When the draugr Alrick the Most Merciless had arrived and announced the escape, Thidrek had immediately asked Hel to close the Niflheim gate to trap them. But she did not seem to hear him, so beguiled was she by her reflection in the mirror. The transfixed goddess had then floated away into her abode, humming merrily to herself, never taking her eyes off the mirror. Aware that he could not demand that Hel act, Thidrek had taken matters in his own hands and rushed out with the draugr warriors.
Now, looking down upon the pandemonium, William said a prayer to Odin, asking him to help his fellow Rune Warriors escape. He felt Grelf’s consoling hand on his shoulder. “You’ll see your friends again, lad. I’m sure of it.”
“So am I,” William said with sudden joy, pointing up. A horse was streaking down at them—and on its back were Astrid and Dane!
Grelf’s mouth shot open. “By Odin’s beard! It’s Sleipnir!”
The steed set down next to them. “What did you think?” asked a grinning Dane. “That I would leave a Rune Warrior behind?” He extended his hand. William jumped up to grasp it and was pulled onto the steed’s back between Dane and Astrid.
“Thidrek and the draugrmen are probably to the steps by now,” Grelf said. “You must hurry.”
“Thank you, Grelf,” Dane said. “You’re a better man than I thought. Good-bye.”
“Wait!” William said. He looked down at Grelf, who stood there, shoulders slumped in despair, a pleading, abandoned-puppy expression on his face. The man was not much good for anything and no one would miss him, but he had done his best to protect William. “There’s room for him.”
“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Grelf gushed. “I promise you won’t regret taking me with you! Double pinkie promise!”
“Four on a horse?” Astrid said.
“He’s a big horse. Besides, it’s only three and a half,” argued William. “I don’t weigh that much.”
Dane gave a grudging sigh, as if he knew he would regret this, but he extended his hand to Grelf, and after a brief struggle to arrange everyone on the steed’s back, they were up and away.
They flew over the scene of battle, and Dane was glad to see that the dead were routing the demon guards. He wondered what would happen to the souls after their revolt. Would they have some manner of freedom without Hel’s brutal demons to keep them in line? Dane had witnessed the glories of Valhalla and the grimness of Niflheim, and he was convinced there was gross injustice in the afterlife. He hoped that this revolt would show the gods that big changes were in order.
Soon they were flying over the steps. Thidrek and the draugrs were at the top and quickly descending. Dane saw that Jarl and Drott were now halfway down and had leaped across the void where the steps had fallen away. But Fulnir, carrying Lut, was hesitating, afraid his leap would come up short. Dane glanced at the shoreline below to be sure the Ship of the Dead was still there. It was—right where they had left it—but then Dane’s eyes beheld a staggering sight. On the lake was poised a vast armada of Viking ships manned by dead warriors!
“Where did those ships come from?” Dane gasped. “And the men?”
“Hel’s army of the dead raised from the lake,” Grelf said.
“But the good thing is,” William added, “the Niflheim gate is open for us.”
On the longships, Dane saw, the dead men sat still at the oars, as if waiting for a signal to start rowing. “Will they follow us?” Dane asked.
“Hel said they will follow the Ship of the Dead wherever it goes,” William said.
Astrid flew Sleipnir down to where Fulnir and Lut were halted. “Stay there! I’ll come back for you!” she shouted to them. “Everyone else get to the ship!” Jarl and Drott raced down the steps. In moments Astrid had deposited Dane, William, and Grelf on the rocky shore next to the Ship of the Dead, and had headed back up to retrieve Fulnir and Lut.
Dane looked up, and his heart sank when he saw that Thidrek had almost reached them. One swipe with the Blade of Oblivion and they’d be dead. Sleipnir soared upward—and an instant before Thidrek was in reach of them, Fulnir, with Lut riding piggyback, leaped onto the steed’s back. Thidrek swung the blade, barely missing them. Odin’s horse, trained in manners of warfare, angrily kicked with his four back legs, crushing the stone steps Thidrek was standing upon. The steps fell away—and Thidrek would’ve gone too if Alrick the Most Merciless, standing on the steps above, hadn’t grabbed the scruff of his coat. Thidrek dangled over the abyss, bellowing in rage while Astrid took Sleipnir away to the shore below. They landed and Fulnir hopped down with Lut still on his back. The old one was pale and frail looking, but he managed to complain, “Blast that Thidrek! I give him the strength to swing that blade and he nearly kills me with it. Damned unsporting of him!”
