Orgrim did not take his eyes off Skanga as he set up the thick black candles. What was all this with the elves? Suddenly, the shaman pushed one finger sideways into Shahondin’s eye, causing the eyeball to pop out. It hung on his cheek by a thin thread. The prince reared up against his bonds, but the gag in his mouth reduced his screaming to a muffled gurgle.
Skanga closed her hand around the eye hanging on his cheek. “I enjoy it very much when I am able to combine the amusing with the utilitarian. I have to be able to tell the difference between you and Vahelmin, after all.” With a jerk, she snapped the thin thread from which the eyeball hung and popped the eye into her mouth. Chewing pleasurably, she turned to Orgrim.
“You’ve put out enough of the candles. Now stand in the other circle and don’t move from it until I allow you to.”
Skanga placed her left hand over her heart and snapped her fingers. Instantly, all the candles were alight. They gave off a rank, heavy fetor.
Orgrim did as Skanga bade him. The red circle was small. What was she planning to do with him? Why did he have to stand there by himself? And why was Maruk grinning at him like that? Did he know what was about to happen? The boatman was now standing with Skanga beside the large white circle. The shaman had placed one hand amicably on his shoulder.
Orgrim could smell the sour reek of fear emanating from himself. He was no coward! But he fought best when he had his enemy in plain sight in front of him. This business with the elves was unearthly.
Skanga began to sing softly. The dark veins deep in the rock danced to the rhythm of her song. The ground underfoot seemed to vibrate slightly. Close to the white circle, an arch of golden light appeared from the rock. It surrounded an entry to the darkness. The void! Anyone who had seen it once would recognize it again. It was beyond comparison even with the darkness of a clouded, moonless night. The void was more dense . . . and one could sense that no light would ever shine beyond the golden path.
Skanga’s song had changed. Her voice no longer formed words. It had become a deep, throaty growl. At the same time, a strange transformation overcame Maruk. His skin shriveled and wrinkled. His eyes were wide open. And from his mouth dripped a thread of sticky golden light. Twisting like a worm, the thread danced to Skanga’s song. As if weightless, it drifted in the air, then disappeared through the gate that the shaman had opened.
A panting noise emanated from the void. Something pushed itself through the gate. Hunched, lurking, malicious, a living shadow. The golden thread seemed to have drawn the shadow through the gate . . . But no, Orgrim realized his mistake. The reality was different. The shadow creature was devouring the light.
A second creature emerged from the darkness, and the two began to fight in silence over the light.
Maruk had grown smaller, and his eyes were milk white. His skin was now stretched tight, like the skin spanning an old man’s skull, and his bones stood out clearly beneath. It was as if Skanga had melted all the flesh out of his body.
The golden thread broke. Maruk tipped forward, falling on his face. The shadow creatures gulped down the last of the light greedily. Then, with low snarls, they prowled around the cave. They reminded Orgrim of large dogs, except that they had no tails. Their form seemed to vary. They sniffed at the clothes and the jewelry strewn on the cave floor.
“These belong to Emerelle, queen of the elves,” said Skanga softly. “A strong light burns in her. I want you to find her for me. You will sense it when she returns. A magic weaver with an Albenstone who enters the network of Albenpaths will always cause a tremor.”
Orgrim had the feeling that the shadow beasts understood the shaman’s words. They paused in their prowling, and though they had no visible eyes or ears, they seemed to turn their senses toward the white circle.
“I will lift the curse of the Alben from you, and you will be able to pass through their stars without being summoned. And I will lend you two bodies, strong bodies suffused with magic, so that you can feel life. All I ask in return is that you find Emerelle for me before the coming winter is over. I want her alive. I will come to collect her personally. Your reward will be the light of a hundred Albenkin. I will prepare a feast for you beyond compare, and you will become so powerful that, from that time on, you will be able to hunt on your own. All the shackles that bind you will be cast off.”
One of the figures abruptly turned and prowled around the red circle. One dark paw darted forward. Dark claws slid across an invisible wall, making a dreadful scraping noise, as if one were dragging the sharp edge of a flint stone across a steel blade.
