CHAPTER FOUR
The Knights of Niðergeard

1

Before . . .

“I’m not going,” said Freya, gazing into the dark, fathomless, anonymous blackness that stretched in front of her. “You can’t make me.”

Daniel looked into the new opening and licked his lips. He saw a fantastic opportunity before him. This was escape—he could run away with these two . . . knights, or whatever they really were. He felt the pull in his chest—the tug of adventure, of the unknown, of danger—and it was exciting to him. He turned to Freya.

“What other choice do we have?” he asked her in a meek yet reasonable voice. “I think we have to go with them,” Daniel coaxed, taking her arm and pulling her along through the gap in the wall and into deeper, darker tunnels. She felt dread from the very first heavy foot that she put forward. Each step was a step further into darkness and uncertainty. Each step was a step into fear.

“Where are you two from?” Daniel asked. “Are you Vikings?”

“God’s teeth,” moaned Ecgbryt. “That he would call me such!”

“What makes you ask if we are Vikings?” asked Swiðgar.

“Well . . . ,” said Daniel slowly, “you speak strangely; the weapons, your hair . . . you don’t seem English.”

“We are the very flesh of England!” Ecgbryt exploded. “The dust of the land is in our blood just as our blood is in its dirt! We are its arms, its teeth!”

“Much will have changed since we were put to rest,” Swiðgar said, in a more measured fashion. “But we were born here and have lived all our lives without stepping a foot off Britain’s shores.”

“How come we can understand you?” Freya asked. “Shouldn’t you be talking a different type of English?”

“And so we are,” said Ecgbryt.

“So, how . . . ?”

“It is one of Ealdstan’s devices. There was an arch that you passed under which read:

I, the word-worker of Niðergeard, Give to all who pass beneath this arch The gift of free speech— If he be truly friendly.

“The enchantment was such that all who pass beneath it would not be hindered in understanding of our words due to ignorance of our language. Now wait, what is this here?”

They had come to a crossroad and stopped. The tunnel had narrowed and now split off into three different directions. Ecgbryt held a hand up to Daniel and went to Swiðgar. “What’s wrong?” Daniel asked. “Are you lost?”

“Not yet. Be patient, please.”

Freya crept closer to Daniel and whispered to him, “Where are they taking us?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember what he said. Nither-something, I think. Nither-gard?”

“Daniel, we have to go back. I’m going to tell them that I’m going back.”

“You can’t go back, there’s no way through there anymore.”

“I don’t care. I’ll stay in the chamber. I’ll stay there until the archway opens again. I don’t want to be in these tunnels anymore.

Everyone will be worried about us.”

“Okay, when they come back I’ll talk to them.”

“Thanks,” Freya said in relief.

The knights conferred a little longer and then called Daniel and Freya over. “This way, æðelingas,” said Swiðgar. “Not far now.”

“I think Freya’s scared. She wants to go back, but I told her that this is the only way to go. That’s true, right?”

“Daniel!” Freya hissed.

Swiðgar at least acted with more sensitivity. He came over and knelt before Freya, his face sympathetic. “I am sorry that it must be like this,” he said. “But we must continue on.”

“That’s okay,” Freya said. Looking into the ancient knight’s face, with its creases and scars, she felt her argument start to evaporate. “But it’s just that I really don’t mind going back and waiting in the room for the doorway to open again. You wouldn’t have to wait with me—I’m pretty sure I could find my own way back. It’s just that I’m pretty tired and—and a little scared—and I really don’t mind waiting. I’d prefer waiting, in fact, instead of, um . . .”

She trailed off, having said everything she wanted to say. Swiðgar continued to look at her, so she added, “Please?”

“I am sorry, æðeling, but that is not possible,” he said, standing up. “We continue our journey in this direction.”

“But you said,” Freya said, hurrying after him, “that the wall opened up at a special time, when the sun—”

“At a certain time,” Swiðgar agreed, with a nod of his head,

“and for a certain person. You have already started your journey and you may not stop now. You must continue or fail.”

“I don’t understand,” said Freya.

“The moment at which you found us was no time at all; it was what is called a ‘time between times.’ It was the evening— the ‘even-time’—when light and dark are equal. It is a sacred time. It has a strong pull to a certain type of person. The place you found us could be called a ‘place between places,’ and you yourself are a person between destinies. You have started along a path that you cannot go back on.” He smiled at her. “But there will be more paths to choose from and soon. Perhaps one of those will lead you to the place you seek, perhaps somewhere better,” he said. “Come.”

Freya became conscious of her steps; her feet falling one in front of the other seemed heavy, jarring her.

“When the time, place, and person are all in an efenheort,” Swiðgar continued as he walked, like a teacher giving a lesson, “which is a sort of unstable harmony—then fantastic things can happen. One must be careful when one finds oneself at a place between places, say a beach or a crossroads, during either dawn or dusk. If his soul is at a spiritual crossroads, his mind lost, and his body wandering—what we might call a ‘person between persons’— then he may pass through the barriers between worlds as a pillar of smoke passes through a field of mist.”

“There are many instances,” Ecgbryt, from behind, informed them. “A restless fisherboy, with conflicting thoughts in his head and dreams churning in his heart, will cast off his bark into the sea before sunrise, when the wind sweeps the spray off the waves. Soon he finds himself far and away on distant adventures with thieves who live beneath the waves, pirate kings, and magic treasure.”

“A young princess, not a girl, nor yet a queen,” Swiðgar continued, “riding at dawn in the forest strays along deer paths and comes to the foot of a hill where the trees thin and finds the entrance to an Elfin court. She will rule there for many years and then return to our realm, still but a young girl, though wiser, and with many mystical virtues and gifts.”

“A wandering rhymer,” Ecgbryt rejoined, “old, and in the twilight of his own life, will come to a crossed road and converse with a mysterious gentleman who reveals himself to be the devil. They pass the night riddling under the gallows, and at dawn—at the even-time—the winner will demand a prize from the loser.”

“Such is the universe,” Swiðgar resumed. “A vast multitude of spheres all spinning and dancing in the most intricate and bewildering patterns. At the right time, and in the right place, when the spheres are close enough, a man can step from one to the other, as easily as crossing a brook.

“So it is vitally important to be aware of those times of ‘evening’ in your life,” he said gravely, “and to consider carefully which path you decide to take, for the path will change not just you but your entire world.”

