Alright, this is book number five, so without much preamble, let’s get right into it. If you’re a newcomer to this series, I suggest you nip over to the sneak peek of “Into FaerLand“

And so with no further ado, let’s go!

PART I: UNREADY

Forge their thorns early.

Keera Faces Demons

Winter 1920

like an overgrown cross between a squirrel and a hedgehog, with its oversized back legs and a long, spiked tail that it used to balance like an Earth kangaroo.

Together, they ran to the edge of the rock, where twenty other Warriors of the Dragon were spread out behind little Sangi, her mother and the Learnéd Elder leading the ceremony.

Ma and Da weren’t here. They’d be on duty further on the outskirts, keeping an eye out for the occasional trespassers who made it onto the sacred DragonLands. But Geran, her betrothed, had made it, his hard eyes staring out over the bone-worm-pocked land, alert to any danger. A sober, serious man of imposing height, with strong arms, and a strong jaw. He glanced her way and smiled.

Keera nodded back. Of all the eligible men here, he was clearly the best choice. Strong, ambitious and handsome. And yet…I am in no hurry. When I’ve completed my sword training.

Near the stone edge, Sangi, dressed in a sandy pinafore and leggings with soft, felt shoes to cushion the sound of her footsteps, glanced back nervously, an inky-dark curl falling over an eye.

Keera gave her an encouraging smile. The ceremony was sacred. A coming of age for any able child of the Wastelands. The dragon skeletons rearing up out of the wastelands seemed so much smaller than when she was young and they had towered out of the stone-hard ground like monsters. Large they may be, but old dragon bones are not the danger here. A chill prickle of fear ran through Keera as she gazed over at the cracked mudstone ground where the bone worms ranged. They were dangerous, mindless beasts that sprayed a bone-melting acid and fed on the resulting goo. Individually, they looked like harmless earthworms, but the things were known to hunt in packs, seeking out the vibration of footsteps and shooting up out of the pitted ground in bone-and-flesh-melting flurries to attack their prey.

Even the spike-beasts seemed anxious. A half-dozen of the companion animals pattered back and forth near the edge of the rocky outcrop they lived on—an island in a sea of bone-worm-infested wasteland. Normally, the spiky creatures would be reaching down to the pitted stone below and tapping the tough end of their long tongues on the ground to call their favourite food source, the bone worms. The worm-like organisms jumped up excitedly in response to almost any noise and so could be snatched out up out of the air by the spike beasts’ long dextrous tongues. Today, though, the spike beasts avoided the edge, retreating back to the safety of the rock the village had been built on.

Sangi, all of six, turned her wide-eyed attention to the village elder, who waved his arm across the landscape and spoke in a ceremonial whisper.

Despite knowing the words by heart, Keera strained to hear.

“We are the People of the Dragon. We protect that which has gone and will come back again. We protect that which is hidden. Treasures for the ages. Beware, some are so important and dangerous that they’ve been placed behind a magical shield, so don’t approach those ones, ever.”

“Oh, is that like the Hammer of Creation? And the Eternal Flame,” Sangi interrupted. She wasn’t the kind of child to meekly agree, even if that was what was expected.

“Well, not the Eternal Flame as such.” The elder pulled on his beard. “It’s actually a book called The Shadow and Light of the Eternal Flame. It’s very dangerous. More so than the Golden Fleece and Hammer of Creation combined… if the stories we’ve been told are correct.”

“Oh,” Sangi said, her eyes widening. “Well, have you ever seen the Eternal Flame the book is based on?”

“You ask too many questions,” Geran snapped in a display of power that would have been unseemly if anyone else had done it—but he was the golden boy, seen by all as heading toward great things. “It is not right in one so young.” And a girl. The words stayed unsaid, but Keera heard them from her betrothed, nonetheless. A chill wind blew, raising goosebumps on her shoulders and setting her brown skirts rippling to reveal the rose-red panels otherwise hidden in her skirt. But whether the biting cold was real, or in her head, Keera wasn’t sure.

The elder retook control of the ceremony. “Yes, indeed, Sangi, I see the light of creation every day. And you are right to be curious. Only not too curious. Many of the items we protect are so dangerous they had to be confiscated from the gods themselves to prevent their misuse. So, we need to know, are you prepared to protect them? Are you prepared to keep this land safe from demons until the dragons return? Are you ready to become a Protector?”

Sangi nodded, her inky-dark curls bobbing gently. Her mother nudged her and the little girl spoke in a clear voice. “I am not ready. But I am ready to learn.”

“Then prove it. Avoid the bone worms and touch your hand to the dragon bones.”

“Run fast and fleet,” Keera murmured, her voice mingling with the others. Again, her stomach clenched as she gazed over the expanse of rock.

