Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  “Your house is the place of lies, Hel-slave,” Guthrun countered. “What of Huld? What have you done ‘with her? Why did you chain her below? If you’ve harmed her, I’ll—”

  “Enough!” Thokk shouted, rising to her feet. “I bear you no malice, Guthrun, but I will not suffer your concern for that Freya-slut. Norda Greycloak was my oldest enemy. She escaped me by dying, typical of her cowardly ways.”

  “Norda was not a coward!”

  “Ah! You think not? But you know so little of the truth,” Thokk said. “As I was saying, I cannot now revenge myself upon Norda, but I can upon her disciple, Huld, if I wished her harm, which I do not. She was misled by lies, as were you, and if she allows me, I would like to become her teacher and lead her to the truth. That is what I want for you, too, Guthrun, to become your teacher and your friend, for whether you believe it or not, I am quite possibly the best friend you’ve got, and more.”

  “Friends do not keep each other prisoners. You must think me a complete fool!”

  “No, Guthrun. Not at all. Just a victim of monumental lies. All I do has a purpose. Even when my actions seem harmful, they spring from motives of love and caring. You will eventually come to understand.”

  “You are the fool if you think I will succumb to your lies. “

  Thokk sighed wearily. “I have other duties to perform, Guthrun. But I will return as soon as I can. We have so much about which to talk. When you accept me as your teacher and friend, you will no longer be kept a prisoner and will become my honored guest, as indeed you already are in my heart. Think on this, however, while I’m away, for of all the lies in your life, this one is the greatest and must be the first you unlearn. Bloodsong is not your true mother.”

  Rage filled Guthrun. Without thinking, she sprang for Thokk’s slender throat. Pain shot through her. She staggered, crumpled to her knees, gasping for breath, and when at last the agony passed, she was alone, a prisoner in the room once more.

  * * *

  “Over there, Jotun,” Thokk ordered, pointing to a set of manacles dangling from the ceiling of the oblong, cave-like chamber. She and the Frost Giant had just come from the cell in which Valgerth, Thorfinn, and their children had been imprisoned. Around the torchlit chamber were various ugly devices, all designed for but one purpose, the giving of pain.

  Vafthrudnir hesitated, eyeing the manacles. “I will not let you kill me, Thokk,” he said in warning.

  “You would violate your oath? I thought you an honorable Jotun. Perhaps the dishonor with which your father shamed his family cannot be redeemed by your services to me after all. Perhaps you are no better than he.”

  The Frost Giant tensed his massive body, hatred in his eyes, fists clenched at his sides.

  “What you are thinking is true.” Thokk laughed. “You could, with only a minor effort, pull my head from my shoulders. But an honorable Jotun would even allow himself to be slain, if that were the wish of the mistress to whom he had sworn obedience. Are you an honorable Jotun, Vafthrudnir? Is redeeming your family’s lost honor worth more to you than life itself? Am I your mistress until the agreed-upon term of service is over?”

  “You are.”

  “And was part of your oath of honor to obey me without questioning, no matter what I desired?”

  “It was.”

  “It was, what, Jotun scum!”

  “It was, Mistress.” Vafthrudnir trembled with repressed rage.

  “Very well. Position yourself for punishment. Perhaps the next time I leave you in charge of two weak human females, they will not get the better of you and escape.”

  Vafthrudnir started to protest that it had not been his fault, but instead he remained silent and walked to the hanging manacles.

  “Put them on your wrists,” Thokk ordered.

  He obeyed.

  She spoke an incantation. The manacles’ locks clicked.

  “You are thinking that you can break the chains if need be,” Thokk noted, “but you are wrong. These bonds have been specially prepared, just for you. The spell with which they are treated will weaken you the harder you struggle to get free. Struggle too much and you may well weaken to death.”

  Thokk walked to the wall and worked a mechanism to raise the chains. Soon the Jotun was dangling suspended above the floor. The Hel-Witch came closer and tore away the dark blue breechclout that was his only covering.

