Blood of the Isir Omnibus

by Erik Henry Vick

  “Oh.”

  “It appears the disemboweled guy died trying to unsee something,” I said. “This other guy…could they be brothers?”

  Althyof peered at their faces. “I have no idea. All you Isir look alike.” He smiled weakly and shrugged when no one joined him.

  “Maybe the disemboweled guy tried to save this other one—his brother? Sacrificing his bowels so this other one could get away, but when the other saw what was happening, he turned and came back to stand and fight with his brother.”

  “No way to know,” said Althyof with a shrug and a grim expression. “Not unless you can cause the dead to speak.”

  The door of the great hall snapped shut, and Yowtgayrr appeared, sheathing his longsword and dagger as he did so. He glanced at the bodies, then met my eye. “No threats,” he said. “There is a faint trail in the snow, but a blizzard rages and the trail won’t last.”

  “Then we’d better get after Luka,” I said.

  Jane approached the three bodies at the center of the room. “Shouldn’t we…I mean, we’re not going to leave them this way, are we?”

  “Hon, there’s no time. Snow obscures Luka’s trail as we speak. We’ve got to get moving.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Yeah. But are we so driven to find that inhuman bastard that we don’t have time to act like humans?”

  I rubbed my face. She was right, and she knew she was right. “Okay,” I breathed.

  “Freya?” a weak voice gasped, and we all jumped a little, even Althyof, and the pups barked, eyes riveted on the disemboweled man. His eyelids fluttered, and his gaze fixed on Jane’s face. He opened his mouth to speak again but only gasped.

  “Hank…” said Jane.

  “What can we do?” I murmured.

  Jane held up Sif’s bag.

  “You have no need of ointments and tonics, Jane,” said Yowtgayrr in his understated way.

  Jane shook her head, looking from me to Yowtgayrr to the dying man. “What else can I do?”

  “Use the ring,” said Althyof, his eyes on my face. “If you want to save him, Jane, use the ring.”

  “The ring?” Jane asked. “It can…” She looked down at the platinum band around her finger. “It can help something this…bad?”

  Althyof nodded. “It can heal anything up to death.” He glanced at the man dying at their feet. “So, if you want to save him, I’d recommend you do it now.”

  Jane handed me her shield and her spear and squatted next to the man—I should say “the kid” because he wasn’t more than seventeen or eighteen unless my year in Osgarthr had robbed me of my common sense. She lay her hands on the boy’s cheek, and he opened his eyes.

  His gaze bounced across her face and then over her shoulder, and he saw me standing behind her and to the side, holding her golden spear and her shield with the raven enameled in black in its center. Althyof shifted his feet, and the boy’s gaze darted first to him, then to Yowtgayrr, and finally back to Jane’s face. “My lady…” he breathed. “Will it be Valhatla or Fowlkvankr?”

  “Quiet, now,” Jane murmured. “It is not your time, not if I have anything to say about it.” Eyes squeezed shut, she extended her arm to hover over the ghastly wound in his abdomen. Her face tensed with concentration and her head tilted to the side as though she were listening to something far away or at the edge of her hearing. Her sable hair hung in the boy’s face, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  The tableau stretched, and no one even drew breath for fear of interrupting the process. The boy’s bowels twitched as though filled with baby snakes, and he screamed. Jane didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes, didn’t comfort him. If anything, her face grew even more tense, and the twitching in the boy’s exposed bowels became slithering wriggles as they worked their way back inside the torn skin and muscles of his gut.

  His head thrashed back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, veins visible in his forehead and neck, mouth open in a soundless scream of suffering, but she kept going. Tears shimmered down his cheeks, and his lips trembled, but he didn’t fight her, didn’t push her away. The last of his exposed bowel retreated inside his abdomen, and the boy’s muscles slackened all at once.

  “Almost,” Jane breathed. “The laceration next…” She constricted her eyes even tighter and pursed her lips, breathing fast as if she’d run a mile at top speed. The long gash in the boy’s belly closed as though zippered shut from within, and Jane fell back on her butt and blew out a long breath. “That’s it,” she said and flopped over on her side, enervated and boneless.

  “Jane!” I said, dropping her gear and going to her side.

  “S’okay,” she whispered. “He’ll live now.” Her eyes drifted closed, and her breathing settled into the familiar rhythm of her sleep.

