Iron Axe (33 page)

“You will not!” His eyes filled with rage over Talfi's death, Ranadar pulled the spear out of Talfi's body and threw it straight at Vamath's heart.

Vamath flicked a finger, and the spear vanished. It reappeared past him, Twisted there by Vamath's magic, and thudded into the back of the throne itself. Talfi's blood dripped down the shaft and stained the cushion.

“I have had enough of the traitor,”
Vamath boomed. A bolt of silver light flared from his hand and caught Ranadar in the chest. The elven prince flew backward and slammed into the wall. With a gasp, he slumped to the floor. Was he dead? Aisa couldn't tell. Then she realized he couldn't be; there was no
draugr.

Vamath shouted,
“Now, my queen! Twist!”
The silver light exploded in all directions. Aisa shielded her eyes against the consuming brightness. Nausea roiled through her, and she felt the tears stream down her face. They had lost. After all the pain, all the death, all the fear and trials, they had lost.

The light went out. Tiny flares appeared all over the projection table, spouting like little geysers. In each one appeared a troll, dwarf, or giant—in the forest, on the beach, in the city, even in the lake. A giant with two heads rose out of the water with a startled look on her face. Hundreds of Stane stumbled and staggered about, looking drunk or confused. Several dropped to their knees and vomited. The queen, appearing cool and unruffled, raised her scepter again. Silver lights rushed toward her again. The other Fae readied their weapons, awaiting her signal.

“No,” Danr whispered. “Leave them alone! They're my people.”

Vamath's hands still glowed silver. He pointed to Danr. “You'll join them, Stane.”

And at that, something inside Aisa broke. The elven lord could do as he liked to her, to Ranadar, even to Talfi, but not
to Danr. Not to her Hamzu. She wrenched the Iron Axe out of the floor and rushed at him with the blade held high. A scream tore itself from her throat. Vamath was only a few steps away. The look of surprise on his face flickered into fear for just a moment. Aisa swung with all her might.

Vamath caught the Axe by the handle just above her hands. “You surprise me, little parrot.”

“I won't let you hurt him,” Aisa hissed, though being this close to him made her sweat with need.

“Join me, little parrot,” Vamath said with a small smile. “I'll give you this.”

He leaned forward and kissed her.

Vamath's touch swept over her. It was everything Aisa had dreamed—and dreaded—ever since her exile into the cold human lands. A light, delicious languor washed over her, and every inch of skin tingled. She was breathing honey and nectar, drinking light, bathing in music. She shuddered and relaxed. The Axe lowered. Vamath carefully stepped back from it. On the projection table, the elven queen was glowing silver now. Only a few seconds had passed, and the Stane remained unfocused and dazed from the unexpected Twist.

Talfi jerked upright with a deep gasp. He sat panting on the floor, looking just as dazed as the Stane. “What—?”

“Give me the Axe, child.” Vamath held out his hand. “Once I split the vessel that holds the power in two with it, he'll die forever, and the weapon will be mine.”

“Kill Talfi?” Danr said.

“Who's Talfi?” Talfi asked.

Aisa clutched the Axe, still in the clutch of Vamath's wondrous kiss. She would sell her soul for another one.

“Now, child.” Vamath snapped his fingers.

It would be so easy, so sweet. Aisa's fingers slid over the wooden handle, and she thought of Old Aunt by her fire.
“You have earned your face, child. You have the strength to
face the world on your own.”
It was as if Grandmother were standing behind her, and she let the strength fill her.

“I have my face,” Aisa told the elven king. And she thrust the Axe at his chest.

The iron head pushed straight through Vamath's armor and hissed into his flesh. The smell of cooked meat tanged the air. Vamath screamed. He clutched at the Axe's handle, but it was already buried deep between his ribs. Aisa twisted the handle and pulled the Axe back out. Vamath staggered backward.

“You . . . you can't . . . ,” he gasped.

Aisa raised the Axe. “I. Can.”

Vamath dropped to the floor with a crash. His
draugr
drifted up from the body.
“Release!”

The moment he died, the awful hunger drained away. It simply disappeared as if it had never existed. A burden heavy as stone lifted. Chains shattered and fell away, leaving Aisa feeling light and free. She could leap and jump and even fly. A laugh bubbled up and burst. She was giddy with delight. He was her master, her hunger, no more. Aisa dropped the Axe and skipped across the room to take Danr's hands in hers, drawing him into a little dance.

