A dry wind hissed across his face as the group entered the courtyard. It was beautifully haunting, just like the rest of the city. White marble made up the buildings and colonnades all around them. Luscious ferns and manicured fruit trees of pear and apple turned the place into a secret garden of splendour. The calming sound of trickling water announced the King's Fountain. A magnificent centre piece to the courtyard, hewn from a single piece of white marble with veins that ebbed and flowed as though they were part of the design.
It was large enough to be a pool, with a statue of a bathing woman emerging from the centre with the water flowing over the curves of her feminine figure. She was Sala, the ancient city's patroness, Skaldi had told him, the goddess of health and happiness.
He turned back and his heart dropped when he didn't see the old man.
"It's too quiet," Snorri murmured, and the dwarf gave a slight nod over to the left.
Harald flashed his eyes in the direction and caught the glimpse of a grey robe as Skaldi disappeared into the courtyards outer rim. He was going to find Valarth, as they had planned. Harald looked back at the dwarves and their eyes spoke of the fight to come. They were watchful, alert, their hands tight around their weapons. Even Dokkur looked on edge, the shaggy dog's ears were pricked up and his nose was high as he sniffed for the scent of danger.
It was time, Harald knew it. He took the glass vile out of his tunic and held it in his hand. Such a small thing, so fragile, yet the fate of Isolde, and maybe the world, rested on this moment. He had to be true. Twenty feet... he told himself, twenty feet, plunge the bottle, and then retreat. Simple.
He took a deep breath and squeezed the glass tight. With one step forward he heard the all encompassing moan of the draugrs. Like dry leaves rustling all around him. His eyes widened and he saw them emerge from the courtyards colonnades as one, as though the command had been given and now death was upon him. There were hundreds, all shuffling forward, their dry skin creaking with the movement. Bright blue eyes alive with hate. Ancient iron weapons glistening in the sun.
There was no time, he heard the dwarves cry out and Dok barking ferociously. He had to go now before it was too late!
CHAPTER XIII
Ama sat Isolde in front of the stove fire and opened the black-iron door so that she could see the glowing embers and flames.
“The future can always change, but only from what we do today,” she said.
Some dried herbs hung from the kitchen rafters, and Ama reached up and plucked down a handful before tossing them into the fire. Isolde watched as they instantly puffed into flame and let white smoke fill the stove.
Isolde looked into the flames and watched them dance. The smell of the herb was earthy and aromatic. Deep oranges melted into violent yellows and the hint of blue would spark up every now and then in a rhythm that felt cosmic.
“What do you see?” Ama asked.
“Just the flames,” Isolde replied.
Isolde felt a weight drop into her lap. She looked down, Ama had given her the Dragon’s Eye.
“The last time you will ever see through it,” she said sternly. “Now look.”
Isolde picked the eye up, it was hot to the touch, but not so searing that it would burn. With a mind of wonder, she lifted the crystal eye to her own and peered through its citrine surface so that the fire took on a new form. Suddenly the orange fingers of flame became figures and a land began to open up to her. She felt herself become transfixed by the figures, and the focus became clearer.
She could see Wulfric, the great bear of a man, he was beaten and bloody, flat on his back in the snow. A lake of frozen crimson blood surrounding him. His body covered in cuts and blows, broken arrows sticking out of him like splinters.
The vision made her gasp, and the flames shifted and a new picture formed, it was Harald. He was in chains, blood flowing from his one good eye so that he was now blind in both. Isolde cried out, and Ama put a hand on her shoulder. Harald was being led away through the snow with others. A great chain of them, all blind, shuffling between the bodies of dead and dying men as black crows wheeled above in the sky. It was the remains of some a great battle.
As she watched, the scenes kept changing, Hrothgar stood atop his Raven Tower, a young blonde man at his side. It was father and son, she knew it, it was her son. The High-King had his heir, and together they were looking out over a burning empire.
