Stars and a Wind- The Complete Trilogy

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  The steps were narrow and the steep stone was worn and slippery. The walls curved, leading ever downward. There was no light and no handgrips. With anyone but Grimr, he’d have refused to obey. But no one refused Grimr. A thick salt chill swept up the steps, the stench of something old and creeping, algae and mould and the reeking damp of a thousand years. Asved imagined the pathway going ever downwards to Yggdrasil’s roots and Jormundgandr’s yawning coils. He imagined the ship of the dead rocking at her rotten moorings and the giants of the deep rising from the murk. Already many of the men had muttered about the stories of monsters. They said the huge castle was the heart of Utgard, built for trolls.

  Each step slow and careful, his hands sliding down the rock at his side, Asved came to flat ground and the slurp of placid waters lapping his boots. He stopped, peering forwards. He saw nothing, but sensed a vast space with the cold gushing from echoing and invisible vaults, heady with the smell of the ocean. He stood, calming his heartbeat. A warrior, eager for heroic glory, could not be frightened of the whispering dark. Then the whispers swelled into strange melodies like the chanting of the old sagas without words. It was the sound of darkness and the wing beats of bats, of fins in the water, breathing through gills and the incoming tides of forgotten seas. He took one more step, for the ground sloped and the water was shallow. Then the mouth took him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Asved was dragged into the water, his screams frozen in the sudden icy plunge. There were teeth so sharp they crushed his bones and he closed his eyes against a swirling immensity. Breath left him. The teeth closed around his ribs and the water poured into the open panic of his own mouth. Waves thundered in his ears and pounded against him. His arms were clamped to his sides by huge jaws. He began to faint. The dreadful something that held him and dragged him down, now twisted, flinging his body aside, tossed free. Suspended in water, Asved floated. He hung, drifting, drowning, and opened his eyes. A pale luminosity surrounded him. Fronds of weed fringed the boundaries of his sight, but directly before him another figure hung, dangling, back arched, drifting with the current. Its legs and arms loosely uncomplaining, the eyes milky and sightless, mouth a little open like a sleeping man in the peace of aimless dreams. But Ingmar was quite dead, long drowned, his face white with the bloodless pallor of the corpse. The little hard dark curl of a crustacean already clung to his ear.

  Beyond the dead man, now twisting back towards him, Asved saw the body of the thing which had taken him into the sea. It was sleek and smooth, patterned bright white along its flanks, black above, and its hundred teeth glinted ivory. It reached for him again and Asved lost all consciousness. When he opened his eyes once more, he was lying on his back staring up the first glimmers of dawn. Light stabbed at the pain in his head. Beneath him was pure ice and beside him the grey churning ocean. He was nauseas and spat salt water, then heaved and rolled over, seeing boots, crossed ankles, and a shadow across the ice. He retched and rolled again to sit, cradling his belly, rocking backwards and forwards, fighting to clear the dizziness and freezing aches. The chill was intense. He was crouched on an ice berg far out to sea and the sun was rising. He had nearly drowned and felt wearily ill, and his clothes were soaked and clinging to him.

  Then Asved saw the man who was watching him. He’d seen him somewhere before. Presumably the man had saved his life but Asved was unable to speak his thanks, and could only hug himself, staring around and waiting for his teeth to stop chattering.

  The watching man seemed calm, patient and unusually attentive. Then Asved remembered where he had seen him before, the previous summer at his father’s vik, threatening Banke and offering to take Skarga away and kill her for a price. He had called himself Grimr. But he had not been Grimr, and he had not killed Skarga. He was an impostor and had stolen Ogot’s money. Asved had no idea how the thief came to be sitting cross legged on an ice berg in the middle of a freezing northern ocean.

  The berg was drifting with the current. As the sun strengthened, the sea spangled from grey to white, tipped blue with a sheen of emerald, and the solid ice sprang into startling turquoise. The berg smelled of weedy salt and a hint of something unknown. It was strangely noisy, grumbling and hissing beneath him, as if far, far below where it sank under the waves, it rumbled and grated against the sea bed. When Asved found his voice, he had forgotten his intended gratitude. His throat rasped and he spat out water and grit. He managed to say, “Who the fuck are you?”

