Ship of the Dead (10 page)

“Yes, your dear wife gave us a demonstration,” Lut said.

“And now that I'm young and spry, I want to enjoy life more,” Déttmárr said. “My wife and I are off on a holiday.”

“We are?” she said, not altogether sure what he meant.

“Yes, Inga, my dear.” He handed her the last remaining scrap of the apple. “I saved this for you. Idunn's apple. What would you say to a second honeymoon?”

The smile that spread across her little dwarf face lit up the room.

“If it's anything like our first one, I might not recover,” she said with a wink.

Good-byes were said, and soon Dane and his cohorts were walking once again down the Passage of Mystery back to their horses. Dane carried the Blade of Oblivion over his shoulder, the weight of it giving him pause. It was real now. He could feel it, the urge for revenge, rising inside him. He had the weapon, he would kill with it—and end Thidrek's existence once and for all.

Chapter 11
A Ghostly Visit

T
eased by the aromas wafting from his brew pot, Grelf let his fantasies grow ever more grandiose. Rich beyond his wildest dreams! That's what he would be! If his perfumery could mask the off-putting stench of a rotting draugr like his master, oh, what fortunes lay within his grasp.

Having traveled far and wide in his youth, indentured to a spice merchant, he had seen firsthand the kingly sums the rich would gladly pay to cloak themselves in pleasing scents. And if his concoction was strong enough to make the rotting undead smell like a meadow of lilacs, the sales potential of his creation was unlimited. First, he would set up shop in a village somewhere, preferably one near a well-traveled seaport where the merchant ships could supply him with ingredients. Then, with his savings, he would build a perfumery, hire a staff of traders, and send them calling on all the royal courts in every corner of the known world. The orders would no doubt pour in and he'd soon be swimming in riches. And then
he
would be a lord with servants of his own. His own personal lackeys. Imagine that!

There was just one thorny little problem: how to get free of his master?

Grelf sprinkled another handful of crushed flowers into the simmering pot and stole a look at Thidrek. His master lay motionless nearby, eyes closed, chest unmoving, a man completely at rest, looking like a corpse in sore need of a burial. It wasn't exactly sleep that Thidrek was after; it was what he called the “dream of the dead,” a peaceful kind of trance he would fall into during which visions of violent acts he had committed—and those he was yet to do—would come to him, presenting themselves for his entertainment as it were.

Grelf eyed his knife and, for one delicious moment, envisioned using it on his undead master. But remembering how useless the chieftain's spear had proven—and how easily Thidrek could read his very thoughts—he quickly chased the notion from his mind. He must be careful. Yes. He seemed to remember, deep in the Norse lore of his past, that to do away with a draugr one must sever its head from its body. But if no normal blade could cut draugr flesh, how was it possible? Was there some magic secret that he was yet unprivy to?

His ruminations were abruptly cut short when, hearing a sound, he looked up to spy a white steed descending from the sky and coming straight for him. He dove away, nearly getting a hoof in his head as the horse flew over him and touched earth.

Rolling over, Grelf found himself looking up at an astonishingly beautiful maiden astride the mount. She was clad in a white robe, breast armor, and a feathered cloak, and atop her fiery-red mane was a golden-winged helmet. Grelf could do nothing but stand and stare, mouth agape in surprise, since, as a lowly man-in-waiting, he'd never conceived he would ever lay eyes on a real live Valkyrie. Her kind only dealt with the well-muscled heroic types who made their living by the sword, not lackeys like him who polished their lord's chain mail.

“Can you speak,” she asked of him, “or are you as witless as you appear?” He nodded, mumbling unintelligibly. “Which is it? Are you witless or capable of speech? It is the draugr Thidrek the Terrifying whom I seek.”

“Greetings, corpse maiden,” said Thidrek, now coming forward, having been roused by the ruckus. “Don't tell me Odin has sent
you
to rectify his mistake.”

“Mistake? You mean his order that you be expelled from Valhalla?” she said with a mocking sneer. “No, he has not changed his mind on that.”

Thidrek glared back at her. “I'll have my revenge. Fly back and tell him
that
.”

