Читать книгу The Shadowmagic Trilogy - John Lenahan - Страница 16

‘Do you recognise the sword at your throat?’ Gerard asked. With extreme effort I released my attention from the point and glanced down the mirror-like blade to the pommel.

‘It’s mine.’

Gerard held Essa’s necklace in his left hand. The crystal that hung from it was embedded with flecks of gold. ‘This is an Owith glass,’ he said, ‘it will darken if you lie. If I were you, I would tell the truth. Did you steal this sword?’

Now that was a tricky question. I sort of stole it from Cialtie, but Dad said it was his. ‘My father gave it to me.’

The crystal flickered but remained clear.

‘Is Conor your real name?’

‘No,’ I said, just to see what would happen.

Essa’s necklace instantly went dark. This truth crystal was the real thing. I felt the point of my blade at my throat.

‘I suggest you try that again. Is Conor your real name?’

‘Yes.’

‘And who is your father?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you will kill me if I do.’

‘Well then, Conor, you have a dilemma, because I’m going to kill you if you don’t.’

‘What do you have against me?’

‘This blade, that you casually checked in at my door, is the Sword of Duir. Did you know that?’

‘Yes,’ I said. The crystal remained clear.

‘The only way you could possess this blade, is if you stole it. I am a very tolerant man, but I cannot abide a thief.’

‘I told you, my father gave it to me.’

‘The crystal bears you out – so the thief must be your father.’

I felt my anger rise. ‘My father is no thief – the sword was his to give.’

‘Are you claiming to be the son of Cialtie?’

‘Cialtie?’ I spat, and before I could stop myself, ‘I am the son of Oisin of Duir.’

Gerard looked at the crystal and stepped back. ‘Stand up,’ he ordered.

I did as I was told. I wasn’t as shaky on my feet as I should have been. That little drink had really done its stuff.

Gerard kept the sword pointed to my chest and looked at me as if anew. How could I have been so stupid? I just blurted out who I was and now he was going to do his duty and kill me.

‘My gods! You are of Duir,’ he roared. ‘I don’t know how I missed it before. Oisin’s son – you are Oisin’s son!’ He raised the sword and came at me, fast.

There was nowhere to run, I was finished. I placed my hands in front of my chest and closed my eyes.

He wrapped his huge arms around me and gave me a hug that would have put an anaconda to shame. ‘Oisin has a son!’ He laughed – a hearty laugh that shook the room. He put both hands on my shoulders and looked at me from arm’s length.

I opened one eye. ‘Don’t you want to kill me?’

‘Why in The Land would I want to do that?’

‘Everyone else around here does – the son of the one-handed prince thing.’

‘Oh my, that is an old prophecy – one of Ona’s, is it not?’

I nodded.

Gerard laughed. ‘I can’t tell you how many times some sorceress told me that my next harvest would fail or be the finest vintage – bah! I don’t have much faith in soothsayers. The good ones (like Ona, may she rest in piece) don’t lie – but that doesn’t mean that what they say is the truth. Anyway, it takes an awful lot for me to kill someone, and I’m certainly not going to kill a young man as fine as you because of something an old witch said thousands of years ago. Oisin’s son!’ He hugged me again, this time lifting me off the ground.

‘Tell me, Conor, where have you been hiding all of these years?’

I wondered for a second if I should make something up, but I just couldn’t help trusting this man. I sat down on the bed and told Gerard the whole tale – it just poured out. Gerard pulled up a chair and I went through it all: my life in the Real World, the death threats, the revelations, the emotions, the journeys, the fights, the meetings – the concussions. I wasn’t only telling Gerard, I was telling myself too. I had been living moment to moment, just trying to stay alive. Now that I had put it all together I realised it was a hell of a story. I ended by saying, ‘So I have to find my mother. I think she is in a place called the Fililands, but Fergal says they don’t exist. Can you help me?’

‘Oisin and Deirdre have a son,’ Gerard mused. ‘This,’ he said, breaking out of his reverie, ‘is the finest news I have heard in a long, long time. Are you thirsty, Conor?’

‘You wouldn’t have a beer, would you?’

Gerard roared with laughter at this. ‘In all of The Land I am the only man who could answer that question with a “yes”.’ He put his arm around me and waltzed me out of the room. We walked down a corridor that overlooked the courtyard. Through imperfect glass windows I could see another banta fight in progress. The party was still in full swing. At the top of an immense staircase Gerard bellowed, and several servants appeared.

‘Bring ale and food to the library,’ he ordered. ‘After that, we are not to be disturbed.’

We continued and then turned down a corridor with numerous small alcoves cut into the walls. In each was a carved wooden statue. Some were model castles, some were miniature thrones, most were busts of men and women. All were of different wood. Gerard stopped at a bust of a handsome man with a full beard carved in red wood.

