Swords of the Six (33 page)

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Ilfedo stepped through the doorway. The fire was blazing hot and Hasselpatch struggled to throw another small log into it. Seivar flew from Ilfedo's shoulder, grasped the log and helped her throw it into the fireplace.

Taking off his boots and setting them on the hearth, Ilfedo warmed his feet by the fire. "How's she doing?" he asked Hasselpatch, patting her back.

The bird hung its head. Its silver talon scraped the hearth stones with sad persistency. "She is not looking well, Master. I brought her extra blankets. It seemed chilly upstairs, but her body felt cool."

"It does seem a bit chilly in here." He looked at the stairwell. "She's in bed then?"

Slowly the bird raised its silvery eyes to his. "Yes, Master."

He ascended the stairs, being careful not to disturb Dantress by rushing up the steps. The chill he felt was not wholly in the air, some of it was his own trepidation. The smell of burning oil smarted his nostrils. Portions of the roof remained open to the sky. Mid-day light flooded the room. He pulled on the cord hanging from the rafters. The portions of roof closed.

Dantress's skin was pallid, making her eyes seem like oases in a desert. Kneeling beside the bed, he took her hand and kissed it. "How are you feeling?"

"Not well." She swallowed and closed her eyes as if this simple action caused her pain. "I need water."

Fetching a mug of fresh, cool water, Ilfedo propped her up with rolled blankets. She drank with delicate sips. "Thank you, My Love," she forced a smile. "I think . . . I think my time is almost here."

That evening he cooked a meal of rice with rabbit and served her at the bedside. By his invitation the Nuvitors ate with them as well. Later, when Dantress had fallen asleep, he washed the dishes. The meal he'd made had seemed tasteless to him. His heart was heavy, burdened by the knowledge that this happy part of his life was coming to an inescapable end.

The fire died. He allowed it to.

Sitting in the hammock, he fastened his gaze on the embers and rested his chin in his hands. He could hear the Nuvitors putting the dishes into the cupboards. After a little while, when the birds had finished organizing the kitchen, they snuggled with him in the hammock. He threw a log on the fire and stirred the embers until the fire once again burned. But the heat provided no comfort.

Returning to the bedroom, he opened the roof. Starlight streamed inside. Dantress rested in a deep sleep. Her face bore a beauty born of heaven.

Lying beside her, he gazed up through the opened roof at the stars shining like a multitude of unclaimed jewels set in a velvety curtain. Eternal they seemed. They glowed amidst the darkness, undying—timeless. Soon he would be like one of those stars; isolated in an ocean of black loneliness. He closed his eyes and slept through the night.

He awoke the next morning to a golden dawn. Dantress gave birth to a healthy baby girl. He forgot his sorrow and wrapped the child in a soft white sheet. Placing the child in its mother's arms, he knelt at the bedside aglow with ecstasy. The child uttered her first cries. Her eyes were blue like most newborns with one exception: a hint of gold rimmed the pupils.

His happiness was short lived. Dantress fought back tears, her face began losing color, and her eyes grayed. "We did it, my love," she said. "We created a new life . . .. Her name will be Oganna." Her words trailed off as she looked at the child in her arms. With great care she let the child down into the blankets by her side. Then with great effort she propped herself up on one arm.

Wonder filled Ilfedo as he watched. Dantress held her hand over the infant's forehead. A beam of blue and white light wove through the air from the mother into the child.

"Goodbye, my love," Dantress smiled at him.

He pulled her to his breast, hugged her tight and put his lips to hers in a last kiss.

As he released his hold, she collapsed against the pillows. Her body glowed so that, for a moment, he could not look anymore. When the light faded, he saw threads of it leaving her body, arcing into the child. The infant glowed as if filled with some kind of power, yet slept as if unaffected by the transfer.

The flame in Dantress's Eternal Band flickered and faded into blackness. He watched as his ring, too, became nothing more than an ordinary band of silver around his finger. The prophet's words came to mind:

"These rings will never leave your fingers for as long as you both live. They are known as Eternal Bands, the rings of binding love. Their flames will burn for as long as you both live. If the light of one of your lives is extinguished, in like manner the flames in the rings will also die."

