by Derek Nelsen
“Runa, we’re all tired.” Tor tried to calm her.
“Still taking her side?” Runa was sick of all of this. Sick of walking, sick of the girl, sick of the dark, and sick to her stomach. She just wanted to crawl up into a tight crack in the wall and get some rest. But she couldn’t let up or they’d leave her. “Tor, you know she wants to leave me here to die—she wants to take you for herself.”
“You’re not feeling well. I think we all need some rest.” Tor talking in that calming tone made Runa want to hit him with a rock.
“We can’t stop now.” Svikar cast his eyes back down the hall. “Something’s caught our scent.”
“You know she wants to take you from me.” Runa didn’t care about the weeds, the troll, or whatever was following them. “The girl wants you Tor. She thinks she can just leave me for dead to get eaten by the weed and the troll and have you all to herself.
Tor gave Runa a look.
“Save that look for the goats, farmer,” Runa yawned. Why is he looking at me like that? She slid to the ground. The dirt on the floor felt warm and welcoming. “The troll’s right. Kiara does stink.” She laughed at the nerve of what she was saying. She couldn’t exactly smell her—it was some other sense, more like a feeling. But she didn’t like it, and she didn’t mind saying so. “I wish my husband had cut you into pieces along with that pig, Orri, a bit of Odin’s justice for daring to spew your Christianity in the cathedral of our gods.” She grabbed at Kiara’s foot.
“Watch it!” growled the troll. “She falls, I fall. And you need me, remember?”
“What was that?” Runa sensed something coming up behind them.
“Get her up, Viking,” said the troll. “Just a little further and we can throw her off our scent.”
“W-what is it?” Kiara stumbled.
“Don’t worry. Just keep moving.”
Tor grabbed Runa by the arm and dragged her to a trot.
“Can’t you hear that, Tor?” Stupid man always was oblivious. Runa just wanted to sit down. Just for a bit. “It’s still a ways off, but it’s gaining.”
“What is it?” Tor held his sword and torch up behind them.
“If you can’t hear that then don’t bother looking,” laughed Runa. He used to be so strong.
“Slow down, girl. We made it to the cut with time to spare.” Svikar sounded relieved.
“You want us to go in there?” Tor stared at the narrow slit in the stone wall as if he was going to be sick.
“Through there,” Svikar explained. “Shine your torch over to the right, ja? You may have to twist to squeeze through. Go on now, Viking. You first.”
Runa could sense Tor’s blood pressure rising. The space was going to be tight, even for her.
Torch first, Tor flipped up and into the high crevice and used his elbows to crawl inside. Before his feet disappeared, he stopped short. “Mmph.” His voice was muted. He started squirming back out.
“Viking!” Svikar shouted. “Kiara, we don’t have time for this. Push him back in or something.
Did my husband just scream? Runa laughed.
Tor kicked and squirmed, and there was no way Kiara could stop him from coming back. He fell to his knees trying to catch his breath.
“I can’t fit,” he gasped.
The sound was getting louder. It was hard to tell from the echoes, but it sounded like howling.
“Tor! Stop cowering like a child afraid of the dark. You said you’d be there for me!” Her anger echoed a response to the howling.
Svikar’s eyes followed the sound. He looked nervous.
Runa smacked her husband across the ear.
“Aagh!” The Viking raged to his feet, his fist shaking over Runa like a hammer ready to drop. As if scared of his own anger, he relented, opened his hand, and wiped at his ear. His hand came back covered in blood.
“Out of the way.” Runa pushed him aside and climbed into the crevice. Just as she was worming her way in, a strong hand grabbed her ankle and dragged her back out.
“There has to be another way.” Tor was staring back into the darkness. Even he could hear the howling now.
From along the walls and up from the floor the herd of goats flooded the spot, nipping and bleating as they poured into the crack like water through a funnel.
“There’s nothing on the other side, just a bottomless pit.” Tor’s face turned as red as the blood on his ear when he blurted it out.
“Din’ you look down? There’s a ledge you can—” The troll smiled a gap-toothed grin. “Well, that explains a bit.”
