The men left the cavern to obey.
Nidhug stood swaying weakly before the Skull. He shakily raised his arms, began to chant the incantation.
With her enemy’s concentration elsewhere, Bloodsong closed her eyes and whispered the incantation to summon Hel-fire. Nothing happened. “It didn’t work, Huld.”
“Reach deep inside. Find the power!”
Bloodsong whispered the incantation again, then again, and felt something awaken within her. She whispered the spell a third time. Something groped toward the surface of her consciousness, something that glowed purple behind her closed eyelids. The glow became a ghostly skull. It grew brighter. Energy poured through her and seared her mind.
The Hel-warrior grimaced in pain, forced the Helish energy upward along her arms. She concentrated the power around her wrists, willed it to grow hotter and hotter.
“Your wrists are blistering!” Huld cried.
Bloodsong ignored her.
The stench of burning flesh filled the air, but suddenly the iron manacles, now glowing red-hot, gave way.
Wrists burned raw and smoking, Bloodsong fell to the floor. Through a haze of pain, she looked at the Skull and saw Nidhug, his back still to her, chanting, arms raised. But the Skull was glowing brighter, and the struggles of the women were more frantic.
“Hurry!” Jalna urged.
Bloodsong cursed. “Modgud’s Bones! I can’t walk and it will take too long to crawl. He paralyzed my legs!”
“The same as mine,” Jalna said.
Bloodsong looked up at Huld. “You must heal me!”
“I can’t!” Huld answered. “These are spell-chains!”
“She can’t, anyway,” Jalna said. “He told me there is only one forgotten spell that can heal what he did to us.”
“I doubt that’s true.” Huld responded. “A healing spell like the one I know can be used for almost anything.”
“Really?” Jalna’s hope flared.
“The manacles require a key, I suppose, Jalna?” Bloodsong asked, crawling toward Huld.
“One of the guards has it.”
Bloodsong grasped Huld’s legs.
“What are you doing?” Huld grimaced in pain at Bloodsong’s extra weight on her wrists.
Bloodsong pulled herself up the Witch’s body, hugging Huld’s thighs, hips, waist.
“Ow! Oh! My wrists!”
“Your wrists be damned!” Bloodsong growled.
The women on the Skull started screaming. Jalna cried, “It’s almost done!”
Bloodsong grasped Huld’s shoulders, pulled herself face-to-face with the Witch, reached up, grasped one manacle, then the other. “I’ll burn them open.”
“No! Use my lock-opening spell!”
“There’s no time to learn it from you!”
“It’s very simple!”
“Hurry!” Jalna said again.
“Just say three Runes and visualize the locks opening!” Huld said. “Say Gebo! Jera! Sowillo!”
Bloodsong said the three Runes. Nothing happened. “Curse it!”
“Again! See it in your mind! Pull the power up from within you like before. The locks will spring open!”
Bloodsong said the Runes again, held fast to the mental image, felt her inner power stir anew. She repeated the Runes a third time—
Huld’s manacles sprang open.
Bloodsong and Huld fell to the floor.
“It’s almost too late!” Jalna cried. “You’re going to be too late!”
Laying her hands on Bloodsong’s paralyzed legs, Huld quickly incanted the healing spell.
Agony poured through the Hel-warrior as the power of Huld’s Witchcraft penetrated deep.
Smoke now rose from beneath the writhing sacrifices on the Skull. Rays of purple light streamed down to bathe Nidhug’s body. “It’s nearly finished!” Jalna cried.
Feeling returned to Bloodsong’s legs. She stood and moved unsteadily toward her sword.
Huld pushed herself to her feet, fought fatigue caused by the healing spell, and wondered if she had enough strength left to heal Valgerth or Thorfinn to help Bloodsong. She decided she did not. They were unconscious still, and their wounds appeared too serious. But maybe she could heal Jalna’s legs.
Bloodsong jerked her sword from its scabbard and slipped her dagger from its sheath on her sword belt.
Nidhug’s back was still toward her, purple rays bathing his body.
Bloodsong raised her left fist, concentrated, and summoned Hel-fire.
The sorcerer-king screamed as he was engulfed in purple flames. His concentration shattered, the purple rays from the Skull vanished.
