Sihr strangely felt no fear as he felt the Norns were not about to put scissors to his thread. He grabbed an unspent dry torch from the wall and entered the tunnel. He looked around the mouth of the tunnel and found the latch that Orlough must have used to open the door from inside the tunnel. For some reason, he pulled the latch and the hidden door swung back into place, sealing him in. He walked slowly into the tunnel determined to find where the tunnel led.
The sputtering sound of the torch was his only companion. He could still see the blood drops, so knew he was going in the right direction. After about 20 feet, he saw the lip of the top of the stairs. Carefully he went down the stairs, counting as he went. At the bottom, he had counted 50 steps.
He looked at the floor. It was clean and built from interlocking stone. He held the torch aloft and did not hit the ceiling, but he could see it. From floor to ceiling must have been about 14 feet. He reached out a hand and felt one wall, then shuffled over to find the other wall. It was about 10 feet in distance. He touched the wall again and brought the torch to bear. Bricks, he noticed, the entire walls were built with bricks in an arch. It must be this arch that gave the tunnel its strength. How long had the tunnel stood, he could not fathom. But he knew that the way it had been built and designed, that it could have been hundreds if not thousands of years. And that, if left alone and undisturbed, it could stand for hundreds more.
He tried to imagine the direction of the tunnel, where it went. He felt no moisture, so figured it did not lead to any river or swamp. Although, by his calculations, he felt he must be below water level. The tunnel was flat, except for the initial stairs, which must have been designed to ensure that the tunnel ran underneath all buildings, even their basements.
He kept walking. He had been walking for what felt like hours, but were most probably just tens of minutes, when he felt the floor angle upward in a gentle slope. He continued walking and, after a short while, felt slight pains in his legs at having to walk up at this angle. The run from the Paupers Temple to find Farling and the run back had been especially hard on his legs. He continued walking, then noticed a step in the near distance. He stopped for a short rest. Sihr looked at the burning torch and figured he had many minutes still left for it to burn and provide him with light. The unused torch he would use to light his way back down the tunnel, unless the tunnel came out somewhere that he recognized. Then, he would just find his way back to the Paupers Temple above ground.
He counted the steps as he climbed: 80 steps. At the top, his legs burned. He stopped again for another short rest, then began looking for a latch to open the door. He found it easily and pulled. He realized the latches on the inside of the tunnel were easy to find: it was the latches on the outside that were hidden and disguised.
A gust of fresh air blew into the tunnel, almost blowing the torch out. Sihr walked outside and gazed up through all the branches and leaves at the star-filled night. The moon was almost full and blazed brightly down filtered through the canopy. Sihr had noticed all the blood drops along the entire length of the tunnel and on the stairs. He marveled at Orlough’s vitality that he had been able to make it down all the stairs, across the tunnel, and up the other stairs under the Paupers Temple.
Sihr looked around for the hidden catch that would close the door. After a few minutes searching, he found it, and pulled. The door swung silently shut.
Sihr looked around to get his bearings. He found some stairs that looped back and over on top of the hidden entrance to the tunnel. There, through all the trees, he gazed back on Trondheim, its many torches and other lights twinkling lazily in the night. He could hear waves crashing against the bottom of the cliff and then had a strong guess where he might be: beyond the Hive, beyond the Paupers Temple Cemetery, and just deep enough in the forest of Trillemarka.
Why had Orlough been out here alone? Well, maybe not alone, as someone hurt him. And with those thoughts, Sihr now felt a strong jolt of fear turning his bowels to water. He wished he could hide and douse the torch suddenly. Then he remembered he was a priest of the Paupers Temple and that he had no debt to pay to anyone, no one wished him dead. But what had Orlough done that someone had dealt Orlough a mortal blow?
Gathering his courage, Sihr searched the ground looking for broken blades of grass or drops of blood that would give more clues as to where Orlough had been. He found some markings and headed deeper into the forest along what he felt was an old path. After a few dozen steps, the forest cleared, and he could see the stars now very clearly. With no branches or leaves, the moon lit the opening almost as much as the sun on a cloudy day.
Sihr stood at the edge of an enormous clearing. He started to walk towards it, then noticed he had to climb over masonry and building stones. An old building, these must have been part of its walls he reckoned. He clambered over the stones, then made it to the building’s floor. This was still relatively smooth, though covered in moss and other growth.
At the far end stood a statue covered in vines and moss. He walked towards it to get a better look. He still caught glints of reflections from blood drops, so knew Orlough had been there.
In front of the statue the ground was scuffled, and the moss torn. Here must have been the fight where Orlough had been stabbed. And there, glinting in the light of his torch was a blood-covered knife. Without touching it, Sihr knew that was the knife that had stabbed Orlough. He heard something, and paused. But no voices or sounds reached his ear over the sound of his torch.
His heart in his mouth, Sihr began to clear away some of the growth from the statue. He saw some words etched into the base and grew emboldened. He tore away more, until enough words were visible that he recognized the name.
“Freya,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper. “I am standing in an ancient temple dedicated to Freya.”
