“The spear grips the hand,” said a very small voice. All eyes spun until we locked on to an unassuming little lump of hair sitting in the corner of the bookshelf. The twain rolled itself up to sitting. He was as physically intimidating as a boiled potato, but something about the diminutive fellow gave me the shivers.
“You are in alliance with a twain?” Serif put a hand to the hilt of her sword, her body suddenly tense and battle-ready. “Whose side are you on?” she demanded.
Jackaby held out a calming hand. “This is not an alliance. This is”—he turned back to the little figure on his desk—“I’m not certain what this is. The spear grips the hand. You said that before.”
“It’s from an old poem,” the twain said.
“I know it,” growled Serif. “I’ve heard it said that Hafgan wrote it himself.”
“He didn’t,” the twain said. “The Dire King never bothered with poetry, but he liked it. It was probably his minstrel, Pughe. That one was always good with words.”
“I’m sure he was. Where is my blade?” Jackaby asked.
The twain sighed. “It’s yours now?” he tutted. “Shame.”
“Ach, did’nae I tell ye?” Nudd burst out. “Ne’er trust a twain! Where’s yer wee partner, then, twain? Off givin’ th’ blade to th’ Dire King hisself?”
“She is dead,” said the twain, flatly.
“His partner?” I asked.
“A twain always has a partner,” Serif confirmed. “They are born together. Bonded.”
“Thass where th’ name comes from,” added Nudd. “They’s always twain, ne’er a single. I don’ trust him a brownie’s breath. Twain don’ jus’ die. Not alone. They’s near enough ta immortal, them.”
“It is true,” the twain said.
“How’d she kick it, then?”
The twain offered Nudd a hollow gaze. Not empty-acorn-shell hollow; it was the sort of hollow gaze into which one might drop a pebble to gauge the distance to the bottom and then never hear it land. “She gave up her life,” the twain said at last, “in the service of our most venerable ruler. She believed in him. I believed in him. She had given him much already. He needed more power, and so she gave him power. She crafted tokens to focus his will and channel his might.”
“Tokens?” Jackaby asked.
“A crown, black as midnight. A spear, black as pitch.” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “They were not enough. In the end she gave herself. ”
“You,” I said, taking a step backward, “you serve the Dire King?”
“Know’d it!” Nudd pounced. He slammed into the bookshelf headfirst, his hands slapping together on empty air. The shelf gave way and Nudd collapsed to the one below it, which gave way in like fashion, until Nudd was deposited gracelessly onto the floor in a slough of loose papers and curios. His top hat slid across the floor.
“No. We followed Hafgan,” said an unperturbed voice behind us. We all spun around. The twain was sitting cross-legged on top of Jackaby’s heavy safe. “We made the Dire King.”
“Explain,” demanded Jackaby. “How did you make the Dire King?”
The twain seemed to regard the command with detached interest.
“It is the most sacred act of their kind,” Serif filled in. “They can live practically forever, or they can give their life to another.”
“When we cease to be,” the twain said, nodding, “it is so that a worthy life may burn all the more brightly, or so that one that has been snuffed out before its time may be rekindled.”
“You can raise the dead?” Jackaby’s eyebrow shot up.
“We can.” The twain nodded. “And not in the shallow pantomime of life that you have seen in your world of late. We bestow real vitality to the body, mind, and soul. It is our ultimate sacrifice. Our greatest gift.”
There was a flash, and Serif’s sword was suddenly slicing through the air toward the twain. I blinked.
And the cold night air bit my cheeks and my shoes sank down into the sod. I gasped. Serif’s sword lopped the azalea bush in two and she toppled into the grass. There were exclamations from the rest of our party as we took stock of our surroundings.
The twain had deposited us all, unharmed, in the garden just outside the office window. The little furry figure hopped onto the sill and regarded us from behind the glass.
“It is going to be different.” The twain’s voice was a soft hush, but I could hear him as easily as if he had whispered directly into my ears. “War changes things.” And then the window was empty and we were standing in the cold.
“Unfathomable cosmic potential,” Jackaby muttered, “and he used it to shunt us twenty feet away.”
“At least now we know what side he’s on,” I said. “They can sacrifice themselves to bring the dead back to life, and he said his other half gave herself to Hafgan. The same Hafgan whom Arawn killed. The twain must be the reason the Dire King has risen! They’re the reason this is all happening again!”
“Hate ta interrupt,” Hudson said. “But I don’t suppose one of you folks left yer cellar open like that?”
We looked across the garden.
Jackaby muttered to himself as we hastened toward the cellar steps. “We couldn’t have five minutes pass without things getting worse?”
We reached the doors and Jackaby inspected the lock. “It isn’t broken,” he said. “It’s unlocked. From the outside. Wait here.” He stalked down the steps and returned a minute later holding the sky iron chain. It had been sliced into pieces. “The bad news is, she’s gone,” he said. “And worse, she has the black blade.”
“Is there good news?” Miss Lee asked.
“Well,” Jackaby answered gamely, “karmically, I would say we’re due for an upswing on the pendulum of fortune. That’s almost good news.”
“That’s not good news,” Serif said, crossly. “That’s just a very wordy way of saying it’s all bad news.”
“It’s worse,” Jenny said. “She promised to take someone with her.”
“That’s true,” I confirmed. “She told us she would be free by morning, and she threatened to take . . .” My eyes shot to Charlie. “Where is Alina?”
We raced through the house, Charlie in the lead. A cloud of pixies scattered and the dwarves groused as Charlie bounded right over their heads. Hudson and Nudd took the first floor and Lydia and Jenny took the second. Jackaby and I caught up to Charlie on the third.
“She was here,” he panted. “I left her right here. She was watching the merpeople swimming in the lake.” His eyes were wet and frantic.
“Who was?” came a voice just behind us. We spun around, and Charlie leapt to lock his sister in an embrace. “What is going on?” Alina demanded.
“You are safe,” said Charlie, letting her go.
“Was there doubt?”
“Morwen,” I said. “We were worried she might have made good on her threats.”
“She may have taken someone else,” said Jackaby. “We’ll need to take stock of all of our visitors.”
“Hostage or not, she has the blade again,” I said. “Mr. Jackaby, there’s something else I need to tell you. Hatun had another vision. It was one of her—I don’t know—her prophesies. She mentioned the black blade. She called it the spear, but not the spear. Sir, she said the Seer would fall. Hatun said you would be lost.”
Jackaby stiffened. “Did she refer to me by name?”