The Chronicles of the Immortal Council: The complete 10-book collection

by D C Young

  “That may be true, but let’s start with your first question. I am Marcus Antonius. As for what I am, we will leave that for another time.”

  Björn was very suspicious about this Marcus Antonius. The name meant something, but he couldn’t quite place it. “Why have you come to us, since you are the protector of Luni.”

  “You must learn to listen better, Björn. I was the protector. Now the city wants me to be part of its past. You are part of its present and future. That is why I have come to you,” Marcus said.

  “Are you going to help me breach the gate?” Björn asked as he tried to peer into the robe Marcus wore. He had caught a glimpse of the man’s face, but what he had seen was too pale.

  “I have a plan, if you are interested, but it has its risks. How do you feel about risks, Björn Ironside?” Marcus asked.

  “Life is a risk, Marcus, tell me more.”

  Chapter Five

  Skadegamutc—that’s what the woman outside the movie theater had said as she’d walked past me. I had no idea what the word meant. When I’d turned to Anthony and asked him what she meant, he’d shrugged in that classic pre-teen way and said, “I dunno. Google it!”

  After issuing the prescribed amount of eye rolling at his comment, I decided the boy had a point and went into my little office. I boot up the computer, opened a search page and typed the word as best as I could figure it was spelled. It came out first as skuh-deh-guh-mooch, which was surprisingly quite dead on track. It didn’t take long for the spelling suggestions that popped up in the search field to lead to the right word and then to possible definitions.

  The first among the suggested sites were a few that referenced Native American folklore. But wait a minute, I thought, that woman was definitely not native. According to the website, the word was most used by the tribes of the Wabanaki Confederacy from the North Eastern United States, mostly the New England area. The word is used to describe a ‘ghost witch’. The skadegamutc was described by one particular source as a being that was created at the death of an evil magician who refuses to stay dead. The witch or warlock, as the case may be, turned into a creature that came to life at night to kill, eat, and throw curses at any unlucky humans who came across them.

  Sounds pretty vampire-like to me, I thought sarcastically. Actually, they kinda nailed it!

  I read further and learned that the only way the Wabanaki knew of to permanently destroy a ghost witch was by fire and then scattering the ashes to the wind. You gotta love the internet! I leaned back in my chair and locked my fingers behind my neck. It was an old habit from my federal agent days although that was mostly due to headaches and sore necks, neither of which I had to worry about anymore. But I found it helped me to think sometimes. And I couldn’t help but wonder…

  Why would she be speaking Wabanaki in the middle of a prestigious Los Angeles suburb?

  ***

  “What’s worse is, she called me that, Max!” I said, apparently raising my voice because my friend Archibald Maximus gave me a very stern librarian’s look. “Why would she be so bold to call me a vampire to my face? She didn’t have a shred of fear in her eyes.”

  “What did you find out about this… skadegamutc?” he asked when he’d calmed down a little about my outburst.

  “Just what I’ve told you. Why? Do you know something more?”

  “Not much more than you already do but you said when you called that there was something strange about her?”

  “Yeah. It was freaky and for all I know I imagined it.”

  “I doubt you would imagine anything you were observing so keenly, Sam. You’re too good of an investigator to imagine things.”

  “Hmmm, okay. I guess you might have a point there and we both know I’ve seen stranger things. I mean, I couldn’t make some of this stuff up!” I paused for a moment to formulate an adequate description of what happened when the woman stepped out from the shadow of the theater that night. “It was some form of transmutation, Max, but only partially and only for a few seconds. Her face changed from being quite gorgeous to a horrific hag.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Archibald Maximus was unbeatably one of the most interesting characters I had met since this whole vampiric life of mine had begun. By that time, he was definitely a dear friend, a wonderful confidant, one of my fiercest allies and an endless fountain of information.

