The Destiny Blade

To Cuchulain it might have been a dagger, but he was a huge man, over twice the size of the village smith at Chipenden. The blade he handed me was a sword. It looked a very special sword too, no doubt crafted for a king. The hilt was ornate – shaped like the head of some sort of beast. With a shock, I recognized it. It was a skelt, the creature that hid in crevices near water, then scuttled out to drink the blood of its victims. The skelt’s long snout formed the serrated blade of the sword; its eyes were two large rubies. It made sense – Ireland had lots of bogs and water, which would be home to skelts, so the sword had been fashioned in its likeness.

I took the handle in my left hand and tested it for balance. It felt right – almost as if it had been made for me.

Then I saw that the blade itself was crafted from a silver alloy. Such a weapon could destroy a daemon. Although it was not effective against one of the Old Gods, the blade could still injure the Morrigan and buy precious time while I made my escape.

Suddenly I saw that blood was dripping from the sword and forming a small red pool on the ground. For a moment I thought that I’d cut myself on the sharp blade; but then, to my astonishment, I realized that the blood was weeping from the two red ruby eyes.

Cuchulain grinned. ‘It likes you, boy!’ he exclaimed. ‘It likes you a lot! The first time I held that blade it dripped a little blood. But nothing like as much as that! You belong to the blade. It owns you. You’ll belong to it until the day you die.’

B8 C19