by Arthur Slade
Dad, I thought. Oh no. Not this ... this can't happen to my father.
He looked pale. He'd lost his glasses. What would I do if he was dead?
Then Morrison squeezed my father's stomach. Water sluiced out of Dad's mouth. He coughed for a few wretched moments, but didn't awaken. He was alive, at least.
My mind was a blur of questions, emotions. Had they tried to sacrifice him? Had he been thrown in the water and left to die? Would he survive this?
The Ranger lowered him, gently resting his head on a pile of fishnets in the end of the boat. He yelled up to us, "Your Dad was floating face down when I saw him. I thought he was dead, but he's still breathing. He's badly cut up though."
A wave slammed the boat against the slide. Morrison fell over, then cautiously pulled himself back to his feet, keeping a tight grip on the edge.
"Can we come down?" I hollered, gesturing to Fiona to get ready to climb down.
"In a moment. Somehow I'll have to get this boat steady."
The ocean was much rougher now. A thick, swirling breaker of clouds unfurled from the sky above us like a wave, lightning sparking its dark underbelly.
Within a minute it hit us full force. Ice cold rain sliced down, biting into my skin. Wind struck my body. I stumbled back a few feet, struggled to keep my footing. Fiona and I leaned against each other. I grabbed her hand.
"We have to get down to the boat now!" she yelled. I nodded, shielding my eyes from the downpour. We had stumbled a yard or two away from the edge. I couldn't even see the water anymore. Or the boat.
But I thought I could hear the Ranger yelling at us, his voice angry and urgent.
A clap of thunder shook the whole ravine, rattling my vertebrae. Lightning flashed directly above us, making the hair on the back of my neck shoot straight up. It was way too close for comfort.
Then a whispered song like a lullaby drifted into my ears.
"Hullabulla lullabulla
bones and red blood
in a dark flood."
I turned to see where the song was coming from. Lightning shot down again, revealing a deep blue, pencil-thin apparition standing in the ravine, one arm raised, like he was pulling strings on a puppet. A second later the figure was gone, swallowed by darkness.
"Fiona!" I screamed. "Let's go!"
I struggled to pull her right up to the edge of the slide. Her hand slipped out of mine, then immediately she shoved it back into my grip. She seemed to weigh a ton.
Then I heard her cry like she was a mile away from me, which didn't make any sense, because I was still holding her hand. Her ice cold fingers clung to mine.
I turned back to look at her. A specter scattered behind me, the feeling of someone's hand in mine disappeared. I heard ghostly laughter, then nothing. What was going on? A trick?
A fetch. It had to be. Doing its master's bidding.
Fiona yelled again. Her voice was muffled.
"Get down here!" Morrison shouted. He was struggling with the pole, prying at the rocks in an attempt to keep his boat from slamming against them. "Get down here, right now! This boat's gonna break apart any second!"
"Fiona's gone! Someone took her!"
"What? Get down here! Now! We'll bring the Mounties back and find her."
I took one look at the waves, him fighting against them. I saw the prone figure of my father laid out across the deck.
What was the sensible thing to do, I wondered. To climb down, get in the boat, retreat to the campground and wait for the police to unravel this mess. That was the sensible thing to do. But nothing about any of this was sensible. I couldn't do anything for Dad now. And I couldn't leave Fiona to these madmen.
"Come here!" Morrison commanded.
"No," I said, not sure if he could hear me. "No! Take my father back. I'll find Fiona."
The Ranger yelled something at me as I started running wildly toward the end of the ravine.
25.
The ground had grown slippery. Light had drained from the sky, soaked up by the clouds. Soon total darkness would fall. I scrambled around, hoping to discover a clue to where Fiona had gone.
In misty darkness, I tripped over the body of the goat and fell, accidentally hugging its wet hide. Dank, dead air slipped out of its lungs. Its eyes were open and dull. I recoiled, falling back against the metal post.
So many sacrifices had happened right here. So much violence. And I was laying right in the center of it all. I felt paralyzed by claustrophobia. How many animals had died in this spot?
