Reign of Immortals

by Marin Landis

  "Araree, Araree," she moaned, the pitch of her wails rising in ghastly excitement.

  Wintom looked round and saw her and it was like a fire ignited behind his eyes.

  "Dee, Dee, oh my Dee," he moved to her as quickly as his atrophied limbs could carry him and took her in his arms, her moans intensified and became like sobs. He stroked her hair and repeated her name like it was the only word he could speak.

  Melvekior allowed this to carry on for a few minutes, but he felt like he was intruding.

  "Wintom, Deena, can you understand what I'm saying?" He said loudly.

  "Yes, I can, we can," Wintom replied haltingly. "I haven't had much to say for the last years. How have you brought Deena here? I thought her dead, I watched her die." His voice cracked at this last.

  "I have few answers, but I need some from her. And while my main effort here was to reunite you for a short while, I don't believe she will last. I regret to say that she is still dead," he paused hoping her reaction wouldn't be violent, "and will likely return to an unanimated state soon." Wintom started to sob, an odd kind of childish weeping. "I need you to pull yourself together, man. I know this is difficult and probably impossible for you, but can you communicate with her?"

  Again Deena made the higher pitched moans and sounds which Melvekior hoped were positive. He almost fancied that he could make out words and certainly "Ererior," which he believed was reference to him.

  "Yes, it's difficult but I hear her words in my heart." Tears were streaming down the man's face.

  "I have but one question for you and I will leave you together." Melvekior indicated that Flaubert and Galrath should leave and waited for them to do so.

  "Deena, how did you know my name?" Melvekior asked. He wasn't convinced that this was the right question but he sought evidence for his theory.

  "Bavh, who is that?" Wintom asked, presumably to Deena, but it made him start.

  He tried to phase out the pitiful attempt at speaking the Draugr was making. This whole situation was pitiful. He was angrier now than he had ever been and hearing that name took the wind out of his sails. He waited patiently though, determined to allow these two whatever happiness they could yet achieve.

  "Lord, she isn't very clear. Someone named Bavh put a vision of you in Deena’s mind. I think that's what she is saying, I'm sorry."

  "That was more than I could have hoped for, Mithras bless you both.”

  There was no acknowledgment from either and he didn’t want one. He left the room, thinking on what he had learned.

  He spent the majority of that day on matters of state, but in the back of his mind he kept hearing Wintom’s words. Bavh, the mysterious Priestess of Mithras. He wished that Hestallr was here so he could ask him, but the demigod never stayed anywhere long. Melvekior imagined him walking from place to place lending his strength to those most in need. He most certainly didn’t come under that heading, being a little uncertain about a message from beyond the grave, worrying about his place in the world, being scared. These were things that nobody would believe a Prince would be suffering nor would he want Hestallr to think he did. He took himself away and excused himself from dinner saying he had a headache, which was the truth and he trudged back to his rooms longing for the release of sleep.

  He awoke suddenly, confused and it took a moment to recognize the face of Flaubert looming above him.

  “Lord, Lord,” he was saying.

  He waved the man away, sitting up, ruing how much he had let himself get comfortable enough to sleep so deeply that someone could enter his chambers unimpeded. His time away from home had hardened him, but now he’d gotten soft again. Flaubert was leaning over him, his brow furrowed and he could see a figure in the doorway, the light from the hallway casting a silhouette. It wasn’t a guard, but he couldn’t make out who it was.

  “Flaubert, what is happening? What time is it?”

  “Well before midnight, Sire.” He answered quickly, although the answer incensed Melvekior the further. He couldn’t even get a few hours sleep. “I’m sorry for…”

  “What is so important that I can’t even sleep, man?” Melvekior glanced again at the shape in the doorway, wishing he’d move or at least close the door.

  “The lady at the door, it’s her, Bavh! You must see her, Lord, excuse my presumption.”

  He was awake now. Bavh! He’d searched for her for weeks now and she was here. That was enough to clear the confusion from his mind.