“Scared of heights?” Runa’s chortling was buried in the sound of a stampede of soft hoofs. “That’s the man my father chose for me to marry.” She felt so tired. “No farmer, no merchant, no butcher.” Her voice faded with one last cut. “A Viking lost.”
Leaving a Mark
Sleep had tamed Runa’s angry tongue, and she snored in her place on the dirty floor. But she had no peace. Her soul clutched in one hand, she mumbled to herself as if suffering a nightmare.
For the first time, Tor was glad for the weak light of the torches, so he could hide his shame. “There has to be another way.” Tor’s knees felt weak from the thought of the narrow ledge on the other side.
The goats’ bleating faded as the last of them disappeared into the cut.
“They’s no other way,” said Svikar. “Do you want to save your wife or not?”
Tor grabbed the troll’s ear, dragging it and the unfortunate harness bearer up against the cold, stone wall.
“Hey!” Kiara barely let out a cry before her momentum stopped with a crunch, her full weight finding Svikar’s head.
“It’s too late,” yelped Svikar.
The darkness growled.
“She’s already here.”
A hulking shadow broke through the dull light, its retreat sounding like it was dragging a corpse.
“Tor!” Runa’s voice was weak and confused and trailing away.
Tor spun around to see the light of Runa’s torch bouncing off into the darkness. The only sign of her abductor was the foul, lingering stench of wet fur, like a dog coming in from the rain.
“Runa!” Tor’s heart sank as he felt the heat of his dying torch lick at his fingers. He forgot about heights, about insults and fear, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that he couldn’t see. He looked for more vine, but the passing goats had raided their supply. He turned to Kiara. “Follow me. I’m going to need your light.”
As soon as Tor got to speed the fire bit his hand and his nub of a torch fell to the ground. His only light was Runa’s, and it was quickly disappearing around a bend.
Then her light was gone. He looked back. Nothing. Alone in complete darkness, he kept going. His only companion was the wall. He was thankful for it, and found himself praying Runa’s light hadn’t snuffed out. To whom he prayed he was not sure. With every stumble he blamed himself. After a lifetime of living in the mountains, it was the underworld that made him face his fear of heights. Maybe the girl was right. Maybe the troll had been taking them to Hell. He pushed forward.
By sheer will he’d managed an awkward trot. In the black it felt like the tunnel began to twist, and he bounced off the wall in his struggle to stay upright.
The only thing worse than leaving their only source of light was to split up—and he had done both. Even the horrid howl of the beast would’ve been a comfort. At least he’d know he wasn’t completely lost. As he pressed on, he thought of Vigi and all the times he depended on a distant bark to help him find his way.
Tor was struggling.
He stopped to scratch the hilt of his sword against the stone wall, too blind to see if he had even left his mark. Who did he think would find it?
Tor was giving in to hopelessness. Beaten, tired, and lost, he was drowning in the blackness of his thoughts. Can’t stop. This was no time for despair. All he could do was keep going—and pray.
Petting the Puppy
Runa regained consciousness.
She was groggy and could barely focus, but she could tell she was being dragged.
“Tor?” she reached up her hand and instead of an arm she felt fur, thick and coarse. Everything was so slow to her, like she’d had too much to drink. Her head swam. “Are we almost there? I don’t think we have much time.” Her words were slow and slurring.
She sunk her hand deep into its coat and scratched like she would Vigi or Jeger. A piercing yip rang in her ears and she jerked her hand away. When she brought her fingers back, they were wet with blood. In a fog, instead of wiping them off, she stuck them in her mouth. It had no taste, but felt like a drop of color in a world of gray, something added to the emptiness. She wanted more.
Runa reached back again. Again it growled. Its teeth were big and sharp, and they gripped down hard on her coat. “It’s all right,” she heard herself say as she sunk her hand deep into its fur. It felt good to sink her nails in.
It growled and then yelped and ran away. My scarf. It tore her new scarf from her neck. She focused on the yelp. All that pain and emotion released into the world like a spark of life, like the time she threw a rock at Magnus’s dog and hit it on the head. That got it out of the barn. She felt a smile creep across her face as she remembered it.