  “I gave great consideration to your punishment, Jotun coward,” she said, running her pale, slim-fingered hands over his cold, blue-hued flesh. “I can give you agony of many sorts, even mutilate you if I desire, then heal you either wholly or partially with my magic so that you can return to your duties unimpaired.”

  Thokk moved to an assortment of torture devices hanging on hooks along one damp stone wall and selected a whip with three ugly iron barbs attached to the tip. Without a word she stood behind the hanging Jotun and cracked the barbed whip across his tightly stretched back.

  Vafthrudnir’s massive muscles bunched into knots beneath his bare skin as pain lanced through him, but he did not make a sound. Again and again Thokk wielded the whip, soon moving around to face him so that the front of his body would also receive attention.

  Vafthrudnir jerked against the chains, forcing himself to keep silent in spite of his growing pain as he dangled from the manacles. His struggles caused him to swing helplessly back and forth before his tormentor as his body was torn by more and more ragged-edged cuts.

  Finally Thokk laughed, threw the whip to the floor, and approached him, smiling sweetly. “Did you enjoy your whipping, Jotun oathbreaker? Since you did not cry out,” Thokk mused, digging a sharp fingernail into a bleeding whip cut upon his muscled chest, “I can only assume that you enjoyed my whipping you. Is that true, Jotun scum?”

  Vafthrudnir glared hatefully down at her but said nothing.

  “Well, if you didn’t enjoy that, I’m sure you will this.”

  Slowly, teasingly, she removed her clothing until she stood naked before him. “From time to time, Vafthrudnir,” she said, moving closer, “I’ve detected lust for my flesh swirling in your mind. How long has it been since you’ve been with a female, Jotun or otherwise? Shall I be kind to you now instead of continuing your punishment?”

  The Frost Giant remained silent.

  Thokk concentrated her will and whispered a word of power.

  Her form began to change before Vafthrudnir’s eyes as she worked a spell of illusion. She became a beautiful Jotun woman. She moved forward, pressed herself against him, smeared her breasts and belly with his blood, then began kissing him, making desire build steadily within him, feeling her own lust burning hotter by the moment.

  For a long while, then, in that chamber of screams, the only sounds were ones of intense pleasure. Vafthrudnir, unable to resist her caresses, hung helplessly in his chains until finally he exploded with long-denied passion, his cries of pleasure and Thokk’s echoing together from the chamber’s stone walls.

  Thokk stepped away from him, let the illusion of a Jotun maid dissipate, smoothed back the glistening black coils of her hair, and stared at him a moment, smiling to herself. Her bare flesh glistened with sweat and his blood in the torchlight. Then she walked closer and spat on him.

  “You shall now pay for your lust, Jotun,” she hissed. “Expect no more pleasure this day.”

  She picked up the whip, looked thoughtfully at it for a moment, then reached up on tiptoes and hung it around Vafthrudnir’s neck. “I believe I know just what is needed. I will let pain still be part of your punishment, but humiliation and dishonor will be part of it, too, hurting you even deeper than physical pain and unable to be erased by my physical healing magic, so that you will remember for all time what happens to you here today. You will burn with shame each time you recall what a cowardly, dishonorable Jotun you proved yourself to be while hanging in these chains.”

 
; “My father dishonored my family. I will not.”

  “You are wrong. I am going to prove that to you. Afterward, perhaps you may well beg to stay in my service when the agreed-upon time has passed. Where else will you be able to go, once you know yourself for the coward you truly are? And perhaps, from time to time, I will bring you here for more pleasure.”

  “Get on with your games, Thokk. I grow weary of hearing your empty threats.”

  Thokk laughed. “There is a guest whose presence I have concealed from you with magic,” she told him, “someone perfectly suited to humiliate you and teach you the cowardly truth about yourself. Let me introduce you to him.”

  Thokk traced Runes in the air and spoke a word of power. A sphere of purple light appeared nearby, then vanished, leaving in its place a well-muscled, bearded man with a wild mane of red hair. Battle scars crisscrossed his tanned flesh.

  Vafthrudnir stiffened in his chains, then a look of utter hatred spread over his face.

  “Yes, Jotun,” Thokk said, “he is a Berserker, a shape-shifter, one of your race’s oldest enemies, a warrior devoted to the Berserker God, Odin, who helped slay your ancestors in times dawning.”

