Ship of the Dead (12 page)

“She lies! Mist was my friend!” Astrid insisted.

Aurora crossed her arms over her chest and said, “We'll see who is lying. Do you still love a human, this Dane the Defiant?”

There was dead silence, as if the assemblage were holding its collective breath, waiting for the answer. “
Do
you, sister?” Rain said.

“Yes,” Astrid said, bowing her head.

Aurora waited for the shocked outbursts to quiet. “Are we to believe the words of a sister who has broken not one but
two
of our edicts?”

Astrid groped for words that would somehow make them see the truth. “Sisters, hear me!” She waited for them to quiet. “It is true, I have broken the edicts. For that I must be punished. I came here knowing that I must speak the truth—and knowing that if I did, I would suffer punishment. Yet I came. For there was one sister I loved above all, and that was Mist. I would lay myself open to
any
penalty so that her murderer is brought to justice.” She stared at Aurora, who glared back defiantly. “Aurora says my motive was to silence Mist—so you would not know I love a human. If that were so, why would I come here
knowing
this fact would be revealed? No! I would've fled!” Astrid's eyes swept the gathering and saw more than a few sisters nod in agreement. “Truly, sisters, I will plead guilty . . . if one of you can step forward and attest that when you heard of Mist's murder, you had even the
barest
of thoughts that she died by my hand.” Astrid waited . . . and no one moved. “I loved Mist, you all know that,” she said, her eyes shining with tears, “and I would sooner burn in Niflheim than ever harm her.”

“Oh, you will see Niflheim, that I guarantee,” Aurora said.

“Silence!” Rain reprimanded. “The council shall decide, not you.”

After a contemptuous scowl, Aurora bowed her head in deference. “As you decree, my queen.”

“Is there anything else either of you would like to say?” Rain asked.

Astrid shook her head.

“I have one thing,” Aurora said. “Take it as you will. Dear Astrid, pray tell the council the name you went by on earth.”

Astrid was caught off guard by the question. “I . . . that has no bearing on—”

“Mistress of the Blade,” Aurora said. “Axes were her specialty—the very weapon used to murder our sister Mist.”

Murmurs of dismay rippled through the gathering. Rain held up her hand to bring silence. “The council will now deliberate. The accused will remain until we return.” The Valkyrie queen and her council members left, disappearing among the trees. Astrid knew that the council would gather in the rose garden. After debate, each member would put a single rose petal into a Valkyrie helmet; white for innocent, red for guilty.

Astrid sat by herself as the queen and her council deliberated. Once her eyes met Aurora's. The lying wench shot her the coldest of smiles, the kind that said,
My cunning trap has caught its prey
. Fuming, Astrid nearly gave in to the urge to go and slap the wicked thing right in the face, but she thought better of it when she saw the council had returned. The queen held up the inverted golden-winged helmet.

“The two sisters will come forward,” Rain said. Astrid and Aurora came and stood before her. “Sister Astrid, take the helmet and let the petals of judgment fall.” She gave the helmet to Astrid. Her heart pounding, Astrid turned it over. Six rose petals fluttered to the ground.

Red. All of them. Guilty.

Astrid threw the helmet at Aurora's face and ran with all she had.

Chapter 14
William Enslaved

T
o William's great dismay, he was once again caught in Thidrek's web. And this time it was much worse than before, for now his master was an undead monster whose persistent rot had dissolved whatever small shred of humanity he might once have possessed. Now the slap of Thidrek's hand to his cheek was not just stingingly painful; it also left behind tiny bits of putrid flesh that often were crawling with maggots and a flesh-eating beetle or two.

“Hit me day and night,” William said, “but the first chance I get to escape, I'll take it. And then I'll bring the Rune Warriors back to hack you to pieces.”

Thidrek stared down at the boy, who was tied to a tree.

“Hack me to pieces? With what? The blade I now possess?”

“That'll do you no good against twenty men. They'll get it from you, and one swipe will send your putrid carcass back to Niflheim.”

“Twenty men?”

“Well . . . it could be thirty. I'm not good at counting.”

Thidrek slapped him. “Liar. I happen to know there are only five. And they have no idea where we are going, do they?”

William felt an impulse to shout out all he knew but held his tongue.

“Best you forget about your friends, thrall. You'll never see them again.”

“I am no thrall!” William cried. “Specially not to some rotting piece of dung like you.” He expected another slap—Thidrek raised his hand to deliver one but then paused, struck by a thought.

“Grelf, you claim to be an expert in matters of the law. This boy was my property before. Now that I am undead, do I lose my rights to said property?”

Grelf sat by the fire, roasting a rabbit skewered on a stick. “Let us examine this logically, my liege. By definition, one can have rights only insofar as he can
exercise
those rights. Since this can only be done when one is living, it follows logically that upon one's death he would clearly lose all rights, chief among them the right to own property.”

