by Derek Nelsen
“The weed,” said Kiara, “has Runa beaten it?”
Runa looked alert for the first time since the attack. The only thing giving her away were her eyes. Once the color of the sea, they now favored dark clouds.
“No, it’s just loosed its grip,” said Svikar. “It’s afraid to show itself here, so it’s borrowing her eyes—sees what she sees now.”
“It’s afraid?” Tor raised his eyes and his sword to see what the troll was staring at.
“Don’ run,” Svikar whispered. “Forget all thoughts of turning back.”
Out in front of two towering wooden doors were two hulking sentries—trolls, one head each, twenty feet tall if an inch. Their fat bellies were covered in black, shiny mail. Long noses protruded from under dust-covered, black helms that matched the obsidian walls. Skulking heads rested on broad shoulders covered in matching black plate. Green reflections from beady eyes shone from the shadows under each helm like polished emeralds. Of these eyes, one troll had two, the other only one.
Each wore a heavy iron collar, married to a thick black chain that spilled onto the floor before passing through holes cut into each door. Each chain was made of enough iron to outfit an entire army.
“Steady, everyone,” whispered Svikar. “These be mountain trolls, prone to hiding in the hills. Still as stone, their whispers carry on the wind.”
“They didn’t even turn to look at us. They’re covered in dust.” Kiara’s mouth hung open, as if by being very still she could better see them move. They didn’t. “Are they statues?”
Dear God, Tor thought, or maybe he was praying; even he couldn’t tell. But he hoped Kiara was right. If these two were warnings, they’d succeeded.
Like the crash of falling trees, synchronized knocks came from the other side of those doors.
“Weed,” Tor whispered. When none came, he looked down to see Svikar crunching down the last piece. Trolls! He had to bite his cheek to keep from slapping the beast. That’s when Tor noticed the tails. Each coarse-haired whip had been hidden among the chains. Each were tipped with balls of black iron.
The first proof they were alive was when the mountain trolls swung those devastating maces to rap the doors. The sound echoed so loud that Kiara hit her head against the wall. If the draugar were remnants of the dead, the trolls had just woken them all up.
Other than the mountains themselves, in all his years of hunting, Tor had never seen anything stand so still. It was as if God had breathed life into stone when the creatures picked up their chains and started walking their way.
“We will not die without you,” Tor whispered as he pinched one of the Svikar’s pointy ears. “If you’ve betrayed us, I’m going to cut your head into pieces until I find that soul of yours. Then I’ll offer it to those weeds burning high up on the wall.”
“You should thank me, Viking,”—Svikar spit red sauce onto the floor—“because I’m the only one here willing to give your poor wife what she’s been praying for.” Then Svikar got serious. “Besides, it’s not those poor fellas you’ve got to worry about.”
Svikar wasn’t lying. The chains stopped the trolls ten feet short of where they cowered. A mere two steps for those monsters. They looked sullen and uninterested, except for a one-eyed glance at a wayward goat.
With a deep click, the doors unlatched from the other side, and the two brutes took a knee. With disproportionately long arms, they pushed forward on their chains, and the doors opened.
On the other side were two more trolls, kneeling sentries equal in size and dress to their mates.
A warm glow filled the hall as a beautiful woman sauntered into the doorway. “Glad to see you made it alright, Svikar.” Her voice was soft and calm.
“Some of me, anyway,” replied the head. Svikar’s face lurched forward on Kiara’s chest, as if trying to will her to bow.
The Goddess
She was beautiful. Her glory filled the room like the sun. In her presence, the flaming weeds that had been lighting the hall were now bright and green, reminding Kiara of Ireland on a summer afternoon. The mountain trolls were no longer. Instead, black pillars held up decorated ceilings where they’d knelt. And the once ominous doors now shown—inviting, white, and grand, inlaid with a pattern that matched the lady’s white flowing gown, which sparkled as if embroidered with diamond thread.