  He governed the Occult Reading Room at Cal State Fullerton. It was a place of endless resource and I was fully convinced that it housed one of the world’s most dangerous collections of arcane and rare books, unbeknownst to the students and faculty of the university. Books that were full of dark powers and that could create all sorts of havoc if they fell into the hands of the wrong person.

  Though never quite confirming it, I’d always suspected Max as being a gatekeeper of sorts; a watcher, a protector. Someone who ensured that none of the knowledge in the strange and dangerous books confined to the reading room ever became a threat to the larger world. His ever present, bright aura suggested I might be onto something with that too. It also made me quite sure that he wasn’t entirely of this world.

  He stood up without another word and moved between two tall shelves. I could hear him whistling loudly as he went. It drowned out the eerie calling from some of the more nefarious volumes… but only slightly. A few minutes later, he emerged with a big black, leather-bound book. He was dusting it off with a handkerchief. When he arrived back at the table, he had already found the pages he’d been looking for.

  “Right here, Sam,” Max said pointing his slender finger at the grotesque drawing on the page. “What you saw is sometimes called the Dødehekse; the dead witch.”

  “Dead witch?”

  “Indeed. The name was first recorded in Scandinavia by a Christian priest who had found himself living among the Vikings near the Kattegat Sea. He’d come from Paris to spread the Word of Christ to the heathens, but as the story goes, he saw so many strange things in Norway during his time there that he lost all faith and ended up giving up his beliefs.”

  “Okay. But now there’s a dødehekse right here in L.A., who apparently wants to make sure I know she exists. Why, Max?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “That’s not very helpful, you know.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  I paused to give him a strange look. What the hell do you mean by that, Max? I had no idea if he knew something but wasn’t telling me what it was or if he felt that I knew something but just wasn’t thinking hard enough about it. Either way, whatever his tactic, something worked.

  “Dang it!” I cried, sounding way too much like my son Anthony. “You said the name was Norwegian right? Viking?”

  “Yes, Sam. It is.”

  “Well, don’t you think I must be the luckiest vampire in the world since I happen to have a real live Viking friend to ask about this dødehekse?” I paused for a moment and the look of triumph slowly faded from my face as I remembered what Kingsley had told me the night before. I looked at Max who was closing the old book and getting ready to return it to its proper place.

  “What is it, Sam?”

  “Björn and the others have left Elysium House. I have no idea where they went.”

  “Then you’ve got an investigation on your hands, don’t you?”

  Chapter Six

  866 A.D.

  At dawn, Sigurd and the scouts returned with only bad news about the wall. Sigurd had expected his brother to fly into a rage over their failure, but Björn seemed disinterested in their report.

  “We are going to mount another attack on the front gate,” Björn said, “this time we will use the battering rams I had some of the men make during the night.”

  Sigurd said, “That is a fine plan, but do you think they will be strong enough?”

  “We shall see,” Björn said with a smile.

  During the following evening’s attack, it quickly became evident that the battering rams were too weak to breach the gate. Sigurd narrowly
avoided being run through by a couple of arrows, which made Björn laugh, but also caused him to jump to action.

  He ran onto the battlefield and kept his eyes on the archers. When he saw one take aim and shoot, Björn watched it speed towards his chest. At the last second, he moved and caught the arrow with his shoulder and fell to the ground with a loud cry.

  Instantly his Vikings surrounded him and ran him out of harm’s way. Sigurd joined him at his side and asked, “Brother, are you okay?”

  Björn smiled, “Yes, I will survive, but this wound will get us inside that stupid walled city; that I promise you.”

  A surprised look filled Sigurd’s face, “How? You don’t really expect them to heal your wound, do you?”

  “No, but I do expect them to take me in if I make a dying wish, which you will convey to them,” Björn said with a smile.

  Sigurd shook his head, “This is crazy. Why would they let you inside?”

  “Because you are going to write a letter that says I am dying and that I have made the decision to convert to their religion and want to be blessed by their priests,” Björn said, “once inside, with my escort, we can fight our way to the gate and open it, where you will be waiting.”

