by Dan Davis
Hrungna stared sullenly but Torkos knew he would do it. He was belligerent and his body was powerful but his spirit was weak. The results of his greed were displayed by his grotesque great belly and what was such greed if not weakness of spirit? No, Hrungna would do as he commanded, that was certain.
A noise behind him drew his attention. He growled to see Sehi, his priestess, standing at the entrance to his tents in the tight white robe that clung to her body. His hunger for her was roused by the patch of red blood that spread on one sleeve from where she had bled herself for him this morning. Her blood was sweet, not like the filth that lay at his feet here in the hot sun, and he waded through them once more to go to her. He could drink no more than a cup of her at a time or else she became weak but he knew that one day soon he would be unable to stop and he would eat the rest of her while she screamed in his arms but for now she was alive to offer herself to him in every way that a woman could.
“Give me your advice, Sehi,” he said, standing before her and stroking her face. There was a wound on her cheek from where one of his teeth had caught on her face a moon past. He had not meant to do it but after opening up her flesh he had drunk from her bloody cheek while filling her with his seed. The seed would not take, he knew, for a mortal’s body was weak, and if it did take then she would likely die before bringing forth a son, but he hoped that her stature and good breeding would make the difference. To be sure of a son, though, he would need Nehalennia
“I will offer what advice I can, lord,” Sehi said.
“Should I take Hrungna’s left eye or his right?” he asked, raising his voice. “Which eye will he miss the most? Which will bring me most knowledge when I eat it?”
“You wish to anger Hrungna by voicing the question, lord,” Sehi replied. “You insult him by asking such a thing of a mortal, who has no right to speak thusly of the gods.”
He stroked her scarred cheek with a finger. “She is wise and courageous, is she not, Hrungna?”
The immortal grunted. “She is meat.”
Ignoring him, Torkos ran a hand over her breasts and down to her belly. She had borne the strong sons of Ghebol but perhaps she was too old now. Mortals aged before your eyes and she certainly seemed older already after only a few moons warming his bed. He should give her more time to recover between lying with her, he supposed, but the sight of her aroused a lust in him that he could not control. He sighed. One day soon, he would break her or he would drink her and then she would be no more. If he were fortunate, however, Nehalennia would be with him then and she would not age and she would not break and she would bear him a dozen sons and with his sons and his brothers and their sons they would assemble a warband large enough to cover the earth. Together they would raid Tartaros and overwhelm the Usurper and all the other traitors. As well as binding the Usurper, he would drag Kolnos from his plains bound in thick rope and he would peel off his skin, piece by piece before killing him slowly.
Sehi whimpered, her eyes clenched tight, and he realised he was pinching her flesh between his finger and thumb. Releasing her, he stepped away.
“You came to speak to me, Sehi,” he prompted.
“Lord,” she said, tears running silently down her cheeks, “Gehbol has returned and wishes to be allowed into your presence.”
“Ah,” Torkos said, baring his massive teeth in a broad smile. He had been away for a long time and was to return only with the half-breed or Nehalennia or knowledge of her location. “Bring him to me.”
Bowing, Sehi went back through the tent and out the other side toward the village.
“You give that mortal too much power over you,” Hrungna said.
Torkos chuckled at that. “She has no power.”
“She is a woman of power, that one.”
That made Torkos laugh out loud. “A woman of power? There is no such thing, you fool.”
“Eat her flesh now or you will regret it.”
Torkos turned to him. “And you will regret your words if you do not hold your tongue.”
From the shade of the tent, Gehbol stepped out into the sun with Sehi a pace behind him. “Lord,” Gehbol said, dropping to one knee. He looked tired and his beard and hair were dishevelled and his bare legs beneath his plain tunic were spattered with dried mud that had cracked and crumbled into dust.
“Stand,” Torkos said. “Speak.”
“Lord, we did not find Herkuhlos and we did not find Nehalennia.”
