She followed him into a dark room, it was a catacomb of black stone with the gentle sound of trickling water. The ceiling arched just over her head and before her a spring flowed out of the far wall into a rectangle pool cut into the stone floor. A cold doorway exited out beside the fountain into some room that was darker than a starless night. Isolde shuddered as she felt cold air breathe from it, but her thoughts were quickly silenced by Vis.
"You must step into the waters," the old man croaked as the priests took their places around the wall.
Each held their arms across their chests and swayed with closed eyes and moaning throats.
"Why?" She asked.
"This is the gateway," he said, "the waters will carry you to the world beyond."
Isolde began to shake, "and how will I get back?"
"Who can say," the priest said, "maybe ask Bezhaal?"
"And what if I can't?"
"Then you will join your mother."
He moved to Isolde and took her hand.
"Shhh..." he whispered as he made her draw her sword, "now, go into the pool."
He guided her down into the waters and as she stepped in, her feet recoiled from the frigid cold. She cursed showing weakness in front of the man and lowered herself in, letting the water consume her. With shaking hands, she covered her sword over her breast and began to float. The chanting grew stronger around her and it felt as though the water was swirling like a current had formed from below. She felt the priest place his hands on her chest and forehead and he lowered her gently under the water. The cold bit deep into her skin, it was almost as if her skin were burning and she could feel her heart begin to slow. Panic hit her. She couldn't breathe. In a flood of bubbles, her lungs exploded out and water flooded in. She thrashed out, but the hands of the priest tightened. She heard shouting above her, but she was tired. So very, very tired. Her eyes became heavy, it was a sleep she couldn't fight. Slowly her body sank. The world swam away from her and she felt like the pool had no end. Her eyelids drooped together and then it was black.
CHAPTER II
Harald watched as the priest held Isolde down under the cold waters. It was horrific, it looked as if he was forcing her deep into a stone coffin, and he watched mortified as she struggled for freedom.
"Let her go!" he cried.
In a frantic push, he desperately tried to get to Isolde, but Skaldi pulled him back.
"It is okay, Harald," he said. "This is how it is done..."
Bubbles rippled from her nostril and then exploded from her mouth, and moments later she was still and the priest let her body go and she floated lifelessly to the surface.
“Is she dead?” Harald asked with wild eyes.
“Yes,” the pale priest croaked, “her soul has drifted to the other side, but when she returns, the body will come back to life.”
Harald frowned, he was bewildered, his heart hammering in his chest.
“We need to speak with Hēr,” Skaldi said, “where is he?”
The priest looked at Skaldi through his sealed eyes, his pale blue lips curled into a smile that felt mocking. Without a word, he led the congregation back upstairs and stood them before the great wooden statue of the god.
“Speak,” the priest said, “and he will hear your prayer.”
Skaldi scoffed and looked at the priest.
“Do you take me for a fool? I need to speak with the god himself. Where is he?”
Vis looked Skaldi up and down.
"Of all the souls I have seen in my life, Skaldi, you have always been the hardest to see. Is it because you never know what you want, or is it something else?"
"You know it is something else," Skaldi replied sharply.
Harald looked at the two men, still shocked by what had just happened and couldn't tell whether there was real malice in anything they were saying to each other.
"Come with me," Vis said and he began to lead them to a room in the side of the hall.
Skaldi looked back to the dwarves who were making tentative steps into the temple.
"Come along," he cried out sharply, and with that, they hurried to follow Skaldi and Harald into Vis's chambers.
It was a homely room, the well-worn hide of a bear thrown across the stone floor. A fire burned in the hearth with some benches and seats ringed around it with a small bed hidden way in the corner.
"Sit," Vis said with a wave of his hand. "To calm your nerves, young man, Isolde is fine. To die is the one sure way to cross to the other side. So long as she can work out how to return, then she will."
"How will she do that?" Harald asked quickly.
"Wait!" Thodin boomed, "where is our lass?"
"She is fine, master dwarf," Skaldi said with a calming gesture of his hand.
"She is far from fine," Vis said. "We drowned her so she could cross over to Bezhaal's kingdom. A place of endless torture I would assume."
"Drown me too then," Thodin said standing to his feet. "Do it now, I can still catch her."
"Sit down, Thodin," Skaldi said. "You were not born with the gifts Isolde possesses. If we drown you, you won't come back."
The dwarf gave a hmpph and sat back down with a heavy thud and crossed arms.
"Now, Vis," Skaldi said, "I need to speak with the Lord Hēr. Not a wooden carving, but the god himself."
Vis tilted his head to the left and then the right, twisting his lips in thought.
"The god of death is not a kindly being," Vis said slowly. "You might say he does not enjoy the company of the living."
Skaldi fixed his eyes on the hunched priest.
"No more games, father. Do you still parlay with the Lord, or not?"
Vis's lips curled up into a smile.
"You know I do Skaldi. There is a cave, but I cannot guarantee you will return..."
***
As she gasped for watery breath, she saw it coming for her. A great serpent from the stars, morphing in and out of reality, slithering from the darkness of the abyss. Time seemed to slow or stop and start and speed back up so that the snake looked as though it moved in divine splendour. She watched calmly as it reared its head at her and hissed. It was glorious, it was awful, and as it struck out with its bared fangs, Isolde felt herself be swallowed whole.
