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"But Fiona," Niall said, looking at the sword. "Don't you see- you'll live forever."
Clutching the hilt in his right hand, Niall stepped around Fiona and came behind her.
"It's going to be perfect." He wispered into her ear. "It's going to be alive."
Holding her head still, Niall placed the bottom of the blade- close to the hilt, on the left side of Fiona's neck. Then began to pull the razor sharp implement across the soft, smooth, skin of her exposed throat. The sword cut deep, severing vein and artery, muscle and cartilage. Blood began to pour from the fresh wound. Slowly and smoothly- with every inch he pulled on the long blade, the weapon sliced deeper. Until Niall felt bone and then he quickly removed the steel from the laceration. The trough began to fill with the ardent essence of Fiona's life.
The torrent of blood slowed and Niall allowed Fiona to settle comfortable on the edge. He watched apathetically as the red liquid dripped from the sword onto his hand. Fiona's blood. Deep inside he was being smothered. What had he done? His consciousness was numb, suppressed. It felt like he was submerged underwater, unable to breath. He had no will of his own.
"I love you too, Fiona."
His wife's blood trickled down the flat of the blade and he wanted to scream, but he had no volition of his own. Fiona was still alive- she clung to life, gasping for breath. Niall quickly submerged the instrument into the trough, the blood inundated it like a deluge that swamped his life.
The fluid started to boil- creating small whirlpools all over the surface. The eddies began to merge, growing larger as they swallowed each other- until they coalesced into a large maelstrom above the hilt. The smoke that hung heavily in the rafters began to swirl, creating a vortex even though there was no discernible movement of the air. The funnel shaped cloud reached down to the sword and coalesced with the current, spinning faster in a counter clockwise rotation.
Niall watch as the Shachath smiled ominously and lifted its misshapen head. With a windless rush it evaporated. Appearing to alter its state of matter, a tornado rose from the floor enveloping the Shachath, mingling with the dark smoke of the coal. Then, as if some unseen force from another realm drove it with aggression, the smoke raced into the sword. Silently, all movement stopped as the vortex in the blood quickly closed, sending ripples across its surface like silk fluttering in a breeze. Without hesitation, Niall reached into the trough and retrieved the implement, blood dripped from his hand. It was dark and viscous.
"Look, Fiona." Niall said. "Its perfect."
Nakal Mish'Pachah came out of the shadows and stood beside Niall. He reached out and lifted Niall's arm to raise the sword into the light. The blade was almost all clean of the blood, what remained was beginning to dry on Niall's hands.
"Exquisite." Nakal said. "But your not finished yet."
"I'm not?"
"No, your not. The sword must become stronger. It must be fed."
Niall looked up into Nakal Mish'Pachah's dark elven eyes.
"I must feed the sword." He acceded.
A sudden knock at the door made Niall look up. Nakal Mish'Pahchah smiled as he took a couple of steps back to let the shadows envelop him. The door began to slowly open. White winter light cut into the blacksmith shop, slicing into the darkness as if it were soft flesh.
"Mom. Dad," came the familiar sweet voice of Nighean.
The door opened wider as she stepped across the threshold. Blinding light engulfed the interior, casting aside the dark as if in judgement. Nighean stood in the doorway enshrouded by an aureole radiance. Soft wisps of smoke twirled around the door frame, making its egression. Niall was abacinated by the spendor of his daughter.
He wanted to scream, tell her to run- to get as far away from him as possible but he could utter no word of warning. There was no desperate appeal for her to escape. His empathy was burried deep inside beyond his reach. He had to strengthen the sword. It was the only thing his consciousness could focus on. Niall would have closed his eyes the brightness but an unseen sentient made him endure the pain.
"Dad?" Nighean said when she noticed her father in front of her. "I heard Mom scream. Is everything OK?"
"Yes, everythings fine, Nighean. Come in." Niall said.
"Why did Mom scream?" She asked.
Niall stepped in front of his daughter as she shifted her eyes from her father to what was behind him. Commanding Nighean's attention, Niall brought the sword up in front of her. The blade reflexed her image as it caught the sharp light.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Niall asked distracting her.
"Yes Dad, it is. But Mom..."
Without any hesitation, Niall brought the tip of the sword down and gently slid it upwards under her chin. Without a sound it cut cleanly through her delicate flesh and into her brain. Feeling it strike the inside of her skull, Niall quickly removed the blade. Nighean dropped like she didn't have any consistency. Hitting the floor hard, she twitched a few times and lay still.
Niall stood over his daughter impassively. Her blood quickly spread out from her small body and around his feet. The screaming voice that was inside him was swallowed up and the love of a father was buried in a cold grave. Time stopped for Niall. His perception of things was not his own. Pulled down into a pit of despair, Niall's numbed sense of awareness perceived only one thing. Niall saw himself coruscated in the metal as it caught the cold light, an image he didn't recognize. The sword was the only thing that mattered. A thought rose inside him. It welled up from some deep pit in his psyche but not of his own making. He knew, suddenly, what he had to do. Stepping over his daughter, sodden imprints remained on the floor. Step by step, he left wet crimson markers behind- testimony of his guilt.