Above, Thidrek was already working to bridge the gap in the steps, which was now too wide to jump. He had ordered the draugrs to form a chain using their bodies—one grasping the next one’s legs and so on—to form an undead span to the next intact step. Thidrek was climbing down this draugr bridge, holding the handle of the Blade of Oblivion in his teeth, and would soon be across the gap.
“One thing I’ll say for him,” Fulnir commented. “The bastard never gives up.” He took Lut onto the ship, where the others were rapidly preparing to shove off.
Dane turned to Astrid, who sat high upon Sleipnir. “You never gave up either.”
She looked at him, her eyes holding the warmth he had known forever. “I never will.” She kicked Sleipnir’s flanks, the horse shot upward, and she called out, “I’ll follow you out the gate!”
Dane gave a quick look up at Thidrek and saw he had climbed over the chain of draugrs and bridged the gap. Suddenly, one of the draugrs seemed to lose a grip on the next one in the chain. He gave a cry, the span broke, and three of the draugrs plummeted—coming right at Dane standing on the rocky shore! He jumped aboard just as the bodies hit and shattered upon the rocks, arms, legs, heads ricocheting everywhere. The head of Alrick the Most Merciless landed in the ship next to Fulnir, who grabbed the thing by its hair and flung it overboard into the lake to join his Least Merciless cohort.
Dane yelled, “Shove off!” Jarl pushed the ship away from the rocks with an oar, and out they floated into the lake. Dane felt a rush of relief—at last they were beyond Thidrek’s reach.
“It appears we have new owners,” observed Red Mustache on the sail.
“I like them better,” Black Beard said. “They don’t smell as bad.”
Dane heard a splash behind them. He looked back and saw the torso of one of the smashed-apart draugrs floating in the muck halfway between the ship and shore. Thidrek, handle of the Blade of Oblivion between his teeth, leaped onto the torso, balanced there for an instant, and threw another torso he was carrying farther toward the ship. He was using the bodies of the draugrs as stepping stones! Before anyone could react, Thidrek jumped forward onto the next floating torso, took a big leap from there, grabbed the gunwale, and swung himself aboard.
Chapter 24
A Maiden’s Revenge
Why, Grelf . . . I don’t remember giving you your leave.” Thidrek stood on the stern of the ship, brandishing the Blade of Oblivion. When he had jumped aboard, everyone had scrambled toward the bow. Dane, Jarl, Fulnir, and Drott held oars they could fight with—but wood didn’t stand much chance against the blade.
“Nor you, boy,” Thidrek said to William. “Such gratitude. I spare your life and you flee my protection. Not once but twice. That is simply not acceptable.”
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” Grelf said, “if you’ll allow me to explain my situation—”
“Spare me your bleatings,” Thidrek growled. “For now I’ll believe that you were kidnapped. Get behind me so when I turn them all to ash you’ll not be nicked.”
Grelf did not move. “My lord, I choose to stand pat. Your barbaric cruelty has forced me to seek employment elsewhere. No hard feelings, I hope.” Dane couldn’t help being amused. Grelf, of all people, had de
veloped a backbone.
“You choose to die with this rabble rather than serve me?”
“I’m amazed myself,” Grelf said with a shrug. “Quite unlike me.”
“You’ll be last, lickspittle. And I’ll make it very, very painful.”
Thidrek advanced on them. Jarl and Drott swung their oars at his head and Dane and Fulnir lunged with theirs, but the blade quickly turned them into kindling. Thidrek kept coming, slashing with the weapon, backing everyone into a tight pack in the bow. Further retreat was impossible, for another step back and some of them would fall off the ship into the flaming lake below.
Sleipnir swooped in from above, and one of his hooves hit Thidrek a glancing blow to his head. He staggered back, stunned for an instant. Dane and Jarl went to rush him, but Thidrek regained his senses, thrusting the blade in front of him, forcing them to stop. Blood trickled from a cut on Thidrek’s forehead, and he gasped for air, as if he couldn’t catch his breath.
