Skull of Oghren

by Tuomas Vainio

  The other magisters and guards shift their gazes to look at one and the other. Surtur's words had both surprised and caught them unaware, some even murmur protests to their closest friends. Clearly they had expected for him to do something else entirely. They had expected him to strike forth with the fury of an undying inferno after kneeling, just as he had always had according to the stories of his service for the High Council of Magisters.

  The Wight King's smirk turns into a wide grin. 'And so one the oldest circles of time begins once again.' The wight raises his chalice of wine, and lets the wine pour down and wash down the stairs before the throne like streams of blood. 'You know what to do to receive my blessing.'

  Surtur releases a faint sigh, and stands up. He turns around and faces the detachment that had accompanied him there. How they slowly get up, how some shake in confusion, and others in horror for realising what is to come. The ancient flames spark up in Surtur's eyes as the strands of his hair become first alive before matching the inferno of his eyes.

  The guardsmen raise their halberds for naught. The enchanted silver blades only shatter the moment those strike against Surtur's protective barrier. The splintered shards of steel and silver float still for a moment, before those dart towards the guards and magisters alike. There is little the guardsmen can do beyond trying to stop the bleeding with their hands. The magisters try to conjure barriers of their own, but the fragments of metal strike with a barrage of unmatched vigour that cannot be withstood. Even the magisters fall bloodied before Surtur.

  Blood flows onto the polished floor as some try to crawl away with shaky and slow manner. While those with little bit more courage try fight back with what little means they have. They try to conjure their magic to aid but the weak bursts of elements do not penetrate Surtur's invisible barrier, and the attempts pronounce words of power for protection or to flee only result in painful coughs of blood.

  Surtur does not say a word as his right hand rises up with the fingers straight. Strings of flame lash out of his finger tips, and those fly outwards to pierce the hearts of the bloodied men and women. Surtur's fiery hair turns back to normal, and the inferno dies within his eyes. He looks at the bodies of those he slew, and he feels nothing as he lifts up the bodies on those thin strings of fire.

  The magister's lips barely move as he utters a single word: 'Caraccipio' – yet it resonates with power. At first nothing happens, but soon the skin on the corpses begins to vibrate, and it is torn away and strung into a thin string that floats above Surtur's head in slow dance. With skin gone the very same happens to the revealed flesh and sinews until the torn cloths fall down, and only the bones remain held aloft by the magisters' strings of fire. He closes his eyes, and thus the bones are crammed together to form a crude sphere that slowly spins around. The bones begin to shatter and fall towards the centre of this sphere until its size is reduced to be barely the size of of a man's fist.

  Surtur breathes in and the process continues. The sphere of bone begins to twist and curl into to two equal halves before little by little shifts on the bone transform it into the shape of a bone lantern. The strings of flesh and skin spin down towards the lantern and form a surface over the bones with a multitude of fine details. Runes and symbols shaped out of the flesh and skins alike. It goes on until the lantern is finally suitable to act as vessel for a spirit. The remaining strings of flesh and skin just fall down lifelessly. The strings are tangled in the pool of blood that slowly spreads along the floor.

  Surtur turns to face the Wight King, holding the lantern in his left hand. He raises it high, and the wight on the throne casually motions someone from his court to step forth. A woman who stepped forth removes her mask to reveal a young face Surtur once knew as Tarqeq. Her eyes are cold and filled with the fury of ice instead of the tawny eyes that once offered warmth and kindness. With a flick of the Wight King's finger's, the light fades from her eyes and the body falls down as the spirit soars and dives into Surtur's lantern. A cold fire begins to burns within, and a thin wall of ice forms one snowflake at a time to shield the flame from the wind.

  The Wight King snaps his fingers, and the wight guards take a step forth, and dash towards the pool of blood and the strings of flesh and skin. The undead gorge themselves with their meal, licking the floor clean of the blood that had fallen. Surtur averts his gaze when they move onto the former body of Tarqeq. He may look away, but he hears how the creatures snap the bones and claw the flesh asunder.

