Aes Sidhe

by Fergal F. Nally

  Relief flooded through them as the falls came into view. To the west, the land dropped away beneath their feet, exposing a gaping chasm miles across. Wild water from the River Arx cascaded over the edge and down to the rocks far below.

  “We’ll sleep here tonight,” Ae’fir said. “In the morning, it’s over to you Cal.” Ae’fir peered over the cliff to the plains below. “I don’t see a way down myself, but I’ll defer to your . . . local knowledge.” His tone was unmistakable, the message clear.

  Cal nodded, exhausted. He lay down on his blanket, resting his head on his pack, and was asleep in minutes.

  The others looked on, mystified. How could he fall asleep on the edge of the world amid the roar of the falls?

  Ae’fir looked at Sive and Mevia. “I won’t be long, just give me some time. I need to bury my friend.” He turned and walked off into the night, carrying Eriu’s body over his shoulder. Mevia took a step after him, but Sive reached out, holding her back.

  “Leave him, this is something he has to do alone.” Mevia peered after Ae’fir and seemed about to say something, but thought better of it and turned away.

  The next day dawned cold and dull. Fine rain fell. Sive peered out over the gray plains. She couldn’t see the point of anything anymore. With Eriu dead, what hope did they have? But like sunlight, Orphir’s face came to her. It had been so long; so much had happened. She had almost forgotten what her friend looked like.

  Orphir smiled, bright and strong, filling her heart.

  You must go on, keep moving. It is right, it’ll work out.

  Sive clung to Orphir’s words in her sea of uncertainty. They buoyed her up, keeping her head above the waves. “I will, Orphir, I will.”

  “What was that?” Mevia asked, stretching the sleep from her arms and legs.

  “Oh, nothing, just . . . nothing.” Sive looked around. “Where’s Cal?”

  “Scouting ahead with Ae’fir, something about a path,” Mevia replied. “The good news is Cal had food with him―not much, but better than nothing. I kept your share for you.” She handed Sive a few strips of cured meat and a chunk of hard cheese.

  Sive accepted the food with a smile and started chewing the meat. She’d not realized how hungry she was. After a few mouthfuls, she stopped and looked at Mevia. “So, what’s this about a path?”

  “Aye, difficult to believe, isn’t it? Cal says there’s a path somewhere around here, runs down somewhere behind the falls and comes out on the plain below. Then it’s two days’ walk to Port Ross.”

  Sive thought, chewing slowly. “Who would’ve built such a path?”

  “Who knows? Perhaps those who lived in Monkwood before the undead. Cal says his cousin knew of it because of the slavers. They know everything about this part of the coast.”

  Sive shuddered. “Wouldn’t like to get mixed up with those bastards. I’ve heard stories . . .”

  Mevia shrugged. “They’re only supposed to bring slaves into the kingdom at Port Ross. They’re not allowed to take slaves out. The trade’s tightly controlled, like in Imraldi. They’ll fill their ships with wheat and spices for their outward journey, so I think you can relax.”

  Sive spat out some rind. “The only good slaver’s a dead slaver,” she said. Ae’fir’s voice boomed out above the roar of the falls. Mevia and Sive turned to see him emerge, Cal in tow. Sive and Mevia went to meet them. Ae’fir and Cal were soaked to the skin.

  “We’ve found the path,” Ae’fir said, a fire in his eyes. “It’s rough, but passable if we take our time. Get your gear, we’re leaving this cursed place.”

  Sive didn’t need any encouragement―she was up and ready in moments. “Lead on,” she said. “The sooner we’re off this plateau, the better.”

  They walked south along the escarpment away from the falls. The ground was wet and rocky. Cal stopped and knelt close to the edge. He peered over the side and nodded. Without stopping to explain, he turned inward and lowered his body over the side. Sive gave Mevia a look. She kneeled and peered over the edge.

  She saw a wide ledge a short drop below the edge. Cal stood perched upon it, looking up at her and grinning. He took a step forward and disappeared from view. So, this was it; Sive gritted her teeth and lowered herself over, dropping to the ledge below. She tried not to think of the drop below the ledge, instead focusing on what she could see before her.

