by Farah Cook
“We’re your blood, Lord Harald. We’re not the enemy,” says William. “We’ve traveled from the land we call the Triangle.” William pulls down his hood and makes his face visible. His soft blond waves, striking blue eyes, and pale skin shine in the morning desert heat.
“Ohhh?” says Harald and presses his lips together. They form a straight bitter line. He walks closer and tosses back his long hair. He strikes William hard. A drop of blood colors the red soil. “What do you take me for? And why are you spinning up such preposterous lies? I’ve never heard of such a land.”
“Lord Harald, I can explain,” says William and wipes his nose clean. “I speak the truth.” The pledge in William’s voice is desperate but still convincing.
Puzzled, Harald stares grimly at us with contempt in his eyes.
“Explain how you got these markings, boy.” He takes in William’s tattoos, examining his arms. He mumbles something to himself. Then he notices the one on my arm.
“Are they from this land you claim you come from?” he says. “The Triangle?”
“You will want to hear what I have to say,” says William. “But I will only tell you if you instruct your men to back down.” Something is strange in the way William looks at Harald; he’s pinned him down with his eyes, and it feels like he is manipulating him. Much to my surprise, Harald doesn’t move or draw his sword out to kill us. He is under William’s influence.
Harald motions for his men to back away. He leads the way through the garden back into the long hall. He stalks into a private chamber, and tells the guards to remain outside. The chamber is dark and cool and has a magnificent glass dome ceiling and an ocean blue ceramic floor. Above the dome a flock of desert birds caw. I hold the sword firmly in my hand. I fear something ugly is about to happen.
I’m surprised Harald let us into his private chamber, and trusts me with the sword he claims was stolen. I wouldn’t trust me with a sword. I stare at William, and he seems absent, like all his focus is on controlling Harald’s mind. How is he doing this?
I hear footsteps approaching from the back of the chamber. Three tall men with long, wavy, blond hair appear. Their ears are slightly pointed and their noses are small and round. Their sky-blue eyes are just like William’s—clear and consuming.
“How I enjoy morning visits,” says one of them. He drums the tips of his fingers against his forehead. I want to know what he is thinking. His presence is strong, intimidating. One of them glares at me familiar curiosity like they know me and have been expecting me.
“Henrik, Henning, and Holger, these slaves claim to come from another land.”
“Another land?” says one of them. “Did Arres grow a new mass we do not know of?”
“They call this place the Triangle.” says Harald. “The slave boy is eager to tell us something enlightening.” He smiles, the corner of his lips curling.
“Did they just cause the death of Rune and Gunnar?”
“They did!”
“They were our best men.” He lowers his brows.
“The slave girl killed them with the sword that was stolen from our keep eighteen years ago.” says Harald. He joins the band of assassins. They stand facing me, their eyes stinging like needles.
“Are you telling me that girl killed them?” One of them points a sharp finger at me. I clutch harder onto the sword’s pommel. The other reaches his hand out, calling for the weapon. It doesn’t move. It stays in my hand. He grunts angrily. He is about to make a lunge at me, when Harald says, “Don’t Holger.” He drums the tips of his fingers against his taut mouth.
Holger stops.
“The boy has markings on his body. He is from our clan in the North.” says Harald. “Look for yourself, Henning.”
“Is that so?” says Henning, his voice shrill. “Show me your clan symbols, boy.” William flashes all the tattoos he carries across his body. The deep dark ink sprawled onto his arms, his chest, and his knuckles. Henning pulls his wrist closer and examines the intertwined circles.
“Fascinating,” he says. “I’d like to carve them out of your skin.” Williams’s eyes are steady. He’s not afraid of Henning who regards him as if he wants to eat him for breakfast.
“What about the girl?” says Henning. “Why does she carry the same marks?” He shoots me a stiff glare.
“These are the tattoos from our dynasties,” says William. “I belong to Rognvald and Nora to Jarl.”
“Two slaves from different clans?” says Henrik and roams around us. “Nonsense.” He touches Henning’s shoulder. His eyes steady on the sword.