“I'm free!” she shouted. “The hunger is gone and I'm free!”

Danr seemed bemused. “What happened to us?”

“I . . . killed him. The elven king.” A thought stole through her exhilaration. “That must be how it works. When an elf dies, all the slaves who hunger for him are released. They don't want anyone to know that.” She was weeping now even as her heart soared with light. “It's just like the Three said—finding the Iron Axe would end my hunger! I'm free! By the Nine, I'm
free
!”

Talfi was getting uncertainly to his feet. “Who are you people?” he demanded. “Who am
I
?”

“The Axe!” Danr rushed over to pick it up. “The Stane! What's happening to the
Stane?”

D
anr rushed to the table with the Axe in his hand. So much was happening he could hardly keep track. The overwhelming need he had felt for Vamath had vanished the moment Aisa killed the elf, and what a moment that had been! But now—

On the table, the tiny projection of the queen seemed to have gotten tired of waiting. Filled with silver power, she let a burst of it pop from her scepter. The elves, fairies, and sprites fell on the Stane just as they had done on the humans. The Stane were a little more able to defend themselves, however. They were carrying iron weapons and wearing iron armor, which slowed the Fae attacks, but they were still dazed and surprised from the unexpected Twist, which gave the Fae an advantage. The giants—and there were more than three dozen of them tall as trees—stomped through the woods, swinging clubs and smashing with their fists, but the agile, chaotic sprites darted at their eyes and blinded them with popping lights, confused them with fireworks. Elves and trolls squared off, trading quick feints and powerful blows. Fairies and dwarves rolled across the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. But it was clear the Fae had more power.
Through it all, the human
draugr
shouted,
“Release!”
and Gwylph fed her subjects a steady stream of silver light from her scepter. It healed their wounds, boosted their strength, raised their morale. The confused, scattered Stane couldn't rally. Their commanders gave no orders. Their regiments fell apart. Stane fell, and their
draugr
appeared, giving more power to the queen. It wasn't a war; it was a slaughter.

The two stars that were Urko gave off a great burst of silver light. It overpowered the dying sun and shone straight through the window. The glass created a slanted silver column, and Talfi sat in its center.

Ranadar, consciousness newly regained, got to his feet. He seemed torn between his father's
draugr
and Talfi, who looked confused. The sounds of battle filtered up through the windows—screams and shouts and clashing of metal on metal. The earth trembled beneath giant feet. Danr looked at the Axe in his hand.

“Talfi!” Ranadar had made his choice. He ran to his lover and gathered him close, ignoring the blood on Talfi's tunic and the slanted column of light he lay in. More of Talfi's blood still spattered the far wall beneath the spear that had killed him.

“Who are you?” Talfi asked.

Danr and Aisa hurried over, though a cold dread was gathering in the pit of Danr's stomach. He knew what was going to happen, could see it coming, but he couldn't bear to think of it. Not Talfi. Not his friend.

“Why doesn't he remember me?” Ranadar demanded. “He did before.”

“Talfi,” Danr said, his voice growing thick. “We're your friends. Touch the amulets at your throat. The pouch and the medallion.”

With a puzzled look, Talfi fished around in his tunic and came up with both objects. He clutched them in his palms.

“Ranadar, Aisa.” Danr set down the Axe. “Hold him.”

“Hey!” Talfi protested. “What are—”

They all three embraced him in the cold light of the two stars. Danr felt Aisa beside him and met her eyes over Talfi's head. She nodded, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was: only the Axe could stop the one-sided battle raging outside. Sorrow broke through Danr, and anger, too. Her hand tightened around his arm. She was with him, and that meant everything, but the thing that was coming . . . he didn't know if he could bear it.

In the center of their circle, Talfi inhaled sharply. “I remember! Rolk and Vik! I remember!”

They stepped back, except for Ranadar, who kept a protective arm around Talfi. Danr couldn't meet his eyes, but he picked up the Axe. Talfi looked at it. “Oh.”

“What?” Ranadar said. “What is—?”

“Talfi is the vessel of the power,” Danr said, still looking at the floor. “He was the squire who was split in half a thousand years ago to create the Axe in blood and iron. When the Axe was sundered, the power went into Talfi. It won't let him die, but it erases his memory every time he comes back to life. You might say there is no Talfi anymore. It's why I can't see him through my true eye.”

