Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  “Didn’t you fools heed the stories? About the duels?”

  “Yes, we knew he earned the name by dueling, and by killing all the other oolfa. Oolfreekr killed his brothers in the order, in the Briethralak Oolfur.”

  “He betrayed his own. The yarl lived by crookery, by fighting duels against opponents who had no chance.”

  “Yes,” said Krowkr with a shrug. “And yet the men of the villages respected him.”

  “Feared him!” roared Althyof. “Fear and respect are not the same thing.”

  Krowkr nodded sheepishly. “Yes, I know that now.”

  “Krowkr, if you weren’t interested in all this, why were you there? Why did you stand and fight him?” asked Jane.

  Krowkr shrugged. “Owfastr was my brother, my only living relative. Skatlakrimr was our friend.” Diamonds made of tears glittered in his eyes.

  “Well spoken, lad,” said Yowtgayrr in a kind voice.

  “Yes, I don’t suppose I can fault you for supporting your kin, but there comes a point in every folly where a man has to choose for himself.”

  Krowkr straightened and looked Althyof proudly in the eye. “I chose to support my brother and my friend.”

  “But what you would have sacrificed for them… Lad, do you know what fate would have been yours? Do you understand that you would have no longer been wholly human?”

  Krowkr’s proud gaze slithered away from the Tverkr’s. “My people believe the Allfather writes our lives in the skein of fate.” He darted a glance at me. “We made our sacrifices to Owthidn, we put our trust in him, and in…in others.” His gaze crawled across my features.

  It struck me how much he reminded me of Veethar in his quiet confidence, his sparse words. He talks more than Veethar, though, I thought. Uses more words, says less.

  “We trusted in our sacrifices to the patron of berserkers, to…” Again, his gaze locked on mine for the briefest of moments before darting away. “We believed Owthidn would protect us. He would… Whatever happened, it would be the fate he’d written for us.”

  “Remind me to tell you of uhrluhk,” I said.

  “Oh lord, not that again,” whispered Jane.

  “Krowkr, I am not Odin—Owthidn. I’m only a man. A husband.” I put my hand on Jane’s arm. “We’re not your deities. We’re—”

  “It’s no use, Hank,” murmured Yowtgayrr. “When a man believes something—truly believes it, mind—no amount of words will change that belief.”

  “But—”

  “The only thing you can do is show him who you are by your actions.”

  “Oy,” said Jane with a chuckle. “That’s bad news.”

  Yowtgayrr smiled politely, but there was little humor in it. “And who’s to say you don’t embody the characteristics of this Owthidn?”

  “But I don’t want to be… I’m not… I don’t want worship.”

  Yowtgayrr shrugged, and a small smile splashed across his visage. “And I don’t want to be friends with a Tverkr.”

  “Friends?” scoffed Althyof. “At best we’re—”

  “What you did for Skowvithr,” said the Alf with all trace of humor gone, “telling him of his brother’s last moments, and treating both Alfar with such respect…that’s when I began counting you my friend.”

  “Yes, well,” grunted Althyof, and he cleared his throat. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand…unless there’s more complaining,” he glanced at me, “flirting,” he glanced at Jane, “or excessive Tverkr worship, that is.” His gaze rested on Yowtgayrr’s for a moment before both men smiled.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve seen his memories—lived them. Krowkr, left to his own devices, would never have come within a hundred miles of Hoos Oolfsins. The man doesn’t suffer from the vagaries of the soul that Luka does.”

  Althyof looked at Krowkr hard for a drawn-out moment. “Do you hear who speaks for you? Do you hear his words?”

  Krowkr swallowed and nodded, and his gaze crawled to mine. In it was everything I didn’t want, but also more than mere worship—the beginnings of real trust.

  “Don’t let the words be false. Never in life.”

  “I… I swear it.” His eyes burned with passion and met my gaze directly and without reservation.

  It was a promise he would keep or die trying. I nodded. “Then it’s done.” I gestured at the proo. “Let’s go see if we can find the others, and after that, find Luka.”

  Althyof nodded and touched the proo. One by one my companions touched it and disappeared, and I brushed the surface of the proo with my fingertips.

  Twenty-six

  The proo twisted and warped around me, whipping to and fro like a snake in its death throes. The fabric of the universe seemed to shudder, to ripple with the power being exerted on it. Colors and smells flashed through my mind in nanosecond bursts of pure terror. Blackness entombed me—utter darkness, no sound, no sensory input of any kind—except for those brief respites of terrible color.

  KANKARI.

  The mental voice boomed in and around me as though a physical assault, vibrations crawled across my skin like maggots on a corpse. I tried to cringe away from it, but there was nowhere to go, nothing on which to gain traction, nothing to push against. I couldn’t escape, couldn’t flee, couldn’t even move.

  KANKARI, boomed the voice again.