Bloodsong threw her dagger into the flames covering Nidhug’s body and staggered for the Skull, fighting weakness, gasping for breath, holding her sword.
Nidhug hoarsely shouted words of power. The Hel-fire engulfing him vanished. He ignored the dagger embedded in his back, turned toward Bloodsong, his face a mask of rage and pain. Smoke was swirling from his still-smoldering robe. He blocked Bloodsong’s way to the Skull.
Bloodsong saw Nidhug’s lips moving, quickly raised her fist, conjured another blast of Hel-fire.
Before Nidhug could complete the paralysis spell, another ray of Hel-fire blazed toward him. He halted his incantation and used his power to turn aside the new blast.
All but exhausted from the energy-draining Hel-fire blasts, Bloodsong reached Nidhug and slashed weakly at his neck with her sword.
Nidhug jerked back in time.
The youth spell! she realized. He has regained strength and speed!
Her muscles ached with fatigue. She could barely stand. She had to end it quickly, before the last of her strength was gone.
She struck at him again and again, preventing him from intoning the paralysis spell.
The sorcerer shouted a single word of power as Bloodsong’s blade again descended toward his neck.
A black-bladed sword much like her own suddenly appeared in Nidhug’s hand. He blocked her cut and struck back, surprising her.
Bloodsong twisted to the side and avoided his killing stroke but felt pain cut deep as his blade ripped through flesh to be deflected by her hipbone.
She kept her feet in spite of the pain, parried another stroke, staggered back one step, two, away from the Skull. Purple sparks flashed from the Hel-swords with each blow.
Back and back Bloodsong was driven, exhausted, gasping for breath, refusing to give up.
Nidhug struck to the right and deftly twisted his wrist, altering the angle of his blade in mid-stroke to strike her blade at an unexpected angle.
Bloodsong’s sword flew from her weakening grip.
She reached for the fallen blade.
His sword cut her right arm to the bone.
She reached with her left.
Nidhug’s sword sliced again.
She stumbled back, blood pouring from her disabled arms.
Nidhug’s triumphant laugh echoed around the cavern. “You wish to reach the Skull, slave?” he asked. “All you need do is get past me. Why don’t you do that, slave? Why don’t you—”
Two women grabbed him from each side.
Huld held desperately onto Nidhug’s sword arm.
Jalna clung to his left arm as with her right hand she jerked out the dagger still embedded in his back. She stabbed it into his neck.
Nidhug cried out with pain and rage. He threw Huld to the floor and turned to deal with Jalna.
She jerked the dagger free and raised it to strike again.
He hurled her away, turned back to Bloodsong.
The Hel-warrior was nearly to the Skull!
Jalna threw the dagger but missed as Nidhug leapt after Bloodsong.
Bloodsong staggered the last few steps and fell against the Skull.
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br /> Nidhug’s blade sheared through her backbone.
Bloodsong screamed her agony but with the same breath shouted the incantation to summon Hel.
“No!” Nidhug shouted, hacking at her again and again with his sword, but uselessly now, because it was too late.
He had lost.
Nidhug saw the purple glow of the Skull change to crimson and knew Hel was on Her way.
The terrified sorcerer turned to run for the tunnel.
He screamed, dropped his sword, and fell. Below his knees, both of his legs had been nearly severed. Blood pumped from deep wounds in shattered shins.
“I’m afraid it’s permanent.” Jalna held Bloodsong’s sword in a two-handed grip. She spat on him. “And I’ve forgotten the healing spell.”
BLOODSONG SLID slowly to the rocky floor. Her bloodied, decaying hands and body left scarlet smears upon the Skull’s crystalline surface. I’ve won! she thought, and yet not, for she knew Nidhug’s final cuts were fatal. Huld was too weak to heal so many mortal wounds.
Freyadis Guthrun’s Daughter sprawled unmoving at the base of the Skull. “Guthrun.” She visualized her child in her mind. She gathered her dwindling strength. “Live free, daughter,” she whispered, smiled, “and love strong—”
Her last breath whispered past her lips.
