The raven sounds confused. There’s a little Queen maggot in there, some Áshildr and even some Jenny now, not to mention a collective consciousness from thousands of parasitic creatures. And what are they? Some plague wiped out and hidden on Greenland by humanity long before the Vikings? Are they alien? I suppose it doesn’t really matter where they’re from. They can be stopped, and now we know how—the Queen. Torstein must have figured this out, too. Otherwise, why chase the raven all the way up here? The question is, why did he bury her instead of destroying her?
The raven takes hold of her feathered cloak and draws it open like a flasher. The body beneath staggers me. The core of the thing is a nearly petrified, naked sixteen year old girl. Much of her skin is missing and torn. Just beneath her skin is an army of parasites squirming around, coating surfaces with protective mucus. Her arms and legs, however belong to a Caucasian man. I see a familiar tattoo on one of the legs. She has Eagon’s limbs! The whole thing looks like it’s bound together by the parasite secretions.
“This body cannot be sustained. So now the Queen makes her offer again.” She reaches out to me. “You have shown yourself to be strong, resourceful and intelligent. Eternal life in exchange for your servitude. Your mind will remain. Your body, yours to control. Your intellect, expanded.”
“My thirst for blood and brains, unquenchable,” I say.
Jenny makes a humor-filled expression I’ve seen several times before and her voice takes over again. “It’s an acquired taste. You’ll get used to it. Vampirism is hip. So are zombies. Win-win. Do you accept?”
Hell fucking no, I think, but I can’t say that. I’m pretty sure that if I do, Torstein will descend on us like a grizzly bear that just woke up during a prostate exam.
“You’ll let them live?” I ask.
“We will all escape together,” Jenny says.
“But not him?” I say, pointing to Torstein. “He stays here?”
Emotion takes hold of the monster again. “He can rot here for the next six hundred years.”
Torstein looks down at the Raven again. What’s he thinking? Can he think?
I step toward the raven, reaching out with my empty left hand.
“Jane,” Willem warns.
“It’s the only way,” I say.
“Jane, don’t,” Chase says.
Jakob joins the chorus of worried male voices. “Raven…”
The Queen parasite-controlled Draugrstein’s monster reaches out for me with Eagon’s hand. “Raven,” she says. “It will be your name for all eternity.” Her hand snaps out like a striking snake and wraps around my wrist, squeezing until I scream in pain.
41
Raven-Jenny yanks me toward her, arms open to embrace me. I’m about to fall into her arms, which I think would be a very bad life choice. I lean back, and fight, but the pain in my left wrist is intense. I think I can actually feel broken bones grinding. Before I black out from the pain, I give into the pull and launch forward. But the move is intentional. The raven kept her nasty surprise hidden beneath her cloak. So did I.
The hammer swings high over my head. I put all my weight and momentum into the strike. The dense metal hammer head shatters the raven’s wrist. The grip on my wrist disappears as—I’m not entirely sure what to call her: Jenny, raven, Áshildr, Muninn—screams in pain.
She can feel pain, I realize. She’s really not like the other Draugar.
I move to press the attack, but my upper hand is short-lived.
“Jane!” Willem shouts. “Look out!”
When I hear the loud whoosh behind me, I know it’s already too late. There’s no avoiding what’s coming. Torstein is too close and too good with that axe. Ironically, it’s Muninn who saves me, shouting, “Don’t kill her!”
Rather than lopping my head off, Torstein twists the axe and strikes me with the large flat of the blade. It’s not a killing blow, but the impact sends me rolling down a short hill. I come to a stop at a pile of stones.
“Jane!” Willem shouts. He’s out of sight. On the other side of this stone ridge.
“I’m okay!” I call back.
But I’m not really, because Torstein is blocking the way and Muninn is coming down the slope toward me.
“I thought I had to be willing?” I ask. I struggle to stand, using my one good hand to push myself up. When I breathe, my back throbs with pain where Torstein’s axe blade struck slightly off center. I might have a few broken ribs, but that’s a lot better than a broken spine.