I wasn't going to be next. I pulled myself together, sat up. A glowing light caught my eye. I saw that the black obelisk at the edge of the ravine had been moved, revealing the mouth of a cave. The light had come from the inside.
I padded slowly up to the opening. It seemed to exhale an unearthly stench, of carcasses and filth piled up and left to rot. I took my last deep gulp of air, pulled my collar up to cover my mouth, and crept inside. The interior was tall, glowing stalactites hung from the roof like the teeth of an enormous dragon. I took a few more steps, hesitant to go too far. I stopped, listened. My own breathing echoed in the corners.
I thought I could hear the sound of footsteps and voices somewhere deep in the rock.
Suddenly, a shuffling noise came from just behind me.
I spun around in time to see a bulky figure step out from a hidden alcove. He filled the doorway, blocking the dim light.
I slowly backed away into the cave.
"Done be fraid," a thick voice slurred quietly. "Im Sirska. Juz want talk."
I stepped back, panicked, and hit a wall, bumping a stone. It rattled across the floor.
"Done be fraid." He shuffled a few feet in my direction, then stopped. He was a heavy-set man, certainly not the one I'd seen pointing at us in the rain just moments ago. "Im Sirska. Siroska. Frend."
There was something familiar about what he was saying. I could almost make out the words. Sirska. Siroska.
And then it suddenly made sense. "You're Siroiska," I whispered. "Doctor Siroiska."
"Yessss," he rasped. His voice was so hoarse I could barely make out the words. "Siroska, ma name. Once."
"Then you're alive."
He slowly shook his head. A sad motion. "No. Dead. Im dead. He killed me."
"What?" I asked in disbelief.
"Bolverk. Sorcerer. He came to me in dreams. I was alone, doing my research. Hullabulla, he sang. He led me to his grave and I opened it. Then he killed me. On the rune stone."
"But, you're here, talking ..."
"Dead. Heart stopped beating many, many months ago. He kept me like this to do his work. Never resting. So cold. Always another sheep. Another goat. Until everything was set."
Siroiska had gone crazy. That was the only thing that made sense. He'd spent a whole year trapped at this end of the island. And what was that about sheep and goats? He'd killed them?
"Dead," he repeated. "All dead inside me. No more dreams." He staggered into a shaft of dim light that came from some opening in the ceiling. I could make out his face now, checkered with gray and white patches, the skin hanging loose. His eyes were lifeless marbles that searched the room blindly for me. Was he out of his mind?
Or was he telling the truth?
He shook, struggled to take another step, then fell to his knees. "He made me this way. He did this. I tried to warn you. To get you to go away."
I remembered now. I'd seen Siroiska before, when we were running from the longhouse. He'd come out of the forest, waving his arms. "Who were you warning us about?"
"Bolverk. Evil spirit, now flesh." Bolverk, the name burned in my skull. Somehow I knew it had to be him. "Bolverk choose you and your father, said he knows your bloodline, knows your family came from the same land as him. Many years ago. He tried to feed your father to the worm. It refused. Bolverk believes he will have better luck with a smaller gift."
"Fiona? Is that what you mean? Where did he take her?"
Siroiska struggled to lift his fing
er. He pointed past me. "There ... there. Find her. If you can. She's there." He was falling down farther, crumpling into himself. "I'm fading. He no longer needs me. He has what he wants." Siroiska was now collapsed in a heap on the floor. "Leave me. I should have been gone long ago."
"I'll send someone to get you. The Mounties are coming. You'll be safe again," I promised, knowing that somehow this was impossible.
He didn't answer.
I felt along the wall until I found an opening that went the same direction he'd pointed and started down the tunnel.
26.
I traveled as quickly as I could, navigating over the rough ground. The walls around me glowed dimly.
I passed openings that led into other caves, all honeycombed beneath the earth. Some echoed with the sound of splashing waterfalls. Others smelled of decaying flesh. I tried to stick to the passage in the center, holding my arms out to stop from banging into a wall. I could only hope there weren't any hidden chasms.
Then I heard Fiona's voice. I turned a corner and pressed myself flush against the wall.