No sign of bone worms. No sign of demons. I’m panicking over nothing. Relax.

Sangi’s mother, careful to only show her child a brave face, turned briefly to knuckle away her tears before kneeling to face her daughter—much as every parent did when their child was about to face this test. Sangi had lost her father two years ago to a demon attack. A tragedy that meant he could not be here, but also one that had brought much of their community along today. As did many others, Keera felt tightly bonded to this precious young thing she’d stepped up to help raise.

“Sangi, my daughter, you are strong as rocks and as fleet as the wind. Promise me, you’ll be careful. Light feet, fast feet. Touch the bones and do not linger.”

“I know, I know. Avoid the cracks, Mama.” The child dropped her voice to whisper something Keera couldn’t hear. But the questions Keera had asked at that age still rang in her ears: “Why do we still do this? Why do we risk our lives to touch bones?”

Questions that seemed more relevant now that Keera was older. She’d seen the treasures and understood that they were both valuable and dangerous, but her instinct was to smash them all and bury them under sand and ocean if it would save a single precious life.

“But Mama,” the child’s voice rose when she received no answer, her jaw set in a stubborn line that indicated she knew she was breaking protocol. “I don’t want to. The ground is angry.”

Keera, the sound of her own blood roaring in her ears, put her hand to her sword. It made her feel safe, although it would do nothing against bone worms. And it certainly wouldn’t protect the child. She couldn’t help but notice that for all her brother’s apparent bravado, his knuckles were white around his pommel of his favourite sword. A rubbish sword. It is too heavy for him.

Keera gripped her own blade. Light and sharp, and made centuries ago. Scratched and dinged, she’d mended it a dozen times as she would have no other. It felt right and sang to her in a way few others did. And certainly, none made by the latest smithy. I would do a better job.

“Go!” the elder ordered, breaking Keera’s reverie. The child, jolted from her frozen fear, jumped down from the protective rocks and dashed toward the dragon bones. Before she’d covered a dozen yards, a spray of flesh-coloured bone fish boiled out of the ground in front of her. Far more than a small child should ever have elicited.

“Run back! Dodge!” Keera cried as Sangi turned to sprint back to the safety of the safer rocks. Sangi’s mother jumped down onto the waste, risking her life to cross the treacherous bone-worm-pitted, grey mudstone.

“Mama!” Sangi screamed, dodging a wriggling pink-brown mess of worms, the acid from their slime catching the child’s hem. “Mama!”

Sangi’s mother sprinted across the stone, but Keera was faster. She belted past the woman, snatching Sangi off the ground and swinging her to safety as another flurry of bone worms erupted from the ground where she’d just been.

“I’ve got her. I’ve saved her!” Keera cried, zig-zagging to avoid a flurry of bone worms—and on her return almost ran into Sangi’s mother collapsed on the ground.

No, not simply collapsed. A boneless corpse! She could only have been there for moments.

Keera twisted away, pulling the child’s face to her shoulder so she wouldn’t have to see. In a final burst, she sprinted the last few steps and jumped up onto the stone, brushing past a couple of spike-beasts brave enough to lean over the edge to feed, long tongues flicking down to catch the frenzied beasts.

Safe for now, Keera wanted to curse the rest of the crowd who stood there, frozen, while her heart thudded in her chest, nearly matching the child’s frenzied beat.

The spike-beasts, who’d been plucking bone worms from the air, sniffed and bolted away to hide in the crevices of the stones.

“Demons!” Geran shouted.

Keera swivelled back.

Striding across the pitted greyish stone, ignoring the flurries of bone worms fountaining around their feet, three demons headed their way.

“What happened to the guards?” Keera shouted. What happened to Mum and Dad? Why was there no warning? Why aren’t they here? Her mind shied away from the obvious conclusion. They’d been ambushed and were likely dead.

“Split up and run,” the elder ordered. “Don’t lead them home.”

But before anyone got far, three more demons emerged from the rocks behind them.

Keera’s blood flowed like fire in her veins as a primal fear gripped her. Her sword was a comfort. Holding it with intention, she was able to control her racing heart. I’ve trained for this.

Many scattered, but twenty other Protectors and the elder who had remained were now surrounded. There’s never been so many demons in the DeadLands before. Not even in the old tales. What are they after?

Keera, still hugging the child tight, pulled her blade.

The demons strode closer while more emerged from the rocks, blocking off their escape.

Drop Sangi to better protect her? Or hold on to her in case we need to run?

Keera took a deep breath to centre herself, allowing others to take the lead in the fighting.

The village elder swung his heavy blade. The inlay looked pretty, but it was a modern blade, and his sword clattered off the stony hide of the granite demon.

“That tickles,” the demon roared, shooting out a fist to grab the man and throw him aside so that he fell down to the mudstone to be engulfed by bone worms.