“For a permanent bonding, yes,” Muninn says. “But you will last until I find a willing host. You don’t think it will be hard for me to find someone interested in eternal life, do you?”
Great, I think, not only does she understand sarcasm, she uses it, too. I think about her question. Death terrifies people. But vampires are so en vogue right now that there are probably a bevy of teen girls, or boys for that matter—the Queen might not have a gender preference—that would jump at the chance to be a blood sucking member of the living dead.
I get my feet under me and stand. I let her see that I’ve still got the hammer and she slows. She might be stronger than me, and I can’t let her get too close, but this is a fight I could potentially win.
Muninn stops. “Father,” she says.
Father?What the hell? And then Torstein turns toward her.
Torstein is Áshildr’s father?
The ramifications of this strike me hard. Torstein didn’t just imprison the plague-carrier in this place, he entombed his own daughter. That must be why he didn’t just kill her. Despite wiping out the entire Norse population of Greenland, Torstein couldn’t bring himself to slay his own daughter. I try to picture myself in his enormous boots, looking down at my sixteen year old daughter, who unlike the rest of the plague victims looks healthy, and perhaps innocent. He would have loved her. Would have sacrificed for her. The way Jakob would for Willem. The way the Colonel would have for me. Good fathers can’t imagine doing harm, or allowing harm to come to their own children. But he couldn’t let her leave, either, so he trapped her here, and as punishment for his failures, buried himself alongside her.
It’s a tragic tale, but ultimately a mistake. Torstein should have killed her. That would have been true mercy. Because whether he knew it or not, she was no longer his daughter. She was, she is something else. Something less than, or perhaps more than, human.
She looks up into her father’s white, parasite filled eyes, and says, “Kill the others.”
I suspect the command could have been given without speaking. It’s how Muninn moved the Draugar like chess pieces, watching from a distance and out-maneuvering us. So her speaking the words aloud, in English, means they were for our benefit. To frighten us. Bitch.
Torstein turns away from us. I can’t see Jakob, Willem or Chase, but I know he’s locked onto them. His body tenses, ready to strike. But before he can launch himself forward, a large rock strikes his face. There’s a crack of breaking bone, but Torstein shows no reaction.
Chase suddenly appears at the top of the rise, another large stone raised above his head.
They’re not going down without a fight, I think, feeling a bit of pride for the man Chase has become.
And then he goes and lets out a battle cry. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Torstein whips his head toward Chase and swings out with his axe. The first strike is so fast and powerful, that I don’t think Chase is even aware that his hands have been lopped off at the wrist until the big rock drops on his head. Before shock even has a chance to set in, the axe returns and separates head from body. Chase’s dead body falls to the ground and rolls down the stone decline toward me. It stops halfway, snagged on a rough patch of stone. A river of blood flows down the stone, oozing from his wrists and neck. My lips tremble as I stare down at Chase’s body.
“I can make him stop,” Muninn whispers.
I jump back with a scream. She’s right next to me.
“Accept the Queen and the others can live.”
I can’t watch the others die, and I’m close to accepting the offer when Willem rushes up over the ridge. He’s fueled by rage and tackles Torstein by the waist. It’s a solid hit that any football player would be proud off, but it doesn’t even stagger Torstein. The giant strikes Willem hard on the back with his boxing glove sized fist. Willem shouts in pain and drops to his knees.
But he’s not done. A glint of silver reveals the knife in his hand. He swings high and stabs the knife into Torstein’s gut. He follows the stab with a punch from his other hand, which disappears inside the giant’s belly. He pulls his hand out again, shakes off the few parasites clinging to him and strikes again with the knife, this time burying it in Torstein’s chest.
It’s a mortal blow. But Torstein is no longer mortal. Before Willem can withdraw the blade, Torstein takes Willem’s wrist and yanks him off his feet. There’s a wet pop that gets a horrible scream out of Willem before he passes out. I can see by the angle of his arm that his shoulder has been yanked from its socket.
Torstein raises the axe. The swing will cut Willem in half at the waist.