She was feeling almost human again. With a touch of energy, she turned over onto her stomach and pushed herself to her knees. She heard Tor clamoring about somewhere behind her—but didn’t care. She wanted to pet the dog. Petting it made her feel something. Like warmth.
She held her smoldering light out toward the whimpering. “Here, puppy,” she slurred. “Come here, pup.” She put the torch down on the ground beside her. Not doing much good, anyway. She licked her fingertips, running her tongue down the length of each and every one. Dry. She tried to put on her best smile. “Come on, girl. Come close so I can take a look at you.”
The whimpering got closer, then stopped. Out of the darkness, a girl appeared with her hand to her face. She was about Erik’s age, maybe fourteen. She tucked her short brown hair behind one ear, exposing swollen scratches and fresh blood running down her cheek. Runa forgot about the dog and leaned forward.
“Are you hurt? Let me see,” Runa said as a soft heartbeat rang in her ear. Not hers. It belonged to the girl. The metallic scent of blood filled the air. “It’s not that bad. Come. Let me take a look.”
“Where’d you get the scarf?” asked the girl. Fear rippled off her like a tangible color, all purple with shades of blue.
“You know, I can’t remember where I got it. I think I heard your dog back there. I hope she didn’t pee on it.” Runa was feeling fuzzy again. “I have a little dog, you know.” Something stirred inside her. “His name is Jeger, and he’s away with my stepsons now, all alone. Probably cold.”
“I bet he’s alright. Dogs are smart.”
Runa inhaled as she felt a drop of blood splash against the stone floor. “Can I pet your dog again?”
“That scarf was marked,” said the girl. “It’s why the troll was bringing you to her. What’s your name?”
The girl was nosy, and she wasn’t making any sense. “Come closer and I’ll tell you.” Runa spoke sweetly. She could almost taste the blood pulsing down the girl’s face. “You and your dog here all by yourselves?”
“You smell familiar, somehow,” said the curious girl. “Can you hold the light up so I can see your face?”
“Of course.” Runa tried to pick up the torch, but the fire bit her skin. She hissed at its heat. “I think I know you, too,” she lied.
“Runa?” Tor was getting closer.
“Not now,” she grumbled as more pounding rang in her ears. Tor’s heartbeat. Was he still afraid? She didn’t understand.
The girl came closer. She was young and pretty.
“Are you all right?” It was Tor again. “Who are you talking to?”
Runa could hear him bumbling his way closer in the dark.
“Dear girl, you’re shaking like a leaf. Why are you crying?” Runa licked her dry lips as she opened her arms widely. “What’s your name, child?”
“We’re coming!” Kiara sounded scared.
She was still a ways back, and Runa had sensed her shuffling up the passage with that troll minutes before. When had they all become so clumsy?
The girl let her hand drop from her face. The blood had thickened around four deep scratches. Her eyes. There was something about her eyes.
Runa might have known her once, but she couldn’t think about that, not now. The child’s pulse was racing. Runa didn’t know how, but she could tell.
“Don’t go through the gates,” the girl wept as she came in to nestle her head against Runa’s bosom.
The girl hugged her tight, like she was hugging her own mother. Runa could not feel the warmth of her embrace, but the girl’s heart pounded faster. She closed her arms around her, in a slow, tight embrace. The girl cried out as if in pain, but she accepted Runa’s affection.
“Poor thing.” Runa must have needed a hug, too, because she was feeling much better.
The girl whimpered.
Runa pulled back. “Why, you’re bleeding all over me now, aren’t you?” Tears ran down and into those scratches. Runa felt empty without her; she pulled her back in, tighter this time. She couldn’t look away from the pocks of fresh blood bubbling from the girl’s shoulder.
Runa’s tongue reached out like a snake. It seemed natural; she needed to clean it off—to taste it. Before the tongue landed, a wave of new energy filled her. Runa’s fingers and arms were dipping into the girl’s power, too, like dry roots after a rain. She pulled the girl in tighter. Everything was better this way, like she was borrowing strength from this child. The energy helped her find her focus.