  “Light a lamp, man.” Unconcerned with formalities and excited, he leaped from his bed and quickly donned a robe that he wore while by himself. It was of some red fabric that was incredibly smooth and almost shiny. Utterly unsuitable for company, but his mind was far from etiquette.

  Flaubert had lit a lamp on his desk and was in the process of lighting the one next to the bed. Melvekior could see a lot clearer now and his first impression of the woman were that she wore a lot of blue.

  “Come in, please,” he called and stood next to the bed, thinking better of it and half ran over to the couch.

  “Thank you, Prince Melvekior,” she said. She walked over to the small sitting area, a small two seater sofa, a long squat table covered with papers and a square cabinet upon which a tall glass lamp. Melvekior turned the dial on it moving the outer black shell aside allowing the Volcanium to light the area.

  She sat gracefully, sitting how he knew a lady would be expected to sit. Legs together, angled to her left. Ottkatla never sat like that, and he had noticed, neither did Janesca. Her hair was shoulder length, a sandy blonde color and as she sat she flicked it over to one side, quite charmingly he found. She was extremely attractive, her features fine and her eyes a light blue. Were he any judge of a person’s age, he would guess that she had recently met her fortieth summer. Her clothing was odd. It looked like men’s clothing, how Janesca liked to dress after Mikael had left her. Loose blue leggings and an overtunic of a similar color. It came to him suddenly that the blue was the color of Sehar. He had just assumed that Bavh was a priestess of Mithras, but it made sense too if she revered the Goddess of the Wheel.

  “Lady, I am pleased to finally meet you, I have struggled to find you, but here you are.” He smiled, he was genuinely happy.

  She smiled back at him. “I apologize for the length of time it’s taken me to reach out to you in person, Prince.” She accented his title oddly and he couldn’t quite figure out why, but he didn’t mind. “I’ve been on Church business. As well you know, when Hestallr sets you upon a road, it’s difficult, if not impossible to sway from it. There are other, more persuasive entities also.” She looked a little sad at this.

  "Lady, please tell me how you are. Can I bring you anything? I have so much to ask you." He felt like he was rambling. He really wanted to impress her and it seemed natural to do so.

  "It is a hard message I deliver," Melvekior was astonished to see tears in her eyes. "As you know, I think you know, I am a Priestess of the Wheelmaiden, Sehar. More so, at times, I am her vessel, her avatar, and for the past dozen years have served in that capacity." She wiped tears away with her fingertips.

  He nodded to show he was paying attention and moved to his bedside table, opened the small door at the front and pulled out a clean handkerchief. Sitting back down he handed it to her, trying to maintain a look of concerned interest.

  "Thank you, Melvekior."

  He was suddenly reminded of a time long ago, when he and his mother played in the gardens, by her favorite tree. His mother sat on the grass while he searched for flowers for her. Her smile was radiant, though her face hazy and indistinct as usual. She was laughing and thanking him for his handful of asters and posies. A chill ran through him.

  "Oh, the places I have seen," she ran her hand through her hair, tossing it to the side, just like his mother used to do. "But the place I most wanted to be was with you."

  She held out her hand to take his and the realization struck him like a hammer blow.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
/>   Epilogue: Ottkatla

  It had been a long road and she still had no understanding of why the Herjen spirit drove her this way. She was further into the Mountains than she'd ever been and it had not been an easy journey.

  When she left the temperate farmlands and low hills of the Three Kingdoms she was looking forward to getting home in time for Spring and all the work that entailed. Her life had been too easy at Saens Martelle and she felt softer than she had those years ago when she had walked for twenty hours a day to meet her obligation to her tribe.

