Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  And now she lay sleeping but a few steps away, strong and alive. Alive! And she’s going to stay that way, he silently vowed, then set himself to watch, physical senses and warrior instincts straining for the first sign of danger as they never had before.

  THE TOWERING crystal War Skull of Hel loomed before her, throbbing with purple light, rumbling like a thunderous heartbeat, the empty chains embedded in its surface waiting to clamp her wrists again. Closer and closer she was carried toward it. She struggled against the hard-muscled arms of the soldier who carried her, but she could not get free. They reached the Skull. He mounted the platform, lifted her up, and held her in position while another soldier locked the manacles around her wrists. The soldier who held her then lowered her until she hung above the massive Skull’s teeth. The surface of the Skull was freezing cold against her bare back.

  She looked wildly down at the soldier who had carried her to the Skull, saw concern for her in his eyes.

  “Tyrulf!” she cried. “Help me!”

  He turned away.

  Another man stood watching, a man with the face of a corpse. Nidhug! The sorcerer floated a glistening black wand with a glowing green tip upward and toward her. Then he began to torture her with the Venom Wand.

  She screamed and saw Tyrulf stop. He turned at the sound of her pain.

  “Help me!” she begged. “Tyrulf! Please! Help me!”

  Nidhug laughed. The wand touched her again.

  “Jalna!” Tyrulf shouted, gripping her shoulders, gently shaking her back and forth. “Wake up, Jalna!”

  Slowly the dream began to fade, her thoughts to clear. The last thing she had wanted was for Tyrulf to learn of her nightmares. “Garm’s Bottom,” she ·cursed. “Did you enjoy my performance?”

  “Performance? I heard you call out my name. I came nearer. You screamed.”

  “It was only a dream.”

  “A nightmare.” .

  “Perhaps. I don’t remember,” she lied. She got to her feet, smoothed down her sweat-soaked hair, saw that the moon had risen. “I might as well take my watch. I’ve slept long enough. Weren’t you going to wake me?”

  “At midnight, yes.”

  “Go on to sleep,” she said, stretching. “Nothing to report, I gather?”

  “I thought I saw movement near the edge of the forest just after moonrise, but it wasn’t repeated, and I’ve begun to think that it was a trick of moonlight and shadows.”

  “If I see it again, I’ll wake you.”

  Tyrulf lay down, looked up at the stars overhead, and remembered Jalna’s scream. It reminded him of seven years before. “Jalna,” he quietly said, “about the dream. It was a nightmare from what you suffered in Nastrond, wasn’t it? That is why you were calling for my help, because I am in the nightmare, doing nothing to stop what Nidhug did to you. Have you had such nightmares often since then?”

  “I told you, I don’t remember the dream. Go to sleep.”

  “I just wanted you to know that I am so very sorry. I’ve been sorry for a very long time.”

  “There was nothing you could have done to stop Nidhug,” she answered. “I know that. I knew it then. But you seemed to care what happened to me. No one else did. Forget it. I have.”

  “You haven’t learned to lie as well as you’d like,” Tyrulf commented. He waited, expecting an outburst of denial, but there was none. “You haven’t forgotten, Jalna, and neither have I. And what I said is true. I am sorry, not just for not helping you then, but also because any of it had to happen to you at all.”

  “Don’t you dare pity me!”

  “It’s not pity. I’m sorry that our Orlog fated us not to have met in a different way, sorry we can’t put those horrors behind us and start fresh. We’re both scarred by what happened. In the last seven years I’ve had nightmares too, about not helping you!”

  “Really?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I thought you had died when Nastrond fell.”

  “I thought you were dead, too. We must find a way to enjoy life again, both of us, in spite of our hard memories.”

  “I’ve already done that,” Jalna answered, a little too quickly. “I do enjoy life. My life. Very much.”

  He started to express doubt, then changed his mind. “I am glad.”

  “Perhaps you will enjoy life again, too, in time.”

  “Yes. I have a reason to, now that I know you’re alive.”

