Vicious

by James Alderdice

  Gathelaus’s puzzlement at the true reasoning for his involvement was not lost on the priestess. “You wonder why it must be you and what it is, don’t you? I shall tell you the truth. The altar contains all the sacred relics the church has ever collected—but most importantly a vessel, a dish made from stone that fell from the heavens. It housed the sacred blood of Gods own son after he was pierced. It was found and brought here by Craddock where it has remained ever since.”

  “Why now? Do you fear the doge and his influence so much?”

  “My city has never faced such a threat as we do now and that’s why we must bargain as best we can. When these matters are settled, then we can enjoy ourselves.”

  The logic made no sense to the Northern mind, but he was listening to whatever she wished to say with a skewered heart. He cared only for when he could finish the meaningless intrigue and return to the promise of her alabaster arms.

  “Is this the best answer you could come up with? Sending a crusader agent to fetch a magic vessel?” he asked with drunken mirth.

  She frowned, “You mock what you don’t understand, deeper meanings are everywhere in life. I was told by a higher power that none but you could be the salvation of the city.”

  “Me? I am surely no savior,” chuckled Gathelaus.

  “I never said savior. I said salvation. Your willingness and sacrifice is key. Will you do this…for me?”

  Standing and puffing his chest, Gathelaus grinned wickedly. “I said I would.”

  “Before you depart, share with me a private moment will you?” she asked, and then handed him the finest goblet he had ever seen. Gold was encrusted over the top of a silver chalice and within a sweet wine waited.

  He drank the entire draught and then another as she would please him. She did not drink immediately but smiled pleasantly, speaking all the while in quick staccato verses that he could no longer follow as he swallowed. He liked that she gestured with her hands as she spoke, always drawing his eye to her heaving womanly assets.

  “Mistress please,” interrupted a slave girl.

  Thoroughly annoyed Euphrosyne said, “I will be right back.”

  While he waited an impatient moment, he took yet another filling of the wine and then a fourth. He had not tasted anything of such fine vintage in all his travels and it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity now. He was pouring a fifth draught when Euphrosyne walked in, utterly in shock.

  “How much have you had?”

  He looked at her, and then the near empty bottle and shrugged answering, “Two?”

  “Gathelaus Thorgrimson, you may just be the worst liar I have ever met. You have emptied a very expensive bottle. I should send you to the arena and bet upon your falsehoods failing to fool a child.” She smiled again. “Depart and accomplish your mission—swiftly now. The city depends on you. A servant shall guide you safely there.”

  He nodded and went out the door with a lurch. It was good wine, he told himself, a succulence giving him that invincible feeling he usually only had after both a battle and a barrel of beer. In the hallway he stepped awkwardly and looked at the stairs. They hadn’t seemed so high before, they never shimmered before. He stepped carefully down them, keeping a hand on the wide railing all the way down.

  The guardsmen assigned to guide him was already at the bottom of the stair. “What’s the matter? The death angel wine disagree with you?” he laughed with malice.

  Gathelaus frowned. That was a curious name for wine, not appetizing for so delicious a concoction. It was very late now, should the palace already seem so deserted, Gathelaus wondered.

  Out the gates they went into the deep night. The guide still chuckling.

  Once outside, the cool night air made Gathelaus feel less dizzy for a moment, then he felt sick. He stumbled down a few steps from the palace entry and grasped at a great stone dais. The statue of Craddock stood upon the block gazing imperiously down upon this affront to his creation. Bodies lay across the forum and all was still. Staring over the carnage, Gathelaus realized he could have walked dazedly back into the maelstrom that had nearly taken his life earlier. Why did his head ache and why had he forgotten such things.

  “Gathelaus Thorgrimson,” came a semi-familiar female voice. “What is wrong with you?”

  Gathelaus answered by retching most all the wine out and then heaving noisily afterward.

  He looked about for the woman who spoke to him but only saw the grinning guide who stood by mocking him. Beyond he espied the Khanzia Partheno. His throat burned and the dizziness persisted, but at the same moment he felt free of a dark spirit.

