The Yeti were gone.
He made eye contact with Sabine who put her finger to her lips. They held their position and waited. An hour later Sabine rose and stretched her stiff limbs, she tapped Raven on the shoulder and they started moving up the slope.
They reached the ridge just as the sky started to lighten. They looked down on the pass of the clouds stretching out below them. Jack saw why they had climbed most of the night. Sabine had taken them around a bandit camp which lay half a mile down the ridge. They had managed to flank the camp and avoid contact with the outlaws.
There was no sign of the two Yeti.
Jack looked to his right and saw the ridge rising higher into the clouds. He looked ahead and saw the line Sabine was following, to take them off the mountain. An open expanse lay below, merging into the tree line. They would make it.
Sabine stood and looked around, satisfied, she walked forwards and beckoned him on. Raven moved automatically, there seemed to be a telepathic link between the two sisters. Jack marvelled at how Raven was able to negotiate the terrain without eyesight, her second sight was her guide.
They half crouched, half ran across the open expanse and made it to the forest beyond. Jack could feel Sabine’s relief, her shoulders relaxed, she allowed herself a slight smile.
“Good, we made it across the ridge before dawn. We should drop height to the valley, make camp, we can rest then,” Sabine declared.
Raven nodded. “Rest would be welcome, let’s go.”
They pushed through the forest, the trees became denser as they dropped height. Soon, dawn light was battling the darkness of the trees. Branches and twigs tore at Jack’s face, arms and legs.
Sabine stopped.
Jack froze. Raven held on to a tree and cocked her head, listening.
A scream. Not far away. It sounded like an animal.
Sabine hesitated. She looked left and right, the ground was leading them towards the animal. It was treacherous either side, their line was taking them down a steep but firm stretch of ground. They were committed, it would be too dangerous to deviate. They would have to continue, towards the animal.
They slowed their descent. Sabine held her bow at the ready, Jack loosened the strap over the knife Raven had given him back in New Haven. It was a poor blade, for cutting meat, not for battle, it was all he had.
Another scream tore through the air, this time closer. A scream of agony followed by a whimper.
Sabine stopped and looked around, searching the forest. Her head stopped, her body tensed. Slowly, she moved, one step at a time, without noise. Jack stayed back not wanting to make a mistake, Raven too held back.
Then he saw the Yeti not twenty yards away.
It was on the ground, its leg twisted. It was difficult to see, but something held it. Sabine continued her advance and nocked two arrows.
The Yeti let out another cry which echoed through the trees. A breeze blew high in the tops, sighing, causing the higher branches to sway and creak. Sabine headed straight for the Yeti, it heard her approach and turned its head, eyes wide with pain and fear.
Sabine stood to her full height drew her bow and let her arrows fly. There was a soft thump followed by silence. She looked around, nocked another two arrows and approached the Yeti.
Jack caught up and saw what had happened. The miserable beast had been caught in a bear trap and its metal teeth had broken the Yeti’s leg. Its smashed shin bones protruded jaggedly from the torn flesh.
“Let’s get out of here, this is one of the pair we saw last night.” Sabine knelt beside the dead Yeti and retrieved her arrows.
Jack remembered the second Yeti and looked nervously around. He saw nothing but trees.
“Watch out for more traps, the bandits have been busy here,” Sabine said over her shoulder.
They dropped height, the rest of the morning passed uneventfully. They heard wolves howling far behind, the scent of the dead Yeti drawing them. Soft rain began to fall from the bruised sky.
Jack fell into a rhythm, his outer mind remained alert, watching, guiding his body through the trees. His inner mind was busy processing the deluge of information he had been subjected to since his arrival in the place Raven had called Erthe.
Part of him expected to wake up back in New York City but a larger part had adjusted and adapted to his new reality. He felt part of this environment. He could feel its cold and warmth, he could smell the forest, feel the wind and rain on his face, this was not his imagination, this was his new existence.
Sabine was interesting, her sister Raven even more so, they were worlds apart, yet similar. There was no doubt, they were survivors, a team in this harsh world. Their love for each other was strong, a bond that transcended the brutality, the pain. He wished he had that bond, that bridge with someone, anyone, he had been alone too long. He had forgotten what it felt like to love someone, to care. It came crashing down on him, crushing him, he felt alone, lost.
They had managed a good pace, the trees had thinned, they found themselves in a broad river valley, the pass of the clouds high and distant behind. It was late afternoon. Sabine was searching for something.
“Follow me, its somewhere… over here,” she said across her shoulder.
She disappeared into dense undergrowth, Jack had to crawl to follow her. After a few minutes of struggling against thick vegetation he broke through into a clearing, Sabine stood before him, a relieved smile on her face.
“Made it, we’ll rest up here for the night.”
Jack looked to one side of the clearing and saw a wide cave offering protection from the elements. A small stream gurgled nearby.
“Perfect find, Sabine. Actually, how did you find this place? Have you been here before?” Jack asked.
Sabine smiled and opened her fist. A pale blue opal shimmered against her skin. “A gift from Forcan. He gave me this map opal as insurance, to guide our way to the Rain Pools. I’m following his directions, the way is trapped within the opal.”