Daniel’s eyes were wide. These were thoughts that he had not thought before, could never have thought before.

“Of course,” said Ecgbryt, “there are places that are more enchanted than others. Take the Scot’s land, for instance, or the Norsemen’s land. There are entire seasons of even-times, and complete holdings and folds that belong neither wholly to earth, sea, air, or ice. All manner of unnatural and magical acts have flowed from those places like water from a spring. And as for the Eire folk—well!

Their entire race, land, and history is ensorcelled from one end of time to the other!”

The scraping of their footsteps continued uninterrupted for a short while. Daniel threw a look to Freya, who still appeared miserable. “Well,” she huffed in a low, pained voice. “Someone might have warned us that this sort of thing could happen.”

“What?” said Ecgbryt. “Does no one tell stories of such things happening anymore?”

“So when we went through the arch,” Daniel said slowly, “we actually entered another world?”

“Not exactly, no,” Swiðgar replied. “The place where we slept was not in one world nor another. Imagine a tide pool set in the shore of the universe alongside the sea of time—an eddy where time spins in upon itself. In such a place we remained as we were when we were first laid to rest. All who cross from one world to the next must, by necessity, pass through one of these pools. That is why, when you hear of people returning from one of those other worlds, they have sometimes been gone a day, sometimes a hundred years. There is little accounting for it, but even so there is reason—”

Swiðgar’s explanation was cut short by a loud, piercing scream that rattled down the tunnel, knocking against the walls. The group halted immediately.

“What was—” Daniel’s question was smothered out of him by Swiðgar’s massive hand on his chest as it pushed him against the wall. Freya was pulled over and pressed next to him.

“Here, lifiendes, take this,” Swiðgar said, pressing his round shield into Daniel’s arms. “Stay behind it.” Daniel hoisted it up in front of Freya and himself. They poked the top of their heads up from behind the rim, their eyes large and fearful.

“What’s happening?” Freya asked.

Ecgbryt dropped his torch; it still burned, casting oversized shadows on the walls of the tunnel. He drew his axe from his belt and swung his shield from his back to his arm. Swiðgar likewise dropped his torch and raised his spear, gripping it with both hands. They stood, waiting, for long seconds that felt like minutes.

Another scream came from behind them—human, but wild, savage. Swiðgar swung his spear around and faced the sound. Daniel had read about banshees—spirits that wailed on rooftops when someone was about to die. I bet it sounds the same, he thought, shuddering.

Just then, Ecgbryt leapt into the darkness, his axe glimmering momentarily in the torchlight. There was the sound of a scuffle and a shriek and then silence.

“Hwæt, brother, is it well?” Swiðgar asked without turning his head. Before an answer could come, there was a snarl from the tunnel beyond the tall knight, and a dark figure sprang into the torchlight. It seemed to hang in the air for a long, fear-filled moment and then descend. It was dark and human-shaped, though thin and wiry. Its arms and elbows were like knotted ropes. Its legs were thick and shaggy, its hands raised; long, sharp fingers curled into talons. Its mouth was open in a snarl showing black gums from which sprouted thin, needle-like teeth.

Faster than they were able to follow, Swiðgar thrust his spear at the terrible shape. There was a howl and Freya felt a spray of blood on her face. The creature dropped, clutching the spear, now caught in its chest. Another leapt from behind it and crouched low, next to the torch. Daniel could see its hairless head, pale and white, face fixed in a snarl of rage, a feral hate burning in its eyes. It sprung high up in the air just as Swiðgar yanked his spear from the first beast. He spun the shaft around in his hands so that the blunt end crashed down on the creature’s head.

Swiðgar drew his short sword from its scabbard and raised it high. Daniel saw it gleam against the black wall and watched it fall upon the stunned beast, hacking at the thing’s shoulder and back. Neither Daniel nor Freya could stand to watch and looked away quickly.

Stepping away, Swiðgar swung his spear around in his right hand, lifting his sword in his left. Still staring into the blackness that had expelled the creatures, he called again, “Ho, brother!”

“I am here,” came a reply. “All are defeated.”

“What count have you?”

“Three. And you?”

“Two only.”

Ecgbryt appeared again, edging slowly backwards into the torch light, sticky blood dripping from the end of his axe onto the pressed dirt floor. The two knights stood, watching and waiting for a time, but there came no more sounds or attackers.

“That appears to be all,” Ecgbryt announced. He shouldered his shield and picked up the torch. “Let us see what we’ve killed, shall we?”

Daniel handed Swiðgar’s shield back to him as Freya quickly wiped as much of the blood as she could from her face. It was thick and brown and sticky. She wiped her hands on the cold wall, trying not to touch her school clothes.

They all advanced up the tunnel to where Ecgbryt’s victims lay in a mangled heap. Using the blade of his axe, he nudged the bodies apart from each other. “Yfelgópes,” Ecgbryt said, “of a kind—yet I have never seen a sort as twisted before.”

In the light of the torch, they could see the creatures clearer. Their skin was pale, almost milky white. Dark, ghastly blue veins showed through the thin skin. All were mostly naked, but their groins and upper legs were covered with rough black skins tied together with a tough, stringy material that looked like animal hide or maybe dried entrails. Parts of the creatures’ torsos were tattooed or stained, but not with patterns or designs. Blotches and irregular stripes were simply dyed a deep solid black or brown. Freya took a few steps backwards and looked away, disgusted.

“Did you say ifel-gop-es?” Daniel asked.

“It is a name we give to all the twisted ones who live in the deep underground,” Swiðgar said. “But I’ve never seen one with such a face.”

The faces were terrifying. Daniel shivered as he leaned forward for a closer view of one of the corpses. Its eyes were very far apart and its nose was snubbed. Its gaping mouth showed small, needlelike teeth.

“But . . . they’re human, aren’t they?” Freya asked, almost surprised. “They acted like animals, but . . .”

“Aye, they’re human,” Ecgbryt answered her. “But nearly as foul as a man can go. Nearly. Look at this.” He tapped his axe against the yfelgóp’s dead hand. The thing was wearing some sort of glove made of bone, the fingers of which protruded beyond its own. The ends had been filed sharp. “A strange weapon,” Ecgbryt commented.