Before Tor could stop her, Runa was leading the way to the lady. On the approach, Kiara’s eyes squinted to adjust to this new light, the first good light she’d seen since...since she’d said goodbye to Erik. How long ago had that been? What had seemed so dark, deep, and heavy a place was now bright and airy. Transformed. She hoped Erik was safe.
Runa looked strong again and knelt before her. The lady took her hand and whispered something in her ear.
“An-an angel,” Kiara stammered and stared.
“Kneel before her,” came a whisper.
Kiara turned, fully expecting the two mountain trolls to be hovering over her, breathing down the back of her neck. Nothing.
“Goddess.” Tor kneeled. He tried to force Kiara down, but she pulled away.
“Kneel or see death.” A more ominous whisper floated into her other ear, more of a feeling than a sound.
Kiara turned to the other pillar.
“Kneel, fool,” said Svikar. “If not for your head, do it for mine.”
“Are you here to save her?” Kiara stared at the beautiful woman. She had never seen such eyes, green, like the sea, calm, and still, yet deep in a way that made her afraid.
The woman approached and lifted Kiara’s soul ring as easily as if it were her own. “So, this is what I’ve been hearing. These halls have not heard those sour notes before. At first it shook me to hear them again. Will you play it for me?” she asked.
“Is this a test, lady?”
“Yes.” Her eyes softened, and she caressed Kiara’s cheek. Her touch was cold. “You played it for God, and as a reward he sent you here. Play for me, and see that I will treat you better.”
“I would ask that you play to our Lord for both of us, lady, for your notes would no doubt be sweeter. Where is your instrument?”
The lady looked startled at the request. A sadness overshadowed her arrogance. Then her eyes narrowed, and her melancholy twisted into a defiant pride as she reached a hand into her bosom, unconcealed like the rest of her by her sheer flowing gown.
She withdrew a ring much the same as Kiara’s, except it was covered in the finest gold, like a rich man or a priest might wear. But that was only the first.
Slowly the angel teased out another, then another, each more beautiful than the last. As they piled up at her feet, each was bright and polished as if she’d given this jewelry as much attention as she might have given her own perfectly coiffed hair, or a mirror.
Where it came from, Kiara could not tell, but came it did. By the time the lady pulled out her soul, she was standing ankle-deep in a pile of gold chain so beautiful that no Viking or king—or even the Pope—had likely ever seen a treasure its equal.
Kiara felt embarrassed by her dry, cracked soul and found herself tucking it back into her shirt.
A length of white ribbon looped through the lady’s own soul, making it the first and most beautiful link in the necklace. The ribbon disappeared through a small hole in the second most beautiful ring she wore, a dazzling yellow gold choker resting tightly around her throat.
Both her choker and her soul were adorned with precious gems that painted her aura with many hues of reds, blues, and greens. The gems were set atop what looked to have been an inscription where Kiara’s soul had only cracks and fissures. The rest of the priestly rings paled in comparison. As the lady admired her ring, for it was impossible not to, Kiara noticed the center had been filled, and inside was the sparkling graven image of a dragon.
Startled by the likeness, Kiara withdrew. Her priest taught that the dragon was symbolic of Satan himself.
As if she were reading her mind, the lady’s glory dimmed a
long with her façade. Suddenly, Kiara was reminded of the cave’s dark stone walls that the woman covered with her magic like a clean rug thrown over a dirty floor.
“I haven’t played since before time began, or so it seems,” the mistress purred. “Yet, unlike yours, the sound mine made was beautiful.” Her light shone brighter, and the room slipped back to reflect only beauty and light again. “I don’t think I could bring myself to play it now.” Her eyes looked wet and beautiful as she lost herself. Then her voice turned cooler.
“Would you like me to play for you?” Kiara asked.
“To me?” she asked.
“To God,” Kiara clarified.
The lady dropped her ring into her blouse, and her necklace sounded like thunder as it was dragged back to invisibility. The lady’s eyes became a rousing storm.
“Why are you here?”
“Beautiful lady,”—Tor bowed his head—“my wife was attacked by a draugr, and I think she might be dying.”
