CurseBreaker

by Taylor Fenner

  Once the rain lets up I gather my things and head for Father’s workshop. The workshop is cool and dark as I step inside, memories of hours spent in here with Father threatening to overwhelm me.

  I dig through the stockpile of Father’s shields, pulling a royal blue one with golden interlocking lines painted on it. From Father’s arsenal, I arm myself with an axe, a sheathed sword, and a bow and quiver of arrows. I fasten the axe and sword into a belt on my waist and sling the quiver over my shoulder, tucking the bow away into my sack. For my own protection, I cover my chest in a layer of chain mail armor. I step back, satisfied that I’m now as prepared as I can be to set off for the unfindable palace.

  Exiting the workshop I say one final goodbye to the house I grew up in. I doubt I will ever return here again.

  As I leave the house and the yard behind a blue mist appears and swirls in front of me, morphing into the last person I expected to see.

  “Thank the gods, Hel,” Siglynn exhales in relief. “I’m so glad I found you.”

  Dyre wakes up in the last place he ever wanted to find himself. Rubbing his cheek to rub away the imprint of the rocky coast Dyre glares angrily up at the crimson palace located east of the sun and west of the moon. The palace and kingdom aren’t located on any map and Dyre himself has no idea where it’s truly located. The palace itself takes up most of an island; the water surrounding it blanketed in a thick fog that has been the ruination of many a ship. Even from the spire on the tallest tower of the castle, nothing can be seen as far as the eye can see. Not another speck of land or any sign of life beyond this cursed land.

  “Are you planning to lie out here all day?” the smoky voice from his nightmares demands as his stepmother comes into view at the top of the hill. Her scarlet lips match her silky gown, starkly contrasting against her icy white skin, black hair and eyebrows, and heavily outlined eyes. To anyone that did not know them, they might mistakenly think Dyre and his stepmother were siblings or some other close relation.

  “Perhaps I am,” Dyre snaps, “what of it?”

  Viveka raises her eyebrow, “there’s no need for hostility, Dyre. This is your home now, get used to it.”

  Dyre stands and starts up the hill against his better judgement. “Still bitter enough that I rejected you to force your monstrous sister upon me, I see. Stepmother,” he adds for insult.

  “Your little friend screwed things up for you all on her own,” Viveka smiles cruelly. Dyre recoils from the feel of his stepmother’s hand on his shoulder.

  “All because of some ridiculous clause in your curse,” Dyre spits angrily. “You will not speak of Hel.”

  “My sister is excited for your upcoming nuptials,” Viveka taunts. Turning to leave she calls over her shoulder, “Welcome home, Dyre. The guards will show you to your room.”

  Dyre cringes. The palace is not a home, just an elaborately overdone prison, his stepmother the gatekeeper. Now that he’s here, there’s no escaping.

  With nowhere else to go Dyre approaches the palace, hoping against his better judgment that somehow Hel will find her way to the palace and free him from this life of misery and hopelessness.

  “Siglynn, what are you doing here?” I ask as I draw closer to where she hovers. “Has something happened with Dyre?”

  “I’m here to help you,” Siglynn whispers urgently as she grasps my hands in hers. “Nobody can know I was here. Gustav thinks I’m putting my life in danger by coming but I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

  “Do you know where the palace Dyre’s stepmother lives in is located?” I ask hopefully.

  “No, that I do not know,” Siglynn shakes her head. “But I can show you a way that will bring you closer to finding Dyre.”

  “Yes,” I nod eagerly. “Anything you can show me will help.”

  “You’ll have to come with me through the mists,” Siglynn explains ruefully. “Where we’re going is not exactly nearby.”

  “You can do that?” I ask nervously.

  “Yes,” Siglynn replies, noticing the worried look on my face. “It’s perfectly safe, not to worry. We’ll get you there in one piece.”

  “It’s whether I’ll be in one piece afterward that I’m worried about,” I mutter.

  Siglynn laughs, “Here, take my hands.”

