Death and Beauty

by Samantha MacLeod

  I turned down the hall, walking in the direction he’d indicated. After a few paces, I opened a set of oaken doors and found a feast hall.

  It looked like the main room in Val-Hall, although the ceilings were higher and the walls darker. The room was stuffed with men and women at long, food-laden tables. A small band wandered through the chaos, singing ballads I only half recognized, and everyone was cheering and toasting. They all seemed pretty damn drunk. If this was part of a trap, it was bizarrely elaborate.

  I stopped a few of the revelers and asked for Hel. Most of them laughed in my face or clapped me on the back. All of them offered me mead, which I declined as politely as possible. One of the musicians finally took pity on me and pointed me toward a dark hallway.

  “She’s usually in her study, this time of night,” the young woman said. She had wine-flushed cheeks and a beautiful singing voice.

  “My thanks,” I said.

  Her cheeks grew brighter as she dropped a quick glance down my unbuttoned collar. “Hurry back,” she said.

  I gave her a smile that could mean whatever she wanted it to mean and left the feast hall.

  A long rectangle of golden light spilled across the darkened hallway. I walked toward it, the echo of my own footsteps growing as the noise of music and feasting faded behind me. Slowly I became aware of a different set of voices. I stopped and held my breath, listening.

  “—reports that new arrivals have slowed somewhat, at least in the Northern corner. And travelers to the darkness are holding steady.” It was a man’s voice, nasal and droning.

  “Thank you.” That was a woman. Her full, rich voice practically rippled with authority. “And the East?”

  “Certainly, your Majesty!” Another woman, this one younger and excited. “Arrivals are steady there as well. This year’s harvest must be holding.”

  “Wait. Ganglati, we have a visitor.”

  The voices fell silent, replaced by the soft rustle of clothing and scuff of shoes against stone. I blinked as a light swung into the hallway.

  “Yes?” It was the man with the nasal voice. He was tall and thin, with a prominent nose and full lips. He held a lantern.

  I raised my hands in front of my chest to show I had no weapons and gave him a broad, easy smile. “I beg your pardon, good sir. I’m seeking the Lady Hel.”

  His face scarcely moved, but I sensed a strange interplay of repressed expressions. Amusement, perhaps?

  “Let him enter.” The woman’s voice spoke from behind him.

  “Very well,” he said, bowing to the side.

  I thanked him and walked through the door. The room was sparsely furnished, with a low hearthfire and a large table. A severe black chair dominated the far end of the room.

  On the chair sat a skeleton.

  A moving skeleton.

  I pressed my lips together and held my back stiff, fighting the urge to scream. My hands moved to my hip, feeling for the greatsword I’d carried most of my life. It was not comforting to remember I was completely unarmed.

  An enormous blue eyeball jerked in the skeleton’s head as it examined a ream of parchment on the table, its bony fingers flicking through the pages. The skeleton’s lower jaw moved, and the woman’s rich voice echoed across the room.

  “One moment.”

  The room was silent as she turned the parchment with a dry rustle. After flipping over the last page, she sighed and turned toward me. Only my decades of warrior’s training with Óðinn kept me from running.

  She wasn’t a skeleton.

  She was half a skeleton.

  The right side of her face and body was a young woman with pale skin and dark hair, wearing a utilitarian brown dress. And the left side of her body was a corpse. As I stared, something sleek and dark shifted inside her exposed rib cage, disrupting the tatters of her dress. I was suddenly very grateful I’d not eaten anything at that feast.

  “You’ve found me,” the skeleton woman said. “What do you want?”

  I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat. “Gracious Lady, my name is—”

  “Stop.” The bones of her fingers clattered as she waved her hand in the air. “Stop it. I know who you are, Baldr Óðinnsen. And I can guess why you’re here.”

  “Oh, really?” I gave her my most winning smile.

  It was met with a flat stare from both her living and her dead eyes. “Let me guess. You’ve come to offer me your heroic assistance, anything I desire, in exchange for one tiny, little favor.”

