Ship of the Dead

by James Jennewein

  Dazed, he heard Astrid cry his name. Then the rustle of hooves. Racing footsteps. Soon she was beside him, cradling his throbbing head in her arms. “W-what happened?” was all he managed to say.

  “Aurora knocked you from my horse. She took the blade. Oh, Dane, it’s only by the will of the gods you’re alive!”

  “Get the blade back,” Dane croaked.

  “Mist is after her now.”

  “I’m fine. Go!” She stroked his hair, and Dane knew she was hesitant to leave him after his brush with death. “The blade is the only thing that matters, Astrid. Please, you must go.”

  Astrid tore herself away, hopped onto her steed, kicked his flanks, and soared upward like a flaming arrow. He watched as she joined the battle that was raging high in the night sky above him. The three Valkyries streaked across the heavens, looking like shooting stars—only the stars raced at each other and passed, and then doubled back like luminescent hummingbirds engaged in midair combat. Their battle a wondrous light show to behold, had it not been for the fact that he feared it would be a battle to the death. From such a distance, Dane could not tell which Valkyrie was which, only that two of the glowing stars seemed to be teaming up against the third, Mist and Astrid diving and swooping at Aurora from above and below in a concerted effort to knock her off her mount. But Dane knew Aurora had the blade, and that one swipe of it would kill her pursuers—so even though she was outnumbered, the advantage was hers.

  Then Dane’s nostrils were assaulted by a most awful odor. He tried getting to his feet when a boot flew up and stomped on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Lifting his eyes, he then beheld a vision that had to come from a nightmare. A ghastly decayed face gazed down at him. At first glance it appeared to be smiling, but then Dane saw that as most of its lips were gone, the curve of the creature’s blackened, rotten teeth could be forming a grin as well as a grimace. Dane felt it deep in his vitals—the chilling recognition that this was Thidrek the Terrifying once again in the flesh. Well, flesh such as it was, for Thidrek presented a most horrifying sight.

  “My, my,” growled Thidrek, “the defiant one! Grown a bit since last we crossed swords.” Thidrek leaned close, Dane overwhelmed by his odor. He was further horrified to see a beetle wriggling out of a dried bit of flesh that hung from Thidrek’s chin.

  “And you’re looking better than ever,” Dane said with a smile of his own, even though he was terrified.

  “I have you to thank for that. We were having such a fair fight, weren’t we? Well, as fair as a fight can be between a pup and a prince. And then Thor had to seize me in his whirlwind, taking me and his beastly hammer to Asgard. Yes, imagine that! Me—in the Hall of Heroes! Ha!” The sinews in Thidrek’s neck—what remained of them—tightened and his blood-specked eyeballs bulged in fury. “But then—showing rank favoritism quite unbecoming a god—Odin, the one-eyed brute, deems me unworthy to stay and has me ostracized! And now I walk the earth, not dead, not alive, but oh so eager to settle the score with the lot of you!”

  “Your tale touches my heart,” said Dane.

  “Soon I’ll be eating your heart,” said Thidrek, and a snakelike thing shot from his mouth, swept back and forth across his teeth, and then withdrew. And Dane realized that what he had seen was Thidrek’s tongue.

  Dane heard something moving behind Thidrek. “Quit lurking, Grelf,” Thidrek barked. “Come and see the prize I’ve caught.”

  The toadying attendant slunk forward. Dane was struck by the man’s physical deterioration. Back when he had been serving Prince Thidrek in his castle, Grelf had been pink cheeked and ever so plump. He now appeared thin and twitchy, his skin sallow and his eyes baggy, as if sleep were a stranger to him. “I’m sure you remember my man-in-waiting,” Thidrek said to Dane. “He has chosen to return to my side.”

  “Serving a draugr does you no favors, Grelf,” Dane said. “You look half dead yourself.”

  “Your eyes deceive you,” Grelf said, summoning an air of dignity. “I am most fortunate and happy to serve my master.”

  Thidrek held his foot upon Dane’s chest and craned his neck back to see the luminescent trails of the Valkyrie combat above. “I have reached into Asgard to pluck one of their own to serve me. She told me of the blade and your pitiful desires to use it on me. But it is I who will use the blade. With it I shall raise the Ship of the Dead and unleash Hel’s minions upon the earth. Sounds exciting, no?”

