The Burning Shadow (18 page)

“G
o on, stick a knife in it,” said Alekto, “that's your answer to everything.”

“What's yours?” retorted Pharax.

Hylas couldn't stand it any longer. “The smith says it's got to stay alive!” he blurted out, ignoring Hekabi's startled glance.

“Why?” demanded Pharax. He'd raised the lid of the chest and was clearly keen to make use of the dagger.

“It—it belongs to Kreon,” stammered Hylas. “It was found on his land.”

Kreon's eyes glinted, and Pharax scowled. “So?”

Hylas thought fast. “So it must stay alive because—as it grows stronger, so shall the House of Koronos grow stronger. Like the Lion of Mycenae, only greater.”

Kreon liked that. He cast his brother a triumphant look.

“Also it's female,” Alekto added drily, “which means it's a better hunter than the male.”

Koronos rose and signed to Pharax to shut the chest. “It lives,” he declared.

In a daze, Hylas watched the High Chieftain leave the chamber, followed by the others, Pharax bearing the chest in his arms, and the slaves hurrying behind with Havoc's cage. Hylas saw the lion cub trying in vain to turn her head and keep him in view. Then she was gone, and Akastos was dragging him out into the passage.

It was nearly midnight. Hylas quickened his pace. The furnace ridge was dark, except for the glare of watchfires, and the guards had let him through, as he was slave to the smith.

But where
was
the smith?

He'd been with them as they'd emerged from the stronghold. Then Hekabi had declared that she wasn't leaving without her slave, and had argued with the guards until Pirra was brought out, shaken but unhurt. After that, they'd made their way down the steps in the dark; then suddenly Hekabi and Pirra had headed off for the village, and Hylas was alone: Akastos was gone.

The wind roared over the headland and rattled the branches of the thorn tree. The door of the smithy stood ajar, casting a slab of yellow light across the ground. Hylas saw Havoc's paw prints in the dust, and her beloved wicker ball. His throat closed.

Akastos sat on his stool by the forge, calmly sharpening a blade on a whetstone. He was intent on his work, and didn't raise his head at Hylas' approach.

“
Why?
” cried Hylas.

Akastos sighed. “I'm sorry, Flea. I needed to distract them.”

“But
Hekabi
was going to do that!”

“You think they'd have been fooled by some madwoman throwing a fit?” Holding up the blade, he scrutinized it with narrowed eyes. “It worked better than I'd hoped, thanks to you. You think fast, Flea, I'm impressed. What you told them saved that cub's life.”

“And because of you, her life will be a miserable one in that terrible place!”

“Better than no life at all.”

“Is that all you can say?” He wanted to rage and shout and fight: to do
something,
not just stand there and watch Akastos coolly passing the blade over the whetstone in long, sure strokes.

“I'm sorry,” Akastos said again. “But I've been waiting too long to let pity get in my way.”

“Don't you care about anything? Don't you even care that you couldn't steal your precious dagger?”

Akastos did not reply.

Hylas opened his mouth to berate him—then shut it. He saw the red gleam of firelight on the bronze knife in Akastos' hands. He took in its broad square shoulders and its strong straight spine sweeping down to a lethal point. He saw the three rivets on the hilt, and the quartered circle incised on the blade. A chariot wheel to crush the enemies of the House of Koronos.

“You did steal it,” he said.

Akastos flicked him a glance.

“But—I
saw
it in the chest. I saw Pharax shut the lid and take it with him.”

“You saw
a
dagger,” said Akastos.

Everything fell into place.

“You made a copy,” said Hylas. “You swapped them.” His mind flew back to the moment when the slaves had uncovered Havoc's cage. Akastos had withdrawn into the shadows, and after that, Hylas hadn't seen him. Nor had the Crows. All eyes had been on Havoc. “But—they searched us going into the stronghold. How did you get the copy past the guards?”

Akastos snorted. “I know a thing or two about smuggling weapons. Unlike those idiots at the gates.”

