He smiled. He would devour their souls.
~
The Gray Knight followed the trail.
It was clear as day. Lamorak was making no attempt to cover his tracks.
Careless, disappointing―too easy. He’d been looking for a challenge, for the thrill of the hunt. There was no sport like hunting a man. He looked to his right and left. His men were spread out on either side, his sappers in front. He’d still had no word from his father’s pet, the Nephilim warlock.
Nuzum Mir.
He’d never liked the giant. He seemed ageless, superior―some said Nuzum Mir was three hundred years old. The Nephilim had no feelings, no emotions; not even rage. How was it possible not to have rage?
The Gray Knight roiled inside at his father for not stepping aside for him. He was of age now; his father had had his time, his golden years long gone. His father thought he didn’t know.
How naïve of his father to think that his son would have no spies of his own. He knew of Loarn’s desire for Scalibur, he knew of the immortality the sword could supposedly grant. He would get the sword, yes―but not for Loarn. No, he would have it; the Gray Knight would become the Gray King. He’d wipe away all memory of his father and would spend a thousand years on the throne. It would all be his. He smiled at the heat of his ambition.
Nuzum Mir was a problem, but he would find a way. He always did.
“Lord, some kind of stone defenses ahead,” one of the sappers said, pointing to a ring of moss-covered stones.
The wind whined over the high ground. The Gray Knight cursed. He could feel one of his headaches starting. “No matter, advance. Any danger once posed by this godforsaken relic is long gone,” he shouted to the man. “Press on.”
The sapper nodded. No one disobeyed the Gray Knight.
The Gray Knight shook his head. This place felt wrong, as if there was a thin skin stretched over the sleeping land. He didn’t want to be here when it ruptured.
A bird called out overhead. The Gray Knight saw the sapper look up. Six crows, black as the grave, circled above.
~
Sive reached the boat first.
It was tethered by a silver rope to a statue of a maiden wearing archaic clothes. The maiden’s face was downcast, her arms held out toward the ancient yew.
“This place feels strange,” Cal said, arriving beside her.
“It feels like a grave,” Mevia added. “I should know; I’ve robbed enough of them.”
Myrddin shot her a look. “Don’t say such things here, girl, even in jest. This place is . . . aware.”
Mevia looked skeptical but said nothing.
“Well, let’s do it, let’s cross over. There’s enough room in the boat for all of us,” Ae’fir said, gesturing at Sive to board.
A noise behind made Ae’fir glance backward. There, coming down the hillside, lurched a shrouded figure. He was barefoot and unarmed. He was pale, his skin almost translucent.
Sive took a step back, surprised.
Ae’fir moved forward, hand on Scalibur. “Halt, stranger! Who are you? What business do you have here?”
The figure jerked to a stop at the bottom of the hill. His head lifted and he peered out through tangled hair. His eyes were cold, calculating.
He smiled. “My name is Lamorak. I’ve come for the truth. I seem to have attracted the wrath of the king―his army follow me and no doubt they will kill me. But not before I have the truth of who I am. That truth . . . that truth is within that beast of a tree.”
The man’s feet were bleeding, his face scratched and bruised. He must have been in the wilds a long time. Ae’fir stared at Lamorak. There was something familiar about him. His stance, his shoulders, his build . . . his silhouette.
All at once, he recognized himself. A rush of energy flashed through him, followed by something else: hope.
Ae’fir took his hand from Scalibur’s hilt and approached the man. “I believe you, brother. We are here for the same reason. Join us; we are going across to the tree, we’ll find the answers together.”
Lamorak stood for a moment. Ae’fir’s voice was calm, unthreatening. Something seemed to give inside of Lamorak. He slumped, almost falling. Ae’fir rushed forward, catching him and helping him toward the boat.
Sive and the others looked on, mystified. Sive watched from the lakeside. She saw the glimmer of recognition in Ae’fir’s eyes and heard as he said “brother.” She understood.
