Thidrek turned to face the warriors, daring them to raise a hand against him, but they looked so terrified, none of them made a move.
“Your chieftain is now in Hel’s realm,” said Thidrek. “You may join him or you may join my ranks.” Thidrek aimed his gaze at a huge, fearsome-looking brute who carried a massive, double-bladed battle-axe and wore a necklace made of wild boar tusks. “Well?” Thidrek asked him.
“I am Alrick the Most Merciless, m’lord,” said the brute. “And speaking for all, we choose to join your command.”
“Alrick the Most Merciless, eh?”
The warrior pointed to his much shorter cohort. “Not to be confused with the other Alrick. He’s Alrick the Least Merciless.”
Alrick the Least Merciless hung his head in shame. Thidrek waved a chiding finger at him. “I expect more from you.”
“I’ll try harder, lord,” said the less merciless Alrick.
Alrick the Most Merciless thrust his fist in the air and bellowed. “All hail Lord Thidrek!” His cohorts thrust their fists skyward, chorusing the salute, “All Hail Lord Thidrek!”
Thidrek gave his characteristic malevolent grin. “Pleased to have you aboard.”
Chapter 18
Beyond the Gates of Niflheim
Never had Dane known such exhaustion. Deep in his bones he felt it, a sharp, stinging, emptiness. The sea spray in his face did little to refresh his hopes or restore his dreams. The unearthing of the ship had done them all in—all except for Thidrek, that is, who stood at the prow of the ship, caressing his blade as Grelf kneeled beneath him, cleaning the mud from his boots.
Dane and his cohorts had been forced to dig the Ship of the Dead from its sandy tomb, working alongside the reeking draugr warriors. Even Fulnir, who was used to foul smells, had come close to retching. As the craft had started to emerge, Dane was astounded by its macabre construction. The entire hull of the boat from stem to stern had been formed from an interlocking framework of bones—human bones—of every size and length, lashed together with strips of animal hide and leathered sinew, and even, in some places, tarred hair. The gunwale, which ran waist high around the whole perimeter of the ship, was formed by row upon row of human skulls all stacked up on top of each other like so many bricks or stones and cemented in place with a kind of mortar he’d never seen before.
After the ship had been dug free of the soil came the backbreaking task of moving it from the cave and into the river. The horses, even the draugrhounds, were harnessed to pull it, but it also took all the combined hands, alive and undead (except Thidrek, who bellowed commands, threatening to kill the first draugr or human who slacked off), to help push it out of the cave. Once in the river the craft had proven strangely watertight, even though there were gaping holes in its hull.
The sail was hoisted, catching the wind, billowing out and snapping the creased material smooth. That was when Dane’s mouth went dry—for he saw that the sailcloth was really made of human skin. Several dozen skins, in fact, all tanned and beaten and stitched together to form one giant patchwork sailcloth, as it were. If one looked carefully enough, as Dane unfortunately had done, one could still see fibers of hair and pores and pockmarks and other blemishes on the skin, and scarier still were the remnants of human faces there, each complete with brows, nostrils, and lips, faint but distinct enough to imagine what the person might have looked like when they were alive.
And one of the faces had even spoken to Dane. From its mouth hole—over which was a faint red mustache—it wailed “Ye look upon a floating tomb, as all aboard this ship are doomed!”
Another face near this one—which still had the tracings of a black beard—said, “Oh, don’t start with the ‘doomed’ business. We’re out in the fresh sunshine—can’t you be happy over that?”
The river’s current and wind-filled sail had taken the ship downstream and into the sea. Thidrek did not even have to take the wheel; like a homing pigeon the ship seemed to know exactly where it was going.
Now, far from sight of land, Dane sat on deck tied to the mast along with the rest of his weary and despondent friends. His only solace was that William was back with them. When Dane had seen the boy after their capture in the cave, he had noticed the hollow look of terror on the boy’s face, and knew that it came from being under Thidrek’s rule again. But after he had been reunited with his friends, William’s tough spirit had returned. “How bad was it with Thidrek?” Dane whispered to the boy, who was tied to the right of him.