“Bloodsong!” Huld stumbled, still depleted from healing Jalna, to the Hel-warrior, went to her knees, cradled her fallen friend’s lifeless body in her arms. “Oh, no, no—”
The withered corpses of the four women still chained to the now crimson Skull burst into flames and vanished. The Skull’s rumbling moan became a roar of thunder. The cavern floor shuddered. Rocks dislodged from the shadowed ceiling fell and shattered.
Nidhug, whimpering, began to crawl away. But then he stopped. He pushed himself to a sitting position and looked up. He raised a fist at the Skull. “Curse You!”
And the Goddess appeared.
The Skull quieted.
Hel, Daughter of the ancient Giantess men called Anguish Boding, towered to the ceiling of the vaulted cavern. Her eyes of purple fire blazed. Her corpse-half clogged the air with its death-stench. She pointed the first skeletal finger of Her left hand at the Skull. A purple ray shot forth.
A ray of crimson streamed from the Skull into Hel’s body. A halo of blood-red light encased the rotting flesh of Her dead side. She cried out in ecstasy, skeletal left arm folded tightly on Her chest, head flung back. Then, within the crimson glow, She changed.
Hel’s dead half became as beautiful as Her right. She was wholly alive. But only for a moment, then Her left half returned to the dark and decaying hideousness of Death.
The Goddess screamed. “Too long!” The healing crimson glow faded. She screamed again. Her face constricted into a mask of hatred. She glared down at Nidhug. “It has been too long, because of you!” She pointed at him. “I can never be whole again, never be as I once was!”
“Corpse Bitch!” Defying his terror, Nidhug made himself laugh. “I am glad!”
A purple ray from Hel seared his body, lifted him from the floor.
He screamed and writhed in mid-air as he hung helpless before Her.
“I shall make you an eater of corpses! Your home shall be everlasting Darkness, your only sensation unending Pain!”
Nidhug’s continuing screams became louder and more frantic as his body changed, elongated, his bones breaking, flesh tearing until he had become a pale, maggot-like thing whose eyes cried crimson tears and blazed with purple fire. His human screams became the inhuman shrieks of a monster. Then he vanished.
Hel’s skeletal left hand gently touched the Skull, caressed it. She sobbed. “Too late.”
Huld, still weak, struggled to her feet. “Your promise!” the Witch shouted.
Hel looked down.
Huld’s bravery wavered, but she forced herself to remain staring defiantly upward. “Honor your promise to Bloodsong! She died to return the Skull to you! Return her daughter to us! Free Guthrun!”
“Yes!” Jalna joined Huld. “Free Guthrun!”
Hel bent down and peered at the two women. “You, I know, Daughter of Aud,” the Goddess said to Jalna. “You helped my warrior. You are mine.”
“I am?”
Huld looked at Jalna. “You serve Hel?”
“No! I mean—”
“I will return your memories,” said Hel.
Jalna’s puzzled expression changed to one of shock. “Oh!”
Hel looked at Huld. “But you have the psychic stench of that Vanir Slut, Freya, about you.” Hel’s eyes of purple fire blazed brighter.
“She helped!” Jalna cried. “Don’t hurt her! She healed my legs and helped Bloodsong!”
Hel nodded to Jalna. “Peace, child. I know.” She looked back at Huld. “That Great Whore of Gods and Dwarfs is lucky to have one so brave as you in Her service. But if you ever come to your senses and want to change loyalties—”
“Freya is my Goddess! Forever!”
Hel shrugged. “But your Lust Goddess is not here at the moment. I am.”
The Goddess pointed the first finger of her perfectly formed right hand at Bloodsong’s corpse. A crimson ray shot forth. Bloodsong’s body jerked, spasmed. Breath hissed into and out of her dead lungs with shuddering jerks. Her corpse-flesh became the pale flesh of a living woman. She gave a startled cry and opened her eyes.
“Bloodsong!” Huld shouted, kneeling again.
Jalna went to her knees, too. “Praise Hel!”
Huld frowned at Jalna but said nothing.
“Guthrun?” Bloodsong asked weakly.
“Not yet.” Huld looked up at Hel.
Bloodsong became aware of Hel. She stood, but her balance wavered.
Huld and Jalna grabbed her arms to support her.
