The Storm of Garmr

by Bo Luellen

  A shot rang out from within the courtyard, and the sound was neatly transmitted into her own ears. Her head pulled back from fright, and she was nearly deafened by the loud noise. Her eyes had gone back brown, and the connection had been lost.

  She sat on the cold ground and looked up for the Raven. The animal was gone from sight, but Amanda still felt the tickle of its presence. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on re-establishing the link. This time, it was a gradual emersion, and it didn’t overwhelm her. Her eyes went black, but she was looking out of her own eyes with the vision of the Raven. Turning around in a circle, with her red cloak flourishing outward, she took in the wonder of the dark hills. In her mind, she found the ability to switch from looking through the Raven’s eyes, or through her own. As long as she concentrated, she had the keen sight of the bird.

  Getting back up, she switched to see through the Raven and gave it a mental command to scout the entire castle from above. Amanda felt the wind blasting against her face as she experienced Arthur’s flight like it was her own wings on the cold currents of air. She smiled and let out a little laugh at the thrilling sensation.

  She held out her arms as if they were wings, This must have been what Morgana was talking about when she said, Raven’s Sight.

  The Raven focused on a section of the castle wall that was left unguarded. It was the exterior portion of the same building Ian and Josh were being kept in. Arthur panned down to the base where the cliff started and gave a squawk.

  She sighed, If you’re saying this is going to suck, I’m agreeing with you. That climb is going to be tough, but it’s my best shot at getting to them.

  Amanda sprinted back to her camp and stashed her backpack under some logs. She put out her fire and then kicked as much dirt on the rising smoke as possible. Amanda armed herself with only a buck knife and a Glock pistol she had lifted from one of the dead cultists.

  She spent nearly an hour walking a broad curve towards the unguarded section of the fortification that the Raven had discovered. Before long, she was staring at a crag that stretched up 250 feet to the base of Stirling Castle. She counted an imposing three stories of worked stone before she could be able to reach the first window.

  Scanning downward, she took into account the thick woodland at the base of the cliff. She plodded into the forest and gave herself to the pitch blackness of the trees. Even the moonlight was blocked by the canopy, as she felt her way from tree to tree. Her mind went back to the first night on the road when Peyton was shot and how she wandered in terror in the stormy night.

  Amanda didn’t dare turn on the flashlight for fear of catching the attention of some roaming Cthulhu soldier. It took her almost thirty minutes of fumbling in the black before she found the five-foot clearing before the rock wall. The rough stones of the crag were wet and slick with algae. She looked up to see the lights from the castle windows shining out, like a stationary lighthouse waving her through rough waters.

  Taking a breath to calm her anxieties, Amanda attacked the wall and started her ascent. Almost blindly, she went to work looking for places to put her hands and feet. She climbed by feel, moving slowly and cautiously. The cliff was wet and cold in her hands, and her rest stops were spent trying to warm up her hands.

  At the halfway point, she crested over the tops of the trees and saw the half-moon shining down on her. As she got higher, the pulsing plasma threads occasionally circled overhead. She was awestruck by the enormity of the tendrils. Some of the multicolored threads were as big around as a bus. They reached out over the countryside like an octopus looking for prey.

  Her fingers and hands bled from the sharp cracks in the rock. Looking up, her heart lifted. The crag edge was only twenty feet away, and Amanda focused on nothing else other than reaching that peak. Her legs and arms were burning, and she found herself ill-prepared for the challenge. As Amanda continued to move upward, her biceps and shoulders begin to fail. Her legs shook uncontrollably as she willed herself into each new level.

  Amanda put a bloody hand over the top of the peak and searched with trembling cold fingers for a groove. She felt her heart swell with hope and joy at the small nook that was waiting on her. Her mind barely registered the painfully sharp rocks scraping along her abdomen, as she pulled herself over the top. Rolling onto her back on the narrow two-foot ledge, Amanda wrapped herself in the red cloak and shivered.

  The Raven swooped in and landed next to her. She grimaced, as Arthur squawked in Amanda’s face and prompted her to get into action. Slowly, she got to her knees and then her feet.

