He pulled at his lip again like he was trying to drag the words out of his mouth. His eyes looked into the past.
“I still believed that you loved me. I thought it was a test.” He bunched his fingers at his mouth, then closed them into a fist. “Or a game, or anything, but the truth was…the truth was you didn’t want me anymore.”
Ragnar wanted to correct the record but held his tongue.
“When I couldn’t get free and when you didn’t come back, I went berserk.” He closed his eyes and the old shame fell over him. “The fit came and I tried to escape, but it was no use. I collapsed and lost all track of time.” He opened his eyes and looked straight at Ragnar. “All I could think of was what had I done to deserve such contempt.”
Ragnar shivered and held the blanket tighter. Guilt coated his heart in cold grease; he closed his mouth lest he gag.
“But my yelling brought someone to my side. I became aware of them and thought—hoped—it was you, but it was the Devil. A devil named Lysander.”
Absolon leaned against the doorframe and blew out a long breath. “He was refined, like you. Handsome and wicked, like you. He broke my bonds with no more strain than you would have breaking a twig. He held out his hand to me and asked my name and called me beautiful, called me a jewel, and asked me to go with him.”
His hands had closed into fists, but noticing this, Absolon opened them and stroked his index finger with his thumb, as if coaxing out the story.
Or poison.
“I said I was grateful for freeing me but there was another I needed to go to. He grew jealous and asked who it was, so I told him. He called me a fool for wanting to go to the one who’d imprisoned me and encouraged me to go with him. At first, I was cautious, but soon his words made more sense and my anger at you grew. Lysander kept me calm, he promised me a way to find revenge, and then he fucked me. He fucked me a lot.”
He moved on to stroke the next finger. “He wasn’t you, but it was the first time I felt I was the only thing in anyone’s world that mattered. I never felt like that with you. I tried to trick myself into believing it, but something else was always more important.” He snorted derisively. “And yet I didn’t mind. But with Lysander…”
Absolon cracked his neck and continued. “He took me with him. We found a place to stay and I thought I was happy. I tried to put you behind me, but every now and then he would stoke those fires with his jealousy. He thought I deserved revenge, and it didn’t take much for me to agree. I wanted to seek you out, but he said there were better paths to revenge, especially ones where I was assured victory.”
All movement ceased and Ragnar’s heart held.
“He revealed himself. As he truly was. His body glowed beneath the light of the moon like an angel. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I’d gone mad, but he told me it was real. That he was special. That he was a thing called a Darisami. It wasn’t until later I learned what that meant.”
Absolon rubbed at his sternum, kneading into his flesh.
“He took me to a dark part of town, where cutthroats abounded, and told me to watch. Soon enough, we were set upon. The knife flashed and stabbed Lysander. I rushed to avenge him, but he ordered me to stop. He withdrew the blade and the wound closed.”
If Absolon spoke true, where was this Lysander now? And how could he find him?
“Lysander said no mortal weapons could hurt him. He said this while he pinned the cutthroat to the wall. He told me he had been alive two hundred years. I said it was impossible, but he pressed his hand against the cutthroat’s chest, no easy feat as he writhed for freedom, stilled for a second then the cutthroat stopped moving. Euphoria swept over Lysander’s features. I didn’t understand what had happened beyond knowing that Lysander had killed the man with his touch.”
Anguish plucked at Absolon’s face. “The body had barely hit the ground before I ran. Lysander caught me in no time and begged me to listen. He said that the Darisami were soul-eaters, and I could be one too. I’d live forever. I’d have strength beyond mortal comprehension. I’d be immune to sickness and disease. I could have everything I ever wanted.” His voice grew agitated and excited as the memories danced across his eyes, lost for a long heartbeat in the moment of his choice.
“I resisted at first, but then I asked why me? He said he was lonely, that he recognized the same wound in me, and he could think of no one better to spend eternity with.” Absolon looked at Ragnar. He shrugged his shoulders. “What else was I meant to do?”
