Bloodsong Hel X 3

by C. Dean Andersson

  “Stay here!” she ordered.

  “Why?” Grimnir asked.

  She dismounted and ran forward through the ranks of the Berserkers until she reached Harbarth and Ulfhild at the front and kept on going.

  “Bloodsong!” Huld cried.

  The two women met, embraced.

  “I feared you dead,” Huld said.

  “And I, you. My daughter?”

  “In the castle, along with Valgerth and Thorfinn and their children. I escaped and used my Witchcraft to make Thokk think I’d been killed. I have been hiding for days, trying to puzzle a way to destroy Thokk. I thought I would have to do it alone.”

  “Just as you once thought you could rescue Norda from Nidhug’s fortress, all by yourself.”

  “I saw Norda die,” Huld said, her voice catching.

  Bloodsong hugged the Freya-Witch to her again. “I am sorry.”

  “She tried to help me escape. It nearly worked. But there is a Jotun in Thokk’s service, Vafthrudnir. He recaptured me. Thokk has special plans for Guthrun.”

  “I was certain my daughter lived. I have touched her mind and she mine.”

  “How? You found another Witch?”

  “Not exactly. Come.”

  As they walked, Huld said, “Your hands and throat. Bandaged. I will heal them.”

  “Later.”

  “Eirik’s Vale. All our friends. I heard what happened.”

  After a moment, Bloodsong said. “Jalna survived. She had left the village before dawn.”

  Huld understood. “Her nightmares saved her.”

  “Aye. Grimnir arrived after the battle and helped free me from Kovna.”

  “Kovna’s in the castle with some of his men. I found a way to watch with my Witchcraft, without letting Thokk detect me. And there are other things about the castle’s inhabitants you must know.”

  “Your knowledge will help plan our attack.”

  They reached the Berserkers.

  “Aren’t they cold?” Huld asked Bloodsong. “They’re nearly naked.”

  “Would wolves and bears get cold?” Bloodsong responded.

  “Shape-shifters? Yes, I can sense Odin’s magic pulsing in them, but also,” she frowned, “in you? Their beast-eyes can see in this darkness, a little, I suppose, and they saw my eyes in the distance. But you did, too?”

  “I’ll explain, later. This is Huld,” Bloodsong told Ulfhild and Harbarth. She has been in the castle.”

  Ulfhild nodded. “We heard all you said. Welcome, Fire-eyes.”

  Harbarth grinned unpleasantly. “I am anxious to meet the Jotun. His kind and mine are sworn enemies. His death will earn me much honor.”

  Ulfhild’s nose wrinkled at Huld’s scent. “You stink of death.”

  “Thank Freya it’s only my clothing.”

  Bloodsong nodded. “I, too, wear the clothes of the Dead.”

  * * *

  “And when we finally met Jalna and Tyrulf again,” Bloodsong said, finishing her quick explanation to Huld of all that had happened, “we learned that their quest had been successful, too, though how successful and in just what way we are not certain. Perhaps you can tell us. Jalna, show her your sword and the bloodstained cloth.”

  Jalna drew her sword and handed it to Huld. The Runes engraved upon the blade began to glow with yellow-gold light the moment the Freya-Witch touched the hilt.

  “Freya,” Huld whispered reverently, raised the glowing blade to her lips, and kissed it. “I have heard of the mound to the west. Norda talked of it often. She had visited it once as a youth and hoped to see it again one day.” Tears glistened.

  “We will all miss Norda,” Jalna said, touching Huld’s hand.

  “Curse Thokk! Freya’s wisdom says I should love all things, but I cannot control my hatred of Thokk.”

  “Thokk deserves it,” Jalna responded.

  Huld nodded. “And these past few days my hate has kept me strong.” She pushed thoughts of Norda aside and concentrated on the sword. “I cannot tell you all of Freya’s mysteries influencing this blade, not without more time to study the Runes and conjure visions. But I am certain that you need not fear the death-touch Bloodsong described merely from this blade striking the sword of a Death Rider. Freya’s magic is too strong in it for whoever wields it to be so easily slain. And it may slay a Death Rider as well, if the cut is well aimed. I would suggest the neck, severing the entire head if possible.”

