She had an uncanny ability to know when the aches and pains were setting in. I stretched my legs out toward the fire, wincing at the stiffness in my knees and ankles. “Only if I want to get any sleep tonight,” I said with a grin.
“So, no, then?”
“Well, I…” I stopped talking and just grinned as Sif’s face broke into a sunny smile. “You got me again. You’d have made a great police woman. Or a second-grade teacher.”
She chuckled and dug the pot of cream out of her bag. “Drop `em, Aylootr.”
“Oh no! Not you, too.”
She laughed at that and crawled toward me as I unzipped my pants.
“What is the plan anyway?” I asked Meuhlnir. “In the short term, I mean.”
“We are heading to Veethar and Frikka’s estates. They live just across the border of the province in a city called Trankastrantir. It’s the southern-most city in the capital province of Suelhaym. Or what was the captial province of Suelhaym, anyway. Things kind of fell apart after we banished the queen.”
“She married him?” I asked.
Meuhlnir looked at me with confusion, but Sif grinned and said, “Indeed, and no one was more surprised than Veethar.”
I chuckled at that. “Why visit them? Why not go straight to the closest proo?”
“Simple,” said Meuhlnir. “The Vault of Preer is located on Veethar’s estate, if it’s still intact. Plus, we need them.”
“We need their help?”
“There is no doubt,” said Meuhlnir. “We need everyone willing to help.”
“Is she that powerful?”
“Yes,” said Sif. “And she is not alone.”
Suddenly, the prospect of getting Jane and Sig back unharmed seemed quite remote. Sif patted my hand in a mothering fashion. “Don’t worry so, we plan on doing more than retrieving your family.” Her mouth quirked in a half-grin. “Aylootr.”
I smiled at her but felt very, very tired. Nothing more was said as we all pulled our bedrolls out and rolled into them. Despite how tired I felt, the fire burned very low before my eyes drifted shut. It was a long while after shutting my eyes that my mind slowed down enough for me to drift to sleep.
Thirty-one
Just before dawn the next morning, the air was rent with an eerie, wailing shriek. The sound was modulated by a chittering squeal and punctuated by a hooting sound that echoed through the forest. I sat up and looked around in the pre-dawn gloom. The others were also awake and staring in the direction Yowrnsaxa had on the previous evening, but to me, the sounds came from an arc that spanned about one hundred and eighty degrees of the compass—blocking any path back from the direction we had come.
“The demons?” I asked. “Are they talking?”
Meuhlnir shook his head, looking nonplussed. “No idea. That collection of sounds puts the nerves on edge, though, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” said Mothi through a yawn. “Couldn’t they have waited until a decent hour?”
“What would be a decent hour to one such as you?” asked Sif, smiling to take the sting out of it. “Midafternoon?”
Mothi grinned and shrugged his big shoulders. “It would be preferable to now.”
“Yes,” said Yowrnsaxa, stretching her shoulders.
Sif scoffed. “If only the Nornir would take our wants and desires into account as they wove the skein of our lives.”
“They are inconsiderate bitches, aren’t they?” asked Mothi, climbing to his feet and peering into the darkness.
“Who? The Nornir or the demons?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Yes,” said Mothi with a curt nod.
We all moved through our morning rituals with one eye scanning the forest behind us. Breakfast tasted like ashes in my mouth. No one spoke much—we were all too busy cramming food into our mouths to get it eaten as fast as possible. We saddled the nervous horses and rode away at a gallop, hoping to leave the caterwauling behind us.
Throughout the long day, however, the demons seemed to keep pace with the horses, always behind us, always blocking our retreat, always driving us north. That night, the cacophony of sound continued even after we made camp, ate dinner, and stared glumly at the fire. There was something about the quality of the sound that made talking seem like the least desirable thing in the world. We bedded down soon after eating, with little conversation, and I despaired that I’d never be able to sleep with all that direful racket, but about an hour after we turned in, the sound stopped.