Jack gave her a wry grin. “Of course you are.”
His irony was lost on her, she stared at him.
Raven broke the spell. “I’m hungry, what’re we going to do for food. There’s hardly any bread or cheese left.”
Sabine nodded. “Gather firewood, make a fire. I’ll be back in an hour or two. This area should be rich in game.” She took her bow and made off through the trees.
Jack and Raven set about making camp. Soon a large pile of firewood stood at the entrance to the cave. Jack started to build a fire and when finished he used Raven’s flint and steel. Soon flames were licking at the kindling and wood. His spirits rose once the fire was established, he fed it with more wood and soon it was blazing. Their clothes began to steam.
Raven sat beside him, her face drawn with hunger. The light was waning, it had been more than two hours since Sabine had left. Jack saw they needed more wood to last the night so he told Raven to stay at the cave whilst he went to gather more fuel.
He was gone for a short time. He returned to the campsite with an armful of wood.
Hell. Where is she? Jack dropped the firewood.
Raven was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 21: The Storm Gathers
Soren sighed.
Never trust anyone else to do the important things. Brother Fenril came to him with a story of failure; this Draugr defeating his seven hell hounds.
Soren closed his eyes.
Fenril would not disappoint again, would never fail again, would never breathe again.
Soren decided to ignore his anger, his wings had healed and were stronger than ever. He had risen to the top of the Sworn for good reason; through ruthlessness, through determination, by being able to defeat and decipher the language of the Sworn high priests. Their language, woven with magic and constantly evolving words. The Sworn tongue was alive, changing daily, no one had ever been able to penetrate their fortress of words.
Until Soren.
He had been able to crack the shifti
ng code with his own magic, his delicate hearing and intelligence. He had listened in on their plots and intrigues, was able to turn their plans against them. Soon he stood above them, their petty intrigues forgotten; he united the Sworn to his vision.
An alliance with the eastern necromancers, bring the king down, take his power, pick over the bones of the corrupt empire. It was the way of nature, the strong rose to the top. It was his time, and maybe, when he had learned everything the necromancers knew, he could bring his beloved family back from the otherside, from the Hall of Sorrows.
The Risen Coven would return to its rightful place as rulers of the north. Soren stretched his wings under the moonlight, perched on the battlements of the ruined keep. He would find this Draugr himself, he would crush its skull and take the Blood Eagle, for now he was the Sworn.
He breathed in the night air, it tasted good. Hunger rose up in him, he threw himself into the air, to search, feed and destroy.
~
Levant wanted death, wanted oblivion, but he also wanted his wife and daughters.
And life.
He focused on the present and felt dread. After the initial euphoria of killing the hell hounds, he knew his next challenge would be darker, deadlier. He was ready but a sense of doubt grew. He was now on foot and had covered a good distance, his stamina had increased with the lives of the hell hounds channelled to him by the Blood Eagle. He was strong, but he wondered if he was strong enough.
He was much further north, deep in Sworn country, near their northern fortress, the old imperial keep tucked below the Broken Mountains. He knew the keep was a ruin, but it was still a formidable stronghold with high walls and deep dungeons. He would be there in less than a day.
His blood was cold, but held secrets he had not yet tapped. Levant’s confidence returned, he would choose life, he would see his wife and daughters again. His pace quickened, his eyes flicked to his companion in the sky. The crow never left him, it was his eyes and ears, it would give him the edge.
The day waxed slowly, waning even slower in a blur of miles and dusty tracks. Levant made steady progress and covered the last miles to the fortress. Finally, he saw it perched on a clifftop, standing defiant.
In the valley below the fortress a vast undead army waited for orders.
Levant made no attempt to hide, he strode down the valley in plain sight, the last rays of the sun fading to his left. The sky was an angry red, the valley was quiet, expectant. Levant reached the undead ranks, they were well equipped with armour and weapons. On closer inspection he saw they were not asleep, their eyes were open and watched him as he moved amongst them. The stench of their rotting bodies filled the air, beetles and maggots fed on their decaying flesh as they stood in the dim dusk light.
He felt drawn and repulsed at the same time, he was of them, a Revenant, they were of him. Maybe that was why they did not attack him, or maybe it was something else. No matter, they were merely instruments, he needed to find the dark root and pull it out, release it from its evil soil.
His feet carried him forwards, through the undead. He reached the base of the cliff and found moss covered steps hewn into the rock leading upwards.
Levant did not hesitate, he took the steps two at a time and climbed towards the angry sky and the promise of death.
Chapter 22: Halvdan
Gunnery Sergeant Summers had been summoned.
He thought it was the drugs again. Years in the Veterans’ Hospital had dulled his mind, except for the memories of Iraq and the day his spine was severed in the I.E.D.’s blast outside Tikrit. He had lost his legs too, although without a proper functioning spine they were useless anyway.
I should’ve died, with the others.
Why am I still here? Alive, trapped in this insanity, this farce of a life.
He should have died with Bates, Fresno and Delmarco. They had done it properly, they had died with honour. He had messed up, his life half taken, half remaining; a broken spirit trapped in a broken man.