The Protectors, unsure whether to fight or run without an elder to guide them, were fighting half-heartedly.

Someone has to take over, or we’re all going to die. The party of twenty warriors was down to fifteen already. Will my sword hold against this many? Confident that she could at least hurt the creatures, Keera placed the child on the rock behind her for safety and strode forward and roared, “We hold.” Keera hoped everyone could hear over the clash of battle, but there was no time to wait and see. She slashed hard, and the sword bit, the sulphuric stench of demon blood spraying. She pivoted away and came in again with a finishing blow. The demon’s mouth opened in an “o” of surprise as her sword took its arm and cut through its neck.

“Who will protect the city?” Geran asked.

“Let the worms do it. We hold,” Keera shouted. Finally, they were getting backup. Oldsters with old swords that cut through the demons instead of clanging on their stone flesh.

I can make swords like that.

When the demons had been vanquished, they hurried to where the guards had been—only to find them dead. Their throats cut.

Keera’s heart hollowed out and she felt empty. Distant. This can’t really be happening. Mum and Dad had been so vibrant, only this morning…. And now…

Keera’s Mum had put up a fight. Her body smashed against the stone. Her swords battered and broken—but she’d done some damage. Keera recognised the sword buried in the chest of a fallen demon as one she’d straightened not so long ago. At least Mum made the demon pay for her life.

§

Keera helped bathe her mother’s body. Mum is dead. It was hard to keep herself together. Her neighbour helped and moved on. There were five other bodies here to tend to and several wounded, too. Not to mention little Sangi, watching from one of the tables, legs dangling in shell-shocked silence. Keera applied lipstick and dressed her mother in a fancy dress, long enough to hide her battered body. Arranging her cold, cold hands just so. When she was finished, she turned and put her arm around Sangi, whose mother had so little left to take up to Funeral Rock, and hugged her tight.

There are no words. Both our mums are dead. And Dad. And eight others. All people she’d known well—she couldn’t face in the enormity of her loss. How could this have happened? Our swords and our systems were not ready for a posse of demons.

A gong tolled. It was time to go. Keera blinked, expecting tears, but her eyes were still dry from the shock as she met her brother and Geran carrying Father on a makeshift stretcher on the path outside. Father looked smart in his favourite robes, with a matching scarf around his neck to hide awful wound around his throat

Keera knelt to take his cold hand. “When we get to the Funeral Rock, Mum and Dad need to be together.”

If only I could have saved them. If only Mum had a better sword, she might have survived. Only it was too late, and there were too many dead for might haves.

The short journey to Funeral Rock was a blur, and the ceremony was too. Someone put their hand on her shoulder. Keera felt the weight, but didn’t turn to see who it was. And then, before she was ready, the pallbearers were taking the eleven bodies the rest of the way up to the top of Funeral Rock to be food for dragons. Well, large flying creatures. Dragons almost never came here anymore.

The moment the ceremony was over, and the huge wings started to circle, Keera pulled away from the crowd. “I must go. I will learn how to make swords, like the ones of the ancients. Ones that will protect us.”

She doubted anyone heard over the crying. Too many had lost parents and loved ones. And yet Keera could not cry. Her heart was too sore.

“You will come back,” Geran said. So, someone had been listening.

“Yes, I am going to learn how to craft swords against demons. We cannot be this unprepared again.”

Sangi tugged her hand. “Can you take me too?”

Keera nodded, and unable to find the words, simply gathered Sangi to her chest and hurried home to pack her few possessions before she could be talked out of her mission. Within an hour, Keera was walking out of the DragonLands with much to carry, the heaviest of all being her heart and the heart of the child that fluttered with fear against her chest.

On her way to visit the witches and discover what they knew of swordcraft, she passed by Wóþbora cotif. Three children sat on the path squealing with laughter as they played a game of exchanging eyes and ears—for they only had a pair of each between the three and must share them if they wanted to see or hear.

They couldn’t be much older than ten, and Sangi watched them with wide-eyed wonder—no doubt as horrified as Keera was as the left boy squished an eyeball into his left socket, while the right boy tossed up an ear and an eye and the little girl patted at her right ear.

“I see,” the children chorused.

“All the demons in the UnderWorld,” said the first.

“All the bonefish in the sea,” said the second.

“All the swords in all the worlds,” said the third.

“They cannot save me,” the children chorused, before starting on the next verse.

Keera sighed and walked away. Not that it helped. The children jumped up and followed her.

“You must,” they continued behind her. Their young, clear voices alternating with a new speaker for each line.

“Pay the price.”

“And make them sharp.”

“And make them sunny, silver sweet.”

“Gold and silver.”

“Life and death.”

“Sword and shield.”

