He felt fine. He felt powerful, vital, like he’d plunged through an ice hole and come out refreshed. His hands tingled, jostling the growing hunger in his belly. He’d eaten only a few hours earlier and should have been sated, but that chasm within him had not fully closed and demanded to be filled.
Something flickered at the edge of his attention and it made him stumble. Ragnar tried to focus on it, but Absolon clicked his fingers.
“Come.”
He followed Absolon outside. He wanted to walk into the middle of the field and dance with the light of the moon pouring out of him, but heavy clouds had rolled in covering the sky.
Later.
Absolon led him around the side of the house. The nearer they got to the storeroom, the more he heard the sound of muffled shouting. Absolon stopped at the door. The key was already in the lock. Waiting. He put his hand on the wood and turned to Ragnar.
“This is it. Take his soul and the ritual is complete. You’ll be as I am. If you don’t, you will die, but that may be preferable.”
“How do I do it?”
“Trust the symbol that is even now coming to life inside your mind. Think it, draw it, sing it if you want, but it must be complete. Touch his bare skin and his soul will be yours. Draw it in as slow or as fast as you wish, like taking a breath.”
The hunger had grown. And when he turned his attention inward, a jumble of lines and shapes flickered in the gloom. His breath shortened in expectation; his heart throbbed with need. All he had to do now was take one soul and the rest would fall before him.
“I’m ready.”
His face grim, Absolon hesitated before unlocking the door and opening it inwards. The light landed on—
“Åke?”
Ragnar stared at bruised and bloodied Åke lying bound and gagged on the ground. He bellowed through the rag stoppering his mouth and writhed trying to break his bonds.
Ragnar turned to Absolon, his breathing short and fast.
Absolon could not look at him and instead stared into the distance like a statue. “You’re not the only one who can be cruel, Ragnar. Now take his soul or die.”
Åke’s screams increased and pierced Ragnar’s chest like poisoned darts. Even though the sound was muffled, he could clearly hear his name pleading in Åke’s mouth. He could blame Lysander for birthing such heartlessness in Absolon, but he knew where true responsibility lay.
As you sow, so shall you reap.
He staggered towards Åke and the symbol formed. Swirling and coalescing like a skittish sprite, he traced its lines, knowing which one to do first, which curve to follow next, until it formed a complete whole of unimaginable power.
The key to unlocking the soul of his enemies.
And of those he could have loved.
But love was a weakness that couldn’t be allowed to survive.
He knelt beside Åke and stared into his beseeching eyes. Why couldn’t he be some villain? Why couldn’t he be someone unknown? He looked back at Absolon and understood, as much as he didn’t want to. This was Absolon’s revenge, and he would take his punishment.
He stroked Åke’s cheek and stared into those confused eyes. The hunger sharpened, slicing him open, demanding something to stop the pain. He would die of that hunger if it weren’t sated.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His hand splayed across the naked flesh of Åke’s throat. The symbol flashed in his mind, formed, and catapulted down his arm into Åke’s body. He had no control over it, so fervent was it to be free and at its dreadful purpose.
The boy jerked, froze, and Ragnar breathed in his soul as it travelled up his arm. Tears clogged his throat but that didn’t stop the soul tickling and tingling along its final journey. He startled and let go, ashamed of what he’d done, but still the soul continued over the distance and along the same path. Ragnar scooted away from the dying body as more of the soul entered him. He backed into Absolon’s legs and could go no further.
“Take it in, Ragnar. Take it in quickly so you don’t have to see what he was.”
Ragnar relaxed and drew on it faster. It filtered through his mind and into his soul, bringing with it awful knowledge. Åke Klimson who had loved Ragnar the Red—
Ragnar jerked, and the soul jumped into him, and Åke’s life passed in a blur. He shielded his mind until the soul was in him and the energy exploded into stars. He collapsed against Absolon’s legs. His whole body tingled and, through him, rolled a divine ecstasy that obliterated sorrow.