“No!” I shout. “Stop! I’ll do it!”
Torstein pauses. I don’t think he understands me, but my up-stretched hand and pleading voice probably communicates my supplication. He looks to Muninn. She says nothing to him, but the giant doesn’t swing.
Muninn steps closer to me, opening her raven feather cloak and revealing her hideous body. The parasites write madly, as though excited by anticipation. Will they be joining the Queen inside me? I see something large moving beneath the dry skin of Áshildr’s chest.
“Drop your weapon,” Muninn says.
I toss the hammer to the side. It strikes a stone, which rolls off the pile and reveals the skull we found when we first met Jakob and Alvin. That non-Draugr body is buried behind me. I lean back against the stones, instinct pushing me away from Muninn. Once again, the gun could solve this situation, but it’s tucked into the left side of my pants and I don’t think I can reach it with my right hand. Besides, that wouldn’t kill the Queen, and it wouldn’t stop Torstein. I’ve only got one option left available: Surrender and save my friends. I promised Willem that Jakob would make it off this island alive, and I keep my promises.
“No!” Jakob hobbles to the top of the rise. But he’s not speaking to me or Muninn. He’s talking to Torstein.
Jakob yells something in a language I don’t understand, but it must be Old Norse. I hear “Torstein,” and “Olav”. The rest is gibberish. But the old Norseman’s tone and body language say he’s trying to give the Draugr an old fashioned familial talking to.
Torstein’s head twitches to the side.
Is he listening?
Muninn certainly is. She’s not even looking at me. Instead, she’s staring intensely at Torstein.
Be careful Jakob…
“Tillit!”Jakob shouts, point at Willem. He shouts something else and pulls up his sleeve, revealing the raven tattoo that both he and Willem have. “Tillit!”
Look, I think.
And to my surprise, and Muninn’s, the giant turns his head. First to Jakob’s arm, then Willem’s and then to his own. The very same raven tattoo, though faded from time, has been branded into Torstein’s skin. The raven. The family crest.
And then something occurs to me. The raven—Muninn—was never meant to instill fear. It was a term of endearment, the way Jakob uses it with me. The Olavson’s were, and are, proud of their heritage, of their family crest. Dressed in a cloak of raven feathers, the sixteen year old Áshildr might have looked stunning. A grand gift from a father in love with his daughter.
I shake my head at the tragedy of it all.
Muninn actually hisses at Torstein. Her Jenny-eyebrows furrow deeply. And Torstein finally reacts. He tosses Willem down the hill. His body bounces over Chase’s corpse and slides the rest of the way to the bottom. Jakob charges his undead ancestor, but a backhand smack from Torstein sends him sprawling down the hill after his son.
He steps down the hill, axe on his shoulder. He rounds the unconscious forms of Jakob and Willem and stands behind Muninn. Her eyes are back on me now.
She’s all malice and hatred. Even if I gave myself willingly, I don’t think she would let Willem or Jakob live. In fact, the Queen—whatever it is—will probably get a kick out of torturing my psyche for all eternity. It’s the kind of fate twisted, fundamentalist nut jobs dream up to scare people into believing in God. But this, this could actually happen.
I push away, sliding over the top of the burial mound. I fall back with a yelp and pull several of the stones with me. I scramble to my feet and see the Glock has fallen out of my pants. I scoop it up with my right hand and level it at Muninn’s head.
She grins.
I hate being right. Shooting her in the head won’t change anything, but it will make me feel better. At least, until the Queen burrows her way inside my body.
Muninn takes a step toward me. More stones fall, drawing her eyes down. She gasps. I didn’t think the thing was capable of being surprised, certainly not by a skeleton, but she looks horrified. It’s the same face Jenny made when facing the polar bear. “Mor,” she says in a tone bordering on affection.
Torstein turns his head toward the body. The axe lowers to the ground.
What’s happening?
