Legacy of the Darksword (22 page)

I knew immediately what she’d
meant about the physical burden of the sword. The sword’s weight was
considerable, for it was made of iron, mixed with darkstone, and had been
designed to be wielded by a grown man with immense physical strength. But as
heavy as the sword was to carry, it weighed far more heavily on the heart than
it did on the hands. Holding it, I glimpsed the soul that had produced it—a
dark maelstrom of fear and anger.

Bitter lessons learned
,
Joram had struggled up from the darkness of his soul,
saved himself from drowning beneath the perilous waters. He had returned the
original Darksword to the stone from which it was made. He had released magic
into the universe. And though he had destroyed a world, he had saved the lives
of many thousands who would otherwise have perished in the great war Earth
waged for Thimhallan. If Joram did not walk in the light, at least he could
feel the sun upon his upturned face.

The Darksword had passed out of
his life.

Through anger and fear, it had been
reforged.

Eliza climbed over the wall.
Turning, she held out her hands. I gave the Darksword back to her and the
biblical quote about the sins of the fathers came to mind.

We trudged up a long,
grass-covered slope, moving cautiously, keeping watch in all directions for the
silver-shining Techno-mancers. We didn’t see any; probably—I said to
myself—because they are already nearing their goal. We did not make very good
time. Clouds moved in, hiding the stars, thickening the darkness, and making it
difficult to find our way.

We reached the crest of the hill.
Not far from us, I could barely make out the scattered white rocks which marked
the trail. I was already winded and Eliza, keeping up gamely, was breathing
heavily from the exertion of climbing and carrying the sword. I gazed at the
trail in despair. It had not seemed so steep or so long, coming down. Tired as
we were, I wondered how we would manage, even without the sword.

I turned to Eliza and saw my
dismay reflected on her pale face. Her shoulders and arms must have been
burning with fatigue. The point of the sword dropped to the rocky ground,
hitting it with a metallic thunk.

“We have to keep going,” she
said, and it was not me she was exhorting to further effort but herself.

I was about to offer to take the
sword, to give her rest, when a concussive blast rocked the land. The ground
shuddered beneath our feet. The blast echoed among the mountains and then
finally died away.

“What was that?” Eliza gasped.

I had no idea. Though storms
raged in the valley below us, that sound had not been thunder. It was too sharp
and I had seen no lightning. I looked up toward the Font, terrified of seeing
fire and smoke erupt from the building.

Logic eased my fear. The
Technomancers would never destroy the Font if they could not find the sword.

The blast and the concern it
brought lent us strength. Eliza and I resumed our climb when, for a second
time, a strange sound caused us to halt. This was nearer and more
frightening—the sound of footfalls, coming from very close behind us.

We were caught out in the open,
with no cover. We lacked the strength to run and would not have been able to
run far, in any case, hampered as we were by the heavy sword.

Eliza heard the steps the same
moment I did. We both turned, and such are the incongruities of the mind that
my first thought was one of relief. At least, if the Technomancers captured us,
I wouldn’t have to climb that damn hill!

The person was a dark shadow
against the backdrop of the trees, so dark that I couldn’t distinguish features.
At least
,.
I thought
,
my
heart resuming its beat, the person was
not
clad in silver.

“Wait there a moment, Reuven and
Eliza, will you?” called a clear voice, a woman’s voice.

The woman materialized out of the
night, and as she came to us she flicked on a flashlight and played it swiftly
over us.

We blinked painfully in the harsh
light, averted our faces, and she switched the flashlight off us and played it
down around her feet.

“What do you want?” Eliza
asked,
her voice strong and unafraid. “Why do you stop us?”

“Because,” answered the woman, “you
should not return home. There’s nothing you can do to help, and much you might
do to harm. By great good fortune, the Darksword has been kept out of their
hands. It would be folly to cast away this opportunity.”

“Who are you?” Eliza asked
coldly, keeping both hands around the sword’s blanket-covered hilt.

The woman stood before us, held
the light on herself so that we could get a good look at her. Of all the
strange sights we’d seen that night, this woman seemed the strangest, the most
incongruous.

She was wearing military-style
fatigues and a green flight jacket. Her hair was cut very short, almost a crew
cut. Her eyes were overlarge, her cheekbones strong, her jaw and chin jutting,
her mouth wide. She was tall—over six feet—and muscular and her age was
difficult to guess.
Older than I was, by perhaps ten years.
Nine tiny earrings, in the shape of suns, moons, stars, glittered up and down
her left ear. Her nose was pierced and so was her right eyebrow. She could have
stepped out of some bar in Soho.

The woman fumbled in a zippered
pocket, pulled out something. She flicked the light on it, snapped open a
well-worn leather case, and exhibited an ID card. The light was so bright that
I couldn’t read the card very well and she moved the light off the card again
almost immediately. She was an agent of something, or at least that’s what I
think the card read, but I wasn’t clear on what.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve never
heard of the people I work for,” she said. “We’re a very low-profile
organization.”

“I have to go back,” Eliza said,
her gaze going up the mountainside, straining to see her home through the
darkness. “My father and mother and Father Saryon are there alone. And without
the sword, they’re in danger.”

“They’d be in worse danger
with
the sword. There’s nothing you can do, Eliza,” said the woman quietly.

“How do you know my name?” Eliza
regarded the woman with suspicion.
“And Reuven’s.
You
knew his name, too.”

“Our agency has files on both of
you. Don’t be upset. We have files on everyone. My name’s Scylla,” the woman
continued.

CIA, I thought, or maybe
Interpol.
FBI or Her Majesty’s Secret Service.
Some
sort of government agency. It’s strange, for I had always been extremely
cynical about the government, but as we stood in the darkness the thought that
some immense and powerful organization was looking after us was rather
comforting.