“It is done.”
He looked up with drunken eyes at solemn Absolon, but even Åke’s sense of betrayal could not keep the grin from Ragnar’s face.
Oh, it was glorious, this magic, this feeling, all from taking one soul. He was invincible. His strength restored, his mind cleared, he was stronger and more alive than in any other moment in his life. He bounded to his feet, bursting with the pleasure of it all, with the power of it all, grabbed Absolon’s hand and pulled him along—he could now, he was that strong—out into the field where the clouds had parted and the moon shone down. As it lay down its benediction, they glowed.
He held up his hands to the light and laughed at how it streamed out of him, how it made him and Absolon glimmer. He spun with the glory of God. He leapt into Absolon’s arms and thanked him with a gratitude that was not faked. And he kissed Absolon, deep and long and hungry, stoking the fires of their passion.
When his kisses became more insistent, when the need for more grew sharper, he drove Absolon into the house and rode him with the ferocity and vigor of a hundred rutting stallions and christened his rebirth with an exultation that Heaven envied.
Chapter 7
The sun had risen many hours earlier while Ragnar and Absolon stayed abed, fucking languorously through the morning. Ragnar reveled in their stamina and yielded to the sensual pleasure of body on body, of Absolon’s rigid yet pliable form beneath him, and brought him to climax again and again.
The morning passed.
Absolon nestled against Ragnar’s side, brushing his fingertips through the hair on Ragnar’s chest. But the circling of his finger, the drawl of his hand across his skin, was like a spoon stirring a pot of bubbling agitation. Absolon weighed on him. One of Ragnar’s arms draped over Absolon’s shoulder; the other he kept by his side, locked in a fist.
“When can we go to the village?”
Absolon tilted his face up to him. “Why do you want to go to the village?”
“To look around, to see where I am, to try out my power.”
Absolon raised himself, the look on his face uncertain, wary. “You…you want to kill someone?”
“No, not especially, I want to see how much strength I have.”
He frowned. “You know you don’t have to harvest again for another thirty days.”
“What about you? Won’t you have to feed sooner?”
He hung his head. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll go together. We’ll put ourselves in harmony.”
“Perhaps not today.”
Ragnar held back a growl. “How about we stretch our legs and run? I’d like to see how much strength is in me. I saw you moving those tree trunks around; I want to try something similar.”
“I guess we can do that.” He leaned down and kissed Ragnar’s lips, but the action angered Ragnar, provoking a belligerent streak that could not be so easily calmed.
If he wanted to go to the village, who was Absolon to tell him otherwise? Who was anyone to say what he could not do? He was meant to lead, to dominate, to control. He released that fire into the kiss he returned to Absolon and pushed him onto his back, his cock raging to life and rubbing against Absolon’s stomach. He broke the kiss to see that smile back on Absolon’s face, a corresponding passion in his eye, and an erotic tilt to his off-kilter grin. Ragnar flipped him so he wouldn’t have to see that look of love and fucked him until the sun past its peak.
When they finally separated, Ragnar got out of bed and washed himself of Absolon’s smell an
d seed and dressed ready to explore. But Absolon stayed abed, hugging his bent knees, and studied him.
The attention prickled the skin on his neck. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“What was it like to take Åke’s soul?”
His gut twisted on itself, but he forced it to untangle. He would not feel guilt and he would not allow Absolon’s act to weaken him. “Bearable.”
Absolon shook his head. “You are cruel, Ragnar.” He threw back the blanket and marched out of the house to wash.
Ragnar pursued him. “It wasn’t I who brought him here. You’re the one who made the devil’s choice.”
“And one fitting for a devil.” He scrubbed himself, hurried and rough. “Do you have no remorse for taking his life?”
“Why should I? I gave him peace. What future did he have?”
He stopped and put his hands on the edge of the trough. The muscles in his forearms tensed. “But he loved you and would have done anything for you.”