  “And the cloth?” Tyrulf asked.

  Huld reluctantly returned the sword to Jalna. The Runes stopped glowing when it left her hand. She took the tattered cloth Jalna handed her and dropped it with a cry of pain.

  “Freya’s Teats!” she cursed. “There is no subtlety in Thor, that blustering God. I could have had a headache for weeks if I’d not let go at once. I should have prepared myself.”

  She concentrated a moment, intoned lilting syllables, reached out, and cautiously picked up the cloth. This time there was only a sharp intake of her breath. She held it in her hands, lips moving soundlessly, eyes half closed, then she slowly raised it to her face, carefully reached out with the tip of her tongue, and touched a dark stain. Her brows knit together in a frown, and she grimaced distastefully. She tossed the cloth back to Jalna.

  “Thor’s blood,” she said, “no doubt about it. Does someone have some water or wine to wash the taste from my mouth?”

  “Thor is a stalwart God, a friend of humankind,” Tyrulf said defensively.

  Grimnir handed Huld a wineskin. She gratefully took several long sips then handed it back. “I meant no insult to Thor,” Huld said to Tyrulf, “but he’s a bit too, well, you know?”

  “Male?” Grimnir laughed.

  Huld made a face.

  Grimnir laughed again and took a drink of wine.

  “How would you suggest using the Thor-magic in the cloth?” Jalna asked Huld.

  “Yes,” Bloodsong joined in. “Because of Guthrun and, we thought, you, we dared not wait for a better opportunity. We had planned merely to try to surprise Thokk and Kovna, overwhelm them with the Berserkers in beastform. Harbarth and Ulfhild assure me that they can easily leap a castle’s walls. But now that you are here and we’ve heard your description of the castle, what do you suggest?”

  “I suggest that you give me some food! I’ve barely eaten for days.”

  “Curse our thoughtlessness,” Grimnir said and went to get food.

  “After I eat and we talk more,” Huld said to Bloodsong, “I’ll heal your hands and throat.”

  “The burns on my throat may not respond to your Freya-magic.”

  “We shall see.”

  Grimnir handed Huld a food-pouch.

  * * *

  Vafthrudnir brought Guthrun into the Chapel of Hel. Guthrun kicked and struggled wildly in his arms, cursing and trying to get free. Vafthrudnir all but ignored her efforts.

  Thokk looked up from the preparations she was making. She was standing at a slab of stone which served as an altar. Spell-chains and manacles were anchored along its sides. Candlelight flickered nearby and around the walls.

  “Kovna’s humans are trying to open the gate,” the Jotun told Thokk.

  “Even if their combined muscles were the equal of yours, my magic would keep it shut. Place Guthrun on the altar, but be gentle.”

  The Jotun easily controlled Guthrun’s struggles. Within moments she felt the bite of manacles on her wrists and ankles, holding her on the slab.

  Behind the altar rose a wide dais, and upon it Valgerth and Thorfinn were chained upright to the stone wall. Gags covered their mouths. Valgerth caught Guthrun’s gaze and struggled against her chains.

  Guthrun knew that after her awakening she was to slay her friends, proving her new loyalty. She vowed again she would not succumb.

  The Chapel of Hel began to fill wit
h the black-hooded and cloaked Hel-worshipers who served Thokk. A low murmur of voices soon permeated the incense-laden air as they talked of the coming ceremony in which the Deadborn Child of Hel would have her Witch-powers awakened.

  Thokk hooked her fingers in the neck of Guthrun’s sleeping shift. “Soon, you will revere Hel as your true mother and awaken to your true self.” The Hel-Witch tore the shift away.

  “I am not ashamed, being naked, if that was your hope,” Guthrun growled. She glared up at Thokk. “I was shy as a child. I got over it!”

  Thokk shrugged. “As far as I know, everyone is born naked. And you are about to be reborn.”

  “This is sick!” Guthrun complained. “Let me go! Do not do this!”

  “After you awaken to your true self, you will be given new clothing of purple and black. Then will your life truly begin as Guthrun, Hel’s Daughter.”

  “Never!”

  A stench of death wafted into the Chapel of Hel. The murmur of the Hel-worshipers stopped. Thokk looked up.

