The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1) (39 page)

I shivered as Gwyneth gave the Sword a name I had never heard, impressing its importance into my mind. “How is it that you have it now?” I asked curiously, the question popping into my mind suddenly.

“The story of its loss is not yours to hear, nor exactly mine to tell,” Gwyneth replied enigmatically. “But suffice it to say that I am coming to you from a time in which I am still Bearer. It is my curse and my blessing to know my future. It is a blessing especially to come to you, though, my young
galya.
” She smiled. “It makes my spirit glad to gaze upon your face, and help you in what little way I can.”

I pulled the pendant out from beneath my shirt. “You’ve already helped me so much, just with this.”

“Ah, I am glad it came to you. I think the Ancient had a hand in the Sidhe who found it,” she said contemplatively. “And that is older than I, as well, so treat it well.”

As I tucked the pendant back beneath my shirt-collar, I nodded. Gwyneth swung the spectral Sword up, resting the blade on her flattened left palm, holding the blade parallel to the ground.

“Now for your anointing, my child,” she said, and blue fire flowed down the blade. “Place your hands upon the blade.”

I stepped closer. The raw power vibrating through the air made my teeth hurt. I wondered in amazement what the real Sword would feel like, if this was a dream-form from hundreds of years ago. I held my hands out and hesitated; then I steeled myself and plunged them into the blue fire, touching the blade above Gwyneth’s grip. The blue fire—Gwyneth’s
taebramh
, I knew suddenly—flowed up my arms and into my chest, mixing with my own white fire, forming a silvery sheen that flared up through my throat, bursting out my mouth like a plume of fire. I was breathless, suspended in the moment. It didn’t hurt, this new fire, but it was more intense than just my own, and the Sword beneath my hands ignited that fierce longing, planting a seed of want so intense that it throbbed with every beat of my heart.

“Blood of my blood, soul of my soul, I seal you to the Blade of Fire, to the Great Weapon forged in the fire of a star at the birth of the world. I marry you to the Blade of Greatest Power, a mortal shield-maiden of the Ancient,” Gwyneth intoned, her voice becoming many-toned, imbued with a power far greater than her own. She spoke in a different language, an ancient language, yet I understood every word, as if the meaning had been written into my heart. “Walk with the blessing of all Powers, heeding the will of the Ancient. Go with love, and carry always peace in your heart.”

With every word she spoke, the silver fire within me expanded, until my bones ached with the power of it. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move—but I had no desire to pull away. It felt perfectly right, perfectly painful. After her last words, the power left Gwyneth’s voice, and the blue fire gradually faded. I gasped as the fire within me receded, releasing its grip enough for me to draw in breath.

“Ancient willing, you shall pass on the Sword to the next Bearer in the flesh,” Gwyneth said, smiling gently at me. She looked down at our hands, clasped on either side of the blade. “Now, daughter of my heart, it is time for you to awaken. Come.” She sheathed the Sword. It no longer reached out to me with its siren-call; instead, I looked at the sheath and knew deep within myself that the Sword was mine to wield.

“I wish I could teach you more,” Gwyneth said as we traveled back toward we had left my body. “But my time runs short. Even with the blessing of the Ancient, a Walk across four centuries is tiring.”

“I can believe that,” I said.

“The spell-stones will not have healed you,” continued the priestess as neared the tree against which my physical body rested. “But the flow of blood should be staunched, and you will find some strength from your short rest.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

“It is the least I can do.” The slight glow about Gwyneth’s form was fading, and she picked up her pace, striding quickly through the pitch-dark forest with sure steps. “Quickly, now. Remember, the
idea
of the Sword is often weapon enough. And bend it to your will—sometimes it needs a firm hand, but you are its mistress, no matter how new.”

We reached my sleeping body. Gwyneth embraced me fiercely. She felt less solid, and her voice was soft as she said into my ear, “Go with love, Tess, and remember who you are.”

Gwyneth stepped back and called up a small blue spark, blowing it like a kiss toward me. It flew like a firefly and settled on the tip of my nose. Gwyneth smiled at me, her image wavering, and then I opened my eyes. She was gone, and my body was heavy.

I blinked a few times and groaned, trying to reconcile myself to the feel of my unwieldy physical body. My head hurt, but I wasn’t exhausted anymore. I stood stiffly, and noticed the spell-stones gleaming in the slight light of the moon. I picked up all four, walking in a slow circle around the tree, and examined them in my cupped hands. They radiated a slight warmth, and I slipped them into my pocket, pointing my feet in the direction of the river-tree.