  Dane’s heart nearly stopped. The dark forces of Hel? Was this the “mischief” Skuld said the goddess was planning?

  “You’ve no idea what you’ve wrought,” Thidrek said. And then he pointed to the sky. There was a sudden explosion—a burst of pure white sparkles of light falling in the night sky. “Ha! The blade has struck! My maiden has killed one of yours. See? Her embers fall.”

  Horrorstruck, Dane saw the shimmering embers wink out one by one as they fell to earth in a death spiral. He gave an anguished cry and sprang free from Thidrek’s pinning foot. Dane came at Thidrek with his fists, the monster grabbing Dane round the neck with one hand and holding him there at arm’s length. Thidrek brayed in laughter as Dane flailed in vain, landing not a punch. The grip on his neck tightened. Dane gasped and choked and desperately pulled at the skeletal claw, trying to wrench it free. He felt himself lifted up, his feet kicking at the air, his vision blurring, the growl of Thidrek’s voice sounding then as if it were coming from the depths of Niflheim itself. “Look how merrily he dances, Grelf! Hah! Like a puppet!”

  Then—wham!—a sudden blow sent him tumbling backward, and a moment later Dane found himself facedown in the dirt. He heard Thidrek angrily bellowing—there were hands lifting him from the ground and he felt horseflesh beneath him. The beast gave an ear-piercing whinny, and Dane watched the ground recede as Thidrek’s shouts died away.

  Treetops flew past below, and slowly it came to him that he must be slung over the back of a celestial steed. What seemed just moments later the earth rushed into view again and he felt a jarring bump as the steed’s hooves alighted on solid ground. He felt hands pull him off the animal’s back and gently lay him on the ground, his back to a tree. Astrid’s face hovered close to his. “You’re alive!” he gasped.

  “Mist is dead, she’s gone!” she said, choking back sobs. “Aurora killed her with the blade. And then, seeing Thidrek had you, I rode fast and rammed my steed into him, knocking you free.” She hugged Dane tightly, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Mist was my only friend—she died because of me!”

  “Aurora’s treachery killed Mist,” said Dane, “not you.”

  Astrid abruptly released him and looked to the skies as if hearing some faraway call. “A sister has died and I’m called to return home. I must go.” She hurriedly mounted her steed.

  “Wait! What of the blade?” Dane said, wobbling to his feet.

  “Your efforts to free me have only brought more torment. I beg you, Dane, take the others and go home.”

  “But we can’t! Thidrek has the blade now—and he says he intends to use it to raise the Ship of the Dead—” Astrid shot heavenward atop her steed. Dane called to her once more, but she was gone, her luminescent trail streaking away into the night sky.

  Chapter 13

  A Twisted Twist of Fate

  You lost the blade?” Jarl’s face was purple with rage. “How could you do that?” The others stood around him, their dagger stares as hurtful as Jarl’s insults.

  Dane sat in exhaustion before the fire. He had found his way back to camp just before dawn broke, his shouts waking everyone. He excitedly spilled out the whole fantastic tale of the Valkyries, the blade, and the draugr Thidrek. When he was finished, at first they just stared in dumb disbelief. Even his pals Fulnir and Drott appeared shocked and dismayed.

  And now he sat there, enduring the wrath of Jarl.

  “Whatever possessed you to leave by yourself? Are you really that dumb? I knew you weren’t up to this, I just knew it! We come all this way—all this way—and you los
e my one chance at glory!”

  “You were wrong to go out there alone with the blade,” Fulnir added grimly. “Did you do it just to be the hero?”

  Dane started to explain again how Astrid had entered his dreams to summon him—but Jarl was having none of it. He exploded, attacking Dane with punches and kicks and smacking him in the head with the flat of his hand, his anger spilling forth with such force that it took Drott and Fulnir to pull him off.

  Lut’s voice cut through the boisterous din, Dane expecting to hear him say that now was the time to forget recriminations and band together in brotherhood.

  Instead Lut said, “Has anyone seen William?”

  For a good hour they combed the woods, calling out his name. But William was nowhere to be found, and Dane grew sick with worry. Klint, who Dane had sent off for aerial surveillance, returned with one of William’s arrows held in his beak. Dane bade the bird to take him to William, and off it flew, Dane and his friends following as fast as they could through the forest, the bird stopping every so often to let them catch up. Dane realized, with sickening clarity, that they were headed in the same direction Aurora had led him the night before. Had the boy followed? If so, this was infinitely worse.