“I see,”

“You kissed with golden fire.”

“I hear,”

“Your swords will be quenched in the waters of the River of Death.”

“I hear,”

“Your children will be flowers”

“Sweet as nectar and….”

The children broke off as a sudden storm whipped up. It had them ducking for cover.

Keera, busy shielding Sangi from the storm, was unsurprised when it stopped as suddenly as it started and an old lady with milky-white eyes, leaning heavily on a crooked walking stick, hobbled toward her.

Baba Yaga.

Keera held very still. Baba Yaga was a powerful witch and not to be antagonised, not even by a Warrior of the Dragon.

“Children, why do you torment this lady so?” Baba Yaga said. “Leave her alone.”

“But the prophecies,” the biggest child said to her. “They will not leave us alone. She must make the swords. Or…”

“Or what?” Keera asked. “And I’m not exactly planning to have children.”

“It is nothing,” Baba Yaga said. “You should not listen to the babbling of these fools. They know nothing.”

The smallest child ventured out from his hiding place behind a stone mile-marker. “We know too much and not enough.”

Keera sighed. “Children, you are being foolish. I’m not planning to marry at all.”

Sangi looked at her. “What about Geran? Everyone is so jealous.”

Keera shook her head. “I do not know.” But it was a lie. Saying the words aloud had let her hear her own heart. I really need the guts to tell my betrothed I have no want nor need of marriage now I plan to be a sword master.

“Now, young lady, I am not here to tell off these young ones. And although I’m happy to, I’m sure it will make no difference if I am not here to glare at them. I came because I heard you were looking at making swords.”

Why is Baba Yaga taking an interest in me? That can’t be good.

“Anyway,” Baba Yaga said. “I made a list of books for you. And you can tell the young Librarian Lawson I said to help.”

“Thank you,” Keera said politely, as she shifted the tired Sangi into her left arm and took the rumpled piece of paper with her thumb and forefinger.

And with that, Baba Yaga turned and left. She was gone before Keera could decide whether she should burn the list or not. Why is Baba Yaga so keen for me to learn how to make swords strong enough to withstand demons?

Swordmaster

1920—1927

Spurred on by her loss, and the catharsis she found in shaping the swords themselves, Keera’s obsession with sword-crafting grew. In her quest to understand sword making, Keera wandered Brocéliande, studying the books from the Great Library of Alexandria and talking to warriors and kings, princesses and fools. Goblins and Gremlins. Anyone who might have knowledge and would talk to her. But it was not enough. Never enough. Even though her swords were not only famous with her people in the DragonLands, but with all the outsiders who called her world the DeadLands. More famous even. Her swords were soon more prized than money by any warrior who had to fight demons, and she could have become rich—but that was never the aim. It was to save the fallen, the people she could never save. Her heart was empty. And whenever she came home to stay in their parents’ house with her brother, it was a torment. A reminder of what she saw as her failure.

Keera travelled more. Trips where she’d often take the little girl Sangi to study in the Great Library of Alexandria. For little Sangi had unsurprisingly refused to cross the bone-worm-infested ground to complete the ceremony that would allow her to become a Protector. Unable to train like the other children her age, she was studying to be one of the Learnéd—an honourable path for children who did not, or could not, succeed on their dragon run. The trips to the Great Library were something the Learnéd Elders encouraged, saying, “Where is more Learnéd than the Great Library?” One even opined that it would be nice to have a library here, if only they didn’t have to protect that which was hidden.

Today though, Keera had been kicked out of the DeadLands forge. Again. It looked like she was about to be forced onto guard duty with Geran and his troop—a troop that included her brother. “I should be forging swords,” she protested.

“We need to carry out our patrol. Come,” her brother said, pulling her away from the smithy.

Keera shook her head. “You never support me. Have you even got that sword I made you?”

“Right here.” He tapped the third sword on his belt.

Fat lot of good it was going to do there. It should take pride of place, not be buried under the too-heavy clubs masquerading as swords.

But he listened to the muscle-bound fools who said Keera’s swords were too pretty and too light to be effective against stone demons. Which left him with multiple blades that were heavy and hard to wield. Before the current smith, their people’s swords had been fast and light, and flowing. This one sneered at light blades, and at women warriors. And it seemed his opinions were catching. At least among the men.

“Ah, there you are.” Geran stepped in so close she could smell his musk of leather and regret. “I was hoping you’d join us today, betrothed.”

Keera stopped. She forced a smile and stretched. Forging swords into the night was taking its toll. Also, stretching stopped him from getting too close. “Morning, Geran. Where’s the rest of the team?”

Geran pointed behind him.