William looked at the prow, where his lordship was berating Grelf for missing a spot of mud on his boots. “You won’t believe this,” he said, “but Grelf tried to help me. He’s not as bad as he thinks he is.”
“Not bad?” said Jarl scornfully. “He led us into a trap.”
“He didn’t want to lead us anywhere,” Dane reminded him.
“If he were on our side, he’d slip us a knife to cut these ropes.” Jarl gave a hard tug on his bonds, trying to free his hands. This motion alerted the draugrhounds. The beasts—stationed as guard dogs nearby—quickly sprang up, growling fiercely.
“Jarl, idea: Don’t provoke the hellhounds,” whispered Lut.
“Think they fetch?” Jarl whispered. “If I could get one arm free, I could throw a stick overboard.”
“They’d probably come back with a whale in their jaws,” Fulnir said.
Drott snorted, trying to suppress a giggle. This brought a chorus of more snorts, squeaks, and honks as everyone tried to keep from laughing—which inflamed the snarling hounds all the more. Dane and the others tried to stop, but the harder they tried, the funnier it was.
A shadow fell over Dane. He looked up and saw Thidrek standing between him and the hounds. “What’s so amusing?”
“Nothing much,” Dane said. “We bothering you?”
“No, no. Laugh away. Get it out of your system. I guarantee frivolity is in short supply where you’re heading.” Thidrek snapped his fingers and walked off, the growling draugrhounds dutifully following their new master. Being reminded by Thidrek of their destination put an abrupt halt to the Rune Warriors’ merriment.
“Ain’t he a dead mouse in your ale cup,” Jarl groused.
Grelf was terrified. His plans for escape had so far been foiled, and he was panic-stricken that now he would never get the chance. He stood at the prow, shivering from the cold, trying to pretend he wasn’t afraid at all. His only chance for escape now was to slip overboard and swim for shore. But he could only do this if they were in sight of land, and so far there was none in view. He casually eyed the horizon, but in the thickening fog it was impossible to see much of anything except the whitecaps of the pitching sea.
“Grelf,” said Thidrek, with an air of grandiosity, “we stand on the threshold of a new order. Can you believe it? You will witness one of the greatest moments known to humankind: the forces of darkness let loose upon the world. All of human civilization wiped out in one swift and merciless blow—and the earth put under the dominion of Hel herself. It’ll make that Thor’s Hammer business look like child’s play!”
“Yes, sire, quite exciting indeed.”
“Exciting?” said Thidrek, giving Grelf a look. “Is that all you can say? I’d say it’s a bit more than that. I’d say it’s positively thrilling, man!”
“Yes, yes, of course, your lordship,” said Grelf, immediately backtracking to save his skin. “I was deliberately understating the importance of it so as not to risk hyperbole, because we all know what a social gaffe it is to overinflate linguistically that which is intrinsically apparent. In other words, ‘Never overstate the obvious,’ as you yourself taught me, sire, and this is obviously so thrillingly exciting it need not be made any more plain than that for fear that I might insult your intelligence.” He stopped and held his breath, hoping he had succeeded in convincing Thidrek he was wholly enthusiastic.
A smile split Thidrek’s face in half. His skeletal hand came out to pat Grelf on the head. “Ah, Grelf, what would I ever do
without you?” he said, his guttural chuckle chilling Grelf to the bone.
Dane watched his pet raven hop about the deck, looking for insects to eat. Disturbingly, Klint had become a favorite of the draugr crew. After the ship had been put in the water and was under way, the bird had suddenly appeared, swooping down and landing on Dane’s shoulder. Knowing the place they were bound for, Dane had tried to shoo the bird away. But Klint found he had landed amid a rich insect smorgasbord. Crew members enjoyed holding a maggot or beetle between their fingers and seeing Klint dive down and take it. For some reason Thidrek tolerated the bird’s presence. Perhaps it was because he had a sick sense of satisfaction knowing he was taking Odin’s favorite feathered animal into the infernal depths of Hel’s realm.
Dane then heard his friends bantering about how they were all going to lose their souls and even though Lut had been the leader, it wasn’t his fault.
“What exactly is a soul, Lut?” asked Drott.