  They sneaked up on the spot where Thidrek had nearly killed Dane, hoping to catch the draugr by surprise, but the place was deserted. Klint squawked and flew to where William’s bow and arrows lay strewn across the ground. After a brief search, they found no other trace of the boy, no blood or evidence of violence, and so it was agreed that, in all likelihood, William had been abducted.

  Dane sank to the ground with his head in his hands, crushed by what he had done. Poor William! How terrified he must be! To think he had escaped his master’s cruelty once and for all—only to be caught again in the monster’s clutches.

  “Blade gone. Thidrek gone. William gone.” Jarl’s voice was hard with scorn. “Where do you lead us now, Dane? The answer is nowhere. Because I’m taking command.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Fulnir. Ah, Fulnir! What a friend. Even though Dane had mucked up seriously, when push came to shove, Fulnir still was loyal. “Because I nominate Lut to be our leader,” said Fulnir. Dane and the others shot surprised looks at Lut, who just stood there, looking calm and confident, as if he had expected the sudden promotion. Jarl was having none of it.

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Jarl. “Sure, he’s young and vital now. But how long will he stay that way?”

  They all looked to Lut to provide the answer. “To be honest I don’t know,” he said. “A few days, a week; the apple’s enchantment most probably will wear off.”

  “And then what? We’ll be taking orders from a bent-over, decrepit old man!” Jarl railed. He then softened. “Not that there’s anything wrong with you being old and bent again, Lut.” Lut nodded, showing that he took no offense. Jarl continued his campaigning. “We need someone we can count on all the way through. Someone with the strength and stamina and—fine, I’ll say it—courage to do what needs to be done.”

  “In other words, you,” said Fulnir.

  “Yes. I think everyone agrees that, despite Dane’s past exploits, he has shown an appalling lack of good judgment of late, and has lost the confidence of the group.” Jarl stopped, waiting for someone to gainsay him, and it hurt Dane to hear that no one disagreed. “So as of this moment, I’m sole leader.”

  There was a pause. “I say we put it to a vote,” Drott said. “Who votes for Lut?” Drott and Fulnir raised their hands. Dane lamented he had lost the trust of the others but felt that if there was to be a new leader, Lut’s wisdom beat Jarl’s rashness any day. He raised his hand, making three for Lut.

  Jarl glowered at them, saying, “You’re against me . . . you’re all against me!” before he stalked away to lick his wounded pride.

  For once, Dane found himself feeling sorry for him. Jarl wasn’t a bad sort; it was just that he suffered from an excess of self-regard. As for himself, he accepted blame for the loss of the blade and the capture of William. His single-minded drive to gain revenge on Thidrek had pushed him into incredibly poor judgment. But Lut’s judgment had been equally poor when he’d chosen to eat the apple, and it seemed rather ironic to Dane that he should be rewarded for such weakness. But this was no time for self-pity, Dane knew, and so he made an effort to rise and walk to Lut and put out his hand in a gesture of fellowship. “I will abide by your decisions,” Dane said, trying to sound sincere.

  Lut grasped his hand and Dane felt his iron grip. “We have a daunting task ahead.”

  “I’m afraid more than you know,” Dane said. “Thidrek said something about the Ship of the Dead.”

  Upon hearing this, Lut furrowed his brow in concern. Dane told him of Thidrek’s threats of a human holocaust of unspeakable proportions. “‘I shall unleash,’ he said, ‘Hel’s minions upon the earth.’”

  Lut visibly paled. “Hel’s minions . . .”

  Dane clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s right, O Wise One. The end of the world as we know it. Glad you’re in charge now?” Dane walked off, a part of him relieved that the fate of mankind was, for now at least, someone else’s responsibility.

  In a torment of shock and grief, Astrid streaked through the skies toward Asgard atop her steed, Vali, repeating the disastrous scene over and over in her mind. How was it possible that her friend was dead? One moment Mist was right there beside her in the sky—and the next, a swift swing of the blade by Aurora had turned Mist into cinders falling to earth. What a ghastly nightmare. She wished she could just shake herself awake and find her friend beside her once again, her face alive with laughter and high spirits. Yet the bitter certainty that it was impossible felt like a dark hand crushing her heart. And worse, it was her own scheme to steal the blade from Dane that had brought about Mist’s demise. Aurora had done the killing, yes, but Astrid had practically put the blade into her hand—and the guilt she bore made her want to join Mist in death.