  A small opening split the rock face in front of her. Sive ducked through into dim light. She heard Mevia landing on the ledge behind and turned to make sure she was safe. They both stared into the gloom.

  “Where’s he gone?” Mevia asked.

  “Down here! Be careful, it’s slippery.” Cal’s voice rose from the gloom.

  Sive heard a noise behind and turned to see Ae’fir on the ledge. He steadied himself and walked through the opening, his eyes glowing silver in the half light. “I should go first, I can see in poor light. My eyes are―” he didn’t finish, shrugging instead.

  Ae’fir went ahead and found the gap in the floor. Steps were carved into the rock at regular intervals, wet and covered with lichen. The group descended slowly, their right hands using the wall as a guide, left arms suspended in space.

  Just as well it’s dark, I’d hate to see the drop, Sive thought.

  Cal was in a world of his own as he felt his way along the wall. He thought about the ocean, about his cousin, about the life he’d make for himself in the north.

  Time lost meaning in the dark. Whatever light had penetrated the pit was long gone. Cal could hear the distant roar of the falls. The wall was slick with water and in places it dripped, splashing his face. His clothes were soaked, and damp chill reached into his muscles. The temptation to speed up was there, to breathe fresh air under an open sky. Cal forced himself to be careful―one slip would be fatal.

  This is taking forever, Cal thought. What if it was a dead end? What if the exit was blocked? He stretched out his foot and clutched the wall, feeling for the next stop. When it wasn’t there, he overbalanced, tried to compensate, and failed.

  He fell.

  Sive heard a shout. She froze. “Cal?” she called into the darkness. “Are you all right? What’s happened?”

  There was a pause. Cal’s voice echoed in the dark. “Aye, I’m fine. I just found the bottom of the stairs with my knees. Watch out, the last step is a big one. We’re here . . .”

  “What do you mean, ‘we’re here?’ I can’t see a thing,” Mevia declared.

  Ae’fir took the bottom step with care, landing on firm ground once more. He turned to wait for the others. “There’ll be a door or concealed entrance―we’ll have to search. There’s four of us, we’ll find it. Sive, take my hand . . .”

  Sive and then Mevia made the last step without mishap. Cal was already searching the wall with his hands. The others joined in, feeling the stone at the base of the stair. Finally, Sive spoke. “It’s no good, I can’t feel anything.”

  “It’s got to be here somewhere, keep trying,” Mevia said.

  “Wait!” Sive answered. “The ground’s wet. Water’s trickling down the steps and walls. Where’s it going? Find where the water’s draining and we might find the door.”

  They redoubled their efforts, searching the base of the wall with their fingertips. It was Cal who found a series of holes running along the ground.

  “Here, here, search here, there are holes in the ground,” Cal called. They gathered round.

  “Hold on,” Mevia said. “I’ve found something.” Her fingers found an indentation in the rock above one of the holes. She pressed, and something clicked within the wall. After a moment, the wall moved with the coarse sound of grinding stone, and a chink of light crept into the stairwell. Mevia pushed it open further. A whole section swung away and daylight flooded in. Late morning stung their eyes and filled their lungs.

  Relief surged through them. They were free.

  Chapter 29: False Trail

  Nuzum Mir reflected.

  He’d been right all al
ong: the man calling himself Lamorak in Wyndrush was a sideshow. A diversion.

  Lamorak was a magical being, a puppet. But who was behind the puppet?

  Nuzum Mir had found another with the same magical taint. He’d left Wyndrush almost as soon as he’d arrived, letting the sideshow play. He was better off without Farren Crowe―let Crowe think he’d gone back to the king, his job of escorting them to the Southlands done.

  More importantly, let the ones behind Lamorak suspect nothing. Nuzum Mir had gone to ground, digging deep into the magical ether, following the faintest of ripples, breathing the scent, the true trail.

  Nuzum Mir had made it to the Screaming Mountains, had lain in wait and had seen them escape the ancient Nephilim at the stone circle. Impressive . . . they’d kept him on his toes. It had taken a day or two to pick up their trail, but there it was: this time in the Shattered Falls and Monkwood.