  It reminded me of talking to Bikkir, but a…greasy…aftertaste lingered after the words faded from my mind.

  YOU MISSPEND THIS CONTINUANCE.

  Bikkir? I thought and sensed an immediate rumble of amusement laced with annoyance.

  NEGATION. DOES THIS ONE APPEAR AS A PERSEVERATING, PRETENTIOUS POMP? AMUSEMENT.

  No matter how many times the Great Old One said I amused it, it was anything but amused. Who are you?

  COGNOMINA ARE INAPPOSITE, BUT THIS ONE RECOGNIZES THE NEED OF LESSER BEINGS TO CATEGORIZE ENTITIES. RESEMBLANT COGNITIVE BOUNDS GOVERN THE PLOWIR MEDN. THIS ONE MAY BE IDEATED AS MIRKUR.

  Mirkur? Darkness? What do you want? Where is Bikkir? My thoughts buzzed and ripped around inside my head like so many out-of-control windup toys.

  BANISH COGNIZANCE OF THE LESSER OF MY KIND. CEASE. YIELD COGITATION OF WHAT IS NOT AND TURN YOUR EXECUTIVE PROCESSES TO WHAT IS.

  What the hell does that even mean? I thought, but I tried to keep it to myself.

  AMUSEMENT.

  What do you want, Mirkur?

  THIS ONE HAS DIVERTED KANKARI. THIS ONE—

  Kankari? You called me that before. I thought you big-brained Great Old Ones had no need for…how did you put it…inapposite cognomina?

  CEASE. YOU MISSPEND THE TIMESLICE. YOU CATALYZE BRUME WHERE LUCIDITY IS JUDICIOUS.

  You know what? I don’t give a fuck. You assholes are all the same. Cease this, yield to me that. I’ll tell you what, Mirkur. You drop me back into the right proo and leave me alone. How’s that for clarity? Agony burned through me, searing my nerves, boiling my blood. Pain wracked my physical body, but agony abraded against and abided within the dead center of my being. I felt my limbs thrashing in the non-corporeal proo. I opened my mouth to scream, but there was no air, no vacuum…only a squirming nothingness that marauded into my mouth and trespassed in my throat before I snapped my jaws shut.

  THIS ONE IS NOT THE SAME AS BIKKIR. The voice hissed and sizzled in my mind like molten metal and burning stone. DISCOURTESY AND IMPERTINENCY ARE TO BE CASTIGATED. INDOCTRINATE THIS TRUTH AND ALLOW IT TO EDUCE DECOROUS DEMEANOR.

  The agony dissipated as abruptly as it had begun. I didn’t think, didn’t speak—I lay there in the grip of whatever non-material made up the interior of the preer and waited.

  OTHERS BEFORE YOU HAVE REBELLED. OTHERS WERE PUNISHED—ARE BEING PUNISHED—WITH PREJUDICE. DO YOU DESIRE SUCH TRIBULATION? WOE UNTO YOU. THERE WILL BE WEEPING AND GNASHING OF TEETH.

  I apologize, I thought, working hard to keep my mind quiet, to prevent my feelings from leaking across whatever transmission conveyed my thoughts to Mirkur.

  AEONIC TRIBULATIONS
MINGLED AMONGST PROTRACTED TORTURES AND TRIALS! WOE!

  I said nothing, thought nothing. If I just played along, maybe Mirkur would let me go, and I could join the others in the Herperty af Roostum. Most of all, I tried to keep the memory of Owraythu’s domain and Hel’s terrible screams out of my head.

  YOUR EXISTENCE IS COROLLARY TO OUR OWN PASSAGE THROUGH SPACETIME. YOU ARE AS REFLUX, A WASTE PRODUCT OF OUR EVOLUTION. THIS ONE IS MASTER HERE!

  Mirkur’s rage palpitated inside the confines of the proo, surging like the surf of a storm-ridden sea. Whitecaps of anger slashed at me, breakers of bedlam battered me, but I kept silent and weathered the storm.

  What may I do? I asked after a time.

  THIS ONE IS MASTER HERE!

  Yes, Mirkur. What may I do? I had the sense of something immense pulling away, of a large animal withdrawing its attacks to look upon its prey.

  KANKARI…WANDERER…THUS THIS ONE CLEPES YOU BECAUSE IT IS YOUR NATURE TO TRAVEL THE VEINS OF THE UNDERVERSE.

  The ire had departed from his mental voice and it no longer ripped through the air like a rag subject to the whims of a raging child. As apt a description as any.

  AMUSEMENT. DECOMPRESSION AND REPOSE RETURN.

  Good. Sorry about my behavior. What can I do for you?

  REPLACEMENTS ARE REQUIRED TO FACILITATE THIS ONE’S DESIGNS. YOU SHALL PROVIDE THEM.