A breath exploded out of Ragnar’s mouth. “What happened?”
“He turned me.” Absolon’s words lost their shine; this was now a soldier’s report of a battle hard won. “He took my soul into his and gave it back to me. Then I was free from mortal constraints, but it left me with a hunger that has to be sated with one human soul every thirty days. One life per month in order to keep on living.”
Surely, it was not possible, and yet Absolon believed it.
“Did he tell you this before he turned you?”
“He did. At least he had the decency to do that. I accepted regardless. I knew what I was getting into even if I didn’t understand it. I have killed as a man and it barely affected me, but this… Knowing I must kill someone every month or else I die… It is not easy. It is not easy at all.”
“When did this happen?”
“About seven months past.”
“Then why did you not come for me sooner?”
“Because Lysander filled everything at that time. My need for revenge had been smothered by his deeds. He no longer angled for me to take your life because he had won me completely. What could you have done to take me from him?”
“So, what happened? Where is he?”
Absolon hung his head. “He grew tired of me. Once the long days of summer passed, his fun was over. With a few harsh words from his scornful tongue, he left, and I have not seen him since.”
“Do you miss him?”
Absolon laughed harshly. “I hate him for what he has done to me and for how he has made me different from other men.”
“You were always different from other men, Sol. Better too.”
“That is no longer true.”
“And what about me?”
Absolon shook his head. “Oh, you were the source of all this. Once I had regained myself and banished my self-pity over yet another person abusing me and my trust, I went in search of you, but you were hard to find. It took me a while, but I found you. I didn’t attack you at first. I wanted to watch. I wanted to draw it out. Lysander taught me that. He did it to me; he did it to his victims.”
He looked ashamed. “I watched you with Åke. I wanted to kill you both in those moments, but I restrained myself. You had replaced me, and it was then that the last buried hope of us ever being together again, of any of your actions being a mistake, shriveled and died. When you returned from that last raid, I struck, and I struck Åke first. You know the rest.”
Ragnar slumped, released from Absolon’s tale. It could all be fancy designed to make him doubt his sanity, but the earnestness in Absolon’s voice, combined with the few displays of his power that he’d seen, made him believe it was not some fantasy. To think that Absolon possessed so much power… Why, if he had it, there would be no stopping him. But how to get it?
“You’re right though.”
Ragnar looked up. “I am?”
“What Lysander did to me wasn’t your fault, and while I don’t think there’s a person alive who could say I’m not justified in taking my revenge on you, it won’t make things right. In fact, it’ll make it worse.”
“How so?”
“Because when you take a soul, you have the chance to experience everything in that person’s life they’ve ever felt or done. I don’t think I could handle knowing—one way or the other—whether you ever truly loved me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from finding out.”
“What are you saying?”
Absolon grabbed the keys, took up Rag
nar’s wrists, and undid the manacles. “I don’t want to kill you.”
He almost laughed. “Are you sure? This isn’t some game?”
“I am not Lysander. And I’m not you.”
Ragnar rubbed his wrists.
“I’ll get you some new clothes…again…then you can go.” Absolon left the cell, leaving the door open, tempting, inviting.
Could he trust it? Could he trust Absolon? Or would he be struck down the second he left the cell? He waited. He couldn’t leave anyway, not with his balls flapping in the breeze. And not without knowing more of Absolon’s power. He refused to believe in God, but if he did, he’d entertain the notion that divine providence had brought him there and he would have Absolon’s gift bestowed upon him. Greatness would be his at last.
Absolon returned empty-handed with a sheepish bent to his body. “I forgot that was the last set.”
Ragnar laughed but not too hard in case it offended. “It’s fine. The blanket will do for now. Besides, I don’t want to leave.”
Absolon blinked. “What do you mean? I’m letting you go. You have to leave.”
“Is that because you don’t want me here?”