  I glanced up at Yowtgayrr. “So that’s a ‘no’ on tracking Luka through the storm. Any other ideas?”

  “You,” he said.

  “Me?”

  “Your ravens.”

  “Oh, yeah… I almost forgot about them.” The triblinkr I’d learned from my grimoire rolled from my lips, and I lay back on the floor next to Jane. “I’ll take a look.”

  I pushed myself to my feet and popped a single, separated animus—which took a form the size and shape of a raven made from coal-black smoke—out through the ceiling of the great hall and into the swirling snow and freezing wind of the blizzard. The white wall of the winter storm hid everything farther away than ten or twenty feet, so I dropped to the ground in front of the yew door. The trail Yowtgayrr had mentioned was clear enough from there, but the falling snow had filled the knee-deep tracks more than three quarters of the way. I sent my animus to follow the trail, keeping half my mind on it, and focused on the room with my physical body. “I’m on their trail,” I said. I took Jane in my arms and eased her away from the thickening pool of blood. “Can we move him, do you suppose?”

  Althyof looked at the man Jane had healed and shrugged. “I’ve no idea. He looks…peaceful.”

  “I’m… I feel strange, weak,” the man gasped. His eyes remained closed, but he lifted his head a little. “I would prefer to get out of this blood.”

  “Don’t blame you,” I said. “Althyof?”

  The Tverkr gave me a sour look but bent and offered his hand. The young man grasped his hand with his eyes still closed. Althyof pulled him to his feet, and while the man groaned, he came upright with little fanfare. Standing, he kept Althyof’s hand trapped in his grip and opened his eyes.

  As he saw Althyof, he started and blushed to the roots of his hair. “My apologies,” he said. “I’ve… I don’t…”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Meet master runeskowld Althyof of the Tverkar, binder of Friner, slayer of the troll Fowrpauti in single combat.”

  The young man straightened from his bow, his wide eyes going even wider as his gaze darted from the distinctive triangular shape of his trapezoids, his strangely colored skin and hair, and traveled over the runed leather cloak. “A Tverkr?”

  Althyof nodded his head once, a grave expression on his face.

  “Am I dead? Have I arrived in Nitavetlir?”

  Althyof scoffed. “No, boy. My homeland is a place of beauty—worked stone, fine metals, shining jewels. We would not live in a sty such as this hall. Besides, I’ve never seen a dead human walking around back home.”

  The man stood staring, mouth drooping open. His eyes drifted from Althyof to Yowtgayrr, and he shook his head. “I… I do not mean to offend, but your appearance is dissimilar to the Tverkar spoken of in the sagas.”

  Yowtgayrr shrugged. “I’m not a Tverkar. I’m an Alf. Yowtgayrr by name.”

  “Not a Svartalf?” asked the man.

  Yowtgayrr stiffened and shook his head.

  “That’s a touchy subject for an Alf. Best to keep such comparisons to yourself,” I said.

  The man’s eyes drifted to mine before coursing over my body, lingering on my gun belt and my two pistols. “This is a strange dream,” he muttered. “My
name is Krowkr.”

  “It’s no meaningless dream, Krowkr,” I said. “No troymskrok. No dream at all. You were nearly dead.”

  “Yes, I remember. Freya herself came to me and gave me back my life.”

  I chuckled. “My wife healed your injuries,” I said, gesturing at Jane’s prone form.

  “Is she…” he said, eyes opening wide as he glanced at her.

  “What? Dead? No, no. The effort exhausted her,” I said. He wouldn’t bring his gaze any higher than my knees.

  Althyof grunted. “You were more dead than alive.”

  Krowkr glanced at him. “Yes. We fought Yarl Oolfreekr. My…my brother and I stood against him when he attacked us. He…” His voice broke.

  “That’s him beside the yarl?” I asked in a muted tone.

  Krowkr nodded and sighed. “I…I suppose it was too late to save him.”

  “Why did you confront this oolfur—this Yarl Oolfreekr—with only the two of you?” asked Yowtgayrr. “You must have known what the result would be.”

  Krowkr gulped and squeezed his eyes shut. “There were three of us. We came here… Our friend, Skatlakrimr, convinced us to come.”