  They were not frightened of death. Intriguing.

  He saw the Aes Sidhe warrior had found the magical weapon, Scalibur. The weapon that had escaped him and his kind all these years. He had to admit, his blood had quickened when he’d seen Ae’fir unleash it on Monkwood’s undead.

  This was where King Loarn had wanted him to intervene. Take the sword, kill its owner, bury the past. This was where Nuzum Mir would obey a higher duty, to his ancestors and his heritage. He knew the Aes Sidhe were trying to return, to break the Nephilim Banishment that held them. Not on his watch. They’d never see the light of Dal Riata again. The Aes Sidhe would stay buried in the mists of time.

  He’d bide his time, follow the sword bearer and his cohort to their ultimate destination. He would understand their goal and step in at the last minute, denying them victory. He was the hunter, the one with mastery of land, sea, and air . . . he was in the wind, the rock, the water. He was unstoppable.

  Nuzum Mir watched as the diminutive figures emerged from the staircase at the bottom of the Shattered Falls.

  He would bide his time.

  ~

  “Daylight, at last!” Mevia breathed. “I was beginning to wonder―”

  Her companions knew what she had left unsaid.

  “We still have the rest of the day―we can cover more ground. We’ll be at Port Ross in two days,” Call declared.

  “Wish we had horses. We’d be there in a day,” Sive sighed.

  “It is what it is. Let’s go,” Ae’fir said in a low voice. He was tense, his hand on Scalibur. Sive watched him carefully. She could sense no immediate threat, and yet Ae’fir’s body spoke differently. She followed him, unease in her heart. What was he not telling them?

  They walked for the rest of the afternoon, stopping for water along the way. Cal had brought enough food to last them one more day. Tomorrow would be different: they’d go hungry until they reached Port Ross. Sive hoped that the others had coin, as she had nothing. At least Cal had his contact, but her blood ran cold at the thought of dealing with slavers.

  She knew the arguments: if it weren’t for slaves, the great cities would never have been built, and prosperity and progress wouldn’t have followed. Still, the poor were poor and the rich were richer, and prosperity never filtered down. What did she want? She wanted peace, less struggle . . . to be loved, to be with those that loved her.

  She missed Orphir . . .

  Sive looked at Mevia. She didn’t know what to make of her. Mevia was civil enough and seemed genuinely relieved to have found her―and not just because of Scalibur. Sive wanted to get to know Mevia better but now wasn’t the time. She’d wait until they arrived at Port Ross.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. The rain kept away and they made good progress across the plains. Cal was confident of his route. He had harbored a desire to run away for years and had quizzed his cousin about the sea and the way to Port Ross.

  “Simple,” Shanir had said, “keep the escarpment and high ground to your right and the plains on your left and head north along the rivers―they’ll bring you to the sea. You’ll smell Port Ross before you see it. It stinks like the proper cess pit it is.”

  Cal was drawing ahead when Ae’fir called him back. “Cal, wait. It’s almost dark. There’s no sense walking through the night. Let’s make camp, we’ll set off at first light.”

  Cal turned, his eyes misted. He nodded dully. “Aye, sorry. I lost track of time. We’ll make camp here.”

  They collapsed to the ground. It had been a long day. The night was mild, so they did not bother with a fire. Instead, they huddled together and slept where they lay. Ae’fir kept watch, sitting at the base of a great oak. He listened to the wind in its leaves and the trickling of water in a nearby stream.

  Everything was peaceful.

  He didn’t like it.

  Scalibur lay unsheathed in his lap. He watched the moonlight catch on its quicksilver blade and flexed his fingers around the sword’s hilt, running his fingers along the blade. There was truth in this steel. He wondered how many lives it had taken. He wondered how many more lives it would take during his tenure. It was the purpose of this blade to be merciless, to take life so that others could live.

  He was here, lost in the Erthe’s story, in its limitless unfolding, a tiny pebble on the shore. He looked at the stars sparkling like daggers and immersed himself in their white light and in the immense darkness. He fed the fire in his belly with thoughts of the future and kept awake, drawing strength from Scalibur. He let the others sleep.