  I place my hands in hers, the smoke and mist swirling around us, devouring us whole. A breeze picks up and my grip on Siglynn’s hands tightens as we disappear into nothingness. My body is gone, my eyes and mind the only consciousness left like the last bit of life keeping me tethered to the earth. It feels like we’re falling through a spinning gray vortex, but floating at the same time. I want to scream but the sound is caught in my non-existent throat.

  Finally, when I’m not sure I can take any more we reappear in a lush forest, everything more vibrant, green, and healthy than the forests I traveled through with Dyre.

  “Where are we?” I ask Siglynn when I find my voice.

  “North of Lindholm,” Siglynn explains, “this is just part of a larger forest, but this part is mostly undiscovered and left sacred.”

  Even the trees in this part of the forest glow an iridescent greenish brown. A strange energy pulses in the air. “This part of the forest is protected by magic,” I state.

  Siglynn misconstrues my statement for a question, looking at me in shock. “Yes, it is; but how did you know?”

  “I can feel it,” I run my hands over my arms, feeling a sudden chill.

  “Then you are as much a part of the magic as it is a part of you,” Siglynn whispers.

  “Dyre said I had magic in me as well,” I look down, playing with the sleeve of my tunic.

  “Then I am even more sure that you will find the palace and bring him home where he belongs,” Siglynn nods, sure of her words.

  “Where do I go from here?” I ask, squirming under her gaze. “I’ve never been this far north before.”

  “Oh, forgetful me,” Siglynn exclaims, remembering the real reason we’re in the forest. “Come, I will show you.”

  I run to catch up as Siglynn darts through the trees, flashing in and out of existence. I follow her to another part of the forest that pulses with light as if whatever is ahead of us has a beating heart.

  Skidding to a stop I narrowly avoid running right through Siglynn’s misty form. Right in front of us is a doorframe hidden between two towering trees. The door itself reminds me of the intricately carved doors at Dyre’s palace, this one decorated with large curling swirls inlaid with a darker wood fused into the surface. A golden light glows underneath the door and through a slim keyhole.

  “This doorway will take you to the realm you need to be in to find Dyre,” Siglynn tells me, her voice hushed in awe of the magical gateway in front of us.

  I move around her and test the doorknob in my hand. Something within the locking mechanism clicks when I place my hand on the knob and the door swings open, revealing a bright, glittering world beyond.

  “Are you coming?” I turn to ask Siglynn.

  Siglynn eyes the otherworld longingly before shaking her head, “my kind is not welcome where you are going. This is as far as I go. From here you will be on your own.”

  I cross over to Siglynn, hugging her goodbye as her eyes well up with tears, “I’ll be fine,” I confidently proclaim. “Thank you for showing me the way.”

  “Good luck, Hel,” Siglynn sniffles. “May the gods watch over you.”

  I flash a reassuring smile at her, giving her the illusion that I’m not as nervous as I really am then step through the waiting doorway. Once I cross the threshold the door slams shut at my back, sealing me into this unfamiliar new world whether I’m ready or not.

  Chapter Twelve

  There’s no turning back now, so I take one tentative step then another, walking forward until the gateway between the two worlds fades away at my back. The strange new world around me is not one of the nine worlds known to our people but more like a combination of Nidavellir and Alfheim.

 
Rugged lavender mountains are barely visible in the distance and in the foreground luscious green and blue vistas rise up to greet me. I grip my pack tighter in my hand as I follow the path down into a valley and soon become swallowed by a forest of colorful trees twisting around each other and reaching for the sky.

  I stop to admire one of the trees, its’ cracked blue bark rising high into the sky splitting off into gnarly branches that drip leaves the color of smoked salmon. Through the cracks in the bark, I spy tiny bugs with golden wings and narrow little bodies burrowing into the wood and making themselves at home.

  Pushing forward I pass boulders covered in butter colored moss. It’s a struggle to stay on the broken pathway and not get lost exploring the world around me.

