He floated now. Bright and light, a warm buzz filled his ears. He weighed nothing and felt nothing. No one was in his mind, nor did he feel as if he had a mind. He felt like a thought. Yes, he was a thought rising in the mind of something incomprehensible. He was a bubble on a stream of brilliance. He would drift here forever.
The sword. Of course, it was connected to this place. It was of this light. Holding it again had brought him here. Had raised him as thought in the mind of the world.
His name thundered from somewhere and he drifted. Was it down or up? There were no directions here. He had no hands to grasp, nor feet to kick out for the ground.
It was down. The voice became thunder. The brilliance evaporated like thin water on a hot stone. Dry, dead grass spread throughout a glade of naked hazel trees. Brown and gold leaves rolled in a breeze he did not feel. He stood behind a short, dark man with shoulder-length dark hair. A beautiful woman with yellow hair hugged him. Both were dressed in ragged, black clothes. Both were weeping.
A body lay in the grass. It was naked but for a loin cloth. A horrible wound had been carved into its chest and blood still seeped from it. The man's face was impassive and still, more like wax than flesh. Black whorls radiated from the cut, seeming to writhe and tremble as he looked at these.
Grimwold found his own hand seeking the same spot on his chest. He now had a hand and a body. He felt them but did not see them. Not without concentration. He was light and thought. He did not belong in this world, but somehow he was here.
The wounded man was him, of course, and the dark man was his companion, Lethos. He did not recognize the woman. None of it was of any consequence. He had been somewhere in the dark before this, and now that he possessed the light he cared not for a body or friends.
"You are stuck here too?"
The voice startled him, not in the way it would in the world. His heart did not race or he did not gasp. He simply turned toward the source behind him.
The boy wore gray rags splattered with rusty stains. His sandy hair felt to his shoulders and across a too-prominent brow for a child his age. Intense blue eyes regarded him, seeming to draw him down out of the light into the world. Grimwold stared at the boy. His presence seemed somehow brighter than the world around him. Everything now seemed sapped of its color, like red cloth left in the sun too long.
"Am I stuck here?" Grimwold asked. The boy shrugged. The world around him continued in silence. Lethos and the woman exchanged words he could not hear only a few feet away.
"Maybe you're stuck. Maybe not." The boy walked over to Grimwold's body lying in the grass. He shook his head as if in pity. "Your body is just right here. All you have to do is lie down in it and you will live again. How nice."
"I want to get back to the light." Grimwold was suddenly aware of weight again. He looked at his hands and found them before himself. Unlike the body on the ground, he wore the clothes and mail coat he had worn the day the arrow had struck him. He remembered it now, all of it. He remembered Syrus and Lethos and Kafara's final words. He turned to his friend, willing his bond to touch Lethos's mind. Yet he only spoke eagerly to the beautiful woman with him.
"I don't know what that is," the boy said. "I have been here since the strange men came with their white ship. They killed my family and me. Everyone was killed and they left nothing behind. I am trapped here now. I just walk around the island and no one sees me."
"That is a terrible fate," Grimwold said. "You are a ghost now. Is that what I am? Is this the ghost world?"
Again the boy shrugged. He joined Grimwold by his body. "Just get back into it. You will forget me and return to life."
Grimwold bit his lip. The memory of the light was already fading. How much worse would it be when he left this realm? He might never have a chance to experience it again. Yet hadn't he proclaimed death to be the coward's way out?
"Go on," the boy said.
"Is there anything I can do to help you, lad? You seem to know much about this place, yet I am ignorant. If there's something I could do that you cannot."
"There is," the boy said, his mature face seeming to brighten. "The strange men left something behind. I think it's blocking me."
Grimwold peered at the boy. He tried to recall all the legends of the afterlife, but he had not been much of a student of such things. He had always expected Danir's shield maidens to bear his body from the battlefield up into Danir's hall. Could this boy be a demon trying to trick him into the mist realms instead? Syrus would certainly know, but he was of no aid here.
"What is this thing?"