“Did the cunning witch from your clan steal our sword?” says Henrik. “She promised to break the spell.”
“What? No!” says William.
“Do not lie to me boy, or I will cut out your tongue and make sure you never speak again.” says Henning.
“We’ve nothing to do with the witch that promised you your freedom. We want to protect our world from war. That’s why we’re here.” says William. “We ask that you give us the other weapons.”
“Weapons don’t prevent war, boy!” says Henning. “They inflict it.”
“They’re the most powerful weapons ever forged from the fire in Helheim.” says Henrik, his body rising with the strength of his voice. “What makes you believe you can just walk in, and claim them?”
“Because,” I say. “We descend from your Viking line. We carry your blood and your legacy just as my brother William said.” The words flood out of my mouth from nowhere.
“I’ve never heard such idiocy. Not only is it impossible, it is also a lie that deserves the death sentence,” says Henning. “Guards, slit their throats! Then rip out their hearts, their livers, and their brains and feed them to the desert wolves.”
Soldiers march into the chamber, their spears pointing at us.
“But first” says Harald his face rigid. “You’ll hand that sword to me before facing an ugly and miserable death.” He raises his hand to strike me but stops, his face trembling with anger. His teeth are gritted. Harald is not merciful, still something stops him. He roars fiercely into my face. His breath smells like death, rotten. He senses something, a strong wind, and a hurricane. The earth beneath us trembles.
The living tree on my back moves, and a sharp pain embraces every bone in my body. I crouch down and see a clear image flicker in my mind—a long, dwindling pathway that leads to a portal buried in the forest. The way is dangerous and misty. I don’t think I know where this portal is. It could be anywhere. I am used to the woods and forests.
The image dissolves from my mind so suddenly. I get up and draw my sword. I am ready to battle with my ancestors. Killers, murderers, assassins. That’s what they are. That’s what they will always be. I cannot expect compassion from them. They never had it. I should finish them off while I can.
Just as I am about to strike them, Yggdrasil thrashes her branches. I scream in agony. I realize she is trying to break free. My past, my present, and my future all appear before my eyes. I remember everything. I remember who I am. The images continue to run like a string of casual incidents. Images of what William said to me the day before. I know he is not William. He is Frederick. Everything is suddenly clear.
Yggdrasil has been awakened. She whispers to me, but I cannot understand what she says. Her purpose is to protect me, guide me, and make sure I unlock the Nine Worlds: She shows me Asgard, the divine home to the gods; Niflheim, the forsaken hole for dead souls, dangerous and daunting; Alfheim, where the powerful and wise elves live; Jotunheim, home of the giants; Midgard, where I must go with Frederick, the home of mankind; Svart Alfaheim, which belongs to the dwarves; Vanaheim, which will be claimed by the Verans; Muspelheim, where fire and the demons reside; and Helheim, which is where killers and dishonorable people are kept. This is where the weapons were forged.
These worlds are about to appear and as soon as they do, everything will be different.
Today is my seventeenth birthday. This is the day Yggdrasil
has been waiting for. She’s been part of me for as long as I can remember. The tree always was and always will be. Not even the gods have power over her. Her branches begin to release from my back. I scream louder. My bones rattle and my soul shakes. A million expressions chase each other across my face. I feel Yggdrasil turn and twist, her heavy branches lashing out, her roots writhing from years of enslavement. I feel a sharp pain bouncing through my body. The agony is unbearable.
“What in the name of Odin is happening to me?” I cry.
“Don’t fight it, Nora; it is your destiny,” says Frederick. “She is leaving you, but she is also giving you the key to open the door.”
Harald’s rage explodes. He roars like a wild beast and reaches out for the sword, his long thin fingers stretched. He calls for it, whispering mystic words.
“Get the sword!” he yells. Harald throws me a dirty look. Holger, Henning, and Henrik whisper spells to draw the weapon from me. But it doesn’t work.