A dimly lit figure stood in the center of a chamber, one hand clasped on Fiona's arm. He was clad in dirty rags that hung in strips wrapped loosely around his body. He was tall, thin, his shoulders disproportionately wide. His face was hidden by a hood and he held a long, intricately carved staff in his hand. Circling around him were the two wolves, their claws clicked against the stone. Light emanated from somewhere. I looked for candles. Even a flashlight. Then it became apparent: the man himself was glowing, softly.
"Let go of me!" Fiona moaned. "Please, let go!"
"Do you know me?" the raspy voice drifted out from somewhere inside his hood. Waves of dread filled the tunnel, filled me. "Do they still try to protect the children from me, the crib breaker? Do they still whisper the lullabies of fear?
'Lullaballa bulla the blood runs down
Lullaballa bulla Bolverk wears darkness on his crown.'"
His singing was surprisingly soft and musical. It had a powerful effect, drawing me toward him. The bite on my arm flared with pain, began to burn, then turned cold. At some level I responded, moving forward, pulled by an irresistible force. First one step, then another. I was powerless to stop myself.
One of the wolves looked toward me, two red slits for eyes. I shuffled ahead, turning the corner. Then the echoes of his song died and I was able to hold myself still. The wolf slowly turned away. I edged back into my hiding place.
"Do they still sing of me?" Bolverk asked, a harsher edge to his voice. Fiona didn't answer. "Do they fear my return?"
"I—" Fiona sounded hoarse. He was squeezing her arm, forcing her to speak. "I—I don't know."
He met this with a long silence.
"So many years," he whispered, finally, "the wolf chasing the sun. So many days spent sleeping, all the languages of men drifting into my skull. All the ancient dreams waiting for life. And then, to waken in my cairn wearing this filthy flesh. I will wear new flesh, soon."
He looked down at Fiona. "You are small. Warm. The perfect morsel for a god."
I remembered the goat that had been torn in half. I shuddered at the thought of the same thing happening to her.
"Tonight you shall rest in Niflheim. When you tell Modgud your name and lineage, let her know it was Bolverk who sent you. And that I will never dwell in her halls."
Niflheim. The land of the dead. Fiona was doomed.
My arm was burning again. I looked down at it, squeezing with my other hand, trying to stifle the pain. The snake bite had begun swelling up and oozing dark blood. It was as if just being near Bolverk had caused the reaction.
Bolverk's voice faded—they were gone. I stepped into the chamber where they'd been, only to discover several openings, each wide enough to travel down. Fiona and Bolverk were in one of the tunnels now, but which one? In a fit of panic I chose one, ran through it, blood pounding in my ears. Everything was closing in on me, stalactites scraping my head, until finally I came to a dead end. Bones were scattered around like something had been trapped there long ago.
I ran back to where I thought I'd started and picked another tunnel, running madly down it. Finally, at the edge of exhaustion, I stopped and leaned against a wall. All this aimless wandering wasn't getting me anywhere. But what could I do? I'd starve to death down here if I couldn't find a way out. No one would know what had happened to me. I thought of my father lying unconscious in the boat. Had Morrison been able to get him safely back to the campground?
What would my Dad do in this situation? My sister? I tried to stay calm. Maybe that was the best thing, to just slow down.
I closed my eyes. Pictured Fiona. I couldn't even imagine what must be going through her mind. For the first time in all the madness, the thought of my father's pain, of Fiona's plight, was too much. Tears welled up in my eyes. What could I do for either of them? For myself?
My arm throbbed again. My vision shifted; suddenly I could see that other world again. Several fetches were gathered in front of me, pointing and laughing at my suffering.
I couldn't stand it. I bellowed, kicking out at them, my legs going right through their bodies. This only made them cackle harder. I chased them until my lungs felt like they would burst. The fetches vanished with a hissing noise. Bad luck. That's all they were. Bad luck on four legs. Another sign that I was doomed.
Something reflected from the floor. A few feet in front of me. I walked ahead to where I'd seen the flash. I found the object: it was small, round and metallic.