  'So my dear magister, it appears that you are once more to carry my boon and will. As ever, it will not buy you many friends, thus the spirit prince of ice is surely a mighty ally on your side. A friend against the perils you will encounter as you travel under the gaze of the sun, and within the halls of the magisters.' The king sighs. 'Once again, forevermore.'

  Surtur looks at his lantern, before asking: 'What message do you wish to pass on to the High Council of Magisters?'

  'I have not forgotten their place in the city.'

  'Very well.' The ancient magister bows down before he turns around and begins to walk towards the depths of the palace and the world beyond.

  The Wight King stares after him for a long a while before the court slides back to the central floor of the great hall. The eerie choir continues its song as the members of the court continue their dance. Some slowly make their way to the side of their king, whispering questions and advice to his ears.

  'He will betray you.' A voice carefully blurts out in whisper.

  'I know, but he will achieve great many things for me before that day comes. All serve their purpose in this city, one way or another.'

  Chapter 13:

  'How?' Pan shouts out exasperated.

  Bergelmir points his finger towards Pan's back and how a quarter of the black cloak is visible, and thus Pan looses the focus needed to maintain his invisibility. 'You are improving.' The younger boy tries to offer some modicum of encouragement.

  Yet Pan protests: 'But this is not fair!' - and opens the harness that had kept the fake Skull of Oghren fastened to his back. The skull falls to the ground, with a thump, and Pandora rushes down the stairs to whack Pan's bottom with a stick.

  'Too loud.' Pandora declares with a wide smirk on her face.

  'I had already given up!' Pan protests while rubbing his sorry behind with both hands.

  'Then take off that fox mask!' Pandora retorts back in turn without a single moment of hesitation. Pan and Pandora stare at each others eyes and neither is willing to be the first one to blink. Pan's fists clench into a fist and soon Pandora's follow suit. 'You think you can beat me?' Pandora throws out her words filled to the brim with the tone of mockery.

  'Yeah.' Pan answers after tilting his head up. The nose of the fox mask is almost pointing towards the ceiling.

  'Oh yeah?'

  'Yeah.' The boy blurts out the moment before he finds himself dangling in the air, upside down. Pan feels the grip of Pandora's telekinesis on his boots, trousers, and cloak. He tries to struggle free but the invisible grip holds.

  Pandora grins and asks once more. 'Oh yeah?'

  Pan does not answer. Instead the greenish flames begin to rise from his glass eye and those swallow half of the fox mask under the eerie glow of the foxfire. Pandora's right eyebrow rises as tiny black spiders begin to rise from every gap and crack on the floor and walls alike. First barely a ten, but soon the numbers grow to hundreds and finally to thousands of tiny eight legged monstrosities crawling their way towards her. Climbing over every surface in their way, and descending downwards on their thin threads.

  At first Pandora is determined to overcome the few lone spiders, but soon her lower lip begins to quiver until she finally panics and begins to scream while the spiders creep all over her. Her focus falls apart, and Pan falls down to the floor.

  The shape of the spiders twists and jerks before vanishing altogether. Pandora slowly calms down while Pan gets back up. The boy first stretches his back before he rubs his sore forehead. Berg
elmir watches how the two do their best to avoid direct eye contact and he releases a sigh before becoming visible between the two. 'Pan, why won't you just make them all see something scary?'

  'Yeah.' Pandora adds somewhat meekly.

  'I...' Pan stutters in return.

  Yet before he can say more, the old rat peaks past the edge of a stair. 'Because not all of them will fear spiders. In fact most of them probably will not even known enough to fear the spider's fangs in the thousands. Thus, it will be just one boy against the swing of a sword, or the push of a halberd.' The old rat takes a moment to look at each three in their eyes. 'Pan has to master invisibility, it is the only way.'

