Maggie Furey - Sword of Flames

“Yes, Little One,” the great voice echoed in her mind. “As you have guessed, such an act on my part will constitute another interference by the Leviathan in Wars of Power. After the Cataclysm, we vowed never again to become involved in the affairs of the Magefolk—and already we have done so, for without our help you would never have gained the first two Artifacts. Before I can take you to find the sword, I must consult again with my people.”

“I thought so,” Aurian sighed. “But Ithalasa—are you sure that you want to become involved again?”

“Little One, I am sure. For my part, I trust you to use the Weapons wisely. Whether my brethren will do so remains to be seen….” He hesitated—but when he spoke again, his voice was decisive. ” No—already I know what their answer will be. Last time they permitted me to help you, because they did not believe that you truly could find the lost Artifacts. This time it will be different, for already you have the Harp and the Staff—and the dangers of another Cataclysm have become very real. They will not let me intervene again—and so they must not know. Return to this place as soon as the storm blows out, and I will convey your messenger.”

“But wait,” Aurian objected. “If they find out what you’ve done, will they not punish you? Ithalasa, I can’t let you take that kind of risk for us!”

“You are right,” said Ithalasa. “If they find out, I must certainly pay the penalty—-but the risk is mine to take. Come, Little One—what choice have you, other than to accept? How else will you get back across the ocean?”

Aurian knew he was right—there was no choice—but that didn’t make her feel any better about the business. Nonetheless, she accepted his brave offer with all the gratitude that he deserved, before the Magefolk made their farewells. Through the blowing curtains of rain, they saw the mighty Leviathan erupt gracefully from the water as he leapt high in answer. Falling back into the waves with a splash of fountaining foam that was loud enough to be heard above the keening of the storm, Ithalasa was gone, racing swiftly for the open seas.

Both Mages were soaked and shivering by this time, and Aurian was glad of Chiamh’s offer of a ride back to the home of the fisherfolk, who welcomed the companions of their Herdlord lavishly with hot food and blazing fires. The largest house was given entirely over to their use, for Schiannath’s father had been born of this coastal clan, and they had taken his victory in the Challenge as their own. When they finally managed to escape the effusive hospitality of the fisherfolk, the Mage had never been more grateful in her life to climb into a warm, soft bed with Anvar—but when she got there, she couldn’t sleep all night for worrying about the Leviathan, and the risk that he had willingly taken to help her in her quest.

The storm continued to rage all through the next day and into the following night, whistling in the dripping thatch and battering the sturdy stone-built dwellings of the Xandim fisherfolk. Living on the coast with its capricious weather, the fishing community did not favor tents except during the summer—a fact for which Aurian was extremely grateful. Though she chafed at the delay, it gave her time to appraise her companions of what had resulted from the talk with Ithalasa. The Mages—Aurian with Wolf upon her lap—gathered with Chiamh, Shia and Khanu around the great central firepit that warmed the communal living space of the large stone house, together with Parric, Sangra, Yazour, and the Xandim Herdlord and his sister. Sharing a flask of mead between them, they began to make their plans.

Since there would be some delay while the Xandim were brought across, Aurian and Anvar were reluctant to travel to the north too soon, lest Miathan and Eliseth should sense the presence of the Artifacts and strike at the Mages while they had no companions to support them. Though they were sorry to miss the journey with Ithalasa, it was decided that Parric and Sangra would go in their stead, for they had already stayed with the Nightrunners and had a claim on their friendship. Chiamh would go with them, to communicate with the Leviathan. His powers as a Windeye might also be needed if the weather turned bad again during the crossing.

Once everyone had reached the north, however, they were to make for Eilin’s Valley with all possible speed. Aurian wanted to waste no time in her attempt to claim the Sword. What would happen afterward was still a matter for conjecture. They discussed the possibilities long into the night, before finally deciding that for now, they must leave the future to take care of itself.

The following morning, the companions awoke to find that the storm had broken at last, and they emerged into a sodden landscape of dune and marram grass that had been battered mercilessly by the fury of the elements. After a hasty breakfast the companions walked down to the headland in cool and hazy sunlight that was obscured again and again by a high, thin scum of scudding clouds. The Windeye glanced up with a frown at the uneasy sky. “I fear this run of evil weather has not finished with us yet—but so long as the Leviathan swims as fast as you say, we should have time to make the crossing before the next storm comes.”

“I hope so,” Aurian replied with a shudder.

“If it starts to blow again before you reach Wyvernesse, try to make contact with us,” Anvar told Chiamh. “I’ll do my best to hold it back with the Harp until you’re safely across.”

When they reached the bay they found that the massive waves had vanished, though the sea was still choppy, with a tumbling mane of white foam upon the crest of each swiftly running wave. “Storm or no storm, it looks like we’re in for a bloody wet crossing,” said Parric gloomily—and then his words tailed off as he caught his first glimpse of the long, dark shape of Ithalasa, waiting patiently in the sparkling sea beyond the rocky point. “By the balls of Chathak!” the little cavalrymaster muttered. “I didn’t realize it would be so big!” Sangra, too, was suddenly looking rather pale, and Aurian chuckled at their discomfiture. “Don’t worry,” she assured them. “He can’t bite you—he doesn’t have any teeth.”

“He doesn’t have to,” retorted Sangra. “He could swallow us in a single gulp.”

Aurian signed, and gave it up. Some people would never understand that Ithalasa, for all his vast size and alien appearance, was a wise, gentle and intelligent being. Sadly, she thought of the sacrifice that Ithalasa was making to help these ungrateful land-dwellers. She only thanked the gods that Chiamh had been willing to undertake the journey with the warriors. If they could converse with the Leviathan, she was confident that they would soon lose their fears.

“Little One—are your companions ready?” Ithalasa prompted her gently. Suddenly Aurian realized that he was as anxious as Parric and Sangra to get this journey over. “They are,” she told him.

Though the fisherfolk had provided a small wooden boat to row the voyagers out to the Leviathan, so that they could at least start their journey dry, the Mage herself swam out to commune with him one last time before he left. Even Anvar had no idea of what passed between them in those final moments, but when Aurian emerged from the ocean to wave farewell to her departing friends, he suspected that the redness of her eyes was not entirely due to the salt water. Picking up her cloak from the rocks where she’d left it, he draped it around her shivering shoulders and hugged her close to him. “You know, if you keep on doing this, you’re going to catch your death of cold,” he told her gently.

Aurian looked out wistfully across the water to the sleek, departing shape of the Leviathan. “It would be worth it,” she said softly.