down at her. She too looked exhausted, vulnerable. Raven was on the ground beside her, coming to. Raven looked bad, dried blood on her face and forehead, she sat up weakly.
“Well, that’s that then. We’d better move quick then. Help me carry Raven, we need to get her back to the camp and the fire. We’ll need to keep it lit all night.”
In the distance Jack heard the low growl of a large animal. It was answered by a second growl somewhere deep in
the night.
Bears!
The two animals were communicating and judging by the direction of the sound they were closing on the glade fast.
“Sriggans can call beasts of the forest to their aid, you broke the circle before its green magic had a chance to dissipate. Those bears are coming to get us, let’s go!” Sabine said urgently.
Jack already had Raven standing, he half carried, half pushed her forward. “You lead, I’ve got Raven. The camp’s back that way.” He indicated the direction he had come, it seemed an age since he had lit the fire. He hoped it had not gone out.
They moved fast through the trees. Sabine found the best line and in ten minutes they were back at their camp. Jack laid Raven beside the fire, her back to the caves. The fire was still alight, just. He rushed over to the pile of wood he had dropped and scooped it up. He threw it on the remains of the fire, the wood was dry and within minutes the flames were burning brightly once more.
Sabine stood over Raven, her bow drawn, two arrows nocked. Her eyes darted around looking at the trees beyond the island of firelight. A branch collapsed in the fire sending a host of sparks upwards, sap hissed from the greener wood adding to the tension.
Then they heard roars. Close. Jack caught Sabine’s eye.
“Flames, brandish fire at them when they come.”
No sooner had Sabine’s words finished than a huge bear exploded from the undergrowth directly opposite the camp. Jack bent down and picked a large branch from the fire. Sabine loosed two arrows across the fire into the bear’s neck.
Movement on his left caught Jack’s eye, he turned in time to stare into the open mouth of the second bear, even bigger than the first. Jack reacted without thinking and thrust the burning branch directly into the bear’s face. An exploding gout of sap from the flaming branch hit its eye.
A scream came from behind Jack. On the periphery of his vision, he saw an intense blue flash rip through the air slamming into the first bear’s snout. A high pitched scream followed, it stood up on its hind legs bellowing. Jack shook with adrenaline and fear.
The second bear had stopped and was watching Jack warily with its one good eye, Jack imagined he could hear it calculating. His branch was burning less brightly, he took a step back to the fire ready to grab another if he could. A heartbeat passed between man and bear. The bear blinked, the spell was broken. The bear’s injured eye was swelling up rapidly.
It let out a last defiant bellow, turned and disappeared into the trees. Jack glared at the spot not daring to take his eyes off it. His hands were shaking badly, his whole body quivering. Despite his proximity to the fire his breath misted the air. After a minute he turned and was surprised to see Sabine cradling Raven in her arms. Tears were streaming down Sabine’s face.
Sabine looked up at Jack, despair written across her features. She held his look.
“Raven’s gone. She used the blue flame. She used her spirit flame to save us.”
Chapter 24: No Quarter
Levant’s hands gripped bare rock, his feet slipping, he was nearly there. The steps were broken, too damaged to use, he had left them and climbed the last fifty feet of the cliff. The rock was frost shattered, friable, whole shards came away in his hands.
He pushed on and after two near falls he reached the top and peered over the edge. The keep stood a hundred yards away, its back built into the side of the mountain. High battlements glared down at him, a bruised sky their backdrop. The temperature had fallen, his breath misted the air, cold bored into his fingers. Levant’s face was expressionless, his heart dull, he knew what he had to do.
With a final push he lifted himself over the edge and lay gasping on bare rock. He allowed his breathing to settle and gathered his strength. The shadows advanced as evening approached.
He looked up and saw a tiny pinprick of light in one of the high windows just below the battlements in the west tower. Follow the light, he told himself. A forlorn cry came from above, he saw the crow. Fell beast, why was it in league with him? With his journey, his small story? Why had they connected?
Levant knew he was one piece of a tapestry, a small shard in a bigger picture. All the threads would join up and make sense, the story would unfold, it was the way of the world.
Crow, you are welcome to watch this final chapter in my life, bear witness and be with me at the end.
He gathered his strength and went towards the keep, apart from the light the rest of the fortress was dark and looked abandoned. A raised entrance stood in the front wall, at least thirty feet above ground. There was no obvious way in. He reached the wall and saw its stonework was cracked and eroded, the keep was built of the same rock as the cliff and had been weathered over the years by storm and frost.
He saw a way up to the entrance.
