The Iron Gate, page 24
part #2 of The Iron Soul Series
Murden moved first, turning his attention from Arto towards Morgana as an orb of her silver magic sailed towards him. Arto was still as the sickly green mist appeared once more and protected Murden before a wave of magic blew towards his sister. Moving her hand quickly, Morgana summoned a sudden breeze, dispersing the greenish smoke up above the heads.
“Arto!” Morgana snapped without looking over at him. “Hurry!”
Nodding, Arto tugged Cathanáil from the ground, feeling the remnants of the connection to the Iron Realm thrumming in the sword. He promised himself that they’d explore the potential of this more in the future as he brought the sword up. The blade slide over his palm, slicing open the skin and sending both a sharp pain and a rush of warmth through his hand. Arto bit back a hiss as the pain spread and settled around the wound, but forced himself to focus on the blood gathering in the valley of his palm. His eyes closed and he exhaled slowly, focusing on the beat of his heart. Around him, the sounds of the clanging swords and snarls faded. Even with his eyes closed he was aware of Morgana nearby and saw a flash of silver on his eyelids as she lashed out with her magic. Another inhale and exhale.
He reached for his magic, imagining the flow of magic that tied him to the very ground beneath his feet and following it down into the soil. There was a pulse; he could feel the world moving and smell the sharp scent of the iron in his blood. Grinding his teeth together, Arto pulled on the swirling magic that he could feel gathering in his gut. His skin began tingling, and small bolts of heat blasted over his skin randomly. White sparks of magic sprang from his skin and swirled around his hand before sinking into the pool of red blood. The liquid shimmered white and began to glow as more magic flowed into it.
Holding out his hand, Arto breathed slowly and ignored the sounds of battle. He heard Merlin shout something, but the words were lost to him as the wind began to swirl around them. There was the whimper of a Hound followed by a cry of death, the frightened neigh of the Rider’s steed behind him, but he did not move. His arm was shaking and burning as the rush of magic became painful. Gasping for air, Arto opened his eyes and tilted his hand. Blood rolled out of his hand in large shimmering drops. The first drop began to fall towards the ground shimmering both red and white. It hit the ground, and for a split second, everything went still. The next drop hit and then the next. On the ground, the blood began to glow bright red and crackle with magic.
A roar filled Arto’s ears drowning out everything around him. The world slowed down and his vision blurred, colors blending together like rain on the horizon. Murden was on his knees, mouth open in a scream he could not hear. Morgana was smiling, drawing the iron dagger they’d forged only three weeks ago. In slow motion, Arto saw the dagger driven into Murden’s neck. Everything shifted around him. People were glowing red in his vision as the rest of the world darkened, like hot coals against dark ash in a low fire. Sídhe were on their knees, a pale unnatural green that began to vanish like smoke in the wind.
His heartbeat was increasing, a rhythm of drums through his body and Cathanáil. Magic was flowing out of him leaving Arto grasping at it, but it was like trying to stop a river with his hands. The roar was too loud to think; he needed to do something, but nothing would come into focus. In his eyes he saw two red figures moving towards him, their movements slow and sluggish to him. Cathanáil felt too heavy as his magic drained out of him, illuminating everything around him in a fiery red glow as his blood trickled over the landscape. The heartbeat drumming in his ears began to slow, and the roar lessened to a throbbing pain. Unseen to Arto, everyone was drawing back save Morgana and Merlin. The hilt began to slip from his fingers, but instinct made him tighten his weak grip. The tip of the blade touched the soil.
Warmth rose up through the blade sharply, returning heat to his body. He inhaled sharply, and the world began to come into focus. Grinding his teeth together, Arto closed his eyes and shoved a wall in front of his magic, cutting off the flow out of his body. He swayed on his feet at the sudden stop but kept the visual firm at the front of his mind. A pair of hands caught him and pushed Cathanáil deeper into the ground. Breathing in, Arto slowly opened his eyes and relaxed the tight hold on his magic. The river calmed into a lake, ready and waiting, but contained for now.
