And so she changed.
Her form blurred and thickened, she grew large, tall, imposing. And it was not a she, it was a he, a fourteen-foot man, whose hair brushed the ceiling. An icy white beard replaced her smooth chin, a thick hank of hair changed from blonde to dark and heavy, a brooding face with strong bones bulged out of the formerly beautiful face. He wore the magnificent dark armor of the Danegells though no helmet. He had massive, wide shoulders, and his thick gauntlets glittered with silver and gold, and the creature looked down at me. It’s face was bluish and nearly white, and it’s eyes were bright as crystals. ‘Yes. We are shape changers. It is what we are, ancient and skillful. Welcome home, Maskan,’ it rumbled. ‘Son.’
I stared at the thing. I took a step back, fell over a small precious vase, and sat in the dust as I tried to understand what I saw. ‘What in Hel’s name—’
‘Do not utter that name here, Maskan,’ the creature rumbled. ‘We have forsaken Hel, thousands of years ago. We lost the war in Midgard and instead settled in and took over Red Midgard, eventually. But she is a persistent mad goddess, isn’t she? It was Hel’s spell that changed our lives near two decades ago. We lost your mother that night. Others died. You disappeared. Many treasures—one we truly need in these desperate times—was taken as Mellina died. She guarded it. Tal Talin led a rebellion that night, and we fought hard. They were not really skillful, and had no plan but to try to surprise us with numbers. They did, to a degree.’
‘I don’t understand,’ I told him, feeling weak. ‘Anything. They? Son?’
‘We lost you that night, Maskan,’ he grinned. ‘I am King Magor Danegell. She was my wife.’ He nodded at the grave. ‘Mellina Tenginell. The Danegell and Tenginell houses, Son, are not from Midgard. I am the Beast of the North, and my father was a king of a different world.’ I shook my head in denial. I turned to look at the girl, who grinned and fell on all fours as he, for it was he, changed. He grew into a humanoid as wide as the king though not quite as tall. The face was still boyish and happy if blue tinged. It was the Red Brother, the man I had fought in the mint, and he was no man. His armor glittered in the dark, and his massive sword was on his back. He bowed to me. The king nodded at him. ‘Our armor and weapons are dverg made, magical. They change with us. When we take a figure of a girl, the armor is still there. This one is of our clan. One of the few survivors. You nearly killed him once. Bjornag he is called.’
‘Prince,’ the Red Brother said with mirth and bowed deep. ‘An honor.’
‘What is this?’ I asked them, not really expecting an answer. ‘You call me son,’ I told him. ‘Yet, my father died at your hands. My mother did. Or are you going to explain this before I go mad?’
‘I told you,’ he growled, ‘lies have been told indeed. To you. All your life. And all for this moment. They groomed you, created fantastic lies, and hoped my son would kill me and that I would not know him. Bah! Borlein fell, that is a terrible loss, but you know me. In your heart you do. I am your kin. And what am I? I am a jotun.’
‘You are a giant,’ I whispered. ‘A Jotun.’
‘Jotun,’ he sighed. ‘Strangers from Nifleheim. A shape changer, a spell lord, a warrior. That we are. Near as strong in spells as many gods, we are one of the old races. We are god foes, the ones they nearly destroyed when they made some of the Nine Worlds. We live in Jotunheim, in Muspelheim, in Niflheim and we are no lumbering beasts. We have some treasures, magical armor, and our weapons. The rest were stolen.’ He glowered at that. ‘Like my scepter and that ring, that disappeared from slain Tal’s hand that night long ago. And that one thing I told you about. What Mellina guarded.’
‘You use magic,’ I insisted. ‘Don’t you? It’s not an artifact that you use.’
‘Yes, we use magic. We hear and see the ancient streams of ice and the molten power of fire. It’s a sense, Maskan, one granted to the mighty races by something that was before the gods. We Stir the Cauldron, as the Jotuns call it. We are part of the weave, and see and hear the grind of the ancient ice, running down the Nine Rivers, Gjöll, and the others. We see the cascades of ice and winds when they go roaring down to mix with the fierce fires of Muspelheim. We can draw from that power, we can make spells out of it. It takes time to find ways to make right weaves and to figure out how to release the power. Some die learning; many, in fact. There are more spells than stars in the sky. Our magical shapeshifting skill is part of our race, and we all do it without thinking, but most jotuns have their own special spells. Red one here, Bjornag, knows a spell to detect magic. Borlein, the Jotun you killed, knew how to find people if he knew their name. Alas, his spell was useless, as long as you were with them.’
