Darkness Forged

by Matt Larkin

  Agilaz nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  He dared not leave Hermod alone with the king and his men, so the boy had accompanied him into the darkness of the deep forge. Such a place seemed to belong to some other world, one not meant for men to walk. Hard to even fathom his brother had ever lived and worked in dark halls like this one. Indeed, Agilaz had never understood what kind of strange life Volund must have had there. He spoke of it little.

  Maybe he’d known no one could understand.

  “Uncle Volund is here?” Hermod whispered.

  Agilaz stiffened. Neither of his guards had reacted to the boy’s words, so he had to hope they had missed them. It would not do for Nidud to learn of his relation to Volund, not now.

  The guards led him to a bridge crossing an underground lake. Hermod knelt as though intent to touch the water. Agilaz snatched him up. The guards were watching them now, with wry smiles. The lake must contain some hidden danger—he’d swear to it.

  At the guard house, his escort left him, pointing to the rocky island beyond the end of the bridge. They walked alone to the gap in the bridge. It was small enough even Hermod could make the leap. What was the point in such a gap? How could a short jump keep Volund confined here?

  After patting Hermod on the shoulder, Agilaz leapt over the gap, then turned to his son. “Come. I will catch you.”

  The boy stepped back, then ran and jumped. Agilaz swept him into his arms, then set him down on the rocks.

  “I want you to remain outside the forge. Do not go nigh to the lake. Stay right there.” He pointed to a rock pile nearby.

  After glancing back and forth between the water and the forge, the boy scrambled up onto the rocks and sat there. Maybe Agilaz should have let him follow inside, but this place seemed fraught with danger, and it all left a hollow feeling in his gut. They should all of them be away from Njarar as swiftly as they could. As soon as he found Volund, he’d need to think of a way to help his brother escape.

  The forge itself was dimly lit, the dancing fires seeming to magnify the shadows instead of push them aside. The place stank with sweat and coal smoke and something acidic he couldn’t identify.

  “Volund?”

  “Brother.” The voice kept to a dark corner. It sounded like him, but off. Raspier, like he had taken ill. “You ought not to have come here.”

  “I’ve come to free you.”

  “You cannot. Not alone.”

  Maybe not. Maybe he could convince Hadding to return with an army. If only he could see some way to attack the fortress other than that suicidal path to the main gate. “Surely I can do something to aid your situation.”

  “Perhaps.” Volund stumbled into the torchlight, dragging an obviously lame leg behind him. His long hair, once bound at the nape of his neck, now hung in disheveled strands. Black strands. Even more striking, his skin had turned a sickly gray.

  “B-brother? What in Hel’s underworld have they done to you?”

  “Not her underworld, I think. They woke something, something the dvergar perhaps planted in me.”

  Agilaz’s legs threatened to give out from beneath him. He stumbled backward until he collided with a workbench, then leaned against it to steady himself.

  “What is it, brother?” Volund asked. “Do you not like the monster that stands before you? Does my likeness frighten you?” His brother chuckled then, as though let in on some jest Agilaz could not begin to fathom.

  “Are you …” Agilaz swallowed. There was a tale, a vicious rumor he and Slagfid had promised never to speak of again. Knowledge was precious, but on rare occasions a man was better off not knowing things. Or so Slagfid had thought, and he was the eldest brother. But then, perhaps stumbling in ignorance might prove worse. “Are you certain the dvergar put it in you?”

  Volund shrugged, an elaborate motion that swayed not only his hair, but the very shadows around it. A trick of the firelight, was all. Aught more was impossible. Was madness.

  “Father never brought your mother to court,” Agilaz said. “There were stories … he had met some woman in the woods and lain with her. That in the middle of one night, in the dead of winter she had come back. Left you on his doorstep. A skald once claimed a slave had seen the woman and she seemed inhuman, like some vaettr. But if this slave existed, no one found her. And father did not speak of such things.”

