by T L Greylock
Raef pushed Vakre’s words from his mind and passed behind the waterfall once again, this time alone. The cavern was darker and the air seemed heavy and thick. The woman was where he had left her, though she was standing now with her back to him.
“Lady,” he began, “we have both done wrong to the other. I will forget it if you will.”
She turned to face him. “I have done you no wrong, only spoken that which you did not wish to hear.”
“If you know who is responsible for my father’s death, I will gladly hear you. But later. I have come here for another reason.”
“The war then,” she said, her voice hollow. “You are all going to die. There is nothing more to say.”
“Death does not frighten me, lady,” Raef said, his voice hard. “Who raises their banners for Fengar? Where will he strike first?”
She laughed at that, a harsh sound that filled the space. “You have come so far for answers you could have found much closer to home.” She stepped forward, then, and grabbed Raef’s wrist. He tried to wrench away, his skin tingling at the burning heat in her touch, but she seemed suddenly possessed of much greater strength and held him close. “Death will come with fire and water. Perhaps even now it is here. Behind you.” She released him, just as the heat was too much to bear, and Raef spun out of her grasp only to come face to face with an armored warrior.
Twelve
The air in the cavern seemed to have vanished and Raef struggled to draw breath, the burning sensation on his wrist spreading up to his shoulder. The warrior loomed in front of him, eyes dark, almost black. Raef swayed on his feet, panic rising within him, and fumbled for his sword. The warrior lunged for Raef, hands outstretched as though to choke him. Raef pushed away, his sword weak in his grip, the blade slicing air.
Still without good footing and control, Raef stepped forward, aiming for the warrior’s chest. His opponent batted Raef’s sword away with ease and now held his own, though Raef had never seen him draw it out. Raef fought to clear his vision and advanced again, but every stroke was deflected as though he were a child at play.
The warrior seemed content to continue this play, never attacking, letting Raef swing away and stumble across the cavern floor. The heat from the woman’s fingers had spread everywhere now and Raef felt sweat dripping down his neck as his arm grew heavy. They reached the cavern’s entrance and Raef made a desperate lunge, his vision and strength nearly gone. The warrior stepped out of the way and Raef tumbled forward through the waterfall, letting his sword fall as he went.
The cold water shocked the breath out of him and he sucked in icy water as he plunged into the pool. Thrashing, he rose to the surface and looked up, waiting for the death blow to fall on him, but saw only Vakre, his face concerned and his arm outstretched to help Raef from the pool.
Raef’s gaze darted around. “Where is he? Where did he go?” He continued to tread water and did not take Vakre’s hand.
“Who?” Vakre’s brow was furrowed.
“That man. He tried to kill me.” Raef blinked away the water from his eyes; his vision had returned. Then he saw that Vakre held a sword in his other hand. “You?” Mistrust flooded through him. “But you wore red. And your eyes, they were black.”
“I am as you see me, Raef. I followed you in there. You turned on me.” Vakre slid his sword back into its scabbard and spread his empty hands. “I had to defend myself.”
Raef stayed in the water, though the cold was beginning to set in. “I know what I saw.”
“You were not yourself.”
“Come out of the water, Raef.” Siv had joined Vakre at the edge of the pool and Eira stood not far behind them. In that moment, they were like strangers to Raef and the Deepminded’s words returned to him, unwelcome and unbidden. Vakre extended a hand again, but Raef pulled himself out on the opposite side of the pool, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what he had seen and done.
His friends tried to approach him, but Raef held out a hand and shook his head. Words failed him and all he could do was walk away. The pool had taken the heat from his body, but not the heat from his mind. Thoughts burned within him, doubts searing into his very being, but they seemed to trickle in as though they belonged to someone else and were being whispered in his ear. Raef shook his head again, trying to clear it.
His feet carried him away from the pool and into the pine trees. The shadows between the trees and the peaceful air seemed to quiet his thoughts, and Raef sank to the ground in relief. How long he stayed there, he did not know, but twilight was upon them when Vakre found him.