  She hesitated, then said, “Sleep. An army could approach without our knowing if you keep talking.” And I just hope my nightmare’s screams have not already attracted unwanted attention from the forest, she added to herself, then began concentrating upon watching for danger.

  * * *

  It was not far from dawn when she saw them. Suddenly they were all around, standing motionless and silent in the gray predawn light.

  “Tyrulf!” she hissed, nudging him with her boot as she drew her sword and made ready her shield.

  He sat up, saw them, scrambled to his feet, drew his own sword, stood with his back to hers, ready to fight.

  “They were suddenly just there,” she said. “I don’t know how they got so close without my noticing, not in this growing light. I should have seen them easily.”

  “I recognize them,” Tyrulf interrupted. “The Gods help me, but I know them. I’ve finally found those men of Kovna’s who disappeared in the forest, or rather they’ve found me.”

  “They must have deserted,” Jalna reasoned, wondering why they did not attack. “They knew the stories about the forest, decided to use the superstitious tales to get out of Nidhug’s army.”

  “I don’t think so. See how their images waver? The brighter it becomes, the more unstable they seem.”

  “Modgud’s Bones. You are right.”

  Then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, the ghostly warriors were gone. The grassland leading up to the forest was empty once more. But Jalna and Tyrulf did not relax, stayed back-to-back, ready for battle.

  When the sun broke the eastern horizon, Tyrulf sheathed his sword. “I’m for breakfast,” he said with a nervous chuckle, and went to search in a leather pouch on his saddle.

  “Tyrulf, look.” Jalna pointed with her sword. “That patch of dead grass there, and there, and over there. Those spots must mark where our visitors stood.”

  Jalna sheathed her sword. “I’ve always heard that horses shy at the supernatural, yet ours acted as if nothing were happening. “

  Tyrulf shrugged. “Here.” He offered her some cheese. “Maybe nothing did happen. I know that doesn’t make sense, but neither did what we saw. I never saw one of them move in the whole time I was watching them.”

  Jalna took the cheese and began to eat.

  Later, as they rode nearer the edge of the forest, she drew her sword and unstrapped her shield from her back. “Just because I’m cautious doesn’t mean I’m afraid,” she told him, throwing his own words back at him.

  Tyrulf laughed, then made ready his weapons too. “Perhaps nothing will happen during the daylight hours. I made it in and out of the forest without trouble the time I came searching for those lost men. But they had camped within the trees during the night.”

  Side by side, senses straining for danger, they rode into the dark shadows of the forest.

  * * *

  The halls through which he walked were coated with black ice. Cold penetrated him to his bones. His legs were shaky with exhaustion, as if he had walked for days and days to arrive at his destination. The soles of his boots were worn through, scarcely protecting his feet at all from the ice over which he walked.

  An arched portal towered overhead. He passed beneath it and entered a vast, ice-shrouded cavern, in the center of which loomed a black throne. A hooded figure sat there, many times the size of a human, hunched slightly forward toward him. No face was visible
within the shadows of the hood. He felt an unreasonable fear that the hood might be pulled back.

  He became aware of others in the throne room with him, saw rotting gray forms huddled here and there in the shadows, silently watching as he neared the hooded one on the throne.

  You were wise to ally yourself with me, a woman’s voice suddenly whispered within his mind.

  He did not reply but stood numb with fear at the foot of the throne.

  The enthroned one raised hands to the hood. One hand was that of a young woman, the other the skeletal claw of a corpse. The hood fell back.

  You are dying, General Kovna, Hel whispered within his mind.

  “No!” he cried, staring up at the face of the Underworld Goddess. Half her face was that of a beautiful woman, the other half a decaying corpse.

  Die Hel-praying, Hel urged, and I will resurrect your flesh after death, make you into a leader of Hel-warriors, let you ride at the head of my army behind Lokith and his Death Riders as you conquer the Earth. You will have power, Kovna. Power! You lust after it. Take it! Take what I offer. You need only die Hel-praying and it shall be yours.

  “No!” he cried again. “No!” he repeated, staggering back from the throne.

  “General Kovna!”

  Kovna felt himself being gripped by his shoulders. He opened his eyes. Styrki was bending over him.