  “Whatever for?” asked Althyof, but the stormy expression on his face led me to believe he knew their purpose.

  “I…that is, Skatlakrimr had, uh, heard the yarl grew sick and died. He…he wanted to come here and…and search for treasures. Yarl Oolfreekr was very rich.”

  Althyof made a disgusted noise deep in his throat. “Skatlakrimr wanted such and so. He said, he led. And you and your brother? Are you not men? What did you want?”

  The man shrugged. “My brother, Owfastr, felt loyalty to Skatlakrimr, and the power the yarl held drew him—the respect, the prowess in battle. He…” His voice broke, and he glanced down at his brother’s corpse. “He thought we might rise in stature after such a journey.”

  “And you?” demanded Althyof. “Didn’t you have better sense than to come here and confront an oolfur with such weapons at that?” He pointed at the iron sword and axe lying in the clotting blood.

  Krowkr blushed and dropped his eyes. “Master Tverkr, Owfastr is…was…the only family I had left. I couldn’t…”

  “Yes,” said Yowtgayrr. “That is understandable, but couldn’t you persuade your brother—”

  “I tried,” he wailed.

  “Let’s leave that for now,” I said. “How did you kill the oolfur?”

  “The oolfhyethidn? We tried, Lord, but failed, as you can see,” he said. “Owfastr and I tried, that is. Skatlakrimr hid in the shadows after the first exchange of blows failed to injure the yarl.”

  “He sounds like a man to follow,” scoffed Althyof.

  Krowkr shrugged. “In the past, he was…different. Brave, confident.”

  “You tried to distract the beast so your brother could escape,” said Yowtgayrr. “You stood alone?”

  “Yes. I was already…” Krowkr’s eyes widened, and his hand flew to his belly. “He had disemboweled me.”

  “Yes, she healed your wound,” I said.

  “Yes, Lord, and I thank both her and you for my life.”

  “You don’t have to call—”

  “Call him Hank,” said Jane in a bleary voice. “Or it’ll tie him up in knots, and he’ll complain about it until I want to hit him.”

  Krowkr gulped. “Hanki?”

  “Close enough,” said Jane. “How do you feel?”

  Hanki meant “the hanged one” in the Gamla Toonkumowl, and I grimaced. I’d only been back on Mithgarthr for a few minutes, and I already had a new nickname. Shaking my head, I sighed.

  “I feel well, Lady Freya. I thank you.” Krowkr bowed at the waist.

  “Oh, I’m not Freya,” said Jane. “She is much prettier than me.”

  “She is not,” I said.

  “Yeah, but you’re required by law to say that in at least three states.” I held out my hand to her, but she waved it away. “I’m good right here for now, but I need food.”

  “Spoken like the dainty wench you are,” I said with a lilt in my voice.

  “Where’s my spear? I need to skewer you with it.”

  “And that is why I’ve got it tucked away by the wall. Out of reach.”

  “Don’t make me shake you until you break, dear one.”

  Krowkr watched our exchange with widened eyes. He leaned closer to Althyof. “What are their true names?” he whispered.

  “They told you what to call him, boy. These two do not lie.”

  “Call me Jane. No more of this ‘Lady Freya’ nonsense.”

  “Kefn?”

  “No, Krowkr. It’s not a name you are familiar with,” I said.

  He nodded his head once but didn’t attempt her name again. “Yes, Lord Hanki.”

  Jane giggled.

  “Why don’t you call her ‘Skyowlf.’”

  “Hank, don’t—”

  “What’s good for the goose,” I said with a smile. “And you did threaten to shake me until I break. That’s what it means: ‘shaker.’”

  She waggled her head side to side. “Not bad, I guess. Better than Aylootr, anyway.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

  “No, not that—”

  “Food. I need it.”

  “Right. I’ll send Yowrnsaxa an email.”

  Jane sighed. “In my pack, knucklehead.”

  “I’ll make a fire,” said Yowtgayrr, hiding a smile by dipping his chin to his chest. “Is there wood?” he asked Krowkr.

  “I’d only just arrived and when the yarl set upon us… We had no chance to search, Lord Alf.”

  “It’s no matter. I’ll find something.” He turned and surveyed the room with sharp eyes.

  “How did you kill the oolfur?” asked Althyof. “And what happened to his leg?”