Down she went, into the belly of the beast, so that she tumbled and fell deep into its gut. She felt the still wind pass her cheeks and watched as ribs of light flashed past her eyes. In a moment it was gone and she gasped for breath before choking. The water filled her mouth and ran down her throat, she felt it heavy on her chest and she coughed and spat. Breathe wouldn't come, she fought and struggled and rolled. She could feel fluid all around her, thick and greasy, clinging to her skin. Her heart was pounding, her eyes flowing with tears. With one great heave, she let the water explode from her throat and she gasped the air deep into her lungs.
Isolde looked around, she wasn't in the temple anymore. Instead of the freezing waters she had lain in, she was now half sunk in the still, green marsh of some swamp. Dark green leaves like lily-pads clung to the surface of the water and stuck to her skin. The water was warm and stunk as if it had been bathed in the sun for too long, but when she looked up through the canopy of rotten trees, she couldn't see the sky. It was as if she were in a cave, yet the roof of the cavern was so high that it could have been a sky of some sort.
All around her, the bulbous bottoms of cypress trees sunk themselves into the water, their long trunks shot up, and their mouldy leaf-laden branches slumped down. She stood up out of the water and screwed her nose to the smell. Where was she? She tried to recollect what happened, but her mind was hazy. She spun around slowly and gasped at the great wall behind her. It rose straight up from the swamp so that the water butted right up against the black stonework. Each block was so big that she marvelled at whether human hands could have placed them, and the wall itself rose so high that she could scarcely see the top without craning her neck right up.
"Hey?" a voice cried out.
&n
bsp; Isolde felt her heart stop and dropped down low. She reached for her sword and wrapped her fingers around the leather grip. With hawk-like eyes, she scanned between the trees and watched the surface of the water for movement.
Sploosh, sploosh, sploosh.
Whoever it was, they weren't trying to hide. The sound of thick mud and splashing water made the intruder obvious.
"What are you doing out here?" the voice called again.
It was a man, the voice was strong, but it wasn't forced. It was as if whoever was behind the words could command respect by what they said.
"I said, what are you doing?" the voice had an accent, she could hear it. It was the way he spoke, the sentences didn't flow right. It was as if he wasn't speaking his first language. He rolled his Rs and stretched his words so that each line he spoke was rhythmic and soothing.
And then she saw him, forcing his way through the water from behind the cypress trees. He was tall and handsome, with dark hair swept back off his face and the hint of a beard that darkened his sun-kissed skin. She marvelled at his dress, it was so foreign to her, knee-high leather boots that flopped at the top, tight dark pants that stretched right over his thighs, and a light green top that buttoned down the centre with the crest of a black eagle embroidered across it.
"Who are you?" she said, trying to keep her words strong and stern.
"You are a northerner?" he replied with a smile, "and how did one so sweet as you reach this hellish place, then?"
The question confused her.
"Where am I?" she asked.
"You have to be joking with me, sweetling. You know not where you are?"
"No," she snapped. "Where am I?"
The man shook his head and she saw pity in his eyes.
"Back there, you might have called this hell. But here it is Bezhaal's kingdom, and you will be graced with every torture he can afford you... should he find you that is."
His words shocked the memories back to her mind. The temple, the pool, the snake. It all came back in a flash and she realised she had crossed over. It had worked, she was here.
"Who are you?" she asked.
The man raised his eyebrow and Isolde knew that he was expecting some sort of shock from her that she did not give.
" Marco de Scopa, at your service," he said with a slight bow. "And who might you be?"
"Isolde Astridsdottir. How do I find Bezhaal? I need to see him."
Marco barked out a laugh.
"Sweetling, you do not see Bezhaal, he sees you. And when he comes to see you, you will wish that you weren't dead, because not even death can free us from this place."
"They can't kill you?" she asked.
"Kill me?" he laughed and held out his wrists. They were cut deeply and wept wet blood. "I'm already dead. No, no, no, the worst they can do is lock me up there," he said nodding to the black wall. "Beyond is the city of the damned, and craning over that city is a castle, and in that castle is your Bezhaal."
She nodded slowly, taking note of everything Marco said.
"Your wrists," Isolde began. "Is that... how it happened for you?"
Marco nodded with a smile.
"Don't trust the promises of gods and devils, Isolde. Apparently, this was the price for everlasting life... but there's always a catch, isn't there."
"So you have to live here forever?" she asked.
"Unless I want to take a leap of faith and dive into the abyss, then yes, this is it."
"Abyss?"
"The destroyer of souls, the great devourer... if you get up there, then you will see it."
"Destroyer of souls? That's it," she said excitedly. "That's where I need to go. I can drop the ruby in there."
"What ruby?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow.
Isolde's heart faltered for a moment. She had said too much, she didn't even know if she could trust this Marco de Scopa.
"It's nothing," she said quickly.
"I'm not an idiot," he said with deadpan eyes. "But keep your secrets."
