by Robin Danner
“Although he had not married her, the father made the mistress of the dead mercenary second wife in his house and placed the mixed-blood bastard child at the table with his legitimate son. The boys fought, as boys will do, but eventually became as close as true brothers. Of course, having one’s wrist slit will stop any fighting. They fought side by side at the battle for Helgafell and shared all they had. Until Grettir, daughter of Ragnar Olrudsson, came to Snaefellsjokul. The oldest brother loved her madly and had asked Ragnar Olrudsson for her hand. Before the bride price was set, the younger brother stole her away in the night and ravished her. He ruined her. He poisoned her mind. She was a simple girl who could not make up her mind as to which brother she would wed. Though the eldest had made first claim, the younger had taken her virginity and had filled her belly with child. She was a silly girl, truly. She could have had the younger brother killed for his crimes, but her mind was poisoned, and she would not hear of it.
“Ragnar took Grettir to the church at Skalholt to be looked after by the priests during her confinement. He then set a plan to rid himself of both meddlesome brothers, as he knew that there would be no peace for his daughter as long as they both lived.
“He called upon the brothers, begging them to journey to his farm beyond the peninsula at the great lava field beyond the mountains. There, he said, he would let them bargain for his daughter and her unborn child. He said he cared not which brother wed his Grettir and raised her child, for they were both sound and decent men who loved her.” Ketiljon paused, taking a sip of the tea offered him by Salem.
“This is quite the tale. All this is carved on the bone?” she asked.
“In a manner of speaking. One must know the entire saga to understand the inscriptions. Now, where was I? Oh, yes…the brothers made their way across the mountains to the lava field beyond. The journey took twelve days by horseback, and they were very tired when they reached their destination. Ragnar greeted them and bade them rest for a day at his hot pot.”
“Hot pot?” Salem asked.
“His geothermal pool. Ragnar had a hot pot on his land. He’d built a stone shelter over it—rather like a sauna. The brothers relished the idea of a warm place to sleep and it is easy to cook one’s dinner when boiling water is so easily obtained. In Iceland, one must simply look down to find hot water! They accepted Ragnar’s offer. He gave them flatbread and smoked lamb to eat, and a large flask of mead. The brothers ate and drank their fill. Ragnar spied upon them. What he saw confirmed his dislike of them both to such a degree that he wished them both slow, painful deaths. The brothers engaged in a sexual union. Forbidden and outlawed in Iceland, it was a crime so severe that the farmer knew he would not be banished for the killing.
“After the brothers fell asleep, he sealed the entrance to the pool, knowing that it would soon erupt like a geyser if the steam was not allowed to escape. A great rumbling in the earth awakened the brothers. They could not move the great stone blocking the exit and the heat had become unbearable. The ground shook again. It was an earthquake! This is a common occurrence in Iceland even today; but when the earth rumbles one does not want to be in the vicinity of a geothermal pool. The water levels rose and, little by little, the brothers were cooked alive. The younger brother called upon Freyja to save them. Now, asking the gods for a favor is to invite trouble. But Freyja heard his plea and granted reprieve. Their bodies would die, but their souls would live on, trapped in an object of their choosing, until such time as a magical spell was cast to free them. The younger brother removed a gift he’d been making for Grettir, for those times he was away from her. The older brother scoffed at the lewd gift and said he should rather be trapped in a stone buried in three feet of moss than in a penis of whalebone. But it was the younger’s decision, for it was his prayer to Freyja that had been answered. He chose for their souls to remain trapped in the whalebone penis for all time. Or at least until the right words are said at the right time to free them.”
“What happened to Grettir?” Salem asked.
“When she learned what her father had done, she took her own life. Never was it known which brother was actually her true love. The elder, who courted her according to custom and would have made her a fine husband, or the younger, who took her by force and convinced her to accept his love.”
Salem asked a second question. “Which brother do you believe was her true love? And why, if they were gay, would they have wanted a woman in the first place?”
“The fairer brother, of course. The eldest. The younger brother, the dark one, had only ill intentions for Grettir. He used her body and stole her mind. It is not believed by scholars that the blood-brothers were homosexual. Sometimes in the times of the Vikings, one man would subjugate another by using him as a woman. The older brother was clearly the stronger of the two and it was his right to control the younger.”
“That’s a very interesting story. Where on this thing is all that depicted?” Salem asked, holding out the Viking Member.
“It is here. See the two lads encircling the girl? This is symbolic of their love for Grettir. They both wanted to take her.”
“It looks like a Grettir sandwich to me,” Salem replied.
“Yes, exactly. See how the hair on this brother is curly like sheep’s wool? That is the younger brother. And the long braids are those of the elder.”
“I need a magnifying glass to see it better, but yes, I see the differences in the men.”
“Have you set a price for this marvelous object?” Ketiljon asked. “Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner, hmmm?”
Thank you, Freyja! Salem was just about to respond when a crashing noise in the back room interrupted her. “I’d better see what that was.” She placed the Viking Member carefully in the tank before moving the entire display behind the counter. “Excuse me for a moment.”
“Of course. But I believe it is just your pet rats showing you their dislike of their new home,” Ketiljon replied.