“Look, do we really have time for
all this?” Scylla was saying. “You should take the sword to a place of safety.”

“Yes,” said Eliza.
“A place of safety.
That’s with my father. I’m going home.”
She lifted the sword, or at least tried to lift it. It appeared heavier than
ever.

Scylla gazed at Eliza, measuring
her, perhaps; trying to determine if she was serious. A glance at Eliza’s pale,
rigid, and resolute face could leave no doubt, as Scylla herself must have
seen.

“Look, if you’re set on this, my
air car’s not far back,” she said. “I’ll drive you there. It will be faster.”

Eliza was tempted. I don’t think
she could have carried that sword another three feet, though she would have
made the attempt until she dropped down on top of it. And she was desperate to
reach her father and mother. I was desperate to reach Father Saryon. I nodded
my head.

“Very well,” Eliza answered
grudgingly.

Scylla gave me an approving clap
on my shoulder that knocked me two or three paces back down the hillside. I had
the feeling she had done that deliberately, to prove her strength, to
intimidate us. She turned and left, running at an easy lope toward the highway,
her flashlight guiding her steps.

Eliza and I stood alone in the
darkness that was beginning to lighten. It was near dawn, I realized in
amazement.

“We could leave, before she comes
back,” Eliza said.

It was a statement of fact,
nothing more. Yes, we could leave. But we wouldn’t. We were both too tired, the
sword was too heavy, our fear and anxiety too great. We didn’t have long to
wait. The air car
appeared,
a blot against the night.

The car soared over the wall,
over the trees alongside the highway. It slid quiet as a whisper through the
air toward us. When it was near us, Scylla lowered the car to the ground.

“Climb in,” she said, twisting
around to open the back door.

We did so, bringing the Darksword
with us. Settled in the backseat, Eliza placed the sword across both our knees
and held on to it, to keep it from sliding off. I was uncomfortable, holding
the sword. The touch of it was disquieting, unnerving, as if there were a leech
on my skin, sucking out my blood. I had the feeling it was drawing something
out of me, something that, before now, I wasn’t even aware I possessed. I
wanted to be rid of the sword, yet I could not cast it off, not without losing
Eliza’s trust and respect. If she could bear its incubus touch, then so could
I, for her sake.

Scylla sent the air car into a
steep climb and we sped up the hill, traveling smooth and fleet as the wind.
Eliza stared fixedly out the front window, straining to see her home.

We approached the garden,
then
the building came in sight. Scylla cut the air car’s
engines. It hovered noiselessly above the garden wall near the spot where I’d
fallen while trying to climb over.

I don’t know what I’d
expected—anything from the building surrounded by Technomancers to flames
leaping from the roof. What I had not expected was to find the building dark
and quiet and seemingly as peaceful as when I’d left.

The air car crept forward,
drifting over the white flowers with their heavy, drooping heads. The car came
to rest not far from the back door.

“There’s no one here!” Eliza
exclaimed, clasping my hand in her excitement. “They didn’t come! Or maybe we’re
ahead of them! Open the door, Reuven!”

My hand was on the button.

“They’ve been here,” said Scylla.
“They’ve been and gone. It’s over.”

“You’re wrong!” Eliza cried. “How
do you know? You can’t know. . . . Reuven, open this door!”

She was frantic. I hit the
button. The door swung open. Eliza slid out. She turned to retrieve the
Darksword, which I was still holding.

“You should leave the sword
hidden in the car,” Scylla advised, climbing out. “It will be safe here. You’ll
need it later—for bargaining.”

“Bargaining . . .” Eliza repeated
the word, licked dry lips.

I slid across the seat, out from
under the sword. Even in my worry and fear, I was relieved to be free of its
loathsome touch. Eliza stared suspiciously at Scylla,
then
made a grab for the sword’s hilt.

“If I leave it, you’ll take it!”
she said, struggling to lift the Darksword.

Scylla shrugged. “I can take the
sword anytime I want.” Hands on her hips, she smiled at us and her smile seemed
menacing. “I don’t think you two could do much to stop me.”

Eliza and I looked at each other
and reluctantly we acknowledged the truth. Neither of us was in any shape to
battle this woman, although, I recalled, I had not seen her carrying a weapon,
either on her person or in the air car.

“But I don’t want it,” Scylla
continued. She slammed shut the car door on her side. To my astonishment, she
tossed me the keys.

“What
do
you want?” Eliza
demanded.

“Ah, now that’s a bit more
difficult to explain,” Scylla replied.

Turning on her heel, she walked
across the garden, leaving us with keys to the air car. We could do what we
pleased with the Darksword.

I drew out rny electronic
notepad, typed swiftly.
The Technomancers could be waiting for us inside!
Leave the sword here.

“Do you trust her?” Eliza asked
me, agonized.

Maybe,
I hedged.
What she said makes
sense. She could have taken the sword from us back there on the highway. It
would have been like taking candy from two babies.

“I hope you’re right,” Eliza said
fervently. She shut the door and I locked it. The Darksword, wrapped in its
cloth, lay on the backseat of the air car.

I, for one, was glad to be rid of
it. I felt stronger, my weariness eased. I was more hopeful. Eliza also seemed
relieved to be rid of the burden. We hastened after Scylla and reached her just
as she was entering the door through which I’d come out.

The hallway was dark and silent.
Perhaps it was my overwrought imagination, but the silence had a chill feel to
it. It was not the blessed silence of a house asleep. It was the silence of a
house that is empty. A tinge of smoke hung in the air. We came to my room. The
door was partially open and I distinctly remembered having shut it when I left.