Ravenscar

by Robert D. Jones

  "What happened?" she asked, "you were supposed to meet us in Eyndale."

  Skaldi sighed and said, "Hrothgar did not want my council. He has a darker mind now. But you do make me wonder, Isolde. Why are you not in Eyndale, if that's where we were to meet?"

  She looked up at him and frowned as if her memory was something she could reach for and force back.

  "I... I can't remember," she said.

  "And where are the others? Harald and Wulfric? Sven, Bjorn and Erik?"

  The memory of everything flooded back to her in one great wave. She burst out in tears and explained the entire story. By the time she was done, Skaldi wore a frown like a deep canyon.

  "So, Erik has led you right into the spider's web..." Skaldi began to murmur under his breath, "we are all pawns on Orlog's board. But why does she want you so bad?"

  "Skaldi," Isolde interrupted, "When I had the vision in the cave. I saw my mother, she was in chains and burning but she looked at me and said three things. Your name, Heroth Nuir, and Bezhaal. It's why I came looking for you, but I don't understand the rest."

  Skaldi shook his head slowly and looked out into the distance.

  "I cannot remember the last time I heard the cursed name of Bezhaal. He is a dark deity, as ancient as time itself. But he was banished to the netherworld."

  He paused for a moment before looking back at her. "Heroth Nuir is a simple enough riddle, it is the sacred island. You have been there already, Isolde, when you were younger."

  "What's there?" she asked.

  "They say the gods wander the island. There is a temple far up on the mount, it's a holy site, I know the presiding priest."

  "Could he heal my shoulder?"

  Skaldi frowned, "he might be able to help. But we will have to get there first."

  Isolde's eyes widened, "How? Do you know how to escape?"

  Steps sounded outside the door like cold echoes of scraping nails and the rattle of keys set Isolde's heart in to a panic. Skaldi looked at her wide eyed.

  "We wait," he hissed.

  The heavy wooden door swung in with two guards behind it. They pulled Isolde up and dragged her out. The door slammed behind her and she could hear the voice of Skaldi calling out.

  "We wait until the time is right!"

  ***

  The guards dragged Isolde up countless flights of cold steps. Up and up they wound in dizzying circles with no windows or shutters to let the stuffy air be refreshed. Each step forward jarred her broken body and the pain began to pulse back out of her shoulder.

  One guard held her right arm roughly and kept pulling her, as the other pushed from behind. Her feet slipped on the ancient stone as they tried to grip the tight spaces on the inner side of the stairs.

  They passed a narrow door where cold air swept in like a fresh breath, but the guards did not stop. Higher and higher they climbed and, she could hear the short fat soldier behind her beginning to pant.

  By the time they reached the top, Isolde's lungs felt like they would burst, and she didn't dare trust the strength of her own legs. A narrow oak door creaked open in front of her and she was thrust into a dark room of dancing shadows and low candles.

  The dark grey stone gave way to polished obsidian, and she noticed the sharp geometric engravings on the floor. Her eyes followed the lines in their carefully planned paths that mazed around the centre of the room. She raised her head slowly, and out of the shadows, she saw the black stone podium and the white orb of glowing white light that slowly pulsated on top of it, as though it was alive. Her eyes widened, and the crystal ball made the room seem darker, but as she looked past it, she saw the glimpses of wiry white hair and the flutter of black robes.

  "Leave us," the voice commanded in a stern tone.

  The guards let Isolde go, and she swayed to find her balance. The door creaked closed behind her, and she shuddered as the iron latch clicked behind it.

  "I have waited a long time," the voice said, as the man slowly circled the room, keeping clear from the central crystal.

  His steps were muffled but his strides full of confidence as he came into her full view. Black robes of fine embroidery swept down from his shoulders to the floor. A long, coarse beard fell over them like tumbling snow in an avalanche, but his scalp was bald, save for the faded blue tattoos of ravens. Isolde's eyes flickered from the golden chain and emerald pendant that hung around his neck, to the man's sharp green eyes. She felt them piercing her, like a hawk before it swoops its prey.