Catching a frown from Thidrek, Grelf quickly continued.

“
But
if one passes from life into an intermediate state of undeadness—in which he is neither alive or dead but somewhere in between, and still able to freely move about—he is still able to exert his will upon the animate world and, therefore, capable of exercising his rights. Thus, he shan't lose them. Therefore, I see no legal precedent to void your rights, sire.”

With an air of sublime satisfaction, Thidrek turned back to William. “And there you have it, boy. All legal and proper. You are mine.”

Feeling this logic rather tortured, William dared take another tack. “How can something not alive be in control of something that is? It doesn't make sense.”

From behind Thidrek's back, Grelf urgently shot William a warning look, shaking his head as if to say,
Go no further, boy.

Thidrek picked up the Blade of Oblivion, twirling it thoughtfully. “Your lack of gratitude appalls me, boy. Did I not take you under my wing when your parents were killed?”

“
You
killed them.”

Thidrek cocked his head, remembering. “So I did! But I did not kill
you—
for I saw a lad who could be made useful. And a slave remains a slave unless his master sells him. You were unjustly taken from me without payment. Just as all the rest of my property was—my kingdom, my land, my castle, my livestock . . . to say nothing of my prized collection of stuffed beavers!” Thidrek swung the axe, the blade embedding halfway into the tree an inch from the top of William's head. “I aim to regain everything I lost, and more. If you try to run, I can kill you with the axe, whereupon you will wake to find your
self
in Niflheim at the mercy of m'lady Hel herself. Or . . .” Digging in his ear, Thidrek brought forth a tiny black beetle and held it out to William on the tip of his bony finger. “I can kill you with my bare hands and drink your blood. Then
you
will become like me. And those squirmy little things you're so afraid of will be burrowing by the
thousands
through your whole body.”

Thidrek laid the beetle on the tip of William's nose. It began to crawl toward his nostril. As his arms were tied to the tree, William furiously blew air up from his mouth to dislodge the horrid thing, but without success.

“And if perchance you
do
slip away, you'll never really be safe. For every night when you shut your eyes to sleep, the terrors will steal upon you, son, for you'll never know if that will be the night I come for you in the dark.”

The beetle was just then crawling into the cavity of William's nose. “Do we have an understanding, boy?”

“Yes!” cried William. “I give my word not to run off!”

Thidrek picked up the insect and popped it in to his mouth, crunching it between his teeth and swallowing it down. “Glad we've had this little heart-to-heart.”

Astrid's dash from the grove had taken her sisters by surprise, gaining her a good head start. She was a fast runner and got to her steed and into the air before anyone could stop her. When she looked back, she saw several sisters had jumped on their mounts and had begun pursuit, led by Aurora. As if sensing the dire nature of Astrid's plight, Vali raced swiftly down, boldly plunging into a bank of dense and turbulent storm clouds. They rode, hidden by the clouds, risking their own destruction as lightning flashed all around them. But this seemed to shake the sisters from her tail, and once she was sure they had given up the chase, Astrid brought Vali to the earthly realm to give her exhausted mount time to eat and rest and herself time to think.

As night fell she sat on a rock, utterly alone. First she'd been ripped away from all her loved ones on the earthly plane—Dane, her father, her friends—and now she was a fugitive blamed for the murder of the only friend she had made since. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to for safe haven, she feared she would not be free for long. She knew all too well that the sisters would be hunting her everywhere, and they would stop at nothing to find her and banish her to Hel's merciless underworld. What was she to do?

Before, when just an innocent girl full of her own self-righteous view of the world, she would have raised her fists to the sky and shouted,
Stupid gods! How can you inflict such injustice?
Are you really that uncaring?
But having watched them hold court in Asgard, she knew the gods were all too human, wrapped up in their own squabbles and petty rivalries. If she went to Odin and told him the truth, would he intervene? Without proof of her innocence, how could he? He had enough on his hands without taking on the Council of Sisters. Mist had told her that Odin had interfered once in council affairs and the sisters had thereupon refused to perform ferrying duties until he relented. Godly intervention was out.

She gazed again at the sky and saw no luminous trails. At least for tonight she had eluded her sisters' grasp. But it wouldn't last. A horrible fate was closing in, and she realized that perhaps the only one who would help her was the witch who had put this whole catastrophe in motion in the first place.

Skuld.

How fortunate that William had joined their little troupe, Grelf thought. Now he had a potential ally against Thidrek. If Grelf could gain the boy's confidence, convince him that he too despised their odious master, then they could work together to escape. And once they were free? Grelf knew William had spunk and cleverness; the boy would make a fine assistant in the perfume trade, wouldn't he?

