The world shook beneath his feet, and he felt it happening.
The Flames were no more.
He grinned wide, realizing.
Escalon was his.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Alec sat before the forge, sweating, hammering away at the sword as he had been for days, frustrated and stumped. This unfinished sword, crafted of a metal he did not understand, just would not mold. It was the most stubborn piece of metal he had ever worked with. Try as he did to shape it, the sword seemed to have a mind of its own. He had tried softening it with liquid fire, cooling it, and hammering it from every angle, with every type of hammer. Nothing worked.
Alec sat there, shoulders aching, and put his hammer down, needing a break. He examined it, breathing hard, dripping sweat onto it, and wondered. He held it up to the light, palms raw from hammering, and turned it, trying to understand. He had never encountered anything remotely like it. It was half a sword, an unfinished masterpiece of a weapon that refused to be finished, a weapon as mysterious as any he had ever held. He understood now why these islanders needed him here, on the Lost Isles, to complete it. It seemed he was set up for an impossible task.
Alec finally threw his hammer down in frustration, the hammer echoing on the floor. He sat there, head in his hands, trying to think. He hated being defeated.
He stared back at the sword and he could feel its energy, even from here, coming at him in waves, as if taunting him. It was like sharing the room with another person. He felt the sword craved attention, and he studied it, unable to look away. It was stubborn, proud, magical. He ran his hand along its too-sharp blade; he felt the jagged end, where the blade was unfinished, turned it over and studied the strange inscriptions. It bore ancient symbols he did not understand, like a riddle that needed to be cracked.
Alec wondered what it all could mean. Who had forged this? When? Why hadn’t they finished it? Had they been interrupted? Or was it unfinished on purpose? Had it been broken in battle? If so, by what weapon? Was there a matching sword somewhere, one that was complete? If so, where was it?
Most of all, why could it not be forged? What was it made of? What did he have to do to finish it?
Alec felt the answer lying right before him, just out of his reach. It was a riddle, this sword, one that would not let him think of anything else. He had to solve it.
Yet he had no idea how. He was dealing with something here that was clearly not of this earth, that was way out of his element. With any other weapon, he would know exactly what to do. If nothing else, he could simply start from scratch. But not this one. He examined its exotic material, turning it over as it shined in the light, and wondered what it was. It had a light blue sheen, and the more he stared at it, the more it seemed to change. It was like staring into the endless waters of a lake. What was the purpose of this weapon? he wondered. Why was it needed so desperately? How could it impact all of Escalon?
Alec finally, exhausted, set it down. He wiped sweat off his forehead and stood, stretching his aching limbs. He sighed. Maybe they had been wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t the one meant to finish it.
Alec, brooding, stormed out of the forge and emerged into the foggy sunlight, squinting, trying to adjust. A dramatic sunset cast a scarlet light over the Lost Isles, and everywhere sunlight sparkled in a silver mist. This place was magical.
Alec decided to take a walk. He paced on the strange terrain, soft green moss beneath his boots, and he looked out and studied the sky, the landscape, breathing in the fresh ocean air. He struggled, dwelling on the sword as he hiked. What did its inscriptions mean? Why was it unfinished?
Alec walked for hours, as the sunset mysteriously lingered, never seeming to set. Here, in the Lost Isles, he had learned that it never really grew dark; this eerie sunset lingered all night long, never quite dark, allowing just enough light for him to walk by.
As he hiked and studied the landscape, he climbed a hill and noticed something in the distance for the first time. Against the silhouette of the dying sun he spotted a massive boulder, tall and skinny, set high on a hill. The more he examined it, the more it began to dawn on him: the unusual shape of the boulder. It shot straight up, tall and skinny, and it seemed to have no end. It was jagged. It seemed…unfinished.
He was flooded with excitement as he realized: the boulder had the exact shape of the sword.