“And he gave the greatest sacrifice so that I may live. I would expect it of any who followed me.”
Absolon straightened. “You didn’t even try to save him.”
“Why would I? He served a much better purpose in giving up his life.”
“You honestly believe that people should be grateful they can help you in your aims.”
“It is my due. My glory is their glory.”
Absolon laughed. “Is that how you see it? As service to the legend of Ragnar the Red?”
“They should be grateful for it. What other meaning would their lives hold? None of them ever actually love me, anyway. Åke never loved me, just the idea of me.”
And my family didn’t even love that.
“And what about me?”
“What about you?”
Absolon stared at him. Waiting.
“What?”
Absolon sighed. “Nothing.” He walked away.
“Sol, what is it? If you want my thanks, you have it, but I won’t feel guilty about Åke’s death.”
“Of course not. Ragnar the Heartless never feels guilty about anything.” He entered the house, leaving Ragnar with a sick feeling bubbling inside his stomach. Could Absolon really be upset that he’d killed Åke?
Absolon reappeared.
“Why didn’t you kill Åke in the forest when you first took him?”
Absolon blinked. “I had an idea that I could use him to wring some remorse from you.”
“And are you satisfied?”
He grimaced and bade him lead on. He kept that disgruntled look, like Ragnar had missed something important. It riled him. He should be pleased there were now no rivals for his affection. Ragnar forged ahead.
They sprinted into the forest, and he forgot about the chains fastening around his chest that wanted to bind him to this shitty farm. He instead celebrated the speed bestowed upon him. He’d already had a taste of it in the speed and force with which he fucked Absolon, but this was something else.
The ground and the wind did not hamper him, and they were deep inside the forest before he realized. He hollered with joy and ran farther and faster. He used his speed and strength to jump high into the oak trees like a squirrel bounding through the canopy, and when he landed on the ground, it trembled with the force of his impact but left him untouched. He grinned.
He dug up large boulders like they were pebbles and hurled them into trees that then crashed to the ground. He lifted their trunks above his head. He had to apply his strength, but he was infinitely stronger than he had once been. There would be limits, he could feel that in the strain of his muscles, but they were beyond anything in creation would require.
Such power!
Absolon let him run, let him break things, watched and eventually laughed while he played. By the time he’d grown weary of it, the forest looked like a giant had stormed through and laid waste to the land in search of children to eat. He laughed, a harsh sound that cut out of his chest and throat and cackled into the destroyed grove. There was nothing he could not do.
“What’s so funny?” Absolon appeared at his side.
“Just how easy this all is.” He cupped Absolon’s head in his hands. “To think what we can do. Is there more? What else did Lysander tell you? What else have you learned?”
Absolon took hold of Ragnar’s wrists and pulled himself free. “I’ve learned that it gets lonely.” He kissed the palms of Ragnar’s hands. “But you’re here now.”
Absolon looked at him expectantly, but Ragnar could not utter the words he knew Absolon wanted to hear. He didn’t know why.
“Come. Tell me what else you know of our kind.” He took Absolon by the hand and led him slowly back through the forest so they could talk, and so Ragnar could learn all he had to before he left for good.
Chapter 8
Absolon slept soundly, cuddled against Ragnar, a great lump of man that had grown too heavy for him to handle. The afternoon and evening had passed with their discussions, of the limits that Absolon had found to their power, the pain that touching gold brought, the ability to alter the age of one’s appearance, and of testing the symbols that flashed for attention inside their minds. They were instinctive yet they still needed coaxing and studying for him to feel confident in them.
There was the one he already knew well—the harvest symbol—and there was the one for making another Darisami, as well as one for the splitting of a soul to allow communication between two Darisami. Beyond those three he couldn’t be certain.
