Episode 9: For The Sword, Chapter 3

"It will not end well, child."

Flora's voice echoed, rebounding off the stone walls of the spiral staircase that led up the Fairy Tower of Dunvegan Castle. Behind her, golden tresses bound up into a long braid, Seonaidh followed, carrying a pile of freshly laundered towels.

"But, Cailleach, surely you, in yer wisdom, know how dangerous it is to put bars on a heart," replied the girl, following close behind the crone. "A heart that is free can grow and learn. If he is not for me, I will learn it and grow from it and move on."

"And if he is for yeh?" Flora turned on the stairs and looked down at her descendent. "What will you do, child, if yeh allow yer heart to rule yer head in this? If aught should happen to me, your mother will inherit my title and all that goes with it. Should ill fate befall her, that mantle falls to you, maid. You know my years. Are you willing to bind yourself to that young blether, perhaps for a life as long as mine?"

"I would like the chance to find out," she replied, sticking her chin out defiantly.

"You are not hearing me, girl," said Flora sternly, matching the young woman stare for stare. "The maiden must marry and become the mother. Only then can she become the crone. The hag. The Cailleach. The life of a Cailleach is long. The life of a Librarian can be long too. Both are called to different worlds. He must roam and you must stay. If he is a good man, he will feel that geas always. He will never be able to settle here. Is that what you want? A hundred lifetimes of loneliness?"

"If the life of the Cailleach is so long, what chance is there that I should directly succeed my mother?" Seonaidh pointed out. "What need do I have of the knowledge yeh have drummed into me? The power I hold that only others can use."

"Do you think I have the Seer's Stone in my pocket?" Flora frowned. "You know our history, girl. You know we have no power over the future that any other might have. How are we to know how long, or short, our lives might be? Ragnarok is coming. The final battle. And in that battle we may have to fight to defend ourselves, our home, and our legacy. Who knows who may fall in that fight?"

"Then all the more reason we should be free to live as we choose until then!" Seonaidh retorted.

"Ach, ye have an answer for everything, like all the young," sighed Flora grimly. "But hear this child. If you pursue this boy, yeh walk a path that leads nowhere but heartache and destruction. Pain and loss will salt your bed with tears, and the grief will be the worse for knowing it was of your own doing. Heed me now, or heed me not, there is still work to be done that calls us. Now pick up your heels and follow me."

XXXX

"The Singing Sword of Conaire Mor," Jenkins looked down at the clipping that had popped up in Jones' book. "Well, it certainly looks like it. Legend says it can only be handled by a true hero. Once in a true hero's keeping, it will 'sing' if danger threatens and give him 'power to command the hearts of men'. I'm not sure how that works if you're trying to sneak up on someone but, well..." Jenkins shrugged expansively. "Apparently it will also 'sing' if raised aloft by the true king of Ireland, but I dare say there's little chance of that."

"How do you know it's that particular sword?" Da Vinci cut in from the other side of the table. "There are many ancient swords in the world, and more than one of them 'sings' if used right!"

"It matches the description," began Jenkins, handing the book over to the artist. "Not the one in everyday mythology books. The one we have. The History of the Isle of Ireland as told by Tuan mac Cairill, written down by Colum Cille as it was spoken to him. 'Through my many lifetimes I have become the guardian of human courage and dreams. I am legend incarnate. I am memory turned myth.'"

"Speak for yourself," da Vinci raised an eyebrow at the reverent way Jenkins intoned the quote. He turned to Jones and held out the book. "You, boy. Have you read this book he's babbling on about?"

"Not yet," Jones replied, his eyes flicking dubiously between the two elders. "That was my next port of call, if there was anything else left in there to read. I couldn't find much on Google."

"You googled the Singing Sword of Conaire Mor?" Jenkins turned exasperated eyes on Jones.

"Well, yeah," the thief shrugged. "The internet knows everything. It's always my first port of call."

"Not in this case," Jenkins told him with a look of mild despair. "Don't worry about the book: you know the main details now. Just remember to wear your gloves when handling the sword, and if it sticks itself in a stone, call me!"

XXXX

"Do you have it?" The woman asked.

The black-clad man held up a vial that threw grotesque shadows around the room. Light burned within it and smoke seemed to writhe within its dark red contents. The man's gloved hand was trembling. He knelt and bowed his head, vial still held aloft. "It is yours my queen."

"Indeed," the queen sighed. She put out a slender gloved hand and lifted the vial from the man's hand, placing it in a short, stone cylinder. "You have done well. What is your name?"

"Simmonds, my queen," replied the man, without looking up. He was tall, lean and muscular, almost certainly ex-armed forces of some kind. He had the graceful ease of movement of a trained killer.

"You have done well, Simmonds," the queen repeated. "Remind me why you joined our humble family?"

"This world is broken, my queen," Simmonds replied. "It needs something greater than ourselves to fix it."

"And magic is that something?"

"Yes, my queen," he bowed deeper.

"Then you shall be a part of that which destroys this broken world and builds it up anew," she decreed. "As you have shown you can be trusted in small things, I shall trust you in greater ones. You shall be my serpent brother. You shall take on the avatar of Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent."

"I shall not fail, my queen," Simmonds bowed even further.

"You shall require more items of power for your transformation," said the queen. "Wilkins, the list for the Serpent."

"Yes, my queen," bowed Wilkins, standing by his liege's side. He fumbled for a notepad then, producing one, flipped through to the right page. "The talisman you will need is the fish hook the god Thor used to try to capture you. You will also need the skin of a selkie. All else we have. You must be ready by the first quarter point of the year."

"Yes, sir," Simmonds bowed briefly to Wilkins, then turned to the queen once more. "I seek leave to depart immediately, my queen."