Outside, the wind moaned in the thorn tree. Hylas thought he heard hoofbeats in the distance.

Akastos had heard them too. Gripping the dagger, he moved noiselessly to the doorway and took up position behind it. He was no longer a smith, but a warrior trained to kill.

The hoofbeats came closer. It had to be Telamon.

Akastos too was listening intently.

Hylas went cold.

Two things I've swore to do before I die,
Akastos had told him.
Destroy the dagger of Koronos—and appease my brother's ghost
.

How can you appease a ghost
? Hylas had asked.

By feeding him the blood of vengeance
.

The blood of vengeance.

The lifeblood of a highborn Crow.

“No,” said Hylas. “I won't let you kill Telamon.”

“He's the grandson of Koronos,” said Akastos.

“He was my friend.”

“He's a Crow.”

Hylas planted himself in the doorway. “I won't let you kill him.”

“Don't get in the way, Flea. I don't want to hurt you.”

Hylas didn't move. He had no weapons, the Crows had taken them, while Akastos had the dagger and was a grown man twice his size.

“Out of my way, Flea,” said the smith with an odd pleading note. “Don't make me do this!”

The hoofbeats came nearer.

Hylas turned to shout a warning, but Akastos lunged at him and clapped his hand over his mouth. Hylas bit hard. Akastos didn't let go. Hylas hooked his leg around Akastos' knee, trying to throw him off his feet. It didn't work, but Akastos lost his balance and staggered against the forge, dragging Hylas with him. Blindly, Hylas reached behind him, grabbed a burning brand from the fire and lashed out. Akastos hissed as it bit his calf, and for an instant his grip loosened and Hylas wriggled free.

“
Telamon!
” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “
Get out of here! Danger!
”

The hoofbeats skittered to a halt.

Clenching his teeth in pain, Akastos sprang at Hylas, who dodged behind the forge. They circled, now this way, now that.

“
Telamon go back!
” yelled Hylas. “
He's going to kill you!
”

Akastos lunged. Again Hylas dodged. It was a feint: Akastos nearly caught him.

“
Get out of here!
” shouted Hylas. “
He's not after me, he's after you
!”

The horse squealed, and he pictured Telamon yanking its head around. Then the hoofbeats went thundering down the slope and faded into the night.

Still Hylas and the smith faced each other across the smoldering fire. Akastos was breathing hard: The brand had scorched an angry wound down his calf. Grimacing with pain, he lurched against the wall and sank to the ground. “You
fool,
” he gasped.

Hylas fetched the water pail and a jar of almond oil, set them within reach, then retreated. “I'm sorry I hurt you,” he said. “But I couldn't let you kill him.”

Akastos leaned back and shut his eyes. “
Sorry,
” he repeated. “What good to me is ‘sorry'? Can I forge it into a weapon to kill Koronos? Can I make it into a chariot to ride against them?” He banged his head against the wall. “Fourteen years I've been on the run. Hiding. Plotting. Failing. Starting again.” His forehead glistened with sweat. A vein stood out in his neck like rope. “This was the closest I've ever got. Everything would have ended tonight. I would have been
free
. If it hadn't been for you.”

Hylas twisted his hands. “But you still have the dagger. We can destroy it right now, in the forge!”

Akastos opened his eyes and glared at him. “Do you think it's that easy?” he said as he struggled to his feet. “
Do you think it's that easy?
” he roared. “Then why didn't I do it the moment I got back here?
Why?
Because no forge made by mortal men will ever be hot enough to destroy it! Because the dagger of Koronos can only be destroyed by a
god
!”

D
awn was still far off, but the sky was aglow with a strange dark angry red. As Hylas ran down from the furnace ridge, the Mountain loomed into view. Smoke no longer seeped from its summit, but rose in giant plumes to touch the sky—and it was lit from beneath by the same furious red.

He thought of the Angry Ones doing battle with the Lady of Fire. Anger, all was anger.