“So?” Ranadar said, but the truth was written across his face.

“Ran.” Talfi's voice was quiet. “The only way to stop your kinsmen from destroying the Stane is to reunite the Axe. To do that, Danr has to take the power back. He has to kill me with it. And this time I won't come back.”

The awful truth wrote pain across Ranadar's face. “No!” he cried. “Never again!”

“I've lived a thousand years, Ran,” Talfi said. “It's my time. I'm sorry.”

“I just found you again.” Ranadar buried his face in Talfi's shoulder. “I can't lose you now.”

Talfi touched his sunset hair for a moment, then gently pushed him aside and stood before Danr. “Do it. The stars are coming apart!”

They were. The silver light was already beginning to fade.

Danr looked down at Talfi, the friend he had faced a wyrm with, shared bread and salmon in a stable with, laughed and shared dreams with. “How can I kill my best friend?” he said thickly. “Not even Death and the Nine can ask this!”

“Danr,” Talfi said in a quiet voice, “I died a long time ago, before the Sundering. It's all right. You need to do this. Everyone else will die if you don't.”

Ranadar put his own hands over his eyes and moaned. The sound was a thousand years of pain, but he made no move to get in the way. Danr's heart wrenched for him.

“I've learned so much from you, Talfi,” Danr choked. “I—”

“Just do it, you big oaf!” Talfi shouted. “They're dying!”

The light continued to dim. With trembling hands, Danr raised the Axe high. He felt the blade's thirst, and tears gathered in his eyes. Talfi looked up at him with expectant, sky blue eyes. Danr's muscles tensed to swing. But he lowered the Axe instead.

“I can't,” he whispered. “I can't kill my friend.”

And then Aisa was beside him. Wordlessly, she put both her small hands on his arm, and through those small hands came great strength, a strength greater than anything he had ever felt. It was the same strength he had felt when they kissed for the first time.

“You don't have to do it alone,” she said. “I'm here. Before, and during, and after, my Hamzu. My Danr.”

The silver light was nearly gone. Talfi spread his arms wide, raised his chin, and closed his eyes. “Please,” he said.

Danr looked at Aisa, her eyes filled with compassion and love. Yes. She was there for him. Had always been there for
him, and would always be. With her help, he raised the Axe high and swung it through the air toward Talfi's head just as the last of light faded away.

The blade cleaved Talfi neatly in two. To Danr, it felt like a hair slicing through glass. Without a sound, the two halves of Talfi's body fell to the floor. There was no blood this time, only the soft chime of a bell. Red and golden light flowed from the two sides of Talfi's body and rushed into the Axe. Talfi's split body crumbled into dust.

The Axe crackled and snapped. Power coursed through Danr. He felt the underpinnings of the world, the great continent moving slowly beneath his feet like a great raft on an ocean, and he felt the air moving above him like a silken river. He felt the water in the oceans and the lakes, heavy and swirling, and he felt the heat of every bit of fire and light in the world. He felt nine forms of light—Olar and Grick, the twins Belinna and Fell, who fought as one, Urko and Rolk, Kalina and Bosha, Vik and Halza, and even trickster Tikk, who was only pretending to be light—and he felt three forms of shadow—Nu, Ta, and Pendra. And behind them, Death in her chair.

His attention snapped back to the throne room. The dust that had been Talfi drifted at his feet. The elves had done this, forced him to kill his friend. The monster half raged within him, and this time he gladly let it out. The creature took over. A roar burst from his chest, and he leaped at the high window with the Axe high over his head.

The windows disintegrated. The leap, powered by the Axe, carried Danr all the way down to the shore. He slammed into the beach a dozen paces away from Queen Gwylph and her scepter in an explosion of sand that splashed up and froze in a wave of glass from the Axe's heat. The Axe snarled and glowed an angry red. All around was the Fae army, butchering the desperate Stane.

Danr the monster threw the spitting, glowing Axe, and it spun through the air. It sliced through twenty elves and fairies, spraying elvish blood in all directions, then turned and flew back toward Danr's hand. On the way, it slashed through ten sprites and a dozen more elven warriors. Their screams mingled with the cries of dying Stane. Danr put out his hand, and the Axe slammed into his palm, solid and powerful. He stood tall and terrible while power coruscated over and through him.

“Who are you?” demanded Queen Gwylph. “What are—?”