He was lost, neither in this world or the next, locked in a haze of morphine. He cackled to himself, the nurses, used to his shrieks, ignored him. They were giving pills to all the other broken men in the day ward.
His home.
He looked down at his forearm, his screaming eagle tattoo with the words Semper Fidelis struck him as odd now. The aspirations and dreams of a young man long gone; always faithful… to what? Death? Killing? Destruction?
The morphine was kicking in, the soft velvet warmth that took away the pain and led him to the place where he could hide.
Except this time it was different.
The letters of the tattoo moved and writhed on his skin, the screaming eagle bulged out from under his flesh, stretching it tight. His head spun, he looked up. The ward, the nurses, the other broken bodies, his wheelchair were all gone.
The hurt was gone.
We want you.
The words rang through his head.
Halvdan, come join us, retrace your steps back to us. Return, take the path of the runes.
Gunnery Sergeant Summers recognised the name, Halvdan.
He felt a rush, ancestral memory stretched out before him like a river. He could see his forbears in a long line extending into the distance. He felt strong, his heart bursting with youth and energy, everything clear.
He was Halvdan, he was from the ice clans, his forbears were warriors and something more, something connected. His spirit responded to the call, Gunnery Sergeant Summers made a choice. He jumped from his broken world to this new world.
Halvdan looked down at his legs, his feet were there, they felt real, he was whole again. He took a step, then another and began the long walk between worlds; like walking on a mirror. He felt compelled to keep moving forwards, towards the unknown.
Come Halvdan, brother. You are needed here in the hour of our struggle, be always faithful.
Halvdan continued, his new world nearing with every step. A hilltop, bright sunshine, fresh grass beneath his feet. The voices churning in his head now, figures ahead, six standing, holding hands around a dancing flame. He walked from the mirrored floor into the flame… without hesitation.
A final step brought him out of the fire into a new reality, a rebirth. The voices stopped, six pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly. He stood on the grass, his legs trembling, his skin assaulted by a cold wind.
“I am Halvdan, I have returned. I have answered your call.” His legs buckled and he collapsed, losing consciousness.
Words came to him through the darkness.
Erthe, necromancers, war.
He understood one word; war. He had witnessed a bellyful of war in his life, why did war follow him? What was it about the human race that bred war? Slowly he returned to the light, he felt consciousness returning.
“Look, he’s waking up!”
“Keep back, give him space. He’ll need to adjust.”
Silence.
Bright light.
Fluttering eyelids, blinking. Halvdan allowed the world in. He was in a room, on a bed, two figures stood beside him, blurry. He heard his heartbeat, his breathing, then remembered his legs. Was it a dream?
His hands reached down beneath the sheets and felt two legs, his legs. He sat up and checked again; knees, shins, feet and toes. He did not believe. He pulled the sheets back and stared at his feet. He did not believe. He moved his toes, they responded.
He did not believe.
The two figures beside the bed remained quiet, impassive, waiting.
It was a dream. He would wake up soon, in that dark hell of the ward, with an ache in his soul and the old familiar companion, pain. Pain would bring him back to reality. This was a dream, but not like his usual twisted flashbacks to Iraq, this was different.
This was not bad, it was a lie of course, he decided not to fight this dream but to let it unfold instead. It would take him where it wanted, he would move there, for a while.
He swung his legs out of the bed, over the side. H
e put one then the other on the cool marble floor; its delicious chill startled and pleased him in equal measure. He waited a few moments and looked at the two figures beside the bed, both older men, with concerned faces. He returned his attention to his legs, there was no point in delaying.
He stood.
He was standing. Slowly this fact registered on his brain. He was standing, on his own. Next, he took a step, then another, soon his legs had taken him across the room to the window. He looked out.
He did not understand what he saw; a city of spires and great walls, a castle on a rocky promontory, birds circling high above. Parkland lay below the castle, a lake at its centre. An island lay in the lake, ruins clustered at one end. Deer were grazing throughout the parkland.
Halvdan’s eyes took it all in, his consciousness storing and logging the information. His body and mind were otherwise engaged.
He was standing, he could walk, his spine was intact. He felt no pain.
He did not believe it, he looked around the simple room for a clue, for a crack in the trick, for the lie.
There was no joker, no trickster, no doctors in white coats. His mind was the trickster, he would ride the dream for however long it lasted. He turned to the two men beside the bed.
“Where am I? Who are you?” As good a place as any to start.
“This is Mage Steffen and I am Mage Shiel. You are in the city of New Haven, in the school of magic. We have summoned you to help us in our efforts to defeat the eastern necromancers.”
Halvdan stared at the two men. He hesitated, deciding on a response, then moved his chess piece to the middle ground, keeping his options open.
“Right then. The school of magic you say?”
“Yes, we have divined your ancestry. You are the direct descendant of a great sorcerer. You have latent power within, we can help you access your power to help us defeat our enemies.”
The other man saw Halvdan’s eyes widen and he interjected. “Steffen let’s leave all that for later. Ser Halvdan will want to rest, gather his strength, grow accustomed to his new surroundings.”
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