‘Please, Shannon, get in,’ he said, and I did. It was relaxing, and I shuddered, blushing and breathing hard for the pleasure of the water. It felt smooth as silk, smelled of jasmine, and I could and did not bother covering my breasts as I lay there, loving every moment. Almheir’s eyes measured me still, and then he pulled at the clutches in his armor. It fell in tangles to his feet, and he stepped out of it and his boots, removed a leathery jerkin and then his chain leggings and undergarments.
‘I …’ I began as my eyes traveled his body. He grinned and lithely slid into the water with me and took deep, relaxed breaths as the water conquered his stress.
‘Do not worry,’ he told me softly. ‘I meant what I said. We just share a bath.’ He was sitting across from me, his brilliant blue eyes steady. He smiled and reached out to a thinly beaked bottle and poured some of the liquid on his palms. He washed his chest and shoulders with it, and then his head, and I hesitated as I saw he had trouble with his long, thick and tangled hair. I pressed my hands on his hair, touching his fingers until he let me, and I washed it, and then his shoulders, cursing myself for a fool. He was powerful and intriguing, and I missed Ompar.
I was also going to die soon, in all likelihood.
I let myself enjoy the ripple of his muscles until I noticed he was very close to me, his hands wetting my hair, his eyes staring intensely into mine, and then his lips sought mine as he washed me, only avoiding my raw skin. He kissed me gently, I answered, and then he broke it off. ‘We will die,’ he whispered. ‘We—’
‘Yes,’ I said, stroking his face. ‘I was just thinking about it. We might as well enjoy. It is all mad, but we should.’ He was kissing my neck and my face, his hands around me, and he pulled me to him, and I sat on his lap. It lasted for a long hour and ended up in the bed.
Afterward, laying there, he pushed my hair aside. I was thinking of Ompar and felt remorse. Yet, this had seemed natural as well, though perhaps without the love. ‘Thus, we marry, Shannon. I did not mean to—’
‘I chose to. I don’t want to go with regrets. And perhaps I am paranoid. Perhaps we must be truly married for me to have a chance with the ghoul. I know not.’
He smiled. ‘You are superstitious. You are the Hand, married or not, but I thank you. I also very likely ride to my death, and I value this. An elf takes a woman to his heart, and the woman is willing, and then it is nothing but good luck for us all. Gods will smile. I have shared my love and seed with you, brave Shannon, Hand of Life, and I thank you for easing my fears.’
I smiled at him, and he smiled back, and I yearned to hold onto the moment. I could not. I sat up, and I saw his eyes harden as we were to attend the business at hand. ‘And now, I will have to know more about the Eye,’ I told him.
‘Aloise.’
‘Aloise?’
He nodded. ‘Aloise Safiroon Bardagoon. My wife. Your sister in marriage,’ he said. ‘Call her thus, a sister. She will know much of what might be expected. If you would sign the contracts and then, meet her upstairs. I shall take you, in fact.’
‘I will,’ I said and got up. I pulled at my old mail from Euryale’s, and then I put the helmet on. I let the armor dress itself around me, and it creepily did.
I turned and found myself face to face with the Regent. ‘A paltry gift, of course, but one you should use. Perhaps it will help you this day, wife,’ he said huskily. He handed me a simple sword with a long, tapering blade, thin and bluish, and the guard was made of wrought steel. ‘It cannot be broken. It is said it was Freyr’s gift to my family, the servants of his throne. Dverg made, they said, in the magical fires of the underworlds. Wish Maker, we call it.’ He walked to the door and spoke, and a round, leather-covered object was given to him. The Charm Breaker. ‘Rarely has a Hand been better armed. Keep the shield covered. Remember. Cerunnos will know it if he sees it. He might anyways.’ He ran his fingers across the leather and told me to turn around. He strapped it across my back with leathers, and it was there, warm and secure, and a great gift. He was doing his best to help me.
I bowed to him and looked at the blade in wonderment, and he gave me a simple sheath and helped me tie it on my belt. I gave him a brief hug, which he returned. I felt he was tense, almost reluctant, but he nodded and pushed me away gently. He looked at the desk, and I spied the papers on it and signed them. He smiled uncertainly, gestured for the door, led me out of the room and up to the third landing. The music was still playing, but the song had stopped. He approached a door, running his hand over the wood reluctantly and took a deep breath. Then he pushed it open.