“I'm not here to ferry threats, draugr. But to tell you this: the one known as Dane the Defiant comes to kill you.”

“That halfling?” Thidrek roared. “He could bring an army and not harm a worm on my head! Go tell him my whereabouts so it may hasten his arrival. He's
another
on whom I seek revenge.”

The Valkyrie huffed. “I'm quite sure your revenge list is lengthy—once a wealthy prince who now walks the earth a wretched draugr. That halfling you scorn has a bewitched weapon to end your days.”

This brought Grelf to his senses. “A weapon to kill the undead?” he said with an optimistic lilt in his voice, as if it were too good to be true that such a thing existed. Catching a glare from Thidrek, he quickly adjusted. “Uh, I mean, we must find this weapon and destroy it!”

“Why the warning?” Thidrek asked. “Odin seeks to do me no favors.”

“Odin is a drunken fool.”

“Trouble in paradise?” smirked Thidrek.

“I ferry more dead than anyone. Month after month my numbers are at the top of the chart. But does he notice or care? I can't work that way. So . . . I decided to realign my allegiance.”

Thidrek appeared intrigued. “You mean you're working with Hel?”

“She's offered me a chance for advancement. And my own staff of demons in the underworld. This, of course, is just between the two of us; Odin must know nothing of my plan.”

Thidrek grinned. “Well, good to have you among my ranks, dearie.”

Her eyes turned cold. “I am Aurora, maggot breath. And, make no mistake, you are among
my
ranks.” Thidrek bowed in obeisance, agreeing to be under Aurora's command. But Grelf knew that his wily master was never subservient to anyone for long.

The Valkyrie and Thidrek conferred for a while, planning how they might ambush Dane the Defiant and his band. After Thidrek's humiliating defeat last year at the hands of the boy, Grelf knew he was desperately eager to even the score.

The Valkyrie departed on her steed. Thidrek, previously despondent over his failure to recruit the draugr warriors from the Ship of the Dead, was now brimming with optimism. “A draugr-killing blade! Good fortune has shone upon us, Grelfie.”

“Good fortune, my liege? This weapon threatens your very existence.”

“Think strategically, man! As you have wisely opined, to entice the undead to join my ranks, I need leverage. And what better leverage than to possess the one weapon a draugr fears? The Ship of the Dead will soon be mine!” Thidrek erupted in cackling laughter, and Grelf obediently joined in, braying like a mirthful donkey. Thidrek slapped him on the back—it felt like a sledgehammer hitting him—and Grelf was knocked to the ground, which only seemed to amuse his master further. His cackles echoed through the night, and Grelf, though in pain, laughed even harder, knowing he must get his hands on the draugr-killing blade and behead this monster so he could become perfumer to kings.

Trusting that Drott knew where the Three Brothers lay, the party set off on a northwesterly route toward the sea. William, riding behind Dane in the lead, watched Klint the raven fly along above, pausing here and there to rest on tree limbs and forage for food. In the past Klint would often ride upon Dane's shoulder, but the bird stayed clear of him now, as if frightened of the draugr-killing blade Dane carried.

Since they had set out from the dwarf's lair, William noticed a creeping uneasiness in the group. There was less talk, even from Drott, who normally nattered on like a magpie. Now that they had the blade, their mission was to do one thing—to kill—and the prospect of that put everyone on edge and kept them preoccupied with their own thoughts.

William wondered if
he
could kill Thidrek if given the chance. He had enough hatred for him, having seen him murder his own mother and father. And when he had been a slave in Thidrek's castle, he'd been beaten by him more times than he liked to remember. The hate burned within him . . . but when the time came to kill Thidrek, would his courage fail? The thought that it might made him feel ashamed. How could he ever become a warrior—someone like Dane—if the very thought of killing made him almost sick to his stomach?

He pulled his horse alongside Dane's. He wanted to talk about his fears but didn't know where to start. Their horses walked for a while. Then Dane gave a weary sigh and said, “By Thor, this blade is heavy.” Dane shifted the axe handle from one shoulder to the other.

“At least you're not afraid to use it,” William said, his eyes downcast.