Akastos had raged like a lion when he'd realized that he was too badly hurt to destroy the dagger. Then quite suddenly, he'd mastered himself. He'd trickled oil on his burn, and sent away the guards who'd come running at the uproar. He'd told Hylas to pour him a beaker of wine. Then, shockingly, he'd laughed.

“Well, well, Flea. It seems that you and the gods have done for me again.”

Draining the beaker, he'd wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Then he'd astonished Hylas by tossing him the dagger. “Take it. Find the wisewoman. She'll know how to destroy it.”

It had fit Hylas' grip as if it was made for him, and as he'd rearranged his fingers on the hilt, he'd felt a jolt of cold power shoot through him. “There'll be guards on the way to the village,” he'd said. “How will I get past them?”

Akastos had taken a lump of clay the size of a walnut, and stamped it with his sealstone. “The smith's mark, it'll give you safe passage. There. You hold your life in your hand. Mine too. Don't fail.”

In the Moonless dark, Hylas made for the crossroads. On the cliffs, seabirds were flying up. Distractedly, he thought how odd this was; seabirds always roosted at night.

The dagger in its sheath bumped against his hip. Akastos had made him hide it under a scrap of sacking, but it still gave Hylas a heady sense of invincibility: as if he, not Akastos, had drunk that wine.

He hated it. The dagger had separated him from Pirra, and sliced through his plan for escape. It had severed his hopes of finding Issi.

He thought of his brave, fierce, reckless little sister, struggling for survival in the wilds of Messenia. “I'm sorry, Issi,” he told her under his breath. “Turns out I can't come and find you. Not yet. Not till this is over.” It flashed through his mind that if Issi knew what he was doing, maybe she would forgive him—because in his place, she would do the same thing.

On the hill, Kreon's stronghold was ablaze with torches. Had they discovered that the dagger was gone?

He drew it from its sheath, and in the starlight its edges gleamed faintly scarlet, as if stained with blood. Despite the heat of the night, he shivered. He wondered if the dagger knew that he was bent on ending its life.

But how
could
he, when it could only be destroyed by a god? Would even Hekabi know what to do?

Across the plain, the Mountain went on venting that angry smoke. Hylas thought of the fire spirits in their lairs: lairs that tunneled deep into its burning heart.

And suddenly he knew how to destroy the dagger.

Across the plain, the smoke rising from the Mountain was weirdly tinged with red.

“It looks angry,” said Pirra.

“
She
is angry,” corrected Hekabi. “The Crows have sent the spirits of air and darkness against Her. She will vanquish them. But She won't forgive.”

The wisewoman was angry too. In bristling silence they'd picked their way down from the stronghold and started for the village. They had failed to steal the dagger, and by now Hylas would have fled the island, taking with him their chance of defeating the Crows.

But halfway along the trail, Hekabi had halted. “It isn't over. I can feel it. We've got to go back.”

So once again, they were nearing the crossroads. In the starlight, Pirra saw the silent ponds where she'd first encountered Hylas, it felt like months ago.

She had railed at him for putting his sister before everything, and he'd said,
If Userref was in danger and you could save him, what would you do?

Well, now she knew.

“There's someone you should see,” Telamon had snarled as he'd dragged her off to another chamber in the stronghold. Then he'd left her to face the man who waited inside.

At first she didn't recognize him. He was richly dressed as an emissary of Keftiu: a fine green cloak and a braided blue kilt cinched with a belt of gilded calfskin. On his chest, along with the familiar eye amulet, hung a wax tablet mounted in lapis lazuli and bore the seal of High Priestess Yassassara.

Being Userref, the first thing he did was scold. “Pirra,
look
at you! Dressed like a peasant, hair far too short—and your
feet,
they're filthy!”

“I've missed you,” she said simply. But when he stepped toward her, she put up her hands. “It's no use, Userref. I can't go back.”

“You must,” he said gently.