  Vafthrudnir fought for control of himself. “This is a trick! It has to be! A follower of Odin would not do the bidding of a servant of Hel!”

  “I assure you that this one would, and does, and will. Perhaps he will explain his reasons to you. Perhaps not. I leave you in his care, Jotun scum. Don’t be too gentle,” she commanded the grinning Berserker. “I expect you to make him beg and crawl before you’re done. And don’t forget that a Frost Giant’s greatest fear is of fire.” Then she walked out and closed the door, smiling to herself.

  The Berserker was, as the Jotun had suspected, a trick, a sorcerous illusion given enough mind and strength by Thokk’s magic to conduct itself as a real Berserker would until she revoked the spell. But the important thing was that the Berserker would seem completely real to the Jotun.

  She probed back into Vafthrudnir’s mind as she continued on down the corridor and laughed softly at the raging terror she found there, the terror of the torch the false Berserker was holding near the Jotun’s flesh, blistering his skin, all the while hurling insults and derisive laughter at the suspended giant, who, she was delighted to discover, had been gagged so that he was effectively mute, unable even to curse or cry out.

  Perhaps, Thokk told herself, he actually will beg and crawl, though I doubt it. But if he should, he may well do as I suggested and stay in my service past the agreed-upon time. If, on the other hand, today’s punishment should turn him against me, I will detect it in his thoughts and destroy him before he can harm me. But whatever the result, it was an amusing and enjoyable interlude. I should bring him down here more often, and perhaps I shall, once Hel’s plans are well under way and my present concerns no longer consume all my time. But for now I must concentrate upon another useful and amusing illusion, she thought, and continued toward the cell where Huld was chained.

  * * *

  “But how did you get free again, Guthrun?” Huld asked, drinking hungrily from the water skin being held to her parched lips.

  “Just keep eating and drinking,” Guthrun said, placing another piece of cheese in Huld’s mouth, “while I figure out how to get you out of these chains. That Hel-Witch took my sword.”

  Huld gratefully chewed the piece of cheese. Never had food tasted so good. But then, never before had she gone so long without eating.

  Suddenly, Guthrun’s image changed, blurred, re-formed.

  Thokk stood before her, grinning with delight. “I knew you would not accept food from my hand,” Thokk explained, “and I wanted you to be strengthened for what lies ahead.”

  Huld stopped chewing and spat the remains of the cheese onto the floor with a curse.

  Thokk’s laughter rang from the damp, cold walls. Slowly, she swept her gaze over Huld. “Your thoughts tell me that you’ve wondered at the manner in which you’re bound, that you’ve thought of the X configuration in relation to the Rune of sex magic. It’s a shame that the lover who came to you was not allowed to give you pleasure, Huld. You would have experienced ecstasy such as you’ve never dreamed. Norda can’t suffer for destroying him, but you can, and will, unless—”

  “Don’t play games, Hel-Witch. Norda was your enemy. You would hurt me, her apprentice, even if she had not saved me from that thing.”

  “He was a young Jotun whose bones had not yet grown flesh. His name was Thrym, a friend of Vafthrudnir’s.”

  “Vafthrudnir?”

  “Yes. You met him. If you would like, I could let him show you how upset he is over Thrym’s destruction. I wouldn’t let him kill you, and I could always use magic to heal you afterward.”

  Huld said nothing but kept her gaze locked with Thokk’s.

  “But you need not suffer, Huld. I would enjoy teaching you the ways of Hel more than hearing you scream. Norda was a fool, but she wouldn’t have chosen to teach you Witchcraft if you did not have potential. Hel can always use talented recruits.”

  “What have you done with Guthrun?” Huld demanded.

  “Be concerned about yourself, Huld. Accept me as your teacher or I will become your executioner.”

  “I do not fear death.”

  “No? But then you know so little about it, while I have savored its terrors and rewards for many lifetimes. And after death, of course, I will see to it that your soul flies to Helheim instead of to Freya’s pretty Folkvang. Hel loves to acquire the souls of Freya-worshipers. Perhaps she will reintroduce you to the Hel-traitor, Nidhug. I understand he’s a maggot-like dragon now, forced to feast on the flesh of corpses.”