“Aye,” agreed Swiðgar. “Bring a head,” he said after a moment’s pause. “And a hand,” he added finally.

Ecgbryt raised a corpse by its thin hair and began chopping at it. “It’s unhappy work for my axe, though—and what I wouldn’t give for something to wipe my blade against.”

Freya stood hunched over, suddenly feeling very cold and very, very afraid. “Daniel,” she said in a whisper. “What’s going on?”

Daniel watched as the knights heaped the dead bodies on top of each other and cleaned their weapons. He could feel his blood pump through his body, charged, as if every cell was filled with electricity. His head spun as a wave of euphoria washed over him.

He had never felt this way in his real life. They had been attacked, and the knights, because of their weapons and skill, had saved them all and come away without a scratch.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “But I’m getting one of those swords.”

2

They walked for some time, tense and wary, alert to the slightest sound that might give away the presence of something following them. Swiðgar walked in front this time, his spear at the ready and torch held high. Ecgbryt walked behind them, which Freya thought just as well since even thinking of the hideous head and ugly dangling hand tied to Ecgbryt’s belt made her stomach turn over.

“Where are we going again?” Daniel asked.

“Niðergeard,” Ecgbryt answered in a voice strong with pride. “It is a vast holding beneath the skin of the earth. Its boundaries are not marked, and it sits upon the gates of three hidden worlds. It is the grandest of all earthly cities, yet known to only a few. Its dark spires are seen only by those who are great and dream of a larger greatness.”

“It’s an underground kingdom?” Daniel asked with awe.

“It would be,” the knight behind him replied, “but there is no king or queen to rule it. It is governed by Modwyn the Fair and overseen by Ealdstan the Long-Lived.”

“Who are they?”

“Modwyn is Niðergeard’s ward—able and cunning. Ealdstan is very old and very wise—the oldest and the wisest, in fact. By now he would be almost seventeen hundred years old, I suppose. It was he who laid us to rest, as he did the others.”

“Others?” Daniel repeated, his voice rising. “There are more like you?”

“Aye. There are sleeping knights tucked away up and down the isle. A mighty force, all lying in wait.”

“Waiting for what?” Daniel asked.

Ecgbryt considered the question for a moment. “For the greatest battle in history. More than that, I cannot say. Ealdstan may wish to tell you more.”

“Ealdstan,” Freya repeated the name to herself.

“Now,” said Swiðgar. “We have told you much about our world, and now we would know about yours. What is life like on the surface in this century?”

Freya glanced at Daniel, unsure how to respond. “It’s hard to say. We don’t really have anything to compare it to.”

“It’s pretty busy,” Daniel said. “At least, that’s what everyone says about it. There’s a lot of bustle and hurrying everywhere.”

“Busy is good,” said Ecgbryt. “Idleness is the cause of a great many ills, especially in great ones and rulers.”

“I don’t think that’s a problem,” said Freya. “The government is full of people who work really hard.”

“What do you mean by ‘hurrying’?” Swiðgar asked.

“Well, lots of people are always going places. Like, to work, to the stores to buy things, to meet people . . . that kind of thing.

They’re always, you know, zipping around in cars and buses.”

“‘Cars’?”

Daniel felt awkward. He’d watched shows on TV and read in stories about people trying to explain modern life to aliens or time travelers or primitive savages or people like that, but he never thought that he’d actually have to do it himself. “Um . . . cars are like carts that move without horses. See, you put this sort of fuel into a machine that’s inside of it and, sort of, set fire to it—the fuel—and that makes it go. Buses are like that too, uh, but just bigger.”

He didn’t know what the knights would make of this explanation, but they seemed to accept it without any further questions.

He wondered if he should try to explain airplanes as well. He decided that might be too complicated.

“So traveling is easier, then?”

“Yes,” said Daniel. “Much easier. You can go anywhere in the world that you want to. Some ways of traveling are so fast that you can get clear to the other side of the world in a day. People have been everywhere in the world—including the highest mountain and the hottest desert. There’s nowhere in the world that hasn’t been discovered.” He paused again and wondered if he should tell them about people landing on the moon. That was probably too much.

“People can go anywhere,” Swiðgar said. “But are they where they want to be?”

“I suppose so,” said Freya. “I think most of them are, yes.”

“A lot of them aren’t, though,” Daniel said glumly.

“Swa swa,” said Swiðgar. “So, people can move about quickly. What else is new?”

Freya remembered a class project she had prepared about modern life. “There’s communication too,” she said. “We have phones and e-mail on computers, which means that you can talk to anyone anywhere in the world anytime you want to.”

“That truly is marvelous,” said Swiðgar, and Ecgbryt made an admiring noise. “What do people say when they talk across the world?”

“Um . . . not much, I suppose. But it means that you can keep in touch with your loved ones wherever they are. You can speak to them, even see them at the same time.”

“Ah, what a wonder that is. I would dearly love to see such a thing.”

“There’s information too,” said Freya. “We have machines so that you can find out about any book ever written or any person living or how things work or what happened in history —anything!”

“I remember,” said Ecgbryt, “that King Ælfred considered knowledge a valuable gift—one which he never denied any he thought worthy of it . . . That said, I can’t recall a time he refused teaching to anyone who asked it from him.”

“These days,” said Freya, “everyone is educated. People without any money can know as much as kings and queens. Pretty much.”

“Remarkable,” said Ecgbryt. “Yes, that was Ælfred’s dream.”

“So, tell me,” said Swiðgar, “with all of these machines and abilities—are people happy?”

“I think so,” said Freya. “Yes, happier than if they didn’t have all these things.”

“Are they kind? Do they treat each other with honour?”

“Maybe not as much as they could,” Daniel said. “Maybe not much at all, actually.”

“They still fight, then? There are wars? People are hungry?

They hate each other?”

“So what?” Freya said. “Were things any better in your time, whenever that was?”

“Hmm,” Swiðgar grunted. “In faith, no, they were not. There were constant wars and many battles in our lifetime, as well as hunger and hate and hardship. This only serves to prove what none from my time wanted to admit to themselves—that men and women of any type, of any nation, of any advantage, at any time, will always war with, steal from, and take advantage of each other, no matter what is done to try to help them improve their lives. No matter what the advantages—education, riches, comfort—men will still tend towards evil.”

“Do you think there’s anything that can stop that?” Daniel asked.