I entered. Inside was Aloise, the beautiful elven lady, lying on a bed, holding her belly. Shinna Safiroon was sitting with her, whispering as Aloise was touching her neck, a haunted look on her face, and I knew that despite my healing of her wounds, she was facing a lifetime of fears and traumatic memories. Hundreds of the stick figures had been playing around the cadaverous wounds that had covered her. Her hand was over her belly, huge and rounded, and her eyes betrayed a look of utter hopelessness and bottomless fear as she listened to a very young elf play a stringed instrument masterfully. Almheir cleared his throat. The music stopped. ‘Husband,’ she croaked, her eyes coming into focus.
‘Here is the Hand of Life,’ Almheir said with a trembling voice. ‘She is now the Hand of Life of House Bardagoon. Shannon Bardagoon.’
‘A human? Is it even possible?’ asked a maid, but Almheir snapped his fingers, and they all went quiet and cleared the room. Shinna bowed to me briefly as she moved away. She was dressed for war, in a high, dark helmet, ring armor reaching to her ankles and a shield on her back. Almheir bowed to me as well. ‘Come out in a bit. We will be ready.’ He left with her.
I turned to Aloise. She gestured for me, and I walked to her. She crushed me in a hug, and I lifted my helmet to kiss her cheek as I sat next to her. ‘Thank you. It will be terribly upsetting to the scholars, but I shall name the baby after you. Shannon.’
‘My father would be proud,’ I said with a smile.
‘You are about to try the unthinkable?’ she asked. ‘Here, sit still.’ She grabbed a pen and some paper and began to draw. ‘Ask me questions, sister.’
‘What …’ I began, and then shook my head. ‘How—’
She chuckled. ‘I know about the Freyr’s Seat. I studied in the White Halls and the Spell Hold, and while it was far from easy to decipher ancient texts, my father had actually been there before it … before it was ruined.’ Her face betrayed the pain of her father’s loss. ‘A Gorgon in my home city, running around with his face. It’s beyond comprehension.’
‘I am sorry,’ I told her. ‘They are mistresses of lies.’
‘Terrible things,’ she said softly. ‘Yes, but back to the business at hand. Talien has … had seen it.’
‘What is it like?’ I asked. ‘The hall?’
‘Simple. Grand outside, but inside? Much more simple. It’s a long hall with a series of rooms on each side. Cerunnos Timmerion will be seated at the end of the huge table.’
‘The Eye?’ I asked.
‘The Eye is in his hand. You cannot let go of it if you claim it,’ she said. ‘Talien, Father told me Cerunnos should have returned it to Hel, but instead, he held onto it and claimed it. It cursed him then, the Eye. How did it curse him? You wish to know?’
‘Tell me.’
She was drawing furiously. ‘It is the eye of the goddess. Euryale removed it from Hel’s face, and while she did it for the gods and Baldr and her reward from the gods, it is a hard thing to hold. It is magical, very much so. It allows Hel to gaze into the realms she once roamed as a free soul, a free creature, and she still sees what the Eye sees. She desires it back. All you need to do is take it ...’ she faltered as she said that, and she probably did not believe I could. ‘Then speak to it. Some say if you die with it, you go to her as you were when you died. Both dead and undead. Cerunnos was different. He claimed it his and held onto it until it corrupted him. He never died with it, but just
went … on. But never mind dying. Of course, you will survive and get it. Just don’t claim it and tell the Eye you would return it. She will see and hear. Hel supposedly holds the horn of Heimdall, and she can open the gates. She can send someone to fetch the Eye. She will.’
‘That simple,’ I said with a smile. ‘Have a chat with a rotten, old eye.’
She smiled back. ‘Don’t call it that when you hold it. She might be upset, Hel. The hard part will be to negotiate with the Lady of Helheim, Shannon. That and getting the Eye in the first place. She will not be happy to let the gods out of
Asgaard and Vanaheim or wherever they have been trapped. She will bargain hard.’
‘I already bargained hard with a dragon,’ I whispered. ‘Euryale’s prisoner.’