  The otherworldly beauty of the forest dims as I trudge forward, walking all day through a spontaneous snowstorm despite the fact that it’s mid-May. Perhaps this is normal for this strange new world. I pull my cloak tightly around myself as the snowflakes land in my hair and on my shoulders, accumulating heavily beneath my feet. It crunches as I stomp through it in my boots, shaking the cold flakes off the tops and cursing when it seeps through one of the holes where the material of my boot has separated from the sole.

  The sky begins to darken and I wonder what I will do for food or shelter to get me through the night. As the thought occurs to me the mouth of a massive cave appears before me.

  I hesitate at the mouth of the cave, debating whether it’s safe to spend the night in, until I hear the howl of a wolf – or some other menacing creature native to this world – and quickly duck into the cave with a bundle of wood I collected when it became clear I would not be reaching my destination tonight.

  My fingers fumble clumsily as I work to start a fire, wishing in vain that I had the magic Dyre possessed to start a fire with so little effort. When the fire eventually sparks off and crackles into a low fire I huddle around it, silently praying it will keep me warm until morning.

  I lay down next to the fire forcing myself to ignore the angry hunger pains in my stomach. There’s nothing I can do about it right now, I’m going to have to go to sleep with an empty stomach.

  I endure three more days of walking through forests, past barren countrysides, and over fast moving rivers. Three more days of walking through heavy snow, sloppy sleet, and treacherous stretches of nearly invisible ice before the temperatures finally begin to warm up and the sun appears in the sky again. The fickle weather has taken its’ toll on me and I’m finally starting to realize Rana wasn’t exaggerating when she said I would be in a weakened state as I recover from Gerda’s poisoning. Not only that, but my boots are finally beginning to wear out after too many years of use. The soles slap wetly against the bottoms of my feet with each step I take and painful blisters form on the bottom of each foot. Eventually the blisters begin to burst and bleed but I’m unable to stop. I have to keep moving.

  Each night I’ve been forced to forage for food and take shelter anywhere I can. Wild animals are scarce so I end up barely surviving on berries and edible plants, the only liquid afforded to me being dirty yellow water I scoop out of the river and try to boil clean over a fire using makeshift bowls from hollowed out logs. One night I end up sleeping amongst the roots of a massive tree, the only benefit of which is the thick leaves overhead that protect me from a light dusting of snow falling that night. Another night I manage to find another small cave but end up leaving in the middle of the night when I hear threatening growling from deeper inside the cave. The third night I find no shelter at all and merely pass out on the ground in the middle of nowhere.

  The fourth morning dawns and I push myself off the ground and wipe my face clean of smudges of dirt from lying face down in the soil. The minute I wake I realize something is different about this day or about this place.

  I force myself into a standing position even as my body screams at me for sleeping on the hard unforgiving ground all night. That’s when I hear it for the first time. It starts on a whisper, voices with indistinguishable words being murmured in the wind. I catch tidbits of words here and there as the wind whips around and through me, chilling me to the bone.

  Each step is a struggle and I hope for refuge from the wind in the dark forest in the distance but the voices only get louder begging me, screaming at me, urging me all in a language I don’t understand. At times the voices sound angry and I fear for my safety, other times the voices sound like they’re begging for help but I’m powerless to help the disembodied voices.

  At the edge of the forest, I encounter the first creature I’ve set eyes on since entering through the gateway, although soon I’ll regret that I didn’t hide behind the nearest tree trunk.

  Directly in front of me sitting beside a bubbling brook, distractedly playing an old song on his violin is a handsome man in a long-sleeved black tunic and fitted black pants. Long untied silver white hair cascades over his shoulder and down to the middle of his back. His skin is evenly tanned, a contradiction to his light hair. At first he’s so absorbed in his enchanting tune he doesn’t realize or acknowledge my presence. But then he looks up at me.

  His amber colored eyes lock on me and a predatory grin lights up his face. “Hello, lass,” he says softly, seeming like he’s no threat at all. “You look like you’ve been traveling long and far.”

  I bite my lower lip hesitantly, “I’ve been on the road for three and a half days.”

  “All by yourself?” the man asks, sounding too eager to hear my response.

