The Beast of the North

by Alaric Longward

  Then I felt the rage.

  It was a lingering one at first. It throbbed in the edges of my consciousness, hammered at my lobes. Another kick connected with my face, and I barely felt it for the rage ripped through me. My ring burned on my finger; I felt it resist the rage, but I beat the resistance with difficulty, as I wanted to unleash the anger. It came on fully and filled me with savage strength. The anger felt like burning, molten fire, and it made me see things. I saw brief images of laughing, old faces. There was a bitter wind that was whipping across a wintry landscape, and a bear growling with a bloody maw. The rage was tearing at my heart, and a growl escaped my lips. I saw the vision of the bear, its neck snapped. I laughed at that terrible image, and other blurry visions of inhuman carnage. I screamed and began to get up. Even the stone under my hand felt fragile. I ripped at it, and to my astonishment a slab of it moved and crumbled under my grip. I felt another wild swing by Taram’s staff connect with my back; I heard him curse, to tell me to go down, and then I got up, fast as a cat.

  In my hands, there was a chest size piece of rock which I swung, tossed really in Taram’s direction. His eyes were round with surprise, and he fell aside with a yelp. I pounded over Sand, so fast, quick as a fox, and I could not fathom my speed. Despite my fox-like speed, my steps were heavy as if a tree trunk was pounding the stone. Chips of stone flew around, and I tried to catch Taram. His stabs kept stinging at my chest and my face, but I laughed ferally at the pain and his surprised, terrified face. I faked a move to the left, but then I bounded—like a bear at him. He tried to dodge away, but he was cornered.

  ‘Maskan!’ he screamed and thrust his staff at me and hit my chest. The weapon broke in splinters, and what remained drew blood from my chest and shoulder. Taram was looking shocked, and I felt very little pain, only more anger, ripping rage and hate. I hated like I had never hated before. I punched his face as he was standing there, launched him into the air, and he fell onto his back six feet away in the corner. I ripped a large splinter off my chest, viewed the wound, and licked the blood off my hand.

  He was alive though dazed. ‘Taram! It is I! Taram!’ he explained with a high-pitched voice and shook his head desperately, looking for a way out. I stalked closer, fighting the urge to rip his head off. I stopped, knowing something was wrong and tried to calm myself. It was hard, very hard, and then I suddenly felt a bursting pain go through me as Sand smashed his staff across my scalp. I tottered and went down on my knees. Then on all fours as my friend jumped on me. And finally, I went all the way to the ground as I resisted the urge to fight back. I wanted to rip the floor apart, my muscles were on fire, but Sand sat on my back, spitting blood, and I did not wish to hurt him.

  ‘Lost a tooth,’ he complained thickly, apparently pulling at one, for something hot fell on my neck. He addressed Taram, who was getting up painfully. ‘What in Lok’s rotten heart went into you. Cannot lose, eh?’

  Taram was shaken, still shocked. ‘I don’t like to lose, no. And you should learn that attitude if you are to survive a proper fight. What the Hel went into him?’

  ‘You were beating him like you would a mangy dog,’ Sand said darkly. ‘Kicking him, you filthy piece of shit. And what was that bit about Shaduril?’

  Taram snorted, and I lifted my head at him. ‘I don’t like you two staring at her as you do. She is my sister. She will marry high, not low. It’s filthy to have you bastards drool for her.’ He flinched and rifled through the remains of his staff and stared at me. ‘You should just calm down. I might have overstepped it a bit. He needs a doctor?’

  ‘I’m bleeding, but I don’t want a doctor.’

  ‘Some of the staff went into your chest,’ Taram said suspiciously. ‘And you are fine?’

  ‘Doesn’t hurt much. I think it's just some more splinters,’ I told him morosely, avoiding looking at him.

  Sand looked down at me, and I shook my head tiredly. ‘Nope, no doctor,’ Sand said and tapped my head. ‘He will be fine. Just hungry. Gets like that when you don’t feed him. And you didn’t. Dragging us here before breakfast.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Taram said carefully. ‘Have you fought like that before? Maskan?’

  I sighed and got to my elbows, toppling Sand off. ‘No, not really. Just got really, really angry.’

  He grinned. ‘Such anger can grant you a victory, boy, but you should be careful. You could have impaled yourself. You have to fight with control, not like a damned maniac. You looked strange as Hel. Bestial. Not like a wolf or a bear, but bulky and dangerous. And I’ve seen something like that before.’