  But if she ended her life now, then no one would know of Aurora’s treachery. So despite her agony, Astrid vowed to go to Asgard and testify, for she knew that Mist’s murder would already be the cause of great upheaval there. As Mist herself had once explained, the authority and control of the gods operated like that of a spider sitting at the center of a vast web. Events that touched even the farthest-flung points of the web did not go unobserved, for their reverberations quickly traveled up the strands to the godly realm of Asgard. And, unlike the affairs of mortal men, the death of a Valkyrie was cause for panic and, yes, retribution, for it upset the order of things and challenged the sense of control of those in power.

  When at last the brilliant arc of the Rainbow Bridge came looming into view, leading the way to Asgard, Astrid felt her insides flutter. Soon she would go before the tribunal. As Mist had warned, her plan to steal the blade from Dane and kill Thidrek went against the Valkyrie edicts of nonintervention in the affairs of man. If Astrid told the truth, she risked severe reprimand. She could be stripped of her flying status and forever made to serve as a mead maid in Odin’s corpse hall. But if that was her punishment, so be it. Lugging heavy mead buckets was a small price to pay to see Aurora sent to Niflheim for her heinous act.

  Exactly why Aurora had committed such a crime puzzled Astrid. Mist was right when she said Aurora was always guided by selfish reasons—but how could she possible profit by joining forces with such a vile, wretched creature as the draugr Thidrek?

  Below, she saw the Valkyrie corps gathered in the grove of gold-leafed trees. Vali, lathered with perspiration from the long journey, glided down. Astrid tied him where the other sky horses were picketed and hurried to the gathering.

  Arriving, she saw that many of the maidens were dabbing tears from their eyes. She heard the voice of a sister say, “It breaks my heart to think I will never see her face or hear her kind words again.” Astrid pushed to the front of the gathering and saw that the speaker was none other than Aurora, the murderess herself! She stood before the Cou
ncil of Sisters, five striking beauties dressed in silver robes, presided over by Rain, the queen of the Valkyries. A woman of consummate poise and mystery, Rain, they said, had risen to the rank of queen through equal parts courage, cunning, and wisdom far beyond her years. The fact that Odin found pleasure in her shape had been a boon to her too. Now, bedecked in a golden cowled robe and a dazzling tiara, the queen of the Valkyries peered down at Aurora and bade her speak.

  “Please, dear one, tell us what you saw,” Rain said.

  “Oh, I can’t! It’s too horrible!” wailed Aurora, putting her hands to her face, wet with false tears.

  Astrid could scarcely believe her ears. A fury rose up in her, and before she knew it she had stepped forward into the clearing. “Sisters!” she cried out. “I know the truth of Mist’s foul murder!” At the sound of Astrid’s voice, Aurora whirled to face her, wearing her own look of fury.

  “How dare you return here after what you’ve done!” Aurora spat. “Yes, she knows the truth of Mist’s murder—because she committed it!”

  There was a gasp from the assemblage, and for an instant Astrid was rocked by the audacity of Aurora’s lie. “That—that is not true!” Astrid sputtered. “It is her hand that dealt the killing blow! I was there!”

  “More lies by the murderess!” proclaimed Aurora.

  “Enough!” Rain commanded. “You shall both have chance to speak.”

  “I was here first!” Aurora said, stomping her feet like a petulant child.

  “Very well, Aurora,” Rain sternly said. “Continue.”

  Aurora spoke her poisonous words, and Astrid had to restrain herself from leaping upon her and strangling her soft, pretty neck. “I saw Mist riding toward me,” she said, her voice tremulous with sham emotion. “She was far away, but I knew it was her. She raised her hand to wave a greeting . . . and then I saw Astrid streak toward her from above. She—she had a weapon in her hand, a rather long-bladed axe. I could see it in the moonlight. I screamed to Mist, ‘Look up! Look up!’” Overtaken then with sobs, Aurora found it hard to continue. “And then—sniff, sniff—the blade came down and she was gone!” This brought more weeping from the gathering and accusing looks aimed at Astrid.