“I can see that.” The lady turned her attention back to Kiara. “But why are you here?”
Kiara stood up straight. “I have been wronged, lady—dragged from my home by Vikings. This man and his family protected me.” Kiara looked at Runa and thought about how much she should say. “The Vikings had us sacrificed. Now we are lost, lead here by this troll. He said you could help her.”
Svikar winced as the lady pinched his ear with the tips of her sharp nails and waved his ugly head in Kiara’s face. “Do you believe you’re here because of a troll—or them?” She pointed a long finger toward Tor and Runa. “Are you so blind that you cannot see? Or are you just a liar?” She lifted the ring dangling around Kiara’s neck. “This is why you are here! Look at your soul.” Her splendor turned dark, like an inglorious shadow, even as Kiara’s ring shone brighter, highlighting its every flaw. “It’s because of this filthy little instrument. Each crack, each blemish, is of your own doing. Maybe there is finally justice in Heaven! The truth is you are not worthy, and I am your reward!”
“My soul is filthy, lady, but at least it still serves its purpose.”
“Are you speaking down to me?”
“No,” said Kiara. “I’m agreeing with you.” Kiara put her soul to her lips, closed her eyes, and began to play. Assuming her life was about to end, she wanted to die worshiping her God.
Any splendor left in the room faded, along with the lady’s beauty and allure. For a moment, it was as if the truth overpowered her. The smoky, gray light of the burning weeds became visible once more, and the stark reality of the underworld that she’d been masking reemerged.
The lady took Svikar by the hair and swung him at Kiara, using his squishy head to knock her ring out of her hands. That stopped the playing, and Kiara focused on wiping the greasy residue from her face with her sleeve.
“Thank you,” said the lady. “That noise is giving us all a headache.”
Runa’s face had fallen to the floor, but Tor had been watching when reality temporarily slipped through.
“Bow your head in my presence!”
Tor moved his head down but kept his eyes up, and Kiara noticed him shift his hand to the hilt of his sword. The lady turned the head around to berate the troll, who now looked meek and frightened.
“Why would you bring her here?”
“Svin and I were just going out to the graveyard, mum. Thinking of taking in some air—maybe grabbing a bite.”
“Does she look dead to you?” She held the head up to face the Christian. Then down to Tor. “Does he?” Svikar cringed as she flailed him by his ear. “You’re the one who looks dead to me, Svikar.”
“Please, mum. The weeds got one. Then they got ‘er, too.” He craned a bulging eye down at Runa, who held perfectly still in her reverence. “’Twas ‘er soul that lead us here. Ask ‘er.”
“It looks like this girl used you to get to me, not the other way around, Svikar. Where is your brother Svindl?”
There was no more snark left in the troll. “Is he not here? I was hoping you would—”
“Hoping? Speak to me again as if I’m here to grant wishes and I’ll feed that forked tongue of yours to the others. I should give your eyes to your sisters! Even in their blindness, they’ve managed to hold onto their heads.” She looked beyond them into the darkness from which they had come.
“Lady, I—” Svikar started, but the lady cut him off again.
“This must be one of his tricks.” Her eyes calmed again, and a chill filled the hall, as it did when the world turned to bury the sun under the horizon.
“They were marked, mum. I smelled Old Erik on their scarfs,” said Svikar. “Thought he might have meant ‘em for you.”
“Old Erik? Is that what he calls himself? I thought the Allfather liked the titles. I rot down here in this prison while he plays charades with filthy humans!”
“It’s not fair, mum.” Svikar’s ugly face relaxed as she cradled his gourdish head in her arm and ran her sharp looking nails through his thin, grimy hair. She held the head close, the way a distracted mother might carry her baby. One of Svikar’s bulging, green eyes squished tight against the side of her bosom.
“We made a bargain, and that old demon owes me rings!” She pulled Svikar’s long nose up to hers. “Instead, he sends me a dead woman, a slave, and a warrior—and you probably can’t even tell me which is which.”
