Viking Lost

by Derek Nelsen

  Facing the Abyss

  “All right, love, shouldn’t be much farther now.” Svikar tried to keep up morale. “Ja, now we’re getting somewhere. Just keep walking—up around the bend ‘ere.”

  The troll led the way, and Tor made sure whatever was growling stayed behind them. When they reached the crack, Tor’s vision blurred as he thought about what they had to do next.

  “Christian, you scared of heights?” asked the troll.

  Kiara shook her head.

  “Then take off the harness, and give me to the big man. Viking, you give your torch to her. ‘At’s it.” Svikar’s tone was calm and soothing, for a troll.

  “Now, Viking, if you don’t stop shaking, you’re gonna collapse the tunnel. Cut off one of the shoulder pieces of this harness, and light it wif that torch so you can have a little light once she climbs through,” said Svikar. “While you’re at it, cut a bit off about as big as your thumb and split it wif me.”

  “What?”

  “It’ll give you courage,” Svikar winked. “Go on. If it ain’t swiggling on its own, it can’t hurt you. Do it for your wife.”

  Svikar’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head when Tor’s sword hand stuttered while cutting the vine next to his ear. After the troll’s long tongue stabbed the short piece out of Tor’s fingers and he coaxed Tor on with a chew and a smile, Tor bit off the tail end of his torch. He figured dying of poison would be better than going through that crack.

  “Now, Christian, you climb through first.” The troll smiled a red-stained grin.

  Kiara shifted from foot to foot.

  “You feeling left out?” said Svikar. “You want a taste of blood weed to calm your nerves?”

  Kiara shook her head.

  “Get on wif it then. And don’ worry love. Maybe your God’ll be waiting on the other side,” the troll laughed, “wif the goats.”

  Kiara looked anxious to get through—even if it was just to get away from the troll—and disappeared as quickly as one of the goats.

  Runa was back to her blank stares again. She slithered through next without being asked.

  “Feelin’ better?” Svikar asked.

  Tor nodded. He wasn’t feeling much of anything, really. The chaw of weed had done what a day of drinking beer could not.

  “I bet you never had anything like ‘at before, eh? Now after you pass me through, don’t think too much. Just squeeze on in behind, ‘cause I may be the only thing keeping that thing in the shadows from killing you right now. And if you’re dead, we’re probably all dead. I think your wife was right about that much.”

  Tor pushed the troll up and started inside. The thought of what he was doing flooded back into his mind, only he didn’t care quite so much as before. Just climbing blindly into such a tight space was a lot to ask.

  “You’re not going to fit.” Tor was a little slow, but unlike being drunk, he still had his wits.

  “Go on, push! Trolls is incredibly squishy when need be. You’d be amazed at where we can hide. Christian? Get ready to catch me, eh? This baby’s coming out.”

  Tor pushed it and squeezed it, and sure enough, Kiara was able to tug it through.

  “Come on, farmer,” Runa mocked. “The Christian is here, and she wants to save you, too.” Her cackling sounded tired.

  Tor thought about that growling thing nipping at his heels and turned to lay the fiery torch at the entrance of the crack before elbowing his way in. Quickly he nudged on—but considered turning back when he arrived at the window of his nightmares. It was a little hole about the size of his head. Last time it greeted him with cool moving air and a glimpse at something that caused his testicles to retreat before the rest of him did the same. It was a view from Hel; it was a bottomless pit.

  “I’ve seen bigger things than you get through smaller ‘an that. Believe me.” The troll tried to sound encouraging. “Now make the turn. Come on. There’s no going back now.”

  Svikar was wrong about that, for Tor had shimmied away from that same sight not a half hour before. He had promised to keep Runa safe, and an irrational fear he’d had half his life nearly cost her hers. Not this time. His inner voice tried to sound convincing.

  Torchlight moved to another spot past a tight bend. “Come to the flames.”

  Tor took a deep breath and focused on the light. Turning onto his shoulder, he had to suck in to wiggle into the turn. That got him halfway. He let his arms fall to his sides to try to narrow his wide shoulders. He made it further, still. The light got closer, but the space had gotten tighter. Every time he inhaled, his torso was pinned to stone.