I shook my head, staring at the wondrous creatures. ‘This is impossible to believe.’
He laughed so hard the walls shook. ‘You see me, no?’
‘Yes,’ I said mulishly.
‘Indeed. But it is true, nonetheless. Your life will change.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said, shocked. ‘If this is true, then I should be able to … Stir the Cauldron?’
He nodded at my ring. ‘And you are able. To a degree. That thing. It’s a shackle for magical beings. Tal’s family found it after Hel’s War and took it as their own. It did them no harm, as they cannot Stir the Cauldron. To you? It does harm. It negates your powers. Not so much your skills though it does stop you from changing size and anything but your face. I am not sure why. You could turn into many things, my boy. That you can change at all, is a miracle.’
‘It’s broken. It was broken, at least a bit, by—’
‘Show me,’ he rumbled. I did, and he bent down to squint at it. ‘The stone has been tampered with. The whole thing is different, subtly so. It has been altered. Remarkable. Perhaps the stone has been changed? And then, after, someone broke the stone. Never heard of anyone tampering with dverg treasures. Almost like someone was skillful enough to allow you the ability to change your face. I must study this.’
‘I … someone did break it,’ I whispered. ‘A girl.’
He laughed and looked at me shrewdly. ‘One of the people you stayed with?’
‘Yes,’ I said with a blush as Bjornag laughed rather rudely.
Morag grinned briefly. ‘Well. They probably lied to you like true bastards about your abilities and mixed you right up, poor boy.’
‘Yes,’ I whispered though I felt angered by the slight mockery.
‘Calm, boy,’ he laughed and tapped his foot. ‘Someone did something to the ring to allow your some power. Then someone broke it enough to let you access some more of your true heritage. The rage, certainly. They quarrel amongst themselves. Must have liked you, that one. A pretty, lovable girl?’
‘She was. Is.’
‘Was,’ the Jotun rumbled. ‘Was, Maskan. You should be happy she did not break it more. If you try to remove or destroy it, it will kill you. Tal’s cursed ring. Imagine. It was perfect to fool you. They took you, placed it on my baby’s finger, and began corrupting you. This girl took a risk with the ring. Perhaps she liked you; perhaps she sought freedom from her masters? I know not. Matters not. She will obey them when given an order. But it is good to know they still know how to love.’
‘She likely sought to help me,’ I said. ‘And I think she loved me.’
‘You have a good heart, boy,’ he rumbled. ‘But it is a human heart. Weak for lies. That thing stops you from casting spells. That … sense … is lost to you. And should you one day see them? The rivers of ice and fire filling the Void? Be careful. As I said, there are countless spells one can learn, but it is a slow process, and you might die if you fail. If you had the gauntlet, Black Grip, it would be much easier for you to learn the ways of magic. But that too, was stolen. It’s what I mentioned. It is precious to us. Have you seen it?’
‘I … no,’ I said. ‘Only this staff and the ring. And an earring.’
‘Earring?’ he mused. ‘Well, they have our most treasured bit of magic, Maskan. It is sad it is so. We might need it
one day. This gauntlet is important.’ He scowled and looked like a rock that had a grudge.
Eventually, I spoke. ‘Lord,’ I began but went quiet. ‘Father?’
His face looked startled at that and then grieved, and he looked away. ‘Son.’
‘I—’
He rumbled on, his voice intense. ‘I am sorry I could not find you. Whoever held you, kept you hidden very well. Their kind have spells as well, many ways to conceal themselves, and those they wish to hide. When I learned you had been seen? I knew something was taking place. I also rejoiced for you were still alive, not a skeleton in some unknown ditch. You have no idea what it does to a … man to lose his child. A baby.’
‘They want to kill you for Red Midgard,’ I told him. ‘They wish to restore the alliance of the north. They claim you are mad.’