“It’s the animating spirit inside us all,” said Lut. “The thing that separates us from the fish and fowl, that makes us human.”
“Can you see someone’s soul?” asked Drott.
“You can see it only in the things we do, the thoughts we think, the good deeds we perform. The soul is an essence, a spark. The flame that lights the candle of our life.”
“And everyone has one?”
“Everyone.”
“What about Thidrek?” asked Jarl then. “Does he have a soul?”
Lut turned to look at Thidrek at the prow. “I suspect Thidrek lost his soul a long time ago. Sometimes, if someone isn’t loved as a child, they grow up unable to love anyone in return, especially themselves. And their craving for the love they never got forms an emptiness inside them, a bottomless hole they try to fill with other things, like an excess of drink or the lust for gold or the glories of war. But such a hole can never be filled, and men like Thidrek end up empty and cold and full of hatred and the worship of death, for it is only in death that they may find the peace they seek. Thus they have no compunction about hurting other people, and anyone who enjoys hurting other people is said to have lost their soul.”
This was a lot for Drott and the others to absorb, and for a time they fell quiet.
Then Dane heard Lut say, “I lied about the apple.”
Dane looked back to face Lut. “You did eat most of it?”
Lut nodded. “I couldn’t stop. The surge of strength I felt was too great.”
“Anything else you want to come clean on?”
Lut grew thoughtful and Dane sensed he wanted to tell him something important, but then Lut shrugged and said, “I want to hand back leadership to you.”
“Now? With us headed to Niflheim?” Dane said, not relishing the burden of leadership under such dire conditions. “Thanks for the promotion.”
“But it’s my turn,” Jarl said. “You two have had your chance. Time I assumed command.”
“Let’s vote,” Drott said. “All in favor of Dane retaking command, raise hands.”
Since everyone’s hands were tied behind their backs, Fulnir offered a suggestion, “Or say aye.” To which Lut, Drott, and Fulnir said, “Aye.”
Jarl glowered. “Great! Fine! Let Dane lead us! I’m sure he has a brilliant plan to save us from Hel’s wrath.”
“He always has a plan,” chirped Drott.
There was silence as they waited for Dane to say something. Truth was, Dane thought they were doomed and nothing could save them. He would never see Astrid again. He would never hold her or kiss her or have a chance to tell her how much he loved her. He would die in Niflheim, and his soul would be trapped in darkness forever.
“What, Dane? Did you say something?” Jarl said. “Speak up and tell us how you’re going to get us out of here. You always have a plan, Dane. You never fail us.”
And before Dane could tell them he had no plan whatsoever and was sure their plight was hopeless, a shrieking wind blew up and a storm took them by surprise.
Lut had been in storms before but never one as violent as this. One moment all was calm, and the next the gale struck with sudden fury, the sky blackening, the wind so blinding and relentless, it tore the tops off the waves and threatened to turn over the ship. In a moment of sudden worry his mind went to Klint. The raven would surely be swept away in this terrific storm—but then he saw Dane had the bird cradled next to him inside his shirt. Everyone was still tethered to the mast, so this meant that if the ship succumbed to the storm, they too would go down, tied together.
A sudden blast of wind took a draugr over the side of the ship and into the storm-frothed sea. Thidrek made no move or call to rescue the victim. He looped a rope over his shoulder and around his midsection, securing himself to the mast.
Lut saw the hounds ferociously snarling and snapping at the waves breaching the gunwales, as if the insane creatures thought they could frighten the storm into ceasing. A giant wave washed over the deck, and when it receded, the draugrhounds were gone. Praise the sea god Aegir!
Above the windy din, Lut heard a chorus of shrieking cries. Looking up, he saw the faces on the sail, their gaping mouths screaming in panic as if they, too, were terrified of going to their watery doom. “Furl the sail or we’ll drown!” the black-bearded one screamed. He was right. With the sail taking the wind, the ship would surely founder. But Thidrek just stood there, a few feet away from them, face turned into the storm, as if he were waiting for something to save them.
And the blade in his hand was almost within reach.