Chapter 31

T
hough Gwyneth’s spell had opened some small reserve of strength within me, I found my legs heavy as I tried to find the path, cutting back toward where I thought it to be. Swelling on my left cheekbone began to force my eye shut, rendering me even more sightless in the dark of the night. For half a moment, I considered creating a small torch, lighting it with my
taebramh
; but I knew it would be a beacon for creatures like the monstrous winged beast that had torn through the oak tree, snapping branches as thick as my waist like twigs. The left side of my face felt heavy. I still couldn’t muster the courage to touch the wound. The idea of it made me feel sick, so I pushed thoughts of my injury to the back of my mind. Never mind the sticky, congealed blood crusting my cheek and chin; never mind the fact that hideously swollen flesh pushed my eye half-closed.

I slipped one hand into my pocket, feeling the smoothness of the spell-stones, still radiating warmth even after Gwyneth had departed. Distantly, back in the direction of the barracks, I heard faint clashing and ringing—blade upon blade, battle cries and shrieks from the creatures. The knowledge that Malravenar’s forces had attacked spurred me to walk faster, even though I stumbled over unseen roots and once fell, skinning my hands as I broke my fall.

The slight wind whispered through the trees. For a moment I thought I heard words in the sibilant hiss of the fluttering leaves, but I kept moving. I had to get to the river-tree.

After a while I realized that the reason I was stumbling over so many obstacles on the ground was not only the darkness, but my now-useless left eye. I cursed in frustration as I tripped again, my depth perception robbed from me. Then I caught a hint of movement on my left side, my blind side. My heart jumping as my mind sketched hideous creatures from the shadows, I drew my sword and slowly backed myself against a tree-trunk, turning my head to survey my blind left side as best I could. The slinking movement resolved into a creature with black-fur—I thought it looked like a wolf but it moved too quickly for me to tell, flowing through the shadows like a ribbon of black silk. My sword-hand started to shake, try as I might to steady it.

The creature came at me and I swung with my sword, the blade biting uselessly into the loam of the forest floor as it dodged aside with uncanny grace. I heard a familiar yip, and I paused in my desperate efforts to free my sword from the dirt. Slowly turning my head to the side, I saw that the shadow-creature was in fact a very large, very familiar black wolf. My knees went weak with relief.

“Beryk, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” I said breathlessly.

The wolf gave a snort. I couldn’t tell whether he meant to say that he wasn’t sorry, or that I wasn’t that hard to frighten, or both. In either case, I pulled my blade free and wiped it clean on my trousers before sliding it back into its sheath.

“I have to say, though,” I continued to the wolf, “I’m glad to see you.”

Beryk wagged his tail a few times and grinned, his tongue lolling out over his teeth. Then he whined deep in his throat, pawing the ground.

“Not really in the mood for charades right now.” I winced as a fresh trickle of blood dripped onto my shirt from my cheek. I turned my head, showing Beryk the left side of my face. I heard him whine again, and then he licked my hand. “It’s really that bad, huh,” I murmured. “Well, let’s go, then.”

I started walking again. Beryk trotted beside me, on my left side. After a few minutes, he drew closer and pressed his warm head beneath my hand. I was too tired to feel surprised, and it was good to have his solid bulk beneath my hand when I stumbled. He patiently waited for me to regain my balance each time.

After what seemed like an eternity, we had not reached the path. I wanted to weep in frustration, but I was sure that any sort of tears would be a very painful experience considering my left eye, so I pressed down the emotions. I tripped again and fell heavily to one knee, gripping Beryk’s fur reflexively.

“Sorry,” I gasped, releasing my tight hold on his ruff. He nudged at me with his nose, and delicately took the edge of my sleeve in his teeth, tugging me toward him. I looked at him and he knelt, looking at his own back and then at me, expectantly. I frowned. He gave a little bark of impatience, tugging at my sleeve again. “Okay, okay,” I said, extracting the cloth from his teeth. “I just…are you sure that I’m not too heavy?”

He grinned at me, laughter in his honey-gold eyes.

“I swear to God I’m hallucinating,” I muttered to myself. “I think a wolf is
laughing
at me.”

A few small barks erupted from the wolf, sounding for all the world like a chuckle. I looked sharply at him and he yawned innocently, still kneeling, waiting for me. He was a very large wolf—his head came up almost to my waist, even when he was kneeling on his forelegs. I wondered disjointedly if he had grown since the last time I’d seen him.

I slid onto Beryk’s back, laying more than sitting, gripping the fur at the looser skin of his neck. He stood, bearing my weight as if I weighed nothing at all; he glanced back at me, as if to make sure I was ready. Then he surged forward through the forest. His galloping gait was not smooth, like Kaleth’s; and I could feel every muscle, every bone along his spine beneath me as he shot through the forest like a fleeting shadow. I held on tightly, gripping with my hands and my knees, pressing my unmarred cheek into the fur of his neck and breathing in his musky wolf-scent. Riding wolf-back was nothing at all like riding horse-back—it was wilder, and more frightening: the racing ground was so close I could touch it if I wanted. Occasionally I felt Beryk gather himself, muscles coiling tightly, and I held on for dear life as he leapt over a fallen log or a small stream. Riding a wolf was like riding the wind, untamed and unapologetically rough.

