Ross Lawhead (43 page)

Freya handed Daniel's unused sword back to him.

“Do you know him?” Daniel asked.

“Yes. That was the . . . person that captured me. He was my tutor, Professor Felix Stowe. He tricked me into thinking I was married to him, that I had children with him. I think he meant to starve me.”

“Huh.” Daniel gave the body a kick. “You'll have to tell me more about that.”

They stood over the body for a moment and then, without a word between them, turned and walked away.

“Freya,” Daniel said, “about what we were talking about before all this . . . We need answers for this.”

“Yes,” answered Freya, although it wasn't an easy word to say.

“I think you're right. We need to go back.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Door and the Book

1

Before . . .

Daniel and Freya landed with a bone-rattling
thump
right in the centre of a large chamber filled with a light so bright they had to shield their eyes. When they were able to see once more, the first things they noticed was that Swiðgar and Ecgbryt were not with them.

“Daniel! Freya! Are you well?” came the voice of Swiðgar from the ragged opening above them.

“Yeah, we're fine!” shouted Freya, squinting around her, not used to such a glare. The chamber walls were high and straight with lots of faces, so that there were no dark corners in the room. The light fell from what looked to be a complicated type of chandelier in which flaming objects threw light on silver plates, which then reflected the light down into the centre of the room onto a large stone dais.

A large door made out of iron that had rusted into a dark brick-red took up one entire wall. It was covered with gears and dials of all sizes, some as big as the knights' shields. There were huge iron bars set into its iron frame that looked as if they might retract if the mechanism was worked properly.

Freya looked back up at the hole they had fallen through. It was right near the top of the ceiling, and it was not the only one. The whole top of the room was a honeycomb of tunnels that led down into the oddly shaped room.

“Can you reach back up to us?” called Swiðgar.

Freya said she didn't think so, but that the knights should try to find another way down. She described the room to them. “There are other tunnels leading in here—lots of them, and a door!” she said, still blinking in the light.

“Very well. Do not move from where you are, and we shall work to join you shortly.”

“Worry not, æðelingas!” came Ecgbryt's voice. “Take heart; think on what King Ælfred would do in a situation like yours!”

Freya rolled her eyes at that and then felt Daniel's hand tug at her elbow. He was staring in apprehension at the walls and corners of the room. Shading her eyes, she looked around and drew her breath in sharply. Darkly clad, person-shaped bundles huddled together in the corners of the octagonal room. Some of them had faces—dull, nearly lifeless faces, in which pale eyes blinked and shifted. There were too many to count at a glance, and not one of them was looking their way; they stood disconsolately gazing at the floor. Freya shuddered.

She felt another tug at her elbow as Daniel directed her attention to the dais at the centre of the room. Looking closer, she saw in the centre of the dais a slight figure sitting cross-legged in front of a large wooden rack.

He looked like a young man, not quite old enough to shave.

His skin was smooth and so pallid it was almost white, but in the direct light of the chandelier, he seemed to shine brightly. He was very thin and wore clothes made from what appeared to be fine soft leather. His hair was long, a deep reddish-brown and swept back. He did not look up as they approached; his eyes were fixed on a large book that rested on the wooden rack.

His hands were busy with a regular, repetitive activity. In one hand he held a large rectangular stone. His other hand held nothing. The scraping sound came from his fingernails dragging firmly and steadily against the rough stone.

Freya looked closer—each fingernail was large, long, and bone white. In fact, they didn't look like fingernails at all, but more like horns growing from inside his fingertips. The strange youth was paying them no attention, only gazing in a detached, almost bored manner at the book in front of him.

“Excuse us,” Daniel said in a small voice, clearing his throat.

Without any other sign of noticing his visitors, the boy put the stone to one side and picked up a thin length of embroidered cloth that lay across his lap. He placed it neatly down the centre of the book, gently closed it, and then raised his head, his expression not the least bit surprised at their appearance.

“Hello,” he said in a soft, slow voice that flowed honey-thick. “Who might you be?”

Daniel introduced himself and Freya. The stranger's eyes regarded each of them in turn, running up and down their bodies. Daniel looked up at the strangely mirrored chandelier that was throwing light into the room.

“Is that daylight?” he asked.

“Of course,” the stranger replied simply, turning his eyes to scrutinise his fingers once more.

“Does that come from the surface?”

“Yes.”

Daniel and Freya exchanged a look of excited apprehension.

“If we could climb through it, we could go home,” Freya whispered urgently.

“But not before we kill Gád, right?” Daniel said in the same urgent whisper.

Freya twisted her lips.

“It's a long climb,” the figure on the dais said absently. “And it spits you up in the middle of nowhere, but it does lead ‘out,' as you have it.”

“Where, exactly?” Freya asked.

“Oh, how should I know?” he said, dismissing the question.

He placed an elbow on his knee and brought his chin to rest gently on his hand. “What realm are you from?”

“Er . . . ,” said Daniel, not knowing what to say.

“England,” Freya said. “We're traveling with knights named Swiðgar and Ecgbryt, from Niðergeard. Who are you?”

“What brings you here?” the boy asked, lightly brushing one of his boney nails down his cheek. “Why have you disturbed me?”

“We didn't mean to disturb you,” Daniel replied, surprised by the coldness of the question. “We're looking for something . . . ,” he said, then added, “but we won't tell you any more until you tell us your name.”

The boy smiled. It was not a nice smile. “My name is Nemain, son of Credne; I am one of the Aes Sídhe.”

“Who?” Daniel asked.