  Leaning on the castle wall, she whispered to Arthur, “You little shit.”

  The animal danced around on a rock and then took off once more into the night sky. She looked upwards at the 2nd floor, where she had seen Ian and Josh through the Raven’s Sight. Amanda didn’t know if that window would lead to their room, if she would be able to open the window or if there were alarms on the building.

  She adjusted the mantle’s hood and continued to climb. The worked stone allowed her better footing, and the grooves acted almost like a ladder. Unlike the cliff, where rest stops were sparse, this surface allowed her plenty of breaks. The cold wind whipped over her body, pushing and pulling her as she went. The howl of the air assaulted her face and exposed skin with its chilling temperatures.

  To her surprise, she had reached the second story with relative ease. She attempted to slide the window open only to find it was nailed shut from the inside. Cursing under her breath, she made a decision to keep climbing. The lactic acid set into her muscles, causing her body to shake and tremble. Her hand slipped, ripping off her right middle fingernail from the root. Searing pain shot into her hand as it dangled by a thread of flesh from the cuticle. She gripped her hand into a fist to avoid screaming out. With blood flowing down her arm, she continued to press forward. Each grip of the rocks with her injured finger caused blinding pain to shoot down her arm.

  As she reached the roof, Amanda gripped the lip of the stone wall and hoisted herself over. She cradled her injured right hand and looked at it in the moonlight. The nail was still attached by a solid piece of her flesh. With her left hand, she pulled out her long straight buck knife and laid it to the side. She unclipped the leather sheath and put it in her mouth. Amanda placed her middle finger on the stone roof and positioned the edge of the knife on the soft flesh. Agony shot down to her stomach and almost made her vomit when she pulled the sharp blade across the tissue. The first cut didn’t get the job done, leaving a piece of skin still attached. Amanda muffled her screams as she chomped down hard on the bull hide. With her body shaking, she reset and once again sliced along the exposed tissue. Red coated the ground beneath her legs, but Amanda managed to get the job done. She took her blade and cut a long strip from her cargo pants. Amanda wrapped her finger the best she could and cinched it tightly with her teeth.

  She worked her way over towards the edge of the roof next to the courtyard. Just as she had seen with the Raven’s Sight, trucks were still being loaded by the Crimson Brotherhood. She scanned her area and found a trap door that led downwards into the building.

  Amanda was suddenly struck with a reality, Okay, then what? You walk in there, persuade someone to let you have the keys to their room, and just walk out with Josh and Ian? Maybe, I could stop a helpful bloodthirsty murderous cultist and ask him directions to where they’re holding Roger.

  With her knife in her left hand, she made her way over to the door and pried it open. A wave of hot air engulfed her face, causing a soothing sensation to go down her back. She wanted to stand there and let the heat melt away the days of cold that had sunk down into her bones. Stealthily, Amanda descended the steps into the darkness below. Reaching into her pocket, Amanda pulled her flashlight and switched it on. The staircase came alive, showing off the myriad of cobwebs that decorated its rungs.

  When she reached the landing, she scanned the room. It was full of dusty cardboard boxes that were stacked randomly about, and light
from under a single door poured onto the floor. Flipping off her flashlight, she leaned and looked through a keyhole into an empty hallway. Amanda tested the knob and found it was unlocked. She listened for a long moment but heard no one on the other side. With courage, she swung it open to reveal a hallway, decorated in old pictures of ancient Scots.

  She walked out slowly into the hallway, with knife in hand, I’m one floor above Josh and Ian. I’ve got to work my way down without being noticed.

  A rush of blood went to her face as a toilet flushed in the room directly to her left. The door popped open, as an old man in the black military-style uniform walked out. He was too busy tucking his shirt back in his trousers to initially notice her. She remained motionless, hoping he might not see her. The cultist did a double-take at Amanda, then stopped cold.

  A moment of recognition came on his face, “Amanda Lanyon!”