This broken man was all that was left of Eriu’s creation. He was Ae’fir’s doppelganger, now a shadow of a man. He was almost transparent and his skin stretched tight over his bones. Sive looked at Mevia. The woman looked as if she had seen a ghost. Mevia had told her that she had seen ghosts as a grave robber in Imraldi.
Sive forced herself to focus. She untied the boat and, as she did, the stern lantern began to glow. Its green light spread over the inky water.
The others climbed into the boat one by one. No one spoke―even the thought of speaking felt dangerous. The black lake had a presence, a sentience. Its waters and the tree were intertwined, were one and the same with deep things, deep time, deepest Erthe.
Sive looked for oars, paddles, a pole. There was nothing―just the hull’s bare wood. Once the last passenger was seated, the boat started to move across the water. Its bow didn’t appear to disturb the lake’s surface. The lantern’s light grew stronger, throwing its green hue ahead, illuminating the way to the tree.
As they neared the massive yew, its trunk cracked. Sive and the others watched, wide-eyed, as the tree turned toward them, its branches slicing through the air, its bark moaning.
Cal gasped. The tree slowed its movement, coming to rest. The boat ground against something―they had hit the shore, only there was no shore. Sive looked at the inky water. There it was again: movement just beneath the surface.
Roots . . . the yew was grasping the boat from below, pulling it toward its massive trunk. Sive held onto the sides, bracing herself against the wood. They were borne upward on a writhing ramp of roots, delivered to the yew itself.
As they drew level with the tree, Sive noticed steps carved into the trunk leading up into the branches. She heard a scream and spun around. She realized it had been in her head; every instinct was screaming at her to run. As the boat came to rest, the yew’s bark cracked. Sive looked up among the higher branches. The trunk was splitting from the top-down, and a yellow crack had appeared, forming a small archway. A yellow glow spilled out from within. A hand touched Sive’s shoulder and she almost jumped out of her skin.
Cal’s voice whispered, “Shanir says we need to climb up there. The tree is calling us.”
“Right, does he want to go first?” Sive managed to ask, her voice strained.
“No, you go first. He says the tree has recognized you . . .”
Sive made a small sound and nodded. Of course, it had to be her; always first into trouble and last out. She steadied herself, held the boat, and climbed onto the first step. As soon as her foot touched the tree, she felt different, no longer afraid . . .
Sive forgot about the others and forged ahead, climbing the steps without looking back. She heard voices behind her.
“Look! Up there! Men―at least forty, and more coming!” Mevia called out.
“Aye, and that’s not all. Look, on the other side,” Cal added.
“A Nephilim!” Myrddin’s voice sounded tense. “What have we done to deserve his attention?”
“It’ll be the king,” Ae’fir said. “He’s sent his forces to take us, to take Scalibur . . . to take everything. Like every member of his bloodline, he’s mad.”
“Look at her! She’s at the door, she’s going through,” Lamorak shouted pointing at Sive. “Someone stop her . . .”
It was too late. Sive had walked across the threshold and entered the light. She felt its energy: the years, innumerable, extending back through time, the past breathing around her. She felt the births and deaths that had echoed in the Erthe over the ages.
She saw the murders, the killings, the crimes of King Loarn’s bloodline. This tree had stood as witness. It had absorbed the land’s pain through its deep roots.
Deep time needed deep roots. It remembered everything.
Sive turned around, absorbing the truth. The pain the truth carried had twisted the yew. The tree had learned to resist the poison of the past and had instead used its energy, its vitriol, to survive, to carry the truth forward to the future, to now.
It had to stop now.
But why was she here? Where were the others? Ae’fir with Scalibur, Lamorak with his magical link to Eriu, even Myrddin with his knowledge, where were they all? But the tree had called her forth. True, the others had said she was a throwback to the Aes Sidhe, but just a throwback. She had no idea what to do―the yew should want Ae’fir and Scalibur . . . No.
It was her.
Deep down, she felt something awaken. She was back in her village, with Orphir, beautiful, blind Orphir, her Orphir.