“That was harder than I remember,” Arto groaned. His body felt dehydrated and heavy.
“You put more magic into the spell this time,” Merlin explained gently. The older mage was standing so close behind him that his breath drifted over his cheek. “I suspect the number of Riders triggered a fearful response.”
Arto snorted at the words earning a soft chuckle from Merlin. A softer hand gripped his bare forearm, gently massaging the tight muscles that were gripping Cathanáil. “Thank you, Morgana,” Arto whispered as his eyes opened and drifted to where he had last seen Murden. “The Sídhe mage?”
“Dead before your spell could kill him,” Morgana informed him, satisfaction clear in her voice. “But thank you, it certainly simplified killing him when he could no longer move or use magic.”
“It didn’t harm you?” Arto asked softly, not wishing for anyone to overhear him.
“I am the Iron Realm’s,” his sister replied simply. He smiled at the remark and breathed a little easier.
“Arto!” A familiar voice called. “Please! Over here!” Arto recognized it as Medraut and turned sharply towards it.
Men were gathered around them, many injured with bloody wounds visible and more bodies were scattered about. Many of them in multiple pieces thanks to the Hounds. It was difficult to survey the battlefield, but Arto forced himself and was grateful when the onlookers shifted to grant him a clear view to Medraut. His cousin was on his knees, his bronze sword still smeared with red blood and a man collapsed on the ground next to him.
“Uthyrn,” Morgana called out in alarm. She tugged on his arm, causing him to stumble forward, but she paid no notice.
It wasn’t until they were right by Medraut and Uthyrn that Arto realized what he was seeing. His father was on his back with a bleeding wound through his stomach and blood already soaking the ground beneath him. Morgana dropped to her knees and tenderly adjusted her step-father’s head to rest it in her lap.
“Father,” Arto called, moving closer to the man. He started to reach for Uthyrn’s hand before pulling his hand back and letting it drop to his side. “Merlin?”
“The wound is grave,” Merlin answered carefully, shaking his head. “I am sorry.”
“Got me in the back,” Uthyrn mumbled, blood seeping out of his mouth. Moving slowly, Uthyrn shifted his face towards Arto, his father’s dimming brown eyes meeting his own wide ones. “It’s alright, son.”
Unable to watch his father’s face, Arto looked up at his sister. Morgana’s green eyes were bright with unshed tears, and she gently cleared a loose strand of gray hair from Uthyrn’s face. From the crowd of warriors, Airril stepped out and knelt next to Morgana. His brother-in-law wrapped one arm around his sister who leaned into him, but neither said anything. Swallowing, Arto struggled to breathe. His throat closed up, and tears burned his eyes. He didn’t know what to say or what not to say. This was important; he wouldn’t get this moment back and yet no words would form. All he wanted to do was pull away, pretend it wasn’t happening. His father, the father he’d only just gotten home to, couldn’t possibly be dying. If he didn’t watch then maybe-
“Uncle!” Medraut called as he shifted closer to Arto and Uthyrn. “Uncle,” he called again, but the man didn’t look away from Arto.
“Arto,” Merlin urged him, his voice both soft and commanding at the same time.
Sniffing, Arto felt a tear slip out of the corner of his eye and roll down his cheek. He reached forward and moved his father’s hand onto his chest, resting his hand over it. “I’ll stop them,” Arto promised in a low voice, struggling to form the words. “The land will be free of them.” Uthyrn’s lips moved weakly, trying to form words, but his breathing was slowing down. Blood seeped over Arto’s palm. A sob escaped him as his father’s face blurred behind tears. “Father,” he gasped barely managing the word. “I’m sorry!”
“Arto,” Morgana whispered, “He’s gone.”
Her hand moved over his back awkwardly, nearly embracing him, but she did not. Swallowing thickly, Arto tried to control the tears rolling down his cheeks. He heard the others moving nearby and realized that while Morgana wished to embrace him, offer him comfort, but she could not.