He placed his hands and feet in the gaps in the masonry and hauled himself up and on to the ledge before the gate.
The gates were open. It was as if…
He pushed one of the gates, it moved noisily to one side. Its hinges were rusted and let out a grating sound. He cringed, he had just announced his presence to the world. Before him stood a courtyard, a large ancient yew tree at its centre, its branches extending above the broken stone floor. In its huge trunk a carved recess and a bench lay waiting. A seat for a king or queen, thought Levant, a remote outpost in a god forsaken part of the realm.
Levant kept to the walls and worked his way around the courtyard to the door in the rear wall. He knew he was not alone, the keep or its occupier knew he was there. Let it be, he had not come with an army, he was an army of one. He unsheathed the Blood Eagle from its scabbard and held it in both hands, its weight was reassuring, real.
He entered the doorway in the back wall and found himself in a large room looking at a stairway rising from a lower level, it continued to the floors above. Gloom shrouded the hall, he made for the stairs and began to ascend, his senses alert for danger.
The wind made a low keening sound through the building. The windows were unshuttered, the keep was open to the elements. Signs of decay lay everywhere; broken masonry and walls slick with moss. Levant reached the next floor and continued up the stairs, the light he had seen had come from high up on the western tower.
He encountered no one, the keep seemed deserted, a dead husk. He arrived at the upper level, the stairs ended, delivering him into a large hall. A banqueting table occupied the central space, snowflakes drifted in through open windows, the air frozen with the steely taste of the mountains. His breath frosted before him. This was not normal cold, he recognised it, this was the cold of the grave, the cold that withered men’s bones.
The cold of necromancy. Of the Sworn.
But where were they? Levant’s gaze took in the wide hall, he saw the entrance to the tower at the far side. A single door, a staircase leading up.
He knew his enemy was waiting. But then, so was he. He lowered the Blood Eagle and dragged it behind him, its blade made a chilling sound in the hollow, deserted room.
Levant reached into his Revenant body, he felt death flow through his veins. Half remembered whispers of life lingered like stains on his soul. Death held him, he was Draugr, he was Revenant. He had nothing to fear. In killing the Sworn he might regain life but he had no expectations, he wanted peace. Peace would come, like a kiss blossoming in his soul.
He reached the staircase and started climbing. The cold became thicker, palpable. It would affect mortal men, but not him, not Draugr. He dragged the Blood Eagle’s blade along the stair wall as he climbed. He was ready for what was to come and he wanted his enemy to know.
Two hundred steps, an eternity. Levant stood on the threshold of a room, he saw the lantern on a table in the corner. He saw the figure standing at the centre of the room waiting for him. It looked like a statue, but he knew better, the Sworn would tease and deceive, they would make eyes and ears lie, they were tricksters, masters of manipulation.
The statue stirred. It did not try to hide the lie. It spoke.
/> “Welcome, Dragur. I am Soren, high priest of the Sworn. Welcome to my sanctum. I see you have brought the Blood Eagle for me. You have saved me much time in searching for the blade. That is good of you, bring it to me.”
Levant felt the silky power of the words wrap around him, the magic laced Sworn language tried to penetrate his consciousness but failed, for he was immune, he was Revenant, born on the fields of Kreshe. He approached the Sworn priest and raised the Blood Eagle before him, it gleamed dully in the half light.
“Interesting, I see you carry the curse,” Soren spoke. “I also see you yearn for life. I can quench that thirst for you.”
Levant stopped. These were ordinary words, not magical, not shifting, just words. The message they delivered to his undead spirit was powerful. He stood still, the blade before him, two feet from the priest.
Soren’s eyes glinted, he smiled, his words hit their mark. He had this Draugr in thrall, in the palm of his hand, they always took the bait, the bait of hope. Part of him was disappointed, he had hoped for a greater challenge.
Levant heard a voice well up inside him, echoes of a long lost life. The truth surfaced and burst up through the lies in the room.
“False refuge, false refuge, my love!” his wife’s voice reached him. Liriana spoke to him from the depths within, from love.
With a great shout Levant exploded in movement, he lunged the remaining two feet, thrusting the Blood Eagle at Soren’s chest. He felt the blade bite flesh and bone. He twisted the blade viciously and heard Soren’s ribcage snap.
Soren watched in surprise from the corner of the room, from the safety of his invisibility spell. His doppelganger crumpled to the floor in a heap, like a puppet, its strings cut. This Draugr was fast and stronger than he had thought.
Soren smiled, this could be amusing. He would watch and see what the Revenant would do next.
Revenant Page 12