  ‘You have?’ I asked him, feeling the strange strength ebb from my arms. The ring throbbed and went cool. Was it my father’s ring? Did it have some strange powers?

  He had a casual grin on his face. ‘Ask Father. He dabbles in magic and lore. I’ll tell him to talk to you about it, in fact. Don’t want to get killed because we don’t understand you. But for now, let us bind ourselves up.’ He spat out a glob of blood and whimpered as he touched his jaw gingerly. ‘With that strength, I think you might do very well in Dark Sands.’

  ‘Dark Sands?’ I asked, shocked. Did he know?

  ‘Fighting pit,’ he explained, holding his hip painfully. ‘I sponsor a team there with a dozen other nobles. The Red Sashes. You could try it after I’ve trained you and Father is done with you. Would make some gold to sate my gambling habit. You’d do well.’

  ‘Or be entertaining, at least,’ I agreed.

  ‘That can be superb business as well.’ He laughed. ‘There are bets made on who wins the fight, but also on who slays how many and who makes a fool of himself. Sky is the limit with betting.’

  ‘I’ll pass,’ I told him heavily. ‘I disdain people dying for no reason.’

  He looked shocked, and then his eyes went to slits. ‘ Father is making a mistake if he trusts a man who cannot kill. No matter what he is doing.’

  I snorted. ‘Careful, Lord, or that other person might come visiting, and he is not like Maskan.’

  He nodded at me slowly, pulled his hair into a ponytail and walked to the door, which he pushed open angrily. ‘The main room, breakfast is served there,’ Taram said and walked out unsteadily. Sand was smiling at him, and as soon as he disappeared, Sand turned his face to me.

  ‘What the Hel was it?’ he asked me with a whisper. ‘I was to be the brawn of the outfit. Show me the wounds.’

  I turned, and he lifted my shirt. He was clucking his tongue as he was picking wooden slivers out of the shallow wounds. ‘I don’t know, Sand. The rock was there, I lifted it, and it was so damned easy. I just … ripped it out, and I wanted to kill Taram.’ I rubbed my face. ‘Just got so unreasonably angry. I was thinking of Ann earlier. And Mother. And how Black and White hung them. The king? And my Father?’ And of Crec, I thought but did not voice it. I spat and groaned as Sand shook his head at me. And Shaduril. He wanted to deny me Shaduril and that had been the real reason. ‘Perhaps I don’t want people standing between me and my ... goals.’

  Sand nodded. ‘Goals. That’s a funny way of putting it. You and that noble bitch? The one that disdains me? I know.’

  I looked at him. ‘I kissed her. She said maybe.’

  ‘Maybe?’ he asked, hammering at his head. ‘Really?’ He looked astonished.

  ‘Thank you for the vote of confidence,’ I growled.

  He slapped my head. ‘Didn’t think it possible. This is getting very complicated. They don’t want you to court her.’

  ‘She is sad, but also lovely,’ I told him. ‘And she makes me happy. While I worry about our vengeance, she is there, at the end of the road. And so are we. You and I. Let’s remain positive, Sand.’

  ‘I said she will change things,’ he grumbled. ‘She will never accept me. It won’t be like it was with Father and your mother. She would not accept me under her roof.’

  ‘She might yet, and who knows what our roof looks like? Give her time. For me,’ I pleaded with him as I eyed the scratches in my chest. ‘S
trange how little this hurts.’

  ‘Skin mostly,’ he said and took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry. I will try.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I told him and looked away. ‘It might change things. But not our friendship. They will mock us both, and they will ignore you as best they can. Remember it is not me, who—’

  He slapped my head again. ‘Look, I’m your friend. I am,’ he said uncertainly as if unused to speaking of such matters and he was. He poked me roughly as if to make sure I understood he was still thoroughly dangerous. ‘I’m the Bear’s son. He, like the others, despises me; I can see it in his face.’ He nodded at the door and Taram. ‘I have no place in this world of nobles, other than making a living off their hides. That is my function. Thieving and robbing. I have no family left, but you.’ He bit his tongue as he said that, and there was a hint of moistness in his hard eyes. He looked away and then back, discreetly wiping his eye as if making sure no hint of his weakness remained. ‘I don’t really care about the high politics and even Red Midgard. I will fight for you, and I will fight for me and damn the rest. I’m of the low. But you and I shall bring down the mighty. Don’t mess it up. You have been messing up a lot in the recent past; whatever it is that made that thing come out just now? Keep it closed and locked. And I shall endure my humiliation and loss and their damned high airs.’