  They rose at first light, cold and hungry but refreshed. They spoke little and soon set off again. The day rolled by in a detached haze. The sun approached its zenith in the azure sky and, to the east, the highlands grew more and more distant. Colors became brighter, shadows crisper, the air fresher.

  The world seemed to blossom, until there it was: the stench of humanity. “Not long now,” Cal said. “Just follow your nose . . .”

  The others registered his words but showed no emotion. They were weary, beyond caring. Mevia wanted an ale so badly she could taste it. She smacked her lips in anticipation.

  Sive wanted a bath. She was convinced she stank more than the others and wanted to wash Inis Cealtra and Monkwood from her skin and clothes. She felt stained by those places as if she had seen and touched things she had no right to.

  The stench rose on the wind, becoming stronger with each step until the first of Port Ross’s spires rose on the horizon. A garrison port holding the king’s men and standard, it raised revenue and taxes for the royal coffers. Built on the back of trade and slavery, it was a beast of a town ruled by the iron fist of the king’s sheriff. A town this size would have a dark underbelly; Ae’fir was counting on it.

  Sive watched as Ae’fir followed Cal. Every now and then the Aes Sidhe would turn, scanning the horizon behind them, uncertainty in his eyes. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing―just birds, the sea in the distance, and the sky.

  Cal had never seen the ocean, and he bounded along, ushering the others on behind him. Soon, the cries of gulls could be heard and salt tasted upon the breeze. The port’s walls rose before them, its gates open. People were passing in and out, screened by guards. Cal noticed archers on the walls beside the gate. Were they were expecting trouble?

  He pushed the thought aside. He looked back. Ae’fir had pulled his cloak around his body, concealing his sword. They looked like a ragged bunch of travelers―they’d blend right into Port Ross. He turned back to the gates and joined the queue of traders and travelers waiting to enter the port.

  The first thing Sive noticed as they passed through the gates were the ravens. There were dozens of them lining the walls and roofs. They weren’t shy either: they strutted brazenly on the cobbles and peered down from window ledges. She followed one raven’s gaze down to a sluice of blood in the gutter and to the first pile of bodies near the gates.

  “Plague!” she hissed, tapping Ae’fir’s shoulder. She pointed at the bodies.

  “So much for a day’s rest. We need to get out of here.” Ae’fir grabbed Cal’s
shoulder, nodding at the bodies.

  Cal raised his head. “We’ll go straight to the docks. I’ll ask for my cousin. Let’s hope he’s not at sea.”

  How would they pay for passage? Sive hoped Ae’fir had something up his sleeve; she certainly had nothing of any worth. As far as she could see, the only thing of value they had was Scalibur, and that was a secret. She tried to keep her eyes from the piles of bodies at every street corner.

  Mevia looked around. She could feel the corruption in the air. Imraldi had had its share of sickness; the lung rot had lasted two summers, but this looked different. Just her luck, walking into a tainted city. She laughed bitterly. Passers-by looked at her, some glaring. Sive turned to Mevia, an eyebrow raised. Mevia ignored her.

  Cal led the way through a maze of backstreets and it wasn’t long before they reached the docks and harbor. Five ships lay in the water, frenzied activity evident on three. Armed guards stood on the walkways, guarding the ships. Cal searched for slaver colors and found what he was looking for.

  “There, the black flag with the red chain circle. Follow me.” He walked toward the ship without waiting.

  “Hold up Cal!” Sive raised her voice.

  Cal turned. “What?”

  “Well, what’s the plan? You can’t just pitch up and ask for passage to the north. These are slavers and won’t be heading up to fishing grounds, they’ll be going west to the Spirit Coast and beyond.”

  “We need knowledge and the only way is to ask. Trust me. Listen, stay back if you want. Let me go alone if that makes you feel any better,” Cal replied.

  “No, we go together. We can’t afford to separate―no more complications, not now,” Ae’fir said.

  Sive nodded. She was tired, very tired. Cal turned and walked toward the slaver vessel. Its black flag with the red chain insignia flapped in the breeze.