Vakre said nothing, waiting until Raef was ready to speak. “You are right, I was not myself.” Raef lifted his wrist, looking for marks he was sure the woman must have left, but found none. “There is some poison at work in me,” he continued, struggling to find the right words.
“Not poison, I think,” Vakre said. “Words can be just as powerful when spoken by the right tongue.”
“No, her touch, it burned me until my mind was not my own.”
Vakre kept silent.
“We will not find help here. The Hammerling will have to seek answers by other means,” Raef said. Vakre extended a hand and this time Raef took it, though the whispers in his head stirred as he came to his feet.
The men were waiting by the pool when they returned, but Siv and Eira appeared from behind the waterfall at their approach. “She is gone,” Siv called out. They both appeared on edge, weapons out, and Raef knew they had gone in to confront the Deepminded.
“Best that she is, for her own health,” Eira said.
Raef said, “There was no other way out of there. No one saw her leave?” The men confirmed this and Raef started toward the cavern again. Vakre pulled him back.
“Let us be gone from this place,” Vakre said. Raef looked at Vakre’s hand on his wrist, seeing instead the woman’s, and felt a rush of fear and anger. Vakre seemed to sense this and let go, but held his ground.
Raef closed his eyes and tried to summon up the peace he had found in the forest. It would not come. “We will go,” he said. “After I know where she has gone.” Pulling the axe from his belt, Raef went back behind the waterfall, not caring if the others followed.
The cavern was dark and still, but for the dripping of water. The stone and basin stood as they had, but the stone seemed smaller and the basin was bone dry. Raef walked along the back of the cavern, looking for hidden exits but finding nothing. He retraced his steps, sure he had missed something. Again, the rock wall was solid. The others had joined him by this point, though no one searched as persistently as Raef.
“It was lighter before, was it not?” Raef asked. No one answered. He looked toward the ceiling, remembering that he had earlier thought there were holes there. Everything seemed dark. “Keep looking.” The others paced the stone floor again, but Raef felt they lacked conviction. “It must be here,” he said.
“Raef.” Siv’s voice was gentle. Raef turned and found her close to him, her eyes dark with concern. “We should go.” The calm of the forest came back to him, then, as though her eyes carried him there.
He nodded, defeated. “She is in my head, Siv,” he whispered, desperate to convey his fear to someone.
Siv rested a hand on his shoulder. “We will get her out.” She traced a finger on his jaw. “Come, Vakre is right. We must go. This place,” she paused and her gaze roamed around before coming back to rest on Raef’s face, “it is not right. Not of this world.” She took his hand and led him from the cavern for the last time. As they passed by the waterfall, Raef paused, letting the spray dampen his face.
The sound of the rocks breaking apart was almost drowned out by the thundering waterfall. Raef had just enough time to leap to the side as the cavern began to cave in on itself. Rocks tumbled down, smashing into each other like stone giants and blocking the entrance. Before the dust even cleared, Raef was back in among the boulders and the spray of the waterfall, trying to see if anyone was trapped or killed.
An arm reaching out between two rocks was answer enough.
“Fasolt. And Gunthar,” Vakre said, wincing as he got to his feet. “They were behind me.”
Raef counted and saw that they were the only two missing. “This is Gunthar’s armband,” he said, indicating the gleaming cuff on the trapped arm. He felt for a pulse on the wrist. “He is dead.”
There was no sign of Fasolt, but Raef and the others began to clear what rocks they could move. Shouting his name drew no response, but still they toiled. Raef would not leave until he knew if Fasolt lived or died. Once a small hole near the top of the slide was cleared, Eira wormed her head and shoulders in.
“I see him,” she said, her voice muffled.
“Movement?” Raef asked.
“No. His head bleeds.” Eira emerged from amid the rocks. “I think the gods have claimed him.”
“I will not leave him here if there is a chance of life,” Raef said. Fasolt and Gunthar were men of Vannheim. He would save one if he could.
“If we take more rocks out, we stand a chance of pulling everything down,” Vakre said.
“Is he within the reach of a spear?” Raef asked.
Eira shook her head. “But perhaps two, if lashed together.”