Just as I thought I wouldn’t be able to hold on any longer, Beryk slowed, and a fresh breeze brushed my hair. I lifted my face from his neck, a wave of pure gratitude washing over me as I took in the flat land, the long grasses silvery in the moonlight. The path cut its way through the moon-brushed expanse just to our left. Mists obscured the horizon, layering misty tendrils over the hills, weaving through the grasses, but I felt in my bones the closeness of the Sword. Beryk loped through the long grasses, disdaining the path but keeping it within sight. We cut into the mist, moving like ghosts; and I wondered what a watcher would see—a wolf-girl, like a centaur but more fearsome? I smiled slightly at the absurd thought. Keeping the arch of my foot hooked over Beryk’s back for balance, I sat up a little as he covered the ground in his tireless wolf-lope.

Two bright little lights appeared through the darkness, wrapped in the mist. I blinked, thinking them a hallucination or a half-dream fostered by my exhaustion. But Beryk barked, making me jump, and the lights zipped toward me.

“Tess!” exclaimed Flora, her aura bursting with violet and blue and pink hues of joy. Wisp flew right behind her.

“The Northerner is waiting for you,” he said. “By the river-tree. By the great secret-place.”

“Gwyneth sealed me to the Sword,” I said, too tired to muster further explanations.

Wisp and Flora flew delighted patterns, filling the air with gleaming trails of sparks, a curtain of color above my head as Beryk trotted onward. The black wolf sneezed and shook his head in annoyance when Wisp flew too low. Flora scolded Wisp.

“Are we close?” I asked.

“Not too far,” Wisp said.

“Oh,” Flora said as she caught a glimpse of my left side. “Your face is….bleeding,” she finished lamely.

“That’s an understatement,” I told her, smiling with the right side of my mouth.

“It looks rather ugly,” she said truthfully, flying closer for a better inspection. “What was it?”

“A branch. Or part of one,” I clarified. “I climbed a tree after escaping, and there was this…winged monster…that tore the tree apart, trying to get at me.”

“A
cadengriff
,” said Wisp. He flew a corkscrew. “We don’t like them. Nasty creatures.”

“They are powerful, and not very smart,” explained Flora. “An easy target for Malravenar to twist to his own uses.”

I shivered, thinking of the hideous gleaming claws gauging the tree-trunk just above my head. “I can believe that.”

“Vell will stitch that,” Flora said to me. “And if she does not, I will. Wisp will help me.”

“Hopefully Vell will do it,” I said, feeling sick. I cleared my throat, focusing on the feel of the cool mist brushing against my skin.

“I will tell her you are coming!” Wisp said jubilantly, rocketing away, leaving a small neon trail in the darkness.

“He’s too bubbly for me right now,” I said to Flora ruefully.

Flora landed delicately on Beryk’s head, right between his ears. The wolf continued loping along, unfazed in the least by the addition of another small burden, even in so unusual a spot.

“Flora,” I said quietly, “how is Forsythe?”

Flora’s wings beat a cadence of anger as her aura darkened. “He will live,” she said darkly, “but that knight will not, the next time we encounter him.”

“Amen to that,” I said.

Finally the mists parted like a curtain, revealing the river-tree. My heart leapt as I saw its familiar branches and blue-green leaves, barely visible in the darkness. Beryk stopped, and I slid from his back, leaning on him for balance until my legs decided they would bear my weight. For a long moment, I stood and gazed at the tree silently. Then Beryk barked and trotted forward. A shadow detached itself from the river-tree’s gnarled roots. Vell knelt and pressed her forehead against Beryk’s, both wolf and woman closing their golden eyes. She murmured something to him in a wild foreign tongue, the words dancing through the air like a spray of water pluming up from river-rocks. Then she stood and walked quickly to me. For a crazy second I thought she was about to embrace me, but she stopped short, her dark hair melding with the shadows.

“I knew he would find you,” she said to me, frowning as she saw the side of my face. “Well, you’ve gone and gotten yourself clawed up. Sit down and I’ll stitch it up.” And without letting me reply, she turned away, skipping lightly over the tree’s roots to a hollow close to the trunk, picking up her satchel and beginning to gather her tools.

“It’s good to see you too,” I said with a lopsided smile. I found a root that arched up smoothly out of the ground and sat down in front of it, leaning back against it. Wisp came and settled on my shoulder, his small hands pressing against my skin.

