by J D Franx
“Your father was the last to lead men up that mountain,” he stated. It was common knowledge among most of the northern clans. “I remember when he went. The High King refused to send additional warriors to help, claimed he didn’t want to start a war with the Skeyth.”
“And because of it he was the only one to return alive. He carried Ejya’s mother’s body back with him, she was our Housekarl my entire life...” Brenna said, and he could see the memories rushing back to her. “And why I chose her daughter for mine. But Father refused to talk about what happened up there, right up until he died. Over thirty of his best men and women didn’t return and he took whatever happened on that mountain to his grave with him. The Skeyth are the equivalent to fear itself for everyone who lives near the Grace. But they will know what has happened, and what still is happening to our world.”
“I’m sure they do. They worship the creator gods and their magic, but they are more likely to kill us all than to tell us anything, just as they did to your father’s men and to so many others who have went up that mountain,” Engier reasoned.
“Not if we go in force,” she argued. “No one has ever marched up that mountain with the numbers we have now. Let’s take everyone with us and go find the answers we need.”
“Have you sent anyone up to the lighthouse for a better look of the land?” he asked.
“I considered it, but didn’t want to risk anyone yet, the foundation was severely weakened by the quakes.”
“Aye,” he sighed and got to his feet.
“I could send someone,” she offered.
“Do not order someone to perform a dangerous task you’re not willing to do yourself,” he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder to the lighthouse north of the fortress. “Care to join me, Jarl Brenna? Let’s find out what we can ourselves before we risk those under our care to the madmen and women who live up on that mountain range.”
“Fair enough, after you, Jarl,” she said, holding her hand ahead of her.
Engier nodded and headed out. The lighthouse was a short hike away, but when he glanced up at the sky he could see that Brenna was right. It was mid-morning and the sun should have been high in the southern sky, but instead it shone bright above the lighthouse to their north.
“Cannot say I have ever seen a mid-day sun so high in the northern sky,” he said.
“Doubt anyone has,” Brenna chuckled. “Some of the lesser-minded are starting to talk about Ragnarok.”
“If the beast ever breaks loose, young Jarl, I promise, you will know the end days are here.” He stepped over a large pile of rock and onto the lighthouse proper. “This,” he said signaling all around with his hands, “reeks of magic gone wrong. I'd bet it is tied to the Ama Taugr who raised the dead, this red weep, and the bloodstone.”
“Let us hope so,” she answered. “All those we can fight, myths and legends we may not.”
Engier stopped and shook his head at the thought of fighting the mighty wolf Fenrier free of its chains. A shiver ran down his spine before he decided not to worry about what couldn’t be controlled. “I doubt if any of the great myths are going to show up during our lifetime, Brenna,” he said grabbing the door to the lighthouse and giving it a tug. It remained stuck, jammed inside the twisted and broken frame. Growling, he stepped back and kicked out, smashing through the wooden door. They ascended the damaged stairwell carefully up to the top floor of the lighthouse. Weakened walls and cracked support beams moaned as they arrived at the top.
Engier stared out to sea and could see nothing but water. “Everything is fine this way. How about—” He stopped short as he turned. “The southern peninsula,” he gasped. “It’s gone.”
“It is...” Brenna whispered. He placed a hand on her shoulder when she continued. “There were two villages on the southern… Over a thousand people… My people, Engier. Farmers, ranchers, lumber mills… families, children.”
“I know,” he said softly. “Force it aside for now and tell me what else you see.”
He glanced away as she coughed and wiped at her eyes. “You’re right,” she answered, coughing a second time to clear her throat. “The peninsula is gone, but so is the mainland further south, all I see is ocean. Sokn has been damaged by these quakes, and damaged bad.”
“Exactly,” he said as he patted her shoulder. “Let’s head back and see if we can convince everyone that heading up that mountain is a good idea. It will take several days to get everyone ready for the trip up Freyja’s Grace. It looks like you will get your wish after all, Jarl Brenna. Hopefully we can find the Skeyth before they find us.”
