Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  Huld said nothing.

  Vafthrudnir held the whip’s iron barbs close to Huld’s face then dangled them teasingly against her skin.

  She inhaled sharply as the cold, sharp metal tickled her face and neck, back and hips, belly and breasts, and finally her denuded scalp.

  “Thokk healed me when she was done. But she does not need you to perform duties. She might not heal you. In which case, say goodbye to your smooth flesh and pretty face. I am going to destroy them, slowly, with this whip and the other items I brought along. Ready?”

  The Jotun hung the whip around her neck, walked to the wall, and began working a device which controlled the tension in her chains. The pain in her wrists and shoulders increased as her feet left the floor and she hung suspended.

  “Are you Thokk’s slave?” she asked as he kept increasing the tension, racking her between the chains above and below. “Free me and I’ll help you get free of her. I promise! Thokk is your real enemy, not me. I’m a Witch, too, and I can—” Her voice broke off in a ragged sob, pain shooting through her as her joints began to burn with the strain.

  Vafthrudnir locked the device, satisfied, then returned to her. He took the whip from around her neck, stared into her eyes. “I made a vow to serve Thokk for a certain period of time, to atone for a crime against Hel my father once committed. To redeem his honor and mine, I will fulfill my vow. I am not Thokk’s slave but her servant. Do not worry so, little human. Thokk has ordered me not to kill you, and I shall not, though I hope to make you wish it were otherwise.”

  The Jotun stepped back three paces and kept his eyes on Huld’s. “Have you ever been whipped, little human?”

  Huld’s pulse pounded in her ears. She kept trying to think of something to prevent her torture, even as her muscles involuntarily tensed for the first blow.

  “Even if you had been, it would not have prepared you for being whipped by a Jotun. I will try to control my strength. I do not want to strike so deeply that you bleed to death or suffer broken bones.” He drew back his arm.

  “Wait! Please, listen to me. Let me—”

  The whip hissed through the cold air and against Huld’s body, snapping around behind and slicing into her tightly stretched back. She held back the scream that wanted to escape. Her muscles bunched into knots as she strained against her chains.

  He walked behind her and examined the crimson drops seeping from the three parallel wounds on her back that the triple barbs had left. “That first cut was for Thokk, little human. The rest of your whipping, and the other things I shall soon do to you, will be for Thrym and for me, and they will not be so gentle.”

  “I understand! You had to hurt me because Thokk said to. But that is all! Your friend was hurting me! My teacher appeared and with the last of her strength saved me! You don’t have to hurt me for that! I did not hurt your friend!” She felt her fear and panic recede slightly as anger began to push them away. “I have no wish to see harm done to you, but I have made a vow, too, a vow of revenge against Thokk. If you do this to me now, I will include you in that revenge, in Freya’s name, I swear it!”

  Vafthrudnir remembered the gag to which he had been subjected during his punishment. He came around to her front, hung the whip around her neck again, reached down and picked up a leather-wrapped steel ball. He brought it to her face. “Open your mouth. Wide. Don’t worry. It’s still wet and a little soft, from having been in my mouth a short while ago.”

  “No!” she cried. “Let me explain—”

  He forced the ball into her mouth, worked it behind her teeth, then tied it tightly in place with its attached thongs.

  Huld fought to breath. A vile taste spread through her mouth. Her jaws ached from being forced too far open. Saliva drooled over her chin.

  The Jotun took the whip from around her neck and stepped back again. “Thokk said to stop hurting you if you changed your mind about joining her. Tell me at once if you do. But speak clearly. I might not understand and give you more pain than needed.”

  The Jotun stood looking into Huld’s eyes for a moment, grinning at the mixed sounds of anger and pleading she was making through her gag, then his whip hissed again.

  Huld screamed into her gag. She looked down and saw blood oozing from three parallel wounds on her belly. Her fear left her. Only fury remained! Her eyes bored into the Jotun’s and projected more hatred than she had ever before in her life felt. Then she recoiled with horror from the emotions.