“Let me grab my sword.” Keera’s feet scuffed the red mat at the door to their family home, releasing a cloud of dust. With all the work that needed to be done, it was hard to keep the place clean. Still, it wasn’t so dirty that the door was sticking. It closed beautifully behind her, forming a seal so perfect the entrance was near impossible to see. To keep it secret, the wear of footsteps was carefully disguised by randomly placed stones.

Careful now they were out of the settlement, the warriors hopped, skipped and jumped across the perilous terrain to the hidden entrance of the place they still called the Hidden City. Inside, even in its dilapidated state, the place was a wonder. Soft light filtered in through colourful light traps that looked like stained glass. The floors were huge stone and jewelled mosaics made by the most skilled artisans from several hundred years ago. And the walls were covered in old tapestries and beautiful paintings, long since yellowed and frayed with time.

They trudged on to the amphitheatre and its treasures. A massive semicircular building. From this side entrance, they could walk straight across to the low stage on the right which held the altar where the most precious artifacts were kept. To the left was a small drop to the nearest of the seats, the furthest of which stretched out nearly a hundred meters in an enormous semicircle, rising gently. Legend had it that when the dragons flew the skies, the roof would open to allow the dragons to inspect their hoard. Keera smiled, imagining the majesty of the roof opening like a flower to reveal the treasures inside. Still, despite the heavy pulley system that was oiled and maintained to open the roof, she wasn’t sure she believed such a thing was possible. But then she’d never seen the huge door at the front open, either, always preferring the more subtle side passage nearer the village.

Together, the team checked through their list of significant treasures—most of which were piled high around an altar on the far dais and shielded by magic. The Golden Fleece, the Hammer of Creation, and several other items of significance were ticked off. Safe. Sound. Secure. Although the vastness of the cavernous amphitheatre meant many of the minor treasures could disappear and remain unnoticed. It was a testament to their devotion, and the treasures still available topside, that that hadn’t happened. That and the fact that accidentally touching the wrong thing in the hoard would instantly turn you to dust.

Still, despite these fabulous treasures, much of the hoard was nothing but trinkets long past any use other than being pretty on the eye. Keera wished she could use some of the gold and silver on her swords. But there was enough wealth in the ruins of the old Hidden City. It was just a matter of picking through the remains. And those treasures were far less likely to be cursed.

They left, happy nothing had been disturbed, but on the way out, as they closed the heavy stone door to the underground maze behind them, Keera noticed scuffs near the entrance. She pointed silently.

They kept quiet, checking the area.

Nothing.

Keera raced to check the guard post, the team following more noisily than she’d have liked. The sentry was still there—no he wasn’t! He was propped up against the ledge. The red spray on the stone, where he was awkwardly leaning, gave away his death.

“Sweep the area,” Geran ordered. “We need to let everyone know there are demons about.”

While the others checked on the fallen sentry, Geran, Keera and her brother retraced their steps. The demons had been right here at the doorway. They’d come so close, not seeing the old stone for what it was. Silently, they continued, hugging the edge of the stone amphitheatre where the bone worms couldn’t reach.

The clunk of a heavy footstep alerted Keera, and she swung. Even as her brother and Geran were still drawing their heavy swords, she sliced the attacking demon’s basalt torso in two. Its red-hot lava-like blood gushed forth, and a stench of sulphur split the air.

Keera’s brother, Akander, stood eyeing the carnage and gripping his too-heavy sword tightly in two hands as another demon rushed over the body of the first to get to them.

If he trusted me, he’d be a better fighter.

And then, as three more demons approached, spreading out on the mudstone, flurries of bone-worms jumping at their feet, Akander made a decision and tossed down his old blade. Drawing the sword Keera had made him, Keera’s brother slashed a blow through the shoulder of the oncoming demon. Hot demon blood erupted from the wound along with the eye-watering stench of sulphur.  

At Keera’s brother’s success, Geran at last drew the sword she’d crafted for him. Together, the three of them laid waste to the remaining demons within moments. The rest of their team arrived in time to see their success, and begged Keera to make them swords. “Please, yours work so well. We need them for our safety.”

“I will as soon as I can,” Keera said. “But not every team has a sword yet, and this team already has two.” I have to do more.

The next day, more demons arrived.

To be coming like this, and attacking so often, so close to their hidden village and the entrance of the Hidden City itself, they had to know something. For all the secrecy, someone knew what was hidden here.

Was it one of us?

But from Keera’s time in the Library, she guessed what the rest of her people had not. A dragon had betrayed them.

With the dual pressures of guard duty during the day, and sweating over the forge at night, Keera was reaching breaking point. There has to be another way. I need to forge more often. Every sentry should have one of my swords.

With word of her swords growing, her title of Swordmaster given to her by the Library was increasingly used by the People of the Dragon. It annoyed the current swordsmith, who grumbled and raged and insisted she wait until his work was done for the day before she could use the community forge—a forge designed and enchanted to release no give-away trail of smoke.