The boy smiled an indulgent smile. “There is a reason you've not heard of me. But come, tit for tat. Quid pro quo. Your names?”

“Hold!” came a bellowing voice that rolled around the room.

Freya realised with relief that Swiðgar had arrived. There was a dusty
shlufff
sound and the knight's bulky form slid through one of the larger holes on the other side of the room. He fell next to a few of the silent, mournful figures in rags who lurched out of his way.

He rose and took large, swift strides around the dais towards the lifiendes, his eyes on Nemain and his spear raised. Ecgbryt slid into the room, glanced around quickly, and took his place behind him.

“Be careful, æðelingas,” Swiðgar said in a low voice. “It is dangerous to deal with one of the cursed races. He is one of the
Tuath Dé Dannan—
the People of Danu—who are especially treacherous. They are descended of the same race as that of the Fær Folk, but with long life comes madness; their minds are not as they should be—cold and hard, where no light shines.”

If Nemain even heard Swiðgar's barbed comments, he did not show it. He merely preened himself further, affecting an indifferent posture.

“They live so much longer than we,” Ecgbryt continued, “that our lives seem as the span of a hawk's or other house-pet, and the best of them think little more of us than that.”

Nemain yawned and threw a casual look around the walls where the strange people were standing in their dark, tattered clothes.

“Their minds are cold and hard places, like rooms of steel,” said Ecgbryt, louder, directing his voice at the Tuath Dé. “Their passions are perverted, and they do not love what is good, only what is new, strange, and twisted. Some have said that they descended from the angels that were shut out of heaven when God first closed the gates. They live on the earth but a short walk from hell, with no knowledge of their homeland, and it has driven them mad.” Ecgbryt spat.

“Quite,” said Nemain, flipping his gaze up at them. Nemain grinned at him wryly, with something approaching genuine humour. “But enough about
me
,” said the creature, flowing into a crouching position so quickly that Daniel completely missed the transition. “You say you are from England and your minders are from . . . Niðergeard? And whither go you all?”

“We told you . . . That is our own concern.”

“So is it? Then why bother me and waste precious reading time?” Pouting, he casually pulled open the book's cover and idly started flicking through the pages. “I was in the middle of a thought that I had been thinking for thirty-two years—and to suffer such needless, pointless disruption—why it makes one's guts writhe.”

“We've disturbed you,” Freya continued deliberately, “because you are in our way. There is only one path downwards and it's led us here, to you.”

She let the words hang in the air. Nemain made no movement or reply.

“Who are those people?” Daniel asked, pointing to the nearest wall.

“Do you know,” Nemain replied airily, “I honestly have trouble remembering. I know that almost all of them were important to me at one time or another. Still, they
have
started to clutter up the place, but you know how one hates to throw anything out.

You know that as soon as you do, you'll find yourself needing it.

You think that you wouldn't possibly need a duchess, with several princesses at hand, so you dispatch her only to find within a week that the eyes of anything other than a duchess simply aren't penetrating enough for the purpose you need them.”

Swiðgar leant down and said in a low voice, “These are the Faerie's prisoners—women he has tricked into lusting after him.

Caught by his charms, they follow him willingly to the end of the earth and then pine away when he removes his indifferent affections from them.”

“That's terrible,” breathed Freya.

“What about this door?” Daniel asked, taking a step towards it.

“Don't touch the door!”
Nemain yelled suddenly, crouching as if to spring.

Swiðgar's and Ecgbryt's hands went to their weapons, lifting them forward slightly. For a long moment, they were all frozen, on edge.

Ecgbryt was the first to move—at one moment he was still, and then he was suddenly in motion as he dashed towards the Faerie. But as he reached out to grab him, Nemain pushed himself upwards, springing over the knight.

Nemain's feet found Ecgbryt's shoulders and he perched there, hunching just above his helmet. The knight cried once in surprise at the thing's speed, and once again in pain as the razorlike fingernails dug into his upper arm, through the gaps in his chain-link armour. His axe clattered to the floor before he even realised that he had let go of it. Ecgbryt swung his shield arm in an upward arc to knock the Faerie off his shoulders, but the move was anticipated and he swung at empty air as Nemain slid down his back, its hands looping in the large leather belt and its feet gripping the sides of the knight's helmet. As he tumbled downwards, his feet lifted Ecgbryt's helmet off his head and flung it at the far wall where it smacked into the stone wall like a bullet. Two robed figures lurched out of its way as it fell to the ground.

Nemain now had two feet on the ground and two hands still in the large leather belt; he pulled at it with a mighty tug backwards, but Ecgbryt was too large and sure on his feet to fall at that, so he remained standing. A massive hand was now reaching around to grab at the Faerie, but the knight had to shift his weight to turn and Nemain took the opportunity to kick one of his legs from under him. Ecgbryt listed on his one leg, then fell slowly, like a tree toppling. He landed on his back, arms splayed outwards, and found Nemain standing on top of him, his feet pushing down just above the biceps with a calmly amused look on his face.

His shield still on his arm, Ecgbryt found movement nearly impossible, but his right arm was free and his natural strength served him well. He launched his arm forward in a swipe. Nemain lifted his left leg, but Ecgbryt was going for the right and he at last managed to lay a hand on his foe; his hand circled around the Faerie's ankle and he jerked the leg away, pulling Nemain to the ground like a rag doll. The fall stunned the Faerie and gave Ecgbryt enough time to pull himself up onto his knees. Crouching, he jerked the slight figure up in an arc and actually swung him once around his head and flung him brutally across the room.