  Inside the doorway stood Lokith and the six Death Riders. He laughed at her expression. “Why so surprised, Thokk?” He was dressed in the black mail and leather of a Hel-warrior, At his side hung a scabbarded sword. “Surely you don’t object to my watching my dear sister’s awakening?”

  “I did not intend—”

  “Yes, I know. You had a grand ceremony planned to introduce me to Hel’s followers. But now I’m here and can introduce myself. I am Lokith,” he said to the Hel-worshipers. “There, now, Thokk. They know who I am. Continue with my sister’s awakening.”

  “And you have introduced yourself to the Death Riders as well,” Thokk noted.

  Lokith smiled and walked toward the altar.

  The Death Riders stayed by the door, hands on sword hilts, blocking the exit.

  Thokk glanced at Vafthrudnir, suddenly very glad for his presence.

  “Good morning, Sister,” Lokith said, reaching out to touch Guthrun’s raven-black hair. She stiffened at his touch. He ran his hand lightly down the length of her body,

  Guthrun spit toward him. “Filth!”

  Lokith drew back his hand to strike her.

  “You will not harm her!” Thokk commanded.

  Lokith laughed, lowered his hand, and patted Guthrun’s head instead. He smiled at Thokk. “Continue whenever you wish.”

  “He wants us both dead!” Guthrun said, twisting in her chains to catch Thokk’s gaze. “Don’t perform the ceremony with him here! He’ll kill you, too!”

  “Nonsense, Guthrun,” Thokk snapped.

  “I spent all those days locked in with him, Thokk. I know how he thinks. Please, Thokk! Listen to me. Don’t trust him. Make him leave!”

  “Who will you trust, Thokk?” Lokith grinned. “Will you trust me, who reveres Mother Hel and is anxious to serve Her? Or will you trust this fool, who denies her birthright and seeks to stop Hel’s plans?”

  “Vafthrudnir,” Thokk said, eyes locked with Lokith’s, “let nothing interfere with the ceremony. Nothing.”

  “Of course, Mistress Thokk.”

  Lokith stepped back from the altar and motioned for Thokk to proceed.

  Thokk struggled to think clearly. Why were her thoughts so confused? Perhaps she should wait to perform the ceremony.

  Her eyes touched Lokith’s gaze. Her confusion cleared. There is no reason to wait any longer, she suddenly thought. Lokith can be trusted.

  Lokith laughed softly.

  Thokk turned her attention to a black-bladed dagger on a richly carved and gilded pedestal near the altar. A silver skull gleamed on the dagger’s pommel. Runes of Death and Rebirth sanctified the blade. She reverently picked up the dagger and held it close to Guthrun’s face. “Behold the instrument of your awakening,” Thokk intoned, then moved the dagger downward, touched the sharp point to the flesh over Guthrun’s heart.

  “Stop!” Guthrun cried. “I swear by Mother Hel if I must that Lokith is a threat!”

  Thokk pushed slightly, just enough to draw a single drop of blood.

  “Curse you, Thokk!” Guthrun cried. “Don’t do this!”

  Lokith laughed.

  The Hel-Witch touched the blood-consecrated tip of the dagger to her tongue, then she began to chant Runes as she cut the air with the dagger, tracing Runes of power, Runes of Death and Resurrection.

  Guthrun jerked at her chains. Looking upward, she saw that the ceiling of the Chapel of Hel was decorated with scenes of death and decay. Countless carved skulls grinned mercilessly down at her as she struggled futilely to get free. She noticed that behind the altar, Valgerth and Thorfinn also struggled ineffectually to get free.

  The low murmur of the crowd arose again and grew steadily louder, anticipating the climax, chanting in unison with Thokk now, louder and louder and—

  Thokk raised the dagger, point downward, over Guthrun’s chest.

  The crowd fell silent.

  Thokk’s eyes blazed with purple fire. She concentrated every fiber of her will upon the dagger. The Runes upon the black blade pulsed with purple fire.

  “No! Don’t! No!” Guthrun screamed as she writhed madly in her chains.

  Valgerth and Thorfinn hurled themselves against their bonds.

  Vafthrudnir watched Lokith and the Death Riders.

