The huge hound lay down and closed its eyes, and a silence fell between me and Cuchulain. After a few moments his head nodded onto his chest and his eyes closed too.
If I accepted the hero’s offer of help, there was no guarantee that he could really protect me against the Morrigan. Hadn’t he just said that when he fought her, it ended in pain and suffering? He always lost. Then there was the battle frenzy that came over him – while fighting her he could just as easily kill me. But if I stayed here, I thought, I was as good as dead. I would never see anyone I cared about again. Although I knew now that Alice was lost to me, there was still my family. And the Spook and Grimalkin. Even my chance to bind the Fiend would be gone, and I’d be a stranger in an unknown world. I had a duty to fight the dark. I needed to complete my training and become a spook in my own right. No, I had to leave the sidhe – and as soon as possible, whatever the risk.
‘You know a way back to my world?’ I said to Cuchulain.
The dog growled in its sleep and he patted its head, his own eyes still closed. ‘I know several doors that lead back: the nearest lies not far from here. We could be halfway there before the goddess even realizes we’ve left this refuge.’
‘I have to escape,’ I told him. ‘Will you help me?’
Cuchulain opened one eye and gave me a lopsided grin. ‘My heart quickens!’ he cried. ‘I can smell the blood of the Morrigan. It’s worth a go. This time I could win. This time I could strike off her head!’ He laughed. ‘You see, I’m an eternal optimist. Never give up! That’s the true quality that marks out a hero. Never give up, even when things look hopeless! And I think you have that quality, boy. You too are a hero!’
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘I’m just a spook’s apprentice – I often get scared when facing the dark.’
Cuchulain smiled. ‘Even heroes are sometimes afraid, Tom. It takes the bravery of a hero to admit fear. Besides, you are here in the sidhe, and still breathing. Were you made of less, you would have been destroyed the moment you entered this place.’
He got to his feet and picked up his huge spear. ‘Have you no weapons, Tom?’ he demanded.
‘I use a spook’s staff, but I lost it when I was dragged through the doorway from my world. I have nothing but salt and iron and my silver chain …’
‘The Morrigan won’t be bothered much by salt and iron, and the chain would only bind her for moments. She’d shift her shape and slip out of it in the twinkling of an eye. Here – take this dagger,’ he said, reaching into his leather jerkin and handing me a weapon. ‘Strike her hard with this. She’ll feel it, mark my words!’
To Cuchulain it might have been a dagger, but he was a huge man, over twice the size of the village smith at Chipenden. The blade he handed me was a sword. It looked a very special sword too, no doubt crafted for a king. The hilt was ornate – shaped like the head of some sort of beast. With a shock, I recognized it. It was a skelt, the creature that hid in crevices near water, then scuttled out to drink the blood of its victims. The skelt’s long snout formed the serrated blade of the sword; its eyes were two large rubies. It made sense – Ireland had lots of bogs and water, which would be home to skelts, so the sword had been fashioned in its likeness.
I took the handle in my left hand and tested it for balance. It felt right – almost as if it had been made for me.
Then I saw that the blade itself was crafted from a silver alloy. Such a weapon could destroy a daemon. Although it was not effective against one of the Old Gods, the blade could still injure the Morrigan and buy precious time while I made my escape.
Suddenly I saw that blood was dripping from the sword and forming a small red pool on the ground. For a moment I thought that I’d cut myself on the sharp blade; but then, to my astonishment, I realized that the blood was weeping from the two red ruby eyes.
Cuchulain grinned. ‘It likes you, boy!’ he exclaimed. ‘It likes you a lot! The first time I held that blade it dripped a little blood. But nothing like as much as that! You belong to the blade. It owns you. You’ll belong to it until the day you die.’
How could a sword own me? I wondered. Surely it was I who owned the sword? However, this wasn’t the time to contradict Cuchulain.