Astrid pulled the horse up to above the mast, where they hovered. “Stay away, Astrid!” Dane yelled. “He’s ours!”
“Afraid you . . . have . . . that backward,” Thidrek said between gulps of air.
“My lord, you are not looking at all well,” Grelf said.
Indeed, Dane saw a sudden change come over Thidrek. Deep age lines appeared on his face; his thick, black hair began to whiten and thin, and his tall, muscular frame shriveled before their eyes. Thidrek gazed in horror at the backs of his hands as wrinkles appeared and age spots grew like blotches of mold. “What’s . . . what’s happening to me?” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Lut tottered forward. “The years you took were but a wisp of time.”
Thidrek jabbed a crooked finger at Lut. “But you were young!”
“My youth was an illusion. . . . What you see is my true age. My time ends soon . . . as does yours.”
“You tricked me!”
Lut shrugged, then stuck out his tongue and blew a wet, loud raspberry at Thidrek.
“Could not have said that any better,” Dane said with a laugh. Others were laughing, too, and this made Thidrek furious.
“Bring her about! I will use the orb to take your life, as I wanted!” he said to Dane, his voice now a weak rasp.
“We’re not going back,” William said. “But you’re free to.”
All of them advanced slowly on a retreating Thidrek. “We’re not far from shore,” Fulnir said. “Maybe you can swim for it.”
“Stay away from me! Stay away!” With every step back Thidrek seemed to age a little more and a little more. By the time they had backed him into the stern, he was a stooped, withered husk of a man, too frail even to hold the Blade of Oblivion, which fell from his grasp at his feet. “Grelf, help me! Help me!” he wailed, his back to the fiery lake. “Haven’t I always been a kind and generous master?”
“My lord, I refuse to answer on the grounds it would most assuredly hurt your feelings.” And with that Grelf gave his master a push, and Thidrek tumbled backward over the railing and splashed headfirst into the lake. Thankfully, he was swallowed whole and without a peep by the fiery muck, sparing everyone from hearing his dying cries of agony.
Thidrek was dead—destroyed for good—but there was no time to celebrate. Their oars were gone, and with no wind in the underrealm to fill the sail, they were stuck without means of propulsion.
“What about the horse?” William suggested. “Can’t he tow us out?” One end of a rope was quickly tied to Sleipnir and the other end to the bow of the ship. Soon they were under way at a good clip, the massive steed, with Astrid at the reins, flying in front of the ship pulling them along. Klint, riding atop the mast, squawked excitedly.
“Just as I feared,” Grelf said, gesturing behind them. They all looked back and saw that the Viking ships raised from the lake were moving at equal speed behind them, the dead warriors pulling at the oars.
“What do they want?” Drott asked. Dane quickly explained that this was Hel’s army of the dead and that Thidrek was to lead them to conquer earth. “This is easily solved,” Drott said. He cupped his hands and shouted back at the following ships. “Change of plans! Thidrek is dead! And we have no interest in conquering earth! Go back!” The ships kept coming with no slackening of speed. “They don’t follow orders very well,” Drott observed.
“Their orders are to follow the Ship of the Dead wherever it goes,” William said.
“Which means if we go out the gate, they go out the gate too,” Dane said. “And we’ll be responsible for unleashing Hel’s army upon earth.”
Hel’s empire was in revolt, the doomed had seized control, but she was blithely unaware of it all. Simmering in her bath of foul, sulfurous mud, humming to herself, the goddess was bewitched by her false reflection in the mirror. Mist was standing close, so if the magical crown slipped off, she would be there to quickly replace it upon Hel’s head to keep the illusion going. Her guards had urgently knocked on the door, beseeching the goddess for orders to quell the insurrection, but she had sent them all away, so intoxicated she was by her own image. Eventually Hel would realize that she had been tricked—but Mist hoped that would come after Dane, Astrid, and their friends were far beyond the boundaries of her wrath.
As for herself, Mist had no illusions. When Hel’s anger came, it would erupt like a volcano, incinerating every soul in its path. Mist’s only chance lay in the revolt. If enough of the demon guards had been killed, then perhaps Hel’s power to inflict torture on the innocent would be over.