  “Oolfur? Do you mean oolfhyethidn, a wolf-warrior?”

  “Yes, yes!” snapped Althyof. “How did you kill him?”

  Krowkr blushed and hung his head. “We didn’t kill Yarl Oolfreekr. When he… When I fell, I saw something in that corner,” he said and pointed at where our proo now stood. His mouth dropped open. “That. That is what I saw.”

  “It’s a—”

  “The Reknpokaprooin, yes. I recognize it from the sagas. It appeared, and…and a man stood next to it. He was dressed in shadows so I couldn’t see—”

  “Luka,” I said.

  He glanced at my ankles. “Yes, my lord. Skatlakrimr ran to him and fell to his knees. After that, I… My memory gets blurry at that point, but at the end of the battle, Luka changed as Yarl Oolfreekr had before him. A huge, wolf-like creature. An oolfhyethidn.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s his favorite trick.”

  Krowkr’s head bobbed. “Yes, Lord. Luka killed the yarl, and Owfastr charged over, thinking to save me from Luka.” He waved his hand at his brother’s corpse. “Luka did that.”

  “And the leg?” demanded Althyof.

  “Skatlakrimr. Luka promised to teach him to become…to become an oolfur. He said Skatlakrimr must…must eat human flesh to…to…”

  “That’s how it works, Krowkr—how one becomes an oolfur, by breaking the Ayn Loug.”

  “The Ayn Loug, Lord?”

  “‘It is forbidden to eat the flesh of men,’” said Althyof.

  “I… I’ve not heard that law, Lord Tverkr.”

  The Tverkr sighed. “Might as well call me Althyof, boy.”

  “Yes, Lord Althyof.”

  Althyof lifted his hands away from his sides and let them drop.

  “Annoying, isn’t it?” I asked him.

  Fretyi came to my side, eyes glued to Krowkr, tail erect.

  “You…you have a wolf, my lord?” Krowkr asked, unable to keep the awe from his voice.

  “No. I have two.”

  “And they’re not wolves,” said Jane. “They are varkr. Dire wolves.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “You will have to relax around us, Krowkr,”
she mused. “We won’t bite.” She glanced around and blanched. “I’m sorry. That was in poor taste.”

  Yowtgayrr returned with an armload of old gray wood and dumped it into the firepit. “I have a flint and steel in my pack.” He turned toward the proo, where he’d deposited his pack.

  “Don’t bother,” I said. I pointed at the wood and said, “Predna.” The old wood burst into warm, golden flames.

  “Show off,” said Jane.

  “All men know women enjoy it when we do things like that.” Jane rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t deny it, I know the truth.”

  “I may have to beat you with the truth. Give me my shield.”

  “Heck, no. Do you think I’m insane?”

  She cocked her eyebrow. “Do you want me to answer that?”

  “No, I don’t think I do.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Food. Pack. Now.”

  “Yes, dear,” I said.

  “That’s better. And you cook.”

  “Yes, dear.” I got the food from her pack—a haunch of meat out of Yowrnsaxa’s stores—and spitted it over the fire. I waved at Althyof. “Help me with these bodies.”

  “Yes, dear,” he said with a mischievous smile.

  As we dragged the bodies outside, my animus caught sight of Luka and his new disciple for the first time.

  Three

  My animus hovered high in a Norwegian spruce, twenty feet above Luka’s makeshift camp. Luka had also used the strenkir af krafti to start a fire in the gusting wind and low temperatures of the blizzard raging outside. Despite the fire, the man, who must have been Skatlakrimr, shivered with rough violence, even being wrapped in thick furs.

  “Lord Luka, we must find shelter.”

  Luka waved his hand. “Eat, Skatlakrimr.” He wore no furs and did not huddle next to the fire as Skatlakrimr did. After all, the cold couldn’t hurt him.

  Skatlakrimr’s face stiffened, and his eyes cut to the leg lying next to the fire. “Raw, Lord?”

  “Raw, cooked. Whatever. Just do it before I lose patience with you.”

  “Yes, Lord.” The young man slid off the stump he had been sitting on and knee-walked to the haunch of meat that had been Yarl Oolfreekr’s left leg until a few hours before. He pulled a long dagger from its sheath at his side and hesitated, his throat working and spasming. “I…”