The flames flickered and Eyndale emerged. It was a smouldering ruin and Isolde’s heart sank as she saw the pile of bodies in front of the great hall. She saw the dead faces of those she knew, Arne and Ulfer, Ivar and Ingrid, but atop all of the lifeless corpses, she saw her father. Lifeless, his grey eyes staring emptily up into the sky.
“No more…” Isolde whimpered, “I can’t look on any longer.”
She dropped the Dragon’s Eye to her lap and looked up at Ama whose face was pained.
“What will happen if I kill Orlog?” Isolde asked her.
Ama pointed her twisted finger back to the flame and Isolde hesitated before raising the crystal eye again.
Again she saw the snow-white fields stained with blood, but the flames were too quick, the picture scanned over the bodies before flying away. She saw Orlog’s lifeless body on the floor of some lonely cavern. Then the flames flickered and she saw the blonde youth again, her son. He looked so handsome, so strong, and he stood with Harald. Isolde laughed, he looked so old in the vision. His hair had greyed, and he had a beard running down his chin in one thick braid.
She took the Dragon’s Eye away again and smiled at Ama.
“I will kill Orlog if I can.”
Ama smiled back at her, “good choice.”
“Can I ask you something?” she said to Ama, “I never saw myself in either vision.”
The old woman frowned.
“The future can be hazy,” Ama said slowly, “but some things that are destined cannot be changed.”
Isolde was confused, “like what?”
“Your baby boy, and he will be a boy, is destined to be great. Greatly good or greatly evil, it is not known, but he will be great.”
“And what about me?” Isolde asked with wide eyes.
Ama turned her back to Isolde.
“You are destined to pass, Isolde. In giving life, you will have it also stripped away.”
Isolde nodded to herself, “only if you believe in destiny I guess.”
Ama turned back around and Isolde noticed the tear that had formed in her eye.
“I guess so,” Ama said and wiped her eyes clear.
***
“To kill Orlog,” Ama said, “you will need to pass into the netherworld.”
Isolde nodded trying to keep up with everything the seer was saying.
“Skaldi will take you to Heroth Nuir, it is the shrine to Her, the god of death. The priests there may be able to get your soul to cross. But, Isolde, it will not be easy, it won’t be like your dreams.”
Isolde nodded, she was terrified of what was being said, but kept her nerve. She didn’t want to lose focus.
“To cross, you need to be purified. The waters of the King’s Fountain is needed. That is what your young man is doing now. Once you are cleansed from the taint those foul beasts left on you at Ravenscar, then you will be free to cross.”
“How will I kill her?” Isolde asked.
“You have her heart, Isolde. That ruby is the physical form of Orlog now, as long as you remember that, you will be the one in power, then you can overcome her.”
“Why don’t we just smash the crystal?”
“Her soul is still free. You need to find her patron down there. You may be able to sell Orlog back with terms of her imprisonment. Or the patron… Bezhaal, may try to trick you. It will be a battle of wits and nerve more than anything.”
“Can they kill me down there?”
“Isolde, they could do far worse than kill you. Imagine an eternity of torture, or being twisted into becoming the monster you hate. You didn't th
ink that Orlog was always evil, did you? There are fates far worse than death. But do not fear, fear is their weapon. You are the one in power, not them.”
CHAPTER XIV
Harald lunged headlong for the fountain. The draugrs were closing in, they moaned terribly, and he heard the thwack of Snorri releasing another bolt from his crossbow. There was no time to see if it had found his mark.
Six steps, that was all it took for Harald to make it to the water. But each one felt like a lifetime. His heart had slowed, he could feel his hands shake, and could see the horde of undead shuffling ever closer to him.
With absolute will, he plunged the glass bottle into the water and ripped it back out. Fool! He cursed himself, he had forgotten the stopper. He ripped the cork out with his teeth and felt the whip of air as another bolt ripped past his head. One look up and he thanked the gods for Snorri's aim. This bolt had found its mark and lodged itself`` between the eyes of one of the undead. The foul creature fell forward into the far end of the fountain with a sploosh, but where he fell, others were close behind.