“It seems not,” said Swiðgar. “It seems that people carry corruption around inside of them wherever they go.”

“You mean we can’t do anything?”

“I mean that we must do everything, but that even that may not be enough.”

They walked in silence for a while, contemplating the pessimism in that statement.

“Is it much farther?” Daniel asked after a time.

“Not at all,” Swiðgar replied, and he was shortly proven to be right. Within a few hundred paces, branching tunnels started to join their own, widening their way, not dividing it. The path they were walking on grew wider and the ceiling gradually rose higher, giving them that odd shrinking sensation again. The echo of their footsteps gradually faded away and then disappeared altogether and the walls around them grew darker as they became more distant.

Swiðgar and Ecgbryt slowed, obviously cautious. They moved from the centre of the tunnel to the side, walking along the righthand wall. Eventually they stopped and lowered their torches.

“What is it?” asked Freya, suddenly fearful again.

“Shh! Liss,” Ecgbryt breathed, motioning them to stop.

Daniel and Freya strained to hear. Coming from the blackness in front of them they heard a faint scrabbling noise.

As they strained to see what might be making this sound, they realised they were staring into nothingness. Looking up, they could just trace the outline of the edge of the natural archway that opened into an unknowably large area. Cold, stale air swept over them in a chilling wave. “Where are we?” Daniel asked in an awed voice.

“At the mouth to one of the entrances to the Niðerland.”

“Are we still underground?”

“Yes. It is a large plain—mostly flat—supported by large natural pillars. Now, silence.”

As Daniel and Freya squinted, they made out a line of faint, pale-yellow pinpricks of light running straight across their field of vision. The lights were extremely dim and noticeable only if you did not look directly at them. They could hear distant voices arguing and shouting.

Daniel and Freya felt sick with anticipation now. “What’s going on?” Daniel whispered.

It was a few moments before Swiðgar answered in a low voice, “I know not, but now we must move in silence and darkness, not to be seen or heard.” To Ecgbryt he commanded, “We will extinguish the torches here, broðor.”

They did so, plunging everything into such an empty darkness that Daniel and Freya gave quiet gasps. Then each of them felt one of the knight’s hands on their back, and they were pushed forward.

For a time Daniel and Freya felt as if they were walking in nothingness. It was completely dark except for the fallen starfield of campfire lights. As their eyes adjusted to the almost tangible darkness, they started to distinguish the dim shapes of landscape that lay flat on the top of each other, broken by pillars of stone rising up on either side, reaching up and vanishing towards an unseen ceiling.

In the distance was a dim glow—an arc of faint light like a misty haze. Freya, who had spent some time camping up north, knew that this was the light that cities often gave out at nighttime.

That must be where Niðergeard was.

As they went farther, they found that the ground wasn’t as flat as they had thought—there were slight rises and falls and chasms that spewed cold air that had been spanned by bridges.

Stalagmites rose ahead and to either side of them with bases larger than tree trunks and tops that vanished into the darkness.

The curious scrabbling sound grew louder and the individual noises became separate and more distinct. There was a low chattering noise, a dusty scraping, and some intermittent clanking.

The pinpricks of light that ran in a line across the landscape gradually grew larger, but not much brighter, as they approached them.

Freya and Daniel soon discovered they were pale campfires, burning with a dirty flame. The travelers proceeded with slow caution from stalagmite to stalagmite. Crouching close to one column, they saw shapes flicker in front of them—fast, darting shapes, very similar to those that had attacked them in the tunnels. Rasping voices could just be heard. Daniel strained his ears but could make out only a few phrases, but those phrases didn’t make any sense.

“. . . and three more spoon measures make twenty pebbles’ worth for the final measure,” explained a grating voice.

“Eight twenties make one and sixty; from two hundreds and twenty, that leaves sixty,” came a creaky reply. This comment was met with a few grunts of annoyance.

“Between eight,” continued the second voice, straining slightly, “that’s another seven pebbles’ worth each, at least! Too mean, too mean by far!” There was a slap of a palm against the bare ground and a chorus of voices rumbling with indignation. “Weigh again! Weigh again, and rats take your toes! I’m so hungry my teeth tingle!” There were further odd curses and then a rattling clank.

“To my ear and eye,” whispered Ecgbryt, withdrawing slightly, “they are the kith and kind of the creature whose head and hand I have in my belt.”

“Agreed,” said Swiðgar. “And likely as friendly. We need a path through.”

“I fear they have the whole plain surrounded. We could charge them and try to break through the weakest point,” Ecgbryt suggested.

“Even without the lifiendes, I would fear . . .” Swiðgar’s voice drifted off. “No,” he decided, “we should investigate the Neothstream. Its waters run beneath the city. We may gain entry that way.”

Ecgbryt was silent for a time and then replied, “Very well. Be it so.”

“This way, æðelingas,” Swiðgar commanded. “Follow me. Do not talk; the price of an overheard word may be our lives. There might be guards or patrols at any point, especially as we near the water’s head.”

They turned and crept through the dark, hunching low to the ground. Freya wondered what time it was in the real world. How long had they been walking? Was it as dark up there as it was under here?

She doubted it. There were no stars here, no street lamps, no houselights, only the dingy little campfires of those disgusting creatures. Her breath became short and erratic as her emotions were pulled deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of worry. She wasn’t afraid of the dark but couldn’t help wondering what things there were in the darkness that she couldn’t see, or wouldn’t want to see, or couldn’t even imagine. She felt her eyes grow hot. She blinked a couple times, and then tears were flowing.

She kept her sobbing quiet—sometimes choking back her cries, sometimes drawing breath in wide gulps, but always being careful to move forward at the same pace.

After a few minutes, the worst had passed and she was wiping her wet cheeks with the palm of her hand and drawing in deep gasps.

As she swallowed her third deep breath, she realised that there was another sound, a low, subtle sound that she had been hearing for some time without knowing it, a sound that had been growing in the distance. She concentrated on it, trying to tune out the quiet shuffle of their footsteps as they trudged into the darkness.

She spent a fair amount of time guessing before the answer came to her: water. There was no liquid hissing or crashing to the sound, just the gentle, playful gurgle and burble of water sliding along smooth rocks. It was such a pleasant, beautiful sound. She focused her attention on it, letting the sound fill her head and trickle down her spine in a pleasant rush that reminded her of hikes in hills, of bright skies and fresh air.