Thidrek had insisted the boy be bound to the saddle (riding tandem with Grelf) to prevent escape. Grelf tied him loosely so his bonds wouldn't hurt. And as they rode, he whispered encouragements to the boy, saying not to fret, that his friend Grelf would take care of him.

At midday they stopped at a stream to feed and water the horses. Thidrek lay down with his back to a tree, one hand still gripping the handle of the Blade of Oblivion. The draugr closed his eyes and became completely still.

“Does he sleep?” William whispered to Grelf.

Grelf gestured for William to follow him farther from his resting master so they could talk without being heard. “Not as we do,” Grelf whispered back. “He describes it as a trance he falls into. It takes only a short time to refresh him. But make no mistake—even in this state he is alert as a house cat.”

“Where is he taking us, Grelf?”

Grelf told of the Ship of the Dead and its draugr crew, and how Thidrek had plans to bring it back to the goddess Hel and raise an army of the dead to attack the world of the living.

“That's horrible, Grelf! We have to stop him!”

“Shhh!” Just what Grelf didn't need—the boy complicating matters by trying to be a hero. This younger generation was too brave for its own good. “The best way to stop him,” Grelf said, “is for us to escape and find help.”

“If the runes are right, then help is not far behind,” William said. He told Grelf about Lut's runes leading them to the islands named the Three Brothers.

“It's true,” Grelf said. “Three small islands lie directly offshore of a river. Two miles inland is a waterfall—behind which the Ship of the Dead is buried.”

“Then all we have to do is stop Thidrek before he gets there.”

“May I remind you I am not exactly warrior class, and you are a small boy? The best strategy is for you to flee and find your friends. And then you'll all ride back and dispatch our putrescent lordship. World saved.”

William's brow furrowed, as if he sensed a strategic flaw in Grelf's plan. “So . . . while I'm escaping, finding my friends and bringing them back—what will you be doing?”

The boy was irritatingly full of questions. “I'll be doing the big job of delaying Thidrek to give you a good head start.”

“You're sure he'll come after me?”

“Of course! You're the prized hostage, not me,” Grelf said. “The only way Thidrek can check Dane is by putting a knife to your thoat. It's called leverage, son. Without you, Thidrek has nothing to bargain with.”

Chapter 15
A Surprise Flies In

T
hat night, William pretended to sleep. He was bound to a tree with his hands tied behind him. Cracking an eyelid, he saw on the other side of the campfire that Thidrek was now lying against another tree with his eyes closed, in his “trance” state.

Time to work.

Grelf had not tied his wrists tightly—which gave his hands some play. He felt around behind him for the sharp piece of flint Grelf had hidden in the dirt. There! He found it. He began cutting away with it at the ropes binding his wrists.

The big question was, Why was Grelf helping him? William had known the rascal before, when Thidrek was a prince and Grelf was his right-hand man. He'd played the fawning toady to Thidrek back then as well, but William suspected that his only allegiance was to himself. Grelf was a rat who would betray anyone to serve his own needs. Could that kind of vermin be trusted? Right now, William did not have the luxury of doubt. They were going to arrive at the Ship of the Dead tomorrow, so his escape
had
to be tonight.

The razor-sharp flint was slicing away the rope strands around his wrists. Once his hands could move about, he'd cut the rope around his chest that tied him to the tree—and he'd be free!

He heard a soft rush of air above him. He then saw to his utter surprise a large raven circling overhead. Klint! Dane and his friends were close! The bird landed in the tree Thidrek was resting against.
Please don't squawk,
William prayed. He was sure Thidrek knew Dane had a pet raven; if he saw the bird, the game would be up.

Klint cocked his head and stared with interest at the draugr below. Thidrek wasn't breathing or moving; he appeared as good as dead. And ravens feast on the dead.
Fly away, Klint! He's not a corpse!
William wanted to shout. He worked feverishly on the rope, trying to cut away the last strands binding his wrists.

Klint flew down and with his beak snatched something off Thidrek's nose—probably a beetle or maggot. The draugr's eyes snapped open; he gave a bellow and swatted at the bird. Klint flew off, squawking angrily. Thidrek jumped to his feet.

“Grelf! Wake up!”

Grelf stirred, yawning, then—as if remembering their plan—immediately came to his senses, blurting out, “The boy! He's escaped—” Grelf's head whipped around and saw that William was, alas,
still
tied to the tree.

“A raven attacked me!” Thidrek exclaimed. “Saddle the horses. We must ride!”

“To escape a raven, my lord?”

“The feathered wretch was Dane the Defiant's pet, I'm sure of it.”

“But my lord, how could he have followed us?”

Thidrek picked up the blade, leveling his bloodshot eyes on Grelf. “Perhaps my loyal and trusted servant has been leaving marks along the trail.”

“Heavens, no, my lord! Not me. It—it had to be the boy.”