“Who says I'm not afraid?”

“If Thidrek were standing before you right now,
you
wouldn't hesitate to kill him.”

Dane thought for a moment, as if visualizing that scene. “It terrifies me.”

“What?
You
, terrified?”

Dane glanced back to see if Lut and Jarl had heard this. They didn't appeared to have. “Not so loud, Will.”

William couldn't believe that Dane—the one person he most idolized—was actually . . .
scared.
Then he thought this could all be a ploy. “Are you saying this just to make me feel better?”

“I'm saying it because you're the only one I can talk to.” This
did
make William feel better—that Dane saw him as a confidant he could trust.

“You can't talk to Lut?”

“I could before, when he was old. But now if I admit to him how I feel, he'd use it against me. Say I was too weak to lead. I can't even tell whose side Drott and Fulnir are on now.”

“Does it really matter
who
leads,” William chanced to ask, “as long as the job gets done?”

Dane reflected on that, his face darkening. “It does to me. Thidrek murdered my father.”

“Mine, too.
And
my mother.”

Dane reached across and grasped William's arm, one warrior to another. “Then you and I have a score to settle, Will. Remember what I said to you once. Courage is acting
despite
your fear.”

William nodded, strengthened by Dane's words. “I'll remember that.”

The serious look vanished from Dane's face, replaced with a sheepish grin. “I hope
I
do.”

That night they camped in a small clearing in the forest. After the grim
náttmál
rations of dried fish, hard bread, and harder cheese, everyone took to their blankets. William lay in his, trying to find sleep. His thoughts of undead creatures lurking in the dark made the ordinary night sounds of the forest take on an eerie tone. Was Thidrek out there waiting to pounce?

William looked over at the sleeping Dane. The Blade of Oblivion lay next to him, wrapped in a blanket. William wished the blade were by his side; he would feel a lot safer.

He was awakened by a sound, a sharp
crack.
He looked around at his friends but saw they were all asleep. Perhaps he'd been dreaming. Then he heard another sound—that of someone or some
thing
moving about in the dark beyond the glow of the dying campfire. Remembering the time a few months prior—when he'd risen in the pitch of night to investigate a strange sound and been nearly snatched by a savage pack of dark dwarves—William decided not to be so foolishly inquisitive. And so he lay, unmoving, in his blankets, waiting for the sound again. Moments later there it was—the soft footsteps of someone approaching. He turned his head ever so slightly to see what or who it might be—but saw no one there! It was as if a ghost were treading the ground beside him. His blood froze as the crunching sound of footsteps passed right by his blankets and he saw the grass flatten beneath invisible footsteps. He shut his eyes, hoping that his mind was playing tricks or that he was dreaming.

He opened his eyes a moment later to see Dane awaken and sit up. Dane pulled on his boots and uncovered the blade. He stood, shouldered it, and crept quietly out of camp and into the woods. As Dane passed, William noticed that his eyes were glassy and his face a blank mask, as if
he
were in a dream. William had the urge to call out a warning but then thought better of it. What if he were mistaken and Dane was merely going off to relieve himself? He'd look foolish if he woke everyone. He lay there, gripped with indecision and fear.

If ghosts or wights or horrible draugrs were about, he'd rather not stumble into their midst. But then again, if they
were
about, Dane was in danger.
Act despite your fear . . . act!
William pulled on his boots, grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows (even though he knew such weapons were no use against beastly specters), and crept from camp, following Dane's path into the woods.

Chapter 12
War of the Valkyries

A
whispering voice had invaded Dane's dreams, bidding him to rise from his blankets, take the blade, and follow. Unable to resist its call and still cloaked in sleep, he walked into the darkness of the forest, away from the safety of his mates. Soon, the chill of the night worked to rouse his slumbering senses, and with dawning awareness he asked himself, W
hat in Odin's beard am I doing out here?

Again came the honeyed whisper,
You're just dreaming, Dane—keep walking.
He was about to continue when he heard a different whispering voice say,
See? I told you he'd catch on. Your plan won't work.
The first voice said,
Quiet! You didn't have to come along.
Then the other retorted,
Killing draugrs is NOT what we do!