Geran, for all that she had told him she didn’t want to marry him, hung around like a bad smell. “Aren’t you done yet?” he asked Keera as she was sanding a nearly finished blade. “It’s almost morning.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if that inept smith hadn’t run late, as usual.” Keera shook her head. On days like today, she could swear the smith was deliberately standing in her way. Keera swiped at the sweat trickling into her eyes with the back of her hand. Even though she’d extinguished the fire, the place was practically an oven, the stone of the walls near hot enough to boil an egg.

Geran shrugged. “He is a Learnéd Elder, you are not. Give him the respect he deserves.”

He deserves no respect. His work is not up to standard. Worse, when women ask him for swords, he treats them as lesser.

“I’m done,” she said, pulling off her gloves and striding from the forge.

“Stop being so touchy.” Geran hurried to block her way.

“I’m so tired of the sneery, weasily little man. He’s got on my last nerve. And he can’t even forge a decent blade.” Keera shouldered her sword. “When I get back, either he finds another job or I do.”

“You cannot go,” Geran insisted, grabbing her hand.

She pulled away, not appreciating his clinging, or the oniony scent of his sweat. “I have taken many journeys away from here.”

He thrust out his jaw. “When you are my wife, I will forbid it.”

“I have told you. I will not be your wife. You need to look for someone else.” Keera pulled her hand away from his possessive grip and buckled up her sword belt.

“You made your promises.”

Keera glared at him, barely believing the gall of the man. “As a child. I was fifteen. And I rescinded them long ago.” She strode past him, and kept going, up over the hills in the dark and with no real idea about where she was headed. Holding her anger to her like a cloak, she passed Wóþbora cotif in the light of dawn and kept on walking until she reached Witch’s Place.

Before she knew it, she’d stomped into Brewer’s Bakery and was sitting down at one of the red-and-white checkered tablecloth-covered tables. She’d come here often enough that she considered the ample witch who served her sweet tea and scones a friend. Today, the young witch poured herself a cup of tea and sat down to join her. “Had a tough day? Or more trouble with that smith of yours?”

Keera nodded. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he could hammer a nail straight, but he’s utterly useless. And I’ve told Geran a dozen times that I never want to give up smithing—and even if I did, I wouldn’t want to marry him. But nobody listens to me.”

The young witch coughed gently, and Keera looked up.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be complaining. Only I feel like I have a calling, and everyone is standing in my way.”

“No, no, not at all. Did you know the Earthers are also having demon woes and are looking for a sword master?”

“Hush, child,” a witch said, striding into the conversation. She appeared elegant and young, but Keera could sense the disguise. The exquisite green sundress and façade of beauty could not hide the green-toothed old granny with a milky right eye that lay beneath.

Keera shook her head. I didn’t realise there was a Baba Yaga here. These witches may not be my friends. Still, she could never abandon her people to the demons. Surely, the more powerful the witch, the more help they could be. The more cautious side of her added, and the more dangerous.

The young witch smiled and turned to the Baba Yaga. “I thought this was what Keera was looking for. Others who can help her people stop the demons. I see no harm in it.”

Keera was too busy thinking—If the Earthers can stand in the way of demons, fewer of my people will die—to notice how the young witch had spoken up in front of the Baba Yaga.

Significant looks passed between the two.

But the young witch was not to be deterred. With a defiant glint in her eye, she added, “And the humans have Myrddin’s forge. Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to make swords there?”

Keera’s heart skipped a beat. This was dangerous territory. “Anyone would think you want me to betray my people?”

“Nobody said anything about betraying. But if you stay…”

Keera peered into the bottom of the murky cup and wished she were a witch. “What do the tea leaves say?”

“They say—”

The green witch put up her hand. “We can’t tell you what the tea leaves say. This has to be your decision. Either way, it will be dangerous.”

Less dangerous than little children dodging bone worms and being ambushed by demons. And then there was her personal life going nowhere while she and Geran grew further apart. It’s past time to make a clean break of it, but my people… will not understand. “Tell them I’ll do it,” she blurted, before thinking about what this might mean. People didn’t leave the Warriors of the Dragon. At least not in her lifetime.

“I will have to say goodbye. Get my things. Tell the Earthers I will meet them at the crossroads between Dornröschenschloss castle and the Underworld ten days from now.”

The two witches nodded.

Did I ever really have a choice? She rolled it over in her mind, but the more she thought about it, the less she wanted to stay in the DeadLands and subject herself to the increasing pressure to marry.

§

It was ten days later and time to leave, but Keera still hadn’t found the courage to tell anyone. Cleaning the house. Finishing her final sword. Everything had meaning. Everything she did was to care for those she was to leave behind. But now, now I will start by telling my brother. He will understand.