The sound grew. They were obviously approaching the source.

The knights slowed and proceeded more cautiously. There was the faint glow of two dim campfires up ahead that illuminated a wet patch of rocks where the trickle of water spilled down over a series of large, water-rounded stones to swirl in a deep pool. This pool then drained into a wide and slow-moving river.

Daniel and Freya stared, trying to take in as much as they could in the poor light. They thought they could see the forms of two yfelgópes sitting slumped against short pikestaffs in a way that reminded Daniel of bored security guards. The knights motioned to Daniel and Freya, and the four of them headed along the river and away from the guards.

There was more activity farther down the river. Shouts and squabbles drifted towards them above the gurgle of the water. The lights grew brighter, the campfires closer together. Foul, burnt smells wafted towards them, accompanied by ugly cackles and squawks.

The knights paused and crouched down; Daniel and Freya drew in close to them. “We must take to the water now,” Swiðgar told them. “Be careful—the river is cold and dark and the bed will be slippery. A short distance along the river there is a rock shelf that divides the waters. It creates an underground stream that feeds many wells of the city. If we dive underneath that opening, and swim on ahead, there will be air on the other side. We will be able to climb into the city through the Western Well. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Daniel.

“I think so,” answered Freya. “But how will you do it in your armour?”

“The river and its underground passage are shallow enough for Ecgbryt and me to stand at any point, though you two may have to swim. Now, I shall go first. Ecgbryt, you will come last.”

“Stay, broðor. Is it known what awaits us in the city?”

“No, but I do not believe it has fallen. I wist we would have known if that had come to pass.”

“That is much trust without reason.”

“An aye to that. Although I do not think the yfelgóp would be entrenched in such a fashion if they had climbed the walls. Judging from their clustered encampments, so close to the wall, this seems a siege.”

“But what of the beacon?” Ecgbryt asked. “If all was well, we would be seeing by its light right now.”

“I know not,” said Swiðgar, a note of anxiety settling into his voice. “We are bound to investigate the city and discover its fate. It is to be hoped that things are not as dark within as without, but to find that we must take the river and enter through the Western Well.”

“Then be it so,” Ecgbryt returned. “I trust your advice.”

3

The water was very cold, but quite shallow, coming up only to Daniel’s and Freya’s knees. The rocks were large and smooth, slowing them down with staggering slips, softened splashes, and swallowed grunts.

The stream wove gently in large curves, some of which took them much closer to the yfelgóp encampments than Daniel or Freya would have liked. Most often they heard sounds of squabbling and snatches of arguments, but around one fire the ugly creatures were engaged in chanting a song that the knights later told them was a rune rhyme—a series of blunt, coarse verses describing the yfelgópes’ alphabet and system of numbering. They beat the dirt with dull thuds and recited the words in a ragged chorus:

“Fýr is First, it burns, it thirsts;
it feasts on flesh and fallen foes.

“Urth is dirt, the Second house
we dig the dead, decayed to dust.

“Thorn is Third, it cuts, it carves;
a cold and cruel crown for kings.

“Ald is age it wastes, it wanes;
want walks Forth; when time wreaks wreck.

“Rech is smoke, the smog that smothers
the Fifth sense, smell. It chokes, it chars.

“Claw is Sixth, it snicks, it snatches;
when sharp, it shivs, and dull, it catches.”

The verses went on, chilling Daniel’s and Freya’s hearts just as the icy water chilled their feet. After a time, Daniel’s legs started to go numb. It was an unpleasant feeling. The water deepened until he was wading in it up to his waist. As he struggled to keep up, Daniel could make out the shape of Swiðgar striding confidently ahead of him. Then, startlingly, the knight bobbed swiftly downwards, the water now up to the large knight’s torso.

Daniel braced himself for what was to come. He made his way cautiously to where Swiðgar had sunk farther in and put a twitching foot forward.

He suddenly felt himself sinking. Gasping as the water enveloped him, he sank farther and farther down. Panicking, he thrashed his arms. If mere exertion and prayer could have saved him from going farther under then he would have stopped right there, but he didn’t. With a terrified glub, his head slipped under the surface of the water.

He strained his head upwards as his hands tore away at the ice water. After an age, dry warmth finally bathed his face and he sucked in a huge gasp of air.

“Quietly, quietly,” cautioned Ecgbryt, his mouth pressed close to Daniel’s ear. “Place your feet on the ground.” Daniel stretched his legs underneath him as the knight lowered him back into the water. “I—I can’t feel the bottom.” His voice was an urgent whimper. “It’s too deep.”

“It is not. Be calm. Put your legs down straight. Unbend your back.”

Daniel found this hard since the chill had started making him shiver uncontrollably. His feet kicked in vain for a time and then struck against something. He pointed his toes and found that solid ground was, in fact, beneath him. He put his feet down and found that the water only just covered his shoulders. “I—I—I can’t . . . ,” he stammered.

“Worry not,” said the even voice of Ecgbryt. “I am here beside you.”

Daniel gulped and started to move forward again. Swiðgar stood ahead a little distance, stopped, apparently waiting. Freya was swimming quietly and confidently a short distance off to his right.

It was slow, hard work for Daniel, who was finding trying to stay afloat in his clothes almost impossible. He paddled along as best as he could, but moved faster with his toes fumbling along the rocky bed.

Swiðgar, up ahead, motioned to them. He pointed to the spot where he was standing and ducked under the water. He didn’t come up.

Daniel approached the area where Swiðgar had disappeared, Ecgbryt behind him. Freya was paddling around the area. She went down once and bobbed back up again, took a very deep breath, went back down, and didn’t come up again.

Daniel could feel with his feet where the ground fell sharply away. He stopped, paralysed, trying to find enough breath and courage to move forward.

“It is well,” said a voice behind him. “Swim as you can and push yourself along the rocks. It’s not far.”

Daniel swallowed and took a deep breath. He bobbed up and down in the water and then plunged his head under. He tried to pull himself forward and felt a strong hand on his back giving him a push that sent him surging forward faster than he liked.

