Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  “I…” The sound of my own voice drilled into the center of my head and left burning acid in its wake. “Headache,” I gasped. “Hot.”

  “You’ve got a high fever. I can feel that for myself. Are you nauseated?”

  “Sounds.” I gritted my teeth against a scream of frustration and pain.

  Yowrnsaxa arrived and handed Sif a glass pot. Sif pulled the stopper, and my stomach rebelled, heaving against my ribs like a bucking bronco. “Bring one of the hoses in the same pocket, dear.”

  “Be right back,” said Yowrnsaxa.

  “This won’t be pleasant, Hank. I’m going to put you to sleep again.”

  “No more,” I moaned.

  “Yes. I must put a tube down your throat, so you keep this brew down. If I don’t, I fear the fever will cause damage to your brain. There’s no choice.”

  “No more dreams,” I whined.

  “Can’t avoid that, I’m afraid.” Sif touched her finger to the center of my forehead. “Svepn,” she said. The icy sensation stole over me again, and I slept.

  Thirty-two

  I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want to see the canopy of trees stretching away to the horizon. I didn’t want to see the women at the campfire. I didn’t want to see the bear. All I wanted was the blackness of dreamless sleep.

  “You can’t always get what you want, Aylootr. But if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need.”

  “Jesus,” I moaned.

  “That’s not my name,” said Owsakrimmr. “That turn the other cheek thing rubs against my grain.”

  “Did you just quote a Rolling Stones song?”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m a man of wealth and taste.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Aylootr. Hope you guess my name.”

  “The only thing that makes me feel better right now is that if this is a dream—a regular dream—when I die, so will you.”

  “You don’t know how true those words are, you fevered bag of bones. But what’s all the hate about the Stones?”

  “The Stones are great—it’s you I detest.”

  “Self-hate is fruitless, my friend.” Owsakrimmr chuckled. “Besides, you need me—I am your augend.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You promised the lantvihtir in that cave to change their uhrluhk, but don’t have the ability to do that—like them, you are stuck.”

  “And I suppose you have the power I need? And I bet all I need to do is rescue you from this tree.”

  “Yek air Owsakrimmr hoospownti runeskowld,” he sang, his voice rumbling thunder, echoing back from the horizon.

  “Wait, you’re a runeskowld?”

  “Tayla meth thessum aynum madni.”

  Power swept around me from behind, wrapping tight against my skin as if a giant, invisible spider was wrapping me in its web.

  “Kefthu honum thechkinku meena ow rununum. Kefthu honum thechkinku meena ow gamla toonkumowlinu. Binddu honum.”

  The power around me snapped and shivered, burning my skin as it latched onto me. I screamed, more from fear than anything else, and arched my back, starting myself swinging. “Stop! Whatever you are doing to me, I want you to stop!”

  “Lowttu hadn lesa runana sem steethya atlt. Binddu honum.”

  I stopped struggling, stunned into inaction by the knowledge flooding my mind. I understood the words he was singing. That last line meant: Let him read the runes that underpin everything. Bind him.

  “Lowttu hadn skrifu runana sem feerirmila uhrluhk. Binddu honum.”

  I repeated the words in my mind, delighting in the knowledge of the Gamla Toonkumowl he’d given me. Let him write the runes that dictate fate. Bind him.

  “Snertu anda hans meth hyarta Iktrasitl. Binddu honum. Snertu anda hans meth hyarta Iktrasitl. Binddu honum.”

  Again, I repeated the words to myself. Touch his spirit with the heart of Iktrasitl. Bind him. Touch his spirit with the heart of Iktrasitl. Bind him. I no longer feared what he was doing, this mysterious stranger hanging from the Tree of Life with me. I welcomed it.

  “Sendu hadn noona, til thrikkya vidnukona. Lokathu teekunum ath thvi sem hadn kerir.”

  The words danced in my mind: Send him now, to the three Maids. Close the bitches’ eyes to what he does. As the meaning of the phrases sank in, regret sang in my veins. “Wait! Who are you? Will I see you again?”

  “What’s done is done, Aylootr. It can’t be overrun. As to your last question, yes, it is possible you will see me again, and often, in the Nornir shadow-show. As to your first, you already know.”