Only he didn’t. “You cannot go,” Keera’s brother shouted, careless of his raised voice. “Not for the Earthers. Our people need you.”

Keera continued to bundle her belongings into her backpack, anger simmering through her. “I told you so we could say goodbye amicably.”

“Amicably?”

“Yes. It has been made very clear to me that my expertise isn’t wanted here, even though it is prized throughout Brocéliande and the Quilted Lands. I cannot patrol all day and work all night.” I cannot stay here where I am being treated as a second-class citizen.

“You can’t expect to just take over the smithy. It’s a—”

“It’s a job. I cannot keep wandering to pick up odd jobs, or work in the Library to get the materials I need.”

“You’ve always been so full of yourself,” he snapped, sauntering out the door, with his spike beast pattering along behind him.

Keera pulled her pack onto her back. “You’ve always been too busy trying to prove you are a man to be one.”

She wiped her feet on the red mat. Will this be the last time? Nostalgia flooded through her as she crept out of her door and into the rosy early-morning sunshine. It illuminated the stone village she knew so well—with all the hidden doors and trails, as clear and familiar as the lines on her own palm. Still, it was past time to say goodbye. Keera had already stayed too long. Become too bitter. But goodbyes were more than she could deal with right now, so instead, she simply waved to her patrol team, and they waved back, unconcerned that she was off on another of her trips. Sangi deserves more. Keera found her sitting in the cavern that served as the hall of the Learnéd Elders. She was showing off her knowledge of the Protector’s oral traditions to the old men and women, and making them smile in a way that Keera never could. Not with her words or her swords.

Keera waited for Sangi to finish her recitation of how a hundred dragons were cast down and turned into bone worms. The precocious child ended with, “But one day, all the dragons will return, and take back their treasures. Then we will be true People of the Dragon once again.”

“Well done, Sangi,” Keera said. “I’m so proud of you, which is what makes this so hard.” She took a deep breath and tried to organise her spiralling thoughts. “I’ve come to tell you I’m leaving, and I don’t know when I’ll be coming home again.”

“You would abandon us in our time of need?” a Learnéd Elder voice asked, his voice crackling with anger. He stood between her and Sangi—stopping Keera from scooping her up in her arms. Which was probably for the best, Sangi was twelve now, and going on thirteen. Tall and strong. But not so old she wouldn’t cry. Tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not just doing this for me. I’m doing this for all of us,” Keera told the elder. “We will have swords forged in the fires of Myrddin’s forge. We will have Earthers fighting demons for us. Far from breaking my oath, I am fighting in my own way. Unless you would rather have us fight against this new tide of demons with metal not fit to be fire irons.”

“Hmmph, the smith said you were rude,” the elder snapped, to general approval.

Keera flushed and narrowed her eyes, but before she could reply, Geran burst into the cavern, tired and dirty, sweat and grime plastering his forehead. He looked like he’d just come from fighting demons. “You would break your pledge?” The shock in his voice hurt. He’d never listened.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Keera waved her hands in all-encompassing circles. “How many times do I have to say the same thing to your wilfully deaf ears?”

Geran grabbed her arm, possessive as ever. And even more rank-smelling. Although it was hardly his fault he stank of sulphurous demons.

Keera pulled away, snapping her arm out of his grip and glaring at him. “Stop it,” she hissed.

Worse, Akander appeared—all sulky and red-faced and clearly here to back up Geran. It should have been no surprise, but it hurt that her brother had summoned this man she had disavowed and now stood by him. “Goodbye, brother. I will not forget this. But I won’t forget the good times either.”

Sangi gulped. “You’re leaving properly, aren’t you?”

“I have to—” Keera wiped away a tear as the devastating realization she was leaving Sangi settled over her. Maybe I could take her with me. It would be dangerous, but she’d faced danger with the youngster before. “You could come too.”

“The child cannot.” The Learnéd Elder drew Sangi close. “She is more precious than water.”

“And she knows how important her role here, as a Learnéd, is,” Geran chimed in. “She will not abandon us like a feckless oathbreaker.”

Keera fought not to roll her eyes. Geran hadn’t cared a jot about the child until now. “Truly, Sangi, if you would like, I will take you away from here for a while. We can see dragons and wonders, and you can learn how to smith and wield a sword. It is up to you.”

Sangi’s eyes brightened at the word sword, but she shook her head. “I am of the People of the Dragon. I’m not afraid to die to be with my ancestors.”

A recitation to fall back on. But the child had chosen, so Keera nodded. “Very good, I respect your decision.” She bent down and wiped a tear from Sangi’s cheek. “Now, you must also respect mine.”

Sangi nodded seriously.