Torkos stepped forward and grasped Gehbol by the throat, wrapping his fingers around the warrior’s neck and squeezing it. Gehbol grasped Torkos’ wrist with both of his but he was not fortified with immortal blood and so had no hope of resisting as Torkos slowly throttled him.
Sehi stepped forward and cried out. “Lord, there is a captive who knows where they are. Lord, he is here with his knowledge of Nehalennia.”
She was waving someone forward from inside his tent and Torkos thrust Gehbol back hard, throwing the warrior down to the ground where he fell, clutching his throat and gasping for breath. From within his tent, two of Gehbol’s warriors dragged a Seal Man prisoner by his arms and then threw him to the ground at Torkos’ feet.
“You,” Torkos said, recognising him as the traitor. He had been beaten and his face was swollen from the injuries. “You have been gone so long. You betrayed me and now you will die.”
“Lord,” the Seal Man said, desperately. “I followed my people as they fled the attack, just as you commanded.” He lifted his head. “When your men attacked, they almost killed someone precious to me. That was not supposed to happen. They almost killed me, too, and we barely got away.”
“Careful,” Ghebol growled. “We allowed you to flee, you witless fool. We could have killed you all.”
“Kill him now,” Torkos said, watching his captive.
The Seal Man’s head jerked up. “Lord, I found her! I know where her island is.”
Torkos’ anticipation sparked and his breath quickened. “But it has been many moons since Ghebol burned your village and you return now a captive. I think you lie.”
“No, lord. I came to your warriors and asked to be taken to you but they attacked me.”
Torkos looked at Ghebol who was now on his feet, rubbing the red bruises around his neck. “That is true, lord,” Ghebol said, his throat rasping. “They did not know him but brought him to me.”
“You know where the goddess is? You will lead us there?”
“Yes, lord.”
Torkos allowed himself a moment to smile and he looked up at the bright blue sky arcing above him. Then he looked down. “Your people have fled the mainland. Why?”
“After you burned my village, they knew your men were raiding and taking for captives so they have gone to the islands or to the lands across the sea. There are still some here and there and if we are quick we can catch them before they flee.”
“I have no interest in your people now.”
“Yes, lord, but you will need boats to cross the sea and these can be captured along with the people.”
“The people I will eat but the boats we will need.” Torkos said, uninterested in the details. “You will tell all to Ghebol.”
“Lord, I beg you do not kill my people. I have done all you asked so that my people will be saved, not destroyed.”
Torkos snorted a laugh. “You want power.”
“Yes, lord. The power to rule my people and keep them safe. The Mother protects us no longer but you will, lord.”
If the young Seal Man had truly delivered the location of Nehalennia to him then he could have all the power over his stinking, pathetic people that he wished. “Take me to her and you will be lord of all Seal People and you will be chief of chiefs over them all. You will bring me sacrifices every moon and my warriors will raid your villages no longer. All your people will know it is you that keeps them safe.”
The captive sighed and his eyes shone. “Thank you, lord.”
“Now, tell me about the half-breed.”
/> “Lord, he spoke long with the Mother across the sea and then he called a meeting of the chiefs of my people and they came to hear him and the Mother speak with one voice. They called for the Seal People to send their warriors against you and the Heryos.”
Torkos stared in disbelief and then he laughed. “Your hunters against my warriors?” He looked at his chief. “You hear that, Ghebol? Are you afraid of the hunters?”
“No, lord,” Ghebol said, his neck now a deep purple. “The Seal Men are small and weak and they know nothing of true battle.” Ghebol paused to rub his throat. “But there are many of them out there at the edge of the world.”
“Many?” Torkos turned to the Seal Man. “How many warriors does Herkuhlos now lead?”
“Some chiefs said they could spare ten hunters, some more, some less.”
Ghebol spoke out of turn but Torkos did not stop him. “How many chiefs were there?”
“Many, lord.”
“A hundred?”
“I don’t understand, lord, forgive me.”
Torkos grunted in frustration for these people were ignorant indeed.