  ***

  “Will he survive long enough to be a worthy sacrifice?” asked Murzuphlus.

  “No thanks to you, I believe so,” said Euphrosyne.

  “But he drank so much of the poison.”

  “He drank more than ten men should, but the man has a certain vitality that will more than please the goddess. He will be a most worthy sacrifice,” she said.

  Murzuphlus reddened, “I will assemble the guard, we will take care of him. Why are you so enamored with this barbaric dog?”

  Euphrosyne spun her libation cup, sloshing the maroon wine. “Already tonight he has assisted in honoring a shrine of Boha-Annu with the Varangian Heimdal’s death. Then he consummated with me in her sacred bedchamber and finally for the third aspect, at her most important temple concealed as a church to the new god, we will break through the barriers between worlds and the dread Queen of Night will pass through and reign in blood.”

  16. Whispers of the Goddess

  In the black of night, the white goddess stood out as if she were carved from pure moonlight. Gathelaus stumbled across the forum to her.

  “Gathelaus, beware the minions of the new god,” said a firm but sweet voice. “Their plans involve your blood.”

  He stood gaping up at the tall vision of loveliness. Euphrosyne now paled in comparison and also seemed so much more tainted with the frailties of darkness.

  “Go to the church and grasp the relic in your hands—have the Hawkton knight take it away from here.”

  “If I am to do this thievery?” asked Gathelaus, loud and echoing across the deserted forum. “Will it bring renown to my name?”

  “Only among the gods,” was the goddess’s whispering reply.

  The confused guide snarled, “Who are you talking to wine-bag? Let’s get moving, we’ll have company soon enough.” He then shoved Gathelaus and had his short sword pointed at the ready in case the big Northman had any ideas. “Let’s go.”

  Gathelaus took a few steps forward then wheeled with all the drunken grace of a bear enraged. He knocked the short sword away slicing his right hand open across the palm in the process. The guard stumbled backwards but already Gathelaus’s hands closed about his neck and the second snap in so many hours crunched.

  Dropping the sack of meat at the goddess’s feet, Gathelaus asked, “What do you wish of me?” He could not explain the agreeable nature he felt toward the towering vision of beauty nor the anger he felt at all else in the universe.

  “I want the grail away from here. Its power contradicts my own,” she said with unmoving marble lips. “My people must return to me and forsake the new gods.”

  “You speak of the Paladins? Their god and his saints? What are they to you?” puzzled Gathelaus, opening and closing his bleeding palm.

  “Even gods cannot survive being forgotten,” she whispered.

  “Then I shall take the relic and allow you to rule once more,” shouted Gathelaus. Did he notice the marble goddess smile?

  Gathelaus did not know how he found the Church of the Holy Apostles, but he walked there straightaway; his boots skimming over the cobblestone streets with a blurring speed.

  The outline of the church’s five domes towered against the stars and cast a unique perspective to the dizzy Gathelaus. The church was made of huge slabs of stone all of varying colors, while much of the building was overlaid with gold and bronze instead of
the typical tiles seen elsewhere in the city.

  Niels was there waiting outside the solemn doors. “Northman,” he greeted.

  “Poet,” returned Gathelaus. “Where’s the girl?”

  “I sent her away. Seems she is part of the moon cult and wishes our deaths on the altar inside. I thought to ambush whoever came with you—but you’re alone? I would have thought the moon priestess and others would be with you,” said Niels.

  “You wanted to rescue me?” laughed Gathelaus.

  “Well I thought I could repay the favor of this evening, yes.”

  “I don’t know nor care about the plots of priestess’s and unibrowed courtiers. She asked me to help her and I will,” said Gathelaus. “He is Paladin but will not interfere.”

  “Who is she?” asked Niels, ignoring the statement obviously not meant for him.

  “Why the goddess Khanzia of course. Can’t you hear her? The sweet voice echoes and whispers in my head.”

  Niels could now see the glazed bloodshot eyes of the Northman and the dripping bloody hand as well. “We ought to bandage that wound,” he said.

  “It’s nothing. Where is the key?” asked Gathelaus waving him off.