  The tighter the passage gripped him, the more the heart in his chest felt like a hammer beating against a prison wall. The harder it pounded, the harder it was to catch a breath. Each shallow pant was poisoned by his torch, insignificant and smoky, warm and thick. He wanted out. And because he’d made that turn, forward was the only way.

  Tor wanted to scream but only managed a cough. In his panic, he nudged and kicked, and kicked some more. He pushed with everything he could manage, from clawing fingertips to toes bound by soft leather boots, but found no relief. In his panic, he lunged forward spastically with everything he had left. Finally, leaning on his chin to help with the pulling, he found a way to progress.

  “Help me!” The first words he managed to get out exposed him, wholly humble and afraid. With every snap of a fingernail, the crack loosened its grip. “Can’t breathe!”

  He was in the Christian Hell, and the only way out was to face the abyss. But filling his lungs was of bigger concern, and he used everything he had left to keep edging toward the light.

  All at once, the gap widened, and Tor caught his first deep breath since the turn.

  Kiara pulled Tor’s arm to try to help him along. Even so, he clawed and scratched until his fingers grasped the cool stone edge. Finally free, he laid his head down and devoured the cool, fresh air.

  When he looked into the chasm, he almost pissed himself and had to look away. The goats were everywhere, chewing their cud on invisible imperfections as comfortably as if they were on the farm back home. He could even hear their chomping down below, though he dared not lean out over the edge to see. The shelf the others stood on was a generous one-pace deep at its widest, but to either side it became harrowingly narrow, and at some places it seemed to have been shorn off completely.

  If it had been made with a purpose, its caretaker had done about as good a job with its upkeep as Tor had maintaining his goats’ pens—although he had begun to wonder if underworldly saboteurs might have had a role in those escapes.

  “I need another piece of the weed.”

  “Where’s his sword?” Svikar’s face was a handbreadth away. Kiara was right; his breath was disgusting.

  “Under me, beside me.” Tor dragged the sword up by the pommel. After Kiara made the cut, she checked the weed for signs of life, then pushed it into Tor’s quivering hand. The weed crunched when he chewed it, sucking the moisture from his tongue. It tasted like burnt sap. It eventually condensed into a warm, sickly-sweet pulp that made Tor gag. He coughed and spit until he felt a cool calm rinse all feeling away, like a cold stream on a hot summer day.

  “You all right?” Svikar asked.

  Tor felt beaten, but he nodded and pushed the troll’s head out of his face.

  “Once you’re through, it’s only a little drop.”

  Tor elbowed his way forward until the crack opened wide enough for him to swing his legs around. The weed had done its work. For the first time in his adult life, the heights did not make him queasy. He sat in that opening, suspended over a narrow ledge, and beyond that, the world was hollow.

  As he eased his way down, he put his back hard against the wall. The blood weed may have numbed his fears, but it still hadn’t made him stupid.

  Once he found the security of the wall, he could see there was more.

  The chasm had a sort of heartbeat, details in its endless depths that were highlighted by
dangling, swaying vines. The depth and shape of it pulsed a phosphorescent blue.

  “Well, darlin’?” Svikar eyed Runa. “Which way is it gonna be?”

  Runa looked perplexed. “How would I know?” She sounded a bit sharp. “Anywhere but down, I suppose.”

  Svikar spit out into the abyss. “I told you I’d get you where you needed to go, but it’s you that has to tell me where that’ll be.”

  Runa nearly pushed a long-horned billy off the edge as she plopped down and swung her legs over the abyss. “Throw him over.”

  “Wait, that’s just the vine talkin’.” Svikar sounded like he thought Kiara might do it. “Listen to your soul. It’ll tell you where you’re headin’. Once you tell us the way, I’ll make sure we get there in one piece.”

  “One piece?” The irony wasn’t lost on Tor. He watched the head swinging slowly in its sack of vines.

  Svikar ignored him. “It’s up to you, pretty lady. When you feel it, just let me know.”

  Runa drew the braided leather around her neck until she had her ring in her hand.