He put his hands out in front of him and felt them scrape hard on the floor of the underwater stream. The pain made his face clench. He wanted to let out a scream but didn’t dare open his mouth. Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in his lungs. He made a mistake—this was wrong. He didn’t have enough air. Should he go back, or was he already there? He tilted his body upwards, thinking or hoping he must be there, but banged his head against a rocky ceiling instead. He saw red and white lights before his closed eyes. Throwing his hands outwards, he tried to push, claw, or scrape himself along. He gained a little momentum but not a lot. He kicked his feet, but they felt heavy and slow in his waterfilled shoes. His lungs burned. This must be what dying is like, he thought.

He felt a large hand grab his back and he was once again lifted out of the water. His breath exploded outwards. He sucked air deep into his lungs, marveling at its taste and warmth. He had survived.

“It is done, lad.” It was Swiðgar this time. “You made it. Stand.”

Daniel put his legs down. The water was shallower here but moved much faster. He stood coughing and sputtering in the absolute darkness. “Freya?” he said when he found his breath.

“Yes,” came a reply in what, to him, seemed a very calm and collected voice, though shivering slightly with cold. “I’m here. Are you okay?”

“I think so,” he said, grinning. “I wish I had tried harder in swimming class.”

Ecgbryt surfaced behind them, his metal armour jangling as he struggled for a footing on the wet rocks. “It gets the blood flowing,” he said, laughing, “does a good dip like that.”

“I’ll say,” Daniel said.

“Let us press onwards,” Swiðgar said. “Freya, hold on to my shoulder; Daniel, take Ecgbryt’s. We will lead you.”

With Daniel and Freya shivering uncontrollably, the four moved through the near-total darkness. Time had become abstract since entering the tunnels, and now didn’t seem to touch them at all.

They had just begun to think they would wander around in the dark forever when a quivering outline could be made out on the surface of the water up ahead. “It is here,” said Swiðgar. He stepped beneath a dim halo of light that fell from the well’s shaft above them. A soft luminescence cascaded down his face and shoulders, throwing his high-browed features into sharp relief. It was the first clear image that Daniel and Freya had seen for some time, and it stung their eyes.

“There are rungs for climbing set into the stone,” he explained.

“I will lift you up as high as I may, then follow behind. A warm fire and dry dress will be waiting for you, think on that. Daniel, you come first this time.”

Swiðgar knelt, allowing Daniel to put one foot on his squared upper leg. Reaching up, he found he could touch the bottom rung.

Swiðgar made a cradle out of his hands and Daniel, putting his other foot inside it, found himself launched up into the round, rocky hole. With a cry of surprise, he threw his arms out, bracing himself along the sides of the well to keep from falling back down.

Just above his right hand was a rung and he grabbed it. Below that was another, which he managed to get his foot on. “Alright,” he called down.

“Start climbing,” came the reply. “I’m sending up Freya behind you.”

With water cascading off of his drenched clothes, Daniel started to haul himself up, relishing the idea of putting those dark and extremely wet caverns and creatures behind him and wondering what was ahead.

He kept his head up and eyes fixed on the little circle of light still far above him. He started climbing faster, even though his arms and legs were very tired and unbelievably heavy.

Eventually he came to the end of the rungs. He paused before putting his head through the opening. Then, placing his hands on the rim of the well, he pushed himself forward and tumbled up and out of the darkness. He slid off and onto a stone-paved floor, exhausted. He lifted his head, looked around slowly, and gaped at what he saw.

4

A huge tree towered above Daniel, stretching up into the darkness. It was unlike any tree that he’d ever seen before; it was carved out of a pale, almost golden stone and set tight against two trees exactly like it—and more after each of those, and on and on into the distance. Their branches interlaced with each other in the most elaborate and bewildering patterns. The leaves were painted green and traced with something metallic that glimmered like gold. Long garlands of ivy were chiseled into the trunks of the trees—all of them twirling around in the same direction. Daniel became completely lost in the design of the branches, which he now saw contained small sculptures of birds, animals, and insects. He walked slowly up to the tree, clothes still dripping, and reached out his hand to touch a leaf, half expecting it to be soft and thin. It was rigid and cold. “Wow,” he said in awe.

He turned around to help Freya and took a moment to examine the well—the Western Well. It was carved out of the same stone as the wall but in a much different style. Swirling shapes rose up from the ground in a short pillar of water and continued seamlessly into a large iron frame, which rose above the well’s rim and supported a pulley mechanism.

There was a wet slopping noise from inside the well, and Freya appeared from the darkness. He helped her up with an effort and she toppled onto the stone pavement behind him. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as she did a double take at the wall of stone trees.

“Can you believe this?” he asked her in amazement. “An underground city! I wasn’t sure I believed it but it’s here! Look at this wall, it just goes on and on! And these . . . just look!”

Buildings rose up on the other side of them, about ten storeys high, carved out of the stone, with strips of intricate tracery around the doors, windows, and roof. In the spaces between, Daniel and Freya could glimpse more buildings—some grander, some smaller, but all of them displaying a wealth of fascinating details. More of the silver lanterns could be seen being used as streetlamps and houselights.

A hand tugged Daniel’s elbow. Freya gripped his arm and pointed a shaky finger.

Approaching them was a scowling man holding a long, glistening sword. There was a scraping sound behind them and they turned to find themselves surrounded by three more men drawing similar weapons. All four faces were pale and almost deathly grey. Features like eyebrows, noses, and chins all blended into the pallid skin, making the faces look oddly similar.

“What should we do?” Freya whispered.

“Just wait and see what they say. Don’t worry, I won’t let them hurt you.”

One of the men opened his mouth to speak, when the grunting and muttering of Ecgbryt was heard behind them. He climbed out of the well and shook the water from his wet clothing. Swiðgar came close after. The two knights glared at the circle of guards around Daniel and Freya.

“We are Ecgbryt and Swiðgar of Oxenaforde with two lifiendes.

We seek Ealdstan the Wise. Is there one who will take us to the Langtorr?”

One of the guards standing around Daniel and Freya acknowledged the knight’s request with a nod. “Well met,” he said in a soft but gruff voice. “I am Breca; I will take you there.” He turned and led them away through an arched passageway between two buildings and out into a wide street.