  A thoughtful look fell over Volund’s face, and then he melted back into shadows so thick Agilaz could not make out his form. This was a place of nightmares. Maybe Volund was right; maybe he should have never come here. But he had done so. And this king had lamed his brother.

  “Tell me what I can do to help you.”

  “They took my ring, brother. Altvir’s ring. I would have it back.” The disembodied voice sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing on it. Praise be to Frey he had not brought Hermod in here. The boy would have had nightmares for a moon or more. As, Agilaz suspected, would Hermod’s father.

  “Who has it?”

  “The princess, Bodvild. Ask her to meet me in secret. She will have seen the jewelry I’ve crafted. Tell her I would make something for her. Tell her whatever will get her here—but I must see her, brother.”

  Agilaz shuddered. “I will tell her.”

  Maybe Altvir’s ring would help Volund escape this place. Agilaz hoped so. Because he wanted to be gone, as well. Far away.

  21

  Two Years Ago

  The winter would break soon. A moon, perhaps, and the ice on the lake would begin to melt. They all wanted to take advantage before that. The three valkyries skated about the lake, laughing, shaping complex patterns with one another as though weaving a tapestry.

  Agilaz’s young son, Hermod, clapped his hands, vainly chasing after his mother, one way and the next. In their graceful dance, the valkyries managed to somehow avoid colliding even with the ungainly child. This was his third winter, and he could barely keep his feet on the skates. Agilaz shouted advice at his son, still not quite able to appreciate the moment.

  Or maybe he did in his own way, Volund supposed. Certainly he wanted what was best for his son. From the time he was born, and every few moons thereafter, Agilaz had crafted a new fur jerkin for Hermod. Volund’s brother hunted down wolves, deer, even a cave hyena once. That pack had wandered into the valley and sparked a pitched struggle for territory with the dire wolves. The wolves were better than hyenas, so Agilaz had hunted more than a few of the nasty animals to give the wolves an edge. Since then, the wolves seemed to have settled into an uneasy truce with the brothers.

  Altvir leapt into the air, using a beat of wings that vanished an instant later to carry her halfway across the lake. Volund skated in that direction, shaking his head. She was showing off, which was something he expected more from Svanhit than his own wife. Still, Altvir was a strange one, never quite predictable. She had convinced her sister valkyries to marry the brothers, and to this day, seven winters later, he could not quite say why. He could say only that he loved her. And that these years were the first in his life he’d known true peace.

  Olrun caught her son in her arms and spun around, sending a sheen of frost spraying from her skates. The boy laughed.

  “Papa! Papa!”

  And Agilaz was smiling. Just a little.

  That seemed a miracle, after all.

  Midnight had passed, and still Altvir and he sat upon the frozen lakeshore, a torch stuck in the ground nearby. His arse was cold, but he hadn’t found himself wanting to rise. Or not wholly. Yes, the house promised warmth and the peaceful escape of dreams. He liked to dream these days. In dreams, sometimes he walked with a child’s hand in his own. Except on waking, he would realize the child did not exist. Maybe never would.

  Altvir had not pushed him to go in, had not even asked. She could sense his moods, sure enough. Perhaps she even knew what he dwelt on, though she had not spoken of it. Indeed, she seemed far away, her attention ever drawn to the north.

  Finally Volund sighed. “What
has happened?”

  Altvir shook her head.

  “Tell me.”

  She rose then, and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “You cannot protect me from the truth, especially if it weighs on you.”

  “I can try.”

  Volund frowned. She must have sensed wars. Men dying in battle, some meeting heroic ends. Their urd. And those who ought to have valkyries claiming their souls, taking them to Valhalla. Did some of them linger, trapped as shades or drawn down toward Hel because the brothers had taken valkyries from their duties? From the oaths they had made to whatever eldritch power they served? They did not speak of their mistress, save to sometimes refer to her as a she. Those rings had been gifts from her, as were the wings. The valkyries’ oaths held them somewhere between life and death, somewhere between human and vaettr. That much he had garnered.

