Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  “Althyof!” I screamed, fearing that Friner was about to unleash a jet of fire that would burn us all. The dragon looked at me with a hint of reproach and then squatted, getting ready to leap into the air to pursue Luka. “No! Althyof, we need to get out of here! Urlikr’s down, hurt! Get my family to the others!”

  The sinuous, silky song Althyof was singing mutated and meandered into a fractious inflection that was at once both imperious and surrendering. The song seemed to cajole and command as it twisted and twined around dissonant harmony that set my teeth on edge like fingernails sliding down a blackboard. Friner hissed in frustration and looked at me, baleful and angry, but its massive rear legs relaxed back into a squat. Althyof leaned forward and waved at us. I glanced at Yowtgayrr, but the Alf was staring down at Urlikr’s broken form, who hadn’t moved throughout the rest of the battle. Skowvithr put his hand on the Alf’s shoulder and whispered something that made Yowtgayrr nod. Skowvithr came to stand by my side.

  “Urlikr?” I asked.

  Skowvithr jerked his chin back and forth. “Yowtgayrr is seeing to his remains.”

  “I’m sorry, Skowvithr.” I had that lead balloon feeling in my gut again. I decided, then and there, that Luka was not going to be allowed to go on killing the good people around me, and Meuhlnir would just have to get with the program. “I wish—”

  “I know, Hank,” said the Alf. “We all knew the risks. We all knew who—what—we were going to face. Let’s not diminish Urlikr’s sacrifice with despair.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. Sig put his hand on my arm, and I marveled that he was no longer child-sized.

  “Is he dead, Dad?” Sig asked.

  “Yes, Son. Urlikr died protecting your Mommy.”

  Sig made an odd sound deep in the back of his throat and glanced in the direction Luka had run. “What about—”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll catch up to him later. I promise.”

  “What now, then?”

  “Now, we ride a dragon.”

  His eyes were very wide as I led him to Friner’s flank.

  Forty-two

  The dragon landed in a small break in the foliage, a bit ahead of Meuhlnir’s party. I helped Jane and Sig climb down the beast’s back leg and then turned to help Yowtgayrr and Skowvithr with Urlikr’s broken body. Althyof’s song was a twisting, undulating thing, squirming in a harmonic minor packed with dissonance and counter-harmony. Friner stood twitching its great head back and forth like a metronome and alternating between hissing and a weird crooning sound. The tip of the dragon’s tail was jiggling and trembling. Sig stood shock-still, staring up at the great beast.

  We got Urlikr’s body down and away from the dragon, and then Althyof slid down the dragon’s flank without breaking his melody. He backed away from Friner, keeping his eyes locked on the dragon’s. The dragon began to hiss louder and with more vehemence.

  Jane shot me a questioning look, and I tried to smile, but between the great beast of a dragon hissing at us and the squirming, vellicating runesong, my smile wasn’t very reassuring. Althyof stopped singing mid-phrase but had his hand held up and his eyes locked on Friner’s. The big red beast lurched half a step to the left and shook its great wings. The dragon narrowed its eyes at Althyof and hissed with a seething hatred. Althyof seemed unconcerned, standing there like an insane school crossing guard. With his left hand, he began to shoo the dragon away like you might chase away a pesky cat. I doubt anyone can read a dragon’s expression, but I got the feeling that Friner was not amused. Its hissing grew more insistent, though its eyes remained locked on the Tverkr’s in front of it. Althyof pointed to the north and uttered a sharp word that made me want to get away from him. Sig stood next to me and took my hand in his sweaty palm. Friner roared, almost in Althyof’s face, and I’m not ashamed to say that my first instinct was to run, and to run fast. The Tverkr seemed unfazed, he pointed to the north with one hand and made the shooing gesture again with the other. The dragon hissed and broke eye contact, and then shuffled away, shooting venomous glances at us over its shoulder. It looked like a recalcitrant child being sent to its room. With a parting shriek, the dragon launched itself into the sky and battered us with the wind of its departure.