Freya’s and Daniel’s heads swiveled in every direction as they walked down the streets of the underground city, trying to take in as many of the amazing details as possible. Ecgbryt watched them and smiled. “Welcome to Niðergeard, young lifiendes,” he said proudly. “Perhaps the greatest of the hidden wonders of the world! I have heard of far-off kings, who spoke in tongues now dead, living in sandy kingdoms who have built strange and enormous structures to their own memory. I have heard tell of Elfin palaces in twilight kingdoms whose citizens have harnessed the power of the moon just as the Laedenware have tamed the rivers to their towns’ purposes. There are people on the far side of this strange world who live in rooms of parchment, wear gossamer robes, and kneel to eat. There are dark men who live in forests with trees so vast and large that the sky is never seen. But were all of these far-off brothers and sisters to arrive here, in this hallowed place, they would think their homes small and their birthplaces of little consequence to the might and glory of Niðergeard, the Slaepera-Burgh!

“See that building there?” Ecgbryt continued passionately. “Carved out of the solid rock; no stone-joiner ever found a day’s work at that place! And see there, that tall walkway which stretches near across the city, the work of twice twenty years’ worth of solid labor—a hundred men, every day!”

“Did you hear that, Freya?” Daniel said, leaning towards her but not taking his eyes off the spectacle of a thin stone bridge that arced clear across the city. “It’s absolutely amazing!”

The structures were truly incredible, although they had apparently needed repairs over the centuries. New stone looked incongruous against that much older. The streets and stairways were bowed and worn away, drooping in the centre like warm butter. Here and there, in the doorways and windows, Freya could see people watching them—their faces pale and drab. Living underground for hundreds and hundreds of years, their skin had turned almost grey, and their clothing was faded and worn.

“Why does everyone look so tired and . . . sad?” Freya asked.

“Is that it? Is that the Langtorr?” Daniel exclaimed, the unfamiliar word clinging to his tongue. He pointed to a massive pillar that rose before them, carved out of one of the enormous natural supports to the underground plain. Only the lower part of the tower could be seen in the light of the city’s flickering torches, but its top must have reached to the roof of the underground land. The light of flickering torches could be seen through chiseled windows rising above the city, hanging in the air like a giant column of rectangular stars.

“Yes,” said Ecgbryt, “also called the Tall Tower. It is the heart of Niðergeard, designed firstly to hold the people of Niðergeard, should the town be invaded.”

“Have they ever had to use it?” Freya asked.

“To my knowledge, no. The walls have always been sufficient to repel attackers.”

“But why is all of this here? Why have an underground city?”

“Niðergeard exists to provide service to all the knights and warriors who sleep in these isles.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are times when tunnels need to be strengthened or closed or better hidden, when armour and arms must be polished, horses shod, and so on. A myriad of responsibilities. Those in Niðergeard have dedicated their lives to these small acts. That is their sacrifice.”

“How many sleeping knights are there?”

“Very many. I do not know the number, for many more would have been laid down since we went to sleep.”

Daniel and Freya, the knights, and their escort walked a path into the middle of the city, gradually approaching the Tall Tower.

After passing through a particularly narrow alley, they entered a large open plaza. Ahead of them they could see the base of the Langtorr, as well as the entrance across a plain, smooth floor paved mostly with white marble, paths of red and green marble tracing a complicated, seamless pattern that wove dizzyingly in and out of itself. Daniel tried to follow it but had to look up as he started to sway and lose his balance, staggering. He laughed and quickened his step to join the others.

Freya noticed one building near the Langtorr—a squat, circular building about twelve feet high. It was not ornately carved or adorned in any way; its rock was roughly hewn and reinforced with iron bracers. Atop it stood five stout, simple columns supporting a flat, stone roof.

“What is that?” Freya asked, squinting at a gleaming line of gold. “What’s inside it?”

Caged in by the columns was one of the weirdest and most haunting objects that either Daniel or Freya had ever seen. Supported by a chain dangling from the roof and lit from underneath, it looked like some sort of ornate, golden horn. It started at about the width of an arm at the bottom, but the barrel gradually widened at the top where it ended in an odd animal-head shape. It had large, completely circular eyes and a blunt, sharp-toothed snout that opened up wide, as if the thing were shouting.

Swiðgar saw Daniel and Freya staring at the object and gave a small smile. “It is the Great Carnyx, æðelingas,” he said. “The trumpet that will wake all the knights and summon them to battle. It is the most guarded and valued item in Niðergeard—perhaps in all of the isle.”

They walked slowly past the Carnyx and came at last to the large, ornate doorway of the Langtorr. A huge stairway made of curved steps proceeded from the entrance. Every step was lit by a silver lantern that illumined the path to a thick archway containing many smaller arches, each one nestled inside the other, bearing wonderful designs. The farthest inside the arch bore an interlocking zigzag pattern, the next featured a row of stylised bird heads, the next a row of animals, then a row of warriors standing guard, and finally on the outside arch, a row of mythical beasts.

Two alcoves were tucked into the massive pillars on either side of the doorway. Here stood two guards with hair so white it almost glowed and pulled hard along their scalps to fall in long, thick braids, which were bound with gold circlets to their shoulders. Full beards jutted out from their chins and forked in the middle to reveal bands of twisted gold around their necks. They wore no armour, but their broad chests and massive arms had a heavy, immovable firmness. Here and there on the chest, arms, and legs, small, delicate whorled patterns were traced in faint blue dye. This, together with their blanched skin, made Freya believe, unquestioningly, that these guards were exquisite carvings—so she couldn’t help gasping when they started to move.

5

The pale-faced escorts of the party marched wordlessly up to the two ghastly guards. Low, unfamiliar words were uttered and the stony guards silently moved to one side, allowing the company to pass. Daniel and Freya mounted the steps behind the knights, feeling very insignificant amongst all the ancient grandeur. Passing under the magnificent archway, Daniel stared awestruck at the huge metal doors that stood open against the walls of the inner forecourt; they seemed to be made of large plates of sheet metal, decorated with climbing wrought-iron swirls and whorls, all layered on top of each other, giving the effect of a massive wall of fire, frozen in metal.

Beyond the doors was a narrow greeting chamber. There was a red woven rug on the floor, a gleaming chandelier made from the silver lanterns, and several tall, dark tapestries on the walls.

Though they were dark with age, Freya could just make out the positions of a few of the larger figures, one of them climbing a rock face, one of them in a boat pitched at a dramatic angle.