I stand on my toes to see the corpse better. A skeletal arm dangles form the side. The jawless skull rests at the top. But the rest of the body is wrapped in a ragged, red cloth that looks like it’s held together by grime. But the most striking thing about the cloth is the raven symbol at its center. The Olavson family crest.
42
I’m not sure what’s happening, but it seems profound. Both Muninn and Torstein seem to have forgotten me. Will they see me if I move? Can I escape? Is there time to try waking Jakob or Willem?
Before I have time to consider these things, Muninn whips her head back to me. Her eyes twitch. The thing is crazed and looks less like Jenny than ever. Then I see why. Her face is alive with movement. The parasites in her body are surging toward the surface. If she gets too close, I might find myself covered in the things. She opens her feathered cloak, opening the sides like two great wings. He body roils with tiny bodies. The center of her chest pulses. Then a hole appears. A parasite head the size of a baseball slides out.
The Queen.
Like the others, she’s got two black spots for eyes, each the size of a pencil eraser. Her mouth opens wide, revealing nail-like teeth. Clear mucus oozes from her jaws as they snap open and closed, ready to chew their way into my body. I’m not sure, but I think the mucus that covers everything, including the Queen’s body, will keep me from bleeding out or dying from the injuries she’ll deliver by burrowing through my insides.
“Kona.” The deep voice startles me.
Was that Torstein?
Muninn cranes her head around toward her father’s undead body. She seems as surprised as I am to hear him speak.
“Kona,” he says again, and then turns and looks at Muninn, or is he seeing Áshildr now? “Datter.”
His head lowers, white eyes on the axe in his hands. He shakes his head as though gripped by shame.
A shudder runs up Muninn’s back, ruffling the feather cloak with a hiss. “Far?” Muninn says, but the voice isn’t Jenny’s. It’s that of a sixteen year old girl, afraid and confused.
“Forlate, Datter,” Torstein says. His voice is scratchy and dry, but carries an ancient heartache that nearly brings a sob from my mouth.
A second shudder runs up Muninn’s back and her seething anger returns. She hisses at Torstein, no doubt trying to regain control of his mind. But something in the man’s posture has changed. He looks tired, but resolved. Muninn gasps when the axe rises up above her. As the mighty weapon drops down like the blade of a guillotine, Muninn shrieks. I hear the girl, and Jenny, and a thousand little inhuman squeals.
The blade passes through Muninn’s body and clangs when it strikes ston
e. Feathers part as the cloak splits down the middle. One half of Muninn’s body falls atop the skeleton. Then the other. Small white parasites flee into the stones, but I don’t think they’ll survive long without a host.
Then I see her.
The Queen.
Her segmented worm-like body is about a foot and a half long, like a white kielbasa with rubber bands squeezing it every inch or so. It wriggles into the stones.
“Oh no you don’t,” I say. I tuck the handgun into my waist and reach into the stones with my good hand. I feel her squishy slick body and squeeze. The Queen twists and writhes like a worm about to be hooked. I grip the thing just below its head and tighten my grip.
This creature is clearly a form of sentient life. Whether from Earth or someplace beyond, I don’t know. It would be the greatest scientific discovery of all time. Its ability to keep people alive might cure a thousand different ailments and save millions of lives.
Or it might kill every last person on the planet.
With a quick squeeze, I burst the fucking thing’s head and throw it to the ground.
With Muninn and the Queen both dead, I remember Torstein. The big Viking stands motionless, staring down at what remains of his daughter’s body, and the skeleton beneath. The mighty axe rests at his feet. His fighting days are over.
I skirt around him and kneel beside Willem. He’s alive, but his shoulder is still dislocated. I gently adjust the arm, pulling it out straight to line up the joint, and then I shove with all my strength.
Willem hollers in pain as he comes to. It sounds like the pain is sharp, but with the joint back in place, it seems to fade fast. He spins around, looking for danger. His last memory was of dangling in Torstein’s grip. He sees the Viking standing next to us and pushes away.
“It’s okay,” I say. “It’s over.” I move to the side and let him see Muninn’s body.
THE SENTINEL (A Jane Harper Horror Novel) Page 22