  Replacements? Replacements for what?

  PROXIES. ARBITERS OF OUR WILL. EMISSARIES TO THE LESSER REALMS.

  Okay… You say there were others?

  AFFIRMATION. THROUGHOUT THE CONTINUITY, THE PLAUINN HAVE STRIVEN TO GUIDE OUR CHILDREN, TO EDUCATE AND ELEVATE THEM FROM THEIR PETTY CONCERNS.

  The Plauinn? You are one of the Plauinn?

  IS THIS NOT COGNOSCIBLE? DO ALL SMALL ONES SUFFER IN SUCH PURBLINDNESS?

  But…I thought… The Alfar believe themselves to be the close representatives to the Plauinn.

  NUGATORY CONCEPTUALIZATIONS OF LESSER BEINGS CAUSE THIS ONE LITTLE AGITATION OF THE SPIRIT. ADOPT TRANQUILITY, THIS ONE SHALL ELUCIDATE YOUR FUNCTION.

  Mirkur? Does this function you speak of coincide with all that Bikkir taught me, demanded of me?

  THAT ONE REEKS OF THE GLOAMING. DISREGARD HIS UTTERANCES.

  Fair enough.

  FROM THIS TIMESLICE ONWARD, YOU ARE THIS ONE’S CREATURE, AND THIS ONE’S CREATURE ALONE. YOU ANSWER ONLY TO THIS ONE.

  That sounded about as good as being in a cell in Helhaym, but I kept that to myself.

  THIS ONE SEEKS TO CORRECT ERRANT UHRLUHK, TO REFOCUS THE TIMEFLOWS AND THE MATTERSTREAMS. YOU WILL ASSIST THIS ONE. YOU WILL DISDAIN ALL OTHERS IN THIS. YOU WILL DO AS THIS ONE INSTRUCTS YOU.

  Okay, I said, imagining my fingers crossed one over the other.

  DECEPTION?

  No, no deception.

  THIS ONE SHALL SEE. YOU WILL TRAVEL TO THE CONFLUX AND ONCE THERE, YOU SHALL ALTER WHAT NEEDS BE ALTERED. BEGIN WITH THE THREE THAT HAVE BETRAYED THIS ONE. THEIR COGNOMINA ARE KNOWN TO YOU. HEL, LUKA, VOWLI. STRIKE THEM FROM THE TIMEFLOW. ERASE THEM FROM THE MATTERSTREAM. THUS IS THE FATE OF THOSE WHO BETRAY THIS ONE.

  Vowli is dead. I…we…killed him.

  CORPOREAL CESSATION IS INSUFFICIENT. NONEXISTENCE IS REQUIRED. NOTHINGNESS CONSIGNED TO THE OUTER DARKNESS IS REQUIRED. THE THREE ARE TO HAVE NEVER EXISTED.

  When I’d met Hel and Luka, they’d appeared as gods to my eye—their powers insurmountable—but as time passed, and I learned the truth and the limits of their abilities, it had seemed less…divine. But Mirkur’s power was…it was as the sun to Hel’s single LED bulb. His hatred snapped and crackled in his mental voice, as did his unimaginable power. But even so, couldn’t his power be the result of another step in the ladder of the unknown? I remembered the look of awe in Krowkr’s eyes…did I appear to him as Mirkur did to me?

  YOUR MIND SWIMS WITH QUERIES.

  Yeah, sorry. It’s my nature, I guess.

  CATECHIZE.

  I couldn’t ask him the real questions, but I had to ask him something. Why can’t you make these changes yourself? Why do you need me to do it?

  AMUSEMENT. THIS ONE IS CONSIGNED TO THE UNDERVERSE, AS ARE ALL THE PLAUINN. WE SOUGHT A PEARL OF WISDOM…A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE…AND THE DISBURSEMENT CHANGED THE PLAUINN.

  Are the Nornir Plauinn?

  AMUSEMENT. THE NORNIR ARE MERELY DREAMSLICE REFLECTIONS OF LESSER PLAUINN, CONSIGNED TO MAINTAIN UHRLUHK ON THE BEHALF AND TO THE SPECIFICATION OF THEIR BETTERS WHERE POSSIBLE. ELUCIDATE YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF THE NORNIR.

  I was… A while ago, an undead bear almost killed me. While my friends fought to save my life, I had these dreams. In some of them, I was at the base of Iktrasitl—

  THE CONFLUX.

  —and the Three Maids were nearby, trying to decide what to do with me, I think.

  AFFIRMATION.

  In another part of the dream, I hung from the branches of Iktrasitl—

  THE CONFLUX.

  —and there was another behind me. Owsakrimmr he said his name was. He gave me knowledge of the Gamla Toonkumowl and the runes. Was he a Plauinn?

  NEGATION. THIS BEING IS UNKNOWN TO ME.

