Chapter VIII. Darkest Hour #2
“Our eyes narrowed, our voice a hiss. ‘Voss murdered Gabriel’s wife and child. Why in God’s name would he throw in his lot with the monster he vowed to destroy?’
“‘His daughter be not dead, Liathe, but Dead. He hath cast aside all loyalty for her.’
“We withered down to our haunches then, dragging hands back through our hair.
“‘Oh, Gabriel…’
“‘No matter,’ Maryn declared. ‘Through the goodly work of brave Phoebe, the Sainted Blade be ours. The wedding day be set. All pieces are ’pon the board, and the game hath swung in our favor. We hath need only to defend Augustin from the Voss until the Feast of the Maid. After that…’
“‘Forgive me, Mistress,’ Phoebe said. ‘But we’ve a trouble.’
“‘Speak its name and see it remedied.’
“‘Ashdrinker.’
“We blinked, gaze falling once more upon the Sainted Blade.
She was thrust point down in the snow, gleaming in the gloom.
I was the daughter of a blacksmith, remember.
No stranger to the troubles of steel. We could see a slight imperfection now; a crack, begun at her broken tip, and traveling partway along her length.
“‘She’s damaged. But it seems she’s been repaired?’
“‘I speak nae of condition, but disposition,’ Phoebe replied. ‘The Ashdrinker can speak to any who wield her, Mistress. And if Dior must take her up to be crowned…’
“‘She shall sing of thy treachery to the Grail.’
“‘Mebbe. The damage Gabe did to her when he tried to slay Fabién has left Ash of scattered mind. She’s flighty, like. Some days sharp as her edge, others a babe lost in the woods. After I stole her, she vowed vengeance for my betrayal, cursed and screamed at me the whole night. Next dawn, she forgot who the hell I even was. Hour to hour, she might demand to be returned to Gabriel, sing a bawdy song, act as if we’re best of friends.
But if she collects herself enough when we give her to Dior… ’
“‘Scattered mind, ye say.’
“Maryn’s eyes roamed Ashdrinker’s length, hard as iron.
“‘Prophecy deems only that the blade be present as the thrones of heaven and earth are united,’ she declared. ‘Not that it be whole. And if so small a crack hath scattered her mind, it should not take much more to shatter it.’
“Phoebe and I exchanged a glance at that.
The Ashdrinker was blessed of heaven, and neither Maryn nor myself could touch her without burning our hands to cinders.
Though Phoebe was bound to the Mother, still she cared for Gabriel, and those he cared for in kind.
If Maryn was asking what we thought she was asking …
“But rather than looking to Phoebe, the Mother turned her black gaze on us.
“‘See to it, Liathe.’
“‘… See to what, Mother?’
“‘The shattering.’
“We looked to Ashdrinker, that silvered dame yet smiling upon the hilt.
“‘Why us? We cannot touch her, w—’
“‘A display of loyalty. Sweet Phoebe’s hath already been assured in blood. But we move toward crescendo now, Celene. We must be assured of fidelity. Asked ye, did we not, if we could count ’pon thee in darkest hour to come? ’
“‘You did.’
“‘Assure us, did ye not, we could rely ’pon thee to do what must be done? ’
“‘… We did.’
“‘This be that darkest hour.’
“Again we looked to Phoebe, and imprisoned behind the chains of blood between her and Maryn, we could yet see the heartbreak in her eyes. Slow horror dawned on her face as we slipped off our greatcoat, wrapped it about our hands to protect them. The wind was razors, but we felt no chill at all until we closed our fingers about Ashdrinker’s hilt. ”
Deep in the bowels of Sul Adair, the Last Liathe fell silent.
Jean-Francois fixed his eyes across the river, saw she was sat cross-legged on the oil-washed stone, rocking softly back and forth.
The elation of the wine-laced blood she’d drunk had faded, leaving her as it left many; melancholy and muddied with regret.
And as she lifted her gaze to his, the historian saw bloody tears in her eyes.