Isolde looked around, she didn't even know where to start. The marsh stunk like rotting flesh and the high, black walls before her gave no hint of what lay beyond.
"How do I get there?" she asked. "To the tower?"
"Ha!" Marco laughed, "you are funny."
"What do you mean?"
"The way changes, the paths twist, the people are scared and won't help you. You can try and find your way, but it might take you forever."
"Are you going to help me or not? If you're going to waste my time, then I'll just start on my own."
"Fine," he said, "but trust me, don't trust anyone."
Isolde shook her head, was she suppose to trust him then? It didn't matter, she looked back at the wall and sighed.
"The gates that way," he said pointing far down the marshes. "You can't miss it if you just follow the wall."
Isolde looked him in the eye, and Marco gave her a roguish smirk.
"You will not get in, though," he said. "The gate is guarded and only the marked may pass."
CHAPTER III
Isolde had been trudging through the marshy swamp for what felt like hours. Her legs ached as the thick mud below the water sucked her feet in and with each step, she had to force her legs free before letting them plunge back into the swamp again, only to start the ordeal all over again. The colossal black wall towered above her to the right, and to the left was an endless sea of motionless water laden with lily pads, leaf debris, and a forest of bulbous trees that looked half rotten.
The light in this world was fading to something like a twilight. Isolde couldn't work it out, there was no sky, yet still, some kind of night was falling upon her. She could smell the earthy aroma of wood fires wafting through the air from beyond the wall, and the darkness brought about nocturnal animals that she could hear but not see. The creaking of crickets and frogs, the buzz of small biting insects, even the odd blob in the water that she thought, or hoped, were small fish.
Still, she trudged on until she saw a flicker of light in the distance along the wall. The closer she got, the more she was sure that she had found the gatehouse which Marco had promised her. Huge guard towers sprouted from the walls with glowing red slits for windows that looked like watching eyes. Then she heard the faint murmur of voices being carried across the still water. They were rough, guttural words that she heard, more animal than human, but she was sure they spoke the common language because she thought she could make out a word or two.
Caution got the better of Isolde, it would be far safer to see them before they saw her, so she began to walk at an angle from the wall so that by the time she got parallel to the gate, she would be at a safe distance, shrouded in the darkness of the night.
The water splooshed as she moved and she tried going slower to quieten the noise. The darkness had fallen thick, and aside from the darker silhouettes of trees and the glowing flames to her right, all was black. She kept peering over to the wall to see the fires when out of nowhere she stepped up on to dry land. She stopped for a moment confused and looked to her left and right. She was standing on a low dyke, a mound of earth that ran straight to the gates and out into the marshes as far as she could see. It was narrow, maybe four steps across with two deeply rutted grooves running down the middle that were undoubtedly made from wagons coming and going. It was a roadway, she was sure of it.
The city's gates were much clearer here. The two guard towers were like gnarled fingers, jutting out from the walls and standing apart by the width of the roadway, yet despite the narrow path, they towered high into the sky, taller than any cliff Isolde had seen. Those red, slitted eyes ran up and down the black stones like wicked watchers, they made her shudder. She could just make out some great iron gates that had been left opened ajar. She squinted down the road and could see two guards, she was sure of it, they stood at the bottom of the gate like giant beasts, but any other detail was lost to her.
Isolde took a deep breath, there was no other way in, but what did Marco
mean when he said she needed to be marked? She would have to at least try passing through the gates. She looked toward the gatehouse longingly, trying to find another way through, but the walls were impenetrable. With her fingers fidgeting around the leather strap of her sword, she took the first step forward and slowly the monstrous walls grew closer and closer.
"HALT!"
The command came like a roar from one of the guards. Isolde froze to the spot, her breath caught in her throat. She could see them now. They were not human at all, but some kind of monstrous beast of stone and steel. One came marching toward her, shaking the earth as he moved. He was at least twice her height and the same abroad. Dark metal plates had been riveted onto its body, and where the metal showed the beast below, all she could see was the cold grey of rock. Isolde was shaking, she looked at the beast’s head and his face was covered in an iron helmet, with red eyes like glowing embers shining through the eye slits.
"NAME?"
The voice was like thunder and Isolde trembled before him. She had not even noticed the stone giants poleaxe. He held the great weapon in one hand, letting its awful head rest upon his shoulder.
"Isolde..." she managed to say with wide eyes.
"BUSINESS?"
The force of the word made her step back. She was stunned, completely shocked by the immensity of the beast. The thing stood motionless, its red eyes burning into her, waiting for a reply.
"To... to see Bezhaal..."
"DENIED!" it cried, and before Isolde could register what was happening, the giant raised its iron-clad fist and backhanded her across the jaw.
She felt her head shudder under the weight of the blow and she fell back reeling from the pain. The stone giant wheeled on its heels and marched back to the gate.
"Wait!" Isolde cried, "I need to see your master..."
She struggled back to her feet, her head spinning, and ran after the giant.
"Wait... wait..."
The beast wheeled around again with its pole axe raised to strike. Isolde saw it this time and her legs turned to jelly beneath her.
Land of the Gods (Isolde Saga Book 4) Page 2