by Resa Nelson
The footsteps came to a halt. Something sniffed on the opposite side of the wall.
Benzel reassured himself that his end would probably be quick. He hoped he wouldn’t feel pain.
Steady breath heaved, and claws raked across the wall.
“You’re not one of them,” the creature said. “You’re not a Scalding.”
Benzel braced for the worst but stood tall. “I’m not. My name is Benzel of the Wolf. Formerly, Benzel of Heatherbloom.”
“Heatherbloom,” the creature said. “What is Heatherbloom?”
For the first time in his life, Benzel had met someone who didn’t already know about him. It caught him off guard, and he spoke up. “The village where I was born. When I was a boy, the berserkers attacked it. I’m the only one who survived.”
“Berserkers,” the creature said. “I know of berserkers.”
“You know them? I need to find them.”
He thought he heard the monster growl.
“Find them?” the thing said. “To become one of them? To become a berserker?”
“No!” Revolted by the idea, Benzel slammed his fist against the wall standing between them. “To kill them. Every last one of them.”
Silence filled the space between them. Benzel waited patiently.
“Help me,” the creature said, “and I will tell you where to find the berserkers.”
CHAPTER 17
After striking a bargain with the beast, Benzel spent the rest of the night in the sphere room. Early the next morning, he opened its door and followed the open hallway back to the spiral staircase. Climbing higher in the tower, Benzel then walked down a high-walled narrow hallway that took him outside to the tower roof. A wall of jagged stone teeth ringed the large stone surface beneath his feet.
Benzel leaned against the wall and stared at the ocean below. The sun hadn’t come up yet, but pale light spreading across the horizon announced its approach.
Was last night real?
He didn’t know how to explain what happened, much less how to do what the creature had asked of him without the Scaldings becoming suspicious.
Over and over, Benzel wondered if he’d truly seen a monster rise out of the earth below the stone floor of the tower or if his eyes had played tricks.
But even up here where he stood in the fresh sea air, Benzel could smell the putrid death waiting to greet him at the bottom of the tower.
The thought that he’d struck a deal with a berserker tempted Benzel, but he knew better.
That was no berserker. I struck a deal with a monster.
The image of the dragon-like beast swinging its gigantic claws like weapons burned into his memory so fiercely that he couldn’t forget it.
Snip must never know.
Benzel considered his options. Snip would be grateful that he’d saved her husband’s life by insisting he stay out of the tower, but she’d find out how most of his remaining family had been slaughtered while Benzel had been spared. What if she found out the monster had offered a bargain and Benzel had accepted it?
She’d hate me. She’d blame me for the deaths of the Scaldings. I can’t tell her I was willing to let them die for the sake of saving her life. She wouldn’t understand.
The thought worried him. Benzel had never been a skilled liar, not when it came to something as important as this.
The best solution would be to tell as much of the truth as made sense and be vague about the rest.
Deep in thought, Benzel walked the perimeter of the wall at the top of the tower. He noted the land on the opposite side of the island. Some of it could be kept as pastures for grazing while the flattest part would make good fields for crops. Looking at the dock below, he saw how it could be built up and extended.
The cry of gulls caught his attention, and Benzel gazed beyond the Tower Island dock toward the shore of the Northlands. In the middle of the ocean between them, a Northlander ship glided through the choppy waves like a hot dagger blade through a clump of butter. Its dragon-like body stayed low in the water, led by a fierce, open-jawed masthead and trailed by a curled wooden tail. The ship bore a single square red sail that billowed and snapped in the wind.
The ship sailed directly toward Tower Island.
Now what?
Putting aside his worries about what Snip would think of him, Benzel raced down the tower stairway. More concerned about the incoming ship than the carnage on the main floor, he picked his way through the bodies, cleared away the furniture used last night to block the doorway to the outside world, and rushed out to the courtyard.
He found it empty.
Did the monster lie to me? Did it change its mind?
Has it already killed the rest of the Scaldings?
Benzel’s blood raced so quickly through his veins that it made his body tremble.
Remembering where he’d told Sven to take refuge with the children and the mothers who volunteered to stay with them instead of fight, Benzel spotted the house at the farthest point from the tower and ran toward it. He pulled up short at the home’s closed door, which he expected to be bolted and blockaded from inside.
Bracing for the possibility of no answer and a house full of dead bodies, Benzel banged his fist against the wooden door. “Sven!”
For several long moments, Benzel tensed because he heard no sound come from the house.
Finally, a commotion came from the other side of the door. Eventually, it opened.
Benzel sighed with relief at the sight of his brother-in-law’s face. “You’re safe.”
Sven stepped into the courtyard, but the other Scaldings stayed inside the house. Sven looked all around. “Where’s my family?”
Benzel hesitated. The moment he had been dreading arrived.
Tell as much of the truth as you can bear. Then distract him with more.
“I heard a noise in the tower,” Benzel said. “I saw the monster.”
Sven paled. “You saw it?”
Benzel nodded. “It came up out of the earth under the tower floor. It looked like the body of a dragon but had no tail and walked on two feet. Its claws were like swords.” He couldn’t stand to see the confusion on Sven’s face and looked down. “The monster killed them all.”