“Lord,” Ghebol said, “even if there were a hundred chiefs and we faced a thousand hunters I would not fear them. Their arrows are weak, their spears are made for fish and not men. And there surely cannot be a hundred chiefs.”
“It does not matter how many they are or how weak,” Torkos said. “They will not fight us because I will soon have their goddess sitting at my side.”
“Lord,” the prisoner said. “Permit me to speak, lord, of the half-breed. Since the meeting of the chiefs, Herkuhlos has come here to the mainland and has gone in secret to the villages of the Furun. He means to rouse them into fighting you, also, lord.”
Angry now, Torkos turned to Hrungna. “You have not heard of this?”
Hrungna waved an arm in the air. “No. And it is nothing to fear for the Furun will never listen to him.”
“You are supposed to be lord of the Furun, Hrungna, you witless fool, how is it that you do not know this? Have you betrayed me?”
“No,” Hrungna said, scowling. “I honour the Covenant.”
Torkos considered his words and knew them to be true enough. He pointed to Ghebol. “Bring all your warriors home now and make ready.” He reached down then and gently helped the Seal Man to his feet. “You will find the boats and then you will take me to the goddess, my friend, and then I will make you chief of all the Seal Men. What is your name?”
“I am Alef, lord.”
“You will become Chief Alef and you will rule the seas of the north across the rim of the world.”
“Thank you, lord,” Alef said and he smiled.
33. Humbled
They stood just inside the edge of the woodland looking out across the pasture where the cattle roamed. It had rained overnight but now that the sun was rising into the hazy sky the air was growing hot and close beneath the trees. Across the pasture the people of the village went about their day beyond the patches of green wheat by the houses and tents. A group of boys led an aging oxen that pulled a two-wheeled cart along the track that led to the woodland, no doubt coming to cut and collect firewood or timber to take back to the village and it would not be long before they came across the group of Seal People hiding amongst the trees.
“Are you sure about this, lord?” Z’ta asked again beside him.
Herkuhlos smiled. “You do not have to come with me.”
Z’ta shook his head. “You know I don’t care about my own life but you know they might shoot at you as soon as they see you.”
“Nevertheless it must be done.”
“They will see you,” Sif said, touching her fingers to his face as the dappled sunlight danced over her skin. “They will see you as we see you.”
He nodded, not agreeing but merely acknowledging her confidence in him, took her hand and gently kissed her fingers. “It is in the hands of the gods.”
With that, he stepped out from the shadows and into the light and started across the pasture. He wore only the plain buckskin tunic that Nehalennia’s initiates had made for him and he carried no weapons and no armour. His long hair was combed but loose and streamed out behind him as he walked. A few paces behind, Z’ta followed him while Sif and the rest of the Seal People watched from the cover of the undergrowth beneath the trees and if he should be killed by the Heryos then they would return to Nehalennia and there would be no attack on Torkos. The Seal People would have to flee forever across the sea and even then Torkos would pursue them and raid them at will for season after season until their people were no more.
A shout went up from the village.
They had seen him.
It was a familiar feeling to be approaching this place again but this time he had no weapon and he would not fight for leadership over the people. Though it was only a few moons since he had ruled here it felt like a different life entirely and he wondered what had happened to them after the failed attack on Torkos. How many had been punished? Who was their chief now and would he listen to Herkuhlos? As the villagers on the outskirts ran from him and the warriors came out with their spears and bows and axes in hand he wondered if they would even allow him to come close before shooting him down.
Herkuhlos raised an empty hand over his head as he approached.
Though he was unarmed and stripped of his armour and lion pelt surely they recognised him now by his stature alone and he hoped that would stay their hands for now. Z’ta believed they would try to capture him and take him as a prize to Torkos and that was a very real possibility but this risk was worth taking. If he could get just a handful of the Heryos to join with him against Torkos then it might make all the difference.
“Stop!” a voice called from the warriors surging forward. Some of the older boys were amongst the men and they had their slings at the ready and others hefted javelins.
“I am Herkuhlos,” he called out, still walking toward them. “I come to speak to your chief.”