  I tried to open my mouth, to shout my thanks, to ask him if he was Odin, but it was already too late. My eyes fell shut, and my mouth, open. I fought it, but I couldn’t stave off consciousness.

  Thirty-three

  My eyes opened. No! Not yet! I screamed inside my head. The only sound around me was the song Althyof sang. I reveled in my newfound understanding of what he was singing. As he sang, the runes associated with each line burned in my mind’s eye.

  I laughed aloud, unable to help it.

  “Hank?” came Sif’s sleep-blurred voice. “Are you awake?”

  I let my eyelids fall closed, exhausted, but feeling better than I had since Kuthbyuhrn had attacked. “Sleep,” I said. “All is well.”

  Then, I slept.

  Thirty-four

  I awoke to the sound of a squirrel chittering away somewhere near my head. I opened my eyes, but a black veil of fine lace obscured my vision.

  “Back again, are you?” asked Ratatoskr in his strange, gravel-filled voice.

  I heaved a sigh. “Yes, I’ll never escape this dream.”

  “Dream? You think this is a dream? A troymskrok?” Raucous laughter sounded above and behind me.

  “Whatever. Can you do me a favor?”

  Little squirrel claws skittered across the bark of Iktrasitl. “Maybe. It depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “On whether you will poke at me with a spear.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Ratatoskr laughed, sounding like a chainsaw eating its way through thick wood. “Red squirrels are good eating! That’s what you said to me not two days ago!”

  “Friend, I’ve only spoken to you once, and it was earlier today. Remember? You asked me if I was awake and told me I was hanging in Iktrasitl?”

  “Oh! It’s you. Why didn’t you say so?”

  Ratatoskr tugged the black veil off my head. He clung to the bark, head pointed at the ground, the veil in his teeth. Red tinged his fur, except for his belly, where it was a brilliant white. His eyes were a jet black, and he had the cutest little tufts of red hair sticking up from his little ears. Ratatoskr opened his mouth and let the black veil fall. "Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You look so cute…”

  “What? How dare you?”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, but you are cute.”

  Ratatoskr cocked his head to the side and twitched his bushy red tail. “I am not cute! I am a vicious, man-eating monster of mythic proportions. Don’t you forget it.”

  I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “I apologize, mighty Ratatoskr. I was momentarily blinded by the beauty of your fur.”

  “Well, okay then.” Ratatoskr glanced down the trunk. “I really can’t spend much time here. I am on a mission for the eagle.”

  “I was wondering about that. Why would you keep this battle of words running between these two, the eagle and the dragon? What purpose does it serve?”

  “What purpose does it serve? How can you not see it? I thought you were wise!” Ratatoskr twitched his tail. “Well, maybe that was the other one… Are you sure you’re not the one who threatened me with the spear?”

  “I am not the one who threatened you with a spear. I have never eaten squirrel and hope I never do.”

  “Why ever not? Red squirrels are delicious.”

  “Well, I—‍”
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  “It’s no matter. And I don’t have time to continue chatting with you. I must be about my business.” With that, Ratatoskr scurried down the trunk.

  “Well, thanks for getting rid of the veil…it was nice talking to you.” I looked around sure I would see the three Nornir sitting around a campfire and staring at me, but the fire had burned out, and the three maids were gone. I stood up and turned around to face Iktrasitl. Unlike before, the runes now made sense to me. Whoever the man in the tree was—and I thought he must be Odin—he had done me a great service by sharing his knowledge of the runes and the Gamla Toonkumowl with me. Testing my knowledge of the runes, I picked a line at random and read it aloud: “Vuhluntr fell in love with Uhlroon the Valkyrie, and they married. After nine years Uhlroon left Vuhluntr.” I laughed aloud, like a seven-year-old with a new toy.

  I spent what seemed like a week reading runes at random. It was like paging through a novel about old Norse mythology or reading the Prose Edda. I had promised to free the lantvihtir if I could, but it would take me years to read all the runes… There were billions of runes on the part of Iktrasitl that I could read, and the runes stretched high above my head until I could no longer discern the difference between the runes and the natural twists and eddies of Iktrasitl’s bark.