Another tear rolled freely down his cheek and fell on her ring as he looked upon her still body.

Yimshi's rays drove the shadows out of the room. The infant awoke crying. Ilfedo stood and picked up his child. He kissed her forehead and smiled despite his sorrow. He glanced at the bed. The strength in his legs failed him. He knelt again, caressing the silken hair of his love. His shoulders quaked as tears spilled down his face.

She was gone, gone forever. Only his own death could bring him to her now. Her skin, once warm to his touch, started to cool. He drew back his hand, not wishing to feel the cold reality of death taking hold. Grief immeasurable washed over his being. The tears ran down his face and fell upon the naked head of his daughter.

Soft, feathered wings reached around his neck. Hasselpatch and Seivar shed their tears onto the floor, offering the only comfort they could: their silent presence.

For a time Ilfedo remained kneeling. Then he saw shadows creep around him, blocking the sunlight. He looked up.

Five female figures of remarkable likeness stepped forward, robed in purple. Their dark hair tinged red when the sunlight struck it. Their heads hung with sorrow, their dark eyes were reddened from crying.

Wiping the tears from his face, Ilfedo stood. There was no mistaking the women's resemblance and no question in his mind of who they were.

One of the sisters stepped forward, the others wept behind her. All except for one sister however, with her arms crossed and head bowed. She did not look at the body.

"I am sorry we did not show ourselves sooner," the sister said, looking at the infant with tender gaze. "I am Caritha—Dantress's sister—as are they." She swept her hand in the direction of her siblings. "We beg your forgiveness—
I
beg your forgiveness. Our sister was right about you; you are a good man and we failed to see it until too late.

"But we are here now and, with your permission, we are here to stay." She swallowed hard.

Ilfedo laid one hand on her shoulder. "You are family. What I have is yours. I know of nothing to forgive you for, but if you came to seek forgiveness then I grant it."

Caritha smiled sadly, bit her lower lip. "May I . . . hold her?"

One of the other sisters pulled a bottle out of her dress. "We took the liberty of borrowing your neighbor's goat."

Handing the infant to her, Ilfedo turned to the bed and gently wrapped the body of his beloved in the sheets. The sisters sobbed as he covered Dantress's face. "Please, come with me." He lifted the wrapped body and headed down the stairs. Caritha followed, rocking the newborn in her arms.

He loudly cleared his throat and headed into the forest, the sword that had been a gift from his parents clanged against his leg. "Come, I will not be stopping to rest so you'll all have to keep up with me."

"Do not fear." Evela held her chin high and kept pace with him. "We are able."

The trek was a long one. True to his word Ilfedo did not stop even to rest. He led the way into the Western Wood. By the waterfall, at the edge of the pool where he first met Dantress, he set down the body.

"Here." The tallest sister grunted, handed him a spade. "Found this at your house . . . thought you might want it."

Without a word he took the tool and dug into the rich brown soil. Scoop by scoop he carved a rectangular hole. In this he laid a bed of stones and around the base he built walls of stone.

The sisters gathered around as he laid the body in the ground. For an hour or more they stayed silent. Ilfedo knelt and prayed to the Creator. Then he wept beside the grave as he shoveled dirt over the body. When he had filled it in, he gathered stones from the forest and laid them over the top.

Taking the crying child from Caritha, he kissed the infant's forehead. "You will be like your mother. I know you will. And I . . . I will strive to be the best father that ever a man was."

Chapter 7: The Sword of the Dragon

Daylight faded into a sky redder than Ilfedo had ever seen, as though the sky was aflame. There was not a single cloud, but the air felt moist, as if in preparation for rain. A stiff wind brushed through the trees. The birds, which had twittered from the safety of the treetops, fell silent.

A sound, like thunder, echoed in the distance. He gazed west toward the sound. A boom deafened him and a ball of white fire shot from the west. He closed his eyes against the brightness.