Howls sounded through the forest making Sihr almost drop his torch. He gibbered in mortal fear as he recklessly bolted across the temple floor, bounded down the broken walls, down the old path back towards the hidden door.
The torch flame almost blew out he ran so fast, the pain in his legs forgotten. At the hidden door he found the latch and the door opened. He jumped in and frantically searched for the latch that would close the door. He chanced a look outside and his mouth dropped open in stark panic.
Running towards him were two of the biggest hounds he had ever seen. His fingers scrambled at the wall trying to find the latch. With a cry he found it and pulled, begging to Odin for the door to close faster.
As the door closed Sihr breathed a sigh of relief. Never again would he travel like this on his own. Rickters, though old, was still quite handy with a sword.
Loud scratches at the door snapped him alert. The hounds had followed him. Without hesitation he ran down the tunnel taking the stairs two steps at a time. He did not stop until he was safely in the basement of the Paupers Temple where he collapsed on the floor, exhausted.
CHAPTER 12
The Undead
As Farling, Grum, and Arastead walked back to Bringon’s forge, Arastead said: “Orlough spoke of a jeweled belt. Do you suppose he saw it after he had chewed visionflower?”
Farling shrugged, said: “I know what you are trying to say, Arastead, and I have doubts as well. Still, there is something about Orlough that makes me want to believe him. Besides, what is the harm in trying what he suggests? Salt in our boots, we will just clean them afterwards. And if the salt does not work when we board the ship, we will just jump back in the water like everyone else. You are both strong swimmers?”
“Aye,” said Grum, “we were taught how to swim at the School.”
“As long as we are fine with the risks,” said Arastead. “How do we know there is nothing dangerous on board the ship guarding the belt?”
“That is why we need our weapons,” said Farling.
At the forge, Farling pulled a sword and scabbard from the wall and strapped it to his back. Arastead grabbed his quarterstaff and slipped some long knives in his belt. Gr
um had his bow and arrows and also armed himself with knives.
Farling found where Clara kept her dry kitchen supplies and took a bag of salt.
Arastead broke the silence, said: “We should talk to the merchants guild first before you visit the black ship. That way, they will know it was us who rid the harbor of this ship that is causing such disruption.”
Farling nodded, said: “A wise idea. I would add too that we disguise ourselves. I do not want anyone to know who we are.”
Grum added: “I do not think they will care who rids them of this ship. The merchants guild is hemorrhaging money. The ship captains are grumbling as they are worried that the guild will simply raise taxes on them to make up for any losses.”
“Still,” said Farling, “better to leave it to their imagination who we are. Make sure we do not call each other by our names.”
“I can most definitely agree with that,” said Grum. “No names.”
“Grab some scarves, we will wrap them around our mouths and noses,” said Farling. “And wear these hats,” he added, throwing them each one.
They tied the scarves loosely around their necks so that they could easily pull them higher, and pulled the hats on so that the fit was snug.
“We look like a couple of thieves,” said Grum.
Farling shook his head, said: “Not thieves, Grum, think of us more as merchants about to provide a service for which we will be paid handsomely.”
“I do need some new clothes,” said Grum. “The clothes I own are beginning to look a little threadbare.”
Arastead chuckled, said: “I thought I saw some fat moths around your clothes.”
“Let us be off,” said Farling. “The sun will rise tomorrow morning and I would have some sleep before the rooster crows.”
And with that, they ran for the port.
***
“I know where the merchants guild office is,” said Arastead and in a few short minutes, they were knocking on the door. They had seen lit candles through the window and knew someone was still awake and working.
“Come in,” said a voice.
They walked in, their faces covered, hats pulled low. Only their eyes could be seen.
Inside the office was a man who yawned into his hand, obviously tired and either bored or trying to show he was not intimidated.
He said: “What can the merchants guild do for you lads tonight?”
Farling looked around and saw why the guildsman was not afraid. Off in one corner playing a game of dice were two large men, obviously meant to remove anyone from the office if required. The bodyguards simply looked at Farling and his friends and went back to their game, unconcerned.
In a voice muffled by the scarf, Farling said: “We know how to get on board the black ship.”
“Did you hear that, boys?” said the merchants guild man to his bodyguards. “They think they know how to get rid of the black ship.”
The bodyguards chuckled and continued their game of dice.
The guildsman teased: “How is it that the three of you only know and the entire city of Trondheim is at a loss?”
“In the next hour, the black ship will weigh anchor and leave,” said Farling. “And it will be by our doing. We expect payment in full.”
Above the scarf, the guildsman could see Farling’s blue eyes blazing, causing the merchants guild man to rethink what he was about to say next.
Arastead interjected, said: “And we need a rowboat to take us to the ship.”
Grum added: “And we can row it ourselves.”
The guildsman rubbed his chin in contemplation, said: “You will do no such thing.” The boys collectively held their breaths. “One of my men will row you across. That way, he is witness to whatever you do that will make this cursed ship leave the harbor.”
With a silent sigh, Farling nodded, said: “Fine.”
The guildsman’s expression did not change. “Done.”
“One last thing,” began Arastead, “my friend here needs to hold the reward in his hand.”
The guildsman looked puzzled.
Arastead added: “He can tell by the weight if it is the proper amount.”