  In her yearly visits home she noticed that her attitude to many things had changed. The village seemed dirtier, people less hygienic and some old habits pointless. In the same way she scoffed at plenty of the rules and manners that the soft city people had, many were the superstitions of the mountain folk that now seemed utterly unreasonable and foolish. The thought horrified her, but maybe she had outgrown her roots. Not for a second did she feel that Melvekior’s people were better than her own, but they had a lot to offer. As did her people, if any Kingdom folk would ever deign to listen. He did though. He insisted on learning her language and her history. The Aelvar, Aeldryn, also spent a lot of time memorizing her sagas and songs. Like she did from her father and mother. She even missed Mikael. He who Foerlund called their savior, though he was their conqueror.

  She was forbidden to challenge him, both by the Shaman and then also by her father. She suspected it had something to do with Skolmakk but nobody spoke of him. Despite being initially worried and defensive in his presence, he proved to be a warm and helpful host. Nothing was too much trouble, when he was there. She wanted little though. Her only desire was not to be ravaged and after her first meeting with Melvekior, she knew that her worries were unfounded.

  She knew that the feelings she harbored for the young Count were akin to his for her. She wasn’t sentimental enough to think that there could be no future between them due to differences in upbringing, culture and the rest, but he was a mere boy. Independent though she was, she would need a strong man to be worthy of her. There was no doubt in her mind that he would become such a man and she had other things to do while he was doing that becoming, so her feelings for him were very low down on her list of priorities.

  Highest on that list was her destination. She didn’t know what it was. Having learned as a younger woman that taking a path different to that of the Herjen made her uncomfortable and restless, she now went where it directed. Directed being a strong term but the only one that made any sense to anyone else. It was almost like her decision but she couldn’t explain why she wanted to make it.

  She had left Saens Martelle with a light heart and found herself almost subconsciously traveling further west than she wanted to and ended up on a mountain path that she personally did not recognize but that she felt comfortable walking. The path wasn't even worth the name. It seemed as though the Herjen knew where it needed her to be and was able to guide her there but it was by no road previously trodden. That more than anything worried her.

  The cold was immaterial. She was used to very low temperatures and hard terrain, so nothing about the difficulty of the journey was troubling. The Herjen though could be leading her anywhere. She cursed then, cursed her luck at being chosen as the bearer of this spirit. What was it for? Foerlund said it would bring about the salvation of her people as it had his many years ago. And for all that she respected him, his words meant absolutely nothing. She was a woman of substance, of action and any reassurance needed to be backed by something tangible. Words were of little use.

  Further west than she had ever been, she traveled, far out of the reaches of her people. No people in fact could live here. Nothing would grow, no animals could thrive. Stone and snow. That was all. Miles of rocky outcrops, hills and mountains as far as the eye could see. Still the Herjen drove her on. To some unknowable destination.

  She had been wearing her cold weather gear for three days and it was becoming clear that her pack was holding her back. The way she went became increasingly steep and she would soon have to climb to move onwards. What little food she had would not last more than a day and her confidence in the Herjen was so great that she had no second thoughts in wolfing down the last of the dried meat she carried. Apart from her summer clothing, her pack was empty so she left it on the path and started on the precipice before her.

  "By Garm!" she swore, sweat poring down her brow. It had been an hour since she'd dropped her pack and that had been spent climbing an almost sheer wall of rock. Being born in the mountains and playing in gullies and canyons, rock-jumping and scree-sliding, prepared her nicely for this journey but there was only so much climbing a person could do. There had often been no holds for all limbs and more than once held on only by single hand, but she'd made it to the overhang, pulled herself up and found another even higher wall before her.

  It was to her short-lived relief that her compulsion was not to climb the vast wall, but to walk a narrow ledge around to its right. She did so and the ledge came to an end after roughly forty feet. A crack in the mountainside presented the only way forward and claustrophobia ignored she forced herself in. It was a tight fit but she was able to squirm and wiggle her way forward. She was not fond of small spaces but so great was the need to pass through that she paid no heed to the rising panic within her.

  Happily it wasn't long until she saw light at the end of the crack and burst free into a wholly unexpected scene.