  All I knew about the lantvihtir, all I knew about Kuthbyuhrn, was that they lived in a cave under the Dragon’s Spine Mountains somewhere northwest of Suelhaym. It wasn’t much to go on. I scanned the part of the tree I could see for Kuthbyuhrn’s name in runes, but it was no use. Without a key, without knowledge of how the runes were laid onto the tree, it would take years to find a specific event. I needed help from someone who was already familiar with the work of the Nornir.

  If only Kuhntul were still here.

  “Got your veil off again, huh?” Kuhntul laughed. “Don’t let the three Maids see you without it. They can be nasty.”

  “I was just thinking about you…wishing you were here, really.”

  “Oh, how sweet…but what will Jane think?”

  I glanced over at her in time to catch the mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, more’s the pity. What you want is not on this side of Iktrasitl.”

  “How do you know what I want? I haven’t asked you yet.”

  “My apologies. Why do you need my help, Tyeldnir? Can I find a specific rune for you?” Her voice was sarcastic, taunting.

  “If you already know, lead on. I only wanted to know how you knew.”

  Kuhntul shrugged. “I am Tisir,” she said as if that were explanation enough. She turned and walked counter-clockwise around the tree.

  “How does all this work?” I asked.

  “I can’t answer that, Tyeldnir. I can’t give you power over the skein of fate. That’s too much power for a mortal man.”

  I sighed and followed her around the tree. She stopped and pointed to a spot on the tree about fifteen yards up. “There,” she said. “The lantvihtir in the cave were the group that attacked Kuthbyuhrn and his mate, Kyellroona, in the cave. The lantvihtir who remain are the men who killed Kyellroona. Kuthbyuhrn killed them all in a berserker rage and succumbed to his wounds.”

  I looked up at the tree. “So…if I write a different story, neither the lantvihtir nor Kuthbyuhrn will be trapped in the cave?”

  Kuhntul shrugged. “Temporal mechanics are beyond my grasp, Tyeldnir. If you need to know before you make the change, you’ll have to speak with Mother Skult. Shall I fetch her?” Kuhntul’s lips twisted into a smirk.

  “I don’t think so. I wanted to say goodbye to Kuthbyuhrn, is all.”

  Kuhntul shrugged. “You could always come back later. You may find another time when the three Maids are absent.”

  That didn’t seem likely. And, anyway, I did not understand how I was traveling to Iktrasitl, or even if any of what I was experiencing was real. “No.” I glanced up at the spot she’d pointed out. “How do I get up there?”

  “Do I have to do everything for you? Here, you will need this.” She held out a chisel made from silvery metal that seemed to glow with its own light.

  I took the chisel, and it felt warm in my palm. I thought for a moment, and said, “Plyowta.” Both of my feet came off the ground, floating half an inch or so above the turf.

  “Uhp.” I rose, slowly at first but picking up speed as I ascended next to the tree.

  “There,” called Kuhntul.

  “Stuthva,” I murmured. I could get to love having the Gamla Toonkumowl at my fingertips. I stopped rising and floated a foot from the tree. Using the chisel Kuhntul had given me, I struck a line through the runes that described Kyellroona’s demise. As I watched, the runes around the area I’d cut through reshaped themselves.

  The story now read: “Mighty Kuthbyuhrn roared, and the Tverkar were afraid. They backed away from Kyellroona and threw down their weapons, begging for mercy. It was in Kuthbyuhrn’s nature to grant their wish, so the bears and the Tverkar parted company on good terms.” I wanted to follow the runes that branched off, to know what befell Kuthbyuhrn and Kyellroona, to see where the Tverkar went next, but there was no time.

  “Time to go, Tyeldnir,” whispered Kuhntul from the base of the tree. “Time to wake. The three Maids return. Remember the chisel!”

  “Thanks,” I said and woke.

  Thirty-five

  When I awoke, it felt more like being thrown out of unconsciousness than waking. My eyes snapped open, and I lurched, my mind sure I was falling from a great height.