Niall grimaced when he entered into the cold, grey, overcast sky. Snow continued to fall as it covered everything in a blanket of white. In the weak light, shadows ruled and the trees were a wall of black. Curling off the roof top, the snow was about to fall, making the drifts deeper. Niall ploughed his way down the path, the snow was soft and dry but it still made walking difficult. He hesitated for a moment before he took the step up onto the porch. He could only perceive the snow softly colliding against things as it rushed past him in the wind.
Coming up to the door he lifted the latch and pushed it slowly open. A soothing warmth wafted through the door and the familar smell of home should have been consoling but Niall was oblivious to it all. The volition of his will was no longer his own and was usurped by cruelty.
"Keava. Laoch." Niall called gently to his youngest children. There was no response.
Everything was still and quiet, except for the crackel of the fireplace that was set into the wall of the living room. It had a low burning fire and the stones in the mantel radiated heat. The grey light of the day illuminated the house dimly. To Niall's left, the kitchen was empty. Dishes were on the counter and breakfast was half eaten on the table. He silently walked through the kitchen towards the hallway at the back of the house. An unseen hand pushed him forward.
Standing in the hallway, Niall peered into the first bedroom. The small bed in the closest corner was empty- Keava wasn't there. Stepping into the room he saw Laoch sitting on the floor- at the foot of his bed, quietly playing with a toy. He seemed so small, sitting cross legged with his back towards his father.
"What are you doing, Laoch?" Niall asked.
"Playing Daddy." Laoch responded. "What are you doing?"
"Look what I made. Do you like it?" Niall said bringing the sword up.
Laoch got up and turned, standing only to Niall's waste, he gazed up at his father. Niall looked down on his son. Laoch appeared tired, dark circles enveloped his soft brown eyes.
"Yes, Daddy, its great." Laoch said rubbing his eyes. "Where's Mommy?"
Niall had no thought at that moment, instinct was his only urge. His mind was cast into a lake of oblivion. Reaction and impulse, were the only motivation. Niall rose the weapon high over his head, Laoch watched the steel above him. With its own we
ight and momentum, Niall let the sword fall. On a slight angle it cut through the soft young flesh of Laoch's left shoulder. Slicing through his lung and severed his heart. Red gore sprayed in a small arc all around the young boy, covering Niall with his son's blood. Laoch remained posed for a moment before he silently slumped to the floor, landing in a twisted angle. Gore rapidly extended outwards from the gaping wound.
Niall turned when he suddenly realized his youngest daughter was standing in the doorway, watching. Keava held her blanket to her chin, chewing on the corner, and she was still in her night clothes. Her wide innocent eyes stared at her father accusingly. She turned and ran into the kitchen- her small bare feet slapping on the solid wooden floor.
"Keava." Niall said, quickly following her. "Come here, Girl."
As Keava ran around the corner heading for the front door, she collided with a tall, hooded figure standing on the threshold. Nakal Mish'Pachah grabbed her and pushed her back. Diabolical, black, almond shaped eyes smiled down at her. He gave the same grin to Niall.
Niall seized his daughter and gently turned her towards him. He looked into the innocent eyes of his youngest child. Her soul was full of trust in her father- he could do no wrong. She was safe and protected when he was around. She knew her father would never hurt her. But that look of absolute trust and love didn't register on his disposition.
Bring the sword back on a low angle, Niall swung hard. The blade cut smoothly through her young flesh, severing her spinal cord. Blood gushed from the wound- forced out by her still beating heart. The small delicate body of the young girl hit the floor at the same time as her head. The little body slumped onto its back and the head attemped to roll. Thick, crimson, liquid spread across the floor, soaking the plush carpet.
Niall stood looking at the sword. Blood dripped from the blade, cleaning itself. Dried, dark, red flakes, Fiona's blood, clung to hands. His face and body were covered in the blood of his children. Niall turned and hesitantly, handed the sword to Nakal Mish'Pachah. Nakal, eagerly took it from him.
"Well done, Niall." Nakal said. "Now you are finished. It is beautiful. A work of craftmanship."
Niall fell to his knees, next to the body of his youngest daughter. All the emotion that was constrained within him came in a blinding flash, like a dam that was breached. His empathy and compassion were given back to him and he knew what he had done. The uxoricide of slashing his wife's throat- to the filicide of ending Nighean's life and mutilating his youngest children. It all came to him in visions and he saw what he had done. They were dead by his hands. The overwhelming pain consumed him.
"Kill me," was all Niall could say.
Laughing, Nakal Mish'Pachah looked at him. "I have no doubt you feel like dieing. Your guilt must be intense. But your not going to die, Niall. You're going to live."
Nakal looked at the blade closely. "You've created an item of pure, malignant, perfection. It couldn't have been done without you."
Nakal Mish'Pachah removed a large sheet of black material from his cloak and wrapped the sword into it. Then, placing it back into his cloak, he simply let go and it seemed to disappear.
"Good bye, Niall Emayn." Nakal said as he turned and walked out of the house. He was quickly swallowed by swirling snow.
Niall was left alone, kneeling next to his murdered daughter. Rocking back and forth, he held his head in his hands. He could feel the blood covering his body and his thoughts were a turmoil of wretchedness.
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