Orgrim held his breath. The shadow reached out a second paw and pulled itself up against the barrier. Orgrim had to fight down the urge to step backward. If he left the magic circle, he was lost. He stared fearfully at the cave floor. Was the thin red line really unbroken? Beneath him pulsed the black veins in the transparent rock. They were more numerous than before.
The shadow creature gave up on him, and both of them went back to circling the white ring.
“Are we agreed?” Skanga asked, her voice insistent now.
Orgrim heard no answer. But the shaman wiped away part of the enchanted circle with her foot. One of the shadows glided through the gap and sniffed at the two defenseless elves. The second crept around behind Skanga.
“Watch out!” Orgrim shouted.
The shadow beast had straightened itself and lunged at Skanga’s neck. White light flared. A smell like burned fur spread. “Children, do you think I would summon you if I did not take precautions?” She reached for the shadow and forced it effortlessly to the floor. “I only created the magic circle so that you would not get at the pretty little elves too quickly. Now take your bodies! You know what I expect of you!”
The shadows crouched over the two prisoners. It took Orgrim some moments to realize what he was seeing. He had imagined the repulsive creatures tearing the elves apart, but nothing of the sort happened. Shahondin and his son breathed the shadows in. In thin wisps, they pushed their way inside the elves through their noses. And slowly, slowly, the shadow creatures paled until they had vanished entirely. The elves lay as if dead. Skanga stepped inside the circle, cut through their bonds, and pulled the gags from their mouths. “You can come to me now, Orgrim. You are no longer in any danger.”
Hardly had Skanga spoken when Vahelmin sat up with a scream. His hands grasped at his face—it was deforming, as if something beneath his skin was trying by force to change the way he looked. His jaw became elongated, his hands clawing at convulsing skin and muscle. His forehead grew flatter, receded. Vahelmin’s fine silk shirt tore apart. Bands of muscle as thick as snakes twisted beneath the skin of his shoulders. Claws broke from his fingertips. He threw himself around and now crouched on all fours like an animal. His back arched, and his arms and legs grew longer and thinner. Shahondin, too, had begun to change, his body transforming like his son’s. A long jaw bordered with white fangs pushed outward from his face. His empty eye socket filled with a blood-red ball.
When the unearthly transformation was complete, two huge beasts crouched side by side inside the chalk circle. The shadow beasts were no longer disembodied outlines, but neither could they be called creatures of flesh and blood. They looked a little like wolves but were as big as horses, and gaunt. They were covered with short white fur and very long snouts, and their ears were somewhat reminiscent of the elven ears they had once been. Blue-white light swirled around them, and one could see through them in the same way as through the walls of the cave.
Orgrim wondered if the magic of the cave had influenced their appearance.
“Neither claw nor tooth can hurt you,” intoned Skanga solemnly. “Nor the silver steel of the elves. But avoid the iron of the kobolds, for their weapons can cause you injury.” The shaman turned to Orgrim. “Aren’t they pretty? My children . . .”
“They look dangerous,” Orgrim said evasively.
Skanga laughed. “Dangerous! They are insatiable predatory beasts! They tear the
light out of a body, the essence of your being, the part that can be reborn. If they attack you, they leave no wounds. But you end up like poor Maruk there.” She pointed at the cadaver, no more than skin and bones, that still lay in the spell circle. “They do not destroy your physical frame like other predators. They destroy you utterly. The elves especially fear them, for the elves are reborn more frequently than any others of the Albenkin. They call these spawn of the void Shi-Handan, which means soul eater. Anyone fool enough to shelter Emerelle will regret it.” She laughed heartily, looking at her handiwork. “Kill anyone with her. Only the queen is forbidden to you.”
“Shahondin and Vahelmin are their first victims?”