He roared with mirth. ‘Mad! Yes, I am crazy. Mad with rage. They have been spreading these lies for two decades, as long as the High King has been trying to brew trouble. Not only does the High King threaten us with his heresy—and I have attempted to appease him—but also these things try to topple us from within. The rumors are false. Ygrin and Red Midgard have no outstanding issues. You have been lied to. They set up a huge web of lies to trap you. They played and toyed with you, always pushing you. I killed your father. I hang the poor. I am mad and wish for war. The only thing they can actually blame me for is trying to placate the Balic fellow, our High King. Now that is a mad human.’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘And now. Tell me. Who are they?’ He leaned forward. ‘Of the Ten? Or some lesser house?’
‘They are of the Ten,’ I breathed. ‘They—’ I began and hesitated.
He struck a fist on his chair so hard the chamber echoed. ‘Who? I tire of the mystery.’
‘The Blacktowers,’ I said.
He leaned back, shocked. ‘I see. I see. It is no wonder I have not seen her in my court for ages. I only know Illastria is still alive.’
‘Not even Shaduril Blacktower?’ I asked, holding my head.
He shook his head, sad to his core. ‘Oh, gods. She is walking?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
‘You will see, Maskan, soon, why that should not be possible. No, not one of them should be about save for Illastria. Tell me, how old is she?’
‘She is very old and very mad. She fears,’ I told him and felt terribly sorry for the old woman.
Magor shifted so fast it left me dizzy. He changed to a man-sized version of the king. He shuddered and shook his head. His hands glowed; he moved and glided down to me, aided by a strange wind. He stepped before me and grasped me. Then he embraced me. ‘Listen. Hel is the lady of the dead. She hates the gods; she hates her life, and while she is often fair to those who cross the bridge over Gjöll to her kingdom, the theft of her eye, it left her mad. We were abandoned here when they blew the Gjallarhorn on the gates. Our army was betrayed. In the end, we were up there on the hill. Inside it, in fact. Their soldiers had driven us back, the human armies. Their general fought my father, your grandfather who died. But I tricked her and sealed her in with the gauntlet, the Black Grip. We, the shapeshifters took Red Midgard for our own, unknown to men, except for the Blacktowers. And I have to say, I have learned to love humans. I have been a good king.’
‘Truly?’ I asked. ‘I lived in the Bad Man’s. You hung men. My family. Them,’ I stammered and cursed them for their lies. ‘You hung The Bear. Without a trial.’
He laughed. ‘We found the Bear. He had already been hung. So were the two women. Both were local peasants. You have been fooled there as well. Crec has been cutting many corners with the laws of the land, but a king has to have tact. We need him.’
‘I hate him,’ I spat. ‘Hated him.’
He scowled at that and went on. ‘Yes, I see. Good. You should. We are Jotuns. Not beasts. Being a king, Maskan, is not easy, and mistakes happen, sometimes for the lack of time. But Red Midgard has been a nation for thousands of years. Due to us.’
‘You live for thousands—’
‘So will you,’ he chuckled, and the Red Brother echoed him. ‘But Hel’s terrible spell? It is her way of resuming the war. She threw a seed to Midgard, probably all across Midgard, perhaps across the Nine Worlds. And that seed, my lovely boy, is that of death.’
I stared at him blankly.
‘They are draugr. The family is elder draugr, raised first, stronger and much more terrible than many other undead. All the Blacktowers died twenty years ago,’ he said softly. ‘All of them. Save for the old lady. Illastria. And she is afraid. No wonder, since she sees the dead walking around the new keep I built her.’
‘No,’ I said miserably, thinking of Lith and Shaduril. ‘It cannot be.’
‘Yes. Balan is dead. His wife is dead. Lithiana Blacktower died, and your Shaduril did as well. I am sorry, for she was a truly lovely girl, and I showered her with gifts. She was twenty when their keep was wrecked. All you have been told are lies. We attended their funeral though none else did, for they were not high and popular.'
I swooned, and Magor grasped me. I shook my head, denying his words. ‘Dead. All dead.’
He nodded. ‘We could not detect you when we learned your name at the mint because the dead mask the living. There was always one of them near you. Always, save for when you visited that burnt down hall.’