Lut tugged furiously on the wet ropes to free his hands. But his strength was ebbing; the apple’s magic was wearing off. He had felt the first signs of it while they were in the cave fighting the draugr warriors. How long would it be—days? hours?—before all his youthful vitality was gone? Lut mustered his remaining strength, twisted, and pulled, and his right hand popped free of the bindings!
He had to get to the blade. He got up into a crouch. Thidrek was nearly within reach, his back turned; his guard was down. The slash of the rain and the heaving of the ship put Thidrek off balance, moving him closer to Lut. The blade was there, right in front of him! Lut lunged just as another wave slammed into the ship, pitching Thidrek forward. He missed! He was an instant too late, his waning vigor having slowed his reactions.
The cries from the faces on the sail rose in alarm. A wall of water rose high over the mast, and the ship began to spin in place like a top. Higher and higher the water rose all around them, and it was then Lut saw that a gaping hole had opened in the sea beneath them. They were caught in a gigantic vortex, an immense whirlpool that was whipping the ship round in circles, faster and faster, spinning it madly, pulling the Ship of the Dead down, down deeper into the very heart of the sea. Now not only were the faces on the sail screaming in terror, but so were Dane and Jarl and all his friends, as well as the draugrs themselves. All except Thidrek. He was laughing, howling with glee, madly euphoric to be heading into the very heart of darkness itself.
And then, as quickly as the storm had blown up, in an instant it was gone.
The roar of the wind ceased and, with a sudden jarring lurch, the ship stopped spinning. Regaining his vision, Dane saw that the ship now rested upon a still, glassy sea enveloped in a thick, bone-chilling fog. The furious whirlpool had been frightening enough—but this sudden, unearthly calm struck a deeper note of dread. Dane felt the freezing tendrils of death and despair reach into his soul—the clawing fingers of dead souls—and he knew the ship had pushed through a membrane from one world to the other. From the uneasy looks on the faces of his friends, he saw they shared his thoughts.
“So this is it?” Drott asked, his voice trembling. “Hel’s realm?”
Thidrek gestured grandly into the fog like a lord showing off his estate. “And let me be the first to welcome you!”
“Are we . . . dead?” asked Fulnir.
Everyone did a mental inventory, checking to see if they felt any different.
Dro
tt smelled his armpits. “I don’t smell dead.”
“If smell was an indicator, Fulnir would’ve been buried three years ago,” Jarl said.
Fulnir loudly expelled some gas. “I don’t think the dead can pass wind.”
Thidrek sighed in annoyance. “So we don’t waste more time testing dead versus not-dead theories—you are all still alive.”
“Wait,” said the draugr they called Alrick the Most Merciless. “Do you mean us?”
“No!” Thidrek yelled. “This group”—he pointed to Dane, his friends, and Grelf—“not dead.” He pointed to the draugrs. “This group—well, you’re not dead, either. You’re undead. We’ve come all this way and you didn’t know that?”
The downcast Alrick, wounded by Thidrek’s sarcasm, said, “I just needed some clarity.”
Next there came a sound that chilled Dane’s blood, a bestial wail eerily echoing through the blinding fog. The ship lurched forward and began gliding across the dead-calm water, the ghastly howl like a beacon calling the ship home.
“’Tis Garm, the gatekeeper of Niflheim!” wailed the face with the red mustache.
“Must you narrate every moment of our journey?” complained the black-bearded one.
“I’ll narrate if I want to,” replied Red Mustache. “At least I’m adding aesthetic value to the experience. All you do is make snide remarks.”
Black Beard sighed in exasperation. “Of all the mouthy nitwits I had to be stitched to a sail with.”
The Ship of the Dead moved onward, and soon a clinking sound was heard, like the dragging of heavy chains. His heart pounding and breath fogging the air, Dane peered into the mist, wondering how much longer he would live. Piercing the pale vapors just ahead, a row of daggerlike spikes appeared, a dozen of them at least, impossibly long and thick and rising upward like the upper jaw of an immense monster that was about to swallow their ship. Jarl and Fulnir uttered an oath. Thidrek, however, said nothing, standing stock-still as they passed under the teeth. Dane expected soon to slide down the beast’s gullet—until he looked up and saw that the “teeth” were but long spikes protruding from the bottom of a massive gate, and the gate was rising to let them pass.
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