The forest around us was as quiet as the grave—no night birds sang, no wolves howled in the distance, nothing—it seemed as if even the snow falling from the branches of the trees did so in silence. Without the ever-present ghoulish din, the silence of the night seemed somehow oppressive, and I worried I’d never be able to sleep in the utter stillness.
“A fellow gets kind of used to having that awful noise around,” grunted Meuhlnir. “Now that there is a chance at sleep, however, I think we should set a watch.”
“I know what that means,” Mothi grumbled, as he shrugged out of his bedroll and stood. “Three hours?”
Meuhlnir grunted, already halfway to the dream realm.
“I’ll take the next watch, Mothi,” I said.
“I’ll wake you when it is time for your watch,” he promised, though he never did.
I woke with a start in utter darkness as the enigmatic wailing started again. I was fuzzy-headed and confused, but as I looked around, I saw everyone was already awake. Only Sif was not bleary-eyed, and she was standing at the edge of the camp, glaring into the woods behind us.
“They are closer,” she whispered.
“Yes, I expected as much,” grunted Meuhlnir.
“It is earlier than yesterday, too.”
“Yes, I expected that, as well.”
“Well, aren’t you the smart one?” snapped Sif.
“I married both of you, didn’t I?” Meuhlnir’s grin split across his face like an axe wound.
“Don’t try to flirt,” said Sif, but with a certain fondness in her tone, “I’m on watch.”
That day was much like the previous one—exhausting, nerve-rattling, annoying, and a touch scary. That evening, the shrieking lasted longer than the night before.
It seemed like we went on like that for weeks or even months, though it was only about ten days. We rode hard, trying to stay ahead of the demons as they got closer and closer to us, always herding us north. Each day I grew stiffer, needing more frequent applications of Sif’s pain-blocking cream. I was also losing the battle to fatigue and outright exhaustion from the lack of sleep and increasing length of the day’s ride. It was almost time for my next dose of methotrexate, and I hoped we’d get where we were going first.
The others were showing signs of fatigue and shattered nerves, as well—snapping at each other more, and joking and teasing less and less each day. Finally, we came to the crest of a huge, steep hill, and as we passed its crown, the cacophony of the demons behind us ceased. Below us was a plain on which the green of grass, not the white of snow, was the primary color.
Meuhlnir reined Sinir to a stop and stretched with a great sigh. “Now, we see what She-who-Waits has planned for us.”
“How many nicknames for the Dark Queen do you guys have?” I muttered.
“Many,” said Sif.
Mothi grunted and drew his paired axes from where he had tied them behind his saddle. He held them crossed on the saddle in front of him. As each of the others readied their weapons and tightened the straps of their armor, I reached into my pack and pulled out Bobby Timmens’ .40 caliber HK and stuck it through my belt at the small of my back. Then I double-checked all spare magazines for both weapons and made sure that spare boxes of ammunition were at the top of my pack. I looked up and saw all of them watching me.
“No armor,” said Sif.
“No,” said Meuhlnir. “Nothing we can do about it here, however. We will outfit him in Trankastrantir. Veethar most likely has a smith in his karls, but if he doesn’t, we
will commission some armor from a local tradesman. Or maybe we’ll take a trip to Nitavetlir.”
“Perhaps I should teach him the iron skin?” Mothi raised an eyebrow at his father.
Meuhlnir looked me over. “Even if he can learn it in the time left to us, it would be unwise to count on the first attempt at vefnathur strenki during a battle.”
“I will shield him,” said Sif, tipping a wink at me. “He’s cuter than you.”
For some reason, that brought tears to my eyes, and I blinked them back, not trusting myself to speak.
“And I will guard his right flank,” said Mothi. “No one will get past me. Not while I breathe, anyway.” His face was smiling, but his tone was as serious as death.
“I don’t want anyone to…to be hurt in my place,” I said.
“Just don’t hit me with those noisemakers,” said Mothi with a chuckle.
“I won’t. Meuhlnir, though…” I said.