The tree breaks free and rises. She flounces forward looking like a giant raven that fills the room in plumes of black branches. It swirls faster than a tornado. Her leaves fall like feathers. From the corner of my eye I see a strong whirling wind sweeping away. A thick ashen smoke fills the chamber. There is no trace of Yggdrasil. She is gone to sow her roots into the Nine Worlds. I need to unlock the gate that leads to them. The vision… the door could be anywhere.
My body feels light, at ease. There is no more pain. My evil ancestors have stopped their spells and when I swing my hand around to feel the tattoo on my back, there is none. The palm of my hand feels hot like coal. When I stare at it, I see nine encrypted runes glittering on my palm, fading the minute daylight shines on my hand.
I take a deep breath and clench my fist tightly and pretend nothing is there.
“What are we going to do?” I say to Frederick.
“We either fight,” he says in low voice. “Or we lure them.”
“Be aware of the witch,” barks Henning darkly. “She kept Yggdrasil captive with her witch powers.” They step back as if afraid I might put a spell on them.
“I’m not a witch. The tree was my protector.”
“Liar,” growls Harald. “You say you’re from a mysterious land and carry our blood. I say you lie. You’re here to kill us and steal our weapons. What we witnessed was a spell. But the almighty Yggdrasil is strong. She broke free from your bewitchment.”
“If you’re not a witch or a slave then what are you?” says Henrik. His blue eyes are a shade darker. Twitching pulses stream across his angry face.
“I am an assassin,” I say. “Just like you.”
“Assassin?” They whisper among themselves. Horror draws across their stern faces.
“My esteemed lords,” says Frederick firmly. “Nora Hunt descends from your bloodline. She alone has the power to set you free from your curse.” He pauses. I want to interrupt him but he continues, “In return for the assassin weapons.”
“Frederick, what are you doing?” I hiss. Anger surges through my body. “I had this.”
A dark flicker passes across his face. I can’t read his mind. I clench the handle of my sword and look at Henning, Holger, Harald and Henrik.
“The gods chose me to unlock the Nine Worlds,” I say. “I—” My body goes rigid.
“You’re both liars, con artists. We’ll give you the death you deserve.” The guards circle in on us. “I’ll have your heads on stakes.”
“Stand back.” I hold my sword high. “Do not come near me.” I breathe the moist air in and out, trying to calm my nerves.
Harald and Henning close in on me, whispering old Norse spells loud and clear. Harald’s whispers are rough and angry, and I hear them inside my head now. I close my eyes. A memory breaks in—I’m in the East, in the meadows. The sky is blue, the earth beneath me red. I’m greeted by the familiar sound of crickets and dancing flowers. I hear someone calling my name. The voice is getting closer and a face becomes visible.
My eyes fly open. Frederick is shaking me. I jolt forward holding the hilt tighter to fight the enemy staring me in the face.
“What did she show you?” he says. “Where are the runes?” He looks around, frenetic.
“Why did you tell them I can set them free?” I take a step back “I can’t.”
“Maybe you can. You are after all a witch with powers,” says Henning. “You set the tree of life free. Maybe you can set us free from the Emperor’s spell?”
“The ancient runic symbols.” Frederick stares at me. “Where are they, Nora?”
“Do you really think I’m going to tell you now after the mess we’re in?” I hiss angrily. “Frederick Dhal, your timing could not be worse.”
“Did you just say my name?” He smiles. “You have your memory back.”
“It makes no difference what I remember,” I say. “Doesn’t change a thing about the situation we’re in. I’m not a witch or a slave girl. I don’t have special powers to set anyone free.”
“You do, and you will break our curse.” shouts Henning. “If not, you’ll face punishment for lying, and for stealing the sword.”
“Nora, trust in me,” says Frederick. “You alone—”
“Are you really playing your ‘trust me’ game, Frederick? After all we’ve been through? You held my heart! In the name of Thor, I will not tell you where the runes are.”
“What runes?” says Henrik. “What is she talking about?”
“Runes that I received from Yggdrasil,” I say. I point the tip of my sword sharply at the assassin lords; their eyes hungry, their minds wide open with questions. They consume me with their eyes, their evil thoughts.