Using strips of leather offered up by one of the Hammerling’s men, Vakre and Raef bound two spears together. It was crude but would serve. Eira climbed back up to the hole and Raef handed the spears up to her. She threaded them into the hole butt end first.
“Anything?”
“Odin’s eye, give me a moment,” Eira said. Raef fingered the hammer around his neck as he waited. Eira withdrew her head and handed the spears back down, her face grim. “His eyes are open but stare at nothing.”
“Then may Odin curse the Deepminded,” Raef said. His anger was strong, and yet still he felt her presence, still that voice whispered thoughts of mistrust and doubt. “I will kill her before I go to Valhalla.” There was nothing left to keep them by the pool, but Raef was reluctant to leave. Whether this was caused by the Deepminded or his own sense of failure, he could not be sure. The men were quiet, and it was with a heavy heart that Raef returned to the forest, the roar of the waterfall fading behind them.
They trekked back the way they had come, winding down into Darfallow. Night fell, but Raef pushed them on, not wanting to intrude on Farro’s grief. They made camp on the shore of a lake south of Darfallow’s fortress. Sindri showed them how to catch fish in the dark and a man called Norl sang tales of forgotten heroes by firelight. The mood was somber and yet Raef felt tied to every man, even the Hammerling’s, in a way he had not been before. When the fire died down, sleep came for Raef, but only in pieces. When he woke, his dreams were lost to him, but the heat he felt when Vakre offered him a cup of water and Eira asked after his shoulder made him certain he had dreamt of the Deepminded.
The moors south of Darfallow were spotted with snow, but that was not all Raef could see when they passed over a rise, the land spreading out in front of them. A swarm of men were breaking camp and readying horses. Raef had his men draw back from the rise and then crept forward on his belly, Vakre at his side.
“What do you think?”
Vakre was quiet for a moment as he scanned the warriors. “Perhaps two hundred.”
Raef nodded his agreement. “The air is too still to show the banners.”
“Who would come so far north with so many men?”
“Someone who thinks to intimidate Tormund into pledging his battle-strength. They will be disappointed.” They returned to the group. “We must learn more,” Raef said. He looked at the remaining Hammerling men. “I need four of you to act as prisoners. I will deliver you to whoever leads them, be it Fengar or Torrulf, as a show of loyalty and goodwill. With luck, we will get some answers for the Hammerling. The rest of you, shed anything that would link you to him.”
The volunteers were bound and three men left to guard the horses. Raef led the party downhill and they were soon spotted by a pair of scouts, who raced to confront them, spears out and demanding to know who they were.
Raef held out his hands to show he meant no harm. “I am Raef Skallagrim, lord of Vannheim, and I bring traitors to you.”
The scouts exchanged a look and then one spoke. “We will bring you to Fengar.” They kept their spears lowered and rode on both sides of Raef’s party.
Raef, his voice lowered, spoke to Vakre as they walked. “Your uncle may be here. Will he wonder at your sudden appearance?”
“Perhaps. But I think Fengar will be more interested in you.”
“Let us hope so.”
Fengar did not appear to be in a hurry. From a distance, the camp had appeared orderly to Raef, but as they drew near, he could see that discipline was lacking. Some captains had their men ready and waiting, while others scrambled to wake sleeping warriors. Fengar himself was still inside his tent and it was here that the scouts passed Raef off to a trio of guards, the blonde sisters Raef had seen at the gathering, and stepped within the folds to deliver their message. The wait was short, and the cloth was soon drawn aside. The guards stripped Raef of his sword and axe and he entered alone.
The first face he saw was Stefnir of Gornhald’s. Mistrust was writ cleanly on the older man’s face. Raef ignored him and searched out Fengar, who lurked deeper in the tent. He approached the would-be king without reverence, as one warrior would another.
“Skallagrim,” Fengar said.
“I come with prisoners. The Hammerling’s men. They were traveling to Darfallow.”
“And you? What are you doing so far north?”
Raef did not lie. “I sought the Deepminded, but I think my path is clearer now.” Fengar seemed to like this. “Do you wish to question them?”