‘Dragon?’ she asked but shook her head to stop me from answering. ‘Euryale must die,’ she said simply. ‘They will all want that to take place. Hel. The Dragon. Almheir. You have much to do, sister. Hel can help us. Fight hard. I know you will.’
‘I should get to it, then,’ I told her and got up, dizzy with fear. She showed me the paper and in it, there was my likeness, but younger and less tired. ‘It looks splendid.’
‘Thank you,’ she said proudly.
‘Why did you draw it?’ She waved her hand and hesitated. I understood. ‘For a statue?’ She said nothing but looked away.
CHAPTER 22
I walked through the magnificent, elegant hallway to enter the yard, where a thousand elves were standing in rows, armed to the teeth, and a way was clear for me to take to the Hall of Freyr and the gate. I clutched my sword’s pommel and ran my hand across the strap of the shield. I looked around, and Almheir was there near the door, with Dana and Lex and Ulrich. They had gotten me this far; they could not go much further. There was wonder in the beautiful faces of the elves as I walked to Almheir. He gave me his arm and draped white furs around my shoulders and armor, and I held onto the sword, clutching it with manic fear. He tugged at me, and I let go of my roots of fear only when he indicated with a small nudge I should walk. I could not look at the remaining Tears. I felt tired to the bone, my innards knotted and pained with terror. Then I chuckled at how terribly I could ruin the serene, holy mood by pissing in my armor with fear. I let go of the gripping fear, embraced death, and I bowed to Almheir, and then we walked.
He lifted his hand and spoke with a loud, booming voice. ‘Witness her, elves of Aldheim. Witness courage and the gift of Frigg. Hail her, warriors, as she seeks to right the wrong of our kin! Witness my wife!’
‘Hail her, hail her!’ the elves yelled, flashing spears and swords high up in the air, thrumming them on shields and then, all went quiet.
I was walking, looking forward, trying to think how many steps there would be to the gate and then beyond to the hall, and indeed if I would even be able to enter the old hall of the god Freyr. Perhaps I was not really the Hand despite what Euryale had thought? I was a fool, yes, but what if there was a real Hand, an elven Hand of Life somewhere out there, unfound and also a fool? Almheir was walking next to me, and I heard Lex and Dana and Ulrich walking behind. The troops were not moving, their eyes full of wonder and with some, distrust. I could not see the cursed Thak. I forgot them as the road wound around some fine, stone and wood buildings, and then I could see the gate, the strange gate glinting in the torchlight, the boar’s head, the mark of a grave. The moons were high in the sky, and I prayed to Freyr for success, but I knew it was quite hopeless. All the elves around me might be dead in a few days should Danar Coinar and his allies reach the land. What a strange world it was. And I was to change all of that. I glanced at my husband, who was looking down. An ancient elf, well versed in intrigue, much hated by his enemies, yet he seemed honest. He loved his wife enough to risk everything.
Or did he?
Did he have plans to win the war? Even if I failed? Would my friends be safe with him? Thak, not likely.
I looked at Dana, who stared back at me with an unreadable expression. She was tense, expectant. She was my sister, and had she not saved my rear all through our lives, save for in Aldheim? Now I was walking to my death, and she did not move a muscle to stop me. She did not scream defiance, nor did she voice her protests. She had wept on the ship, and she had seemed sad and terrified, but was there more to it? Remorse? Guilt? Now she walked like a thing made of stone. Lex? He smiled gently at me, though he was hopelessly sad. Ulrich looked brave, and then he looked away, his eyes wet. Why was Dana not more like them?
I was nearly there.
The wall was intricately made, but still only a simple, decorated stall. Something any lord might have? Was that where a god had lived? What were gods, anyway? The golden roof could be seen above the elven spears, and I looked at it as I went forward. I did until we had reached the gate, and I faced the vicious boar’s head. We stopped before it. Almheir kneeled. I turned to look at him. He took a heavy breath. ‘Farewell in there, wife. Bring us the gods.’
‘I will,’ I breathed and smiled under the helmet. I gazed at Dana, who shrugged, hugging herself.
‘I will see you soon, sister,’ she whispered, and I nodded. I took a trembling step forward and pushed at the gates, expecting them to be locked and closed. They swung open.