‘Are you ready, Tom?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘We have to move fast. As soon as we’re clear of the sidhe, turn sharp left. About fifty paces will bring us to a ford. It’s not an easy crossing, but on the other side lies a cave. Run straight in and don’t slow down. The far wall is the doorway back to the world of humans – but to pass through you must run at it at full pelt. Do you hear?’
I nodded again. ‘I’m ready,’ I told him.
Cuchulain gripped his spear and sprinted out of the sidhe, the huge hound at his side. I ran after him, holding my sword ready. Once more we were bathed in that sickly silver light. I forced myself to concentrate, fearing for my memory.
Once outside, there was no sign of the Morrigan. Cuchulain and his hound were pulling away, and I struggled to keep up, but then I caught sight of the river ahead, a fat silver snake meandering through the trees. Suddenly I found myself alongside Cuchulain. Had I somehow managed to speed up or had he slowed down?
I glanced to my right and saw that he was now staggering. When we’d left the sidhe, his left shoulder and arm had been strong and muscular. Now they were withered, so feeble that he could barely grasp his spear. As I watched, he transferred it to his right hand and stumbled onwards, slowing with every stride, as if about to fall. I remembered Shey’s story: during Cuchulain’s life he’d been weakened by a witch’s curse. Was the Morrigan now exerting her power over him, renewing the spell?
I heard a new sound then – the harsh chatter of crows. The branches of the trees ahead of us were bowed down under their weight. Was the Morrigan amongst them? I wondered. The answer came quickly.
No! A monstrous crow as big as Cuchulain was flying directly towards us, claws extended, beak agape. As the Morrigan swooped through the trees, I swerved away to the left, but Cuchulain hefted his spear and stabbed at her. Feathers flew and the goddess screamed. He’d hurt her, and she landed heavily. But then she flew at him again, talons lashing out.
I turned, ready to go to his aid, gripping the sword tightly. They were grappling in close combat, her talons tearing at his flesh, but I also saw blood-spattered feathers on the ground. Both of them were bleeding. The Morrigan was shrieking like a banshee witch, while Cuchulain roared and bellowed like a beast.
I moved closer, waiting for my chance to stab her with the sword. I saw that the hound was watching too. Why didn’t it go and help its master? I looked closely at Cuchulain and realized that he was starting to change. The battle fury was coming upon him. One eye seemed to be bulging out of his forehead and his hair was standing up and thickening like the sharp quills of a hedgehog. The skin of his face was rippling, his teeth bared in a snarl, as though he wanted to bite off the crow head that confronted him.
I ran forward, raising my sword to strike the goddess. Luckily I never got close enough to do so – it would have been the end of me. Mad with rage, Cuchulain reached out with his left hand and seized the neck of the hound. In spite of his withered arm, insane anger lent him strength. He swung the hound against the trunk of the nearest tree. The massive trunk shuddered with the impact, but the head of the hound broke open like an egg, splattering brains and red gore on wood and ground.
Cuchulain threw the lifeless body away and then glared about him. For a moment his eyes rested upon me and terror froze me to the spot. Then his gaze moved on, but rather than going for the Morrigan with renewed fury, he attacked a mighty oak tree! He swung his spear at it again and again, the blows resounding through the forest. Branches broke and fell to the silver grass in splinters. Then he began to drive the point of his spear into the trunk. Deeper and deeper went the blade with each blow, shards of wood flying up into the air. But my eyes were no longer on Cuchulain. I was staring at the giant crow,
which was changing even as I watched.
Once more the Morrigan took the shape of Scarabek. She smiled and came towards me. Distracted by his own rage, Cuchulain was no longer a threat to her. Now she was coming for me!
I turned and sprinted towards the river, as he’d instructed. When I reached its bank, I saw to my dismay that the water was high and fast-flowing, a silver torrent that I could not cross. Where was the ford? The Morrigan was strolling towards me now, almost casually, as if she had all the time in the world …
All the time in the world? That was exactly what I didn’t have. Midnight was approaching, and as soon as the bell had pealed twelve times, years would have passed back home. I scanned the riverbank and spotted the stepping stones. They lay to my left – eight of them, their tops just visible above the water.