"It's that, only bigger." The boy pointed at the body on the ground, indicating the black swirls on Grimwold's chest. The tendrils spun and slithered like worms across his flesh. If it moved so in life, neither Lethos nor the woman gave any indication they recognized it.
"Is that what has kept me out of my body?"
The boy shrugged. "I can show you mine. It's not here, but far away. Let me take you."
The boy grabbed his hand and pulled gently. Grimwold held steady. "You are eager to take me somewhere else."
"But it's not here," the boy said, his blue eyes widening. "It's where my village was. I cannot get close to it, but you are a real warrior. You could."
Grimwold stared at the boy still clutching his gnarled hand in his own small one. He glanced at Lethos and his woman, both who now leaned beside him examining his wound. The black mass seemed to jump and dodge as both of them tried to wrap his wound in bandages made from ribbons of their own clothes. If Lethos had the choice, he would aid the boy without hesitation. Grimwold suspected the worst in people, and he had not often been wrong. How much higher were the stakes in the world of ghosts? If he left his body, would he find it again?
"Please, you're the only one I've found who can see me. I've been alone for so long and I want to go to my family. If you can chase away that black thing, then I might be able to leave. I just feel it's right."
"Lead the way, then." The boy gave a genuine smile, or at least Grimwold judged it so. A demon had possessed his own sister for years, and yet he had never known. Still, he had a chance to help this boy as well as learn more about what these so-called strange men left behind. They were undoubtedly the Tsal, and according to Kafara, he would spend his days in battle with them. Best to know the enemy.
They took three large steps and the world blurred. Grimwold shouted in surprise, but the boy merely laughed, his voice smearing into the world as it melted into streaks and whorls of pale colors. When he set his foot down again he was in the ruins of a village. Familiar A-frame constructed homes had collapsed into burned ruins. Though the color here was as desaturated as before, the rusty blood stains were still obvious on doors and walls that had not burned down. No smoke rose here, and no bodies lay amid the ruins. He had visited scenes like this a hundred times in his youth. He had been the cause of such terror, and he was no longer proud of it. He had sailed with Aros the Conqueror once and sowed chaos and terror as a raider. But with his practiced raider's eye he saw all the spoils that had been left behind. Cooking pots and trestles still stood over hearths. Barrels and casks remained stacked. This place had been raided for the people only.
"What happened here?"
The boy stood with arms on his hips, surveying the damage. His sandy hair fluttered in a wind Grimwold did not feel. "Only six came, but they were as gods. Each was as strong as ten men, and their flesh was as hard as iron. Their leader wove a black mist from his hands. It smelled like lambs at slaughter. I think we all died then. I got so cold and weak. When I opened my eyes again, I was here alone."
"Why do you think you were left here? Dead children should become servants in Danir's hall."
The boy shrugged, and still holding Grimwold's hand, he tugged him farther into the village. Grimwold passed between charred frames and scattered debris. The rutted paths between homes led to a central square where the boy halted. Grimwold looked up in disgust.
Hanging in the air ab
ove the square was a pulsing, black mass. Tendrils and cords of black mist flowed lazily from the core of the thing, making it look like a drop of ink suspended in water. A cold feeling tugged at his heart, and for a moment he thought he was back in a physical body. His limbs became heavy and his shoulders sagged from the proximity to the thing. It pulsed larger at regular intervals and it seemed to be twisting and rotating in place.
"It never leaves that spot," the boy said. "But I feel like I have to go there. I hear my mother calling me behind it."
Grimwold put his hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. He heard nothing nor did he feel any desire to approach the thing. Quite the opposite, he would be glad to quit this place and never return. Remembering what a similar mark one eighth the size of this thing had done to him, he was not eager to discover if this possessed similar abilities.
He wore mail and his sword was strapped to his side. His left hand grasped the handle of a plain round shield fitted with leather trim. He only lacked his helmet to complete the look of a warrior. As he thought about it, he was aware of the faceplate restricting his vision.