Walking at night in a cemetery alone was easy in comparison to taking steps inside that space. It had once been beautiful, no doubt. Low buildings and stables could be seen around the hall, and flowers that had once dotted the banks of the road in ordered rows, now grew wildly. Statues of gods lined the portico, but they were covered in webs and dust, leaving them featureless and shamed. The grass was growing wildly too, but no animals were to be seen, not even mice. Nothing moved. Time stood still, and it was hard to breathe. It was painful, it seemed noisy, every fiber in my body rebelled against the thought. But I forced myself to do it, and it seemed the noise echoed from the walls nearby. I turned to look back, the living faces across from the gate seemed frozen, white and unloving, and so I dared not look at them again. Fear was picking at every nerve. I walked forward, and a cold wind blew across the grass. I was nearing the huge, monumental door with pillars of intricately shaped marbles; the tiles on the ground were multicolored, and gold glittered dully in the cracks. I wanted to run but could not. I walked the route, dust billowing up in puffs of thin clouds, and reached a massive set of doors. I trembled, thinking about how a god or gods really had walked through them. I heard the Glory calling me, to pull at battle spells and to be ready for anything.
The doors opened on their own.
I stopped in surprise, hesitated, and bit my lip. A figure was leaning on them, a dark shadow really, and dust billowed out to cover me. I fought a cough but failed. I raised my hand to see the thing better. It stared at me, malice beating down on me, and I growled in fear. Beyond it, a long hall stood, swathed in shadows and lit only by small, flickering lights. A long table, rather like the one Timmerion had had in the Gray Downs, stretched its way down towards the end of the unseen hall.
‘Who enters? A mortal?’ the figure hissed breathlessly, and then I finally saw it. I took a step back and raised a hand to my face in horror. It was clothed, at least, though it had no shoes. It was not a skeleton but a dried out husk of an elf, its lips hideously twisted, yellowed teeth bared. Its nose was gone, so were the ears and long, filthy hair was lank around its head, sticking crazily to the sides as if the thing had been sleeping, keeping guard at the door forever. The dust was disturbed on the side, and I realized that was exactly what it had done. It was harnessing a spell, I felt, and waited for my answer. I gagged as I smelled it and shook my head in horror as it twitched and moved with the awkward gait of dead joints forced to obey. ‘Who seeks the Court?’ it probed me once again for an answer, perhaps for the final time.
‘I … the Hand of Life, Shannon … Bardagoon. I am here to retrieve the Eye of Hel,’ I said with a stutter, and the dead one grunted like a skull would. It was hollow and strange. It had no eyes but seemed to regard me.
‘I … will try, at least,’ I told him, or it, for I was not entirely sure it had been male.
‘Go, then, mortal,’ the undead thing hissed, shuffled to the side and pulled at a gilded, dust-covered bell. The dust dulled the first toll, but the next rang out clearly, and I felt something was suddenly awake, waiting. There were scrapes and whispers all along the hall ahead. The undead pointed a long, sharp finger towards the end of it. ‘Walk easily, and do not approach the revelers, or you will be … had. Walk past them, pretend they are dust. They are, really. Ignore them.’
‘Thank you,’ I breathed and stepped forward.
The undead was chuckling with a low voice. ‘Thank you. Thank you indeed.’
Nothing Euryale had done to us equaled the horror of that trek down Freyr’s former throne room. I walked on, and soon, the table began to fill with utensils, candlelight, plates and then, at some point, for I was not sure how much time had passed: guests. They were mostly sitting, some skeletal, others mummified, their mouths moving silently, their hands clutching goblets or forks, and sockets stared at me. They were covered in vermin, slugs and maggots though the vermin were also dead. I looked up to the glittering, golden roof to avoid staring at them, but then, a huge, golden brazier became evident some way up the hall. I stared at the fire, hoping for warmth, but there was none to be had, I was sure, as the dead emanated cold. I heard chairs creaking, being pushed back and then the bony shuffle of dead feet behind. They were murmuring, shadows were reaching across the table as more and more of Timmerion’s court followed me, perhaps to welcome a new recruit. The hall was cursed, timeless, evil.
Eye of Hel: Stories of the Nine Worlds (Ten Tears Chronicles - a dark fantasy action adventure Book 2) Page 29