She shrugged off their aid and stood alone, looked up at Hel. “Return Guthrun to me! Now!”
“You are not the only one with needs, warrior.” Hel pointed at Huld. A crimson ray shot forth. Huld gasped as she felt her strength return and the wound in her side heal.
The towering Goddess pointed at Jalna.
Jalna was bathed in crimson light. The minor wounds and bruises Huld had not healed vanished.
The Goddess pointed at Valgerth and Thorfinn. Crimson rays from Her living hand healed them, too. Their manacles sprang open. They fell to the floor, groaned, and awoke.
Hel again looked at Huld. “Do not believe everything you hear, little Witch. Appearances can deceive, and death is as much a beginning as an end.” Then Hel vanished and the War Skull with Her.
“Guthrun!” Bloodsong screamed. “Give me back my daughter!”
The Skull’s rumbling moan now gone, as the echo of Bloodsong’s words faded a deep silence hung in the air, and without the Skull’s purple glow, the only light came from flickering orange torchlight.
“Guthrun!” Bloodsong shouted.
Huld and Jalna crowded close to her. Valgerth and Thorfinn hurried toward her.
“I will return to Hel’s realm,” Bloodsong vowed. “I will have my daughter back!”
“We will go with you!” promised Valgerth.
“Yes!” added Huld.
“I, too, if you’ll have me.” Jalna handed Bloodsong her sword.
Bloodsong took the weapon and nodded, then said to Valgerth and Thorfinn, “This is Jalna. She is one of us, now.” She looked around. “Nidhug? Hel took him?”
“Yes,” Jalna answered, “squirming and screaming. That’s his blood on your sword.”
“Jalna used it for you,” Huld remarked.
“My thanks.”
Jalna shrugged.
A small sphere of purple light suddenly exploded into existence before Bloodsong then vanished, leaving in its wake a child with dark hair and eyes. Her pale skin was a stark cont
rast to her black clothing. “Where are your clothes, Mother?” Guthrun asked, looking puzzled.
Bloodsong dropped her sword as she went to her knees and enfolded Guthrun in her arms. She kissed her daughter again and again. “Are you all right?”
“I missed you!” Guthrun locked her small arms around her mother’s neck and hugged with all her strength.
The others stood watching, tears brimming in all their eyes.
Bloodsong and Guthrun held tightly to each other a moment longer, then Bloodsong picked up her sword and said, “My clothes are over there on the floor. Come help me dress.”
EDGED IN SNOW and ice, shrouded by thick clouds that hid the midnight Moon, atop Mount Jormungandr loomed the black castle of the Hel-Witch, Thokk.
So ancient was the castle that no tales spoke of its origin. Always, it seemed, had it brooded upon the summit of the shunned mountain where no trees grew and no birds sang. Walls and towers massive and black, veined with crimson streaks, soared skyward, defying gravity and age.
Thokk’s arrival was also shrouded in mystery. She was not there, then she was, inhabiting walls rumored to have concealed inhuman things in the centuries before her arrival. And if any amongst the few who dared live in the shadow of the peak voiced curiosity about Thokk’s presence, others quickly urged their silence for fear she might hear and plague their dreams.
A secret unsuspected by those never inside was that the castle extended below ground farther than above. And now, near midnight, pale Thokk was descending into the structure’s spidery depths.
Since childhood had Thokk loved the Goddess Hel. Her devotion to the Queen of the Underworld, Caretaker of the Homeless Dead, was rooted deep in her passionate soul. Like the castle that had called her to it, her feelings for Hel had always been. Her first memory in her current life was hearing the old tale about how the child Hel was deemed a dangerous monster and forcibly separated from her mother by the Gods. The other children who heard cheered for the Gods, but Thokk had wept for Hel.
Thokk’s long hair hung in intricate black coils that swayed with her graceful movements like a nest of languid serpents. Beautiful of face and figure, Thokk’s deceptively youthful appearance had not changed in hundreds of years. But her unblemished skin bore the faint blue hue of a corpse, and the spicy-sweet herbs and blossoms with which she perfumed her flesh and breath failed to completely conceal a surprisingly seductive hint of the grave.
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