  Other troubles, concerns, had come to bother him much more than those secrets. He did not blame Altvir for holding some truths deep inside. He did the same, rarely choosing to speak of his time in Nidavellir. He had told her once he feared they had done something to him. The look of sadness in her eyes had kept from saying more.

  “Another battle?”

  “There’s always another.”

  War was a constant. Such was the way of the world. Volund just grunted. “Hermod liked skating.”

  “Certainly so.” She smiled, still seeming far away.

  “It makes me wonder …”

  “Volund …”

  “How, after seven years of marriage, does only one couple have a child?”

  Altvir sighed and turned away, again staring off to the north. No doubt one petty king preyed upon the land of another. The dvergar claimed mankind was slowly dying out, an eventuality they wished to prevent. Without humans, they had no hosts in this world. Sometimes they spoke of waging wars of conquest merely to put a stop to humans killing themselves. If all humans were enslaved, the race might stand to live out the next few centuries, or so Durin and others had argued. But the dvergar never seemed to convince their king to act. They did naught quickly, for they had long memories of their battles with the Vanir and the Old Kingdoms like the Niflungar and the Lofdar. Some of their foes were steeped enough in sorcery to pose a threat to dvergar, to cast them out of this world entirely. They were not keen to risk what they had without due consideration.

  And so instead they dwelt in their debauchery and isolation, passing the ages by as the world faded around them.

  “You’ve grown morose.” She was looking back at him now.

  “I would have sons.” Olrun’s pregnancy had run long, but perhaps that was because she was a valkyrie.

  “Only sons?”

  “Or daughters, too.” He strode out to her on the ice and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Children of my own to raise and carry on my legacy.”

  “Meaning?”

  Meaning he would teach them his craft, of course. Or did she imply that to learn his arts would require them endure what he had? If the dvergar were right, if a crafter must himself or herself be tempered first … No. No, if that be the case, the knowledge would die with him. Human arts were enough, and he could teach those as well. He would visit no suffering upon his children. Never.

  “Perhaps I am barren,” she said before he had formed an answer.

  He turned her about to look in her eyes. Still luminous green, and glistening with the hint of unshed tears. She never shed tears, but then, he could not remember seeing her like this. “Is that the truth? Could you not conceive were you so inclined? You and Svanhit both?”

  “Svanhit perhaps fears Slagfid’s heart is less true than it might be.”

  Volund felt like he’d been slapped. He released Altvir and stepped backward. His brother might be flighty, but he had never been unfaithful. Not as far as Volund knew. For that matter, Svanhit was herself mercurial. “Do you think that of me, that my love for you is tainted?”

  “N-no. I didn’t mean that.” Altvir rubbed her forehead as if in pain. “Volund, I—”

  “Well, what did you mean, wife? Have you some doubt on me? Am I not worthy to sire your children?”

  “Suppose your deep fears hold merit.” The tears in her eyes had gone, replaced with a hollow light barely escaping through her narrowed lids. “What if a seed of darkness were planted in you in the deep kingdom? Could not that seed be carried in your seed?”

  Volund shook his head. No. Impossible. She had burned the darkness out of him. He was safe, he was pure. And she was saying she had not borne him a child for fear of his own nature. “You trust me so little.”

  “I have trusted you so very much, Volund. More than you can know.”

  “And yet you wound me!” He took another step away. Not quite able to look at her. How could he do so, knowing she believed such vileness ran through his veins? And could she be right? Could there still linger within him such a horror?

  Now she looked down, shaking her head, refusing to meet his gaze. “It was not my intention.”

  And now he had somehow become the villain here, hurt her. Hel take him for it. Hesitantly, he returned to her side and knelt before her. Took her hand in his own. “I pledged myself to you. If you ever deign to give me a child, I shall rejoice. But either way, I love you, strange creature though you are. In spite of it, because of it, I cannot see myself without your light.”

  “Oh,” Altvir pulled him to his feet and into an embrace so tight it hurt, “I wish I could tell you the weight of my oath.”

  “Then do tell me.” He whispered in her ear, patting her hair.