“All?” Sven’s confusion deepened. He found resolve. “That can’t be. You’re wrong.”
When Sven tried to walk past, Benzel stopped him. “I’m sorry,” Benzel said.
Sven jerked away. “They’re all dead but you still live? How can that be?” He shoved Benzel aside and ran to the tower. But when Sven reached the threshold of its entrance, he paused.
Benzel ran to catch up. By the time he reached the tower, Sven held onto the doorframe to steady himself.
When Sven spoke, his voice trembled. “I can’t tell who anybody is.” His eyes brimmed with tears. “All the faces are torn away.”
“Come outside,” Benzel said. He reached forward and took Sven by the arm and tugged. “Let’s talk outside.”
Sven let Benzel guide him back out of the tower.
Benzel understood the stunned look in Sven’s eyes. Benzel remembered what it felt like to try to make sense of the world after monsters killed your family.
At the same time, Benzel relaxed as the pressure to lie lifted. Now he could tell the truth, even if he dressed it up a bit. “The monster talked to me.”
“Talked?” Sven’s face strained with even greater disbelief. “How can a monster talk?”
Ignoring the question, Benzel said, “It spared my life because it could tell I’m not a Scalding. It told me to give a message to the rest of you.”
“What message?”
Ready to distract Sven with untainted truth, Benzel changed the subject. “It can wait. A ship is headed toward the island’s dock. I saw it from the tower. We need to be ready to defend ourselves.”
Like every Northlander, Sven kept his weapon at hand at all times in case he needed it. While Benzel had only a dagger tucked under his belt, Sven wore a proper swo
rd at his waist, sheathed in a scabbard. At the mention of an incoming ship, Sven’s expression turned serious, and he appeared to push his shock and grief aside for the time being. He placed a hand on his sword’s pommel, ready to withdraw it at a moment’s notice. “What kind of ship?”
“Northlander. But not one I recognize.”
Sven took a step back inside the house and called out to the women and the oldest children to arm themselves and follow him to the dock.
Benzel noticed that every one of them carried a sword. No one had anything as fancy as a dragonslayer’s sword, considered to be the finest weapon ever made. Instead, they had short swords. He hadn’t seen the Scalding women and children with their own swords before. He recognized their weapons as ones held by the Scaldings that had been killed by the monster in recent days.
Except for his time in Bellesguard when he trained among dragonslayers, Benzel had never seen so many weapons in the same place at once. No one in Heatherbloom, Bubblebrook, or Hidden Glen had ever owned a sword. Even a short sword required a certain degree of wealth to obtain, and the Scaldings appeared to have dozens of short swords.
Everyone knew the quickest way to get rich was to become a blacksmith or a thatcher, because those skills were always in demand. Everyone needed nails and plow blades and tools. Thatched roofs were good for only so long and always needed repair.
But he’d never known any blacksmith or thatcher to accumulate enough riches to afford a sword. His Uncle Kjartan never once talked about the possibility of buying a sword. He rarely needed to defend himself but always did so with a dagger, axe, or scythe.
Where did the Scaldings get their wealth?
Benzel rushed to keep pace with Sven, who hurried toward the dock. By the time they arrived, the strange ship skimmed alongside the dock, and a well-weathered man jumped onto it from the ship’s deck.
Sven relaxed and said, “Cousin!”
Benzel watched in surprise while Sven and the other survivors greeted a shipload of Scaldings. There appeared to be twenty of them, mostly men in their thirties and forties. While Benzel had experienced unease about all the Scaldings he’d met so far, this new shipment of them gave him even greater pause. Their manner struck him as rougher and more careless than the others.
Where have they been? Why weren’t they already here with the rest of the Scaldings?
He eavesdropped on their conversations, which consisted mostly of Sven relaying the events of the past several days. Gradually, all other discussions faded away until everyone paid rapt attention to Sven. When he ended with Benzel’s account of last night’s massacre, everyone turned and stared at Benzel.
“This makes no sense,” the weathered cousin said. “Why would a monster spare a man instead of killing him like the rest?”
That instant felt like a bright, shining opportunity, and Benzel stepped into it. “Because I’m not a Scalding,” he said.
“What does that have to do with anything?” the weathered cousin said.
Benzel felt relieved to tell the purest truth of all. “Because the monster and his kin created Tower Island. This is their home. It’s the Scaldings who have stolen it away. That’s why the monster is killing your family. You’re hurting him and his family, and they’re making you pay for it.”
CHAPTER 18
The new batch of Scalding adults followed Sven and Benzel into the tower, where they surveyed the carnage left behind from the previous night’s slaughter.
Benzel paid close attention to how Sven responded and felt relieved when his brother-in-law paled and steadied himself against the wall at the sight of his dead mother, father, and other kin.
Sven may be the best of the lot. He’s different than the rest. He’s the first I’ve seen to show anything other than anger.
For the first time, Benzel wanted to help keep Sven alive instead of doing it solely for the sake of his sister.
The other Scaldings didn’t seem to mind stepping in the blood of their relatives while walking around them and examining the scene.