Killing draugrs? Dane came to a halt, the fog of sleep lifting at last. He found himself in moon-silvered darkness, faint tracings of frost on the nearby branches of trees. He felt a hard jerk on the handle of the blade. He grasped it tighter and yanked it back. A sharp blow to his midsection nearly knocked him to the ground, but he held on to the handle, refusing to let go. Fighting back, he thrust out an elbow, felt it connect, and heard a cry of pain. He jerked the handle free and—
whoosh!
He swung the blade in a blind attempt to dispatch his enemy.

“Stop!” a voice cried, and a moment later a figure materialized, standing before him a few feet away. It was Mist, the Valkyrie, her form glimmering like a candle flame in the silken darkness.

Dane gaped in shock. “Mist! What are you doing here? You tried to take the blade!”

“She didn't.” Another glowing figure appeared on the ground before him, and he saw it was Astrid, holding her cheek where she'd been hit by Dane's elbow. “I did.” She stood, her hand dropping from her face, and Dane saw the bruise healing before his eyes. “If not for your lucky blow, I would've had it.”

Struck speechless for a moment, Dane's shock soon gave way to anger. “You entered my dreams again!”

“It was
her
idea,” Mist said. “She wanted to lure you from camp and take the blade. I only came along hoping to talk her out of it.”

“Astrid, why would you do it?” Dane asked. “You know I must use the blade to kill Thidrek.”

“It doesn't matter
who
kills Thidrek—only that the deed is done,” Astrid said.

“But that wasn't my bargain with Skuld.
I
must kill him to free you.”

“How many times must I say this, Dane? I don't
want
my freedom. Serving Odin is the most exciting and rewarding existence there is.”

“She lies,” Mist said.

“You stay out of it,” Astrid hissed.

“I will not,” Mist retorted. “If your treasured sisterhood meant so much, you would not risk banishment from it to save your human kin from harm.” Mist turned to Dane. “That is why she wants the blade—to do the job herself so you and the others may return home safely.”

“Well, well, well . . .” came another voice. Astrid and Mist froze in dread as a new ethereal light appeared overhead. Looking upward, Dane saw, seated atop a descending celestial steed, a Valkyrie with cherry-red hair flowing from beneath her golden winged helmet. The horse touched earth and the Valkyrie adeptly dismounted, pointing a smug and disdainful stare at the three of them. “What's this? Two of my sisters and a human conspiring to kill a certain draugr?”

“We, uh, thought there was a battle here,” Mist said quickly, “but merely found this one wandering in the night.” She sniffed the air. “Ooo, fresh blood on the wind. Well, let's be off—heroic dead to ferry and all that.” Mist started to walk from the scene, no doubt to retrieve her celestial steed, but Astrid remained rooted.

“She
knows
, Mist,” Astrid said. “No use pretending.”

“I heard you discussing the plot in the grove,” the other Valkyrie said, casually twirling a strand of her red hair around a finger. “And waited until you made your move.”

“If you report us to the Council of Sisters, I'll deny everything,” Mist said. “You can't prove anything, Aurora. It's our word against yours.”

“I've not come to catch you in the act,” the one named Aurora said, “but to help you. Thidrek is close by.”

Her words electrified Dane. “He's near?”

Eyeing him as if he were nothing but a lowly insect crawling amid a steaming pile of horse manure, Aurora addressed Astrid instead. “We mustn't wait. The draugr Thidrek is ripe for the kill.”

“And why would
you
help us?” Astrid asked suspiciously.

“Not out of love for you,” Aurora sniffed. “Odin favors you. As do his chosen warriors, the Einherjar. Bat your pretty blue eyes at them and they swoon. But with you returned to earthly form, it's one less competitor in my way.”

“I
knew
it,” Mist said. “Always with the self-interest.”

“Must we continue to stand here?” Aurora snapped. “Delay will only make Thidrek grow suspicious.”

“Suspicious? Is he
expecting
us?” Dane asked.

