A Sacred Storm

by Theodore Brun

  Together, man and beast advanced slowly. The crowd was hushed, as though under a spell, waiting to see what he would do.

  Suddenly he ran at Bodvar, the horse trotting after him. He hissed, the beast reared up, hooves big as buckler-shields, towering ten feet over Bodvar’s head. Then it fell like a breaking wave on his back. Bodvar’s head bucked backwards, his limbs shot out flat, dust billowed under him, as the hooves pounded him again and again. A few jeered. Most just gaped, eyes thirsty for more.

  Vargalf pulled the horse off him and circled round, his eyes never leaving the prostrate body. Kai wondered whether Bodvar was dead just like that. But then he moved. A twitch, then again, until he managed to roll onto his back.

  ‘Stay down,’ Kai whispered through gritted teeth. Though even that wouldn’t help him.

  Vargalf led the first horse back and was exchanging it with the second when a voice, strong as thunder, bellowed:

  ‘A curse on you, Sigurd! A curse on your blood, a curse on this crown, a curse on your filthy bed of incest! A curse on this fair kingdom that you have stained so foul!’ Bodvar paused, gulping down the dusty air with the effort. Sigurd was already striding towards him. ‘Murderer! These folk may not know it. But I know. I know what you are. Murderer! You killed—’

  Sigurd’s boot smashed against his head.

  Bodvar didn’t move. Sigurd stood back, nodded, then kicked him again. Bodvar’s head jerked stupidly. Sigurd was breathing hard. ‘Silence,’ he said, then again in a murmur. ‘Silence.’ He turned back to Vargalf. ‘Again.’

  Kai’s eyes were welded to Bodvar. He thought he saw his eyelids blink, but that was impossible. Except then his head flopped. He was still alive, just, but all he could do was lie there.

  The black hooves thundered and then they were kicking about his limp body like a sack of grain, again and again. Eventually there was a sound like snapping wood. Vargalf circled round to make another run, but Sigurd growled, ‘Enough.’ Vargalf looked over. Sigurd shook his head. ‘Away with him.’ The guards scuttled forward and seized the battered corpse, then dragged it out of the yard, leaving a trail of blood in the dust.

  ‘Thus the fate of any man who betrays his own blood under my rule,’ Sigurd declared. ‘He was traitor to the Sveär folk, traitor to his own honour, traitor to me. Mark it well.’ The outlander lords and the Sveär nobles looked on, but their hard expressions cloaked their thoughts. ‘Tomorrow you shall witness the fate of another man, guilty of outrageous crimes. His end will be no less final.’

  He turned with a flourish of his cloak and strode off towards the hall. The nobles followed. The rest of the crowd began to disperse, their appetite sated, at least for one day.

  Kai slid back along the branch.

  One night... One night to save his friend. There was nothing beyond this night.

  Nothing without Erlan.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Erlan groaned and opened his eyes.

  No one had come today. And Bodvar, he was gone, the only remnant of him a stain of shit and squalor in the other corner.

  It wouldn’t be long before they came for him, too.

  The deep gloom in the smokehouse meant darkness had fallen. For you, night is coming. Night had now come. Maybe his last.

  He chided himself. This was what he had chosen when he left the wind-swept strands of Vendlagard, shrouded in tears and sorrow. The Norns had brought him here – first to crest him high on a mounting wave, only to smash him down on the rocks of shame and ruin. He snorted, remembering how Sviggar would have named him foster-son. Who could deny those fate-weaving bitches have a sense of humour?

  He shivered. At least he’d only have to endure the cold for one more night.

  Then it would be over.

  A chain rattled. The door-latch gave a metallic click. He lifted his head. The door swung open. A pool of light flooded the floor. A murmur. A footstep, this one lighter than any he’d heard before. He looked over, dread lodged in his throat at the prospect of Vargalf’s hard features appearing out of the darkness.

  Then a dark, shimmering robe stepped out from the recess of the doorway. Saldas straightened up, peering into the shadows, a firebrand gripped in her hand. A guard entered behind her.

  ‘Where is he?’ she said, her eyes still adjusting to the murk.

  The guard pointed. She held up the torch. Erlan felt its light spread over his body, stealing away the blanket of darkness to reveal his bloody and filth-encrusted limbs.