  I tried to widen my smile. “Perhaps, dear Lady.”

  She snorted. “Stop. Please, by the Nine Realms. It’s just Hel. And am I on the right track, Baldr?”

  “You are most perceptive,” I admitted.

  “So you’ve come to request a boon. And what did you have in mind as an exchange, son of Óðinn? Were you going to offer to ride out against my enemies? To defend my borders? To act as my champion in single combat?”

  I bowed so low I was almost even with her feet, one clad in a simple sandal and one made of bone. With, if I wasn’t mistaken, a single maggot in the ankle. I tried to concentrate on the foot with the sandal.

  “I would consider it my honor and my duty, my...uh. Hel.”

  She laughed. Her voice rang out, bouncing off the walls and growing in strength. I frowned as I stood. Her attendants were laughing too. The tall, thin man at least had the dignity to attempt to cover his mouth, but the young women were laughing openly.

  “I...I’m not sure I understand,” I said.

  Hel wiped her living eye with her skeletal hand. “Oh, you fool. We’re dead! What borders do we have to defend, Baldr Óðinnsen? Niflhel echoes the world above, and it belongs to only us! What enemies do the dead have?”

  She stood. The effect was quite disconcerting; I could see her femur rotating in her pelvis.

  “And why would I need a champion? Who would dare to attack me?”

  I swallowed, thinking fast. “Let me teach you.”

  Her living face raised an eyebrow. “You? Teach me?”

  “Of course! What do the rest of the Nine Realms have that Niflhel lacks? Just knowledge, my Lady—I mean, Hel.”

  She turned, examining me with the skeletal eye. I suppressed a shiver.

  “You think I lack knowledge?” Her voice was hard as steel.

  I forced myself to smile. “Don’t we all have something to learn?”

  Several of her attendants laughed, but I ignored them and focused all my attention on Hel. She’d turned so all I could see was her decaying skeletal visage. With no face or skin, it was impossible to read her expression. I had no way of knowing if my smile, or my unbuttoned shirt, was having any effect.

  I had the sinking feeling it wasn’t.

  Hel faced me again and a cold, thin smile crept across her living lips. “Very well, Baldr, son of Óðinn. I’ll offer you a deal.”

  A low murmur spread through the crowd of attendants. It did nothing to make me feel more comfortable.

  “You teach me something I don’t already know,” she said, “and I’ll grant you one boon. Anything you ask.”

  There was a gasp at that, quickly hushed. I frowned.

  “You’ll have three days,” Hel said. “Beginning at sunrise. Now, Eriksen, please show our new guest to his quarters.”

  My mind spun as the tall, thin man led me from the room.

  What in the Nine Realms had I just agreed to do?

  CHAPTER 3

  The knock came just after sunrise. I’d spent the night tossing and turning in my sumptuous guest suite, until I finally abandoned the bed to pace the floor and wish I’d paid more attention to Óðinn’s lessons about... well, about everything.

  “Come in,” I said, expecting one of the attendants from last night.

  The door swung open with a little gust of cool air. I glanced up and jumped. Hel stood in the doorway, her dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, her living arm and her dead arm crossed over a dark blue dress with a modest
, unflattering cut.

  “Good morning, Óðinnsen. I trust the accommodations are suitable?”

  “Of course,” I said, forcing a smile.

  “Would you care to join me for breakfast? I assume you want to begin instructing me as soon as possible.”

  Her living eye sparkled at that, but her face remained impassive. My stomach shifted uncomfortably. I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me.

  “Breakfast would be lovely,” I said.

  She turned from the room and I followed, my steps matching hers.

  “As for the, uh, instruction. What topic interests you the most?”

  She laughed once, a sharp, harsh bark. “Oh, no you don’t, Baldr. You don’t get off that easily.”

  That shut me up. I followed her through what felt like miles of dark stone corridors in silence, my apprehension growing stronger with each step.