Alec ran toward the boulder, and as he reached it, he stopped and, breathing hard, laid both hands on the stone. He felt it, and was amazed by its intense energy, amazed that it was cool to the touch, just like the sword. His heart quickened as he looked up and studied it, wondering. Could the sword have been crafted of this same material?
Alec drew the spare chisel from his belt, raised it, and on a hunch, hit the stone with all he could. The stone chipped, and he was thrilled to see, beneath it, a material of sparkling blue. This was it, Alec realized. The material from which the sword was forged.
Alec hammered away at it, hoping to be able to remove a chunk, to take it back, to complete the sword; yet as he reached the inside layers, as his hammer met the blue material, the stone would not give. It was as stubborn and un-malleable as the sword. Alec stood there, crestfallen, realizing he had reached a dead end.
Suddenly, the ground trembled beneath his feet and a loud hissing noise cut through the air. Alec looked up, beyond the rock, and was astounded to see a sight he had never thought to see in his life. There, beyond the boulder, was a huge mountain, and at its top, bright-red lava began to squirt forth amidst great plumes of smoke. It was a volcano. And it was beginning to erupt.
Alec looked down at the boulder before him, then back to the volcano, and he suddenly realized: this boulder had emerged from the lava, from some ancient spewing forth of the volcano. It was the volcano that had forged it, that was the source of all the power on this island. That which was most malleable became that which was un-malleable.
Alec, breathless with excitement, turned and sprinted back to the dwelling housing the sword. He snatched it and turned and ran back through the landscape, breathless, until he returned to the volcano. He sprinted up the hill, hardly pausing, lungs aching but carried on by his adrenaline. He did not even pause to consider how dangerous it was to be scaling an active volcano, even as the heat and smoke began to make the sweat pour down his face. He scaled the side where lava was not spewing forth, and hoped and prayed the lava did not change course.
Alec finally reached the top of the volcano, and he stopped at its edge and looked down, shocked. There, below, was an active, bubbling volcano, its red and white lava swirling far below, molten hot. He could barely see from the smoke and barely breathe from the heat. Yet as he stood there, he felt the sword vibrating in his hands, and he knew: this was the place the sword was meant to be. This was what the sword needed to complete it.
Alec, sweat pouring off him, knew he could not survive up here much longer. He felt the sword shaking now, and he knew he had to do something fast. He searched his belt and extracted the long chain he kept, and slowly unraveled it. He quickly tied one end to the hilt, and then, following his instinct, he dropped the sword over the edge, held the chain tight, and slowly lowered it.
Alec lowered the chain link one foot at a time, quickly losing sight of the sword amidst the smoke and heat. He pulled his face back from the edge, recoiling as a blast of heat nearly seared his skin, and he continued to lower the sword, his hands nearly burning from the heat on the steel.
As he reached the final link, Alec looked over. Far below, amidst the smoke, he barely caught a glimpse of the sword. It hung, swinging on the chain, a good thirty feet below, its unfinished end pointing down as burst of lava shot up toward it. And as he watched, the strangest thing happened. It seemed as if the lava were redirecting itself, bursting and gathering around the tip of the blade.
Alec suddenly felt the chain tugging at him, as if he had a shark on the other end of the line, and it took all his might just to hold on. He wondered what was hap
pening. Was this madness? Would he lose the sword?
Finally, the resistance stopped and the chain went slack.
Sweating, frantic, Alec pulled back at the chain, yanking it as fast as he could go. He pulled it up faster and faster, not feeling anything, desperate that he might have lost it.
As he finished pulling the chain and reached its end, and his worst fears were confirmed: there was nothing on the end of it. He had lost the sword.
Alec sat there, staring, blinking, frozen in despair, unable to move. He had lost the sword. The last hope for Escalon. He had failed all these people on a mad whim, had let them all down.
Suddenly there arose a great rumble, and Alec stumbled as the ground beneath him shook. Lava began to shoot out from the volcano in all directions, and as a glob of it scorched Alec’s arm, he realized he had no choice. He had to flee if he had any hope of survival.