It was always about you, Sive. You are the one; you carry the key to unlock the Banishment. You are descended from deep truth, from Phantom Black itself. You are the echo of the Aes Sidhe spirit, the spirit that was never erased from the land, no matter how hard they tried over the centuries. You are the ghost in the land that always was there and always will be, for you are Aes Sidhe and Aes Sidhe is the land―they are one, the same. You are Dal Riata, and you have come to release your people from the Banishment, from the past. Do it now―they have waited long for this moment. Darkness approaches, do it now.
Orphir’s words flooded Sive’s consciousness. She knew―she felt the land, Dal Riata, the Banishment―everything. She reached out, embracing it all. Her consciousness merged with the tree, her knowledge running through the fibers of its being. She explored every root and branch. She saw the men on the crater rim carrying hatred in their hearts and steel in their hands. She saw the Nephilim descending with great strides down the side of the crater. She saw his giant heart beating, his belief that they must be destroyed. She saw his death. She saw all of their deaths.
But not before . . .
She raised her hands and reached out, swimming in the intensity of the yellow light.
~
Myrddin looked up at the tree and cursed.
Ae’fir drew Scalibur, its blade golden. “The tree’s taken her, the door’s gone!”
“Look . . . the giant’s almost at the shore, the men too. They’re coming fast . . .” Mevia said. She looked at Ae’fir and his drawn sword. “Do something!”
Myrddin slumped down mumbling, head on chest, eyes rolled back. As he rambled, the waters surrounding the yew bubbled as ripples formed, moving from tree to shore. Myrddin reached out and held the boat, his voice deepening. The water became restless, churning with ever-growing vigor in the deep. He trembled and the water turned white with fury, horses’ heads rising from the waves.
The men on the shore pulled back, fear in their eyes. The Gray Knight stood his ground, waiting to see what Nuzum Mir would do.
Nuzum Mir saw through the illusion and did not stop―it would take more than simple illusions to deter him. He plowed straight into the lake’s dark waters. It was deep, but not deep enough. He spat and snarled, wading toward the boat. He recognized the mumbling one: the necromancer. He had obviously never fought a Nephilim before.
Nuzum Mir smiled. This would be over in a heartbeat.
Ae’fir stepped from the boat onto the yew’s lower roots. They were slick, treacherous. How could he fight on this? “Out! Everyone, out of the boat! Climb the steps, get behind me. I’ll stand against, this thing.”
Mevia, Cal, and Lamorak did as they were told. They climbed the steps to the place where Sive had vanished. Myrddin slumped into the bottom of the boat, unconscious. Ae’fir waited for the Nephilim.
Nuzum Mir felt soft mud beneath his feet. The water was up to his chest, but there was not far to go. He reached over his shoulder and found his mace. It felt good in his hands, and the thrill of battle coursed through his blood. His mace had broken many lives―many Aes Sidhe lives too in a different life, a different time. It had been too long. He lurched forward, his feet finding purchase on the thick roots below the water.
Ae’fir drew a deep breath. He closed his eyes, calling on his ancestors to assist him. This was what he had come for, why he was here: to keep the portal open for his people. The yew had chosen Sive; he knew she would find a way. He had to buy her time―they all had to buy her time. Scalibur burned hot in his hand. Let them come.
“Here I am, here I stand. Come and take me, giant! You will taste my steel, it’ll tear you apart. Come to me, to your death,” Ae’fir cried.
Nuzum Mir climbed from the lake. He towered over Ae’fir, his chain armor glinting dully in the morning light.
“Die, Aes Sidhe scum,” Nuzum Mir spat. He lifted his mace high over Ae’fir’s head.
The mace came down. Their eyes locked.
Ae’fir darted forward, lifting Scalibur to meet the mace. A mighty sound filled the air as the two weapons clashed. The impact cannoned into Ae’fir’s arm, almost dislocating his shoulder. Scalibur’s light flickered as the Nephilim strode in for the kill.
~
Sive walked through the yellow light. Its intensity shone through her, warming her. She felt part of it and the tree, rooted in the earth yet open to the sky. She felt part of the present and past. The future was the sky, and her arms stretched up to claim it.