  Althyof stared, watching the dragon flying north and away from us. He kept staring long after I had lost the speck of the dragon to distance and altitude. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and the Tverkr sighed. “Every time, it takes more and more out of me,” he breathed.

  “He fights you,” said Yowtgayrr.

  It wasn’t a question, but Althyof nodded anyway. “He tries to break the binding every time I call him and every time I send him away. He’s getting stronger.”

  “Was that a real live dragon?” asked Sig.

  “Yes, one of the largest ones I know of,” said Althyof.

  Sig gave me a hard look. “You said that monsters were made up. You said monsters were for fun.”

  “Where we are from, they are,” I said. “At least non-human monsters.” I turned to Yowtgayrr. “Do you need help with…the burial?”

  “I couldn’t leave him there to be eaten by—” He stopped talking, and his eyes darted in Sig’s direction.

  “Of course not.”

  Meuhlnir and the others galloped into the clearing, sending even more dust up into the atmosphere. When Meuhlnir saw Urlikr’s remains, his face fell, and he cursed under his breath. “Another death on my brother’s tally sheet?”

  No one spoke until Sif dismounted. “Is anyone else injured? Hank? Your family?”

  “Bruises and scrapes,” said Skowvithr.

  “Urlikr saved us from worse. And Friner and Althyof, of course.”

  “And Luka?” asked Meuhlnir, his voice tight.

  “Gone,” I said in a gruff voice. “He ran when Friner took care of his minions.”

  “Of course, he did,” said Yowrnsaxa. “He’s good at running away.” Her scowl was intense.

  The silence stretched between us.

  I looked away from Urlikr’s body and stared into the woods around us. “What do we do now?”

  Meuhlnir looked at the Alf’s corpse for a long moment. “We should take a proo back to Trankastrantir and regroup. But, first, I think, we should bury Urlikr.”

  We buried him under a stately elm at the edge of the clearing.

  “He should be in Skowkur Kuthadna, but I guess Tiwaz can find him here as well as there,” said Yowtgayrr. He began to speak in a language I did not comprehend, but the words had a ritualistic feel to them, so we all stood with heads bowed. When he’d finished, he and Skowvithr began moving dirt back into the grave, covering the body. I bent to assist them, but Yowtgayrr shook his head. “This is a matter for Priests of Tiwaz, Hank, though we appreciate your offer to help.”

  I nodded and followed the others to the center of the clearing to give the Alfar space to grieve.

  Meuhlnir put his hands on his knees and bent to look Sig in the eye. “And who’s this mighty warrior, Hank?” he asked.

  “Meuhlnir, meet my son Sig. Sig this is my friend, Meuhlnir.”

  Sig was looking at his feet when Yowrnsaxa pushed Meuhlnir to the side, muttering something about great oafs standing in the road. She curtseyed in front of Sig and smiled. “I’m your Auntie Yowrnsaxa,” she said. “I bet you are hungry. All boys are always hungry. Would you eat something, Sig?”

  Sig looked up at me with uncertainty splashed across his face like paint. I tousled his hair. “She is a very good cook,” I said. “I bet she has something sweet tucked away.” Yowrnsaxa winked at me and led Sig off toward the horses. Mothi put his hand on my son’s shoulder and walked with them, telling some joke that made them all laugh.

  When the Alfar rejoined us, we mounted. Jane rode behind me, her arms wrapped around my waist and her cheek on my shoulder blade. Having her so close was like balm on a third-degree burn. Sig found a place in front of Yowrnsaxa, smiling at her with sweet shyness.

  Meuhlnir led us southeast, toward
the closest proo in Kvia. It was a long, dusty trip that led us out of the Forest of Kvia and into the hills on the eastern edge of the country. We camped, and the Isir spent the evening getting to know my family. The Alfar were withdrawn and quiet, though they spared small smiles for Sig.

  On the second day, we rode into the afternoon before Meuhlnir and Veethar stiffened in their saddles at the same moment and drew up. Veethar looked at Meuhlnir with a stricken expression and something passed between them.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Could be nothing,” muttered Meuhlnir. “I don’t want to speculate.”