‘This is your grandfather.’

‘Finn?’ I asked.

‘No. This is your other grandfather, on your mother’s side, Liam – the last lord of the House of Cull. He was a good man.’ Sadness invaded Gerard’s face and for a moment he looked old. ‘He was my friend.’

We arrived at the library at the same time as our food and drink. I was expecting an impressive chamber with bookshelves towering to the sky, but instead I found a smallish, comfortable room with just a few books, a wine rack, a desk, some overstuffed chairs and a deerskin sofa.

‘I’m not much of a reader,’ Gerard said, guessing my thoughts. ‘If you wanted to see a great library you should have seen your grandfather’s. It was a huge affair with a courtyard in the centre where he grew the Tree of Knowledge.’

‘The Tree of Knowledge?’ I asked.

‘Yes – I told you. He held the Rune of Cull.’

I must have looked confused.

‘Oh gods, I forget you don’t know about all of this. Right, Liam, your grandfather, was Lord of the Cull – the Hazellands. He sat in the Hazelwood Throne and was the custodian of the Hall of Knowledge. The best and the brightest from all The Land were welcome to study in his library, and before they left, they were allowed a hazelnut from the Tree of Knowledge. The fruit of the Tree of Knowledge ensured they would remember all that they had learned. It was a wonderful place.’

‘You talk like it’s no longer there.’

‘It’s not,’ he said, the heaviness returning to his face, ‘it’s all ruin. The Land lost the Hall, and I lost a friend – and my only son.’

‘Your son?’

‘My son was studying at the Hall, in fact he was one of your mother’s tutors.’

‘What happened?’

‘No one knows. Something, an army or a force, attacked Cull, and there was little defence. It was unthinkable that anyone would want to attack the Hall of Knowledge. Why would you defend against the unthinkable? Your mother and your Aunt Nieve were on some sort of sorceress’ quest. They were the ones who found the Hall and the Tree destroyed, and all of the students and tutors dead.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘As am I, but I have learned not to dwell on it. Although I will always remember, my mourning days are done. I do not want it to consume me like it almost consumed your mother.’

‘My mother?’

‘Yes, until I spoke to you today I had not heard of her since her banishment. You see, it is believed that the need for vengeance drove her to learn Shadowmagic. I think she thought it would allow her to discover who, or what, destroyed Cull. From what you say, it would seem she still does not know. Maybe like me, she has put the matter to rest. I hope so.’

I took a sip of my beer. It was dark, a bit sudsy and too warm but it was drinkable. ‘Not bad,’ I said.

‘Thank you. I learned how to make ale in Ireland but I have never gotten it to catch on over here.’

‘Ireland? You mean like the Ireland from my world?’

‘Yes, long ago. I made a trip to the Real World the year before my Choosing. I travelled with my cousin, Cullen.’

‘Cullen? Cu-cullen,’ I said, using the Celtic prefix that literally means hound but is used to mean hero or king, ‘the Irish warrior?’

Gerard laughed so hard at that he spat out his beer. ‘A warrior!’ he howled. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Irish mythology is full of stories of the great warrior King Cucullen, his great battles and how he slew entire armies single-handedly – but this was thousands of years ago.’

Gerard was still chuckling. ‘Yes, I guess that would be about right. I went to the Real World with Cullen but I didn’t return with him. He just loved those Irish women and they loved him. You see, Cullen was a wonderful storyteller and like all good storytellers, he never let the truth get in the way of a good tale. Those Irish folks back then just couldn’t get enough of his stories and his music. Gods, when he played the flute it was like a spell, he could make you dance one moment and weep the next. I can imagine him telling a few tall tales about himself.’

‘Did he never return?’

‘Oh, he did, but he was never happy here. He was a fool, always wanting more than he had – a good man but a fool nonetheless. He used to take little holidays to the Real World on horseback – he never returned from the last one.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘Probably the same thing that happened to the poor guard that came to your home with Nieve.’

‘You think Cucullen fell off his horse and got old quick?’

‘There were rumours that he forgot and got off by himself. He never was the sharpest arrow in the quiver.’

‘So if your foot touches the ground in the Real World and you become the age you would be in The Land, then how come my father didn’t dust-it? I get the impression that he has a few hundred years under his belt.’

‘That is a question for him and your mother – as are most of the other questions I can almost hear flicking through your mind. Before I send you to bed, Conor of Duir, I shall answer one more question – it is the first question you asked of me. You asked if I could help you find the Fililands. The answer is yes. Many people think the Fililands are a myth, a story to scare children, but they are real. Long ago the Fililands were sealed off by your grandfather, Finn, but since then a new frontier has opened. I think you may be able to enter the Fililands through the Reedlands.’

‘The Reedlands?’

‘The Reedlands came into being when your Uncle Cialtie chose the Reed Rune.’