The party passed through this room and strode towards a stairway that flung two flights of stairs out and up around the circumference of the inner wall. Daniel and Freya craned their necks to try to see the ceiling, but the hollow core of Langtorr ran straight up through the centre; the stairs rose with it, spiraling up and up like two paper ribbons in a tornado.

As they marveled at the ever-ascending steps, they became aware of someone walking down them. A tall, slender, willowy woman so graceful she seemed to drift on a cushion of air. She wore a long bright-green dress under a heavier dark-green robe edged with silver thread. The colours of her clothes reminded Freya of a tree budding in the spring. She looked neither old nor young. Her hair was auburn with dark streaks of rich brown and was swept back, secured at the back of her head with pins of gold, then left to fall about her neck and shoulders. Silver gleamed at her neck and waist. She wore a belt of finely polished silver discs and a weblike necklace made from many twining strands of the same metal.

Her face was pale, but her lips were a deep red, which seemed darker against the alabaster whiteness of her skin. Her eyes were large and sad looking, as if remembering a sorrow from a distant time. She paused a few steps from the bottom of the staircase and crossed her arms, tucking her hands into her sleeves. Swiðgar and Ecgbryt knelt in front of her. Daniel and Freya, unsure what to do, stood behind the knights, their hearts pounding in anticipation, overwhelmed with awe. Daniel thought her face the most beautiful he had ever seen—it filled his mind and made him forget, for a few seconds, all the things he had gone through to get here. Freya’s awe was sharp and felt like a cold wind blowing through her; for some reason the woman’s grandeur and self-possession made her afraid.

“Greetings, Modwyn, Richéweard,” said Swiðgar.

“Well betide you, niðercwen,” said Ecgbryt humbly.

The stately lady in green curtsied. “You are welcome in Niðergeard, Swiðgar and Ecgbryt, noble knights both. Rise.” A servant woman in a velvet dress appeared from a doorway beneath one of the stairs, approached her mistress, and handed her a silver pitcher and a small cupped dish. Stepping forward, Modwyn poured some golden liquid into the bowl and handed it to Swiðgar.

He raised it to his lips and drained it while looking Modwyn in the eye. Taking the bowl from him, she refilled it and gave it to Ecgbryt. He likewise emptied it and handed it back.

Modwyn’s eyes then flitted to Daniel and Freya as the two knights rose to their feet. Her expression remained stern and serious, but her eyes seemed to grow more intense and lively.

“My lady, I bring before you Daniel Tully and Freya Reynolds, two lifiendes who have awoken us. We have escorted them here to beg your protection and petition your counsel.”

“I accept their charge,” Modwyn said in a low, emotionless voice. “Daniel and Freya,” she continued, turning her eyes to them, “do you accept my hospitality?”

Daniel and Freya did not speak. For some reason everything felt as if it was happening a long way away, and to someone else.

They looked to the knights.

“Children, this is Modwyn, the ward and protectress of Niðergeard. It is her constant and capable hand that ensures the safe and easy governance of this land. She is asking if you wish to have her protection.”

Daniel looked back to Modwyn and managed to force out, “Yes, please.”

Freya looked to Modwyn and blurted, desperately, “We need to go home now, please!”

Modwyn regarded Freya. “In time,” she said so softly that they were not sure she had said it at all.

“I welcome you,” Modwyn said, stepping past the two knights to stand before them. “Our doors are open and our fires high. Find rest and safety here.” She poured another bowl of drink and offered it to Daniel. He took it uncertainly and sniffed it. He was met with a sweet smell and tingling sensation in his nose.

“It is well,” Swiðgar assured him. “Drink.”

It was sweet like honey, slightly fizzy, and had a spicy flavor, which pricked at his throat and excited his stomach. There was also something in it that warmed Daniel and made him shiver slightly.

He returned the bowl to Modwyn and she filled it again and gave it to Freya. Looking into the bowl, Freya saw the shimmering dance of refracted golden light, which showed a deep golden hue. The scent made Freya’s nose tingle and warmed her face. She stifled a sneeze.

“You are both wet and chilled,” Modwyn said, reclaiming the bowl. “Please dry yourselves and take some rest. We will talk when you have taken some sleep.”

At the mention of the word “sleep,” Freya felt herself becoming very drowsy. “If you please, miss,” she said hesitantly, “we would like to go home.”

“I understand,” Modwyn said, smiling a thin smile that failed to light her dark eyes. “But you have come very far and will have farther to return. That will be for Ealdstan to decide. For now, it would give me great pleasure to provide some food, dry clothes, and a bed for you both. Will you accept these offerings?”

Freya did not answer, only nodded.

“Okay . . . ,” Daniel said, his head starting to swim and his eyelids becoming extremely heavy.

Modwyn inclined her head. “I am glad.”

Two servants appeared from behind Daniel and Freya, entering so quietly that they were unnoticed. They were dressed almost to the knees in dark-green shirts, bound around the waist with bronze belts that also held up loose light-green leggings. Both had light-brown hair and broad faces. “This is Cnafa and Cnapa,”

Modwyn said. “They will fetch and provide you with everything you might require. Now they will show you to your rooms.”

“Will Swiðgar and Ecgbryt be here when we wake up?” Daniel asked.

“Yes, assuredly,” answered Modwyn.

“What about Ealdstan?” Freya asked. “Will we see him?”

The two knights smiled encouragingly. “Go take your rest,” said Swiðgar. “We will meet again once you have been refreshed.”

Daniel and Freya followed Cnafa and Cnapa very sleepily up one of the spiral staircases. Below them they watched Modwyn gesture to Swiðgar and Ecgbryt and lead them off through a towering doorway beneath the opposite set of stairs.

They were led up to the second level and down a hallway that ran along the tower wall. The high windows gave them a view of the tower’s courtyard, and the city of Niðergeard.

“This will be your room, young master,” either Cnafa or Cnapa said to Daniel, opening a large wooden door to a spacious bedroom.

“And this,” said the other servant, walking one door farther down the hallway, “will be your room, young mistress.”

“You will find dry clothes and linens on the table, as well as clean water in the jug,” Daniel’s servant informed him. “May your sleep be guided, your body rested, your mind restored, and your soul renewed.”

Daniel and Freya said their thanks and, before stepping into their rooms, glanced at each other from down the hall.

“Scared,” mouthed Freya.

“Me too,” Daniel replied, as the two servants pushed them each into their rooms.