“He’s with the ancestors now,” a strong male voice that Arto was not familiar with said behind him. There was a pause of hesitation before the voice continued, “The swords did well; never before have I seen Riders fall.” He paused and looked at Arto’s bleeding hand. “And your magic… they were powerless.”
“Arto,” Morgana’s voice urged softly, her breath tickling his cheek.
He began to move, began to stand, but Medraut jumped to his feet and took a deep breath.
“Uthyrn is dead,” Medraut announced, turning to face the crowd. “He died protecting those he led. When Midwinter arrives, we will honor him at the Great Circle.”
There were sounds of agreement and Arto forced himself to stand, grateful when Morgana rose with him. It was painful to turn away from his father’s body to face the crowd. Several bodies were lying amongst them, all with someone kneeling beside them. Swords were gripped in the hands of everyone still living, even if a few of them were swaying dangerously on their feet. He knew that he needed to say something, but his knees were threatening to collapse under him.
“Cousin.” Medraut clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Your magic saved the day. I have never seen anything like it.”
“The blood and magic mixed with the ground,” Arto informed them, finding his voice. “It will protect this area from the Sídhe. They cannot return here.” He flexed his fingers carefully, feeling the skin burn around the cut. He hated the feeling, but at the same time, it grounded him in reality, so he was also grateful for it. Cheers erupted from the warriors and the gates opened behind them. Arto swayed on his feet, Medraut’s hand keeping him in place.
“I will accompany you to speak with Eigyr,” Medraut assured him in a low voice. “Say what you need to say.”
Turning to look at his cousin, Arto took in the strong jaw that was so like his father’s and the dark eyes. This boy his age had known his father so much better, had lived here with him for years and yet stayed back while he said goodbye to his father. Arto was torn between gratitude and guilt. Raising his arm, he clasped Medraut’s shoulder, accidentally smearing his father’s blood on his cousin’s shirt and took a breath.
“Gather the fallen,” Arto called as his stomach turned over at the thought of seeing his mother with such grave news. “Return to the village. We will rest and resume council at dawn.”
There were nods of agreement; some gave him sympathetic looks while others looked at him doubtfully. Merlin cleared his throat loudly, dismissing those who were staring. The man who had spoken walked forward, stopping right before Arto. In his hands, he held an iron sword which he balanced between his hands.
“This is a good blade,” the man informed him. “I am Eaban from Inisfail.” He gave Arto a small bow. “I came to answer the call, but I did not expect this.” Holding the sword out to Arto, he added, “This belongs to you.”
“No,” Arto countered, shaking his head. “You fought and killed Sídhe with that blade. It is yours now, sir.”
22
Beltane Begins
If Arthur noticed Alex glancing out the window at the setting sun, he said nothing and kept up their shaky Spanish conversation. Alex stumbled over the verb for reading but recovered with a quick correction. She scratched off the clear nail polish on her pointer finger nervously as she read a question out of the open Spanish book. As Arthur answered with slow, but precise words, her eyes moved to the window of the library.
The sun was hanging just above the horizon, slowly vanishing behind the hills to the west of Ravenslake, painting the clouds bright pink and red with shades of violet. On any other night, she might have stopped to enjoy the sunset and a peaceful moment, but Beltane was upon them. She knew her fellow mages would be patrolling the hills of Ravenslake where the defenses of the Iron Realm would be at their weakest due to the tunnel. Alex wasn’t sure if she was grateful for the restriction on geography that the defenses of the Iron Realm enforced on the Sídhe or not. On the one hand, it protected the rest of the world from their attacks but guaranteed a strong force would be attacking her friends. And according to Morgana, those defenses were the reason that the Sídhe had been restricted to the British Isles three thousand years ago. They’d been able to expand their influence, but it took time.