  ‘Yes, Sand,’ I told him sadly, feeling terrible for I had not told him everything.

  He went on. ‘The queen is the key, and then Shaduril will do her bit, and we will figure out how to go on from there. She will be hurt,’ Sand said sadly. ‘And you know it. Do not try to stop her. Remember why we are here.’

  ‘I will trust her. And respect her. She is determined to do this, no matter if I wish someone else killed the king,’ I whispered. Gal was the key. And I could secure the key. And I would.

  ‘Right,’ Sand said and slapped his thigh. ‘Well. Don’t feel sorry for me,’ he whispered as I heard Taram speaking in the hallway. ‘I’ll do that part.’ Then he fixed an eye on me. ‘When she goes to the king, do not mess up. She will go there, and you will let her.’

  ‘I will,’ I told him bitterly. ‘I will.’ He glanced at the door, and Taram was there.

  ‘Maskan?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah?’ I nodded and got up.

  ‘I told my Lord Father about you, and he wishes a word with you,’ Taram said darkly. ‘Be careful with him. He has high ambitions. He might not smack you with a staff and kick you around, but that does not make him docile.’

  I snorted. ‘Everyone is giving me advice today. I only have your father, my lord,’ I told Taram. ‘I will not risk the Blacktowers and their plans. Never. I will obey him in this most crucial mission.’ He hesitated, and I slapped my forehead. ‘Oh, I forgot. You know nothing of these things. But thank you for the advice.’ I turned my back on him, looked at Sand, and he nodded.

  Taram laughed with a booming voice. ‘If you weren’t a peasant thief who is protected, I’d show you how to talk to the Blacktowers. Come, you ugly monkey,’ he said with a clipped angry voice and nodded at Sand, who reluctantly followed him.

  I pushed past him, went up the tall stairway, and witnessed Sand walk to the central hall where buns of bread and eggs were being served with butter and mead. There were porridge and meats, and my belly rumbled. Sand grinned up at me as I stared down at him enviously. Taram snapped out a chair for himself and sat down to see Sand eat. He made no noise other than thrumming his hand on a dirk at his side, but Sand ignored him and smiled at a serving girl. ‘Bounces back fast, my Sand,’ I whispered. ‘Soon he will be married.’

  I went up, crossed a floor of the second floor, and took a stairway to the third and guards nodded at me in their cumbersome, gleaming chain mails. I got to the door of Balan Blacktower, slightly winded, and knocked.

  ‘Enter,’ Balan said.

  I did. There, a sumptuous breakfast was laid out on a table, and Lord Balan looked up at me. The room was nearly dark; silken drapes had been drawn to cover the windows, and only the sound of gulls and flying lizards could be heard outside. Balan nodded at the table before him, and I was startled to see Illastria, the old lady leaving the room. She stared at me, her red-rimmed eyes huge, and I stepped back, involuntarily. The old lord waved at her as she hesitated, and she passed by me, looking down. Her hair was pearly white and covered most of her face. ‘Eat,’ he said and nodded at a seat opposite him.

  ‘Will you eat, Lord Blacktower?’ I asked him tentatively as the old lady left, hoping he would. I would not be able to swallow if he sneered over my breakfast.

  ‘No, I never do,’ he grimaced as if disgusted by the thought. ‘Taram gave you a beating? He will do that for months. I think he is protective of his sisters and the family name.’ He smiled briefly at that and adopted his usual stoic look. ‘Though he did mention something unusual happened, and you would fill me in. Said it is important. Oh, Illastria and I spent the night plotting and have a plan for the “after part“ we discussed. Gal. And more.’

  ‘You do?’ I asked.

  ‘Sit.’ I did. ‘Yes, we have a plan, and I’ll talk to you about it. First. What happened down there? Taram said it was something strange and mythical, and he also said he kicked the Hel out of you,’ he said, leaning forward. He is always intrigued by mysteries and by the unknown, I decided.

  ‘I gave him one as well,’ I told him. He did not blink, and I filled the gap. ‘A beating. I nearly killed him, in fact. There was something strange inside me, or perhaps it was this ring?’

  ‘Something inside you?’ he whispered, fiddling with a pen. ‘Like a power? Evil spirit? Some disease? Gas?’

  I hesitated as I fidgeted there. ‘No. I mean I don’t know. It was like … like I would imagine magic. It was a strange, rippling feeling. I felt ferocious, and it was somewhat familiar. Like a dream, but I was awake. I was very mad, so unyielding, and Taram is alive thanks to Sand.’ His eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I know. I’m also baffled.’