“No!” The shaman shook her head with such resolution that the amulets on her chest rattled. “They can hear us. It is their burning hatred that drives the Shi-Handan. They live on inside them. I can even give them their old form back again.” Skanga laughed jauntily. “You hear that? If you think about it, I’ve done you a favor. You can spread death and mayhem among the followers of the queen and bring Emerelle down without anyone recognizing you at all. No one knows about your pact with me. Go and do what your hearts have always desired. In return I will give you back your bodies. The soul eaters will not need you anymore once I reward them with the sacrifices I have promised. Look at their eyes, Orgrim. In their eyes you can see that two souls now dwell inside the Shi-Handan.” She beckoned the soul eaters to her.
Orgrim had to summon all his courage to stand his ground before the monsters. Icy air streamed around him as the two creatures stalked. One had mismatched eyes, blue and blood red. And from each eye glared two black pupils.
“Go now, my darlings. Good hunting!”
Skanga’s creations obeyed her like two well-trained hunting dogs. Without hesitation, they loped away into the darkness beyond the golden gate.
“Will you really be able to change Shahondin and Vahelmin back again?”
The shaman shrugged. “I don’t know. I doubt it, frankly. More important was for those two little elves to believe me. Taking his eye was just for show, to scare them. I don’t put much store in lukewarm eyeballs between meals. But if you make someone fear you, you make them more willing to believe. Shahondin was tough, and he understood something of magic. In other circumstances, he would never have fallen into line. And he truly does live on inside the Shi-Handan, which is why he has to believe there is a way back. His spirit will hold the beast in check when they find Emerelle. It will be he who is responsible for us capturing her alive. Time to go, Pack Leader. As soon as the tide allows, I want to get back to the Wraithwind. A new ship awaits your command.”
“It seems to be very easy to fall out of favor with you, Skanga.”
“Only if one disappoints me, Orgrim.” She turned around and looked intently at him. “I appreciate it when my men have the courage to tell me what they think to my face. At least, as long as they tell me privately. Bring a few of your people from the Rumbler.” She kicked one foot against Maruk’s sagging corpse. “One does tend to have occasional sudden losses . . . always good to have a few extra crew on board.”
Orgrim decided on the spot not to take with him anyone he held in any regard. That would be poor recompense for his comrades’ loyalty. “There is one warrior there, a real giant, that I would like to have at my side very much. His name is Gran. Maybe you have heard of him.”
“No.” Skanga shuffled off in the direction of the tunnel. “But I know Boltan. His wounds must have healed by now. Bring him along, too, Pack Leader. His exceptional bravery is still the talk of the king’s court.”
A NIGHT OF LOVE, ALMOST
The entire day, Alfadas had tried to put things right. He had made the children laugh, but Asla glared furiously at the terrible dog. She had talked to Ole at midday, and he had promised that he would consider taking the beast back. To make his decision easier, Asla had given him a jug of mead left over from the feast.
The children were sleeping now. Alfadas sat by the fire pit, carving a new wooden sword for Ulric. Now and then, he looked covertly in her direction, but she would not make it easy for him! Asla pretended that she did not notice him looking. She was stitching a tear in Kadlin’s favorite dress.
Blood lay in front of Kadlin’s sleeping niche. The dog realized that she was looking at him, and he held her eye defiantly. Mongrel cur! The dog was treating her as if she were the stranger in that house! She should have been the one to take him to the fjord! She would certainly not have brought him home again. Asla could not suppress a smile—it must have been very difficult for Alfadas to claim in all seriousness that the dog stood under Luth’s protection. She knew very well that her husband did not believe in the gods. Everyone in the village knew it. It was the only reason why he was never elected unanimously as jarl. There were some who said openly that having such a godless fellow as jarl would one day bring calamity down on Firnstayn, but there were never enough of those dissenters to keep him from the post.
“He will look after you when I have to travel to the royal court next spring,” said Alfadas suddenly.
Asla bit down hard on her lip. She would not laugh! He had been trying the whole day to find reasons why it was good that he had returned with Blood. “If I am actually able to keep myself safe from Blood, then there is nothing else in the world I need to fear.”
“It was the priest’s wish. I would have been committing a sin against Luth if I’d harmed as much as a hair on the beast. Gundar came to the fjord to protect Blood. I would have had to knock him down just to get to the dog!”