Danr slammed the Axe into the ground. The very earth shook all around Palana. The stones groaned, and the lake churned. Trees cracked. The tallest one leaned precariously, then fell with a great and terrible crash. All fighting ceased as everyone, Fae and Stane, lost their balance. Giants thudded to the ground, crushing the sprites they were fighting. Even the queen staggered.

“I am power!” Danr roared. “I am fate! I am death!”

He raised the Axe, and a dozen balls of fire rained down from the sky. They slammed into the elven city, setting trees ablaze and sending Fae and Stane alike running for the lake. Danr reveled in the destruction like the monster he was.

“What gives you the right?” shouted Gwylph.

“The same thing that gave you the right to kill both my people!” Danr roared. “You took the power and used it! Now I will use mine!”

Fire raged all around them as more and more people raced for the lake like animals fleeing a forest fire, friend and foe side by side. Danr leaped at the elven queen. She fired a bright silver light from her scepter, but the blazing Axe sucked it in, a volcano devouring a candle. Desperately she backed up a step and wove a shield of silver energy. Danr split it like kindling. He was close enough now to smell her, but now he saw the truth of everything. Her glamour was
gone, and she was no longer beautiful. Her skin was rough as oak bark. Her scent was of dead leaves. Her sticklike skeleton propped her up from inside. The rage consumed him. He swung at her neck—

—and she vanished. Twisted away.

Outrage boiled over, and the Axe's power thundered through Danr. He'd had enough! The Fae had called him filth, but they were the ones who took slaves, dealt death, tricked and lied and deceived. The Axe's easy power called to him. All his life he had been forced to keep the monster in check, never show what he could do. Now, at long last, he could do
anything
,
and he would. He would carve the entire elven country from the continent, flood it with ocean water, and let the merfolk swim through its ruins. He was a monster, and monsters destroyed.

Aisa and Ranadar stepped out of thin air. Ash smudged their faces, and their clothes were torn. Kalessa was with them, too.

“There he is,” Ranadar gasped.

Kalessa groaned and clasped her shape-shifting sword. “I did not enjoy that at all.”

“Danr!” Aisa ran to him. “You have to stop!”

“Don't give them the satisfaction. Don't give them a reason to hate you.”

Danr raised the Axe, and another fireball slammed down from the sky, engulfing half a dozen trees and the homes within them. “It's too late. They hate the monster anyway. Why not stop them in the bargain?”

“Keep the monster inside.”

She grabbed his arm. “You're not a monster!”

“You're not my mother!” the monster snarled, and she stepped back, aghast. “You have no right to tell me what I am!”

“Your mother thought there was a monster inside you!”
Aisa said as the flames continued to burn. Heat washed over them in waves. “She was wrong!”

“She was right!” He raised the Axe again. “Watch the monster work!”

“Don't you see?” She took his arm again, and he saw she was crying. “You want to blame your monster half, but he doesn't exist. It's only you. You're a person, a good and fine person. Look at yourself with that true-seeing eye, and you'll know. Look at yourself—for me.”

He halted and looked down at her face, still naked and filled with raw emotion. For him. And so he did as she asked. For the first time since the Three knocked the splinters out of his eye, Danr looked down at himself and closed his right eye.

He was expecting a monster, the creature that had lived inside him ever since he was born. But he only saw . . . himself. A person in a plain tunic and dark trousers. Not a prince, not a truth-teller, not Hamzu, not Trollboy, not Danr. A
person.
His true self.

“It doesn't matter if the world doesn't accept you,” Aisa said. “
You
have to accept yourself.”

The truth came over him. There was no monster. There never had been. The monster was nothing but his own anger, his own rage, his own self. There was no separate Stane half and Kin half, no monster half and normal half. No one to blame but himself. He'd been avoiding the truth.

This new truth lay before him, naked and harsh as a tree stripped of bark. But why did it have to be harsh? This truth gave him new knowledge. If the monster didn't exist, it meant he was in control. He made all the decisions; the monster made none.

Once he accepted this, the desire to destroy left him. The monster disappeared—it had never existed anyway—and
Danr let the Axe fall to the sand. His arms went around Aisa. New emotion swept over him.

“I'm sorry,” he cried into her shoulder. “I'm so sorry.”

“You need never be sorry with me,” she said. “Never, ever. My Danr, my Hamzu, my friend, my love.”