  The cave was quiet, peaceful—at least until Keri and Fretyi, who lay pressed to my left side at two points, noticed I was awake. They jumped up, crooning like proud papas, running in circles, licking my face. They’d grown while I was out of it and both looked an easy ten pounds heavier. “Living up to your names, I bet,” I said, ruffling the fur behind two sets of ears.

  My side ached, but it was a minor ache. What hurt worse was the hole in my belly where my stomach had once lived. I sat up and glanced around.

  The remains of a fire glowed in the center of a large circle defined by the sleeping bodies of my companions. I stretched with care, wary of pulling stitches or tearing open my wound. A nagging, uncomfortable tightness lingered under my right arm, but nothing compared to what I had expected. I ran my hand over my ribs, but instead of a sutured wound, my fingers scrabbled across scar tissue. It was tender, but it didn’t hurt.

  I shook my head, marveling at how fast I’d healed under Sif’s expert care. Images came flooding into my mind. More than images, memories, but of events I didn’t remember happening. I still remembered the battle with Kuthbyuhrn, but now I also remembered an alternate series of events—things I hadn’t lived through, and yet I had.

  “Finally,” grunted Althyof from across the circle. He got to his feet and stirred the coals, then added fresh wood. He walked toward me, keen eyes traveling over my face, my right side. “You’ve lain in the grip of a high fever for more than a week, Tyeldnir.”

  “A week?” I parroted, stunned.

  “Sif refused to let us move you. Your spear wound became infected—something the damn Svartalf cooked up and gave to the attackers, no doubt.” That was from the new set of memories—dark forms swarming at Veethar out of the darkness. “What do you remember? I’ll fill in the gaps,” said the Tverkr.

  “Well, that’s an interesting question, but I remember an ambush. When they swarmed at us out of the darkness, Veethar was out in front, and…I guess I had dreamed about a spear thrust arcing from the darkness because my mind showed me his death. I grabbed him and twisted him out of the way. When I turned back to the attackers, I…held something in my hands…”

  “A spear,” said Althyof. “A spear you’d conjured.”

  “Yes! I held a spear. The… Who was it that attacked us?”

  “A small band of trolls.”

  “Trolls? I can’t remember them.”

  Althyof shrugged. “It’s no matter. I remember them enoug
h for both of us.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, the trolls who were planning to kill Veethar grew angry when I moved him. I… Were there two of them?”

  “Three.”

  “Okay, three of them came at me. I had the spear, and I tried to ward them off. One of them hit the spear dead-center with his massive club and shattered the spear-shaft. At the same time, another troll charged into me with his shoulder and sent me flying. I…I hit the wall of the cave and fell to the floor. When I landed, the spear went into my side… I don’t remember much after that: Sif working on me, something to do with Frikka and Veethar, but it’s not clear… Oh, and the dreams.”

  “Dreams?” Althyof lifted his eyebrow.

  “But what’s freaky is the other series of events I remember.”

  “What?”

  “In the other series of events, there was a big, undead bear. You had to keep singing a trowba to keep the lantvihtir off us, but the bear—‍”

  “Do you mean Kuthbyuhrn?”

  “Uh…yes. Do you remember this other version too?”

  Althyof shook his head. “No. Kuthbyuhrn heard the ruckus of us fighting the trolls and came charging to our rescue. He and Kyellroona saved us.”

  I shook my head. “You… How do you know their names?”

  Althyof rolled his eyes. “Veethar speaks to the animals, remember? Lantvihtir, you say?”

  “Yeah…” I shook my head. “Could all this be fever dreams?”

  “No matter, go on with your story.”

  “It was the bear, Kuthbyuhrn, who almost killed Veethar—who shattered my spear and sent me flying. It… Frikka…did something…”

  “What did I do,” asked Frikka in a sleep-blurred voice, rustling in her bedroll.

  “I…” I glanced her way and saw her shake her head. “I don’t remember.”

  Althyof’s head snapped around to stare at Frikka with suspicion. She waved him off as if he were a mosquito.

  “After that, it’s all just snatches of being awake while Sif worked on me. And the dreams.”

  “There they are again,” muttered Althyof. “Tell me of these dreams.”