Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  Bloodsong shook her head negatively.

  “Don’t be so certain,” Thokk replied. “Every warrior who died here today, every person, even the children, heard the whispers of Hel within their minds at the point of death, offering resurrection in return for service. Many there were who accepted, I assure you. Thus has it been since you returned the War Skull to Hel. Join those who pledged service to my Goddess, Bloodsong, and see your children again, ride with them in Hel’s army! Refuse, though, and—” Thokk shrugged.

  “I will never serve Hel again,” Bloodsong vowed, “and neither will my children!”

  “Your children will be doing so. And you will not accept absolute death if there is an alternative. Your children are very precious to Hel, Bloodsong. Guthrun is a Deadborn, born in Helheim of a mother who had herself died.” Thokk brushed strands of Bloodsong’s hair back from her face, wiped away a trickle of blood Kovna’s blow had caused to flow from the corner of her mouth. “You did not know that Guthrun would be so special to Hel when you agreed to Hel’s bargain and died Hel-praying. But Hel sees far into the future. That is why, as the saying goes, She always laughs last.”

  “Curse you, Witch. And curse Hel.”

  “Your thoughts tell me that you’ve wondered about Guthrun’s interest in Witchcraft. Perhaps now your mind will be at peace, seeing that for a Deadborn it is only natural. Power slumbers within Guthrun like a serpent, Bloodsong, the Coils of Old Night waiting to strike in Hel’s name. And Lokith—”

  “Thorbjorn, Eirik’s Son, was and is his name, no matter what you have done with his corpse.”

  “Lokith,” Thokk continued, “will rise to lead the Death Riders of Hel, a Hel-warrior himself whose sorcerous powers will surpass your imagining. Oh, yes, Bloodsong, they are children of which you can be justly proud. I have waited and planned long for this, as has Hel. If you had not defeated Nidhug, Guthrun and Lokith would now be preparing to do battle with that Hel-traitor and retrieve the War Skull. But you did defeat him, and they are now free to embark on the next phase of Hel’s plan.”

  Thokk reached down and stroked Bloodsong’s belly then leaned down and kissed it. “Blessed be the womb that gave birth to the Children of Hel.”

  “Curse you!”

  Thokk shook her head. “You were blessed to actually live with my Sweet Goddess Hel! You spoke with Her! You saw Her on Her throne! Why did you not see the wonder of that and stay in Her thrall? You are not ignorant like most. You are one of the few who know Hel is a Goddess Who not only cares for the Dead but has the power to give them new life. All the Earth was once Her domain. She wants back only what She had before Odin and His allies drove Her into the darkness beneath the Earth, stole the War Skull from Her, and spread rumors She was to be abhorred as a Goddess solely of the Dead.

  “She had hoped that when the War Skull was restored to Her, so might all Her beauty and powers. But She had been away from the Skull for too long. She remains half-beautiful and alive, half a corpse. Now, because of what was done to Her, when She returns one day to Her rightful place upon the Earth’s surface, the Earth will become half-alive and half-dead, too, half shrouded in fog and clouds, darkness, ice, and snow.”

  “Thokk, you are insane. To turn even part of the world into a vast grave, to let the darkness and ice of Helheim spread? How do you know but that all the Earth will succumb? How can you risk such a thing? How has your soul become so evil that—”

  “Hel has been terribly wronged, Bloodsong. Those of us who worship Her, the first and true ruler of the Earth, are pledged to right that wrong.”

  “But to work for the death of even part of the Earth? Nothing can justify that, Thokk. Nothing!”

  “I tire of your stupidity. Perhaps I was wrong to waste my time explaining matters to you. Either die Hel-praying and ride with your children to spread Hel’s power over the Earth, or die, go to some other after-life realm, and never see them again, except perhaps as enemies. I do not care which.”

  Thokk walked away.

  “I choose neither.” Bloodsong raised her voice. “I choose instead to free Guthrun and Thorbjorn and to destroy you!”

  Thokk kept walking and did not look back. But she laughed.