“Am I always the butt of the joke?” asked Meuhlnir with a broad grin.
“Might as well ask if the morning follows night,” I said, matching my grin to his.
“Ah, he’s finally caught the knack,” said Sif.
“Indeed,” said Meuhlnir. “I knew he had the potential to be great. Like me.”
Yowrnsaxa rolled her eyes to the heavens and shook her head.
“Is he always so modest?” I asked.
“Might as well ask if bears are always so fierce,” said Meuhlnir.
“Ehh,” said Sif, wagging her hand back and forth. “Aylootr might have surpassed you.”
We sat on our horses, looking down at the grassy plain and laughed like idiots.
After we laughed ourselves out, Sif turned to me with a serious expression on her face. “If it comes to a fight, Hank, don’t let distance open between us. It is my duty to stay with you, but you must do your part. You must stay with me in turn.”
Yowrnsaxa nodded. “A skyuldur vidnukona follows the person she guards, but there are times when she may see something you may not. Also, she may step in front or behind you as the situation calls for, and you must be aware of her position.”
“And be ready to duck behind my shield,” said Sif. “I’ll try to call to you, but sometimes it is difficult to hear during a battle and—”
“She forgets,” said Meuhlnir. “She gets too busy watching everything and everyone, and plotting ways for enemies to end their days on the head of her axe.”
“Do you talk just because you like the sound of your own voice?” asked Sif with a twinkle in her eye.
“Might as well ask if an eagle flies because he likes the feel of the wind under his wings. And besides, you know I love the sound of my own voice.”
I grinned and then turned to Mothi. “What do I do for you?”
Mothi shook his head. “Watch my back swings. I’ll take care of everything else. If I leave your side, I won’t be far, and I will be back.”
“Fair enough.” I looked down at my saddle. “I meant what I said, earlier. Don’t take risks to protect me.”
“We will do what we must,” said Mothi. He looked at me with hard eyes. “And, I will hear no more of that, Aylootr.”
I shrugged a bit. “But I have to say this—”
“Come on,” said Meuhlnir. “Let’s get out of the chill and down there into the sunshine.” He spurred his horse forward, and the others followed.
As we rode down the hill, I felt an itching, tingling between my shoulder blades—the hinky feeling I always got when I was expecting trouble but couldn’t see where it would come from. I kept shrugging my shoulders and peering around behind us.
“Relax, if you can, until the danger presents itself,” said Sif. “Being so tense will only tire you.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at making myself relax.”
“Try,” she said. “We can’t have our secret weapon worn out before the fighting starts.”
“And who knows when that will happen. It could be days from now. Relax, Aylootr. We can’t have Father being the only one making ridiculous noises during the battle to come,” said Mothi with a mischievous grin.
“Did I already promise not to shoot you in the upcoming battle?”
Mothi laughed and leaned over to clap me on the shoulder. “Yes, you did, so put that out of your mind.”
“Drats,” I said.
As the horses stepped from the bottom of the hill out on to the grassy plain, avoiding the patches of snow as if they could feel the cold stuff right through their hooves, the sun seemed warmer, and the sky more blue than gray.
The knotted muscles across my upper back eased a little, leaving an ache in their place.
“If we are attacked on this plain, we should remain mounted until one of us is unhorsed. We will ride north at a gallop until that happens. Once one of us is unhorsed, we all surround the one unhorsed and then dismount.” Meuhlnir looked at me with a stern expression. “We will all stay together—no heroics. We fight as a unit and leverage the strengths of each other.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Repeat it back to me.”
“We ride north at a gallop until one of us is unhorsed. Then we dismount and stay together. We fight as a unit.”
“We first ride to surround the unhorsed person, then we dismount. And no heroics.”
“Check,” I said. “Assess, communicate, act.”
“What?” asked Meuhlnir.
“Something we used to train new officers with,” I said. “Assess the situation, communicate what you see to your fellow officers, act in concert.”
Meuhlnir nodded. “A wise strategy.”