Geran’s face reddened further. “You are choosing a coward’s path. And you betray us all. I will have your silence.” He pulled his sword and rashly pointed it at her chest.

Keera turned his sword away with a contemptuous flick of her hand. “You will have nothing. You are not half the fighter I am.” She almost formally challenged him, but held her tongue in case he was foolish enough to accept it. Leaving was one thing. Leaving with a dead body behind her would be unforgivable.

“If you go, don’t come back,” Geran fumed.

Keera’s brother nodded. “Abandon us, and you will be no sister of mine,” he said. “Have you even thought about how this affects your betrothed?”

Keera ground her teeth. “He should feel free to find someone else.”

Geran sneered. “Something I should have done years ago.”

Keera nodded. “Yes. If you had listened—”

And still Geran did not move. “Will you pay the bride price?”

What a blowhard. Keera’s blood thundered in her ears. “I will pay a price, but I will not pay it to you,” she spat. “You have been paid many times over with that sword in your hands. Do not pretend otherwise. It is only because I need to forge more that I leave—for I will not stand aside to let my people’s blood soak into the stone. That is on you both for never standing up for me or my work. You treat me like a possession and make me play second-fiddle to a hack who can barely craft a nail, when I should be forging my reputation as Keera Swordmaster.”

“You would be an outcast to the People of the Dragon?” The elder’s voice was flat and emotionless. Somehow it was worse than the posturing from Geran and her brother.

“I choose to leave. Anything else is up to others.” Exiting the cavern, she glanced back across the stone toward the dragon bones for the last time. So many lasts. The wind blew hot over the desolate landscape, and the bonefish danced, while her brother’s spike beast and its friends feasted from the edges of the stone island.

“Do you believe that one day the bonefish will be dragons again?” Sangi asked.

Keera smiled at the almost-teenager and shrugged. “That is a question for great philosophers like you. So, what do you think?”

“That is enough,” Geran snapped. “It does not matter what anyone thinks about anything you say. You are no longer one of us. I call on everyone here to think nothing of you. Not of you, or about you. You are as corrosive as bone worms.”

I was asking Sangi, you self-centered oaf. Keera sighed and hefted her pack over her shoulders, pulling her long dark braids up over the straps. “Be like that.” There was no ritual for this.

Most of the settlement was watching now. No one bothered to say anything to counter Geran’s diatribe, or to step up and say goodbye.

“If you go, you will be banished,” the elder repeated.

Ignoring him and the growing emptiness gnawing at her stomach, she waved. “Thank you for seeing me off,” she said, hoping there was at least one friendly face who would appreciate it. Nobody waved. Instead, they followed Geran and her brother’s lead and turned their backs on her. Even little Sangi did, following her elders like a well-trained marionette.

Keera’s heart constricted. I could change my mind and return—for Sangi. But that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. With the chill reception of her people cooling her back, Keera tightened her jaw. I will never marry. And I do not need to return to get my people the swords they so desperately need. Suddenly, keener than ever to leave, she strapped her pack tighter and set off to meet the Earthers, her favourite green skirt revealing its rose-red flares with every step.

And when she met the Earthers battling demons near the crossroads between Dornröschenschloss and the Underworld, her glance caught the gallant Aiden, with his flame-bright hair and his sword out ready to protect his friend.

I will not marry, she thought as Aiden’s grin melted her heart, but also set it racing. She told herself it was nothing more than the excitement of the demons attacking them, and that she wouldn’t tie herself to a man.

And when they arrived at the settlement of New Avalon and Aiden’s mother had blurted, “Damn, Aiden. Not true love? Please, tell me I’m wrong,” Keera longed to say, you couldn’t be more wrong. I will not marry. But Aiden was flushing red enough for the both of them. “If you’ll excuse us,” he said in an attempt to gallantly extricate them both from the painfully embarrassing situation, “I need to show the Sword Master around.”

Damn, but his mother is right, this is a mistake, she thought as her gaze met his, and she fell even harder.

§

So now, after all this time, Keera had not only married, but had borne the two children she’d sworn she’d never have. Even now, it shocked her at how prescient Aiden’s mother’s words had been. Especially when she’d said, “Exactly. It’ll all end in tears. And the next thing we know there’ll be two orphaned children in these woods, and we’ll be left looking after them.”

Words that had come all too true when Ruby had been kidnapped by fae, and she and Aiden had rescued Ruby, only to be trapped in the Underworld and separated.

And, somehow, that led her to this moment, sitting around the kitchen table with her in-laws, with her fire-boy back in her arms and her eldest child back in danger. But this time Ruby hadn’t just taken off. She was protecting them all by safeguarding Aiden’s staff, the legendary staff of Myrddin, from the demons who were after it…

***  

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy this epic ending to The Blood of the Fae epic portal adventure!
A.J. Ponder