  He sat back, his eyes gleaming curiously in the dark. ‘I knew your father, as I said. The ring? Possibly it has something to do with it, indeed,’ he stated. ‘Tell me, boy, do you know much about artifacts?’ he asked. ‘I saw Taram was shocked to his core about the fight. He is used to being the superior being in that practice room of his. He is the house, master-at-arms. He trains men to kill. Has done since he was sixteen. And what I smelled in him? Saw in his eyes? Fear. Shock. It bothers me. You have no idea what happened?’

  ‘I …’ I began while lifting pork and dark bread onto a golden plate. ‘Would rather not speculate…’ I shook my head. ‘I’ve been changing my face, but what just took place? It felt very strange. And also very natural. I know little about artifacts, to answer your question.’

  ‘I see,’ he told me neutrally. He eyed me carefully, and finally his eyes settled on my ring. ‘Do you know what an artifact is? And what do you know of the past?’

  ‘Past?’ I said, hiding my black metal ring with the yellow stone under my thumb. ‘About Hel’s War?’

  ‘Yes. Indeed. That, and time beyond,’ he nodded. ‘Hear me. There were Eight Gates in Midgard before that war of Hel’s. They led to worlds the gods chose in the beginning for themselves. Odin’s Aesir and the Vanir, who became allied, drove the other gods away, and the Nine Worlds were chosen by them for their kingdoms, many well shaped and formed worlds and all crafted and perfected by the beings. They claimed these worlds, and two of those worlds stood out.’

  ‘Indeed?’ I asked, intrigued.

  He smiled at my eager tone. ‘Yes. Two of these worlds are more than the fine wonders the gods made the others into. They were there in the beginning, before the First Born and from them—the nine rivers of Niflheim, the fiery infernos of Muspelheim—were all things born from. Gods were cradled in the Filling Void, where the celestial heat and the fierce ice mixed up, there were born many races, some of which no longer exist. We? The humans? Odin made us later. Perhaps we are the only race that does not po
ssess the gift of hearing and seeing the mixing of the ancient ice and fierce fire. That is what magic comes from. That skill ... a sense, really, of having access to the old power of creation. We cannot see or hear the power. Humans. It was never given to us. Magic.’

  ‘Magic?’ I asked him, mystified.

  His brow was sweaty as his hand trembled. ‘Magic. We do not hear and see the great power. Most races can, at least some can. I am not sure if every single elf hears the call, but—’

  ‘Elf?’ I asked him, bemused.

  ‘Keep an open mind, boy,’ he scowled. ‘Other old races in the old books, they are close to magic, others far from it and yet others are connected to it directly. Gods are part of it. Some beings only hear and see the ice part of magical power, others the fire part. This is in the books of Illastria.‘ He leaned forward, clearly excited. ‘They say it can … one can … see it? Hear it? In your mind. It is like a sense as I told you. Then you can clutch these powers, pull and combine strands of heat and icy winds, chunks of ice and fire, ever so gently learning millions of ways of using this power. You can create spells of destruction. Spells that can lay low armies. Or you might create more subtle spells, helpful, even entertaining spells. The sky is the limit. That’s what they say.’ He slumped and waved his hand around lazily. ‘This world is just very, very boring.’

  ‘I can imagine such spells being very interesting,’ I told him dreamily.

  His eyes were very wide, the thin face shaking with slight anger. ‘Interesting! I’ve spent my life finding such magic. It can make and break this world, Maskan, magic. You see,’ he said, his eyes feverish and mad, ‘Hel’s war changed the world. There were kingdoms here. Human kingdoms. We governed each other, and Odin kept the world safe from marauders. But a war is an unpredictable matter, and his attentions were taken elsewhere. Hel sent her armies—’

  ‘Why did she do this?’ I interrupted him.

  He looked shocked for a moment. ‘I forget; you have never been tutored.’ There was a mild look of disgust on his face, and I thought Shaduril might be right to think he would not approve of me, not ever. He went on. ‘Why? Because the bastard Odin had taken her, Hel, a maiden of joy and threw her to Niflheim, condemning her to rule Helheim, the realm of the dead souls. He did this to punish Lok, his kin, and a demi-god and Hel’s father. She was robbed of half her beauty, her home, her father Lok, her sisters and brothers and set to judge and guard the dead. Many wept for her, many rumbled in the dark shadows against the heavy-handedness of Odin. She had friends.’