  The plan worked better than Björn could have ever dreamed. The people of Luni accepted his religious conversion and desire to make peace with no question. Björn was surprised that they did not even ask his honor guard members to lay down their weapons. They carried Björn into the city’s main temple and placed him at the foot of the altar. As the head priest spoke Latin over him, Björn had to fight back laughter as he grasped his sword to his chest. When the priest finally finished, he asked Björn if he confessed to being a sinner.

  “Yes, I do!” Björn yelled at full volume and jumped to his feet. He ran the priest through with his sword and whispered in his ear, “I have a message from Marcus Antonius. Daylight may stay his hand, but not his mind.” The look of shock and pain on the priest’s face told Björn he understood the message fully. Björn ran out of the temple with his honor guard trailing him. A few soldiers stood between them and the gate, but they proved to be no match for the Vikings. Björn opened the gate and watched as his entire army spilled into the city of Luni. As they spilled blood on the cobblestone streets, Björn watched with a smile. Marcus had been right about every move. As he looked around the walled city, Björn decided that he didn’t need Rome. The loot from Luni would make him a rich man for the rest of his life.

  That night, as Björn sat in the throne of Luni’s former King, Marcus Antonius strolled into the room, his hood pushed back.

  “Marcus, good of you to join us,” Björn said, “as you can see, your plan worked brilliantly. I am in your debt.”

  Marcus nodded to the Viking Chieftain, “That is good, because I do have a favor to ask.”

  Björn stood and clasped Marcus’s arm in his; the Viking noticed his Roman friend’s skin was ice cold to the touch, despite the fair weather.“You only need to ask.”

  “I want to return to Scandinavia with you. I have had my fill of this country and want to visit some places that are new to me,” Marcus said.

  Björn nodded, “That is fine, but I do have some conditions.”

  “Such as?”

  “No killing any more of my men,” Björn said. He grasped his sword’s hilt, expecting a fight.

  Marcus smiled, “If I wanted to kill your men, or you, I would have done it by now. I promise not to kill anyone while we are on our voyage. At the same time, I need your word that you won’t disturb me while we are on the journey. As you have probably guessed by now, I do not like sunlight, so I will need to travel in a crypt that I have designed and built. You will load it on your ship and keep it as dry as possible. You will not open it or allow anyone else to open it during the day. Is that understood?”

  Björn nodded, “We have a deal.”

  Ten days later, Björn Ironside’s Vikings were sailing back home, about to enter the Straits of Gibraltar when the signal came back from the lead ship that enemy ships were barring the way.

  Björn climbed to the top of his mast and looked out. He swore to himself and slid back down to the deck.

  “Who is it?” Sigurd asked.

  Björn spat into the water, “It’s the Saracen Navy. They must be mad about the raids along the Spanish coast. We have them outnumbered three to one, but they’ve blocked the Straits. This is going to be a bloodbath!”

  As each one of Björn’s ships tried to breach the pass, the Saracen ships sent balls of Greek fire into the air. Several Viking vessels sank, but Björn’s larger fighting force won through. It was a fierce battle that went from ship to ship and man to man. The sun dipped below the horizon as Björn’s own ship passed through the Straits of Gibraltar, and several enemies jumped on board. Björn fought them off, putting himself between the attackers and Marcus’s crypt.

  As the last enemy fell at his blade, Björn saw a large shadow land on the deck, too big to be a man. The creature knocked Björn’s men overboard with barely any effort and then ran right towards him. Björn refused to feel fear and ran at the creature, slashing down with his sword. He connected, sinking it three inches into the creature’s shoulder, but it kept moving. Björn became face to face with the thing, and realized it was some kind of wolf-beast. He punched it in the face, but the beast shook off the blow and bit into Björn’s shoulder.

  “AAARRGHHH!” Björn yelled as the pain filled his body. The beast threw him to the deck and advanced on Marcus’s crypt. It tore off the lid, ready to gut the man inside. Marcus caught it by surprise, leapt out of the crypt, and stuck a knife deep in the beast’s chest. The creature staggered backwards, hit the rail, and fell into the water where it sank to the bottom.