The weathered man who had first climbed off the ship pointed at the decapitated body of Sven’s mother. “That’s a ragged cut. Either the blade that made it needs a good sharpening, or it wasn’t done by a blade.”
Benzel reached out to catch Sven by the arm when his knees weakened. Benzel whispered, “There’s no reason for you to stay. Go and get some rest.”
Sven hesitated to answer, and Benzel took the opportunity to guide him through the door and out into the fresh air. “Go,” Benzel repeated.
With a reluctant nod, Sven walked away. He paused and looked back. “Tell Karl what you know. He’ll know what to do.” Sven continued his trek across the courtyard.
Benzel stood in the open doorway and watched Sven stride away. Benzel had seen enough of the butchery in the tower and saw no reason to linger.
Let the Scaldings wallow in it.
Lost in thought, Benzel didn’t know how much time had passed when the weathered man placed a callous hand on his back.
“We have questions,” he said.
Benzel turned around. “Karl?”
The weathered man chortled. “Of course.” He gestured at the bloodshed inside the tower. “Tell us again what happened. Tell us every detail you remember.”
Benzel remained standing on the threshold, neither inside the tower nor outside. He pointed at the stone floor. “Those stones shifted and moved. A creature came up out of the dirt. His skin looked like the scales of a dragon, but he stood on two feet. He had long claws on each hand, and his arms were huge. He swung them around like swords. None of your people had a chance.”
Karl kicked at the nearest pavement stone. “The floor is solid enough now.”
“It was solid enough before the monster pushed the stones aside. Why should anyone be surprised that he pushed them back in place when he returned to the earth?”
“Back?” Karl said. “Sven said there’s a place under this floor. A room, maybe a cavern.” He glanced at the closed door, still barricaded, that led to the steps winding below ground. “That’s where the monster came from. That’s where we’ll find him.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Karl frowned. “Do you challenge me, boy?”
Benzel kept a steady and calm voice. “I saw the monster rise up out of the earth and return into it. And you can see for yourself that the door is still barricaded, just as your kin left it.”
The rest of the Scaldings talked at once and argued with each other. One by one, they withdrew their swords and looked around the room in anxiety as if the monster might reappear at any second.
“Quiet!” Karl yelled. He looked first at the door and then back at Benzel. “You said no one had a chance against that thing.” He slid his own sword out of its sheath and rested its point between his feet against the stone floor. “Then why are you still alive?”
“I heard a noise in the tower and went to investigate. That’s when the monster attacked. I was out of its reach.”
“And like a coward, you did nothing.”
“I tried. The creature put an obstacle in my way, and I couldn’t get past it.”
“You tried.” Karl pursed his lips and twisted the pommel to make his sword spin in place.
“The monster spared me because I’m not a Scalding,” Benzel said. “Sven already told you that. And now I’ll explain how you can save your own lives.” Benzel stepped to one side to allow enough space for a man to walk past him in the doorway. “Leave now. Give Tower Island back to the creatures who created it.”
The Scaldings laughed.
Karl smirked. “Give up a tower covered in gold? Never.”
Benzel shrugged. “Then the monster will kill the rest of you. Is that what you want? To see your entire clan wiped out?”
Karl grabbed the hilt of his spinning sword to make it stop. “Impossible.”
Benzel pointed at the bloody floor and the dead bodies littered across it. “I’d say the monster is doing a f
ine job of killing off your family so far. If I had to wager, I’d put my money on the monster.”
The Scaldings argued again. Their voices climbed the walls in anger and frustration, echoing throughout the tower.
“I can make it stop,” Benzel said.
Karl waved his cousins and brothers into silence. “You?” he said in disbelief. “How?”
It’s working. The monster’s plan is working.
Benzel had expected it would take hours to snag the Scaldings’ interest, possibly days. He felt so excited at this unexpected success that he had to force himself to keep from smiling.
“I’ll need a sword,” Benzel said. “And if I succeed, I’ll need ownership of Tower Island.”
CHAPTER 19
The Scaldings argued with Benzel throughout the day until Sven reminded them of every night when the monster had murdered Scaldings in their sleep and the fact that no Scalding survived those attacks. Sven pointed out that the only survivor—and the only witness who could explain what happened—was Benzel.
Biding his time, Benzel brought up another matter, one that weighed on his own mind. “I’ve never seen a creature like this one before. It’s no dragon. It speaks like a man. What if it’s a god, not a monster?”
Benzel thought back to his time in the port of Gott and his visit with the alchemist. He remembered her help in striking a deal with the Northlander gods: they would help him find the berserkers so he could kill them, and in return he’d promised to give his first-born child to the gods.
He’d been aggravated because the gods had failed to deliver on their promise in an urgent fashion. He’d wasted years in the Southlands while the dragonslayers trained so one could replace Sinchetto. Benzel had kept his ears open to every rumor about berserkers even though they were few and far between. At every chance he went searching for berserkers that locals or traveling merchants claimed to have seen, and never found a single one.
Maybe it takes a monster to find berserkers. What if this creature is the gods’ way of giving me the help they promised?