Chapter Three
FREYJA’S GRACE MOUNTAIN RANGE
Engier grabbed a sizzling chunk of meat from one of the dozen large birds roasting over the campfire and sat down with his back against a log. He was careful to stay well inside the shroud of warmth created by the bonfire closest to his tent. A dozen identical fires were scattered throughout the camp. This high up in the mountains, the shortness of breath from the altitude was a mild inconvenience compared to the fierce cold that came from temperatures that plummeted once the sun’s rays vanished for the day. The communal fires kept the camp fed, but also warm.
Once the clans entered the lower mountain range, they found an overabundance of large game and other resources: everything from wild deer, to goats, and even boar, not to mention scattered fields of wild carrots, garlic, onions, potatoes and numerous kinds of wild herbs. The best find was discovered early that morning when the scouts came across several groups of large game birds. The plump gobblers averaged over fifteen pounds and were easily hunted with the bow. After seeing the wildlife showed almost no fear of people, Engier was positive the animals rarely saw anyone on the mountain, and he asked Brenna to order her clan hunters out. Filling the camp’s stores with the prized meat cost nothing more than a few hours of their time.
Two weeks had crawled by slowly while the clans headed higher up the mountain and Freyja’s Grace did her best to slow them every step of the way. Mud slides and collapsed cliff shale blocked nearly every trail they came to. It was almost as if the mountain itself plotted to keep the clans from finding the lost wizards of old. Though no one to Engier’s knowledge, besides Brenna’s father, had ever made contact with the Skeyth and lived or returned to tell about it, he suspected they were getting closer to their target. The hairs on the back of his neck refused to lie flat and a constant irritation dug at his nerves as if they were being watched by hidden eyes. On several occasions, he swore there were shadows moving at the outer edges of his peripheral vision, yet when he turned to look nothing stood out. His eyes, nerves, and instincts were seldom wrong. It was only a matter of days before the Skeyth would make themselves known. He was sure of it, but had to trust that having an ailing wizard with them would persuade them to talk instead of just killing everyone.
Davur Braun exited the healer’s tent and approached the cook fire. With a sigh the miner massaged his forehead and cut a section of breast meat from one of the cooking birds. Exhaustion had settled into every part of the man and Engier nodded to him when he sat at the other end of the log. It was the first time that Davur approached since taking a swing at him back inside Steinn Fortress. The miner lost his composure when Engier ordered everyone to pack up and get ready for the trek into the mountains. Davur hadn’t taken the news well when the Jarls ordered the dig into the collapsed mine over. After more than four unsuccessful days of searching and digging, there would be nothing alive left to find. The three bodies they did find during their excavation all died from injury, thirst, or suffocation. All were a terrible way to die and when he told Davur the clans were leaving the fortress, the young miner punched him.
Engier ignored the assault, he understood that Davur’s loss drove him to do it. His wife and sister were inside the mine when it collapsed, and neither were among those bodies found. Instead of hitting the man back, Engier used his superior strength to force the miner to the ground and once he’d calmed, he told D
avur that those lost would be honored and that their souls would guard the bloodstone for all of eternity. Though torn with the agony of loss, Davur finally relented.
Engier smiled to himself and glanced over at the miner. “It took you a week to find your tongue?” he asked.
“Have yet to find it, really,” Davur answered with a sense of honesty.
“Yet you sat by me, an arm’s reach away,” Engier pointed out. “I am sorry for your loss, young man, but three of the four branches inside that mine contain heavy veins of salt. Four and a half days without water in a salt mine… The one vein we opened had collapsed further in and had no ventilation. All those caught in the mine were likely dead days before I called off the search. The last body we found had been dead for more than two days.”
Davur placed his plate to the side and lowered his head. “In my own mind, I know that,” the miner replied. “But I’m not a warrior, Jarl Engier, losing someone I care about isn’t an easy thing for me.”
“Losing someone we care for is never easy, for anyone,” Engier said. “Warrior or not, but for those of us who experience it more often, perhaps it seems easier to those who do not. It is the warrior way of life, young man. We don’t see death like others do, but it is far from easy.”