  She gazed on him. Her brow wrinkled, not with concern, but something closer to disgust. ‘Fix this,’ she said, proffering the torch.

  The guard took it and slotted it into the nearest sconce.

  ‘Is he secure?’

  ‘Aye, my lady.’

  ‘Then leave us.’

  The door clapped shut. Erlan uncurled from his huddled position, spreading his legs with his back to the wall. She stood in front of him, unfazed by his nakedness. He noticed her nostrils flare slightly at the stench of excrement and piss-soaked straw. Beneath her cloak, she was wearing the same dress she had worn the first time he saw her. It clung to her like jealous hands, its dark colours shifting with each flick of the flame. One half of her face was shadow; the other, pale and beautiful as a waxing moon.

  ‘Look what a man’s pride brings him to.’ She shook her head. ‘Tsk, tsk. You’re a fool, Erlan. How easily you could have avoided all this. You only had to do what I wanted.’ She laughed. ‘Gods, you wanted it yourself! But instead... Well, now you know the price of your defiance.’

  ‘Is that all you came for?’ he whispered. ‘To gloat?’

  ‘H’m. To gloat would suggest the end was ever in doubt. No – I came to make you an offer.’

  ‘An offer?’ He glared at her, mistrustful. ‘You mean my freedom?’

  ‘Freedom? Mmm – of a kind. Yes, why not? Your life. And your freedom.’

  ‘If Sigurd wants to make me an offer, why doesn’t he come himself?’

  ‘Sigurd doesn’t even know I’m here.’

  ‘Is he not your lord? The son you now bow to as husband and king?’

  ‘My lord?’ Her green eyes hardened. ‘No man is my lord. I follow my own will.’

  ‘As Sviggar discovered to his cost.’ Saldas glared at him, but gave no reply. ‘This offer is from you, then?’

  ‘You think I’d come as errand-boy for anyone else?’

  A chuckle rattled his throat. ‘I don’t suppose you’d do anything for anyone else, come to that. So why give me my life?’ He looked down at his wasted limbs. ‘If you want my body, you’ve left it a bit late.’

  Her lips twitched with a smile. ‘I could restore your body.

  If I chose to.’

  ‘Why would you?’

  ‘Why?’ She stroked a finger under her chin. ‘Perhaps it amuses me.’

  It amused her. That was her answer. Erlan looked at her, tried to see through her. Why was she here? He couldn’t flatter himself that she wanted him as some sort of plaything. There had to be more.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Why not? It amused me to reduce you to this,’ she twiddled her slender fingers at him, ‘this pitiful animal sitting before me in a puddle of his own shit. It amuses me to lift you out of it. To take your life or to save it. That power is mine.’

  ‘And what do I have to do, to receive such mercy?’

  ‘Simple.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘Submit to me. Do that and I’ll raise you up again.’

  ‘And Sigurd?’

  ‘Puh! Sigurd is nothing. I put him where he is. I can remove him just as easily. But whether I should raise you to his place – I haven’t decided. Though I could do it. Like that.’ She snapped her fingers.

  And with that sound, he suddenly understood. This wasn’t amusing to her. It was everything. She felt it like a blade at her throat. It possessed her like a maddening thirst. She needed him to submit to prove her power over him, to prove that, in the end, everyone and everything must yield to
her will. That she was nothing less than a god.

  And in that instant, he saw the only power left to him – stinking and slimed as he was. The power to refuse, to deny her the one thing she craved above all else: his submission.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I admit it,’ he said, voice breaking, ‘often I’ve felt you like a ghost in my soul. A murmur in my head that won’t let me rest.’ Her lips curled in satisfaction. ‘Even though I’ve hated you, I’ve always... wanted you.’

  ‘Hmm,’ she purred. ‘Once I restore you, we can enjoy each other as much as we want. I already have a plan for Sigurd’s downfall and for raising you to the kingship with power over every soul in the land. Except mine, naturally. Only bow to me, and everything else shall be under you.’

  ‘You mean it?’ he said, tears welling with relief. ‘You’ll take me away from this place?’

  She smiled at him, painfully radiant, as foreign to that dank place of suffering and misery as a shining sun. ‘You’ll find me a most loving lord, Erlan.’ She moved closer. Reached out and touched his face with the tip of her finger. He jerked away, but she persisted. It was the only tender touch he had felt in that foul place. For a second, his will wavered. Why shouldn’t he do as she wanted? Why?