Absolon hesitated. “You don’t belong here.”
He took a few steps closer to Absolon. “What if I want to stay? With you?”
“I’d call you a liar.”
“Come on, Sol. Where else am I going to go? I’ve got no band of brothers left. I haven’t even got any clothes. I’m wanted in only God knows how many counties.”
“Then why not head for that hoard of plunder you’re so proud of?”
“I don’t know where I am and with no horse and no provisions and no clothes, I can hardly leave right now, can I? Look, you were going to keep me for three weeks more. Why not let me stay while I figure things out?” He let the blanket drop a little. “I’m sure we can make the time pass quickly.”
“The whores of Stockholm have nothing on you.”
“Is that a yes?”
Absolon’s mouth moved like he was sucking on pebbles. “Fine. You can stay, but three days at the most. I’ll bring you some straw to make a bed.”
Ragnar’s eyes bugged. “I’m not staying in this cell, Sol. There must be room in your home for me.”
“I might be letting you go, but you still don’t deserve comfort. It’s either here, or nowhere. My generosity will extend to keeping this door open.”
Every time he thought he could twist Absolon one way, he got twisted around the other. “Very well. Straw it is.”
Absolon gave a half-smile, the first sign of merriment in the time he’d been there. He could work with that. A smile from Absolon was as good as any declaration of love, and he’d need as many as he could manufacture if he wanted Absolon to turn him into a Darisami.
Chapter 5
Absolon furnished him with an extra blanket and a thick mound of straw, but Ragnar had to remain content with staying naked for the night apart from his boots. Once the sun started to descend, Absolon refused to go into the nearest village for fear of exposing himself to moonlight. Ragnar longed to see that, to have some confirmation of the supernatural and of Absolon’s power beyond what he had already experienced.
Absolon brought him food but otherwise forbade him from coming into the farmhouse, small as it was. He said if Ragnar disagreed, he was welcome to leave, but wolves had been known in the area and Absolon would not supply him with weapons.
Ragnar stayed.
Of course he stayed.
He settled into the cell, left the door ajar, and wedged himself in the corner opposite from where he used to be bound. The chains stayed where they’d been dropped, a reminder of his bondage, of his weakness, of Absolon’s power.
Power that would be his.
If it existed.
Absolon had told a good story and there were plenty who would have believed him; most of the dead men in his band for a start. Skogsrå meet Absolon; Absolon meet Skogsrå. A match made in heaven. Or Hell. Or perhaps nowhere. Men had gone mad before and Absolon had ever been treated badly. Perhaps he’d snapped and lost himself in fanciful stories to ease his pain.
Ragnar massaged the center of his chest to smother the dull ache that had appeared during Absolon’s tale and not abated. At the least Absolon’s strength was something he could turn to his own design. There was no band of bastards left for him to draw upon. Absolon had done him a service in clearing them out. He didn’t have to feed them through the winter when the chances of raiding froze. He could stay at the farm through the coldest part of the year, encourage Absolon to join him, and they’d go off again, build up another group of cutthroats. Absolon could be his secret weapon.
And if Absolon were telling the truth—that he was some powerful mystical being who stole men’s souls with barely a touch—then Ragnar would take that power for his own.
He chuckled to himself, at Absolon’s delusions as well as his own gullibility. A soul-eater? Absolon’s mind had shattered along with his heart.
And isn’t that my fault too?
He tutted aloud, cursed his conscience back into silence, and sang to ensure it didn’t speak again. He still needed Absolon to trust him. He sang Absolon’s favorites, starting with the songs of battles won, rousing renditions to stir him from his seat, to inspire him with feelings of camaraderie, of companionship, of joined purpose, and remind him of the good fights when they’d been together.
Next he turned to the bawdy songs, changing them to be not about a fine young lass or a saucy wench, but to a comely lad or a cheeky boy, before dipping into the songs of love and hope.
The glow of Absolon’s lantern lightened the doorway.