  His hand went for his pistol at his hip as she grabbed his wrist and slipped the blade under his flak jacket. She pressed her pelvis to the bucks hilt and used her body weight to slide the knife into his flesh. He gasped in pain as the steel dived into the man’s liver. The old cultist went up on his toes and grabbed her throat with both hands. Her neck felt like it was in a vice, as he drove her back against the opposite wall. She pulled the knife to one side, churning the organs with its serrated edge. He dropped to his knees and released his hold on her. She relieved him of his thick military helmet and stroked him across the face. Teeth bounced across the wooden floor as she visited another blow to his skull. He crumpled to the ground, and she pulled out the knife. Pushing his chin up, she thought about her captured kids and dead husband, as she drew the edge across his exposed throat. He spasmed and gurgled, while she held him in place and waited until he stopped moving.

  Amanda felt the same numbness that she had experienced in the woods when she shot the cultists. This time it was more personal; she was looking into his eyes, felt the knife move into his body, and his skull clank off the metal helmet. She grabbed his collar, spun his unconscious body around, and dragged him along the floor into the storage room. Amanda removed his jacket, his ski-mask covering, and put them on.

  She shut the door behind her and pulled the mask over her cold face. Amanda straightened her back and attempted to move confidently down the stairs to the second floor. When she reached the next level, the sounds of something slapping came from behind one of the doors. The noises reminded her of two wet steaks being hit together.

  Her heart collapsed as she thought, No, please don’t let this be Josh.

  The door was cracked, and Amanda stopped at the entrance. Roger Quinlynn was tied to a chair, nude, and sporting long red marks all over his chest and legs. A Crimson Brotherhood soldier was holding a length of tanned leather in his left hand. With satisfaction, he reared back and gave the AEGIS agent another hard swing to his chest. Roger gritted his teeth, and another welt joined the other in a mosaic of pain.

  Amanda pulled out her pistol and cocked it. The noise made the man turn to face her. She stepped into the room and did her best to act like she belonged.

  The Scottish cultist looked confused, “Whit urr ye daein’? “

  She pointed her pistol at Roger, “They want him put with the others.”

  The torturer scoffed, “He wis juist aboot tae tell me everything. Noo yi’ll waant me tae halt? ye Americans hae na professionalism!”

  The cultist’s reached down and worked on the knots that bound Roger’s wrists to the chair. Amanda lined up behind him and then took two giant steps forward. She crashed the butt of her gun against his skull, causing her target to pitch forward. The black-clad murderer went nose-first onto the hardwood floor, while blood squirted out from both sides of the man’s face.

  Amanda whipped out the buck knife and finished freeing Roger, “Hey, are you with me. Are you awake in there?”

  He lifted his head, revealing a black eye, “Scotland sucks.”

  She removed the rest of his bonds and asked, “Can you walk?”

  Roger stood up, covered in red lashes, and replied, “No, but I can dance.”

  He got up from the chair and rubbed his wrists. Roger took a skipping step towards the unconscious tormentor and placed a soccer kick between the man’s open legs. The sleeping cultist groaned and threw up. Roger hopped around on one foot from the impact with the man’s tailbone on his instep.

  She grabbed his shoulder. “Ian and Josh are being held on this floor. We need to get to them and then get out.”

  Roger sat down on the cultist’s back and looped his old bindings around the man’s throat, “It won’t be easy. They have two guards on them at all times. They were keeping them alive as bargaining chips. They wanted me to give them information on what AEGIS knows. Where have you been, anyway?”

  She moved towards the doorway to check for more cultists, “Lots of walking. Hey, what are you doing?”

  Roger pulled the cord tight and twisted it. The Scot’s face turned red, and his eyes bulged. The agent bobbed his head up and down, impatiently waiting for the man to finish expiring. Once the body went limp, he got up and pulled it behind a desk.

  Amanda prodded, “Hurry, put on his clothes. We can walk around freely.”

  The agent picked up a pair of handcuffs from the desk and replied, “No, I have a different idea.”