  Marcus ran over to Björn, “How are you, Björn Ironside?”

  Björn got back on his feet with Marcus’s help, “I am better than that thing, thanks to you. What was it?”

  Marcus’s eyes fell on the blood seeping out of Björn’s shoulder and had to stamp down the desire to feed, “It is something that you are going to become quite familiar with, I’m afraid. It was a werewolf, and now that it has bitten you, you will soon become one as well.”

  “You are talking foolishness, Marcus. There is no such thing as a werewolf,” Björn said, “besides, the bite that thing gave me barely broke the skin. Look the bleeding has already stopped.” Marcus could see that Björn was telling the truth, but he also knew that quick, almost immediate healing, was one of the few good things about the werewolf curse.

  “How far are we from your home, Björn?” Marcus asked as he grabbed the lid to his crypt and prepared to reenter the box.

  Björn looked at the wreckage of his ships around him, “It will take a day or two to get what we need from the damaged ships, and then a week after that to sail home. Why?”

  “Because,” Marcus said as he reclined in the crypt, “you have a new deadline, set by the moon.”

  Björn’s fleet returned home to the cheers and applause of his people. Even those who lost loved ones had embraced Björn, knowing that he would honor their memory with gifts and a percentage of the raids’ spoils. Before joining in the revelry, Björn made sure that Marcus’s crypt was taken to his home and placed in the dark root cellar. When night fell, there were no clouds in the sky to block the light of the nearly full moon. Björn could not help but remember the words of caution from Marcus, but he also refused to believe them. So, he let himself enjoy the party thrown in his honor and did not return to his house until an hour before dawn.

  Marcus was waiting for him, “Björn, tomorrow night the full moon rises, and so will the beast inside you.”

  Björn drunkenly dismissed the man’s warning, “I am a Viking. I let the beast inside me do what it damn well wants. Full moon or not!”

  “Tomorrow night will be different, and you must be prepared, or it will be those closest to you who will suffer the most,” Marcus warned.

  Björn laughed, “Piss
off, old man. I will do as I have always done, and nothing more. It has made me and my family rich and powerful.” He collapsed on his bed and began to snore immediately.

  Marcus looked down at the Viking, and shook his head. He would have to learn the hard way, and his family would suffer for it.

  The next night, Marcus kept watch from the shadows as Björn and his brother took part in another night of feasting. After he had drank his fill, Björn went outside to relieve himself. He stood by the side of the hall beside Rallah, one of his soldiers. Björn finished first, and looked up at the sky just as the clouds parted and the moon emerged.

  “See, Marcus! The moon is out, and I am still Björn, Viking Prince!”

  Rallah stepped away from his brother, “What are you yelling about?”

  Björn laughed, “That old man who I brought back from Luni claimed I would turn into a werewolf.” He laughed again, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. Rallah clapped him on the back, but Björn couldn’t stop coughing and fell to the ground. Rallah tried to stand him up, but Björn backhanded him, throwing him ten feet into a large tree. He collapsed unconscious.

  Björn’s coughing got worse, and he noticed blood was coming from his mouth. Even worse, his eyes were playing tricks on him. His fingers appeared to be growing longer and forming large claws. His hearing suddenly became much more acute, and he could feel his clothes ripping from his body. Before he knew it, his vision completely changed, and while he could still see, Björn wasn’t exactly sure what he was seeing.

  Björn tried to turn around to look at his friend, but his body felt all wrong, as if he was no longer comfortable standing on his feet. When he finally managed to turn around, he saw Rallah, not as a fellow man, but as a food source.

  Rallah regained consciousness just as Björn turned on him. He saw the beast that had been his captain, and screamed in fear. The sound triggered something in Björn, and he jumped on top of the man and quickly snapped his neck to stop the noise.