  "You were right," he said, but not to Isolde.

  He traced a finger across her cheek and down over her lips taking the breath away from her.

  "Skin like milk, and hair brighter than Vroukan gold."

  "As promised..." a hidden voiced hissed out.

  Isolde's eyes darted across the room to find the voice, but all was empty within the tower room. She looked at the glowing orb and choked when a soft cackle emanated from it.

  "Bring her to me..."

  The old man snatched at Isolde's hand with a grip that eluded his age. His tight fingers dug into her wrists as he dragged her over to the white crystal. He thrust them palm first, and she felt the magnetic pull as she latched onto the orb, and the white light flashed into her mind.

  Piercing pain drove itself through her eyes and deep within her head as the white light faded to dark clouds, inky forms swelled up in clouds until a face began to coagulate before her. Crimson eyes came first, they burned out wickedly as the shadows filled in the rest of the form. Isolde was looking at the cracked face of Orlog. The witch's face cackled violently as it floated before her and spat words out in deafening shrieks.

  "So much for love! Where is your Erik now? Harald's one eye saw it, he sees everything. Your mother burns and screams still, did you know? I have missed you and your dreams. And did you find Skaldi okay? I thought that might lead you here."

  The witch voice carried out like a cacophony of questions and taunts. They circled Isolde's head in a feverish fervour. Round and round they circled on repeat until she felt she was going to explode.

  "You will be a good wife. A good whore. But a dead mother. Like your mother. Maybe you will visit her. Maybe you will burn too."

  Isolde ripped her hands from the crystal, and stumbled back across the obsidian floor until she crashed down onto it. The old man scoffed, he put his hand onto the glowing orb and smiled.

  "She is the one..." Orlog hissed from the crystal ball, "the new moon is born tonight. At its zenith she will conceive, your time is now"

  The old man nodded and dropped his hand from the crystal, and the pulsing white light dulled down to a low glow. He looked at Isolde on the floor with stern eyes.

  "Do you know who I am?" he asked.

  Her head pounded but she nodded slowly and met his eyes in defiance. "A dead man."

  He tightened his lips and shook his head from side to side.

  "No," he said, "dying maybe, but through you, my kingdom will live on."

  "I will never give you a son," she spat.

  "I am the High-King," he roared, "and you will conceive my child whether you are willing or not. The witch has promised me an heir, and you will die giving him to me!"

  Isolde felt herself shrink into the hard floor, as Hrothgar stood over her full of menace. He cried out for the guards, and they hauled her back up to her feet in their tight grip.

  Hrothgar looked her up and down, and struck her hard across the face with the back of his hand. The blow stung, but she snapped her head back at him and glared with all the hate she felt within.

  "Take her to the purging chamber," he said to the guards, "summon Valarth to prepare her for the ritual."

  CHAPTER X

  "Those fishermen were kind enough," Wulfric said as he guided the small wooden boat down the river, "but they were not the brightest bunch."

  "Why's that?" Harald asked as he watched the greying sky.

  "If there's a door midway up the crag, then there's got to be stairs leadin
g up to it from the river."

  Harald nodded, "so we get through this door, and then what? We don't know where it leads."

  "It leads into the keep," he smiled with jagged teeth, "right into the Raven's Rock. What else could we want?"

  They paddled down the Thurso all day, and the clouds darkened above them. They passed burned out homesteads and abandoned villages, but never crossed another soul. The further they went, the worse it got, the land became bleaker and even the snow looked grey on the hills. The air was thick around them and the water lapped heavily against their boat.

  The sun set far ahead, and they hadn't spoken in hours. The rolling hills and reedy banks gave way to jagged grey cliffs and soon they found themselves floating through a deep canyon of bleak rock. Dark night came upon them, and it was Harald who saw it first. Walls as black as night towering high on the cliffs ahead of them. The dark fortifications were silhouetted against the grey night sky, and Wulfric hissed for silence as they floated toward the city.