Alec turned and fled down the mountain, and as he reached its base, he stopped and watched, raising a hand to his eyes. The volcano shook and finally, amidst plumes of smoke, it exploded.
Fountains of lava burst forth in all directions, and amidst them, shooting up in the sky, was a sight that Alec would never forget: the sword. It flew up into the air, soared in a great arc, and then, turning end over end, it landed in the soft dirt before Alec, just feet away, as if awaiting him.
It sat there, its blade embedded in the ground, still swaying.
And Alec’s heart stopped as he saw it, gleaming, nearly as tall as he.
The sword of swords was complete.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Dierdre and Marco sprinted through the war-torn streets of Ur, narrowly avoiding the collapse of yet another building, smashed by a cannonball, as it crumbled behind them. Dierdre held a hand to her face as she ran through a massive cloud of dust, coughing, trying to catch her breath, while all around them ancient buildings collapsed and the city was reduced to mountains of rubble. Cannon fire echoed throughout the city as the Pandesians unleashed volley after volley, and Dierdre found herself stumbling over bodies, old, young, men, women, children, some faces whom she recognized. All the people of Ur, it seemed, were now dead.
The city was becoming a massive tomb, as an endless stream of Pandesian soldiers disembarked from the ships and stormed it on foot, butchering any survivors. The only thing keeping Dierdre and Marco alive while running was the massive cloud of dust that kept them obscured. Dierdre’s heart slammed as she sprinted, wondering if this would ever end.
She felt a strong grip on her wrist, and she turned to see Marco yanking her down a side street, then behind the safety of a pile of rubble. It was just in time; a dozen Pandesian soldiers raced past, spears out in front, looking for blood. She watched as they went from body to body lying on the stone, some of them moaning, and stabbed each one, putting spears into their hearts to make sure they were dead.
Dierdre nearly gagged. She looked out ahead and saw the occasional survivor still running through the streets, hunted down like prey as soldiers descended on them like a pack of wolves. Dierdre’s veins coursed with indignation; she was desperate for vengeance. She knew it was madness to be up on these streets, that if she wanted any chance of survival, she should have stayed down below, in the safety of the tunnels, with the rest of the citizens she had saved. Yet, safety was not what she wanted. She wanted to die on her feet, inflicting as much damage as she could while facing the enemy proudly.
Dierdre thought of her dead father, seeing his face in death, and the anger overtook her once again. She needed to avenge him. She recalled how she herself had been treated by the Pandesians, her captivity, and she knew that vengeance had been a long time coming. For her, it was not even a choice. It had become all she had left to live for.
Dierdre looked about at all the devastation, and realized how stupid she had been to think they could defend this place. She remembered how hard they had all worked to forge weapons, to prepare, how futile that had been. She wondered again how Alec could have abandoned them. She was disappointed, embarrassed that she had ever had faith in him. How could he have fled all his friends in such a cowardly way?
Dierdre tried to focus, remembering her reason for surfacing: the chains. Alec’s unfinished work. If she and Marco could just affix one chain, take out just one Pandesian ship, they could kill hundreds. That would be enough for her. It would give her the satisfaction she desperately required, and she could die happily after that.
She turned and studied the canals. Through the rising dust, she spotted what they had come for: one of the places where they had laid chains before the invasion. They had been preparing when they had been all caught off guard by the sudden invasion. All the chains still lay there, unused, none having a chance to even be affixed to the canals below.
“There!” she called to Marco, pointing.
Marco turned to look, and he nodded back knowingly.
Dierdre looked toward the sea and saw a towering Pandesian warship sailing into the canal. She could barely make it out in the haze, about fifty yards away and closing in fast, and she knew there was little time.