  “Come. Let’s go to bed.”

  22

  Someone has come.

  Oh, yes. They had been pleased with the gifts. In fact, the queen had so loved the brooches, she had ordered fresh venison and ale delivered to him in reward. Now they would ask him to craft more finery for them. Perhaps this time he would make boots out of Thakkrad’s skin.

  Kill them all.

  Oh, vengeance demanded more than death. To kill the king and queen would be quick, relatively painless for them. No, for their crimes they needed to suffer the rest of their days. One day, one day very soon, they would need to learn what he had done to their sons. By now, they probably had begun to wonder where the boys had gotten off to. Perhaps they thought them gone off to the wars, seeking glory. Certainly that had been Ulf’s intent.

  “Hello?” The feminine voice was young, timid.

  Oh. Agilaz had done his work, then. It was too perfect. Finally, at long last, all the pieces had begun to fall together. The fire was hot enough now, the forge stoked. The last step in his revenge walked in, freely, on her own two legs.

  Sadly, off in the wars, Nidud’s eldest son was beyond Volund’s reach, but his daughter, the queen’s precious favorite—she would do.

  Cane in hand, Volund hobbled to stand nigh to the forge entrance. The girl strolled in, looking all about as though the deep forge were some tapestry to be inspected for conversation over the night meal. She had blonde hair, like her brothers, but longer, hanging freely about her neck in the fashion of maids and unmarried girls. Tall for a girl, too, tall as he was.

  “Hello?” She started as he stepped closer. “You’re the smith, Volund?”

  Volund nodded, but kept to the shadows beyond the firelight. His appearance had disturbed the boys, and he could not afford to spook this girl. “Forgive me for not coming out to meet you. I do not walk so well these days, you see.”

  “Oh! What happened?”

  At that he flinched. By the fathomless darkness of Svartalfheim! She was serious. She had lived in this castle and somehow not heard her father had publicly maimed him. What did that mean? The obvious answer would be one—or both—of her parents had gone to some lengths to keep her in the dark. To let her think them innocent, hide their heinous crimes. That made using her less tasteful. Still, if the king and queen had taken such effort to keep their daughter innocent, they mu
st favor her greatly. And in the end, what hurt most was losing that which you held most precious.

  Take it. Take it all from them. Let them see how it feels to be bereft of hope and cast into the infinite night of despair.

  Volund grimaced. What must be, would be.

  “Why are you here, girl?”

  “Bodvild. I’m Princess Bodvild.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  She strolled about the forge now, peering at the tools. She paused by a table and picked up an ivory-handled dagger. The hilt was carved from her little brother’s thighbone. She did not seem to notice. “I heard you made those beautiful brooches for my mother.”

  Volund smiled. “Oh yes. I enjoyed crafting those immensely.”

  He too began to move, hobbling a step closer to the firelight, making certain to keep himself between her and the exit. One hand on the cane, another brushing over the hilt of a knife at his belt.

  “I knew it! When you look at that kind of detail you can just see the love that went into them. I always thought that, after all. That the finest works could only be made by someone who loves his craft.”

  “Hmmm. I could not agree more, princess.” He continued forward, but she had her back to him, didn’t see.

  “They always refused to let me come down here before. I don’t know why. This time though, I couldn’t resist. I had to sneak down on my own.”

  “And you want me to make something for you.” Or from you.

  She turned, smiling, a smile that faltered when she saw his ashen skin and onyx hair. “What happened to you?”

  Volund chuckled and leaned on his cane. Hel, if she only knew the answer to that. He’d been traded to dvergar by his father in an ill-conceived ploy that cost him everything. Traded, tortured. Tempered. That was the word. A process that had continued. Bodvild’s father had accomplished what even the legendary Dvalin had not. He had brought out the darkness in Volund’s veins, lifted it to the surface such that it was laid plain. And still, they did not know what they saw. Perhaps they convinced themselves he had always been dark, swarthy, unlike them. Perhaps allowed themselves to believe the forge alone had changed their prisoner.