  The Raven's Rock towered out of the centre of the river like a jagged finger of sheer rock. Harald looked on in awe at the enormous keep built on top it that rose into the sky. Towers peaked above the walls, and faint yellow lights flickered through arrow slits like the eyes of demons. Two great arches of stone bridged the rivers chasm, each led to the keep so that it commanded the only pass across. Harald followed them and noticed how the city must be split between the north and south, he could see the battlements of both sides come winding around to the edge of the cliffs. It was here that the great iron gate, the one Rolof had mentioned, cut through the water and barred them from entering the city.

  The boat silently streamed toward the gate's vicious black grid of wrought iron and chains. Wulfric desperately began to back paddle but the current had taken them and it was no use. The boat cracked into the iron and sent a shrill of ringing chains crying through the air. A flaming arrow streaked through the air from the tower above and cracked into the wooden hull of the vessel. Wulfric cried out as more arrows flashed toward them and hissed into the water, as the guards above called out back and forth.

  "Climb!" Wulfric yelled, and he threw Harald toward the iron gate.

  They scrambled up the sharp iron and Harald could feel the rust tearing at his hands. More arrows whipped past them and struck the boat below. The guards must have thought they were still there. Wulfric motioned for him to stop and be still, Harald gripped for life as blood began to seep between his fingers.

  A cease-fire was called above, Harald strained to hear the muffled orders and laughter. Maybe they thought the boat was abandoned...

  They scaled the gate as silent as cats and scrambled back down the other side. There was nowhere to go though, on either side the guard towers held the way to solid ground, and below them, the dark waters of the frigid Thurso flowed ever onwards toward the sea. Harald looked at Wulfric hanging on next to him. The big man's face looked grim in the dark night.

  "This is the big swim," Wulfric whispered.

  "We can't," Harald said, "we'll freeze to death, or be swept away!"

  Wulfric looked around him and back to Harald, "do you love her?"

  "Of course."

  "Then there's no other way."

  Wulfric let his fingers go and dropped silently like a pin into the water. Harald watched with wide eyes as Wulfric's bald head resurfaced down the river and was pulled violently toward the cliffs. Wulfric fought the current and Harald saw him steer toward the Raven's Rock before disappearing in to the gloom.

  This is it... Harald thought.

  He took a deep breath and let himself fall into the water. It hit him like solid ice and seized every muscle as he sunk into the blinding water. Every thought rushed from his mind and he gasped for air as soon as his head came back up. The cliffs were racing toward him and he rolled in the water to face the island rock. The current was relentless, it pulled him back but he fought it with all his strength. He swung out in great strokes, but each one felt like agony as he forced his frozen arms to move.

  He saw the cliffy island moving toward him and he thrashed out toward it. The water moved so fast that he almost missed his chance. The rocks were only inches away and he clawed out for a grip. His fingers dug into the jagged edges and he felt his nails break, but he dare not let go. Rough hands took him by the wrist and wrenched him free from the water. He looked up with panting breath, and Wulfric pat him on the back.

  "See," he said, "that wasn't so bad."

  Harald nearly laughed when he saw the big man was right. They were standing on a tight ledge on the rock that was a landing place for a set of stubby stairs. They both shivered in the cold night air but there was no time to complain. Wulfric took the lead and carefully moved up the steps. They hugged close to the cliff, and slowly wound their way around the rock so that by the time they were at the end of the path, they had their backs to the west.

  They were midway up the cliffs with nowhere else to go. The stairs had led them to a small iron grill that was only just big enough to squeeze through, that was if they could even open it. Harald screwed his nose up at the foul smell coming from the tunnel, and Wulfric hesitantly ran his finger along the green slime that oozed its way out of the hole.

  "Must be a sewer," he said, and he closed his tight lips.

  A sharp scream broke through the silent night from high above their heads. Harald and Wulfric met each other's eyes with the same look of despair. It was Isolde.