Again Aurora eyed him as if he were a warty form of life unworthy of her attention. It was the same disdainful look he had received from Skuld the night she had appeared in his hut, and it made Dane think how nice it would be if humans could vote on which gods and demigods to put in power. In this way, if they ever got bigheaded and arrogant, humans could oust them for new ones, which might teach them not to be so self-important.

“To lure him out of hiding,” she said to Astrid, “I made him believe he and I are in league. What pretensions he has! To think a demigoddess of my class would team with such a foul and cursed creature as he. Now, can we go and let this pitiful human smite the draugr so you may be returned to your filthy village and be out of my gorgeous hair for good?”

Thidrek's camp was but a short flight away, Aurora said. Astrid and Mist gathered their celestial steeds, which were tethered nearby. Carrying the Blade of Oblivion, Dane rode tandem with Astrid, determined to keep his fear of heights in check. Soon they were aloft, flying high above the treetops. No words passed between him and Astrid, and he wondered if she really was angry with him for wanting to free her from the sisterhood. Or was it as Mist had said, that she was only concerned for his safety? If that was true, then it meant she still had a spark of love for him in her heart. To be so close to her like this again fired his hopes that soon his dreams of returning her permanently to his side would be a reality.

Headed to once more face the man who had killed his father, Dane steeled himself to show this monster no mercy. One swipe of the blade and he would send the undead Thidrek to eternal misery in Niflheim's Lake of Fire. And then Skuld would pay him for a task well done and free his beloved. Jarl would be angry he didn't get in on the draugr killing—and maybe Lut and William would complain too. But Dane reasoned that he had dispatched Thidrek before, and it made sense that he be the one to finish the job.

They had been flying for what seemed only moments when Dane, his mind occupied with his upcoming kill, felt a sharp and sudden blow to the head. Next thing he knew, he was falling earthward. Then, from above, down swooped a flash of white—he felt the Blade of Oblivion jerked from his grasp—and he spied a figure with flaming red hair fly off with it. Aurora! An instant later he smacked hard into pine branches, tumbling through the boughs, grabbing in desperation for something to stop his fall. He heard a
crack!
—hoping it was a branch and not his bones breaking—and then
oof!
He slammed to a halt, something like lightning exploding in his head.

Dazed, he heard Astrid cry his name. Then the rustle of hooves. Racing footsteps. Soon she was beside him, cradling his throbbing head in her arms. “W-what happened?” was all he managed to say.

“Aurora knocked you from my horse. She took the blade. Oh, Dane, it's only by the will of the gods you're alive!”

“Get the blade back,” Dane croaked.

“Mist is after her now.”

“I'm fine. Go!” She stroked his hair, and Dane knew she was hesitant to leave him after his brush with death. “The blade is the only thing that matters, Astrid. Please, you must go.”

Astrid tore herself away, hopped onto her steed, kicked his flanks, and soared upward like a flaming arrow. He watched as she joined the battle that was raging high in the night sky above him. The three Valkyries streaked across the heavens, looking like shooting stars—only the stars raced at each other and passed, and then doubled back like luminescent hummingbirds engaged in midair combat. Their battle a wondrous light show to behold, had it not been for the fact that he feared it would be a battle to the death. From such a distance, Dane could not tell which Valkyrie was which, only that two of the glowing stars seemed to be teaming up against the third, Mist and Astrid diving and swooping at Aurora from above and below in a concerted effort to knock her off her mount. But Dane knew Aurora had the blade, and that one swipe of it would kill her pursuers—so even though she was outnumbered, the advantage was hers.

Then Dane's nostrils were assaulted by a most awful odor. He tried getting to his feet when a boot flew up and stomped on his chest, pinning him to the ground. Lifting his eyes, he then beheld a vision that had to come from a nightmare. A ghastly decayed face gazed down at him. At first glance it appeared to be smiling, but then Dane saw that as most of its lips were gone, the curve of the creature's blackened, rotten teeth could be forming a grin as well as a grimace. Dane felt it deep in his vitals—the chilling recognition that this was Thidrek the Terrifying once again in the flesh. Well, flesh such as it was, for Thidrek presented a most horrifying sight.