Davur chuckled lightly and Engier knew the younger man was trying to put on a brave face, but he could hear the aching sadness and loss in the miner’s voice as he continued. “For a warrior, to die in battle is to get a chance to meet our gods, and even fight at their side during the end days. I know this. It is a warrior’s reward for protecting those of us who are unable or unwilling to do so. I apologize for striking you, my lord. For those of us who do not have that option in the afterlife, this world is what matters most. To lose the ones we love the most so early in life makes the remaining time here so much less worthwhile.”
“I understand,” Engier said. “It is why you are not in chains.” He rubbed his still-tender jaw and chuckled. The miner did have an impressive right hook. “Was there another reason you chose to sit here?”
Davur nodded, yet he hesitated for several moments. “I’ve been spending my time with the healers since we left,” he began. “I’m trying to help Drengr, where I can.”
“Brenna mentioned that you were looking into this red weep long before we arrived at Steinn Fortress.”
“I have, yes. We began seeing it on the fur of a few animals who came into contact with it in the mines. Insects came into contact with it too, but it began spreading to smaller animals outside the mines before too long. Foxes, badgers, and even the odd predatory bird. It didn’t seem to hurt them, but I was concerned about long-term exposure and what affects it might have on the wildlife we relied on for food, or even on us personally if it spread too far. The bloodstone is a magical gem after all, even while in its natural state.”
“What did you find?”
“It’s strange, I don’t know what it will mean for your wizard friend.” Davur said.
Engier could see the confusion in the young man’s face. “How so?”.
“The weepings are a liquid, but a heavy liquid—sticky like tree sap, and I think it has parasitic properties—it invaded Drengr’s body and spread incredibly fast. Yet it should not do that, it doesn’t do that to the animals.”
“But animals don’t have magic,” Engier pointed out. “If the bloodstone is parasitic...”
“That would mean it is selective. That—”
“That the stone is either alive, or it feeds only on magic,” Engier finished.
“Or both perhaps, yet bloodstone itself has no such living properties that I could find. So why the change?” Davur asked, but Engier knew it was rhetoric, so he remained silent as the younger man carried on with his thoughts. “I’ve been mining bloodstone and gems my whole life and until the last few months, I have never seen anything like this red weep. Mind you, bloodstone veins are rarely larger than your arm and are not normally under pressure from the earth.”
Engier gasped. “Tyr’s bloody blades,” he cursed quietly. “That has to be why they killed the boy.”
“Jarl?” Davur asked.
“A young Rynstar from my clan was studying the bloodstone runes at the Kastali Skall. He discovered the effect it has on the bodies of those already dead. I could never understand why they killed him, he was just a boy of ten summers and was no threat.”
“But if he also uncovered what happens...” Davur blurted, interrupting him. “What if he knew what happens to bloodstone when under extreme pressure or when the weep comes into contact with a magic user?” The miner went pale and a nervous sweat broke out on his brow.
Engier ignored the interruption. “I would bet anything that he knew about both. Nothing else makes sense of this. By killing the boy and then the High King and his family, the rebel necromancers would be able to study it further without being bothered by the King, the Ama Taugr or even the Council of Jarls. We’d have been none the wiser about the danger these red weep properties can cause while they would be free to study it, and eventually perfect a new magic, especially if they got their hands on a large supply of raw bloodstone.”
“Gods,” Davur blurted out. “Like a chunk the size of a horse carriage.”
“Exactly,” Engier agreed. “I know the cost to you was immense, Davur. I am truly very sorry for that, but at least the last of Sokn’s bloodstone is beyond their reach.”
The miner shook his head at the revelation and popped a piece of bird into his mouth. He chewed in silence for several minutes. “We got as far into the collapse as we could,” he said finally. “I know I did not react rationally at the time. My wife and sister...” He stopped to take a deep breath. “But the truth is, the ceiling of that shaft was part of a massive rock shelf. The entire shelf would have fallen when the mine supports collapsed. That chunk of bloodstone is probably buried under or behind tons of solid bedrock now. I apologize again, Jarl Engier, I do. You were right to call off the search.”
The pain in the man’s voice ate at him. “I am sorry you lost your family, Davur. I hope, if nothing else, perhaps the Skeyth can at least explain why.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But for now, at least the bloodstone cannot harm anyone else.”