  ‘Rule with me,’ she murmured. ‘Together we might do great things. Let me save you now and the kingdom shall be ours.’

  ‘You’ll get me out? If I say yes, I mean.’

  ‘In a moment,’ she whispered, her mouth close enough for him to smell the sweetness of her breath.

  ‘What about Vargalf?’

  ‘Vargalf is mine. They’re all mine. Oh, Erlan, just say it and I’ll take you away. You’ll forget all about what has passed here. You’ll have learned your lesson. And you’ll soon forgive me, I promise you.’

  Her hand was cool against his cheek. ‘What must I do?’

  ‘Swear to me.’ Her voice tightened with excitement. ‘Swear your loyalty to me and no one else, and in a moment you’ll be gone from here.’

  He dropped his head. He was so tired. He felt his hair, lank with grease and grime, brush his face. Slowly, he nodded.

  ‘Go on. Say the words and I’ll take you away.’ She tilted his face to hers. ‘Go on – speak!’

  The chain suddenly rattled and he had her wrist. She flinched, but didn’t cry out, though his blackened fingernails were digging into her skin. A jagged laugh clacked in his throat. ‘It’s killing you, isn’t it? That it wasn’t you I wanted, that I wouldn’t submit.’

  She tried to pull away, but he held her. Only when she stopped struggling did he throw away her hand in disgust. She stood and backed away from him.

  ‘You’re actually mad.’

  ‘Because only a madman would reject you and your promises of power?’ he snarled. ‘You may think yourself a goddess over men. To me you’re nothing but a venomous whore.’

  Saldas’s mouth twisted. ‘Do you know what they’re going to do to you?’ she hissed. ‘Sigurd is going to have those horses of his rip you in two. The last thing you’ll feel in this world is your spine snapping.’

  ‘So be it,’ he replied grimly. ‘Now run back to your son’s bed, little whore.’

  She looked down at him, hate cascading from her eyes. ‘You’re a strange, stubborn man.’ She gave a mirthless snort. ‘I confess I was intrigued. To feel your adoration. To know your sweetness... But you have none.’ She smoothed her dress. ‘You’ll not see me again.’ She slowly raked the phlegm from her throat, squatted down and spat in his face. ‘Goodbye. Cripple.’

  He felt her spittle running down his cheek. ‘I’ll see you in Hel.’

  ‘Hel?’ she chuckled. ‘Oh, you have a world more pain to suffer before you reach there.’

  With that, she was gone, leaving him with nothing but the guttering flame and the echo of her warning.

  Kai ran through the forest, his shield jarring his back. But he didn’t care. It had to be now. Whatever happened, this was Erlan’s last chance.

  The moon urged him on. Run faster, my child, run for your brother. The spear and the axe felt strong in his hands. Dawn would not break before both had tasted blood. The trees flew past in the darkness, their branches clawing at him, holding him back.

  Why do you hurry so? they murmured. Your life changes nothing. We will stand here, unmoved, till the last of you is crumbled to dust. We’ll be standing here still when the world is swallowed in fire.

  ‘NO!’ he snarled and ran swifter, his heart pounding in his chest. Ahead, he spied the meadows beyond the trees. Another fifty strides. Only then would he slow.

  He reached the treeline and halted.

  I need your stealth now, he murmured. But to whom, he couldn’t say. To the wolves, to his brothers of the forest? To the shadow-spirits that swirled about him? To the mist that hovered over the midnight dew?

  He crept forward, eyes fixed on the hovels lining the dark horizon like shield studs, and finally there was the smokehouse, and above it smoke whorling into the sky.

  At the sight of it, fear washed through him, cold and stark.

  He stopped, hesitated, his heart full of doubt and terror, words jabbering in his head. He could slip away, could flee the kingdom. Forge another life somewhere else. Find someone else to serve. Something else to do...

  He looked up into the sky where, only the night before, he had seen that awesome river of blood. But this time there was no blazing message from the gods. Only emptiness and silence.

  He gripped the haft of his axe tighter, clamped his long lips into a hard line.