  The man smiled gently. He said, “My name is Thoddun. You have been trespassing in my home.”

  Asved’s eyes hurt from the salt. He rubbed them but the uncomfortable visions did not go away. “Monster’s castle,” he mumbled. “I’m dreaming.”

  “No,” said Thoddun, “unfortunately you are not. Nor are you dead. At least, not yet. That will happen shortly. In the meantime, I want information. I have questions.”

  “I’m not fucking answering questions,” Asved said. He scrabbled his heels against the ice, backing away a little, but the berg’s high crags were solid behind him.

  The man smiled a little wider. “But you see,” he said, “since I am indeed one of the monsters you expected, I have only to ask the questions. Even though you choose to stay silent, I hear the answers in your mind. And your mind is far less likely to lie.”

  Asved glared. “You’re pissed,” he said.

  “I might be, with my woman sweet in my arms,” Thoddun laughed, “if you and your foul people hadn’t come marching into my realm, killing and destroying. I have already killed Grimr’s jarl. He said his name was Ingmar. I spoke to him before I killed him.” Asved gulped and stayed silent. “Very wise,” nodded Thoddun. “He did not say much either, but I read his mind as I am already doing with you. It seems he was Grimr’s favourite.”

  “He was,” scowled Asved. “He was a good man.”

  “No doubt he had useful qualities,” Thoddun said, “though I understand he disliked you considerably. He thought you coarse and brutal. He thought you ugly. He befriended you because Grimr ordered it, wishing to keep you quiet, and loyal. He obeyed Grimr, as all of you do, because he was frightened of him. But there was more than that. He was Grimr’s favourite for a reason.”

  “Fuck it,” Asved muttered. “I don’t fucking want to know.”

  “But you see,” Thoddun smiled, “each word I speak summons a relevant response in your mind, telling me all I want to know. When I’ve read everything I need from you, I’ll kill you. Until then you will sit still, and you will listen.”

  Asved laughed, more of a bark. “You’ll not find it so easy to kill me. My sword may be wet, but it’ll still slice your head from your fucking neck.”

  “Then I shall give you a little time,” Thoddun said cheerfully, “to regain your strength for the battle. First, I was telling you about Ingmar. He’d grown up harmless, and his father was jarl to Grimr’s father. I remember the man. He was a plodding, earnest creature with sufficient brain to dig a field and aim an arrow. I also remember Ingmar as a child. They called him the giant killer, because he dreamed of glory. You do too. Neither of you will achieve it. No one will ever remember you at all. But that is unimportant.”

  Asved snorted. “So you know Grimr?” he said.

  “I knew him better – a long time ago,” said Thoddun. “He has not improved with age. Nor did Ingmar. I would not have killed him, except for one thing. Being much influenced by Grimr, he had threatened my queen.”

  To Asved, that sounded unlikely. “You’re mad. Ingmar was a quiet man. And there’s no queens in these parts.”

  “For a long time Ingmar shared Grimr’s bed,” Thoddun continued. “Grimr had learned the attractions of a man’s body when very young. The attraction was not natural to his nature and I doubt he was born with it. It was behaviour learned in misery. But the habits of youth are often repeated in maturity, and even those habits which we loathe still tend to become habitual. Grimr is also attracted to women. But most of all he is attracted to pain. Ingmar,
seduced by Grimr’s power, went willingly to his bed, though he also searched out women. He was not interested in torture and pain, but he discovered the pleasures of the hunt.”

  Asved shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t want to know.”

  “These are your last breaths,” Thoddun said, “so breathe them, and listen quietly. As I have said already, Ingmar threatened my queen, in obedience to Grimr. When Grimr abducted your sister, he took her back to his own halls and raped and beat her. You saw only some of the violence, and delighted in it. What you never understood, because you are without sensibility or intelligence, was that he also fell in love with her. For Grimr, love and punishment overlap. He was obsessed with her, and because he feared the weakness he thought love meant, he decided to kill her. But he couldn’t bring himself to kill her without giving her the possibility of escape, and himself one last pleasure in her torture. He arranged to hunt her down, like an animal. Since Grimr does not discriminate much between humans and animals, this was not so shocking, but it was a great cruelty to her. Truly, had the hunt been followed as he planned, he might well have relented and saved her in the end. He wanted her as his slave, and had he overcome his fear of the power she unwittingly had over him, he would probably have kept her alive for many years. But your sister escaped.”