  Norda had warned her that a time might come when she would again feel the hatred she had felt for Nidhug when his soldiers kidnapped Norda and dragged her to the king’s fortress. That hatred had given Huld the strength to endure and help Bloodsong destroy the tyrant. But that was before Huld had been fully trained to wield the potentially deadly powers of Witchcraft. Yes, Norda had warned her against strong negative emotions, now that the responsibilities of great power were hers. Such feelings could come back on her three-fold now and weigh her spirit down, drag it into the deep darkness where the Coils of Old Night always waited, patient as a spider, to claim lost souls. And that might be exactly what Thokk wanted! If Huld hated the Jotun, or Thokk herself, too much, she risked giving Thokk what the Hel-Witch wanted!

  A whip-cut sliced her flesh and again she screamed into the suffocating gag, but this time she stopped the deep, automatic fury the pain aroused. I must project Freya’s love instead! she told herself. I must! Sweet Freya! But how?

  She heard Vafthrudnir laugh as he swung the whip again. And again she screamed into the gag. I love you! She made herself think, looking into his eyes, and she tried to make herself feel it, too. But anger was still in her heart.

  The whipping continued while Huld kept trying to love her torturer and thank him for giving her time to practice that love, but soon pain trumped all else and she surrendered to screaming with the mindless abandon of the damned.

  THE SWORD RIVER sparkled before them in the late-afternoon sunlight. Bloodsong reached out and gripped Jalna’s hand. “May the Gods and Goddesses of our ancestors be with you, Jalna.”

  “If there’s anything to the west that can help free Guthrun and defeat Thokk, I will find it,” Jalna vowed. “But I still think that if I find something useful before you return—”

  “You have promised to wait. Grimnir and I will meet you in the forest near Eirik’s Vale within two weeks, hopefully with the army of Berserkers.”

  “Yes, but if it were in my power to free Guthrun the sooner—”

  “Jalna, I want to say yes to you. But we will only get one chance to attack Thokk.”

  Jalna nodded. “And to give us the best chance of victory, whatever aid you gain must be combined with whatever Tyrulf and I acquire. I won’t break my promise to wait.”

  Bloodsong looked at Tyrulf.

  “I’ll see that she waits,” he promised.

  “I trust Jalna’s word,” Bloodsong replied, “but you? If I discover you were playing some trick and harm Jalna in any way, I will hunt you down and—”

  “If he tries to harm me?” Jalna touched the hilt of her sword. “There won’t be—”

  “Anything left to hunt?” Tyrulf sighed. “Come on, scary woman,” he grinned at Jalna. “Let’s be on our way.”

  * * *

  Bloodsong and Grimnir watched as Jalna and Tyrulf guided their horses through the shallow water at the crossing point. On the far side of the river, Jalna looked back and raised a fist in salute.

  Bloodsong and freedom, Jalna thought, and saw Bloodsong return her salute, then she turned Frosthoof west, Tyrulf riding Oakstorm at her side.

  “I can see why he cares for that woman,” Grimnir said as he and Bloodsong began their ride southward along the river road to the coast. “She’s a lot like you.”

  “I’m honored you think so. You do not know all she suffered for my sake while in Nidhug’s dungeons. Nor do I, for that matte
r, but I know enough to perceive she’s braver than most by a wide margin.”

  “As I said, a lot like you.”

  Bloodsong gave him a mock punch on his arm. “Some men are foolish. Their taste in women is, I mean.”

  “Ha!”

  “We will eat and sleep in our saddles to reach the coast sooner.”

  “It will soon be dark. I will take your reins and lead Freehoof while you sleep.”

  “And you will wake me at midnight?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean it, Grimnir.”

  “Of course.”

  “I am very serious. You are as tired as I and need rest as much as I. Wake me at midnight.”

  “Don’t you trust me, Bloodsong?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “That’s the problem. I trust that you might be foolish enough to not get enough rest.”