He would have turned to the slow songs of heartbreak, but he couldn’t do it, so eager was he to have Absolon step inside. If he could draw him in with song alone, he could tame the beast and bend him to his will. He leaned against the cell wall, arranged the blankets as seductively as he could, but in the gloom, what did it matter? Absolon’s hands would find everything he needed as he always had before.
But Absolon didn’t enter. The lantern’s glow was sure enough, casting light into the doorway, but he stayed beyond it.
Very well. If Absolon wouldn’t come to him, then he would go to Absolon. He could show some deference, some willingness to submit. After all, he enjoyed a good fuck as much as Absolon.
And that last fuck…
Ragnar covered himself and started singing Absolon’s new favorite. He stood and draped the blanket over his shoulders, the rest of him as bare as he could endure. He steadied, paused to build up to the chorus, walked out from his corner, around the door and—
Fear gripped his heart and terror congealed in his blood.
“Now you know it’s real.”
Ragnar blinked. Absolon glowed, not from the light of a lantern, not from the light of a fire, but out of himself as the moon beamed from above. His body radiated light, shining like an angel. But the look on his face reflected only sadness.
He looked so forlorn, so sorrowful, so pathetic, yet all Ragnar could do was freeze and think over and over that this couldn’t be real, that Absolon couldn’t have told him the truth, because if it were true, then Absolon was as deadly as he said he was.
“I’ll bring you some clothes in the morning and you can leave soon after. I understand.” Absolon walked away. The light stayed with him because he was the light.
Ragnar’s mind fought against this impossibility, yet it was exactly as Absolon had described. And if he didn’t act fast, he’d lose any chance of having this for himself.
“Absolon, wait.” He hurried after him. He hesitated to touch him, wondering if his hand would burn or he’d be turned to a pillar of salt, but he swallowed and pressed on. He held Absolon’s arm, grateful that he could stop his hand from shaking and that Absolon could not see all his fear. He held the blanket tighter in case he trembled. “Why are you leaving?”
He scoffed. “I saw the way you looked at me. You’re
frightened of me, like everyone else.”
“I’m not like everyone else, Sol. It’s me. Ragnar the Red, remember? You don’t scare me.”
“Try saying that in a louder voice.” He pulled his arm free. “I don’t expect you to stay. Good night.”
“Stop, will you? Yes, it was a shock, but it doesn’t scare me. I am here. I want to stay.”
“No, you don’t. You have other plans, and if you were as smart as I know you are, you’d be running far from me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Not until something better comes along. Stuck here with a monster is not what you want, we both know that. Good night.”
Absolon was leaving. Ragnar struggled for the right words to say, searching for an apology or a reason that would hold Absolon to him, but all the talking he’d ever done had never done much. He had to act. He cast off the blanket and ran to Absolon, grabbed his arm hard, and pulled him back. The force was strong enough to turn him, and as Absolon opened his mouth to argue, Ragnar kissed him.
Absolon resisted, his hands coming up to push against his bare chest. His fingers dug into Ragnar’s skin, but Ragnar kept kissing, eyes screwed shut, hands going up and into Absolon’s hair. He felt so familiar, the same as all those other nights in the dark with nothing else to cling to. Absolon relented, stayed, stunned perhaps, but Ragnar would use whatever he could. His mouth softened, his jaw opened and moved, his tongue searched and stroked, and the kiss expanded, became more than a shield yet not quite a weapon. It was a kiss like the ones of old, the ones of desperate need that had been unlike those he’d ever shared with anyone else.
Absolon’s hands relaxed and smoothed around his back, holding him close, but Ragnar was only barely conscious of his touch, lost as he was in the softness of Absolon’s lips, and the familiar passion of his mouth. The more he kissed Absolon, the more a gap in his chest opened, releasing a yearning that he had kept locked down for longer than a year. He let it out with a moan into Absolon’s hungry mouth.
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