  Lokith ignored the Jotun and pretended to be absorbed in the ceremony, smiling coldly as he mentally commanded his Death Riders to readiness.

  Thokk screamed final Runes.

  She plunged the dagger down.

  Guthrun screamed as she felt the blade stab into her heart.

  Her scream died.

  Her breathing stopped.

  It was done.

  BLOODSONG cried out in sudden pain, clutched at her heart, and reeled in her saddle.

  “Bloodsong!” Grimnir cried.

  The pain vanished as quickly as it had come. “There was a sudden pain in my chest, and—” Her voice trailed away. “Guthrun. Something has happened to her! She—” Her voice caught. “I think I’m too late! Gods! No! I think she is dead.” A soft sob escaped. Her shoulders slumped.

  No one spoke.

  The Sun had risen, but the sky was heavily overcast.

  They had decided that while the Berserkers attacked the castle in beastform from the outside, the rest would enter through Huld’s escape tunnel and attack from within. Huld was to use the magic in the two Freya-swords and the Thor-blood cloth to open locks and shield them from Thokk’s detection.

  Bloodsong pulled herself straight in her saddle. “We will proceed as planned,” she said, her voice tight with rage and hurt. “Except that,” she added, “I want that Hel-bitch taken alive.”

  * * *

  Thokk jerked the dagger from Guthrun’s heart and immediately began to intone the Runes of Rebirth. She held her hands outstretched over the gushing wound in Guthrun’s chest. Her eyes were tightly closed in concentration.

  Vafthrudnir saw Lokith reach for his sword. The Jotun started forward toward Lokith, saw a whir of movement out of the corner of his eye, jerked back, felt pain burn in his left shoulder as an ax hurled by a Death Rider buried itself to the bone in his flesh. Had he not moved in time, the blade would have found his skull.

  The Jotun jerked the ax free, threw it at the Death Rider, saw it strike the corpse-warrior in the chest even as Lokith rushed at Thokk, sword drawn.

  Vafthrudnir dove forward.

  Lokith threw himself back, evading the Jotun.

  Several of the Hel-worshipers rushed to the doorway to flee. Death Riders blocked their way. Some succumbed to the death-touch. The rest panicked, began to curse and scream as he Death Riders took more lives.

  The distractions momentarily broke Thokk’s concentration. Sweat beaded on her pale forehead as she fought to refocus her will and kept intoning the Runes of Rebirth
. Her hands glowed with purple fire. A purple healing ray shot downward and bathed the bleeding wound in Guthrun’s chest.

  Lokith backed away from the Jotun, cursing, motioning his Death Riders to his aid.

  The corpse-warriors stopped slaying Hel-worshippers, abandoned the door, rushed toward the altar.

  Vafthrudnir picked up the heavy pedestal where the black dagger had rested and hurled it at the approaching Death Riders. They avoided it, kept moving forward.

  As the doorway cleared of Death Riders, the Hel-worshipers fought each other to get through the portal.

  Lokith noticed that only five Death Riders were advancing, saw the sixth lying unmoving near the door, an ax buried in his chest.

  “Kill them all!” Lokith ordered his Death Riders, pointing at the altar, then hurried to the fallen Death Rider. He wrenched the ax out of the Death Rider’s chest, traced Runes in the air, spoke words of power. “Arise, Axel Ironhand,” he ordered. The Death Rider convulsed spasmodically, then struggled back to his feet.

  Guthrun’s body jerked once, twice, three times on the altar. Breath hissed into and out of her lungs once more. The wound in her chest was healed!

  She opened her eyes and saw Thokk staring down at her.

  The Hel-Witch noted the haunted look in Guthrun’s eyes.

  She is mine! Thokk knew, then turned her attention to her surroundings and saw the Death Riders nearing the altar.

  Vafthrudnir blocked their way.

  * * *

  Bloodsong reined Freehoof to a halt at the base of a cliff.

  Huld pointed up at the seemingly solid rock wall. “You can’t see the escape tunnel’s entrance from the ground.” Huld dismounted.

  Bloodsong dismounted, too. She flexed her hands out of habit, then stopped. Before dawn, Huld’s magic had healed her hands but, as she’d expected, not the burns on her throat, which remained bandaged.