  Wulfric gripped the iron grill and ripped it back. It gave with ease and they glared up at a dark tunnel that climbed steeply into the heart of the rocky island.

  ***

  The guards dragged Isolde out of Hrothgar's chambers. She kicked and struggled, but she knew she was too weak. They laughed at her efforts, and tightened their grip as they marched her back down the spiralled stairs.

  They only took her two turns down the stairs before they thrust open another heavy oak door, and dragged her into the dark chamber. They threw her down to the floor, and left her in the blind abyss. The door was bolted shut behind her and she heard the footsteps trail off.

  Her eyes adjusted the dark, and she could see the faint light of the dark sky through a slit in the wall. She stumbled on all fours, and tried to make her way across the room. The floor was cold and she ran her fingers along deep grooves that were cut into it. She could see through the gloomy darkness that the room wasn't empty. There were tables lining the walls and something bulky in the centre. She got to the far side and lifted herself up to the slit in the wall. It was a window, through she could only just squeeze her arms through the gap.

  The door behind her swung back open, and she ripped her arm back to her side as the room burst into light. She shielded her eyes as half a hundred candles lit up as one and cast leering shadows across the walls.

  A thin figure walked in alone and closed the door behind him. His skin was dark grey, and his black hair fell down his back in a long flat sheet. He looked at her with big almond eyes that seemed to see everything around him at once. His thin lips twisted into a smile, and with a gracious flick of his wrist, he motioned to a stone bed in the centre of the room. It was black obsidian and she noticed the same sharp designs on the floor as the room above.

  "Would you like to sit on the altar?" he said softly with a raised eyebrow, "or shall I force you?"

  Isolde looked at the stranger with wide eyes, she had never seen anything like him before. He moved so gracefully, like a stalking wolf she thought. Even his clothes were different, the dark leather vest held tight against his skin and let the white silk robes beneath it flow out like billowing sheets in the wind.

  He tightened his outstretched hand into a claw that gripped the empty air before him. At once, Isolde felt her throat close over, and she choked as the air refused to enter her lungs. He released his hand, and looked at her with sneering lips as she gasped for breath.

  "Now," he commanded.

  She hesitantly moved over to the stone sla
b and saw that dark clouds swirled deep within its glassy texture. She sat on its icy surface, and slid backwards with her heart pounding. Tears began to form in her eyes as he grabbed her ankles and thrust her into position until she was lying face up and staring at the ceiling. Above her was a glassy mirror of polished black stone and she could see him restraining her arms and legs with thick leather straps. She couldn't fight it anymore.

  Isolde watched through the mirror as he hunched over a far table. She swallowed hard when she saw the glint of knives, open jars and small dull stones all lined up in order. He took a curved blade like a crescent moon, and moved back to her. He never spoke, but began to cut away at her clothes with tight lips. The blade slid through the fur and leather as if it were butter, and he threw her sliced jacket and pants away leaving her naked skin on the cold altar.

  "Please," she whispered as tears began to roll, "please, help me."

  He said nothing, and went back to his table to pick up a thin straight blade. He looked at her with the same eyes which a craftsman uses to see his work. He leant over her chest where the black veins were spreading out, and pushed his thin blade into the black centre. She screamed as his nimble hands slowly pushed the knife in to her until only the hilt could be seen.

  Pain flooded from the wound, and she watched in horror as black ooze bubbled out from the hole that was left when he drew the knife back out. He returned the knife to the table and came back with a round ruby the size of a thumbnail. She shrieked in agony as he pushed the crystal deep into the hole he had just cut, she felt her shoulder spasm and the muscles contract as her body took the ruby.

  "Don't squirm," he said.

  He began to smear a blue gel-like cream across her body. It was thin and cold and stung her skin lightly. Her eyes widened as he took a stubby blade with a long thin handle. He flicked it in his hands above her, and flipped it between his fingers. His eyes darted back and forth across her body as though he was studying her.