  “Well, you are, after all, just a poor, weak female who needs lots of sleep, while I am a big strong warrior who can go for days without rest and hardly notice.”

  Bloodsong laughed.

  “I will wake you at midnight, my love.”

  “Your what?”

  Grimnir chuckled. “Don’t be shocked. Of course I love you. How could I not?”

  Bloodsong rode in silence for a moment.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything back?” he finally asked.

  She looked over at him and he looked back. He frowned at her, “Well?”

  “Guthrun told me you did.”

  “Did what?”

  “Loved me.”

  “And?”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Perhaps. You’re always on my mind.”

  “My face and body are scarred from battles. I am hard with muscles where a woman is usually soft. I will not take orders. I—”

  “Temptress! Stop exciting me!”

  “Might as well love a battle-boar.”

  “None were available. Get some sleep.”

  She rode in silence a little while longer, then said, “I am glad you failed to find a battle-boar.”

  He stopped his horse.

  She pulled on Freehoof’s reins and also stopped.

  “May I kiss you, before you sleep?” he asked.

  “Next you’ll be wanting to waste time cuddling in the moonlight!”

  “Had we time, that is exactly what I would like to do. But right now, one quick kiss will suffice.”

  “After Eirik, I swore I would never allow another man to care if I lived or died.”

  “Well, you failed. Kiss me, damnit!”

  Bloodsong hesitated, then leaned toward him as he leaned toward her. Their lips met. She pulled back. “Satisfied? Was it worthy of a battle-boar.”

  “Other than there being no scratchy bristles to excite me, it was fine. Thank you!”

  She leaned over and threw an arm around his neck and pulled him close, kissed him long and hard, pulled back and kicked Freehoof forward.

  She heard Grimnir laugh behind her and then the sound of his horse catching up to hers.

  “I feel like composing a love poem,” he said when he was even with her once more.

  “Don’t you dare! I’m trying to get some sleep, remember?”

  He took Freehoof’s reins. “Sleep well. I will wake you at midnight.”

  She rode in silence.

  He thought she was asleep.

  “I am very glad you found no battle-boar,” she said.

  “Can’t you just say, ‘I love you, too?’”

  “To be absolutely certain might require more kisses.”

  “Now?”

  “No!”

  * * *

  He could not even recall his name at first, did not know where he was, had no idea why his head was throbbing with agony. Then his mind began to clear. Bloodsong! She had been freed!

  He was lying upon a blanket near a campfire. Overhead, the sky was a dark, deep blue. Sunset or dawn? he wondered. Men stood nearby with their backs to him.

  Kovna struggled to a sitting position, cursing at the pain. His hands flew to his skull, found it heavily bandaged. A wave of weakness and nausea flooded through him. He fell back, gasping for air.

  “He’s awake,” he heard a familiar voice say. A warrior detached himself from the group of men, walked quickly to Kovna, squatted down beside him.

  “Styrki,” Kovna groaned. “Bloodsong? Is she—”

  “She escaped. We tried to stop her after you fell wounded, but she had unexpected help. Some of the men who survived said they recognized one of her rescuers. It was our old friend, Grimnir, curse his bones.”

  “Grimnir! I will execute him yet one day, just as I did his wife and children in his absence. But Bloodsong! Why aren’t you leading men in pursuit? If you’ve just let her ride away—”

  “I sent men after her. They have not returned. Your two trackers were killed during our attempt to stop her escape.”

  “Odin’s curse,” Kovna growled.

  “You are lucky to still be breathing, General. It will be a while before you are strong enough to wield a sword again.”

  “I am strong enough now. I don’t suppose that traitor Tyrulf was slain or captured?”

  “No. I’ve known him for years. What could have possessed him to help Bloodsong? Perhaps she still has those Witch-powers she was rumored to have used against Nidhug.” He made a Hammer-sign at the thought.

  “Thokk assured me that she no longer has those powers.”