  Pandora ponders for a moment before she blurts out her question: 'Then why not have Bergelmir do it? He seems to be pretty good at staying invisible.' Pandora raises her arms as gazes are exchanged between the young boy and the old rat.

  The old rat's eyes focus towards Pandora. 'What do you think happens if someone sees past Bergelmir's illusions, how will he flee? What if there is a locked door in the way, does he know how to pick it open, or perhaps how to snatch the key? And even if there is a key on the table, what if someone starts looking for a missing key? And can he pull open heavy and unoiled doors without causing them to creek and moan?' Pandora remains silent, and her gaze wanders towards Bergermir.

  'No... I do not think I can.' The young boy answers meekly, looking down while scratching the back of his left ear.

  The old rat sighs. 'You could learn with time. Anyone could. But we just do not have the time, the year or two to train you for it. Thus there is no other choice than for Pan to venture into the Tower of Judgement and pry open the locks hiding the Skull of Oghren.'

  The young Bergelmir fidgets still, but there are the signs of that small smile returning back onto his face. Even the old rat tries to give his friendliest smile, which works only so well with a rat's fanged mouth.

  Pan picks up the large skull and reattaches it back to the harness on his back. He jumps up and down for few times to make sure that it stays on securely. The boy groans and stretches his arms around, before raising the fox mask up to ask: 'So... we try yet again from start?'

  Pandora blinks as she first notices Pan's red face adorned with sweat, and she points her finger to laugh.

  Pan's pouts and so his jaw juts forwards as he mutters; 'You wear a stupid mask, two cloaks, and have a big skull tied on your back.'

  The old rat smirks: 'It is getting late, so how just about one more try to get to the top?'

  Both Bergelmir and Pandora nod their heads in agreement, and thus, Pan grunts and pulls down the fox mask before stomping down the stairs.

  'He'll be fine.' The old rat says. 'So, get on your positions, and lets see how far he gets this time!' The two kids nods again.

  ***

  Pan finds out that Loge is still working by the fireplace turned into a furnace. How she is stirring the stew with a big wooden spoon as it bubbles audibly across the room. As for the flames that lie underneath the black pot, those have taken the shapes of fuzzy kittens purring and nudging themselves against the black metal. Based from the scent; Pan guesses that it will not be long until the stew is ready. He counts to hundred to give Pandora and Bergelmir time to set up once more.

  The boy's stomach grumbles, but he has one more climb ahead. Thus with some reluctance, he closes his eyes and thinks of nothing but himself; of every detail of his appearance, how the mask covers his face, how the cloaks mask the skull and his arms, and how his boots stick out underneath. Then little by little Pan makes these details vanish one after another, and when he opens his eyes, he looks around to see nothing. A disorienting experience at first as usual. It is hard to think where your legs are if you cannot see them, even when it is possible to walk without giving them the slightest acknowledgement.

  Thus follows the first awkward step; a careful step that is followed by another. He already knows which of the wooden blanks will moan moan and creak even under the weight of his small body, but he does not know the same for the Tower of Judgement, so he moves with great care.

  On the first floor, the room has been cut in half with two halves of rope tied together with a reasonably large padlock. It is the same challenge as before, so Pan turns his head to look around for the key. It is stuck in one of the doors, thus Pan makes his way towards it, avoiding the books layered out on the floor in short pillars.

  The boy looks at the key stuck in the lock, it has been jammed in, shoved in. Probably by Pandora. Experience tells that it is fruitless to try to pull it out, it wouldn't happen without also making a screeching sound as the key scrapes against the insides of the lock. Hence, Pan turns away and walks towards the lock that ties the ropes together.

  Pan reaches down to his belt, and pulls out two pins to pick the lock. He has to fight to maintain his mental focus in order to keep the pins and his hands invisible. But maintaining his invisibility is not his only problem. When he opens the lock; the two ropes will fall down and hit the floor. A sound that might draw either Pandora's or Bergerlmir's attention. Thus, to keep the both ends up, he tangles his arms around the ropes so that he can just barely reach the lock itself with his hands.