"Quickly!" cried Thodin.
Again, Harald plunged the bottle into the clear cool water of the fountain. The bottle gurgled as it drank up the precious drink.
"Look out!"
The cry came to him as though the gods themselves had given the warning. His head span with adrenaline, he flew backwards as a great-sword swung down. The glass vial slipped from his fingers, and the sword shattered away at the marble he had been leaning over. The bottle was lost in the fountain. The deathly draugr lurched forward again, swinging his great-sword high above his head. It was all the time Harald needed. With Wulfric's axe tight in his left hand, he swung out wide and cleaved through the dead skin of the draugr’s neck.
"Go, go!" Thodin cried, and before he knew what was happening the dwarf was beside him with Dok, both cutting their way through swaths of draugrs with steel and fang. To his left, Snorri appeared, axe in hand, clearing the way to the fountain.
"Get the bloody thing," Snorri cried as he ducked under a blade.
The dwarves stood on either side of him, fighting like oathsworn guards. He could hear the raspy cries of the draugrs and the constant clash of iron against steel. With a dash forward he dived at the fountain and plunged his hand deep into the waters. He stretched as far as he could, but the bottom was out of reach. Through the clear water, he could see the glass bottle below, but the fountain's depth eluded him.
He dropped his axe and dived in, the world outside disappeared, and the clear water drank up his body. He grasped for the vial and held it with a grip as tight as death. With a struggle, he twisted around and could see the sun dancing on the water's surface. But as he kicked off the bottom, he heard the call. Soft and enchanting, like a mother's love. The statue above twisted around and looked down on him. It felt like a dream, but the goddess' milky arms stretched down into the water and out toward Harald.
A hand, softer than silk, caressed his face, and he saw the goddess smile. He pushed up once more and gasped in the air as his head came free of the water. Again, the sounds of battle erupted through his ears.
Swords clanged and the dwarves cried their war calls. The marble edge was slippery, but Harald pulled himself free as the dwarves kept the draugrs from passing.
"I've got it," he cried before his throat closed over and the breath caught itself under his neck.
Harald clawed at his throat with his free hand and fell to his knees on the hard floor of the courtyard. He gasped for breath, but no air would pass his throat, but still, he would not let the vial go. With all his strength, he twisted back around and saw a shadowy figure, high above them, on a walkway, his hand gripped tight into a fist, and held out in the air. His eyes bore down on Harald.
With his last strength, Harald stood up and locked his eyes on Valarth in defiance. The dark elf smiled, opened his closed fist, and with the gentle brush of his hand, sent Harald flying backwards.
Harald felt his feet stumble back and snag over Dok as the dog charged a draugr. His body fell backwards, he could feel each heart beat, his hands flew up, the bottle went high into the sky, sparkling in the mid-day sun. No... the ground hit him hard and knocked whatever breath was left within him out. The vial span overhead, droplets of the precious liquid spiralling out into the open air.
The glass met its zenith, caught the sunlight in a sparkle, and began its descent. Harald kicked his legs against the tiled floor and sent his back scraping against the ground. He could feel every nook and cranny of the ground as it dug and ripped into his clothes and skin, but never did his eyes leave that bottle. With outstretched hands, he watched as the glass came spinning back to earth, and he snatched it out of the sky before bringing it safely into his chest.
The dwarves fought on and then it was silent. Harald reared his head back up off the hard ground and looked around. The draugr's had stopped. They stood at attention, and Thodin and Snorri took a step back to Harald.
"Look!" Harald tried to cry through his hoarse throat.
Up on the walkway, Skaldi stood high and proud with Valarth's body at his feet. The old man raised an ancient book and cried out in a long forgotten tongue.
"Omnia reddam tibi in domum tuam et veros dominos tuebitur omnes."