The infant in his arms started crying and he soothed her with a kiss. The ground shook violently at that instant, as if Subterran split in two. A blast of wind smote him from behind. He clutched his child to his chest, sheltering her in his arms as he fell forward.

Spitting dirt out of his mouth, he got to his feet. The five sisters knelt in front of him, and he furrowed his brow, wondering what motivated their action. Yet suddenly a chill ran down his spine for over and surrounding him he saw the shadow of something monstrous. He could hear deep, easy breaths from some creature behind him.

In one swift motion, he shifted his child to one arm, drew his sword, and spun around, pointing the blade into harm's way.

Courage did not prepare him for the sight that met his eyes. Towering above him in raw power and majesty was a creature of legend . . . a dragon of greater size than he would have imagined possible. The dragon's scales were joined close together and laid thick over its body. Its broad chest heaved with effortless breathing, and its bone-armored face looked down at him with clear, pink eyes.

He drew back his sword, ready to protect his child. But a gentle woman's hand grasped his shoulder. He turned. Caritha stood there, the wind throwing her hair back, away from her face. "Do not hasten to attack, for it is he that made us
and
the one that you loved so dearly."

Looking over Ilfedo's head, the dragon addressed the sisters with a rumbling voice that made them tremble. "My children, you who survive, you have failed me in the highest degree." His claws ripped into the ground, balled into a fist, and pounded it. The repercussions almost toppled Ilfedo again.

"I made you, my daughters, to bring peace and justice into this world. I created you to be the hope of humankind. But when your sister followed the path of unconditional love, you attempted to sway her from it. And when you failed to turn her . . . you attempted to destroy the life she created."

The dragon's eyes glinted as he pointed it at the infant with a razor-sharp claw. "You allowed yourselves to be blinded, my daughters! This life—this
child
—is the offspring of my blood just as surely as you are. Dantress has given the world a child of hope and a child of prophecy."

His nostrils flared and smoke rose from them. "I am ashamed of you this day."

The sisters wept and begged him to forgive them.

Reaching past Ilfedo, the dragon raised the sisters to their feet. "If you have truly repented, then hear the command that I now give you: stay with this man and the child and watch over them. You shall be her guardians and guides to raise her in the love and fear of her Creator, as I have raised you."

With slow nods and their eyes looking at the ground, the sisters agreed.

The dragon rumbled his satisfaction. "A lesson you have learned, one you will not soon forget. See to it that your vows are kept."

Shifting its great body, the dragon angled its head to look upon Ilfedo. "You, Sir, are strong of heart and courageous. I have seen your selfless defense of your people. In the midst of a multitude of men there are few to be found who follow their conscience. Yet you have.

"The Creator has chosen you and your child, Ilfedo, to protect the innocent and execute justice among your people. Do not try to understand all that I am now telling you, but know this: your people will soon be ready to give up hope.

"It will seem to them that the world is falling into darkness around them. But you will lead them from death to hope. Even as I speak, the Sea Serpents emerge from the sea in greater numbers to kill all who dwell in the Hemmed Land. You alone have the power to stop them."

Ilfedo lowered his sword, slipped it into its sheath. "You speak as if I am an acknowledged leader in the Hemmed Land. But I am not. We have no lord, and it is best that it remains that way." He glanced over his shoulder at the sisters. "And how is it possible for you to know that the Sea Serpents have returned? You are as far from the sea as I am."

Emboldened by the dragon's silence, he took a step forward. "Besides, I barely survived my last encounter with those beasts. I was lucky. How am I to stop a multitude of them? I am a hunter and, now, a widower with a child who needs me. There is nothing to set me apart from my fellow men."

"These five women will be your companions, Ilfedo," the dragon rumbled. "And as to setting you apart from other men . . . I would contest that your actions have already set you apart. As to
luck
. . . luck is for fools and cunning is for the worthy.

"Because of the strength of your heart and the purity of your soul, I have chosen you to protect your people."