Still, those three were enough to define the rest of eternity. He drew them over and over in his mind like a litany, a silent act of devotion to whatever had molded him into this wondrous form. He wondered if there were more symbols and why they had not revealed themselves fully formed in his mind. But this curiosity was not enough to overwhelm the feeling that he had to leave.
He could not have slept even if he’d wanted to. Absolon’s face and body had lost the tension they’d held throughout his captivity and freedom. He was again the eager, doe-eyed boy who had first caught Ragnar’s eye and the attention of his cock and heart. Absolon touched him more often, freed from any fear of reprisal from the outside world or from Ragnar. There were no proprieties to observe, no shame to keep them hidden, except from the moon, but so far from civilization were they that even that was not a real concern.
Ragnar’s skin burned wherever Absolon touched him, a fire fed with unlimited fuel, and he touched the berserker more as well, a stroke to his inner thigh, a hand on the back of his neck, absent-mindedly caressing and laughing and talking and loving—
He swung out of bed and put his feet on the floor. Absolon stirred but rolled over and went back to sleep. Ragnar couldn’t stay one day more because one day Absolon would see that he was not worthy of all that his heart had to give. Absolon would know, if he didn’t already, what Ragnar had always wanted to deny: that he was useless. He had to prove that it was not so, and he couldn’t do that by staying here.
An owl hooted in the still night, catching Ragnar’s attention. A call of the wise. He knew the choice he had to take, and once taken it drove him from the hovel with its small room and shrinking walls and as far as he could get before Absolon woke and his resolve broke.
He kept to the shade of the forests in case the moon revealed his presence and gave rise to rumors of an angel in their midst. He pushed his legs to run faster, wondering if Absolon was looking for him and pleading for him to come back.
A village appeared before him, one of reasonable size, but one he didn’t know from his limited experience. Was this the village Absolon had come to for his food and clothes? Did they know him there? Was he that isolated, elusive man living alone on that farm? Was he a source of gossip among the women? An object of praise or ridicule among the men? He couldn’t think of that or else he’d want to kill everyone in the village.
The need to feed—a beast to rival the dragon Níðhöggr—knew there were souls within reach and wanted to hunt. Is that
why Absolon kept himself distant? Because it was so hard to abstain? Well, he would learn to master his hunger and rule over thousands. Millions! But he would not destroy this village in case it was Absolon’s field to reap.
Besides, what were these people to Ragnar? They were as nothing. No, his quarry lay much farther afield. Careful to avoid the light of the moon, he stepped out enough from the line of trees to scan the sky and find Polstjärnan. His old garrison and the generals that oversaw them were stationed north; he would head there. He set his course and ran through the night, but the further he got from Absolon, the more his mind stayed back in that farmstead.
When dawn broke, Absolon would know he had gone. Ragnar slapped his thoughts away from dwelling on Absolon’s misery. It was necessary. What he was doing had to be done or else there’d be no hope for his future. He could not have stayed with Absolon while this ate away at him.
He ran.
When the night passed, he checked his course at the first village he encountered. The bakers were already at their work and the smell of rye rumbled in his stomach, but he desired only the men’s souls, not their wares.
He kept his distance, the symbol flaring in front of his mind when he got too close. He must have looked a bedraggled and ravenous wolf at that moment. The bakers stepped back. One offered him a loaf fresh from the oven, mistaking him for some beggar desperate for food. Ragnar thanked him for his kindness but refused and kept back. He asked for directions and, as soon as he had confirmation he was on the right track, he left.
He hadn’t killed anyone, but he wanted to. He could have. Could have done it easily and no one would have stopped him, but he wanted his hunger sharp when he met those who had done him wrong and made him feel lesser. He wanted their souls to be the first to mark his new ascendance.
He forced himself to forget Åke’s soul.
He reached the city by the next day’s end and when the garrison rose before him, he salivated. He skirted around its high walls to the rear and, when no one was watching, scaled it like a lizard. He traversed the parapet and dropped onto the ground on the other side without detection.
Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology Page 24