“What did you say your name was again?” Runa pulled back, just for a second. Something like an echo in her mind urged her to look at the girl. To really see her.
The girl shuddered as she pulled away. “Gefn.”
Some of the fog in Runa’s mind cleared, and a memory formed of her tiny daughter, playing with the baby goats and little Erik. What had Runa done to him? All the pain and anger and shame burned in her soul, and it gave her focus. She could finally see.
“Gefn?” Runa stared at the girl through dry eyes. She ached inside, but the tears wouldn’t fall. “It’s you? It’s really you? I knew the gods heard my prayers.”
Her daughter cried out when she pulled her close, kissing her brown, beautiful hair. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! My sweet, sweet girl.” The taste of blood sent Runa’s head spinning.
Trust Issues
Tor noticed his own shadow shifting against the cave wall. “Kiara, get up here with that light. She’s up here.”
“Don’t go to her, she’ll never let you go,” someone said. It sounded like a young girl.
“I’m coming, Runa,” Tor said as Kiara finally caught up. Light flooded the cavern, and he could see a young girl kneeling over his wife.
“Hold on.” He grabbed the torch from Kiara and rushed forward.
“Aaagh!” The young voice screamed in pain.
“Get away from there,” Svikar yelled. “Kill it, Viking, before it rips her to shreds!”
“No!” The figure of a young girl jerked her arm from Runa’s grasp and stumbled back into the darkness.
“Gefn!” Runa screamed. When Tor got to her, his wife was alone, clawing desperately at nothing. “Don’t leave me again!”
Tor reached down to help her to her feet, but she slapped at his torch hand, raking his skin with nails as sharp as thorns.
“Who were you talking to?” He sucked at the scratches on his hand, warm with blood.
“It was our daughter, Gefn. Freyja be praised, she came back to me.” Runa put her fingers to her mouth.
“Wha-a?” For the first time since they’d met him, the troll sounded speechless.
She’s hallucinating. Tor swung the waning torch into the darkness. The light reflected off a set of soft eyes—the color of Runa�
�s when she was young.
Could it be?
He lowered his sword. “Don’t be afraid.” For the first time in years, Tor allowed himself to hope.
“Get me up there,” the troll barked at Kiara. “Look, Viking, I still got two good eyes and they can see everything you can’t. An’ that ain’t nothin’ you’d want any part of unless you’re looking to lose an arm.”
“Shut up, troll.” Tor edged forward.
“Get back or you’ll suffer for it,” Svikar shouted at the darkness. “Back away, Viking. Sword up. Everyone, let’s just back away.”
Tor took a step farther out. “I want to see who Runa was talking to.”
Kiara ignored Svikar’s order and followed Tor. Svikar slapped his tongue around the torch and almost jerked it out of Tor’s hand, until it illuminated his ugly face.
The soft eyes in the darkness shifted to a savage malice, followed by a deep gutteral growl that echoed through the hall until it sounded like a pack of wolves. Tor raised his sword.
Svikar’s tone turned unusually soft. “Your wife’s delirious. The vine’s gotten into her head, and maybe your’s, too, from the way you’re acting. We’ve got to get her away from here or she’ll die—whether by that bleeding devil or the vine.”
“It’s Gefn—I swear to Freyja,” Runa mumbled. “Her pup peed on my scarf.”
Tor looked down at his bleeding hand, then at his addled wife. Runa was licking her fingers like a child after eating a piece of cake. Tor shifted his attention, and his fire, to Svikar’s reprehensible face.
“Careful, Viking,” whispered the troll. “’Tis what you can’t see that wants to hurt you, not me.” The troll’s gaze never left the darkness, his bulging green eyes reflecting the torch’s last gasps. “I’ll get Runa to her goddess.” His forked tongue moistened lips stained red from chewing blood weed. “You ‘ave my word.”
Tor didn’t trust the troll—but did trust its fear of his sword. “Svikar, lead us back. I’ll cover the rear.”