  “I have it here, funny story getting it.”

  “Another time, let me in,” ordered Gathelaus.

  Niels reluctantly nodded and produced the key. He opened the solid church doors and cold light bathed the open chamber. “If all we are doing is taking the cup and leaving then fine, let’s do it and get out of here before anyone else appears wanting to place us on the sacrificial table.”

  Set in the dead center of the circular room was an altar of silver and marble, its pyramidal ciborium gleamed in the dark of night. Their hollow footfalls within sent shudders through the porphyry stone blocks and lent a demonic urgency to the questionable deed. Images of saints and apostles were carved in relief all over the walls. To Niels they appeared to watch and accuse. Or did they warn him? He wasn’t sure.

  “We don’t belong here,” said Niels, but Gathelaus wasn’t listening to him.

  Between the pillars of the ciborium Gathelaus tested the weight of the altar’s lid. Despite the blood still flowing from his hand he wrenched the behemoth of stone up and set it down, resting against the side of the altar.

  Skulls, blocks of wood, spear heads, and various trinkets lay heaped inside, even a vial of baby teeth. If these had once been the original Paladin’s he had twice as many teeth as any other child. Nothing inside appeared to be treasure, at least nothing resembling treasure to Niels. Still he had little doubt that these were holy relics unknown to him, favored pieces from bygone eras. “Where is the cup? I see no grail cup.”

  “She says it is no golden cup but a stone,” Gathelaus answered, reaching into the trove. His blood mingled with the holy relics of millennia ago as he searched for the requested item. At last his bloody hand wrapped about the oblong stone. It was slightly cupped at one end to allow the slim use of a ritualistic vessel.

  He pulled it out and they each stared.

  “Such a little thing makes such a difference?” questioned Niels.

  “Wise Khanzia says the vessel nullifies her powers and once it is gone, she can reclaim her city.” Gathelaus handed it to Niels and bent to put the lid back atop the altar.

  “But this isn’t Khanzia’s city,” said Niels.

  “Yes, it is. I spoke to her in the forum.” said Gathelaus, straining with the lid. The dizzying madness increased with his effort as if the poisons coursing through him magnified with exertion.

  “No, it isn’t. Dyzantium is the crossroads of the world. It is Boha-Annu’s city. The dread goddess lied to you.”

  “For her return to this world,” interrupted Euphrosyne, “she requires blood sacrifice—his.” She pointed at Gathelaus. Murzuphlus and a score of Varangian guard were at her side.

  Niels turned and drew his sword whilst also stashing the grail in his belt. “Northman draw your weapons,” he urged.

  Gathelaus slammed the lid down upon the altar and turned to face the new voices he alone could hear but could not fathom. He blinked as psychedelic visions opened.

  17. Valhol, I Am Coming

  The walls of the sepulcher warped and twisted. A menagerie of saints, apostles, prophets, gods and goddesses congregated all about the perimeter. They shifted and pushed, jostling with one another for the most advantageous position to stare at Gathelaus. At least, so it seemed to him.

  ***

  “What are you looking at,” muttered Niels, to Gathelaus. The Northman was apparently more interested in the moldy relief carvings of saints on the surrounding walls than the brooding threat at the doorway. “Draw your sword, we are in grave danger.”

  “He can’t hear you,” said Euphrosyne. “The wine laced with the death angel mushroom has ripped his senses from this world. If he sees anything at all anymore, it is akin to the spiritual realm. The parallel dimension where spirits walk.”

  Niels bumped Gathelaus in the shoulder to jostle his senses, while pointing his broadsword at Euphrosyne and the Varangian’s. “We already have the grail, your plans will not be fulfilled.”

  Euphrosyne crowed, “But they already have. You good and valiant knight,” she pointed, “May leave in peace with the grail. I assure you I want it gone from the city. Give it to your Paladin masters to repay the debt Alexious so rudely enforced upon us.”

  Niels looked to Gathelaus who still stared at the walls, oblivious of them all and his own still bleeding hand.