  HANDS STILL BOUND behind them, surrounded by Kovna’s warriors, Valgerth and Thorfinn walked up the hill and stood before Bloodsong. Valgerth stepped closer, burning with rage at what had been done to her friend. Bloodsong’s eyes were closed, the lines of her battle-scared face drawn tight in pain, her breathing labored.

  “Freyadis?” Valgerth softly called.

  Sunset was near. Bloodsong had hung on the tree most of the morning and all of the afternoon. Pain and exhaustion had finally driven away consciousness. But now, hearing the voice of her friend, she slowly opened her swollen eyes.

  Valgerth bent forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  “I feared that they had slain you,” Bloodsong said, her voice dry and cracked. “Are your children unharmed?”

  “Yes.” Valgerth nodded. “We are being taken to Thokk’s castle. She has promised not to hurt our children if we cooperate. “

  “Cooperate? How?”

  “She hasn’t told us,” Thorfinn answered.

  Bloodsong nodded and forced a smile. “It’s not the first time things seemed hopeless for us, eh, Valgerth?”

  “Aye, Freyadis. If we could escape Nidhug’s slave pens and return to destroy him, anything is possible.”

  The two women looked deep into each other’s eyes for several long moments, then Bloodsong’s clouded with pain, and a spasm of suffering shuddered through her. “Guthrun and Huld are in Thokk’s castle too,” Bloodsong said after a moment, “and my son.”

  “Your son? But ...”

  “Thokk claims to have stolen his body and used her magic to make him grow older. She intends to awaken his dead flesh so that he may serve Hel. And she wants to turn Guthrun into a Hel-Witch. We have to find some way to stop her. If I die here, it will be up to you.”

  “If only we could get our children to safety,” Thorfinn said.

  “Be warned that Thokk can read thoughts,” Bloodsong said. “And there’s one other thing you should know. Thokk says that I will be offered the chance to die Hel-praying, to return as a Hel-warrior once again.”

  “And will you?” Valgerth asked.

  “I have told her that I will not.”

  Valgerth nodded. “But if it’s the only way to survive?”

  “I don’t know, Valgerth. I don’t know.” Her voice became a groan as another spasm of agony shuddered through her.

  The sun passed beneath the horizon. A faint moaning sound arose from within the forest north of the village and grew steadily louder.

  Through the twilight came the nine Death Riders upon their wind-treading steeds. Five riderless Hel-horses followed the mounted ones, embers of purple fire glowing in their eyes.

  Thokk came up the hill and smiled at Bloodsong and her two friends. “Time to ride the wind,” she said, gesturing down the hill to the Death Riders who had just reined up nearby. Kovna’s warriors were binding Thora and Yngvar each to an empty Hel-horse saddle. Yngvar had begun to cry.

  “If you harm my son—” Valgerth warned.

  “He’ll enjoy wind-riding once we get started,” Thokk assured her, “unless you do something foolish.”

  Valgerth turned back to Bloodsong. Their eyes met. Valgerth leaned forward, again kissed Bloodsong’s cheek. “Bloodsong and freedom,” she whispered, saying the battle cry Nidhug’s slaves had shouted while fighting their way from Nastrond. “Until I see you again, Freyadis.” Valgerth choked back tears. She turned and walked down the hill.

  Thorfinn held Bloodsong’s gaze a moment and nodded to her. Unable to think of anything to say, he turned with a curse and followed Valgerth.

  Thokk stepped nearer the bound warrior-woman. “You are in mu
ch pain,” she said, “but not as much as earlier. You’ve grown somewhat numb. Unfortunately, I have promised Kovna to do something about that before I leave.”

  The Hel-Witch concentrated her will, traced invisible Runes in the twilight air, spoke words of power. A purple ray of light shot from Thokk’s hands and bathed Bloodsong’s body.

  Bloodsong gasped with pain and strained against the ropes.

  “A simple healing spell,” Thokk explained, “to restore your nerves to their full sensitivity. And now I shall increase their sensitivity even more.” More Runes were traced, more words of power spoken.

  Bloodsong’s muscles trembled with the strain. The ropes sunk deep into her flesh as she fought her bonds, her face a mask of pain.