  Styrki shrugged. “I am glad you’ve regained consciousness, General. There was talk of desertion. The men do not care to serve Thokk, as you know. If you had died, I could not have kept them together for long.”

  Kovna nodded. “I will speak with them.”

  “You should rest. It is nearly sunset. I will tell them you are well. You can talk with them in the morning.”

  “And how many will slip away during the night? No, I must talk with them now.” He began struggling to stand. Styrki reached to help him. Kovna pushed him away.

  “Has just the one day passed?” Kovna asked through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, General,” Styrki answered, watching with concern as fresh blood oozed through the bandages around Kovna’s skull.

  Kovna gained his feet, drew himself to his full height.

  “Assemble the men,” he ordered.

  Styrki saluted, turned, and began shouting commands.

  * * *

  “Jalna,” Tyrulf said, “it is nearly too dark to see. We should make camp.”

  “We will sleep in our saddles,” Jalna announced, “or at least that is what I intend to do. You can make camp if you wish and try to catch up with me in the morning.”

  “You will never find the mound and mountain without my help. “

  “Then give me the directions.”

  Tyrulf hesitated.

  “Afraid I’ll leave you behind if you tell?”

  “You ride a much younger and faster horse,” he noted, “but, no, I do not believe that you would endanger our quest by outdistancing me. Two stand a better chance of success than one.”

  “That may or may not be true. But you’re right. I won’t leave you behind unless I have good cause. You should still tell me the directions, however. We could be attacked. You might be killed.”

  “We might both be killed if we don’t stop and make camp. This road is not as well traveled as the one Bloodsong and Grimnir are following along the river, and ahead lies a forest where people have been known to disappear. Years ago, I was in a patrol that went looking for another patrol. We found the remains of their camp but nothing else, not even signs of a battle. I do not think we should ride among those trees at night.”

  “I do not intend to stop because of your fears. I have heard stories about
the forest ahead, but I am not afraid.”

  “You could be endangering our mission by entering there at night. You wouldn’t ride into an ambush about which you knew. Caution does not necessarily mean fear, though healthy fear has led many a warrior to victory over foolishly overconfident opponents.”

  Jalna rode in silence a moment, then cursed softly. “Perhaps you are right,” she finally said. “Your irritating presence keeps me from thinking clearly, and that is dangerous.”

  “I think we should camp here, well away from the trees,” he said after a moment, deciding to ignore her comment. “If someone attacks during the night, they would have a greater open space to cross, giving us more of a chance to see them once the moon has risen.”

  “And the farther from the trees we camp,” Jalna added, “the less chance of drawing unwanted attention from any forest dwellers. Very well, Tyrulf. I will agree to camp here. Will you agree to tell me the directions to the mound and the mountain?”

  “I would have done that, anyway,” he replied, reining to a stop.

  “We need not build a fire,” Jalna said as she dismounted. “It might attract unwanted attention.”

  “And we’ll leave the horses loosely saddled in case we need them in a hurry, As soon as we’ve taken care of their needs and we have ourselves eaten, I’ll take the first watch.”

  “We’ll gather twigs and draw for the first watch,” Jalna countered.

  After bread and cheese had been eaten and the shortest twig drawn, it was Tyrulf who was to stand guard first.

  Jalna drew her sword and laid it beside her on the ground.

  “I sleep very lightly,” she warned.

  “I won’t ravish you while you sleep.”

  “No, you won’t,” she assured him. “But before I sleep, I will have the directions you promised.”

  Tyrulf gave them to her, then began his watch, listening as her breathing deepened with sleep.

  Sleep well, lovely one, he thought, then grinned at the thought of the curses calling her that to her face would earn him. His mind rushed back over the events of the past two days, then beyond to the first time he’d seen her seven years before. He remembered again his outrage at seeing her in Nidhug’s chains, his frustration at being unable to help her, his haunted thoughts of her ever since, imagining her dead.