Engier nodded and they ate in silence. Washing the last of his meal down with a horn of honey-mead, exhaustion quickly set in. It was time for some rest. When Engier got to his feet a wave of fatigue hit him so hard he stumbled.
“Damn,” he muttered. Shaking his head to clear the fog shrouding his mind, worry slowly set in. He shouldn’t be so tired. Glancing back towards Davur, he could see the miner was already fast asleep propped up against the log with his head back. The miner’s horn of mead had spilled on the ground, untouched. Taking a deep breath, Engier stared out across the camp and was shocked to see the sloppiness and lack of discipline in his guard detail. Most of the men and women in sight were stumbling drunk and many others seemed to have fallen asleep wherever they sat down to eat. Which meant…
“The food...” he whispered.
Brenna rushed towards him, tripped on her own feet and barely caught herself. Through the vibrating waves rolling through his vision, he could just make out how unsteady on her feet she was. She took another half dozen steps towards him before stopping to rest against a wagon. Her eyes locked onto his and he could see the fear and panic on her face, seconds before they closed. She slumped to the ground unconscious.
Try as he might, Engier couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening. The birds were killed that afternoon and the cooks never let anything get into their stored supplies. His mind raced as he tried to understand why more and more of his warriors slumped and then fell unconscious or dead throughout the camp while he fought against the toxin running through his own blood.
He knew it was a fight he couldn’t possibly win. Slowly sliding down the side of the wagon, he stared in disbelief as two strangers walked into the main camp uncontested. Engier struggled to focus his eyes and
for a few seconds it seemed to push back the icy chill creeping into his stomach. Both of the new arrivals wore heavy robes, but the bulky fit didn’t hide anything from him.
“Heavy armor,” he muttered and grasped his axe. A poleaxe would be better against the armor, but they were lined up in front of the armory tent over fifty feet away. Struggling back to his feet he took a single step towards the new threat and swung his axe, but dizziness overwhelmed him, and he again reached for the stability of the wagon at his side. Only when his fingers brushed the wood panels and he stubbed his foot against something did he realize it was Brenna laying at his feet. With no sense of distance or timing and completely disoriented, panic fluttered in his chest and leapt up into his throat for the first time since he was a child. He tried to force it back down, but the camp and ground spun out of control below him, and a moment later the sky and stars spun out of control above him. He cursed, realizing he had fallen onto his back. As the blackness closed in around him, the two masked faces appeared in his vision and he wasn’t sure whether or not he was hallucinating.
“He fought it the longest,” a female said.
The second voice was male and much younger than the female. “Even swung his axe, he is surely the strongest.”
The female snorted. “If this is the strongest of what we have become, then we are lost.” She bent over and pulled Engier so close that her breath brushed his lips and the scent of sweet cinnamon nearly overwhelmed him. “Why does a warrior care for a wizard and carry him so far?” she asked. “This alone has kept you alive.”
Engier was paralyzed, unable to answer. He fought against it with everything he had, long enough to grasp his axe in an iron grip so it came with him to whatever sorry afterlife was given to a Northman Jarl stupid enough to fall victim to the Skeyth.
Chapter Four
BAOMEHR
SKEYTH VILLAGE
Engier regained consciousness slowly as voices buzzed and echoed around him. It sounded like words spoken through layers of wool stuffed in his ears, while he was standing in the middle of an empty mead hall. He couldn’t understand what was being said. The fact that Thor and his hammer had returned to the inside of his skull as he slept didn’t help either. Along with his pounding head, the voices slowly began to clear. He focused on keeping his breathing even and shallow to maintain the illusion that he was still unconscious. Given the amount of pain racing through his body, it wasn’t easy, but he ignored the discomfort. Silently, Engier thanked the gods he was still alive and not tied like a hog at slaughter. His hands and feet were free. He was fully clothed, though he couldn’t help but wonder why. His captors were either inexperienced or he wasn’t considered a threat—though it seemed unlikely. Perhaps they were simply unaccustomed to holding prisoners.