"Granted," nodded the queen. "But first you must follow the Professor to his library. He will have valuable information to aid you on your quest."

Simmonds bowed deeper. "By your command, my queen."

XXXX

"Are you sure this is right?" Eve Baird asked, following her intended though the picturesque, leafless vista of the New Forest, hand in hand. "I can't see many spears just lying around in a forest for centuries and not getting found."

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it," replied her fiancé. "You can't see it. I remember Judson once telling me if you really want to hide something, hide it in plain sight."

"In a forest?" Eve looked at him. "Wouldn't 'in plain sight' for a spear be in an armoury?"

"Depends on the spear, my love," Flynn raised Eve's hand to his lips and kissed it.

"You're not making any sense again," mused Eve. "What are you not telling me?"

"Oh, so very many things," teased Flynn. "The language of the birds, the secrets of the masons..."

"About the spear," Eve replied, shouldering him sideways.

"Ah, the spear, yes," Flynn tugged at his chin with his free hand. "You're the weapons expert, Eve. Define a spear."

"Long shaft," she sighed. "Sharp, pointy end, usually made of steel."

"Usually," Flynn swung round in front of her triumphantly. "Usually is not the same as always. Before steel, we used iron; before iron, bronze; before bronze, flint. Always the result is the same: sharp, pointy end. So why not simply a sharp, pointy stick? In Norse mythology, Loki's Spear is the sharpened shaft of mistletoe he put into the hand of Hod, blind brother of Balder. Because of a dream that Balder had had, Odin and Frigg, his parents, ordered everything to swear an oath that they would not harm him. The mistletoe alone did not swear, so, when the rest of the gods were having fun throwing things at Balder to test out his new found invincibility, Loki made a long dart from the mistletoe, like a javelin, and put it in Hod's hand, pretending to give him a normal dart, and aiming his hand for him."

"Not a guy to be trusted, clearly," quipped Eve. "Still doesn't explain why we're here. I have never seen a piece of mistletoe that was large enough to be used as a spear. It would certainly stand out."

Flynn stopped in front of a broad oak tree. "That's because you're forgetting something.

"And what's that?" Eve drew her hand back and folded her arms, watching him expectantly.

"Magic!" Flynn replied with a grin. He reached up to one of the stout lower branches of the oak. A vine like branch wound round it, camouflaged against the bark by moss and lichen.

Nothing happened.

Flynn looked up in confusion. He brushed away some of the plant growth and tied again. Nothing. He frowned. "That's not good."

XXXX

Jacob Stone heard the footsteps on the stairs and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He had tried sleep, but, like the fickle mistress it was, it had eluded him. Behind him, the door opened and Flora and Seonaidh walked in. He understood what Jones saw in the girl: she was pretty. Apparently she also had a Doctor Who addiction, and enjoyed reading comics and crime stories. He had to admit: so far, she sounded perfect for Jones. He watched her disappear into the en suite and replace the towels. Flora moved to the bed and looked down at her patient. As he watched the old woman, he saw her face change. She went from a look of concern and worry, to a look of puzzlement and confusion, to one of surprise and relief.

Stone got up and walked over. "What is it?"

"Be seated, young man," ordered the Cailleach. "Our sleeper is nearing wakefulness. I must examine her and make sure there is not lasting damage."

Obediently, Stone moved back to his chair. As he watched, the Cailleach reached out to the dormant figure on the bed, holding one hand over Cassandra's forehead and running the other down to her toes and back again, all without dropping her hands any closer than an inch from the sleeper. She turned to Stone, smiled and nodded.

"She sleeps a normal sleep now," said Flora, gesturing in the direction of the bed. "You can wake her if you wish."

The old woman stepped aside to let Stone take his place by Cassandra's side, moving to the other side of the room as Seonaidh returned from the bathroom, old towels in hand. She nodded at Stone, leaning down to kiss Cassandra. "That is what true love looks like, child," she murmured, too low for Stone to hear. "Yet even they would suffer intolerable heartache were she to be locked away here indefinitely."

"But they would still rather suffer it," the girl replied, "than miss out on that love entirely."

"Name one couple you know that have said that," sighed Flora. "One real couple, girl."

Over at the bed, Cassandra stirred.

"Hey there, princess," said Jacob softly. "Time to wake up now."

"What?" Cassandra groaned, reaching up and rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after two in the morning, local time," breathed Jacob, a relieved smile breaking across his face like the dawn after the longest night.

"Where's local?" Cassandra asked, sitting up. She blinked and focussed on Flora and Seonaidh. "Oh."

"You passed out in the warehouse, do you remember?" Jacob scrutinised his girlfriend's face as she shook her head. "You've been out nearly two weeks. We brought you here because Jenkins thought Flora might know better what to do."

"Two weeks?" Cassandra's eyebrows shot up her forehead. "I must have missed so much! Did we catch the bad guys yet?"

"Not yet, darlin'," Jacob replied, shaking his head with a laugh. "We're workin' on it though. Jones is taking care of the day to day stuff. Jenkins and da Vinci are squabbling of the stuff we brought back in the boxes. Flynn and Eve are going after few relics we've narrowed down and I've got a few cases to look into myself."

"On your own?" Cassandra frowned.

"I am qualified, darlin'," he reminded her. "We both are."

"Then you can give me some of those books over there and tell me what we're working on," she replied.

"Well," sighed Jacob. "I'm not sure you should be exerting yourself so soon, but... Currently I'm looking for information on the Flaming Sword of Surt, the fire giant. You could take a look at that one if you want. Not just now though," he cast a glance round at the two women, but they had already left. "I know you've just woken up, but what do you say we sleep now and look at them together in the morning?"

Cassandra smiled and traced the lines of weariness on his face. "I can live with that."