Salem stopped dead in her tracks. A cold sensation washed over her. “How did you know I moved them to a new habitat? I don’t recall you visiting my shop before.”
“I…” Ketiljon began.
“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?” Salem asked.
“Well, yes. I am sorry for the deception. I did not think it was wise to tell you I followed your shipment from Amsterdam, in hopes that you would sell me the Viking Member and the Odin Stone.”
“Are you a dealer?”
Ketiljon shook his head. “No, I am a collector.”
“I’m sorry. The Viking Member isn’t for sale. You need to go now,” Salem replied. “I don’t take kindly to subversion.”
Ketiljon rose from his chair. “It is I who am sorry. I must have the Viking Member and the Odin Stone. You must offer them to me. And then we must make love.”
Salem turned. She turned a cold eye to Ketiljon. “Excuse me?”
Ketiljon repeated, “Please, you must offer me the artifacts and then we must make love.”
“I’m reserving my right to refuse service. Please leave my store. Now,” Salem commanded.
Ketiljon gave her the distinct impression that he was surprised by her response. “Leave? You want me to leave?”
“Now,” Salem replied.
“I cannot. I must have the artifacts. We must consummate the agreement by sexual relations. Were you not aware of the curse?”
Salem glanced right and left. No baseball bat. She wasn’t near the phone. Why was this freak bothering her? Did the Freyja ritual weaken her no losers spell? “Curse?”
“Yes, of course. Did not your buyer tell you why he was able to win the artifacts at auction? Valuable Norse-age items such as these would fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars, and yet he bought them for a few thousand,” Ketiljon replied.
“I don’t question how my money is spent. I trust him.”
“Then he is a liar and a thief, for he knew of the curse and I know he put many thousands of your dollars in his wall
et. He won the auction because no one else would bid on accursed items.”
“If it’s not in one’s belief system, it won’t work. I don’t believe in curses,” Salem lied poorly.
“Now who is the liar? Of course you believe there is a curse and I think you want to know more, do you not?” Ketiljon asked.
Salem nodded. “Yes. But I’m not offering you the bone, the stone, or a roll in the hay.”
Ketiljon smiled. Salem felt it hit her like a ton of bricks. His huge blue eyes looked just like those bluish fireballs in her kitchen not too long ago, only his orbs were hidden behind thick blond lashes like a lion’s mane. And those lips. Full lips. Like soft pillows. Why were all the nut jobs so hot?
He began slowly, not moving anything but his voice across the room toward Salem. “There is a part of the story about the brothers I did not tell you. To call upon the gods for a favor is to invite a bit of mischief as well; I said this. The old ones are best worshipped from afar. There is always a trick. In this case, Freyja had her dark-elf husband forge a very special Odin Stone from the rock of the lava field. Only if the great vow is taken through the stone can the souls trapped in the Viking Member be freed; but the stone is just the catalyst for the magic. If, however, a woman pleasures herself with the Viking Member, a taste of freedom shall be given to the spirits. Three days. Three days to taste life and attempt to bring the stone and the bone together.”
Salem raised her eyebrow. “I get it. We’re not actually talking about the dildo being plunged into the doughnut hole of the stone. We’re talking about the spirit in his temporary corporeal form boning the hole in the woman who holds the stone. Namely, me. And you’re the doer of the dirty deed. Right?”
Ketiljon smiled. “My blood-brother must not be first in breaking the curse, for only one of us can return. He is an evil man, a rapist. A murderer.”
“I haven’t met your brother,” Salem replied.
“No, of course not. I put the black salt all around you so that he must stay away.”
Black salt? Oh, my God. Salem looked around again, willing a handgun or any weapon to appear before her. “But you can enter through the charms and spells surrounding this place?”
“Yes. Because it is I who poured the sal negre. I am neither immune nor repelled. I am invisible.”
“This has become neutral ground for you. I get it,” Salem surmised.
“I was born first, so my spirit was released first when you made love to yourself. Now, it is my turn to make love to you. I have much to offer a woman. You will enjoy your time with me.”
“Where did you get the black salt? Bring it with you from the ethers?” Salem asked, afraid of Ketiljon’s reply.
Ketiljon laughed. “No! I had a woman buy it for me. It was before I could enter your store.”
“She’s dead, you know,” Salem replied.
“My brother killed her. I told you he is a bad man. It is best you make love with me now, and release my spirit from the bone.”
“I’m not the reincarnation of Grettir, you know,” Salem smirked. “I don’t love you. I don’t know your brother, and I’m not going to have sex with you.”
“I am sorry,” Ketiljon replied.
“You should be!” Salem stormed. “This is the twenty-first century, not the tenth. Women don’t just leap into the arms of the first handsome Viking they meet.”
“No, you don’t understand. I am sorry for you. I’m going to have to convince you to give me what it is I need. And you may not like my methods of persuasion.”
Salem didn’t like being pushed around. Especially by a damned ghost on leave from the spirit realm. “No one threatens me in my shop, you son of a bitch. Get out!”