The door slammed open and in marched Aurora in full pique. “What is going on! The doomed are rioting! Your majesty, you made promises to me that I would be joining a well-run organization—not one in a shambles!” Hel kept merrily humming to herself, eyeing her reflection, deaf to the interruption. “Your majesty!”
“She can’t hear you.” Mist came out of the shadows and Aurora’s jaw dropped in surprise.
“What’s wrong, Aurora? Weren’t expecting to see me?”
Recovering from her momentary shock, Aurora regained her usual snottiness. “Dear, dear Mist . . . why do you look so drab and unhealthy? Oh, that’s right, you’re dead.”
“You should know—you murdered me.”
“And how have things been since then?”
“I’m handmaiden to her highness. I give her beauty treatments.”
Aurora glanced over at the ugly hag simmering in mud. “They’re not working,” she whispered with a snicker.
“No, she’s quite happy. Look at her gazing at her reflection. She thinks she’s . . . what’s the word? Oh, yes—resplendent.”
Aurora’s eyes narrowed in worry. “What’s wrong with her? Is she mad . . . or bewitched?”
“Mad, I’d say. Too bad—your having switched sides just when the ol’ girl’s gone brainsick.”
Aurora’s worry lines deepened. She went past Mist and stood before Hel in her tub. “Your majesty, you must quell the rebellion or all will be lost!” The goddess hummed along, having no interest in anything other than her reflection. Aurora stamped her foot. “Your majesty, this is no way to run the underworld!”
Mist knew this was her one chance. Standing behind Aurora, she called out to her. “Dear, dear Aurora. I’m afraid you’re finished.”
“Finished? Ha! At least I can leave here. You can’t.” Aurora turned and saw Mist had Hel’s staff in her hand with the orb end pointed at her. “What do you think you’re going to do with that?”
“You took my life. I want it back,” said Mist.
“There has to be another way,” Jarl insisted.
“There isn’t,” Dane said. He turned to William. “Tell them again what Hel said.”
“She said the ships will follow the Ship of the Dead wherever it goes.”
“And if we sink this ship here, now—they’ll have nothing to follow,” Dane said. For a long moment no one spoke, each contemplating the horrible consequences of this. Finally, Jarl broke the silence.
“I have pictured many ways I would meet a glorious end. But burned to a crisp in a fiery lake was not on the list.”
“Along with Astrid, there’s room on Sleipnir’s back for three of us at the most,” Lut said. “William, gather the splinters from the oars. I will make the straws to draw. Shortest three out of six will go.”
“Six?” Fulnir said. “There’s seven of us.”
“I’m staying,” Lut said. “Death comes soon to me anyway.”
“But what about us?” Black Beard said. “Has anyone thought about us?”
“You sink our ship, we go down too,” said Red Mustache. “We should have a say about this.”
“Look, you’re just faces on a sail,” Jarl said. “We’re live human beings.”
“We have souls just as you do,” railed Red Mustache. “You can’t throw us away like we were nothing!”
“They do have a point,” Drott agreed. “Their souls mean just as much as ours.”
“Now I’ve heard it all,” Jarl said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Why don’t we just take the sail down and tie the four corners together to make a gigantic pocket so everyone can fit inside, and have Sleipnir fly us all out of here!” In all his sarcasm, Jarl didn’t know he’d inadvertently stumbled upon a brilliant solution to save them all. Later, of course, he took credit for the plan, boasting that his brains were just as superior as his brawn.
It didn’t take long to free the sail from the mast and securely tie the corners together. There was just enough room for everyone within the pocket—but the weight was too enormous even for Sleipnir to lift. There was much argument as to who would stay behind, Lut insisting it should be him. It looked like they would have to draw straws again, but then a miraculous sight appeared out of the gloom.
Mist, beautiful Mist, her raven hair flowing, her skin glowing with life, arrived riding another celestial steed. How she had gained life again and how she had acquired a Valkyrie’s horse were questions that would have to be answered later. Another rope was tethered to Mist’s horse—and together the two steeds had more than enough strength to lift everyone.
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