Still, a sick feeling churned in Alex’s stomach. The desire to grab her phone and text her friends to make sure that they were alright was overwhelming. True they knew the most likely location of the Sídhe gateway, but what if the Sídhe had gathered enough power to create a second one? What if they caught the others from behind? Sure Merlin and Morgana had survived for three thousand years and the first war against the Sídhe, but they were imperfect. And willing to sacrifice lives to achieve their ends. The sick feeling suddenly became worse, and Alex tried to banish the dark thought that Merlin and Morgana might allow one of her friends to die if it meant stopping a few Riders.
Peeling off more nail polish nervously, Alex turned back to Arthur and asked him to repeat the question that she’d only caught the last part of with a forced smile. She waved her hand absentmindedly as she answered the question, more slowly this time and making sure that she had the right verb and tense. Alex reminded herself that she had to stay focused on Arthur. If the Sídhe did have a second tunnel, no matter how slim the odds of that, then they might get into town around the others and pose a threat. If they discovered Arthur, then they’d kill him for sure, or worse drag him underground and into their realm and try to find a way to make sure that the Iron Soul couldn’t be reborn again.
“You’re distracted.” Arthur closed the Spanish book, snapping Alex back to the present. “Come on,” Arthur said, running a hand through his blond hair. “It’s Friday night. Just because Jenny is practicing with the squad and Lance is weight lifting doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t go out and have some fun.”
“But finals are coming-”
“We’ve got a couple of weeks,” Arthur said. “And we’re not going to improve if we’re not focused on it.” He pushed out the chair and stood up, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his arms.
Checking her phone, Alex noted it was only eight o’clock, and there were no messages from her fellow mages. Plenty of time for her and Arthur to find something to do and for her to keep an eye on Arthur. Her instructions had been very clear; the others would monitor the Sídhe, and she was to stay close to Arthur and protect him. The thought almost made her laugh; sure she was pretty tall for a girl, but Arthur still had several inches and a whole lot of muscle on her.
“So how about a movie?” Arthur suggested.
He pulled out his phone and swung his feet onto the library table. Alex glanced around, grateful that the student worker shelving books nearby didn’t seem to notice or care that Arthur had his feet on the furniture.
“Anything good in town?” Alex asked, starting to pack up her things. “I haven’t been paying attention.”
“Well, there’s an action flick playing at Central. It starts in an hour.”
“Okay,” Alex agreed with a smile. “I could use some car chases and explosions.”
“Woman after my own heart,” Arthur said, swinging down his feet and grabbing his things. “If only you liked football more.”
“I like it when you play,” Alex said, feeling her skin beginning to flush. “Watching you and Lance play is a lot better than normal football. I’m not as invested,” Alex continued cheerfully, hoping that she hadn’t been too obvious.
“I get that,” Arthur said with a nod and a smile. “I don’t care much for baseball for example, but my best friend in high school Jason Brown played on the team, so Jenny and I went to every game. I zoned out a lot when he wasn’t on the field or at bat.”
“Jenny and baseball…” Alex repeated slowly, trying not to laugh.
“Believe it or not she likes baseball. I think she would have been much happier if I’d kept playing it beyond sophomore year.”
“Why didn’t you,” Alex asked, trying to keep the conversation light as they headed past the library book detectors and out the double glass doors.
“Too busy, by that point I was pretty sure that I was going to get a scholarship for football and I wasn’t that good at baseball. I preferred to spend the offseason focusing on school work and weight lifting. Football season was intense, so I enjoyed the quiet and slower pace of spring.”
Alex nodded her understanding, and they both fell silent, but it was comfortable this time. She could feel Arthur’s presence next to her as they walked up the long sidewalk lined with lights that were glowing brightly in the dimming night. Above their heads, Alex could see wisps of clouds shimmering with shades of red and violet. The campus seemed calm or at least as calm as it ever was on a Friday night. Students were lounging out on the lawns in the dying light, and as they approached the dorms, Alex noted a fierce game of volleyball was going on.