‘I have been with Sand plenty. He was alive. I know it,’ I said softly. ‘They were not always around.’
He smiled. ‘Borlein might have found you, but you didn’t have a name yet, Maskan. We had not named you. We would have, that night. And perhaps they had dead around you, even when you thought you were alone. It was Tal Talin who we thought was the main culprit behind Hel’s attempt to grab the world, but I killed him. I killed him, his followers and boiled their skulls as a warning, but occasionally, we still catch the dead. The red skulls are those of the draugr. The rest are traitors of humankind. But I was worried, as you were still lost. Either you were dead, or they had you. And if the latter was true, it meant someone was holding you for something.’
‘My mother—’
‘She sleeps here!’ he yelled and shook me hard. He pointed his finger at the rock. ‘You will be the Beast of the North. That is a name that resonates from Nifleheim. Your mother was my queen, our tribe were the rulers of Nifleheim’s northern ranges, once. Hers was our strongest ally. You will be a king, one day. A king. Do not call a draugr your mother.’
I sat down, dazed. I held my face with my hands. ‘Do you realize how hard it is to understand this?’
‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘I am sorry. Now, tell me this. The trouble they have given us has been small and mean for years. They kept you for twenty years. Now, they finally employed you. What else do you know of the plan?’
I nodded feverishly and grabbed my letters from under my belt. I thrust them to him. He opened them up and walked back and forth as he read them. He chortled. ‘Crec and Gal,’ he whispered. ‘Very well. And Balan kills his villagers?’ he mused and looked worried. ‘Have you seen how many men they have?’
‘I saw what was in the Crimson Apex,’ I said. ‘Balan owns properties that bar the way to the Old City. It belongs to him. Thousands?’
‘He is raising an army,’ he said softly. ‘His own people. Did you know Valkai and his hundreds disappeared from their graves and the scaffold?’
I shook my head. The shipments to the old fort. They were corpses. And then I saw them march out. I shuddered with fear.
‘He has raised his own people, and dead thieves and gods know what else to fight us,’ Morag growled. ‘He will pay. An army of draugr. In my city. And I was to die before they attacked.’
‘Listen,’ I told him feverishly. ‘They killed Gal Talin and Crec Helstrom. They hoped to supplant you with Crec and Gal to make sure they could get to the Tower. I was to kill the queen, and Shaduril was to kill you, and Gal’s mint was the gateway to attack the brothers in the Tower. But since they killed Gal and Crec, I was to take Gal’s face and lead t
hem to the mint. But if they already knew the queen is dead? Then everything they planned was a lie.’
‘They know the queen is dead indeed,’ he said. ‘And yes, they enjoy theater. The more elaborate the lie, the happier they are. Crec and Gal are dead?’
‘I was to take their place. They got greedy. Balan killed them. But this makes no sense. They must have some other plan. If I were to kill you—’
‘They sent you here to kill me. That is their plan. Nothing more. That was always the plan,’ Morag said. ‘They must have known I don’t walk around looking like my wife inside my own home. Perhaps they hoped you would see me, recover from your shock and then try to spare your Shaduril, and I know you are in love with her,’ he said and waved the letter where it was stated she was to kill Morag. ‘Perhaps they hoped you would actually see an opportunity to poison me as you saw me eating. I bet they told you to improvise. Or perhaps they hoped you would use Larkgrin in despair. They made many mistakes, being quarrelsome and driven, but perhaps they hoped you would see me dead for your dead family, no matter your surprise at seeing me here. They hoped I would not know you. They were wrong. But now we have to act.’
‘They hold my friend,’ I said softly. ‘Perhaps they hoped I’d kill you for Sand.’
‘And for him, then,’ Morag pondered. ‘But you are right. All those men they have? Thousands?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Thousands,’ he agreed, pondering. Instead of being elated, he blanched. ‘We are in trouble. The Mad Watch is not to be trusted.’
‘Why?’
‘They can cast spells,’ Morag told me. ‘Did you know that? The draugr. Some can charm, others give you nightmares, and likely Bear was so charmed all through the past twenty years. They need time to do that properly. The human mind succumbs to them eventually, but Gal fought it and wanted something for himself, and that doomed him.’
The Beast of the North Page 29