“I said stop there!” the voice shouted and a warrior stepped forward with a heavy spear in his right hand and a copper axe in his left. Herkuhlos recognised him at once.
“You are Hargu, son of Helek,” Herkuhlos said, still walking toward the swarming mass of warriors crowding ahead of him and speaking loudly over the noise they made. “Are you the chief of these people, Hargu? I come only to trade words with you.” He kept his empty hands held out to the side.
“My father will not fight you,” Hargu called, gripping his spear and coming closer. “If you wish to challenge then you will fight me.” His eyes were wild with fear and the battle madness.
Herkuhlos finally stopped two spear-lengths from Hargu. The warriors were surrounding him now on three sides but they all kept their distance. “I do not come to fight, Hargu. Neither you or your father or any of your people. Only to speak.”
The warriors looked at Hargu and he glanced around at them as if he were unsure now. “We care nothing for what you have to say.”
Another voice called out from the crowd. “Torkos wants you.” It was Lekkas, another son of Helek. “Torkos will reward us for taking you to him.”
“Lekkas,” Herkuhlos said, “and Hargu, you are brave warriors and you will protect your people to the death.” He looked at them and thought of how he had killed their brother Kerwes in front of them and all the village. “Take me to your chief and let him hear what I have to say.”
“You do not command us,” Lekkas cried, stepping out from the warriors and raising his axe high. “You say you are not here to fight and I say I will kill you and Torkos will give me a hundred cattle and a warband of my own in exchange for your corpse.” He came closer, stepping past his brother almost to within striking distance and he shook his axe. “Your tongue wags but the words it speaks are lies. I will strike you down, slayer of Kerwes, and win fame and wealth.” He lowered his axe and took a wary step closer, his eyes fixed on Herkuhlos. “Will you fight me, false god, or will you stand like
an ox while I strike you down?”
Z’ta stepped out from behind Herkuhlos with his hands out to the side. “Lekkas, you will find no fame in killing an unarmed warrior who comes in peace.”
Lekkas scowled and pointed his axe. “Do not speak to me, slave. Your words count for nothing here.”
A commotion came from behind the warriors and they swiftly parted down the middle to allow an older man to walk through them. He wore his thick leather battle tunic and carried his shining bronze axe in one powerful hand and his long hair was knotted in a braid above his right ear. There was something wrong with his right eye, as if it had been bruised in a fight.
“Helek,” Herkuhlos said, raising his voice above the murmurs of the crowd and the blowing of the summer breeze. “I come to speak with you.”
“Father,” Hargu said. “We cannot allow this. Torkos will punish us again if we do not drive him away.”
Lekkas spat. “We must kill him now.”
Helek ignored them and when he did not slow his approach his sons moved aside. When he came close, Herkuhlos saw that his right eye was not injured. It was gone. The flesh around it was scarred and reddened as though it had not quite healed.
The warriors fell silent as Helek stood before Herkuhlos, looking up with his one eye.
“You say you come to speak with me,” Helek said. “But why would the mighty Herkuhlos, slayer of gods, speak to old Helek?”
“I want to ask your advice.”
Helek stared at him, his eye seeming to burn with the power of sight as he searched Herkuhlos’ face for the truth. Finally, he grunted. “Then you are my guest, lord,” he said. “Please sit by my fire and drink and eat by my side.”
The warriors were surprised, none more so than the chief’s sons, but they did not protest the decision of their chief and instead followed Herkuhlos and Helek into the village and then into the chief’s longhouse. It looked much the same as it had done for the few days earlier this year when it had been Herkuhlos’ longhouse. Now, though it was the home of Helek, his wives, and his servants and they brought beer and meat and small breads newly baked on stones on the fire while the chief and his guest sat by the hearth. While his sons watched from the doorway, Helek sat and gestured for Herkuhlos to sit beside him on the array of furs. On the other side of the hearth the great seat of the chief on its low platform sat empty and Helek waved a hand dismissively when Herkuhlos asked him why he did not sit there.