  Asved was puzzled. His head hurt. Every part of him hurt. “You’re talking about Skarga,” he muttered.

  “How remarkably astute,” Thoddun grinned, “since you have only one sister. So Skarga escaped. I arranged her escape. I also arranged the escape of the young slave boy whom you intended to drown last summer. I’m becoming quite practised at rescues.”

  “Well,” Asved paused, squinting through the glare of the sun on the ice. He was remembering the slave boy Egil and Gunulf’s violent death. “You’ve just rescued me too. Why do that, if you want to kill me? You’re fucking stupid.”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Thoddun with a slightly apologetic smile. “You see, I didn’t rescue you at all. I held you underwater to the point of death, then brought you here for interrogation. I did exactly the same to Ingmar a short time ago. Once he’d opened all his mind to me, I threw him back into the water. He drowned of course, but I didn’t actively kill him. With you it will be different. But I found Ingmar less – evil. You are quite another matter.”

  “Ingmar, Skarga, Grimr,” mumbled Asved. He had no strength for yelling and anyway he could see the shore and knew it to be a very long way off. No one would hear except the madman beside him. “Skarga’s dead. Grimr traced her, up in the mountains. I was with him. She fell in the snow and suffocated. And it wasn’t you underwater holding me down. It was a foul beast nearly drowned me. Probably drowned Ingmar too. And no madman’s killing me. I’ll fight you to the death, you’ll see.”

  “I’m naturally terrified,” smiled Thoddun. “But Skarga is not dead. Grimr led you here through a series of great ice tunnels. These were dug by my father, then extended and reinforced by me many years ago. Your sister fell through the snow into one of these, by my design. After rescuing her, I took her to wife. She is my queen, and I have certain resentments towards those who once abused or threatened her. Ingmar pretended to befriend her, as he did with you, on Grimr’s orders. But he was jealous of her in his lover’s bed, and disliked her. He was pleased to go on the last hunt with Grimr, and planned to injure or kill her when caught. So I killed him. It was, perhaps, incidental and almost accidental. Had he not come down to the water’s edge I would not have heard his mind nor known what he had done. But your cruelty to your sister has been far worse, and since you’re related, more wicked. I shall make your death a little less easy.”

  “Grimr hated my stupid sister,” Asved sneered. “You know nothing. He never loved her. He fucked her and whipped her and would have killed her in front of all of us. He said he’d torture her first. He told her and I heard him. Before she died, he was going to – and so was I – that is -”

  “I know,” said Thoddun quietly. “I know everything. She has told me a great deal, and the rest I’ve read from her own mind. Reading minds is – most convenient. And I know Grimr remarkably well, since he’s my brother. He came here to see me, but principally to find Skarga. He wants her back. He thought I held her captive and didn’t know I’d taken her to wife.”

  “He came to kill monsters and take the treasure,” Asved pouted.

  Thoddun laughed. “We have very little treasure, except in peace and pleasure, and it’s true that you and your men stole both from us. But we are about to get it back. As for monsters, you are quite right. We are all monsters here.”

  Asved was regaining his breath and carefully flexed both fingers and ankles, recovering the confidence and the supple strength of the recently educated fighter. He’d been taught by the best since barely able to totter from his mother’s lap. He was considerably shorter than the madman, and his shoulders were neither as wide nor his arms as muscled, but the idiot was wild and torn, dressed in the dirty rags of a house thraell and smelled of crusted salt and the sweat of labour. And somewhere there had to be a boat. The madman must have rowed. The land was too distant for swimming and the sea too cold, while the berg’s drift was elegantly slow. Asved smiled. “Well, I’m come to kill monsters. I’ll start with you.”

  “No boat, I’m afraid,” said Thoddun. “I swim rather well, as it happens. And there’s one more thing I need to know before you – ah – attempt to kill me.”