  “I can see you don’t believe me. Alexious is already dead, Murzuphlus has slain him and he will be the new emperor after me and of course the dark goddess. For Boha-Annu to stride back into this world and rule, we have but to sacrifice a noble non-Paladin warrior, and have you remove the grail from our cities hallowed grounds. Would that I or my men could touch the foul cup but we are not allowed. Then Boha-Annu will assume a body from the Khanzia Partheno. It will suit her with some modifications,” said Euphrosyne, with a devious smile. “It is done, now leave. You can’t help your friend anymore.”

  Niels swiftly remembered the legends of the grail and how he could use its legendary power. He took the grail from his belt and held it to Gathelaus’s bleeding hand. Hot blood filled the cupped vessel.

  Gathelaus stood blankly as Euphrosyne too was puzzled by the move.

  Niels tipped the stone to the Northman’s lips, letting Gathelaus drink from the sacred vessel and be reborn in a fury. “The new god is a jealous god!” shouted Niels.

  A new fire burned in Gathelaus’s eyes born of Heaven and Gotterdammerung.

  “Slay them both! We’ll find another messenger to take the accursed cup from the city—slay them!” shrieked Euphrosyne.

  ***

  With the veil between worlds rent, Gathelaus saw differing vistas of things as they are or as they may be. The truth of souls was shown to him and he reveled in the Northern ideal of a paradisiacal battle. Jotuns or frost giants lined up ready to attack. Commanding them was Half-faced Hel, she cried, “Take them for me!”

  Frost giants poured across Vales, the moonlight bridge, as Niels or was it Baldur, the noble son of Votan, now stood beside him. Gathelaus pulled forth his ax and broadsword. “Valhol, I am coming!” he shouted with thunder.

  A bear-skinned enemy swung an ax with both hands, the blade crashed into the sepulcher beside Gathelaus.

  Dodging to the side Gathelaus swept out with his sword and flayed the flesh from the giant’s arms.

  The audience of apostles and gods roared at the spectacle, the ringing in Gathelaus’s ears became deafening. The multitudes of beings from the other side granting their own excitement and vigor, some cheered and others cursed but they all recognized the struggle of mythic importance.

  With a savage back swing he cut yet another long-bearded opponent and sent his ax into the breastbone of a third cursing Jotun.

  The ax drank and the sword feasted.

  Baldur joined the fray and was hard pr
essed by two of the mammoth giants.

  With no time to assist his brother-in-arms, Gathelaus leapt at the charging servants of Hel. The death goddess herself stood in the doorway calling forth more of her minions.

  They attacked like ravening dogs, but he was a tiger and they could no more stand against his claws than a spindly tree versus a falling avalanche.

  Cutting another giant’s skull to the teeth, Gathelaus then reversed to the altar keeping it to his back. A bellowing Jotun was disemboweled as he raised his ax too far overhead.

  More came charging in, and the earth rumbled beneath their mighty tread, but Gathelaus was unhinged, he knew no fear, he knew to whom the gods did now cast their dice and he saw the bones tumble his way.

  Slipping on his brother’s entrails, another frost giant fell before Gathelaus and was swiftly joined with that one’s fate. There was no mercy for those seeking his death.

  More giants poured into the arena of doom, crying out their curses and insults, but their foe was no spellbound puppet, he held their doom in his blade. Gathelaus swung with the fury of all his might and cleaved through another pair as the strength of Perkunas coursed through him.

  Blood splashed against some of the crowded Apostles along the wall and they too cheered all the louder. One of the goddesses watching seemed to rub more of the blood allover herself in an auspicious rite.

  Baldur dispatched a single foe but was beset by another two axe wielding Jotuns. Another barreled into the fray, hungry for his blood. Three giants now cornered him with axes and hammers.

  Gathelaus threw his ax into the backside of a red-haired foe pressing Baldur.

  The strike surprised the other two Jotun’s enough that Baldur quickly wounded each and finished them as they doubled over.

  Another presence who had thus far held back now stepped forward. Cowardly and opportunist Ares. The unibrowed Dyzantine god held a curved sword and bronze mace. Swinging both in deadly fashion, he battered Gathelaus relentless as the tides.