The Wedding of Eithne

Chapter Nine, Scene Twenty-Three

Kilim scrambled up the slope. "Bikilar! Run! Back that way!"

The double-headed snake tore at the heap of Dwo.

Tommalt and Talwyn pulled her by the arm into the serpentine tunnels. Kilim limped and hopped on his bad leg. His pale brown cheeks lost their ruddy tint, black circles formed under his pale blue eyes. He choked and spat wads of white froth.

Eithne scolded herself. "I was useless back there! Dwo is dead!"

The way twisted and turned.

Tommalt tried to console her. "It ain't your fault, mum. There was nothing you could do. It all happened so damn fast!"

From under a shield-like obstruction, a huge, warty, dead yellow arm swiped at them. "Oy! Zalag! Ki-ne tésh-me!"

Eithne fell back against the rocky wall to avoid the black-taloned fist. A large, purple eye blinked around the overhang.

Talwyn screamed. Tommalt stabbed.

Kilim pulled Eithne down another dark tunnel.

Shock overwhelmed her. Dwo might be alive if it not for me!

The lantern light flickered over the walls. Eithne shook her head. Sickness rose in her gorge. No! I never wanted any of this to happen!!

Kilim paused at a three-tunnel intersection, then pulled her right. They went around a bend and into a narrow way. They turned sideways. The breast of her steel-ringed cuirass scraped the rock wall. Tommalt cursed and shoved himself through.

Distant, frustrated shouts echoed from the walls.

"What would Eowain think of me?" She felt tears on her cheeks, rubbed at them with the back of a hand. Just another little girl, playing at men's work, that's what.

Talwyn her face pale, tugged at Eithne's sleeve, eyes round. "You fought, me arlodhes! As well as me breders, as well as any den."

But Eithne had a vision of her mother, hands on hips, scowling at her from the door of their home. Fighting's no business for a girl!

Kilim's skin had gone pallid and clammy. He staggered on his injured leg, paused, then with a weary whisper, he pointed down a branch in their way. "Thorin gilaim."

Shouts of ogrish rage resounded through the tunnels.

"But Dwo—?"

Kilim shook his head. "It is war, lady. Dorak morak Gimain. War unto Death." He put his fist to his heart. "He died well. Dorak will welcome him." Then he pointed again down the branching tunnel. "Thorin gilaim."

Eithne put a hand on his shoulder, felt his loss in her own heart, like a great gaping wound. "He was very brave." But the words felt empty, meaningless.

He scowled at her. Growls and shouts of rage still echoed through the tunnels. "Bofugilzak. Come on." Kilim hefted the crossbow and limped on.

Another huge, glittering cavern of glowing blue lichen opened before them. The vaulted ceiling was obscured in mist far over their heads. An unfathomable pool of wyrd-lit green water lapped at the floor of the chamber. On its shore, a fire of bracken, roots, and branches had been heaped up.

Beside the fire sat a giant, cross-legged. His black, upthrust tusks ripped at the whole haunch of a roasted cow's leg.

Kilim went still.