Fengar waved a hand. “Later.” He poured ale for himself. “I know the Hammerling has chosen rebellion. Tell me, what of Vannheim?”
“Vannheim is loyal to those who can offer her something,” Raef said. He heard Stefnir grunt behind him, but Fengar smiled.
“Smart. A lord should not promise his spears too lightly. What would you have of me?” Fengar poured a second cup and handed it to Raef.
Raef had no response for this. “We will speak of that another time.” He took a drink of ale. “Your destination must be Darfallow.” Fengar nodded. “Let me save you the trouble. Tormund Ravenbane is dead.”
“Impossible. My scouts met with him only yesterday.”
Raef frowned. “And yet two days ago I saw his body and helped burn it.”
“He lies, lord.” Stefnir of Gornhald moved close to Fengar.
Raef stared hard at Stefnir. “Be careful of your words.” He looked back at Fengar. “Tormund died in his sleep. Odin himself would not tell you otherwise.”
Fengar seemed uncertain. “And these Hammerling men? Could they have killed him?”
“Why would they? They shared your purpose in visiting him. Killing a man is not likely to win you his spears.” Raef tilted his head back and drained his cup but saw Fengar glance at Stefnir. “Or maybe that was your intent.”
Fengar shook his head. “No, no. I want no such thing. But my scouts, they said Tormund would welcome us.”
“Then your scouts were fooled.”
Fengar was quiet. Stefnir spoke instead. “We should speak to the Hammerling’s men, lord, and then press on to Darfallow and discover the lie in Skallagrim’s words.”
Raef stepped close to Stefnir and looked down at the other man. “Say I lie again, and they will be the last words you utter.” Stefnir tried to hold his gaze, but soon his cheek twitched and he looked away. Fengar called for the prisoners to be brought in and the four bound men were shuffled into the tent.
Fengar looked them over. “Why are you here? The Hammerling’s lands are far from this place.”
“We could ask the same of you,” said one man, Norl.
“You are speaking to your king,” Stefnir said.
Norl answered by spitting near Stefnir’s feet. Stefnir drew
a knife and pressed it to Norl’s chest. Fengar hesitated so Raef spoke. “Now is not the time for bloodshed, Fengar. They are four and you many. They are not worth the stain on your blade.”
Still Fengar did nothing. Raef, deprived of sword and axe but determined that Norl should live, pushed Norl back and let Stefnir’s knife rest near his own heart. “He is my prisoner.”
“See this,” Stefnir shouted. “You defend these men, their treachery is yours.”
“Perhaps the Palesword would like to meet them,” Raef said.
Fengar found his voice. “Enough. Put the knife away, Stefnir.” Stefnir scowled but did as he was told. “You will come with us to Darfallow,” Fengar said to Raef. “And these men are my prisoners now.”
Raef could only nod his understanding. To speak might spark further confrontation. He could sense that Fengar’s initial trust and good humor had waned, though whether it was his own actions or Stefnir’s influence that had caused this, he could not be certain.
The four Hammerling men, prisoners in truth now, were taken away and the blonde sisters were instructed to return with the remainder of Raef’s group. Once they were all gathered, Fengar ordered the departure of his forces. Though Fengar feigned joviality as they rode, Raef and his companions were closely watched and contained by horsemen on all sides.
“Fengar believes Tormund is alive,” Raef said to Vakre. They rode in the middle of their group and were unlikely to be heard over the drumming of horse hooves.
“How?”
“He sent scouts ahead. They say they spoke with Tormund and that he would welcome Fengar. Yesterday.”
“Then they saw someone playing a part.”
“I told Fengar as much. What his own thoughts might be, I do not know. Stefnir seems to hold sway here.”
“And the men? Norl and the others?”
“They may be out of our reach,” Raef said. “They will die before they betray the Hammerling.”
“Will you let them?”
Raef didn’t answer. The men were devoted to the Hammerling, but the journey north had brought, if not friendship, fellowship. He could still hear Norl singing the hero tales in the moonlight. Perhaps there was hope that Fengar might seek ransom for the four men, rather than take their lives.