  As Pan pushes the pins into the keyhole, he closes his eyes. It is just like the training the old rat made him do years ago. In short - how to pick open a lock in complete darkness; a feat through listening to every click made, and feeling how the lock mechanism shifts within its case.

  The old rat has made the boy go through much harder locks. Thus it does not take a lot of probing and nudging to figure it all out, but right before the last nudge, Pan stops. He opens his eyes and looks at the large padlock before him. He knows that once the padlock is open, the case will fall down because the shackle is made from a horseshoe and it is only kept in place by the locked mechanism. Truly, opening the lock is more troubling than what it initially seemed. Not to mention how the ropes have not been tied with any particular security; the knots on the shackle are more akin to loose loops. Therefore, once the padlock is unlocked, a crooked jerk could result in with the ropes slipping away from the shackle. There is no quarantine that the case will fall neatly down.

  Pan knows that he cannot unlock it without keeping the padlock and ropes still with his arms; a mere nudge could shift the mechanism inside the case and cause him to start again from scratch. But with his hands and arms tied to the ropes, he cannot really stop the case from falling down once the padlock is unlocked.

  With clenched teeth the boy tries figure out a solution. Something to pass through the obstacle without being forced to yank the key away from the wrong lock. There is no choice but to stand on one leg and raise the knee to prevent the padlock's case from falling straight down.

  Pan takes a deep breath in. His hands nudge, and the mechanism is unlocked. The case falls and hits against the boy's raised knee. It stings a bit and sends shivers all across Pan's body, but it is not too unbearable. The shackle is not entirely out of the case and that makes it much easier for Pan to keep it balanced on top of his knee.

  Yet the boy finds himself stuck in yet another predicament, how should he proceed now? He stares at the lock and soon realizes the only option available for him. Pan grabs a hold of the shackle with his mouth. The taste of rusty iron fills his mouth as he bites as hard as he can. It gives him the chance to slowly pull his arms away from the ropes and take a hold of the loose case before it falls down. The boys knees bend, and he is just barely able to drop the case on the floor. His neck is as stretched upwards as it ever could be. Finally, Pan's hands are free to grab the shackle and ropes. Hence lowering the two ends down without a noticeable sound is not much of a challenge. He feels slightly proud for his the feat of ingenious burglary, even when it left some soreness in his jaw and knee. The next floor awaits.

  It appears that Pandora has taken residence there and she is making random objects move and float all around the room, mostly books. Objects that at first glance seem to be floating
in calm circles, until those suddenly shift their trajectory and speed on nothing but the girl's wild whim.

  Pan admits, unpredictable movements make it more difficult to sneak past. Even when one resides under the guise illusionary invisibility. A challenge to tackle that the boy greets with a grin on his face. Nevertheless, rather than to try reach the stairs as soon as possible, he feels tempted to sneak towards Pandora. Maybe hit the back of her head or flick fingers on her nose, or something like that. A bit of vengeance for the earlier is a very tempting thought for Pan, but reluctantly he decides to prioritize the stairs.

  Thus the boy stands still and tries to grasp some rhythm in the wild movements laid before him. An attempt to understand the sudden changes in order to figure out a path through the flurry of flying objects regardless of whether those are whizzing or trotting in the air. He tries to understand Pandora's whims.

  A single sweat drop forms behind the fox mask as the effort of safe passage seems entirely impossible. It is not anything like walking through the streets unnoticed and picking the pockets of the unaware as you go. It is almost like trying to sneak through an enraged herd of cows that are stampeding on the city's streets. The instinct inside Pan's head cries loudly to just run away, or to find some narrow place to hide. As hard as he thinks, he cannot come up with a way to go through, at least not unless there is some way to divert Pandora's stampede of objects.