  I shake my head quickly, a lie quickly forming on my lips. “No, not alone; I’m traveling with my father but he’s just ahead across the water.”

  “Is that so?” the man asks, seeing right through my lie.

  “Yes,” I nod even as my eye twitches, further giving me away. “I don’t mean to trouble you; I’ll just go around you to cross the water.”

  “You look tired, lass,” the man observes. “Allow me to help you across the brook. The middle can be a little deep in spots.”

  I shake my head, moving down the bank away from the man, “it’s alright, I’ll be careful.”

  “I insist, it’s no trouble at all,” the man’s tone darkens as his hand clamps down on my arm.

  “Let me go,” I yell as he begins dragging me into the water. The frigid water seeps through the remains of my boots and the legs of my trousers, lapping at the hem of my tunic. I struggle to free myself from the man’s hold as he pulls me toward the middle of the brook.

  “Stop squirming,” the man snaps as the sand at the bottom of the brook drops away, leaving me to try to keep myself afloat. The man begins trying to shove my head under the surface and water enters my mouth, choking me and burning my throat as I fight for air. I sputter as I look helplessly into the eyes of the man and nearly recoil at the glowing yellow pupils of his eyes.

  I see him for what he really is, not a beautiful musical man but a malicious Nokken; a river monster who gets off on luring women and children into the water to drown. I try to yell his name to send him away but I choke on another mouthful of water. My vision begins to darken and blur as he forces my whole head underwater but I command myself to think of some way to fight him off.

  Striking out at the Nokken first with my shield to buy myself time, my other hand fumbles for the axe in my belt, missing the handle twice before I finally get a good grip on it. Freeing it from the belt I stare the Nokken straight in the eyes as a diversion as I swing the axe upward, its’ weightiness disappearing underwater. The razor-sharp blade enters the creature’s chest and I can hear his howling below the surface. His grip on me loosens and I swing at him again as my head breaks the surface. The blade lodges in his throat spraying me with droplets of syrupy black blood. I swim backward, out of the monster’s reach as his eyes turn milky and unseeing. A defeated moan slips passed his lips as he collapses backward into the water, sinking beneath the surface. I swim as hard as I can for the opposite shore and drag my body out of the water taking huge heaving breaths.
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  Back on solid ground I topple onto my side and cough up mouthful after mouthful of river water.

  I must lose consciousness because when I open my eyes again the sun is setting and a strange looking woman with ashen, deeply wrinkled skin, a nose like a hook, and long, stringy gray hair is crouching over me. I’m so terrified by my last encounter with another living being I’m frozen where I lay.

  The old hag brushes a chunk of my hair off my face with her gnarled hands, her sharp fingernails scratching my forehead in the motion. “Don’t worry dearie, the Nokken is gone. You washed up in front of my home. I usually keep the Nokken far away from my home but this one must have slipped through.”

  My eyelids flutter open and closed in response. My body is so sapped of energy I can’t move. The old hag sighs and places the back of her hand against my forehead. She frowns, the wrinkles on her face multiplying in worry. “You’re not well, dearie. Come, let’s get you inside.”

  The old woman hoists me to my feet, allowing me to lean on her for support as she takes my pack in her hand and steers me around the base of a lofty crag. On the side of the cliff face is a stone house which the woman pushes the door open to. Inside the house is a small bed, a rocker, and small cooking area.

  “You can change into something dry behind that curtain,” The woman points one gnarled finger toward a curtained off corner of the stone house. Thinking for a minute she sighs, “I suppose you don’t have anything dry to put on do you?”

  I manage to shake my head painfully.

  The hag exhales, “I should have known, you being nearly drowned by the Nokken and all,” she walks over to a small trunk and pulls out an old raggedy dress. “Tis probably too big, but it will have to do. Like I said, you can change behind the curtain and then get straight into bed. I’ll lay out your clothes in front of the fire so they can dry.”

  “Thank you,” I manage to murmur as I accept the dress and stumble behind the curtain. I strip out of my wet clothes and hang them over the curtain rod before pulling the hag’s dress over my head. The fabric feels coarse as it glides over my skin.