‘I thought I heard Cialtie say he held the Duir Rune?’

‘He does now. But his first rune was the Reed Rune. After your father and then your grandfather went missing, he repeated the Choosing and chose the Duir Rune. People thought it was strange but he does hold the rune now.’

‘What happened to the Reedlands?’

‘Cialtie explored them, renounced them and left them to fallow. They lie just past the Hazellands and I suspect they border the Fililands. If I am right, the border will not be sealed there. You should be able to enter the Fililands from the Reedlands.’

‘Can you take me there?’

‘Me?’ Gerard laughed. ‘Good gods! The last thing you need is me giving you directions. No, I know someone who could get you there. Sleep tonight and tomorrow I shall see if I can persuade my guide to accompany you.’

‘Thank you, Lord Gerard.’

‘No, thank you, Conor.’

‘For what?’

‘For being the son of Cull and Duir. For a long time I have feared for the future of both of those houses – less now.’ We stood and he put his arm around my shoulder as we walked to the door.

‘Did you really like the beer?’ he asked.

‘To be honest, sir, I would like it a little lighter and colder – oh, and fizzier.’

He opened the door. A servant was waiting. Gerard instructed him to escort me to the tower and to give me a shot of poteen to help me sleep. As Gerard closed the door I heard him mumbling to himself, ‘Lighter and fizzier – hmm.’

The tower turned out to be a very comfortable room with a bed big enough for a football team. It wasn’t until I saw the sheets that I realised how exhausted I was – I wasn’t going to need the poteen. I undressed and got under the covers, and the servant put a small glass of clear liquid on the bedside table. Sleep was seconds away when I remembered something that Cialtie had said to my father. He said the last time he saw Finn he was on horseback on the way to the Real World and that he had stabbed the horse! He killed him, he killed his own father. He killed my grandfather. Rage enveloped me, my blood boiled and my thoughts turned to revenge. Sleep was no longer an option. I sat up in bed and fantasised about the different ways I would kill Cialtie. My hand shook as I grabbed the glass and thoughtlessly knocked back the poteen. Instantly, Cialtie didn’t seem like such a bad guy after all. I laid back and put my hands behind my head. I thought, Why make such a fuss out of everything? I started to count my blessings. I was asleep before I got very far.

I awoke to a slap in my face – considering the dream I was having, I deserved it. But this slap in the face wasn’t from Essa in dreamland, it was real. I opened my eyes to see a fully dressed Fergal passed out next to me in the bed. He had rolled over and backhanded me in the face. I threw his arm over to his side, only to have it come back and whack me a second time. I made a mental note never to sleep with Fergal again and got out of bed.

A servant was waiting in the hallway. He showed me to a bathroom kitted out with a steaming Olympic-sized sunken bathtub. Ah, life’s simple pleasures. I had a feeling I had better enjoy it while I could – the trip to the Fililands didn’t sound like it was going to be a Sunday afternoon stroll.

When I got out of the bath I noticed that my clothes had been replaced with linen underwear and a soft leather shirt and trousers. Well – when in Rome.

Breakfast was busy. Obviously many of the partygoers had stayed the night, or more probably hadn’t gone to bed at all. I saw Araf sitting with Essa, and joined them.

‘Good morning,’ I said.

Araf nodded.

Essa said, ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Sir? What happened to Conor? Sir is my dad.’

‘Good morning – Conor, I have to go now,’ she said and left.

I turned to Araf. ‘What was that about?’

He shrugged.

If I hadn’t just taken a bath I would have sniffed my armpits – she acted like I had just cleaned out the elephant stables.

‘Have I done something to upset her?’

Araf shrugged again.

‘You know, you’re a real pleasure to chat with, Araf – and by the way my head is fine. Thank you for asking.’

This got a nod.

We ate in silence. I had a billion questions but I knew trying to strike up a conversation with Araf would be like trying to build the pyramids on my own. I was almost finished when a servant informed me that I was wanted in the armoury.

I followed him to a different wing of the castle until we arrived at a gymnasium-sized, glass-roofed room. Hanging on racks around the chamber was an impressive collection of weapons: swords, bows, crossbows and an entire wall of banta sticks. In the centre of the room stood the same old man who had taken our weapons from us when we first arrived at the party. He was holding my sword belt. He motioned me over.

‘You are Conor?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘This is your sword?’

‘Yes.’

‘Put it on.’

I fastened it around my waist.

‘So, Conor of Duir – son of the one-handed Prince Oisin – BE AT GUARD!’ He drew his sword and assumed an attacking stance.

I raised my hands. ‘Hey, I’m not going to fight you.’

‘Pity,’ he said, ‘I so dislike stabbing an unarmed man. Oh well – so be it.’

He drove the point of his sword directly at my heart.