Page 66 of Burning Crowns

Wren bristled, cursing herself for not paying more attention to Thea when she spoke of the legends of old. As much as she loved her grandmother’s wife, Thea did have a way of prattling on, and Wren always found her mind drifting to other matters: food, adventure, the magic of the here and now. ‘Of course I know the story,’ she said, archly. ‘I have just momentarily forgotten the details of it. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.’

Alarik snorted.

She stamped on his foot.

‘Witch,’ he hissed.

‘Remind me,’ Wren urged the healer.

The healer nodded, graciously. ‘The sword you see behind the falls is called Night’s Edge. Legend says it was carved from the underside of the moon and imbued with its ever-glowing light. When the first witch Eana left the stars to come to earth, the moon gifted the sword to her. So that it might light the way ahead,and help her carve out a new home far beyond the edge of darkness.’

Wren couldn’t stop staring at the sword hilt. Her fingers itched to trace it, to hoist Night’s Edge, just as her ancestor once did. This was the closest she had ever come to the first witch, and the nearness of her memory filled Wren with a thrill of excitement.

Maeve went on. ‘When Eana landed in the ocean on her green-tailed hawk, she used her magic to turn the bird into a land that soon filled with rivers and lakes, forests and flowers. But the winds of our young country were strong and the nights were bitterly cold. In the beginning, Eana was alone. She was lonely. And so she sought shelter, a place of peace and healing that would help her prepare for her new life.

‘She stalked the far reaches of her kingdom, until one day, she heard singing. A sound so pure, it brought tears to her eyes. It was neither bird nor human. The mountains were calling her, and so she came.’

Wren glanced sidelong at Tor and Alarik. They were enraptured, leaning into Maeva’s tale as though they had never heard a story before. Even Elske had fallen quiet at their feet, her ears pricked up as if she were listening, too.

‘For three days and three nights Eana travelled through the Mishnick Mountains, searching for a way in, but there was none.’

‘But where there’s a sword, there’s a way,’ murmured Wren.

Maeva smiled. ‘Finally, on the third day, Eana raised her sword, and with Night’s Edge cut an entrance into the mountains. The rock fell away, revealing great caverns that wound deep into the new earth.Her relief was so great that she came to her knees and wept. The tears of Eana gathered and became a waterfall. Ever flowing, ever clear. The mountains became her sanctuary, a sacred place of healing. As a tribute to them and the peace they brought her, Eana left her sword in the rock.’ Maeva gestured once more to the sword glinting behind the waterfall. ‘It remains here to this day.’

‘Impossible,’ breathed Alarik.

‘Every word is true,’ Maeve insisted. ‘It is written in our annals.’

‘Not the magic stuff,’ he said, swishing his hand. ‘Trust me, I’ve seen enough magic to believe in it. What I find impossible to believe is that a sword so powerful has remained there, untouched for so long.’ He exchanged a knowing look with Tor. ‘Surelysomeone has thought to take it for themselves?’

‘Don’t you have any unruly children here?’ said Tor.

‘Or unruly men?’ said Wren.

Maeva’s laugh echoed back at them from the cavern walls. ‘Many have tried to free the sword,’ she said. ‘But Night’s Edge belongs to the mountain. It is part of the rock. It does not yield.’

Tor cracked his knuckles, staring at the sword as if it were an adversary. ‘I’m sure it would with the right pressure.’

‘You are welcome to try,’ said Maeva, with a smirk that implied she had seen many men like Tor try and fail. ‘But for now, the Healer on High is waiting and she does not suffer lateness.’ She looked apologetically at Wren. ‘Even from queens.’

Wren shooed the men on. ‘Let’s please keep our priorities in order.’

‘I would invite you again to stow your weapons,’ Maeva reminded them. Now that they had heard the story of Eana and her sword, it seemed Tor and Alarik were more receptive to the idea of laying down their own weapons.

Alarik removed his sword and placed it against the cavern wall. ‘This blade is worth more than your precious mountains,’ he warned. ‘If I see so much as a scratch on it there will be trouble.’

Tor placed his sword beside it. Then he removed a knife from his boot and a dagger from his inside pocket.

‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ said Wren, brightly.

Arlo gave her a stern look.

‘What?’ said Wren.

He pointed at the faint outline of the hilt at Wren’s waist.

Tor laughed.

---