  Thokk reached out and gently stroked Huld’s hair, letting the long, silky golden strands slip through her fingers. “Your hair is quite lovely; Huld. Like any woman, you treasure it, of course. Then, too, as you know, much of a Witch’s power resides in her hair. I think we shall start by getting rid of it.”

  The Hel-Witch saw Huld’s body tense, muscles tightening, searched deep within Huld’s widening eyes, probed into Huld’s mind, and laughed at the emotions she found raging there. She stepped back and ran her hands luxuriantly through the glistening black coils of her own hair. “One more chance, Huld? Willingly turn away from Freya and toward Hel?”

  Huld fought to keep herself from straining against the chains, determined to deny Thokk the spectacle of her futile struggles. Thokk shrugged, concentrated her will, traced Runes in the air and whispered a word of power.

  Countless pinpricks covered Huld’s head as one by one the soft strands of her hair began to drift downward, slowly pooling around her bare feet on the filthy stone floor.

  “Go ahead and weep, Huld,” Thokk said encouragingly. “The emotions I detect raging within you tell me that is what you really want to do.”

  Huld spit at Thokk instead.

  “Your chains really are much too comfortable,” Thokk noted, lightly running her slender fingers over the strained muscles of Huld’s raised arms. “Perhaps I will have Vafthrudnir visit you later and adjust them so that your feet no longer touch the floor. I could let him do other things to you too.”

  “Monster! You only want to make me Hel’s slave because of your hatred for Norda. I myself mean nothing to you!” The last golden strand drifted to the floor.

  “I hope you don’t catch a chill,” Thokk said with mock concern, studying Huld’s denuded scalp. She reached out arid stroked the newly bared flesh. “You look doubly naked now, poor thing.” The Hel-Witch laughed with delight, then took the torch from its wall brace, came close to Huld, and used her foot to gently push the fallen strands of hair into a golden mound in front of the chained Witch.

  Slowly, watching Huld’s eyes, she lowered the torch nearer and nearer to the mound of hair, then suddenly thrust the flames into the silken strands.

  Laughing
again, Thokk turned and left the cell, taking the torch with her.

  The acrid odor of burning hair filled Huld’s nostrils and stung her eyes as the fire near her feet continued to burn. She threw herself wildly against her chains as the flesh of her lower legs became uncomfortably hot, but before the skin could be damaged, the fire suddenly died away and left her in darkness once more.

  I won’t let her win, she promised herself, tears streaking her cheeks. No matter what she does to me, she is not going to win!

  Mocking laughter came from beyond the open cell door. Thokk, having crushed out the torch, had waited there, probing Huld’s thoughts, enjoying her reactions. Thokk stepped back into the open doorway, eyes now flickering with purple fire. “Your will is strong, Huld, but mine is stronger. You will eventually kneel at my feet and beg to serve Hel.”

  “Never!”

  “What an interesting time we two are going to have,” Thokk mused. “Tell me, have you ever slept with the Dead? No? The fascinating thing is, sometimes they wake up. Perhaps I will show you what I mean. Would you enjoy that, Huld?”

  Laughing once more, Thokk pulled the door closed and invoked a spell that restored the lock Guthrun had earlier broken.

  IN THE FOREST clearing sat a woodcutter’s cottage. Bloodsong stood a few paces from the door and clasped hands with an aging but still powerfully built man. A woman and two children stood by his side. “My thanks, Ghunthar,” Bloodsong said. “You have my promise that you will be paid for this steed, the clothing, and the food.”

  The woodcutter shook his head. “Payment enough if you avenge our friends and family who were living in Eirik’s Vale,” he said, making the sacred sign of Thor’s Hammer to their memory with his clenched fist. “Were I younger, I would ride by your side. I was once a warrior myself, you know.” He patted the neck of the horse he had just given to Bloodsong. “His name is Oakstorm, a faithful steed, an old friend. I am only sorry that he is not younger and more suited for a warrior such as you.”