  Mirkur’s voice sounded confident, but there was subtle hesitation in his answer. He was hiding something. But who was—

  ADDITIONAL QUERIES? His voice carried a distinct edge.

  What about the Tisir?

  WHAT OF THEM?

  Are they Plauinn?

  NO. THE PLAUINN ARE THE PLAUINN AND NONE OTHER.

  That sounded an awful lot like Kuhntul saying, “I am Tisir.” I kept that thought tightly wrapped. But the Nornir—

  CEASE. THIS ONE GROWS ENERVATED. PREPARE FOR TRAVEL TO THE CONFLUX.

  Why do you call it the Conflux? The sense of something looming close made me shudder.

  CEASE. BRACE FOR PEREGRINATION.

  Wait! How do I make the changes? How do I get out of there when I’m done?

  INSIGNIFICANCE.

  Without another word, Mirkur flung me away.

  Twenty-seven

  I fell from a great height; the wind whistling in my ears as I shrieked. I’d never liked the sensation of falling—not since the age of five when I fell out of a tree onto its gnarled roots and lost my breath. Below me a great forest stretched from horizon to horizon. Each tree in the forest was immense, yet the grand tree standing in their midst dwarfed them all. I blinked the wind-born tears from my eye and focused on Iktrasitl, scouring its branches for Owsakrimmr and Ratatoskr. As I fell toward the crown of the great tree, my gaze fell on a huge bird—an eagle—that sat regally in the crown of the tree.

  It was the size of a small plane if I could trust my sense of scale next to the huge World Tree. Its plumage ranged in hue from a pitch black on his breast, head, and tail to burnt sienna on the back of his neck and the front edges of his wings—almost similar to highlights in a woman’s hair. Bright yellow down frosted his great beak, and his eyes matched his lighter feathers perfectly. Atop his hooked beak, and right between his eyes, sat a normal-sized hawk dressed in pale brown and ivory feathers. The eagle watched me fall, as still as a statue, but the hawk cracked her beak and emitted a sound that imitated a laughing child with a high degree of accuracy.

  Why would a hawk sit on a giant eagle’s beak like that? I wondered and laughed that a giant eagle sitting atop Iktrasitl seemed normal until I saw the hawk.

  She is my friend, said a voice in my head.

  I don’t mind saying that by that point I was sick to death of things talking inside my head.

  I apologize. Are you aware you are about to die? it asked.

  Die?

  The eagle twitched its head toward the ground. You know…when you hit the ground.

  Oh. Yeah, but there’s not much I can do about that.

  The eagle twitched his head, dislodging the hawk who squawked and flapped her wings in a way that communicated her irritation in a clear enough manner. With a great leap that left the top of Iktrasitl swaying, the eagle was aloft. He beat his wings twice an
d had me in his curiously tender grip. There you are, my friend. How did you get way up in the sky? How did you come to Iktrasitl?

  Do you know about the Plauinn?

  The eagle let loose a pained-sounding cry and dipped his wings, gliding in a descending spiral. Don’t mention them!

  Well, that’s how I came to be falling from the sky.

  Ah. The eagle swooped toward the lower branches of the tree. I apologize, but I can take you no farther. The wyrm at the base of the tree…

  Say no more, I said, thinking of the alternating roars I’d heard in my dreams of the Tree. Are you aware Ratatoskr is perpetuating your fight with the dragon?

  The eagle deposited me on a lower branch and glided away, arching his neck to shoot a glance my way. No, you’ve got that wrong, friend. He carries messages, no more.

  Well, that’s kind of what I mean. Are the messages worthwhile?

  The eagle beat his massive wings and gained altitude. Ignoring the dispute won’t solve it.

  No, I guess not. Before you go, can you tell me your name? Is it Owsakrimmr?

  The eagle squawked, and I got the impression it was a sound of amusement. No, that is not my name—it’s yours. You may call me Tindur.

  Thanks, Tindur. But you’ve got that wrong. My name is Hank Jensen. I was here before—at least in a dream—and someone was in the tree behind me, out of sight. He said his name was Owsakrimmr.

  You are sometimes quite strange. Did you know that?

  So people have told me. The eagle was winging his way toward the top of the tree, his massive shape casting me in shadow. Thanks, Tindur, for saving me.

  My pleasure, Hrafnakuth. We birds have to stick together.

  I shook my head at that. It reminded me so much of something Kuthbyuhrn would say that for a moment loneliness overwhelmed me.

  The hawk settled herself on the branch above my head and made the sound of a child’s laughter again. “Go away,” I said. “The last thing I need is a bird laughing at me.” The hawk jumped from foot to foot, staring me in the eye and bobbing her head from side to side in perfect mimicry of a bobble-head.

  “Yep, you’re cool, but I’m going to be busy climbing, so…”