  Two days later, we reached the barrow that contained the proo. The sun was low in the sky, and we were all tired and looking forward to the comfort of Frikka and Veethar’s home. Meuhlnir jumped down from Sinir’s back and trotted inside the barrow. He stomped back out, his face a mask of irritation and disappointment. “We should set up camp,” he groused. “The proo is gone.” He and Veethar shared another look.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  Meuhlnir shook his head. “Luka must have closed this proo.”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Meuhlnir. Veethar was looking at the ground beneath his feet.

  “And what about earlier? When you both tensed up?”

  Meuhlnir sighed and looked down at his feet. “There was some kind of event.”

  “Well, I’d gathered that,” I said. Jane put her hand on my arm, and I patted it.

  “Something happened,” said Veethar. “Something big.”

  “Was it the closing of this proo?” asked Jane. Veethar couldn’t meet her gaze, and Meuhlnir was suddenly busy rooting through his packs.

  “Tell us,” I demanded.

  Meuhlnir stopped rooting and glanced up to meet my eye. “I think you might be with us a while longer.”

  “Why?” asked Jane.

  Meuhlnir shook his head. “We don’t know anything for sure,” he said. “All we know is that this one proo is gone.”

  “Fine, you are absolved from being wrong in your guesses,” said Jane with a touch of impatience.

  “Veethar?” I asked.

  Veethar looked me in the eye. “We think Luka has traveled to Herperty af Roostum—the Rooms of Ruin.” He glanced away when my expression showed bewilderment instead of understanding. “Pilrust,” he whispered.

  “Why would he go there?”

  “Haymtatlr created a—”

  “Yes,” I snapped. “Haymtatlr created Kyatlarhodn and blew it, opening the first proo.”

  “At Pilrust,” murmured Veethar.

  “And?”

  “Hank, if there is anywhere in Osgarthr that one could control the preer, it would be at Pilrust,” said Meuhlnir. “In the Rooms of Ruin.”

  I shook my head.

  “All of them,” whispered Veethar. “This proo…”

  “This proo was ours,” said Meuhlnir. “Veethar’s and mine—the other end is in the Vault of Preer below Veethar’s longhouse. Luka had no access to it. He didn’t know where it was.”

  What they were getting at dawned on me, and I closed my eyes and groaned.

  “What is it, Hank?” asked Jane.

  “They think Luka closed all of the preer. Including the one that leads to your home.”

  Neither Veethar or Meuhlnir would meet Jane’s eyes. Sif came to stand near us and put her hand on Jane’s shoulder. Jane just stood there, shifting her gaze between Veethar and Meuhlnir. “Open them again,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Veethar. “We must.”

  “How long will it take?” Jane asked.

  “Pilrust is very far away,” said Meuhlnir. “We are used to calculating distances from where we are to the closest proo and then from its terminus to the destination.”

  “How far?” asked Jane with an edge to her voice.

  “Thousands of miles,” said Mothi. “We are on the southern continent.” He drew the rough shape of the continent in the dirt and then another above it to the north. A land bridge similar to Central America back home connected the two continents. He made a point in the center of the northern land mass. “Pilrust is on the northern continent, about here. It is in a sheltered valley—surrounded by mountains.”

  “That looks like more than five thousand miles if your continents are the same size as the America’s in Mithgarthr,” I muttered.

  Mothi shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “We are not provisioned or equipped for a trip like that,” said Meuhlnir. “We need more gear, more horses, more food and water. Perhaps a ship.”

  “And the Pitra Empire may not be disposed to help us,” I said.

  “Indeed, they will not be,” said Mothi. “They are, at best, friendly to the Dark Queen, and at worst, they are her pawns.”

  “Can we outfit ourselves here?” asked Jane. “In Kvia?”

  “Perhaps,” said Sif. “After we try another proo.”