  He pushed Styrki’s hands away from his shoulders. “It was only a dream.”

  Pain was everywhere, radiating through his body from his head wound. She told me I was dying, he thought. His heart beat wildly. But I’ll prove Her wrong. I will use Her own magic against Her. Thokk has the power to heal wounds. If I can only last until we reach her castle, I’ll not die.

  The sky was bright overhead. Kovna forced himself to defy his pain and rise to a sitting position. “Bring me food,” he ordered, “and wine. Lots of strong wine to dull this cursed pain. Then make the men ready to travel. We are riding at once to the castle of Thokk.”

  * * *

  For the first time since entering the dark forest, Jalna allowed herself to relax. She sheathed her sword and slung her shield on her back.

  “Don’t you hear it?” she asked, glancing at Tyrulf. “A bird,” she explained, “the first I’ve heard since entering this cursed forest. And don’t you feel a change in the air? Whatever haunts these woods is behind us now. I’m certain of it.”

  “You must have the ears of a wolf,” he commented as he sheathed his sword. “I’d not heard that bird until you mentioned it. And you’re right about the air feeling different. It’s easier to breathe now. Are you disappointed that we didn’t solve the mystery of this forest, Jalna?” he asked with a grin.

  “Not enough to go back.” Their eyes met. She looked away quickly. “I judge it to be nearly noon. We’ve ridden tensed all morning, ready for a fight that never came. My stomach feels as if I haven’t eaten for a week. Let’s have at some more of that woodcutter’s cheese and bread.”

  “And also, perhaps a bit of the wine? in celebration of our not vanishing into thin air or worse?”

  “Aye. But only a sip or two. Other danger is certain to lie ahead.”

  A SOUND IN the hallway made Guthrun stop pacing the small room and turn toward the door. A key clicked in the lock. She considered attacking, remembered what had happened when she’d tried to attack Thokk before, remembered Vafthrudnir’s size, and decided to conserve her energy instead.

  Thokk entered, smiled sweetly at her. ‘‘Have you rested well, Guthrun?” she asked with concern.

  “You know I have not. Every time I try to sleep, someone I knew from my days in Helheim materializes and starts to plague me, to talk to me, urging me to give in to you, to become something I’m not. You said you would be right back. It must have been days! And there’s been no food. But it won’t work, Thokk. It won’t! I’m not going to break. You’re not going to get your way. Starve me, keep me from sleeping, torture me, but—”

  “Guthrun! I knew nothing of this! I’ll have Vafthrudnir punished for not bringing food. I will go and get some for you this instant myself.”

  Thokk turned and quickly stepped into the hallway.

  “You can’t trick me, Hel-slave!” Guthrun shouted at the closing door. “You’re just playing games, trying to confuse me, to change my thoughts!”

  The lock clicked. Guthrun began pacing again, hugging herself against the cold, head aching from lack of food and sleep. She won’t win, she vowed over and over, chanting it silently in her mind, focusing her fraying concentration upon the thought, determined to win the mental battle she was waging with the Hel-Witch and the minions of Hel.

  She won’t win! Guthrun repeated in her mind. I won’t let her win. I am Guthrun! Bloodsong is my mother. Thokk won’t win. She won’t!

  Guthrun kept pacing, not surprised when Thokk did not keep her promise and immediately return with food. Sleep pulled at her, made her stumble against the table. She cursed weakly, slumped down on the bed, tried to keep her eyes open, knowing what would happen the moment they closed.

  Her eyes closed.

  “Guthrun?” called a familiar voice. “Wake up, please? I can’t stay long.”

  “I’m awake, curse you,” Guthrun growled, eyes still closed.

  “If you’re not going to look at me with your eyes, there are other ways.” The image of a young boy’s corpse appeared in Guthrun’s mind.

  With a startled cry Guthrun tried to open her eyes but now found that she could not. “Leave me alone!” she commanded. “My thoughts are my own! Hel is not my true mother. Bloodsong is my mother! I am not a Hel-born Witch-child! I have no special powers slumbering within me!”