“You’re exaggerating. Besides, you never care what the gods think of you.” The truth was, she had already accepted that she would not soon be seeing the last of the black monster. But Alfadas ought to stew in his bad conscience for a while longer.
“My heart is a desert if I have to spend a day without your smile.”
He had that look in his eye again . . . the same look she had fallen in love with back then. He was a famous warrior. The man who had ridden with the elves. A living legend. But when he looked at her like that, he became a sad little boy. And all she could do was take him in her arms and console him.
“Plain flattery will get you nowhere! You won’t fool me as quickly as you might think. I’m not an innocent virgin anymore!” Her tone was not half as gruff as she might have wanted it to be. He had done it again.
“How can words so hard come from lips as tender as rose petals?”
She looked up. “And what else about me reminds you of a plant? Maybe my hands, because they’re as crooked and knotty as old roots?” She had known him long enough to know that something like that would only spur him on to new compliments. Truth be told, she loved it when he babbled that kind of nonsense just to please her. There was not another man in the village who found such words for his wife. If only that damned stone circle were not there. The way he looked up to the Hartungscliff was what blighted her life. She still loved him. If she did not, then it would make no difference to wake one morning and find him gone. Blond Gunbrid was always happy to see her Sven ride away in spring with Alfadas to the king’s court and when he did not show his face again until the end of summer. But for herself, it was different, thought Asla bitterly. Usually, on the morning he departed, they quarreled. But the very first night, sleep would not come to her without the feel of his warm breath on her neck.
He had not been in Firnstayn when Kadlin was born. He had seen his daughter for the first time when she was almost half a year old. And this past summer, too, he had been away for too many long weeks.
Why was it taking so long for his next compliment to come? Apart from Blood’s soft snuffling and the occasional murmur or hiss from the coals in the fire pit, the house was silent. Had she finally managed to silence him once and for all with her obstinate manner?
“I am sorry if it is so difficult to live with me, my darling. Sometimes I can hardly live with myself, and I feel torn. Then one part of me seems to be far awa
y from the place I am in.” Alfadas stood up from the bench by the fire. He stepped over behind Asla. His strong hands closed around her hips. He breathed a kiss into the nape of her neck. “But wherever I may be, part of me is also with you and the children. I know that is not anything you can hold in your hands, but I hope it is some consolation to your heart the next time you are angry with me.”
His fingers unclasped the belt around her dress. Her head told her no. He had to come up with a better apology than that! Not enough had been said! But her body betrayed her. The way he touched her made her shiver with pleasure. Asla stood up and put her sewing aside. He pushed up her dress and caressed the inside of her thighs. She sighed softly. Something seemed to flutter in her belly, and a delicious warmth spread deep inside her. She heard his breeches crumple to the floor. Warm kisses covered the nape of her neck. She lifted her arms to make it easier for him to lift the dress over her head. His hands smelled of resin and beech wood from his carving. They grazed lightly over her breasts, collarbones, neck. Then they were between her thighs again. Every touch sent waves of hunger through her, made her sigh with desire. If he only knew so well what her heart longed for!
With gentle strength, he pressed her forward onto the tabletop. His hands clasped her hips, and she felt something moist, stiff touch her. She groaned aloud in carnal hunger.
And then someone knocked at the door. A soft knocking, almost shy.
Asla tensed. By the gods! Not now! Blood raised his head, growled softly. He looked toward them inquisitively.
The knock repeated, more energetic now. Alfadas cursed. He could not simply pretend not to be there. He was the jarl. If he was needed in the village, it was his duty to go.
“If that’s Svenja again, come to complain about a lost chicken, then I’ll . . . be upset,” Alfadas grumbled. Wearing only his tunic, he went to the door. Asla gathered up her dress from the floor and hid behind one of the thick columns supporting the roof. Blood was acting strangely. He lay on the floor as if he wanted to sink into the earth, his ears pressed flat on his oversized head. He made quiet, whimpering sounds. Who was there?
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