Ketiljon’s bright blue eyes grew flaming yellow and his once absolutely flawless golden complexion took on a gray pallor. “I am going to have to hurt you. You are a very nice woman and to you I shall soon owe a large debt of gratitude. When you have felt pain, perhaps you will offer the artifacts to me and I shall make your pain vanish with my love.”
Before Salem could release the scream forming in her throat, Ketiljon lunged at her, knocking her to the floor. In two quick moves he had her on her belly with her arms twisted around behind her back. She kicked at him with her legs. He screwed her arms tighter.
“Get off me,” she cried. ‘You’re breaking my arms!”
“I do not sleep. I do not eat. I can hold you here for quite some time. When you say you are ready to comply, we shall make the exchange.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her ears. “I am hard for you.”
Salem squinted, seeing a flash of white dart before her eyes along the wall. The girls hadn’t run off. They were watching. Waiting. As Ketiljon’s hands pawed at her ribcage and the sides of her breasts and his hot breath steamed against the back of her neck, she summoned every bit of strength she had and called her white rats into action. Every white witch has a familiar, she had two.
Dax ventured away from the safety of the wall first, her tail straight and her eyes burning red. Pheelyx snuck out behind her sister, a bit more intimidated, but heeding the call of her mistress, nevertheless.
Ketiljon bent Salem’s wrist back and dropped a knee against the small of her back. He again leaned forward to nuzzle her. “Are you ready, pigeon?”
Attack! Attack him! she cried with her mind, visualizing Dax’s sharp teeth sinking into Ketiljon’s face. Dax complied.
The white rat leaped like a panther onto Ketiljon’s face, biting into his lower lip. Ketiljon shook his head to free himself from the rat’s vice-like grip. The rat bit again, chewing through the web on the side of his mouth, blood spurting from her sharp teeth.
In her mind, Salem saw Pheelyx sniff the air, answering the call of blood’s primal scent. A caged vegetarian pet rat didn’t get a chance to taste blood and she growled at the opportunity. The usually timid of the two dashed to Dax’s side and sank her teeth into Ketiljon’s chin. Ketiljon screamed as he released Salem, in pain or defeat she didn’t know, or care. As soon as her arms were free, Salem rolled and punched her assailant with the skill and fury only a girl born between two brothers could muster.
Ketiljon fought his way to his feet, ripping and clawing at the chubby white rats now scurrying around the back of his neck. They leaped to the table they’d knocked their cage from. Ketiljon wiped his bloody face with his hand and spat. “I’ll kill them!”
Salem shook her head. “Not a chance. They’re quicker and smarter than you.”
Ketiljon snarled at the insult, gingerly touching his swollen, bruised lips with his fingers.
Salem looked around for a weapon, any weapon, and spied an unused floor lamp. In two swift steps she retrieved the floor lamp and swung its heavy base at Ketiljon’s head. Her aim was true. The crack of the metal lamp base against her attacker’s skull was deafening.
She later recalled more blood and the sound of his body hitting the floor. Later. That moment for her became shrouded with cotton fuzz. Salem went cold.
Then everything went black around her.
* * * *
A gentle rapping at her front door pulled Salem out of her exhausted catatonic state. She tried to stand and take a step forward, catching her balance as her stiff body balked at the movement. What’s that sound? The door?
A blood pool had formed around the broken lamp where she’d dropped it…next to Ketiljon.
He moaned. Salem tensed. He wasn’t dead. She hadn’t killed him. She touched him with her foot. No reaction. Unconscious. She’d downed a spirit. Wow. She wondered if she should call an ambulance. Her stomach fluttered. Maybe that hot medic would show up again. What a thing to think after beating the pulp out of someone. She needed help. Professional help.
Little bloody footprints led away from the body. Salem made a chirping noise and followed the rat tracks into the storefront.
There was an eerie calm in the air. Not suffocating, but heavy, like the first moments after spraying a room with air-freshener.
Three hours had passed, if she was to believe the concept of time as displayed by her black cat wall clock.
A knocking drew her out of herself again. There was someone at the door. The door should have been open. Had it not been open?
Salem stepped closer to the front, continuing to follow the red tracks. She spied Dax, streaked with blood and desperately trying to clean herself inside an empty basket Salem sometimes used to display bundles of sage.
Salem concentrated her sight on the figure outside her shop door.
“Miss Grier!” a voice called. “I can’t get in!”
It was the medic.
“Kane?” Salem called. Christ! This isn’t a good time to get a cup of tea! Wait…she needed him.
“Open the door! I can see it’s unlocked,” Salem called.
“The spells, Salem. Remove the spells. There’s black salt everywhere and levels of protection nine layers deep,” Kane replied.
“You’re not human, are you?” Salem asked.
“No, I’m not human—but you must see that I’m harmless. Your familiars aren’t on alert, after all.”
That was true. With Ketiljon they’d stood at attention as if watching a train wreck, so terrible, yet unable to turn away.
“I’ve kind of had a bad day, Kane. I’m not sure shedding my defenses is a good thing right ’bout now,” Salem replied.
“Trust me,” Kane continued. “I am not your enemy. He is your enemy, though I cannot call him mine.”
Salem held the impulse to glance backwards. “Of whom do you refer?”