  “Don’t fight the truth, Guthrun. We’re friends, aren’t we? I would not lie to a friend, Guthrun. Remember all the times we played when you lived in Helheim? We shared secrets, were close friends. Friends, Guthrun. Friends. When you used to cry, after the woman you thought was your mother went to fight Nidhug for Mother Hel, I would comfort you, bring smiles back to your face. Remember, Guthrun? Friends.”

  “Curse you, Orm!”

  “So you do remember my name. I’d begun to wonder.” The image left her mind. Guthrun opened her eyes. Orm stood nearby, gray flesh tattered with decay, his skin rippling here and there where maggots crawled just beneath the surface.

  “It hurts when you curse at me, Guthrun,” Orm said. “Mother Hel is unhappy with us, your friends, when we return without convincing you of Thokk’s good intentions. I will be punished if you don’t say you’ll cooperate. Give Thokk the chance to show you the truth. Accept Hel as your true mother. Inga was punished when she couldn’t convince you, Guthrun. She screamed a long time. It was your fault.”

  “Lies!”

  “Don’t make Mother Hel mad at me, Guthrun. Promise to let Thokk teach you the truth? Save me from punishment? Don’t force Mother Hel to make me scream, too. We’re friends, Guthrun. Friends. Agree, to cooperate, for me? For friendship’s sake? Please?”

  “No! Hel does not torture the Dead! No one made anyone scream! Lies and more lies!”

  “For all the times I cheered you when you were crying, Guthrun? Please? Don’t you owe me that much at least? Agree to cooperate, for me? Please?”

  Guthrun gripped her throbbing head between her hands, tried to keep her thoughts her own, kept fighting to not give in. But she was Orm’s friend, or had been, once. And Mother Hel had always been kind—”

  “No! She’s not my mother!” Guthrun cried, fighting the traitorous thoughts. “Get out!” she yelled at Orm, “Go back to Helheim!”

  Tears sprang to Orm’s sunken eyes, and fear settled upon his face. He began to dematerialize. When he was gone, Guthrun heard him begin to scream, the sound faint but distinct, as if it came from deep within the bowels of the Earth.

  Guthrun returned to her pacing, breath coming in panting
gasps, holding her hands over her ears but unable to shut out the agonized screams that went on and on and on.

  * * *

  Huld heard the sound of footsteps coming nearer, opened swollen eyes, found the cell again devoid of light. She stiffened in her chains, thinking that Vafthrudnir might be returning. The Jotun had visited her three times, and each time she had been ready to beg for death when he allowed her to lose consciousness. But the air was not growing colder as it did when the Frost Giant neared, and the footsteps were not as heavy as his.

  Hanging suspended above the floor as Vafthrudnir had left her, Huld struggled to concentrate through her pain. It sounded like more than one person was approaching. The lock clicked and hinges creaked as the door to her cell was opened, Torchlight flooded inward. Several figures entered.

  “I see that Vafthrudnir accepted my invitation to visit you, Huld,” Thokk purred, sweeping her gaze over the suspended Freya-Witch. She reached out and lightly touched the dried blood caked on one of Huld’s thigh wounds. “I detect from your thoughts that you’ve entertained him three times. And that he gagged you to keep you from stopping the torture by agreeing to cooperate with me. That does not please me, Huld. He will be punished for that, in time. And I meant for him to visit you only once, but for the last few days other matters have occupied my attention, and I momentarily forgot that you were down here alone in the dark. Do you believe that, Huld? Do you believe I might just forget about you, leave you to slowly die and rot in your chains?”

  Huld looked at the Hel-Witch but kept silent.

  “No,” Thokk said with a laugh, “your thoughts tell me you do not believe I would forget you. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps not. But Vafthrudnir will not forget. Be certain of that. Agree to be my student, Huld, and Vafthrudnir will never harm you again. Are you ready to agree?” Thokk asked, experimentally touching other wounds on the Freya-Witch’s body, smiling as Huld winced and grimaced. “But I promised to heal you if Vafthrudnir amused himself at your expense, and I shall.”