  No one said anything after that, but I had the feeling we were all sharing the same certainty that the preer were closed and that we were all trapped in Kvia. The trip to Pilrust was long either way, and even the shortest, most direct route was a massive undertaking. Even if we rode directly to Pilrust, riding hard every day and took no days off to rest or to rest the horses, the trip was likely to take more than half a year. My face hardened in a grimace.

  Jane wormed her hand into mine. I looked down into her face, and a warmth suffused me like I was stepping in from the cold of winter and directly into a sauna. She smiled up at me. “It’s not ideal,” she said. “But we are together, and you haven’t taken us on vacation in a long time.”

  “And you have friends to share the road with you,” said Sif.

  “Together, we will face this trial,” said Veethar. “We will overcome this.”

  Frikka stood next to her husband and grinned. “Who knows? Veethar may even start speaking in paragraphs instead of single words or short sentences.” Even Veethar grinned at that.

  “You will be able to return to your klith, Hank,” said Meuhlnir. “I promise that you will.”

  “If you still want to return, after all this is over,” said Frikka with a small grin. “I think I know several places that might have you, if you no longer do.”

  Forty-three

  Fury.

  The woman named Hel, who used to think of herself as Liz, opened the rusty metal door and frowned. The room in which Luka had chosen to live was filled with the detritus of lost ages. He stood from a squat and smiled at her. His smile made her want to choke him.

  “What have you done?” she screamed. She took three quick steps into the ruin of a room Luka had chosen to live in. She slammed the door as hard as she could. Her hands went automatically to smooth her wind-swept hair. She hated looking like a tatterdemalion—in front of Luka or Vowli. She didn’t understand why the two men had to compete for her attentions, when, despite minor dalliances with Vowli since their return, Luka had already won. Truth to tell, though, Hel found she didn’t really mind their competition all that much. What she did mind was incompetence.

  Luka’s smile faded. “I-I…my Queen, I closed the preer to stop my brother and his friends from—”

  She sneered at the weakness in his voice. The way he pretended at innocence infuriated her. The actions he’d taken at and after the fiasco at Piltsfetl smacked of his disregard for her needs. The stakes were too high for the level of incompetence he had shown. She wondered if he had outlived his usefulness.

  “Who stands before me? Luka Oolfhyethidn or some lost, petulant child?” Her eyes lingered on Luka’s lean form. He looked so much healthier now that the meat was plentiful, and he didn’t have to sacrifice to make sure she had enough. He looked like a tatterdemalion, though, and she hated that. Her eyes, hardening and burning with rage, slid down his torn clothing, noting the half-healed injuries and abraded skin.

  “My Queen, I—”

  Hel whirled away, fearing that if she continued to look at
him while he groveled her rage monster would loose its chains. In the tunnels behind the rusty door—the tunnel where Vowli waited—the wind howled and shrieked, burying the Ruins of Pilrust with the dust of lost ages. Luka had acted at the worst possible time. Vowli had called Luka befuddled and lost. Hel scoffed at the thought.

  “What have I done, my Queen?”

  Her expression hardened as she thought again of the reason that had forced her to come to this dusty, decayed tomb. She turned until she could look at Luka askance. Hel’s eyes blazed, making her look like a demon of ice and fire.

  Luka shrank away from her gaze.

  She felt the words that would set him alight tickling her tongue, and she forced herself to think of the time they had spent together in Mithgarthr. After all he had done for her, all the mayhem he had wrought in her name, she owed him a better death than the agony of fire. Memories flashed through her mind, reminding her of the man Luka could be when properly motivated. She put her back to the rusty metal doors and squinted at the ground beneath his feet. The ghoulish, terrible expression that had been on her face for so long that it felt as if it were cast in iron, grew even colder.

  His knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, head down, arms held out in supplication. It cooled her fury a small degree to see him act with such respect. She understood the power he had over her. She understood that his loyalty and fealty had sunk long fangs into her heart. She understood the reasons she loved him and regretted that her love made what had to come next so difficult. Her mouth narrowed to a brutal, unforgiving slit. Vowli was right, she thought.