  “Don’t worry, love,” said Svikar. “If it gets too heavy for you, just give it to me. I’ll carry it for you.”

  Runa looked tired. “It would be nice to let someone else carry it. Just for a while.”

  “Don’t listen to it, Runa.” Tor grabbed her hand in his. They were usually so warm. “Just point the way. We’ll get that vine out of you and get you better.”

  Runa stared into the chasm. Along some of the shelves were tunnels, a series of angular passages spiraling into the stone walls like spokes on a tilted wheel.

  Tor was just about to ask Svikar for a recommendation when Runa pointed her finger straight out, then hinged at the shoulder until her arm aimed down to the left toward a passage of stone leading away from the abyss.

  Tor exhaled in relief. He couldn’t see any other path that looked more welcoming. More like a hall than a tunnel, the opening was easily twice as big as the others. The space was cloaked with a veil of long, shimmering blood vines that stretched down like a waterfall as far as Tor dared to look. “Well, there’s no way to get stuck in there.”

  “Hmm,” said Svikar. “I figured that would be the way.”

  “We’re going to have to go down a bit.” Kiara hung her torch over the edge. The mouth of the abyss swallowed light. Even with Runa’s torch it only shone down to the next step. “Who would cut ledges as high as this into the side of a cliff?” asked Kiara. “Are these stairs?”

  “Humans are such clever creatures.” Apparently trolls were skilled at sarcasm. “Not the dwarf’s best work is it?”

  “I thought dwarfs were short,” said Tor.

  “Who said it was made for them?” said Svikar. “To a few, these may be stairs, but for us they’ll be more of a ladder. Better get at it or the Viking’ll chew his way through what’s left of my sling trying to get past this next part. All right, Runa, take this sling apart and see if you can make a proper rope.”

  “I can’t go over that.” Tor couldn’t breathe.

  “Would you rather go back into the crack?” Svikar smiled.

  Tor grabbed the sling out of Kiara’s hand, and with one hand pressed firmly against the wall for balance, he swung the troll’s head out over the abyss.

  Svikar let red spit dribble off his lower lip until the sap’s string finally snapped and disappeared into the black.

  “Does this seem like a game to you, troll? I’ve lost my friends and my home, and my sons are all alone.” His sons. If they came back to the village and Tor wasn’t there to protect them, Vidar would sacrifice them, too, either at the oar or to the underworld.

  He had to get back home.

  He looked at his wife—her lifeless eyes and her hollow face. Tor thought about what his boys might be facing. They were smart, and they were prepared. He had gotten them away, and that was enough, for now.

  “Look. I will not lose my wife, too.”

  “She’s hanging on better than that fat Viking, I’ll give her that,” said Svikar.

  Tor shook the troll, using all his restraint not to bash it into the stone and send the broken thing flying.

  “Find another way.”

  “Where is my husband—killer of bears, defeater of giants, beheader of trolls?” Runa’s eyes flashed red in the firelight.

  The troll eyed Tor as if he saw him in a new light.

  “I don’t know this man—haven’t recognized him since he lost our daughter!” The vine had exposed Runa’s true feelings, and they were as ugly as the troll.

  Tor thought of all he’d put up with over the years—how much of himself he’d sacrificed for this woman—and for the first time he realized it could’ve never been enough.

  “Give it.” Runa put out her hand. Tor reluctantly gave her the troll. “And your father’s sword.” He did. “This coward has become too afraid of his own shadow to save his wife.” She started taking the sling apart. “We don’t need him anymore. Just leave him.”

  Tor was shaking wildly, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger or disappointment. “Weed.” He reached out his hand.

  Kiara wept.

  “You can stay, too, for all I care. Doubt you’ll be of much use to us, anymore.” Runa handed Tor a long piece. “That ought to be enough for a while.” She looked at the troll’s expectant eyes, dropped another piece on the ground, and lowered Svikar’s sling so he could nab it with his tongue.

  As the calm of the vine washed over him, Tor sifted through his options. “Wait. Don’t cut that harness. There, where the path is broken, I think we can use part of the rubble as a step.”

  With an entourage of goats, they walked the ledge around the chasm until they came to the spot. Kiara handed Svikar to Tor and scampered down like a child at play.