“Hand me the weapons, and I will spare your life.” I say.
“Nora, why don’t you do as I say? It’s the only way out of here alive with the weapons,” says Frederick. “Soon the worlds will show. Yggdrasil is awake. You’ve turned seventeen. It’s time you use your—”
“Enough!” barks Harald. He drums his fingers in anticipation, his patience slowly diminishing. Henrik growls, his eyes are thunder and his face creased into a hard ball.
“You will break the curse,” says Harald. “For too long we’ve lived this hollow life under the Emperor Justus Markus. Killing to protect him, thousands upon thousands. The rising Rebels will not stop, and we do not care anymore.”
“Witch from the Triangle,” says Henning. “Set us free from the spell.”
“What will you do to me if I don’t?” I say and play my next move carefully. “Will you kill me? You are killers and have no morals or sense of regret. You’ll kill me no matter what. Even if I wanted to, I cannot set you free.”
“If the tree of life gave you the runes, I will not kill you,” says Harald. “You will have a choice, though, slave girl.”
“My name is Nora.”
“We had our own prophecy. Only I did not believe it, not until now.” says Henning.
“Don’t waste your breath,” says Holger. The slits in his eyes appear vertical. He curls his lip and growls. “We can’t be sure that the foretelling—”
“What Prophecy or foretelling are you talking about?” I say.
“A descendant from your bloodline shall come from another world. She holds secrets from the future that will lead into the present. She will be the one to set you free from your curse to kill.” says Henning.
“You knew?” I say.
“Knowing is not believing,” says Henning.
“What makes you believe the prophecy?” I say. I suck in a deep breath, slowing my mind before it wanders off. My heartbeat slows as if sinking to a rough halt. How do I tell the assassins that their prophecy is untrue? They’ve been lied to.
“But you cannot leave Arres,” I say. “You belong here.”
Terror strikes me. If the assassins were to leave Arres and enter the Triangle, murder would unleash like an epidemic. Everything would turn into chaos. They cannot leave Arres. They need to remain here. I have to figure out a way to g
et out of this and return to the Triangle with the weapons, even if it means killing them.
“We’re trapped by the Emperor. All he wants is a male heir to continue his doomed legacy and protection from the rising Rebels who demand this land. This world of dust and sand means nothing when compared to where our souls must be.”
“And where’s that?” I say.
“Among our own kind,” says Harald. “Midgard. We’ve been trapped here ever since we came. There’s an evil spell hovering over us. Break it. Set us free.”
“We are assassins from a bleak and barren land in the North. We serve the gods and live to battle. The curse we carry is bound to us like air to all human life. You are our blood sent to free us,” says Henrik. “Now show us the way to break the curse to kill that haunts us.”
I dust myself off and look at Frederick. I know what I have to do.
“First, hand over the weapons,” I say.
“Nora,” says Frederick. “Let me handle this.” But before Frederick gets to say another word, Henrik takes out the axe, Henning the shield, and Holger the spear. They look like mad beasts from the Forbidden Areas. They have been carrying the weapons all this time. If I had only known—
“You condemn us to hell,” roars Harald.
“Nora!” I hear the panic in Frederick’s voice. “RUN!” The assassins swing their weapons and circle around Frederick and me. We cannot escape. Holger snatches away the sword from me in a flip of his hand. His howl spreads like thunder.
“Frederick and Nora from the Triangle,” whispers Harald. His evil cackle echoes in my ears. “You’re under our authority. Either you do as we demand or you face death.” Something sharp and heavy hits my head. I lose consciousness instantly.
When I wake, I find myself in a dirty, dark cell. It’s warm and smells like death. In the corridors I hear people screaming, as if tortured. When I dive into my feelings, I feel lost, useless. I have nothing special inside me now that Yggdrasil left. No real powers, no abilities that makes me who I am. I don’t even have the sword.
All I am left with is the encrypted runes. What will become of us? They won’t kill me, because they want me to free them. My power hungry, evil assassin ancestors had a foretelling. But I cannot set anyone free. I possess no such powers.