“Do not worry, Tess-mortal,” he said reassuringly. “North-witches are very skilled at healing.”

“If you call me a North-witch one more time, Wisp, I’m going to swat you,” Vell said without looking up from threading a long shining needle.

“It’s true,” protested Wisp cheerfully.

“It’s rude,” countered Vell.

“Be nice, Wisp,” I said, leaning my head back against the root and closing my eyes. My entire body ached with exhaustion, and I thought blearily that the effects of Gwyneth’s spell had finally worn off, leaving me longing for sleep. But a heartbeat after I closed my eyes, images flashed like lightning against the back of my eyelids: Ramel, his coppery hair mussed, fighting back to back with Emery as hideous trolls attacked them; Allene, crouched in a tree, shooting arrows down into the chaos with grim precision; Kavoryk, roaring his ferocious battle-cry and wielding a fearsome blood-stained axe. The snapshots flashed in my mind one after another. I heard the clash of metal on metal, the terrible cries of the attacking horde, and the shouts of the besieged defenders. The acrid smell of blood burned in my nose and I opened my eyes with a jolt.

Vell looked over at me questioningly, shielding the spark she had just struck with her flint. The little spark glowed on the tinder, then birthed a tiny flame. She carefully transferred the flame to the wick of a crude lantern—really no more than a candle set into a holder, with a rough frame and handle.

“We have to hurry,” I rasped, my throat suddenly dry.

Vell nodded. “I know. Here.” She handed me a small wooden cup, filled to the brim with a clear liquid. To my surprise, it was only water. I swallowed it gratefully.

“Hold this, here at this height,” Vell said to Flora and Wisp. Flora looked at the lantern and gave a shrill little whistle. Forin and Farin appeared out of the branches of the river-tree, the glimmer of their auras reflecting off the blue-green leaves. The four Glasidhe hoisted the lantern into the air and held it steady. I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ears and my hand shook.

“You’ll have to lay back, Tess. Beryk,” Vell said.

The black wolf padded over to me and after I had shifted my body to a comfortable position, he carefully settled himself over me, his heavy bulk ensuring that I wouldn’t be able to wriggle away from Vell’s ministrations. He laid his huge head along my right arm, so that when I turned my head I gazed into his golden eyes. His tail swept across my legs in a slow, steady rhythm.

“This is going to hurt,” Vell warned me. “I have to clean the wound first, and it will feel terrible.”

“You have a horrible bedside manner,” I told her. For the first few moments, the numbness in my cheek persisted, but then it gave way to pure agony, and my fingers tightened in Beryk’s fur. I heard Vell curse softly as blood began trickling down my face again. She poured something onto my face that stung like a whole hive of hornets, and Beryk had to press me down with his body as I jerked. I bit down on a cry of pain.

After what seemed an eternity, Vell finished cleaning the wound to her satisfaction. The bite of a needle was no less pleasant than the sting of the antiseptic, but it was a smaller pain that I could handle more easily. I lost count of the stitches, sweat sliding down my back from the heavy warmth of the wolf on top of me. Finally Vell delicately applied a cool ointment and wiped the blood from the rest of my face.

“There,” she said, her voice shaking a little. She cleared her throat. “That should do for now.”

“How many stitches did it take?” I croaked as I turned my head back, looking at her with my good eye.

“Too many,” she said, slipping her tools back into her satchel, “but if you must know, and I’m assuming you’ll badger me until I tell you…fifty-two.”

“Damn,” I chuckled. The laugh turned into a cough. I pushed at Beryk. “You’re too big to be a lap-dog.” He gave me a dry look that said he was clearly not amused by my attempt at humor, and leisurely stretched before standing. I gingerly stretched my legs, then held up a hand. Vell pulled me up. “All right.” I took a deep breath and began picking my way over the roots of the tree, breathing in its sweet scent.

“This is the place, isn’t it?” Vell asked, trailing behind me.

I nodded. “The Sword is in the tree.”

Vell murmured something that sounded like a prayer and kissed one of her rings. When I glanced at her, she grinned and shrugged.

“I am Northern,” she said, her accent growing stronger. “Superstition is bred into our blood.”

I stepped up onto a huge root and walked soft-footed along its length until I reached the trunk of the tree. Placing a hand against the trunk, I wondered what to do next. The trunk’s girth was so great that I doubted Vell and I would be able to touch hands if we stood on either side and pressed ourselves against the smooth bark. With my other hand, I pulled out the pendant. The small glowing Sword flared fiercely within the iron replica of the river-tree. The spreading branches of the great tree created a cathedral-ceiling over me, a latticework of wood and leaves and stars, night sky the cement holding it all together. I loathed the idea of destroying such beauty. I thought of Gwyneth, and I knew that there had to be a way to retrieve the Sword without killing the river-tree.