  I had to get out of here. The realm of the inglorious dead wasn’t bad, from what I could tell, but this was not where I belonged. I needed to get back to Asgard. The Æsir would tear themselves apart without me. They were a catty, argumentative group even when times were good. Óðinn and Frigg needed me to smooth over hurt feelings, to make everyone smile and laugh.

  I was useless here in Niflhel.

  Hel stopped so abruptly I almost walked into her. She hesitated before a tall set of polished, black doors. For a heartbeat, it almost looked as if she were smiling. Then the doors swung open, and my heart sank.

  We stepped together into the largest library I’d ever seen. Bookshelves lined the walls, soaring far above my head. Each shelf housed its own ladder, perched on wheels and ready to slide across the room.

  Shit.

  Hel strode across the room, pointedly ignoring my reaction, and sat at a littlel table tucked under a window. Two steaming mugs waited on the dark surface. She crossed her legs and rested her face on her coiled, skeletal hand.

  I joined her, making myself smile. The living side of her face was almost as blank and expressionless as the dead side; it was impossible for me to get a read on her. Was she hoping to intimidate me? Was this all as an elaborate joke?

  That made me shiver. Her father was Loki the Lie-smith, after all. I didn’t think they were close, but you never knew. He could have taught her quite a bit.

  “That’s a lot of books,” I said, trying to sound casual as I reached for my mug.

  She shrugged. Maybe she was amused, or maybe she was bored.

  “You’ve read them all?” I asked.

  I meant it as a joke, but she responded with a prim nod. “Of course. As you said, the only thing the other Realms have on Niflhel is knowledge.”

  I winced, then glanced up, hoping she hadn’t noticed my reaction. Luckily, she was staring out the window.

  “Fascinating things going on in Greece,” she said, almost to herself.

  “Greece?” I asked.

  She looked directly at me for the first time. Her large, pale eye rotated in the empty socket.

  “We trade books,” Hel said. “The Lord of their Underworld and I. We have an agreement.”

  “Oh,” I stammered. I didn’t even know there was more than one underworld.

  “Ah, here comes breakfast,” said Hel. “You prefer smoked fish, do you not?”

  I nodded miserably. I couldn’t name a single thing Hel enjoyed, or didn’t enjoy, and she already knew what I liked for breakfast.

  I was totally screwed.

  After breakfast, we walked together through the grounds of her palace, shared lunch in a pavilion overlooking the river, and then spent the afternoon touring her orchards. Hel’s palace was nothing like I’d expected, and about as far from Óðinn’s Val-Hall as I could imagine. Everyone in the castle, she said, was here by choice. The feast ran constantly but, unlike my father’s realm, Hel expected nothing from the people eating, sleeping, and partying in her castle. Some of the servants, she admitted late in the afternoon, were probably hoping to curry favor with her. And they were free to leave once they realized it wouldn’t work.

  Great, I told myself. I’m sure that little comment had absolutely nothing to do with me.

  Hel saved the orchards for last, and she said very little about them. She walked on my right side, showing me none of her living body. I offered her every piece of wisdom, advice, folklore, and rumor I could possibly remember, and all I got was an occasional nod or, even worse, a contemptuous snort. I’d never met a woman more immune to my charms, and she grew even more cold and distant the moment we stepped under the flowering branches of her extensive orchards.

  This place meant something to her, then.

  But I had no idea what.

  The second day did nothing to alleviate my sense of impending doom.

  Hel offered to take me on a tour of Niflhel in her chariot. Of course, she was an expert charioteer. We rode along the river through low, rolling hillsides dotted with chest-high red clay cones. I watched them for a long time before finally realizing what they were.

  “Beehives,” I said.

  Hel raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Please tell me you didn’t think I’d be surprised by that?”

  I laughed. “Of course not. Do you know what you can make with honey?”

  “I know at least thirty uses for honey,” she said, her voice level. “And yes, I do realize that’s how you make mead.”

  My heart sank. Again. We rounded a gentle corner and a herd of sheep scattered before the stallion pulling our chariot, bleating their displeasure as we trotted past. Sheep. Hey, I did know something interesting about sheep!