  Flat, there were no hills, merely an oddly smooth and shiny ground punctuated by black rocks. Ahead, in the far distance, she could see a volcano. A grand hill it was, smoke leaking from the peak in a thin, lazy line. She could see nothing else in any direction; to her left and right, merely the flat glassy surface as far as the eye could see.

  She took a single step towards the smoking hill in the distance and then a shout of triumph exploded into her mind. A sound of exultation she couldn’t verbalize if she tried. It wasn’t even a shock to ‘hear’ it. Deep down she new something was coming. Something big. Something that would free her people from the yoke of slavery. It was somewhere in that volcano and it had just spoken to her.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Epilogue: Janesca

  She hadn’t been badly treated by King Alpre. In fact it was better than being a waitress at the Forthcrest Inn. She didn’t have to do any work, in fact people waited on her. She was well fed, could practice her reading and writing and had a bed more comfortable than she dreamed possible. Not that she was able to use it. The nightmares were incessant.

  Great black dogs with tentacles instead of eyes, black clouds of ravens amongst whom a skeleton would shout abuse in her direction, Melvekior screaming at her for taking his father away, Soria sitting motionless on a bed, tears running down her cheeks. The list went on. Every person she had ever met, and some she hadn’t, blaming her for their sorry state.

  The only thing she couldn’t get, apart from her freedom, was any information about the outside world, Melvekior or her release. Any questions drew blank stares from the servants and the guards looked nervous the moment she initiated conversation.

  She awoke one morning, sweat pouring down her forehead and saw a figure in her room. She screamed, panicking at the sheer size of the unfamiliar person in her room. She thought at first that it was part of a dream and then, with horror, understood that she was wide awake and this was a living breathing person in front of her. One that needed to stoop to stand in her room, whose arms were the size of her waist and they reached out to her. She started in mute fascination at the very vastness of his hands. He gathered her in like a father might scoop up a crying babe and hugged her to him. She smelled earth, the clean smell of soil after the rain and felt somehow that there was no yield here. Lightning could strike this man and he would stand defiant. He put her down, onto her feet. She was nude but didn’t notice, nor did he look at her body.

  Who was this and why was he here?

  “Who are you?” She felt foolish for
asking, for surely this must be Mithras himself. Melvekior had spoken of Him with increasing regularity and this could be no other, but why visit her?

  “I am He that standeth before the Flood,” he intoned, his voice deep and rich.

  It made no sense, she didn’t understand what that meant.

  “I beg your pardon, Lord, but I don’t understand. Everything is confusing. I don’t really feel alive, it is as though I can see beyond life.”

  She looked up at his face, his ageless eyes, blue and sharp above a face mostly beard, saw into her soul. She knew that. She gasped. “You too can see it.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “You have a precious gift. We will help you nurture it.”

  She was pleased and she couldn’t understand why she was so tired, but feeling secure for the first time since the King put her in here, she lay back down and closed her eyes.

  There was a woman sitting opposite her. She started as she looked around. She was in a small room, two benches across from each other. The room was moving. She slowly came awake, conscious of being examined.

  “I’m in a carriage,” she blurted.

  The woman laughed as though it was the funniest joke in the world. “Yes, my dear, you are. It won’t be a long journey. How are you feeling?" She asked, her head tilted slightly, a kindly smile on her face.

  "I'm fine, a little confused." She looked out of the carriage window to see unremarkable landscape going past. Hills and trees, blue sky; she could be anywhere. "Where am I?"

  "You're on the way to the Amalia Convent, it's a little outside Uth-Magnar. We shouldn't be on the road for long. I had hoped you wouldn't wake but it's not a comfortable position." The woman's voice was clear. She was ash blond and her eyes were a striking blue. She thought of Melvekior straight away, they could have been related, so similar were their features.

  "A convent?" She knew that's where the nobility sent their fallen daughters to sort them out. "I'm supposed to be meeting a friend in Amaranth."