  “I’d expected a scream, warrior. I have promised Kovna screams before I depart.”

  The Hel-Witch spoke another word of power. The pain increased tenfold.

  Bloodsong screamed.

  At the sound of the scream, Valgerth and Thorfinn jerked around in the saddles to which they had been bound.

  Kovna, standing nearby, laughed with approval.

  The bound warrior-woman screamed again and again, her cries ragged sounds that tore through the twilight.

  “Kovna should be pleased,” Thokk noted, then turned and walked down the hill. Before she reached the bottom, the screams behind her stopped.

  Bloodsong hung unconscious in her bonds once more.

  * * *

  “Jalna! No!” Tyrulf grabbed her arms and pulled her back.

  “Curse you!” Jalna hissed. “Those screams! It’s Bloodsong!”

  “You can’t help her by rushing into the open.”

  The screams stopped. Jalna ceased struggling. “After dark, I’m going to try to reach her,” Jalna vowed.

  “I’ve been thinking. We killed the ones who saw me helping you. Kovna and the others probably think I was slain. If I walked up to those guards around the hill, perhaps they would believe that I am still one of them. I could possibly reach Bloodsong without arousing suspicion.”

  “Why? It would make more sense for you to return to Kovna’s army. Or perhaps deliver me to Kovna and earn yourself a promotion.”

  “Betray you? Curse it, woman! If I’d known you yet lived, after Nidhug’s fall I would have left the army and searched for you.”

  “Why?”

  Tyrulf laughed. “For the same reason I wanted to help you in Nidhug’s dungeon. I have thought about you for seven years.”

  Jalna frowned. “Same question. Why?”

  “Because I hate you.”

  Her frown deepened.

  “That was a joke, but this is not. If I help you free Bloodsong, will you begin to trust me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then let’s make plans. It will soon be dark.”

  “But if you try to trick me—”

  “You’ll kill me, I suppose? By the Hammer of Thor, by dawn you will either trust me or we will no doubt both be dead.”

  * * *

  After Thokk, the Death Riders, and their four prisoners had vanished into the forest to the north, Kovna looked up the slope of the hill at Bloodsong. She had not moved since Thokk made her scream. He assumed her to be merely unconscious, but the Hel-Witch could have tricked him and cheated him of his full revenge.

  He walked up the hill, grunted with satisfaction upon seeing her breasts still rise and fall with her labored breathing, and examined the ropes that held her to make certain all the knots were still secure.

  Kovna glanced back to where Thokk had disappeared. He would not have regretted never seeing the Hel-Witch again, but when Bloodsong was dead, he and his men were pledged to rejoin Thokk at her castle. He frowned, thinking of that horrid place, but then reminded himself that allied with Thokk, distasteful as that often was, more victories would be in his future. Perhaps, in time, even a throne.

  He turned his attention back to Bloodsong, She had escaped suffering long enough. He slapped her face and was rewarded with a faint groan.

  “Wake up, curse you,” he commanded and slapped her again.

  Bloodsong opened her eyes and fought to clear her vision, noting gratefully that the pain of her bonds was again somewhat numbed. Her gaze focused on Kovna.

  “How long did it take you to die before?” he demanded.

  Bloodsong said nothing.

  He slapped her again.

  “Three days? Four?” he went on. “Perhaps I will help you to die sooner this time.”

  Kovna laughed at her continued silence. “No need to wait for dawn,” he told her. “After I have eaten and rested, I will return. Torches can be brought for light, and, of course, their flames can also be used to sear flesh,” he said, suggestively running his hands over her breasts. “Yes,” he grinned, “I believe I shall be merciful and help you to die.”

  As he walked away, laughing, Bloodsong strained against her bonds, hoping for a knot that might have slipped, a rope that might have loosened after supporting her weight all day, searching for some hope that she might free herself before Kovna returned, but all the ropes remained tight, all the knots secure, and she finally stopped struggling and hung unmoving against the tree once more, fighting the hopelessness that was threatening to destroy her spirit even before Kovna returned to begin destroying her flesh.