Her walk seemed endless, full of color and light. Full too of forgiveness and shame; she saw what King Loarn and his dynasty had done over the years. It horrified her―the killings, the murders, the wrongs. She wanted to undo it all―she wanted the Erthe to heal, to grow.
Her feet took her across the divide. It felt part-familiar, part-strange, as if she walked within herself, crossing the bones of her soul, breathing in her own spirit. When she was ready, the walk would be over and she would be in Eynhallow at last.
Orphir and Tara Lau stood the head of the assembled Maidens.
Her memory returned together with her understanding. It had begun years ago: the Maidens had found a way to penetrate the Banishment through the birth of a child. Two children had risen, her and Orphir, although Orphir had not been a success. Poor, blind Orphir.
Sive looked in the Maidens’ eyes and knew she had finished her journey. The circle was complete: she had brought the magical thread of Dal Riata through the Banishment to her sisters, to Eynhallow. The quest was complete; the Banishment had been penetrated and would unravel. Orphir and Tara Lau reached out for her, their arms held wide.
“Welcome back sister, your walk has been long and lonely. But you have succeeded―you’ve brought Dal Riata’s thread to us and the unraveling can begin. The Banishment will yield, releasing us back to our land. We are ready to reclaim our home. Dal Riata will be for the Aes Sidhe.”
“Goddess Danu will be pleased,” Sive heard herself say as she embraced her sisters.
“Goddess Danu will be pleased,” the Maidens echoed.
Orphir and Tara Lau began the incantation and the other Maidens joined in. Soon, yellow light shone from Eynhallow back along Sive’s route, retracing her steps.
The Banishment crumbled before it.
The light revealed forms and shapes lying ready in the receding darkness. Rows of Aes Sidhe warriors, armored and armed, poised for battle. Men and women, determination in their eyes―the wait was over, the time had come to take back their birthright. The ancestors were watching.
~
Lamorak ran his hand over the bark Sive had passed through. It was warm to the touch. He knew that she was near, that something was about to happen. He dug his nails into the bark, watching as his hand disappeared into the tree. He smiled. His body was the key.
Slowly, the yew dragged him inside. Yellow light filled his eyes and body, and his bones began to glow through his skin. It all made sense now: he was of magic, he was of Eriu, he was of the tree
. His body melted, insubstantial as a dream. His consciousness flew free. He rose through the great yew and burst forth from its branches into the air.
No one could stop him now. He looked down on the scene below and saw the people playing out their roles. He saw the Gray Knight and his men crossing the loch on horseback to aid Nuzum Mir. He saw Mevia and Cal cowering on the yew’s uppermost steps.
He watched as Myrddin rose from the boat holding forth his arms, and saw the stream of blue light that crackled from his fingertips, tearing into the Nephilim’s flesh. He saw Ae’fir locked in combat with the giant, a blur, their speed magically enhanced.
He saw Danu standing beside Mevia. Now, this was a surprise. Danu reached over Mevia’s head and plucked a silver pin from her hair. Mevia closed her eyes in relief as if a weight had been released from her shoulders. He saw the yew move, its branches and roots writhing, churning the loch.
Lamorak saw all these things and more, but as he rose, he faded. He disappeared into the sky, a free spirit once more. Lamorak the man was no more.
~
One moment, Mevia was watching the giant attacking Ae’fir, and the next, a wave of understanding flooded through her. The crone had lied to her about Danu. Why would she lie? Why would she ask her to kill Danu? What purpose would this serve?
Danu’s voice filled her head.
The crone was found by the Nephilim shortly after the ancient war. The Nephilim discovered two crones, but they never found the third . . . the one borne by the monks for generations.
The third crone was the Aes Sidhe’s last hope. The Nephilim turned the two crones, bent them to their will using their dark magics, twisted and darkened their minds. Mevia, you were affected by the crone’s lies, you believed you had to kill me. She made you promise against your will.
Mevia sighed. She was free from her burden. She was cleansed; it was good to breathe with a clear conscience once again. Her eyes refocused on the scene below.
Aes Sidhe Page 20