“My, my,” growled Thidrek, “the defiant one! Grown a bit since last we crossed swords.” Thidrek leaned close, Dane overwhelmed by his odor. He was further horrified to see a beetle wriggling out of a dried bit of flesh that hung from Thidrek's chin.

“And you're looking better than ever,” Dane said with a smile of his own, even though he was terrified.

“I have you to thank for that. We were having such a fair fight, weren't we? Well, as fair as a fight can be between a pup and a prince. And then Thor had to seize me in his whirlwind, taking me and his beastly hammer to Asgard. Yes, imagine that!
Me
—in the Hall of Heroes! Ha!” The sinews in Thidrek's neck—what remained of them—tightened and his blood-specked eyeballs bulged in fury. “But then—showing rank favoritism quite unbecoming a god—Odin, the one-eyed brute, deems me unworthy to stay and has me ostracized! And now I walk the earth, not dead, not alive, but oh so eager to settle the score with the lot of you!”

“Your tale touches my heart,” said Dane.

“Soon I'll be
eating
your heart,” said Thidrek, and a snakelike thing shot from his mouth, swept back and forth across his teeth, and then withdrew. And Dane realized that what he had seen was Thidrek's tongue.

Dane heard something moving behind Thidrek. “Quit lurking, Grelf,” Thidrek barked. “Come and see the prize I've caught.”

The toadying attendant slunk forward. Dane was struck by the man's physical deterioration. Back when he had been serving Prince Thidrek in his castle, Grelf had been pink cheeked and ever so plump. He now appeared thin and twitchy, his skin sallow and his eyes baggy, as if sleep were a stranger to him. “I'm sure you remember my man-in-waiting,” Thidrek said to Dane. “He has chosen to return to my side.”

“Serving a draugr does you no favors, Grelf,” Dane said. “You look half dead yourself.”

“Your eyes deceive you,” Grelf said, summoning an air of dignity. “I am most fortunate and happy to serve my master.”

Thidrek held his foot upon Dane's chest and craned his neck back to see the luminescent trails of the Valkyrie combat above. “I have reached into Asgard to pluck one of their own to serve me. She told me of the blade and your pitiful desires to use it on me. But it is
I
who will use the blade. With it I shall raise the Ship of the Dead and unleash Hel's minions upon the earth. Sounds exciting, no?”

Dane's heart nearly stopped.
The dark forces of Hel?
Was this the “mischief” Skuld said the goddess was planning?

“You've no idea what you've wrought,” Thidrek said. And then he pointed to the sky. There was a sudden explosion—a burst of pure white sparkles of light falling in the night sky. “Ha! The blade has struck! My maiden has killed one of yours. See? Her embers fall.”

Horrorstruck, Dane saw the shimmering embers wink out one by one as they fell to earth in a death spiral. He gave an anguished cry and sprang free from Thidrek's pinning foot. Dane came at Thidrek with his fists, the monster grabbing Dane round the neck with one hand and holding him there at arm's length. Thidrek brayed in laughter as Dane flailed in vain, landing not a punch. The grip on his neck tightened. Dane gasped and choked and desperately pulled at the skeletal claw, trying to wrench it free. He felt himself lifted up, his feet kicking at the air, his vision blurring, the growl of Thidrek's voice sounding then as if it were coming from the depths of Niflheim itself. “Look how merrily he dances, Grelf! Hah! Like a puppet!”

Then—
wham!
—a sudden blow sent him tumbling backward, and a moment later Dane found himself facedown in the dirt. He heard Thidrek angrily bellowing—there were hands lifting him from the ground and he felt horseflesh beneath him. The beast gave an ear-piercing whinny, and Dane watched the ground recede as Thidrek's shouts died away.

Treetops flew past below, and slowly it came to him that he must be slung over the back of a celestial steed. What seemed just moments later the earth rushed into view again and he felt a jarring bump as the steed's hooves alighted on solid ground. He felt hands pull him off the animal's back and gently lay him on the ground, his back to a tree. Astrid's face hovered close to his. “You're alive!” he gasped.