  * * *

  Some distance from where Jalna and Tyrulf stood hidden amongst the trees, a man watched the hill where Bloodsong was tied. Beside him, a dagger had been driven halfway to its hilt into a tree when Thokk made Bloodsong scream. His white-knuckled grip had then snapped off the blade. He angrily threw what was left of the weapon aside.

  The man continued to watch. After the black-clad riders disappeared into the forest, he saw a man he recognized walk up the slope to Bloodsong .

  Kovna, the watcher thought, fists clenched. There were blood debts already owing between them, and now there were more.

  The watcher’s fists clenched tighter when he saw Kovna slap Bloodsong then touch her breasts. After Kovna left her alone, the watcher turned to a massive black stallion standing nearby and began digging in a leather saddle pouch. The man’s height and powerfully muscled body almost made the huge stallion seem to be an average-size steed. Nearby, two other stallions were tied, nearly twins of the first.

  He found what he sought and removed from the saddle pouch a jewel-hilted dagger he’d taken from a rich merchant’s corpse. He examined the decoratively carven, highly polished, but badly balanced blade with disdain, decided that it would have to do, and slipped it into the empty dagger sheath on his belt. Then he turned back to face the hill, unstrapped the circular shield from his back, drew his double-edged broadsword, and set himself to await the night as his eyes held steady on Bloodsong, the memory of her screams still tearing raw his mind.

  HULD STRUGGLED back to consciousness. She lay in the darkness, confused, shivering with cold, then she remembered.

  “Norda,” she whispered. Tears stung her eyes, but an instant later, anger replaced grief.

  She moved her legs experimentally, found the pain less, and climbed slowly to her feet. She rubbed at her wrists, found that some numbness still remained in her hands, wondered how long she had been unconscious.

  The young Witch concentrated her will, intoned an incantation. Her eyes flickered with yellow-gold light. Her night-vision spell allowed her to see in the dark. Her surroundings became illuminated by a pale yellow light. The cell’s stone walls, ceiling, and corners were clogged with spider webs. Many spiders hung in the webs. Here and there, centipedes the size of small snakes scuttled upon the walls and floor. Rats watched her on all sides. The thought that she was barefoot and naked in such a place made her shiver with more than cold. But she was relieved that the spell had worked. She had feared that in Thokk’s castle her magic might not work at all, even free of spell-chains
. But her eyes and head had begun to ache almost at once from working the spell, exhaustion and lack of food taking their toll, she assumed, and perhaps magical impediments from the presence of the powers of Hel.

  Norda had said that Guthrun was imprisoned above. Therefore, that was where she must now go.

  Careful to avoid rats, centipedes, and unidentified crawling things on the filth-strewn floor with her bare feet, the Freya-Witch hurried to the cell’s iron-banded wooden door. She focused her concentration on the lock, intoned a spell. Yellow-gold light flickered like heat lightning over the lock. It clicked open.

  Outside the door, she saw a narrow stairway leading downward to her right and upward to her left. She turned left and began to climb the crumbling stone steps. Her toes sunk into chilled dust as she brushed spider webs and their inhabitants out of her path.

  Up and up she climbed, her head throbbing from sustaining the night-vision spell as she mounted higher and higher into the castle of Thokk, straining her physical and magical senses to search for danger.

  She had hoped that the cold would lessen as she went higher into the castle, but it did not. I can never survive the icy mountaintop outside the castle without clothing, she thought, but I will worry about that after I find Guthrun.

  Huld came to the top of the stairway and found a long hallway leading off in both directions. She closed her eyes and concentrated, reached out with her thoughts, searched for Guthrun. At first she found nothing and began to fear that her weakness might keep her from detecting Guthrun’s location. She struggled harder, persisted, pushed farther with her Witch-senses, and suddenly jerked back from a powerful inhuman consciousness.

  Freya! she thought, her senses reeling from the brief contact. What manner of creature was that? Something gigantic, no doubt one of Thokk’s guardians.

  She concentrated again, detected the monstrous consciousness, avoided touching it, strained to push farther, and at last felt Guthrun’s mind.