She dropped the head down to her side and ambled over to Tor.
“Lady.” He feigned a bow.
“Shhhhh,” she whispered as she looked down at Runa, who looked like she was bowing—until she snored. “Your beautiful wife is dying, and her soul was right to lead her to me.” The lady stooped to lift Runa’s ring and frowned when she saw the image of Freyja stamped onto a silver coin bound inside—like a little picture frame. “I will be her goddess. And I will set her free.”
Runa woke as the lady dropped Svikar’s head next to hers—probably because of the smell.
“I see you brought me a gift,” said the lady to Runa. She circled Tor the way a dog circled a spot to find the right place to pee. Her eyes followed her fingers as she dug them up into his graying, blond hair, then traced them down onto his broad shoulder and along a strong arm. As she circled, she edged closer, inhaling him as her fingers ran up his abdomen. Careful to avoid his wounds, her fingers traced around the cut across his chest. “Maybe you are right, Svikar. Perhaps this was meant to be a gift for me after all.”
“She’s only here because of me,” said Tor. “We came with nothing, but if you save her, I will do anything you want.”
She ran her finger around the scar on Tor’s chest where he’d had his soul taken. “Who’d you give it to? Did you trade it for an arm ring?” She smiled as she traced his triceps with her sharp nails. “Or did you drop it into the sea as a gift to Rán to save you from a storm?”
Runa looked up at her husband, drained and confused.
“Can you help her?” he asked.
The lady allowed the edges of her down-turned lips to climb into a smile. “You will give me a blood sacrifice.”
“Ja.” Tor looked around for a goat. He couldn’t believe it—not one.
“We’ll figure that out later, Viking.” She gave his bicep a squeeze.
Like rolling thunder, two hairy tails swung until their iron tips cracked together like a shutting gate.
“My name is Hella. Follow me.”
The Offer
Beyond the gate, everything was better. The walls gave way and the ceiling opened up. Even the air was fresher. It was a new world. And there was something else—no goats.
The lady led Tor by the arm next to a river. Runa followed close behind, and Kiara stumbled forward with Svikar in hand, splitting her attention between what lay ahead and the massive columns she knew to be mountain trolls in disguise behind.
There was no clear path. Lush green vines covered more columns, the only markers of distance and space. Dressed as stone trees, their branches reached high overhead to
hold up a rising ceiling.
The transformation was incredible—even beautiful—but Kiara didn’t trust any of it. For all she knew, they were being led into a pantry for hungry giants and their beautiful guide was just the bait. She’d gotten her hooks into Tor quickly enough.
It wasn’t long before the ceiling rose so high it disappeared altogether, replaced by a twinkling, almost starry expanse.
She looked around, trying to figure out a way back for when this dreamy place inevitably turned back into a nightmare. The light in the distance gave off a cool glow. Had it not been for the circumstances, it would’ve reminded her of a nice, warm evening stroll, like the kind her family used to take back home in Ireland.
Home. Salty tears trickled down her cheeks. She wondered if she’d ever stop grieving for everything she’d lost and left behind.
Runa didn’t seem to notice the sky or the scenery, but she kept up well enough. The twinkling light was barely enough to cast shadows, but was enough to highlight a rolling landscape.
Hella lead them through a gate, almost exactly the same as the one on the goat pen at Tor’s farm. Tor pulled his arm away from the lady as soon as it slammed shut.
On the other side, a long table had been set—five places, even one for Svikar, the head. Kiara’s stomach growled at the site of it. She hadn’t eaten since the morning Erik left, and she’d lost track of time long ago. A day? A week? Without a sun, who could tell in that place?
Hella sashayed toward a curtain of pulsing blue vines and took her seat on a gold and silver throne at the head of the table. A warm, dry breeze swept through Kiara’s hair as it poured in from behind the throne. She didn’t have to ask what was behind the curtain. She remembered Runa pointing the way from the ledge overlooking the abyss. Tor must’ve remembered, too, because he winced when the lady took her seat.