The Morrigan saw where I was heading and began to run, but I reached the ford first and took a mighty leap towards the first stone. It was wet and slippery, and I almost lost my balance. But I managed to jump across to the second, and then the third. When I reached the fifth, I looked back. The Morrigan was leaping from stone to stone too. I’d half hoped that she wouldn’t be able to cross running water. But, although in the guise of a witch, she was a goddess, and the torrent proved no barrier to her. There was just one more stone, then I could jump up onto the river-bank. However, the Morrigan was close behind me now. I would never make it. So I turned and held up my sword, preparing to defend myself.
She came for me, her hands outstretched, her talons glinting. I swung the sword with all my strength. It struck her hard on the right shoulder. Blood spurted up, and she screamed and fell into the water with a tremendous splash. This was my chance. I made it to the final slippery stone, then leaped up onto the bank, my heart pounding.
I could see the entrance to the cave ahead, a dark gaping mouth in the silver cliff. I hurried towards it. At one point I looked back. The Morrigan had risen and was following me again. She wasn’t even running. Did she think that I’d be unable to escape?
The cave was gloomy, but not as dark as it had first seemed; it was gleaming with that same mysterious silver light that illuminated all of the Otherworld but the sidhe. I studied the back wall. It looked hard – and solid. I ran towards it as Cuchulain had instructed, but at the last moment I slowed a little and flinched, anticipating the impact.
I collided with solid rock – a tremendous blow jarred me from head to toe. I stumbled backwards, the sword spinning from my hand, and lay there, stunned. My head and knees hurt. I could taste blood in my mouth.
What had gone wrong? Perhaps the Morrigan had worked some type of enchantment, I thought. Was that why she’d strolled after me, not even bothering to run? I came up onto my knees and crawled across to the sword. I took it in my left hand, and managed to get to my feet before taking slow painful steps towards the mouth of the cave. When I reached it, the goddess was only a dozen paces away, advancing steadily.
I took a deep breath to calm my fears and readied the sword in my hand. But the nearer she came, the more my confidence ebbed away. I saw that her gown was unmarked – there was no sign of the wound I’d inflicted. A goddess of such power would heal quickly. The silver blade could certainly hurt her and slow her down – but not destroy her. All I could do was buy a little time for myself …
Time! No sooner had the thought entered my head than the first peal of the midnight bell rang out in the distance. I knew that when the twelfth one sounded, time back on earth would lurch forward. I was desperately wondering what to do next, and thought of what Cuchulain had said about the doorway.
The second chime rang out …
Full pelt – you had to run hard and fast at that back wall of the cave. Just now, I’d slowed and flinched at the last moment. It was difficult to imagine an impact harder than the one I’d suffered, but it had to be done. It was my only chance of getting back to the world I knew. But first I had to deal with the Morrigan …
She ran at me now, claws outstretched, eyes blazing with a ferocious anger. As she lunged towards me, the bell tolled for the third time. I spun away to the left, and she missed me, her talons gouging the rock close to my head.
Then I struck out at her with my sword, but the blow was delivered clumsily and in haste. The blade clanged against solid rock, jarring my arm. The bell pealed again …
The next few seconds passed in a blur, and I knew that I had to bring our struggle to a swift end. Above the sounds of my laboured breathing, the snarls of the Morrigan and the scuffling of my boots against the rocky ground, I could hear the slow, steady peals of the bell. By now I’d lost count. How long before the twelfth chime?
I thought back to the cave wall: I had to believe I could pass through it. I began to focus my mind. Strangely, as I did so, I felt the sword vibrate in my hand, and a single drop of blood fell from the left ruby eye.
As the goddess ran at me again, I feinted to the left, then changed to a right cut, bringing my sword down fast, almost horizontally, towards her. It was a perfect blow. As if it was slicing through butter, the sword took her head clean from her shoulders. It fell to the ground with a sickening crunch, but then went spinning and rolling away down the hill towards the silver river below.