  “You’re a fool as well as mad,” Asved said, voice louder. “You haven’t asked me a single question yet, for all your bravado.”

  “But you’ve answered a great deal,” Thoddun nodded. “Now, I want to know about your sister’s childhood. I want to know how she grew up, and what was done to her. In particular, I wish to know why your family thought her cursed, and whether this belief was formed before she discovered the child Egil and adopted him. You may answer or not, as you wish. Your mind will tell me everything I wish to know.”

  Asved stared. He was cold and angry. “How the Hel can I remember that? I was just a child myself. She’s older than me, four years or more. And I hated the fucking bitch. She was rude and snivelling and stole my cloak. If it’s true she’s still alive, once Grimr gets his hands on her then I’ll have my fun too. First I’ll scourge the bitch and watch her writhe.”

  “Nevertheless,” Thoddun said, “it seems you remember a good deal. Your mother, I see, was one of your sister’s principal tormentors. She frequently accused Skarga of using the curse, from very young. Now you’ve told me enough. I’ve no further use for you.”

  Asved staggered to his feet, his boots slipping on the ice. He was still nauseas from the near drowning, still gasping for breath. But he had most of his strength back, and all his temper. Threatened, frozen and misused, he was furious. He unsheathed his sword, pushing the scabbard back behind his thigh. He brushed his hair from his eyes and spread his feet, balanced and ready for the attack. “Come on then, crazy man. See how far you get. I’ll spill your fucking guts across this miserable fucking island, and throw your prick to the fucking crabs.”

  Thoddun did not move at all. He remained sitting at ease. Then he whistled loud and low between his teeth. Asved glared. Thoddun smiled. “But you are not alone,” he said. “Look around.”

  There were sounds of water slapping over the ice, the gurgle of suction, wet bodies sliding up from the sea. There was the smell of the oceans depths brought to the surface, the stench of old water weed and salty brine. There was the enchanted perfume of dark magic, which is musty and ancient and very hard to breathe. Asved panicked, twisting around, turning again and again. At first he saw nothing. Then the things began to appear. He had never been to sea. He did not know the greater creatures of the oceans and only recognised those which lived in the bays and played in the surf. He knew of dolphins and seals, but not the gigantic orca, nor the beluga, the spear-head narwhal, nor the terror of the shark.

  As the sun rose
fully beyond the far mountains, dazzling the sheen of the snowy peaks, so the newly returned army of the ocean answered their leader’s call. The first few slapped onto the low slope of the iceberg, using their flippers to haul themselves from the water. Then, crawling forwards, they Shifted. Asved gazed in utter bewilderment. He gagged and sprang back, vomiting violently over his own boots. Then he flung himself face down on the ice.

  Three dolphins breached first. Their figures narrowed, twisting upwards and inwards, their faces growing from the shadows of their bodies. The grey sheen of their skin faded, and where the sun struck their flanks it became the folded linen of drab wet clothes. Dolphin eyes shrank and turned blue. Fins clasped against men’s thighs and became hands. One man sighed, trudging up from the icy brink. Another grinned, pulled out his knife, and shoved it at Asved’s neck. “Get up boy, and face us.”

  Asved, trembling in horror, did not look up. The man kicked him in the ribs. Asved rolled groaning, rose to his knees and stared out, open mouthed. More creatures were Changing. Monsters from the deep emerged sluiced in dark waters, and there before him, they became men. He watched a huge black thing with serrated teeth and a gaping mouth like a cavern. It flopped, belly to ice beside his feet. Asved cowered, lurching back on his knees, but trapped by the wall of ice behind him. The beast lunged, blowing a fountain of water through a hole in its head. Asved shuddered and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was a man, bending over him.

  “So you’re the pitiful human that claims kinship to our queen,” said Flokki. “Are you a pagani, boy, one of those Saxon fools who pray to their gods on their knees?”

  Asved found he could not reply. “No,” said Thoddun from behind him. “He’s from the Nor’way, as you are my friend. But he’s never before witnessed the Shift, and is a little intimidated. How was your journey?”