"A fair trick," he said. "Can I summon whatever I want in this place?"
The boy's radiant blue eyes studied him, then he looked aside. "You will fight that monster for me?"
"Is it not what you took me here to do?" The boy gave a slow nod. "Then do not waste breath on asking, if we even breathe in this place."
He still inhaled to speak, yet found his chest did not expand. He chuckled and tested the weight of his sword. It was his weapon, his mail, everything as it had been when he faced the raiders. With a pat to the boy's head, he stalked off to face the pulsing mass.
Halfway across he doubted his wisdom in helping the lad. He grew colder with each step closer, and his sense of fear deepened. Dark thoughts of being dragged into darkness, crushed and remolded into something less than human filled his mind. The lazy tentacles of the black mass waved in the air, and as each passed images in his head sharpened. Short men with red skin danced in his thoughts. A black stripe ran down the center of their bodies from their hairless heads down to their crotches. They cavorted and gibbered. They reached for him. Hundreds of hands reached for him. They thirsted for his company, beady glinting eyes staring eagerly. Their words were gibberish, but nonetheless conveyed hate and jealousy.
Without even realizing, he found himself scooped into the air with one of the tentacles gently holding him in place. His arms were pinned to his sides as if iron bands had enfolded him. The pulsing black tangle of tentacles and tendrils expanded. Something like a lidless yellow eyeball stared up at him from deep in the smoky mass. The tentacle held him over it the way a rich man might consider a fruit before dropping it into his mouth.
Grimwold's mind was filled with the ravings of a thousand madmen. They called for him to join them, and he thought he soon would.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Lethos grasped the rail of the rickety fishing boat and held against the swaying waves. Valda steadied him, her hand at his back, and gave a small smile. She weathered the rocking waves far better, as if she had been born to sail. Lethos truly regretted adopting a sea-faring country as his home. The dark skies and choppy wind rocked the tiny boat as the first buildings appeared out of the gray haze ahead. A point of orange light marked where the fisherman would guide his ship. His crew of four rowed with the careless ease of men long accustomed to life at sea. Lethos sniffed at them.
He checked Grimwold's body once more, pulling the black cloak higher over his face. The fishermen had been reluctant to take them aboard when they had seen Grimwold's cursed state, but Valda had plied her royal charms. Lethos was just glad they believed her. He had envisioned a rape and murder fiasco which he was not prepared to handle right now. The bull spirit was hidden. Maybe it had even vanished. He could scarcely believe he had considered it a curse, for now the ability to tear a man in half would be useful.
"This old boat won't get much farther," the steersman said. "I hope your friend will let us repair our ship before we go."
"He's a good man," Lethos said. "He won't mistreat you as long as you respect him and his folk."
The steersman spit over the side. "People from Finnmogur never been overly nice to us from Holt. I guess times are changing, but still."
The rowers chuckled and Lethos blocked out their complaints. Barbarians would fight among themselves for differences in the colors of their shirts. Unsurprisingly one island would consider another island's people practically foreigners. He exchanged a smile with Valda, silently confirming that the steersman's quip underscored the need for keeping Valahur united. With the Tsal lurking on the fringes, a divided Valahur had no chance to withstand an invasion.
They glided ashore with men waiting to greet them and help land the ship. Lethos counted a dozen armed men with shields and spears. A dozen more men would be ready to fight if they posed a threat. While they were clearly just a fishing ship, no one was foolish enough to assume it could not pose a threat during these uncertain times. The leader of the group wore a mail shirt, and he held up his hand in greeting.
Lethos did the same, then nearly pitched over the side as the hull sank into the beach. Both Lethos's own crew and the men on the beach snickered. Face hot, he whirled on Valda as if she should have prevented this. She had her delicate wrist over her mouth, and looked away from him. He hated ships and sailors more than anything in this world.