For a moment the Morrigan’s headless body stood there swaying, the neck spurting blood. Then, rather than falling, she staggered off down the slope in pursuit of her head. It seemed unlikely that she’d catch it before it rolled into the river.
Wasting no time, I hurried back into the cave. Faster and faster I ran, straight towards the waiting wall of solid rock. It took all my willpower not to slow down, not to flinch or twist away. I still felt a tremendous blow – and then everything went black.
I heard a distant final peal of the bell. Then silence.
EVEN BEFORE I opened my eyes I felt a cool breeze on my face and the grass beneath my prone body.
I sat up and looked about me; I realized I was still holding the bloody sword. It was almost dark now. I was at the centre of the circle of standing stones at Kenmare. But had I returned in time? How long had passed – a century?
I got to my feet and headed towards the pit. It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it looked the same. Had it been abandoned, I thought, even a few months would have filled it with grass and weeds.
Then I saw my staff lying on the ground. That gave me a flash of real hope. The Spook would have come in search of me. He would have found the staff and taken it away – not left it lying there.
So I picked up my staff and set off for Shey’s house. When I arrived at the gate, there were two guards prowling about, but they nodded me through as though nothing had happened.
When I walked into the hallway, the Spook and Grimalkin were standing there. The witch assassin was carrying the stakes, wrapped in sacking, the Spook holding his staff. I felt so relieved. Clearly less time had passed here than in the Otherworld. They both looked at me in astonishment.
‘Are you hurt, lad?’ my master asked.
I shook my head. ‘A few cuts and bruises but nothing serious.’
‘What happened? Where have you been?’ he demanded.
‘That sword!’ exclaimed Grimalkin, her eyes wide with astonishment, before I could answer. ‘Let me see it!’
She put down her bundle of spears and I handed it to her. The witch assassin examined it closely but avoided touching the silver-alloy blade.
She looked at me. ‘Do you know what this is?’ she cried, peering at the strange marks engraved on the hilt and touching the carving of the skelt’s head.
I shook my head. What did she mean?
‘It’s a “hero sword” crafted by one of the Old Gods called Hephaestus,’ she told me. ‘Only three were ever made, and this is the best of them!’
I smiled at her. ‘I met the hero!’ I confirmed. ‘We were in the Otherworld and he gave me his sword. Without it I wouldn’t be here. The Morrigan attacked me and I cut off her head.’
‘The Morrigan will heal herself,
’ said Grimalkin. ‘You can count on that. But I’m thinking of our forthcoming struggle against the Fiend. This weapon gives us a far better chance of success. It goes by another name that is peculiar to it alone – perhaps a name that better defines its purpose. It has been called the “Destiny Blade”. The one who wields it fulfils what he was born to achieve.’
‘I don’t hold with that,’ interrupted the Spook. ‘We shape the future with each act we perform. There is no such thing as destiny. It’s just an illusion – something we think we can see retrospectively.’
‘I disagree,’ said Grimalkin.
‘Aye, I thought you might, so let’s agree to differ,’ my master told her. ‘The lad’s hurt and weary. We all need to be at our best to bind the Fiend. We’ll leave it until tomorrow.’
Grimalkin nodded in agreement.
‘So get yourself to bed, lad,’ said the Spook, looking at me sternly. ‘You can tell us the full story in the morning.’
I woke up, aware that someone – or something – was in my room. I could see the silhouette of a tall form against the grey dawn light shining through the curtains. I sat up quickly and realized that it was Grimalkin.
‘Stand up, boy!’ she ordered. ‘We have much to do today.’
I had fallen asleep on top of the covers, still wearing my shirt and breeches. I got to my feet as she’d commanded. The witch moved closer; she towered over me, a full head taller than I was.
‘Take off your shirt.’
When I hesitated, Grimalkin shook her head and smiled, her black-painted lips parting enough for me to glimpse the sharp teeth behind. ‘I’ve seen skinny ribs before!’ she mocked. Then I saw that she was holding a grey garment in her left hand.