“This isn't about being free anymore, it's more than that now.” She dared not mention the dagger in case they were overheard, but in an undertone she told him about the Crows invading Keftiu.

To her astonishment, he already knew. “The High Priestess has known for months. Part of my mission is to learn more.”

“She
knows
?”

“Pirra, when will you learn? The High Priestess knows everything.”

She struggled to take that in. “I still can't go with you.”

“You
must,
” said Userref in an altered voice.

Then he told her. Yassassara was clever.
Bring back my daughter, or you forfeit your life.

Pirra stood facing this gentle young man who'd cared for her since she was a baby. “I can't,” she said again.

“Pirra. For me.”

“But—you can run away too! Now's your chance! Go to Egypt, find your family, you've always longed to! You can be
free
!”

In the torchlight, his handsome face became stern. “How can I ignore the will of the gods? They made me a slave, they sent me to Keftiu. I have to return, no matter what.”

She didn't know what to do. Right now, the others were trying to steal the dagger; she should be helping them.

“Come with me,” urged Userref.

Things had happened quickly after that. With a cry she'd fled the chamber, stumbling through a maze of torchlit passages, trying in vain to find the others. Then, somehow, she'd fetched up at the gates—and found Hekabi clamoring for her release.

Seagulls wheeled above the crossroads, calling in the dark, and Hekabi hissed at her to hurry.

What would you do, Pirra?
Hylas had asked.

Well, now she knew. She was just as ruthless as her mother. She had condemned Userref to death.

And in the end, it had been for nothing, because the plan had failed. The Crows still had the dagger. And Hylas was gone.

Without warning, Hekabi grabbed her arm and yanked her behind a thornbush. “Someone's coming!” she breathed.

A figure was approaching the crossroads. Pirra watched it whip off its cap and wipe its brow. She saw the starlight gleam in its fair hair.

She stepped out from behind the thorns. “You didn't leave,” she said.

Pirra looked very pale, and she was staring at him as if he was a ghost. “I thought you'd left,” she said. “I thought—”

“No time to explain,” he cut in. Then to the wisewoman: “We've got to take it to the Mountain, yes?”

She didn't reply. She was transfixed by what he held in his fist. “Is that . . .”

“Yes,” he said impatiently.

“The
dagger
,” gasped Pirra. “How did—”

“Let's just say Akastos is a better thief than we thought. Hekabi, the Mountain. That's what we've got to do, isn't it? Find the lair of a fire spirit and throw it in; then the Lady will destroy it.”

Hekabi clutched his wrist. “And it must be you who does it.”

“Of course,” said Pirra. “
An Outsider wields the blade and the House of Koronos burns . . .
”

“And then at last,” said Hekabi, “Thalakrea will be free.”

Hylas glanced at the dagger in his fist. He didn't like the way things were coming together. He was being pushed around by forces beyond his power to understand.

In the starlight, he made out great flocks of crows cawing in alarm around Kreon's stronghold. He had the uneasy feeling that somehow, they were part of it too. But how? What was he missing?

“We've got to hurry,” said Hekabi. “There's no telling when they'll find out it's gone.”

Pirra snapped her fingers. “Horses! They keep them at the Neck, if we could steal some . . .”

Hylas didn't move. He was watching the gulls and the crows cutting across the stars.

“Hylas?” said Pirra. “What is it?”

He thought of the wild creatures who'd been acting so oddly: the mice fleeing the deep levels, the birds who should have been roosting but weren't, the frogs who'd disappeared from the ponds. In his dream, Issi had tried to warn him
. Where are the frogs, Hylas? Where are the frogs?

He thought of the blood spurting from Akastos' swollen thumb, and of that blasted spur on the Mountainside, which bulged as if something vast was trying to force its way out . . .

Then he knew. Kreon had dug too deep, and the Lady of Fire was angrier than anyone imagined.

He turned to Pirra. “It's going to blow up.”

“What is?” she replied.

“Thalakrea.”