It was the dollar coin. Whether on purpose or by accident, Fiona had dropped it. Maybe my luck was changing.
I pocketed the coin. At least I knew I was going the right way.
A slight breeze brushed my face, carrying the scent of fresher air. I was closer to freedom than I'd thought.
I staggered ahead. A hundred yards. Two hundred. The cave ended abruptly and I found myself on the edge of a cliff that dropped eighty feet to the churning ocean. Night had fallen while I was under the earth: a full moon peered between clouds, casting pale light. To one side of the cave was a narrow path leading up through some trees. I followed it. Branches rattled above me. The trees didn't look like any I'd ever seen. They were twisted in on themselves and grown together like each branch was trying to strangle another.
How far away were Fiona and Bolverk? And what would I do if I caught up with them?
The gale was colder now, like some forgotten winter wind had been waiting to be unleashed from the sky. My skin had turned to goose flesh. My right forearm had swelled up and become deadened. I could barely move my fingers.
CRACK!
The noise came from behind me. Bolverk was here! Or his wolves.
I was about to run when a familiar voice snapped, "I told you to eat garlic."
27.
It was Harbard, limping toward me out of the trees. A blue glowing light surrounded him: my vision had switched to that other world.
"You don't listen very well, do you?" he said. His brow was furrowed. He was soaking wet and dirty, as if he'd been crouching out here for hours. He gripped a small axe in his hands. "If you'd eaten garlic there wouldn't be any swelling and you wouldn't be seeing what you see now. The second sight isn't meant for one so young." He ran his hands in front of my eyes and the glowing light vanished. He pushed something into my right hand. "Squeeze this."
I slowly opened my deadened fingers and saw a smooth, palm-sized stone. Runes were scratched across its middle. "What ... what is it?"
"A piece of rune stone. Like the ones that protect my house. It is etched with helgan, the word that will ease all wounds. And take away second sight."
A sharp pain pierced my arm. I squeezed the rock and the ache ebbed away.
"It works!
"Of course. Why wouldn't it?"
I felt my wrist. The bleeding had stopped.
From somewhere far ahead of us in the woods came a low thudding sound. "Where is ..."
"The afturgan
ga: the one who walks after death," Harbard said, simply. "Bolverk has gone on to complete his task." Harbard's teeth glinted in the moonlight; he looked almost savage. "My father buried him and his companions. Under stone. I should have seen the signs, that he was awake again." He grabbed my shoulder and pushed me down the path. "You will help me. We must move now, there is little time. Your friend is alive, but not for long."
I followed Harbard. He led me past tree after twisted tree; nothing seemed to have grown straight on this side of the island. A mist seeped out of cracks in the ground as if the earth was trying to cover up what was about to happen. Or was it old, malevolent spirits, forcing their way to the surface to watch? To add their evil to the night?
I shivered. Harbard stopped briefly to give me his jacket, then gruffly commanded me to keep moving.
The way grew even steeper. I used my left hand to grab at roots and small bushes and pull myself higher. Harbard moved quickly and with ease, his limp was hardly noticeable. I wasn't going to let any old man outdistance me.
We climbed, not stopping for anything. The wind had picked up again, swirling the fog around us. Pellets of rain stung my skin. We journeyed higher, step after step into the thickening gloom.
Soon a booming noise filled my ears. Deep, echoing drums laden with doom.
"He's begun!" Harbard quickened his pace, flicking mud and water all over me.
We reached the top, a small plateau covered with stones and outcroppings of rock. We crawled to the far side and peered over the edge. Below us was the small bay Fiona and I had fled in the boat.
"This is where the Mórar landed, so many lifetimes ago," Harbard said, "they climbed up onto the island and died, their bodies wasted from being at sea so long. Washed by rain, shrouded by snow. Their evil sank into the very depths of Drang."
The light of the moon penetrated the clouds, outlining everything. Tendrils of swirling mist floated above the water. There was a long rectangular rock near the edge of the bay, surrounded by waves. Torches had been fastened to each corner and were burning brightly, the flames flickering back and forth in the wind. The booming grew louder.