  Neither Tor nor Runa had scampered in years. The descent to the broken step was still a decent drop, probably almost as far as Runa was tall. Tor put the head down, took his wife by the hand, and lowered her down. As he let go of her wrists, she raked his arms with her nails and drew new blood.

  “Mphh!” Tor winced in anger and pain.

  “Drop our guide down to the girl,” Runa laughed as she licked the blood off her fingertips.

  Tor wondered if it would kill his wife if he knocked her unconscious and just carried her the rest of the way.

  He dropped the troll down, and slowly—very slowly—eased himself over the edge. Before his arms straightened, his feet found the stone. It was then he realized the strange power of the weed. With every taste he’d lost more of his inhibitions. It reminded him of the firewater he used to drink before raids. He gave away his soul for it. Only this was purer and didn’t fog his brain. The memory of getting off the water made him shudder. In his heart, however, he knew this was going to be worse.

  “Give me to ‘im!” Svikar grumbled at Kiara. “Viking, I hope you’ve got better hands than the Christian. The girl can’t catch. I nearly rolled into the pit.”

  “You swipe that tongue at me again and I may give you a little kick next time, Svikar.” Kiara snapped back. The closer they got to where they were headed, the more on edge everyone seemed to be.

  “All right, now. Back this way.”

  “But there it is, not a quarter mile up ahead.”

  “Can’t go that way,” said Svikar. “Those vines ain’t hanging there for decoration—well, not completely. They’ll eat you quicker than that thing is eatin’—that thing ate Orri.”

  “That thing inside of me?” Runa sounded stronger. “Tor, you’re bleeding?” She didn’t sound surprised.

  Tor pulled away from her outreached hand. “Just lead the way, Svikar. Whatever it takes.”

  Gateway to the Fallen

  Not far in the wrong direction, Svikar lead them off the narrow ledge. Tor was too weary to argue, so when the troll said push the stone wall—he pushed. A hidden door swung open on a hinge so perfectly crafted, Tor wished he had one half as good on his own front door.
Even with all they’d seen, it was the first time he’d contemplated little dwarfs running around with their pickaxes, maybe a gold tooth or two, just like in the old tales of his childhood. And that gave him hope. Maybe there was magic there. Maybe his wife would meet her goddess and everything would be made all right again.

  The tunnel out was short, about as tall as Tor’s shoulders and equally as wide. But compared to the crack they came in through, it was spacious. And compared to creeping along the edge of an abyss, the confined space felt like a warm blanket of protection.

  Crawling through was relatively painless, thanks to a fresh bite of blood weed. Besides, it wasn’t long before they emerged in another corridor. The walls were cleaner, like they’d found some hidden entrance into a palatial hall, albeit a poorly lit one. It was not roughhewn, like the mine they’d first woken up in. They were finally getting somewhere.

  “How you feelin’, Runa?” Svikar asked. “This is the way you’re being called, idn’t it?”

  She nodded and pushed on.

  Her attention was eerily focused on the blood dressing his torch hand. Her tongue working feverishly inside her mouth, like she was trying to free a piece of meat stuck between her teeth.

  But there was a new problem—the same as the old one. They were running low on light again. Thanks to Runa leaving a rope’s length of the harness up at the crack and Tor and the troll’s appetite for the stuff, there wasn’t enough of the weed left to light.

  “Don’ worry ‘bout the torchlight,” Svikar assured them before anyone mentioned it. “We won’ need ‘em much longer.”

  For a time, they walked with two torches, and a hundred steps later they were down to one. As the last one fizzled out, a glow shone up ahead to take its place. It turned out it was easier to walk toward a light than by one. They kept one shoulder to the wall as they rounded a long bend, and when they came out of it, it was like the world opened up—big and bright.

  The walls turned polished obsidian and were aflame with columns of burning blood weed, a proper fire that was warm and welcoming. The flaming weeds wriggled and writhed, as if wanting to slither back where they came from, but couldn’t—being forced out by another weed wanting its turn to see the light. Tor could relate to the feeling. The very light that had attracted them might soon be using them for kindling, too.