The guildsman said: “I cannot tell if you are some of the smartest negotiators I have met or the stupidest. Fine.” He reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled out the bag of coins and gave it to Grum.
Grum squeezed the bag, bounced it a few times in his right hand, then bounced it a few times in his left, said: “It is good.”
“It is a gift, really,” said Arastead as way of an explanation to the guildsman. “Now we will know if you remove any coins.”
“Even more astounding,” said the merchants guild man, as he put the bag away. He pointed at one of the bodyguards, said: “You, off you go. Row them out to the black ship.”
The boys and the bodyguard climbed into a small rowboat: Arastead in the front, Grum and Farling at the back. The bodyguard grabbed the oars and mechanically rowed them out to the black ship. In a few minutes, Arastead grabbed the rope at the front of the rowboat and tied it to the climbing net that hung off the side of the black boat.
“First, let us pour this salt in our boots,” said Farling as he, Grum, and Arastead took off first one boot, poured salt in, then did the same with their other boot.
With a grunt, the bodyguard asked: “What about me?”
“Sorry, big man,” said Farling as he held the empty bag of salt upside down. “None left. Off we go.”
And they clambered up the net leaving the bodyguard alone in the boat.
At the top of the railing, they looked at each other nervously. “Ready,” they said, “Go.”
They jumped onto the deck of the ship, waiting to see what happened.
But nothing did.
“What a relief,” said Grum. “Now where?”
“One second,” said Farling, as he leaned over the railing to talk to the bodyguard. “See, so far so good,” said Farling. “We will be back in a few minutes, so be ready.”
The bodyguard merely grunted, unhappy and worried about what his boss would say that he had not gone onboard the ship.
“Okay, let us search the ship,” said Farling.
The light from the moon lit the ship enough for them to see. Sailors had gathered on the decks of the other ships, pointing at Farling and his friends. A murmur of excitement could be heard across the water as the sailors watched Farling, Grum, and Arastead make it further than anyone else.
Grum whispered, said: “Let us look in the main cabin.”
Once inside, they saw a black box made of stone the size of a person.
“What is it?” asked Arastead.
“I am not sure,” said Farling, “as the light is not so good in here.”
As they walked toward the black box their feet disturbed the thick layer of dust covering the ground. The dust rose in the air and the moonlight caught the dust specks causing them to sparkle like tiny diamonds.
They walked around the box inspecting it more closely and running their hands over it, looking for a way to open it.
Arastead said: “The lid has been sealed with wax. Grum, use a dagger and free the lid of this coffin.”
“I can do that,” said Grum. “Wait, a coffin?”
“Looks like, young Grum. What did you expect, a treasure box?”
“Yes, now that you mention it.”
In a few moments, Grum had scrapped off the wax, leaving the shavings to mix with the dust on the ground.
Farling said: “On the count of three, let us lift the lid off this coffin. One, two, three…”
The lid was heavy, much heavier than they had expected. They groaned under the lid’s weight and slowly shuffled over to one side, trying to place it on the ground carefully, but instead dropped it abruptly causing a loud bang.
Grum said: “Well, I hope that did not wake anything. Everyone still has all their fingers and toes? Good, let us see what is inside.”
And as they peered into the coffin
, all three suddenly held their breath.
Inside was a desiccated skeleton. Its paper-like skin was pulled tight over its face, neck, and hands. The skeleton’s clothes were preserved as they had been perfectly sealed inside the coffin where no air or moths could destroy the fabric.
“Nice clothes,” said Grum. “Not really my style, but still, nicely tailored. Good stitching.”
But it was the jeweled belt that caught everyone’s eyes.
Grum asked: “So, who is going to reach in and get the belt?”
Farling raised a hand, said: “I will do it. As long as you grab the clothes off the skeleton,” he added with a wink.
Farling leaned over one side of the coffin and reached deep into it. He started fiddling with the clasp on the belt, muttering to himself about how hard it was to remove.
Then, without warning, the skeleton’s hands grabbed Farling’s wrists. A low hiss issued from the skeleton’s mouth.
The pain was unlike anything Farling had ever felt. He tried to scream but all that came out of his mouth was low moan that mingled with the skeleton’s hiss.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Arastead slammed his quarterstaff squarely in the middle of the skeleton’s forehead. The impact shattered the skeleton’s skull, the pieces of bone held together only by wisps of skin and hair. As soon as its skull was destroyed, the skeleton fell back into the coffin, but still refused to let go of Farling’s wrists.
Through gritted teeth, Farling hissed: “Get it off, get if off.”
Grum leaned into the coffin and pried the bony fingers off Farling’s wrists. Farling fell out of the coffin and onto the floor, massaging his wrists, trying to get some warmth back into them.
Grum chuckled, said: “Well, I guess we did wake something up when we dropped that lid on the ground.”
Arastead said: “I am glad that was over and over quickly. Farling, are you all right?”
Farling nodded, said: “I am fine. My fingers still work, but are slow. My arms are starting to warm as I can feel some tingling. It just may take a while. By the gods, I have never felt anything so cold.”
The Abomination of Asgard Page 7