  “Hel, did you know you can collect a waxy oil from sheep and use it to—”

  “Waterproof clothing?” she finished. “Or as a remedy for dry skin? It’s useful to breastfeeding mothers as well.”

  I threw my hands up. “Why in the Nine Realms do you know so damned much about sheep?”

  She met my gaze. Her face remained stoic, but I got the distinct feeling she was amused. “Should I rule and know nothing of my kingdom? What if someone came to me with a question I could not answer? What would that make me?”

  I shrugged. “Normal?”

  Hel turned, showing me her skeletal side. I had the sneaking suspicion that was Hel’s way of avoiding any display of emotion. Something I’d said must have affected her, but I had no idea if she was amused or irritated.

  After a long silence, Hel turned the chariot and we peeled away from the river, following the meanders of a small tributary. The hills grew close and the trail narrowed until there was barely enough room for the chariot to pass. Then the landscape spread out again, and we entered a strangely beautiful valley.

  Tall stalks of pale flowers waved in the breeze, their movements echoing the dance of slender birch trees across the valley. Our chariot pushed through the flowers, and the blossom-laden stalks parted like waves before us.

  Hel stopped the chariot at the foot of the birch trees. Without a word, she unhooked the stallion’s harness, patted him on the nose, and let him graze.

  “Aren’t you worried he’ll run off?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “Get out.”

  I did as she said. “Are you leaving me here?”

  Hel raised her eyebrow, then unfastened a clasp and opened the chariot’s seat, revealing a small woven bag and a large white blanket. I followed her as she spread the blanket under the trees.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Lunch.” The ghost of a smile played across the living side of her face. I wondered if she’d taken anyone else to this meadow. Doubtful. I couldn’t imagine too many of the dead would want to ride next to her rotting, skeletal half.

  Although she didn’t look so terrifying now, sitting on a white blanket and holding a strange oval-shaped fruit. She pulled a small blade from the bag and started peeling the fruit, revealing soft flesh the color of sunrise.

  “Nice place,” I said, watching her.

  She murmured in agreement.

  “What are th
ose flowers? The white ones?”

  “Asphodel,” she said. “I only planted one, and now they’ve filled the entire valley.”

  I glanced out at the sea of white blossoms. “You planted those?”

  She turned away, showing me the bones and tendons of her left side. I whistled, trying to imagine how long it would take one flower to seed this entire valley. And how many lonely trips she must have made during that time, watching the flowers spread.

  “Thank you,” I said, sitting down on the blanket. The tall, pale flowers seemed even more impressive from the ground. “I may not know a damn thing you don’t already know, but I’m glad I saw this.”

  Her ribcage shook as she exhaled and I turned away, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. After all, I might have been totally wrong about this valley. Maybe she brings people here all the damn time.

  “It’s a thin place,” she said, finally.

  I turned back to see her cut a sliver of orange fruit and lean down, closing her lips around it. I watched as she chewed. I should have been able to see the bright flash of orange fruit through her skull, but I couldn’t. Odd.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The darkness is just through those trees,” she said, nodding behind me. “Most people think you need to cross the river to find it, but it’s here.”

  That raised the hairs on the back of my neck. I reached for my waist, where I’d always carried my greatsword, and turned to follow her gaze.

  Nothing but silver birch trees, swaying in the breeze. Light flashed and shimmered off their pale green leaves.

  “I don’t see anything,” I said.

  She laughed, although it sounded almost like a sigh. “No. You only find the darkness when you’re looking for it. Or when it starts to call for you.”

  I shivered. “What is it?”

  She speared another sliver of fruit on her silver knife and offered it to me. “It’s what comes next. Where you go when you’re done with here.”

  I took the fruit, surprised at how slippery it felt between my fingers. The flavor was exquisite, honeyed sweetness with an unexpected tang that almost brought tears to my eyes. I licked my fingers, not caring if I was being rude.