The plains seemed to be vast and empty. There was a mountain range shimmering on the horizon to the west and nothing but flat to the east. It seemed like a horrible place for an ambush. I couldn’t see how we could fail to see an ambush coming.
Mothi brought his horse beside mine and glanced over at me. “I’d like to try to teach you iron skin,” he said. “Even if it fails, it doesn’t hurt to try, yes?”
“Iron skin?” I asked.
He nodded. “In the battle with the group of harriers, you heard me call on strenkir af krafti twice.”
“I remember,” I said. I couldn’t remember the words, but could almost remember the lilting sound of them.
“The first was to grant me the strength of the giants—and I get a little extra size as a side effect. With those noise machines, you have no need for that. The second vefnathur was iron skin. The first word in the Gamla Toonkumowl is ‘Hooth’ which means ‘skin.’ You try it.”
“Hooth,” I said. It sounded close to me, but not quite right.
“Passable,” said Mothi with a grin. “The next is ow which means of.”
“Ow,” I said. “I’m familiar with that sound, though it has a different meaning in my life.”
Mothi grinned. “The last is yowrni, which means iron, of course. It’s a harder word to get right.”
He wasn’t kidding. It sounded like he had a cat hidden underneath his tongue. “Yow…yower…yowrni?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Hooth ow yowrni,” I said. Nothing happened.
Mothi laughed and slapped me on the back. “Such an eager pupil. But the words are only part of it. Your mind must be active as well. Think of what it feels like to wear a suit of mail, the weight of all that metal settling on your shoulders, the way it changes your balance and affects your momentum.”
“Okay,” I said without much confidence. I focused on what he had just said. “Hooth ow yowrni.” Again, nothing.
Meuhlnir had been watching out of the corner of his eye. “Have you ever worn chain mail, Hank?”
“No.”
He grunted. “You have to be able to clearly imagine what you want to happen. After some practice, you can vefa things outside your direct experience—like a lightning bolt, for instance—but until then, we need something you have experienced and are quite familiar with.
”
“In your work, didn’t you wear armor?” asked Mothi with a strange expression. “Your people ask your guardians to run around bare chested and susceptible to attack by anyone? Did they hate you?”
I grimaced and nodded. “We have some protections—tactical gear and the like, but most of our protection comes from psychology and presence.”
“So, this tactical gear, it offers protection?”
“Yes,” I said. “From some projectiles and stabbing weapons.”
Meuhlnir grunted. “Use that then. Imagine wearing a full suit of tactical gear.”
I did as he instructed, and I said the words. I felt a warm tightening sensation across my skin and a tingling feeling in my head.
“Ah, that’s it,” said Mothi, grinning.
I was amazed by how much the success pleased me. “That’s almost easy,” I said. The warmth left me, and the tingling faded. “What happened? It stopped.”
Mothi shrugged. “It’s no matter. You lost focus, is all. Practice, and you will gain more and more focus. You did it, though,” he said in a pleased-sounding voice.
It was easier than I had expected it to be.
We left the patches of snow behind us, and the sun began to make our winter gear seem like a bad idea. We peeled off what we could while riding. The wind, which had been blowing from the west for what seemed like eons, shifted to blow from the south, bringing with it the most noxious odor I had ever smelled.
“What is that stench?” I asked.
“Something foul, whatever it is,” said Yowrnsaxa.
“Yowrnsaxa the Understated,” grunted Mothi.
“Look behind us,” said Sif with urgency in her voice. “The top of the hill.”
On the crest of the last hill behind us, stood a knot of dark gray forms. Though they had two arms, two legs, a head and a neck, they were clearly not human. The proportions were all wrong. Their arms and legs seemed far too long, and their torsos seemed hunched, crooked and too broad. Their necks were overly long, and their trapezius muscles formed broad, triangular shapes from their wide shoulders to the base of their skulls. Their heights varied as one would expect, but the distance and height of the hill made comparing their height to a human impossible.
Blood of the Isir Omnibus Page 31