Marco turned and looked at her, sweating, fear in his face, and nodded back.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”
They held hands, squeezing them tightly, and took off. They jumped up and ran through the clouds of dust, weaving out of the way of roving packs of Pandesian soldiers, of collapsing walls, Dierdre wondering if they would even reach the edge of the canal, just thirty feet away. Dierdre could not help but notice the strength and assurance she felt in Marco’s presence. She felt an even stronger connection with him than she’d had with Alec, this boy who had cared enough to stay behind and help her.
They finally reached the edge, and as they did, Dierdre jumped onto her stomach, avoiding a spear sailing through the air. Marco dropped beside her, then jumped into the canal, and he grabbed her hand and dragged her down with him.
Dierdre felt a shock as she was submerged in the icy water up to her waist. She grabbed hold of the slimy stone wall and stood on a stone ledge about four feet deep, up against it. She closed her eyes, not wanting to look at all the corpses floating by on their backs, eyes up, looking to the heavens as if wondering how this could have happened.
“I’ll cross to the other side!” Marco said. “You stay here!”
He pushed off the wall, making his way across the canal, and as he swam, Dierdre caught her breath and yelled: “Marco!”
A spear sailed through the air, just missing him, plunging into the water. She turned and looked up and saw a lone Pandesian soldier running alongside the canal, looking down at them. She braced herself as he spotted her and raised an arm to throw another spear at her.
There came a sudden explosion, and another cloud of dust rolled through, obscuring the soldier. Dierdre held her breath and plunged underwater. She looked up, through the water, for as long as she could, until she watched him, impatient, search the waters, then run on to another, easier, target.
Dierdre surfaced, gasping, then turned and looked anxiously to see if Marco had surfaced at the other end. Finally, she spotted him also surfacing, dripping wet, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Marco reached up, grabbed the heavy chain from the far side of the canal, and dragged it down into the water with him. He tried to affix it to the huge iron hooks at the far side of the canal, but he struggled with it, trying to raise it and failing several times.
There came a horn and Dierdre turned and looked up the canal to see the hull of the massive ship bearing down on her. She knew they had no time.
Come on, Marco! she willed.
Finally, he lifted the heavy iron with shaking hands and hooked the chain into place.
Dierdre swam over to her end of the chain, grabbed hold of it, still dangling at the edge, and raised it with all her might, trying to attach it. It was too much for her to lift, her arms shaking with the effort, and unable to do it, she slid back down.
She closed her eye
s, and she saw her father’s face. Breathing hard, she willed herself to be stronger.
Come on. You can do this. For your father. For yourself.
Dierdre thought of every injustice she had ever received at the hand of the Pandesians, and she finally opened her eyes, let out a great shriek, and with all her might, lifted the chain again. This time it went a few inches higher, just enough so that she could affix it on the hook. She dropped it and it landed with satisfying clink.
She breathed with relief, gulping hard, and turned and looked across the canal. She saw the chain, taut, stretching from one side to the other, all the spikes near the surface, ready. She grabbed the crank beside the hook, as did Marco, each of them waiting. They looked at each other, then turned and watched the oncoming Pandesian warship, now but twenty feet away. They waited, watching silently, Dierdre’s heart pounding.
The ship came closer and closer, until finally it was so close that Dierdre could see the barnacles attached to its hull. Marco turned and nodded at her, and she nodded back. The time had come.
They each turned their cranks at the same time, and as they did, Dierdre felt the chain become more taut. It rose just above the surface, its spikes protruding, and she watched in satisfaction as the ship bore down on it, but feet away, too late to stop.
Dierdre suddenly scrambled up and out of the canal, as did Marco, and she dove to the cobblestone streets just as the ship smashed into the spikes. There came a tremendous cracking noise, and she watched with glee as the massive vessel began to crack, and then splinter.
Within moments, the entire ship was buckling, caving in.
Soldiers shrieked as they realized. They stumbled and then, as they looked over the edge to see what was happening, fell over the sides. They scrambled about in confusion, trying to stop the ship, to turn it back, but there was no time. The ship continued to sail into the spikes, and within moments it collapsed into a pile of wood.