  What was another life, after all? There was only one life for him. Only one thing for him to do. And it was here.

  It was now.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  His head had barely dropped when the door opened again.

  Light spilled into the chamber. This time the footsteps were familiar.

  ‘You’re not an easy man to fathom, cripple,’ said Vargalf, while the guards fixed fresh torches into the wall. ‘Whatever Saldas offered you, you should have taken it.’ He stepped closer and peered down at him curiously. ‘Still that defiance in those eyes. Hmm.’ Impulsively, he swung a fist. Pain exploded through Erlan’s skull. ‘Her touch was gentler, h’m?’ Vargalf turned away. ‘Hang him up.’

  A few moments later Erlan was suspended from the chain.

  ‘No. Tonight we need him higher.’

  The guards strained away, hoisting him in painful jerks upwards. His feet were five feet off the ground before Vargalf growled, ‘Enough. Now fetch the rest.’

  The guards left them.

  ‘The low folk say a man must live by the choices he’s made. I can’t say yours displeases me.’ He came closer, dropped his gaze to Erlan’s feet. ‘You know Saldas is entirely indifferent whether you survive tonight’s activity.’ He said it almost absently, his interest taken with Erlan’s left ankle, the spur of bone visible beneath the skin where the break had healed so badly. ‘I’ve a free rein, as they say.’ Suddenly he squeezed the bone, hard. The old jet of pain raced up Erlan’s body and out through his mouth in a violent, visceral scream. Vargalf’s thumb and fingers bit like hot needles, deep into his bone. Erlan twisted and thrashed, in vain.

  Vargalf released him. The pain eased, leaving Erlan gasping.

  ‘Interesting. Yes – I see your problem. Oh, by the way,’ he added casually, ‘I’ve something to show you.’ He threw his cloak over his shoulder to reveal a sword-hilt at his hip.

  He drew the blade and held it up for Erlan to inspect. ‘Recognize this?’ Despite his exhaustion, the length of steel was all too familiar. He felt a pang, as though suddenly looking into the face of an old friend.

  Vargalf cut at the air. ‘You call it Wrathling, don’t you? A fine name for a fine blade. But what was yours is now mine. A gift from Sigurd.’ Erlan looked down with burned-out eyes, thinking of the long line of Vendlings who had bloodied that steel in Odin’s storm. And he had lost it. He was the fool. His throat contracted with shame
.

  Vargalf re-sheathed it. ‘Poor cripple. Ignorant of so many things. Well, at least tomorrow you will learn something. A new kind of pain. You know I have the honour of overseeing your dispatch from this world.’ His nostrils flared. ‘And afterwards, when you find yourself wandering the halls of Hel, then at last I’ll have had my revenge.’

  ‘Revenge?’ Erlan’s eyes darted. ‘What wrong have I ever done you?’

  ‘I suppose you think you’re innocent?’

  ‘No one is innocent.’

  ‘Ha! Something troubling your conscience, is it, cripple? Well, fear not. By the time I’m through with you, whatever it is will be well paid for.’

  ‘Why do you hate me?’

  ‘That’s another question. A fair one. And you will know the answer. Soon.’

  Vargalf circled around him. ‘Of course, besides my own, more personal reasons, your death is part of a much greater work now. Indeed,’ he whispered, ‘you might even call it my master work.’

  ‘Yours?’ Erlan scoffed. ‘The Wide-Realm is Sigurd’s vision.’

  ‘Who do you think gave it him? Who do you think cleared the way to make it a reality?’

  ‘Cleared the way?’ For a second, Erlan was confused. Did he mean the king or... ‘Not Staffen?’

  Vargalf smiled at his own cunning. ‘His brother was the first step.’

  ‘But he was killed by a stag. No – by the Vandrung shape-shifters—’ Suddenly Erlan’s thoughts were confused again. After the dark deaths of winter had ceased that had been the explanation he had accepted, along with everyone else.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That was you?’

  Vargalf raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Wait, so you’re... you’re a shape-shifter.’

  ‘Are you so shocked?’

  Erlan thought of Grimnar, the strange seidman in the forest, remembered the jay that had guided them to the caverns of Niflagard, and then the horrors of that black night when the shrieks of the Vandrung had split the air. Such things were possible. He’d seen them with his own eyes... but Vargalf?