Grelf was the rat again, saving his own hide. How William yearned to spill the beans about their escape plot just to see Grelf squirm.

Thidrek came at William wearing a murderous look. He grabbed his knife from his belt and William thought his end had come.
Do they take ten-year-old boys in Valhalla?
he wondered. But Thidrek didn't use the knife on William; instead he cut the rope binding him to the tree and yanked him to his feet.

“If your friends come close,” Thidrek growled, “it's you I'll threaten to send to Niflheim.”

Thidrek dragged William toward the horses Grelf was saddling. William knew the binding around his wrists had nearly been cut through but didn't know if a strong yank would sever it. He had to wait for the exact right time to try.

“You'll ride with me, boy,” Thidrek said. “I want to keep you close.”

Thidrek picked him up and flung him into the saddle.
Now!
William yanked hard on the binding. It broke, freeing his hands. He grabbed the reins, kicked the horse's flanks. “Yah!” The horse bolted away like an arrow shot from his bow. He heard angry shouts but didn't look back as the horse galloped away.

Overcome with a manic frenzy to flee, William raced blindly into the black forest, low-hanging branches whipping at him, slashing his face. He didn't know how long he rode or in what direction; he was consumed by his raging need to distance himself from the devil Thidrek. Finally, clear thinking trumped his animal panic and he slowed his mount and listened for pursuing hoofbeats. He heard nothing but the normal night sounds of the forest. Had he eluded his tormentor? Maybe Thidrek had given up, knowing there were enemies about.

Poor Grelf. Still man-in-waiting to an odious draugr. But not for long. William had to find his friends. They were south—but what direction was that? Lut could look at the stars to navigate, a skill William had yet to learn. Then he remembered something Lut
had
taught him: Moss grew more thickly on the north sides of trees.

He dismounted and at a pine tree quickly felt along the bark for the spongy moss, since it was too dark to actually see it. There! He felt a thick, soft clump of it. Now he knew where south was—the opposite side of the tree pointed to it.

William threw himself into the saddle and gave a hard slap to the horse's rear, and off she galloped, now headed in the right direction. Had Klint flown back to Dane, squawking and cawing in the secret language he and Dane shared, telling him that Thidrek had been found? If so, William's friends were already headed his way. How joyous he'd be when he saw their faces again. How safe he would feel to be sheltered among them. They would hunt Thidrek down, and once cornered, the soulless wretch would fall to his knees and grovel for mercy. And when he was dispatched forever to Niflheim, William would finally know that the man who had murdered his mother and father would never bring pain to anyone again.

He emerged from thick forest into a wide meadow dimly lit by the moon. He knew this place. He, Grelf, and Thidrek had ridden past it that day. All he needed to do was find the rutted trail they had taken, then follow it south to Dane's party. The horse trotted through the tall grass, scattering nesting birds. Halfway across the meadow he saw a dark swath of bare ground ahead. The trail!

Suddenly he felt a shiver, as if an icy hand had gripped the back of his neck. Instinctively he whipped his head around to look behind him—and saw a flash of light at the tree line from where he'd just come. His heart sank, for he was sure the metallic glint was moonlight reflecting off the Blade of Oblivion.

Thidrek exploded from the trees atop the other horse, his right hand thrust high, holding the axe. William's heels dug into his mount's flanks and the horse broke into a sprint. An instant later they were off the grass and onto the trail. Ahead maybe two hundred paces was the curtain of trees on the south side of the meadow. William raced for it, for he knew its dark cover gave him at least a slim chance to elude Thidrek. Out here in the moonlight, he was dead.

He looked back. Thidrek's horse was sprinting, too, but had not made up any ground. William was going to make the trees—he was sure of it! Maybe he would stay on the trail in hopes of running into Dane's party. What a sight to see, Thidrek suddenly turning tail and running from them!

He breached the tree line. Thidrek would surely give up now. He glanced back just in time to see the axe flying sideways toward him, its blade scything the air making a whooshing sound. In a blinding-white shower of sparks, his horse vanished from under him. The ground came up like a hard fist, knocking William senseless. He lay there, unable to move or talk. Seeming then as if in a dream, he saw Thidrek grinning down at him, the grin turning to a look of distress . . . Thidrek flinging the saddle, blanket, and reins into the tall grass beside the trail . . . William felt himself roughly lifted and slung over Thidrek's horse . . . the horse led off the trail and into a thick covering of trees . . . Thidrek was now just standing there, looking off at something . . . William realized what it was! They were hiding from Dane's party, passing along the trail. William tried to call out to tell them—
Dane, help! I'm here!
—but all he managed was strangled sounds. He saw Thidrek turn and scowl at him. And before he could make another sound, Thidrek brought the blade handle down upon William's skull and blackness descended.