He completed his greeting as their hosts dragged the ship through the surf until it was firmly beached. Upon seeing Valda, men came forward to carry her from the ship to dry land without her soiling herself in the water. Even in her black garments her beauty was obvious, and men jostled to be part of the group that aided her. Lethos was mildly surprised when none of them tried to grope her or did anything other than deposit her carefully on the grass. Lethos and the rest of the crew had to jump the rails and wet their feet in the shallow surf to greet their hosts.
"I am Lethos of Reifell," he said. "You have had the honor of carrying Valda, daughter of High King Eldegris, to the shore."
The man in the chain coat had a swooping mustache that seemed to droop even further at the mention of Valda. He looked to Valda as if to confirm it himself, and his red cheeks shined brighter. Finnmogur and its people had not historically been supportive of any High King, at least until the war of the trolls and the Avadurian invasion.
"What a singular honor," he said unconvincingly. "Does Eldegris send us his daughter on a sinking trawler for any special reason, or was it just his best ship for the task?"
"High King Eldegris," Valda said, stepping up to the man. "Remember it well. I've no time to entertain your foolishness. I must meet immediately with your war chief."
Valda looked expectantly to Lethos. He stared back, admiring her commanding poise before realizing she was prompting him for a name.
"Blund Bloodtooth," Lethos said, his face warming. "You will tell him Lethos and the lady Valda have come to call. He knows me."
The leader pulled the end of his mustache. "Lethos, I recognize the name. You have a partner, yes?"
"He's on the ship," Lethos hitched his thumb over his shoulder. "Part of what we've to discuss with Blund. Now will you take us to him?"
The greeting crew, satisfied that nothing dangerous was afoot, drifted apart. Fees were assessed and paid, the steersman shooting Lethos black looks. Apparently assurances that the crown would remember service rendered did not count for anything in the barbarian world. It counted for nothing in his own country either, but people were civilized enough to let it slide as a polite lie. When Lethos hefted Grimwold's body out of the ship with the ease of carrying a bundle of kindling, the dark looks ended. Barring anything else, he had maintained his incredible strength. Even when Grimwold would not awaken, the connection between them felt strong and true.
Their arrival at Blund's hall was unspectacular as far as war chiefs were concerned. Lethos had expected a show of strength and discipline, but ins
tead found mostly idle men and curious villagers. A pitiful drizzle spit over the whole procession to the top of the hill where Blund had established his hall. Fresh-cut logs and a golden thatched roof were stark and colorful contrasts to the gray sky. A guard in a leather jerkin with a red shield resting against the wall stood by the wooden doors.
Lethos carried Grimwold behind Valda, feeling like he was bearing him off to a mausoleum rather than a friend's home. The guard opened the doors with little more attention than an impetuous school boy. Inside the air was warm, stale, and rough with smoke. Urine was the most striking odor, edging out the fish stink that pervaded beneath it. Across the short hall on his wooden throne sat the man Lethos had rescued from the troll pits of Avadur a little more than a year ago. The man now claimed the position of war chief of northern Finnmogur, Captain Blund Bloodtooth.
Blund stood in welcome, a rich red cloak hanging from his shoulders as if he were modeling it. His smile, at least across the smoky haze of the hearth, seemed to reach his eyes. Lethos had bet on Blund as the one man he could count on to aid, and prayed his rise to power had not yet ruined him. He let Valda approach first, being she was royalty. For a brief moment Lethos froze at the thought of a potential conflict. A dozen scenarios raced through his head, each one ending with neither Blund nor Valda acknowledging the other's authority. Blund originally was not a supporter of Eldegris's, though he changed his stance after the war. Valda, well, Lethos didn't know what she would be like.
It all came together amicably when Blund bowed low to Valda. "Greetings and welcome to the daughter of my king!"
Lethos ambled behind with Grimwold hanging across his arms. The body was still wrapped as if it were a corpse, and was as light as ever in Lethos's arms.
"My thanks for your hospitality, War Chief Blund." Valda gave a smaller bow. The world was right. Lethos smiled.
"And my old friend," Blund said, now less cheerful. "What is this you carry into my hall? Tell me it is not death you bring before me?"
The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) Page 18