As though they shared one mind, the draugrs all turned for the gate and began to march away. They left behind the dried corpses of their fallen brethren and Harald watched wide eyed as they obeyed Skaldi's command.
"The Book of the Dead," Snorri said in amazement.
"Now that would fetch a pretty price," Thodin added.
They helped Harald up, and he put the cork stopper back into the bottle and placed it snug under his furs by his chest. He looked the dwarves up and down, their arms were laden with cuts and scratches that bled down their sculpted muscles, but otherwise, they were fine.
"What's wrong with your eye, lad?" Thodin asked as he stared at Harald's face.
Harald touched his lost eye tenderly and felt the eye lids open. He blinked as white light streamed into his vision and felt piercing pain deep into his skull.
"Gods..." he cried out.
He let himself blink a few times, and the world began to take form. He could see from his eye again. Harald looked at the dwarves and saw their puzzled faces.
"You can see from it?" Snorri asked.
"I can," Harald replied not believing what was happening.
"Good," Thodin said, "well at least you still have the scars. I'm still calling you Grimeye."
Harald couldn't work it out, but there was no use in arguing over what was happening. Skaldi had reappeared with the book in hand. It was old, its vellum cover black with age, and the thick pages were yellowed and dry.
"Valarth is dead," he declared, "and we must get back."
The old man double-took his view and stared oddly at Harald. He let out a laugh and clapped Harald on the shoulder.
“The grace of the goddess,” he smiled, “didn’t Ama say that the water heals?”
CHAPTER XV
Harald had the vial safe by his chest and he knew that Isolde would be okay. He might not have been able to make her love him, but he could be there for her, as a friend if nothing else. It made him glad, he knew that she cared for him, he could see it in her eyes. There was no point in holding a grudge against her, besides, everyone makes mistakes and it couldn't hurt to forgive her and move on.
They travelled back across the Silent Hills. It was as quiet and eerie as ever, and the fog remained in the deep valleys. But, the lingering feeling of doom had abated, and as long as the dead remained in Barrow Mors, then there was nothing really to be feared.
For three days they walked on. The dwarves bickered relentlessly about how they would return to Mousa. According to Snorri, the city was an untouched trove of treasure waiting to be collected. Harald was just glad to have the place behind him. No amount of riches would have him stray through the lonely land of silence again. The city was dead and with it any
hopes of riches or happiness.
Skaldi spent most of the trip in silence, often lagging far behind the others, or charging out far ahead in great strides that no one could match. Harald tried speaking to him, more than once, but the old man kept a deathly tight grip on the book he had collected and only murmured that the true trial was still to come.
It worried Harald, but what choice did he have but to accept fate and walk on. He now knew in his heart that his place was beside Isolde. To help her, to keep her safe, and to be a true friend, if not more.
***
Isolde's heart nearly ripped out her chest as Ama's door burst open and a shaggy black hound dove through.
"No dogs!" Ama screamed, and the hound bounded back out the house as two dwarves, Skaldi, and finally, Harald walked into the tight cottage.
"Wait outside," a dwarf said to the dog before looking Isolde up and down.
"Snorri," he said as he patted himself on the chest, "and Thodin... at your service."
Isolde blushed and introduced her self.
"We've heard so much about you," Snorri said.
"Yeah, old Grimeye wouldn't shut up about his lover girl the whole way," Thodin added.
Isolde didn't think her cheeks could go any redder, but when she saw Harald's face glowing she didn't feel so bad.
"Enough out of you two," Ama snapped, "or you'll be out with that dog. Harald, did you get it?"
"I did," he said hesitantly before drawing out the vial full of sparkling water.
He handed it over to Ama, who passed it on to Isolde with the instruction to drink it all. Isolde looked at the bottle warily.
"It won't send you floating away," Ama chided as Isolde hesitated.
With no other choice, she pulled the cork stopper from the glass and tipped the bottle high into the air as she drank. The water was cool, and clear, and soothing.
The Blind Seer (Isolde Saga Book 3) Page 7