“She was singing,” Celene whispered. “And I knew not how nor why, but she sang the same hymn I’d heard my Laurent play, my first night in San Yves. The same I’d sung as a child in our chapel in Lorson, Mama and Papa and Amélie and Gabriel beside me.
“To Thee, My Heart.
“But her song faltered as she felt my touch. And into the silence now ringing between us, she spoke, her voice a glittering hymn in my mind.
“I know ye. Thou art m-m-my Lion’s Hellion. My Gabriel’s d-d-dear Celene. And if thou art kin to m-m-my brotherbrother, thou art also kin t-t-to me.
“I made no reply, only tightening my grip, glancing now to Maryn.
“Ye need not d-do this, sister.
“I looked into Ashdrinker’s eyes, then. That silvered maid upon the hilt. I could hear notes of fear in the song of her voice, notes of sadness, notes of pain.
“Not for her, I think now.
“For me.
“I have watched ye struggle, she told me. Have seen ye b-b-bleed. Yet for all the pain thou hast suffered, the blood thou hast spilt, the lies thou hast told, in thy heartheartheart v-v-virtue hath e’er abided. Ask thyselfself now, be this deed righteous? B-b-be it just?
“Still I said nothing, looking to the clearing about me, the stone piled at its heart.
“Broken granite. Jagged edge.
“Think ye Dior shall thank thee for this? Gabriel forgive thee? G-G-God shrive thee?
“‘Do it,’ Maryn commanded.
“In thy heart, ye know this b-be sin, sister.
“I raised the blade above our head, teeth bared in a gasping, heaving snarl. Ashdrinker weighed as heavy as the entire world at that moment. But I knew that was what hung in the balance here. Not just my soul, but the fate of every soul on this earth.
“Celene, p-please do n—
“We brought the blade down on the rocks, hard as we could, the flat of her smashed against that jagged granite spur.
The song of metal and splintering stone rang bright in the night.
But Ashdrinker was forged of sterner stuff than mere steel, and rather than crack her, the blow simply enraged her, her song now become a scream.
“UNHAND ME, VILLAIN!
“Echoing in our skull, silver-sharp and splitting as we raised her high again.
“F-F-F-FAITHLESS SWINE! BASEBORN WRETCH, FILTHY NOT M-M-MMY HILT WITH—
“We brought her down again. And again. And again. With each blow, sparks flew in the dark, stone crumbling, Phoebe flinching, Ashdrinker’s screams ringing louder and fiercer in my skull. But at the fourth strike, her pitch shifted, discordant and warped now.
“T-tt-ttake thy sty stickstickstick—
“Again we brought her down on the stone.
“Once I had a b-b-brrrother, and we would play pretendofknights and b-b-blades—
“Again.
“S-s-s-stop, p-p-puh—
“Again.
“Again.
“Again.
“G-G-Gabriel—
“Phoebe stood still and silent, but as I continued smashing Ashdrinker upon those stones, I saw the fleshwitch was crying, shoulders shaking in silent sobs. In that moment I realized I was weeping also, what little blood I had in me spilling down my cheeks.
“Four tablespspspspoons of b-b-buhbuhbutter …
“There was no song in Ashdrinker’s voice now. No silver left at all. Just rust and ruin and regret, a choir so far out of tune it ceased to be music at all.
“TovrEM ma’da? So voTHVOthvOth sAn’et?
“I stopped hurting her, looking now upon the blade in my hands. The welds in her spine were broken open. The crack at her tip now driven all the way to her root.
“FoURf-f-FOUrfour taBLEspoOns …
“Her voice faded to a whisper, but still she smiled as she looked at me.
“whO ARe y-y-YOu?
“I dropped the blade into the snow, hand gone numb, stilling her voice in my skull. And into that ringing silence, empty as tombs, Maryn spoke instead.
“‘Evil ye are. Lest evil ye be.’
“We swallowed thick, ashes on our tongue as we stared at the broken blade. And in that starsteel, in the place my reflection should’ve been, I saw my master’s face.
“‘No more than the monster he made me.’”