  Minutes later, the pair were walking down the hallway towards the room where Ian and Josh were being held. Amanda had her pistol shoved in the back of a nude Roger, as his hands were behind his back. As they approached the doorway, one of the two guards unlocked the door as the other one sneered at the agent’s bare body.

  The cultist grabbed Roger’s testicles, “Brother Dùghlas tellt me yer baws wouldn’t be comin’ back wi’ ye. Ah, think ah kin fin’ something fin tae uise thaim fur.”

  The other guard clicked free the deadbolt and swung open the door. Both Ian and Josh were tied to a set of beds and shivering. They both had black eyes and deep bruising on their face. Their nipples had turned black from repeated electrocutions. The electrodes were now attached to their ears and dangled off to the floor, stretching the flesh. Despite their gags, they both had a look of astonishment and excitement at seeing the top of Amanda’s face.

  Roger regarded the overly affectionate guard, “Your hands are soft like a girl. I think I’ll call you, Jenny.”

  The cultist’s eyes went wide at the insult, and he threw a haymaker at Roger. The agent sidestepped the attack and raised his unhandcuffed hands. He grabbed the man’s shoulder and shoved Amanda’s knife into the side of his throat, just below the ear.

  The other guard went for his gun, but the stress of the moment made his fine motor skills useless. While the cultist juggled with the flap holding his pistol in place, Roger let loose a series of strikes. The guard attempted to counter, only to have his wrist broken from a perfectly timed block. Roger leaped in the air and pulled his opponent down on top of him by the jacket. As the soldier flailed, the agent locked a leg triangle around his neck. He smoothly pulled the Scot’s head towards his groin, causing the choke to tighten.

  Roger looked over at the dying guard who had a blade sticking out of his throat and said, “Oh look, Jenny. I did find a fun use for my balls after all.”

  A few seconds later, both of the men were dead on the floor. Amanda untied a grateful Ian and Josh, as Roger dragged both of the dead men inside the room and shut the door. The Scot had a limp from where they had broken some of his toes, but Josh was in substantially better shape.

  Josh grabbed her shoulders, wept, and said, “Oh, my God! We thought you were dead, Mandie!”

  She hugged him hard, “I thought you were gone, too.”

  Roger stripped off one of the soldiers and commanded, “Let’s focus people. We need a plan to get out of here. Ian’s not going to be running any races with those broken toes.”

  Ian was nursing some bruised ribs, “Dinnae let me slow ye, doon laddie. Ye git th’ wee lassie tae safety.”

&n
bsp; Amanda pulled one of the pistols from the dead guard’s belt, checked the magazine, and replied, “The wee lassie doesn’t plan on doing anything safe for a while. What I do need is for you to take this gun and follow my lead.”

  The Scotsman stuck his chest out, and grabbed the Glock, “Time and tide for nae man bide. Ah, will rammy fur ye!”

  Before long, the men stripped the three cultists their group had killed and put on their cloths. Ian’s shirt stretched at the seams and exposed the pasty white flesh of his belly. They marched their way down to the first floor and found the exit to the courtyard.

  She stepped down into a small foyer and stopped at the door. Floodlights were set up in each corner and shining down on the large workforce. The cultists were loading dozens of pallets filled with long wooden crates and stacks of ammunition boxes into six yellow and white moving vans.

  Josh peered out of the window and said, “What are they doing?”

  Roger put on his stolen coat and replied, “Those are unregistered small arms and machine guns in those crates. They are being shipped out to several secret bases that are disguised as residences.”

  All three of them slowly looked at the agent, as Amanda asked, “How on Earth do you know that?”

  He put on a pair of black gloves he got off of one of the dead men and replied, “Automatic weapons are banned in Scotland, which means they bought them on the black market. Those trucks aren’t filled to capacity, which means they all aren’t going to the same place. They are using moving vans, and the least conspicuous place to offload such a vehicle would be at a private residence where it wouldn’t attract attention.”

  Ian slapped him on the back, “A’m aff tae stairt cawin ye Roger Moore.”

  The agent bristled, “Don’t! James Bond is fiction. Real spycraft is nothing like that.”