Ship of the Dead (18 page)

“I'm just saying a happy worker is a better worker,” Drott argued. “Whether you're alive or not, human nature is all the same.”

“If that's true,” Jarl quipped, “when you're dead you'll be just as brainless.”

Drott opened his mouth to protest but had no retort.

“Judgment time is nigh,” Thidrek announced, gesturing to the fortress. “The goddess Hel awaits.”

Dane took Klint on his arm and stroked his feathers. “Stay, Klinty. Where I go is no place for you.” The raven gave a complaining squawk, flew up, and landed on the top of the mast. As Dane was herded off the ship, he turned back to take a last look at his faithful friend. Klint was gone.

It was an arduous journey up the cliff. At several places the steps had crumbled away, exposing gaps that plunged to the rocks far below. One by one Dane and his friends jumped these yawning spaces. The last to jump was a draugrman, Alrick the Least Merciless. He easily bridged the gap, but the step he landed on broke away and he fell, screaming his Berserker cry. His body shattered upon the rocks below like a piece of crockery and his skull caromed off a boulder out over the fiery lake. He landed faceup, and his horrible shriek of pain was awful to hear.

Thidrek watched his head sink below the scalding muck and, with a wry grin, said, “Serves him right for being
least
merciless.”

The remaining draugr herded Dane and the others up the steps, and finally they reached the summit. Before them lay a fortress of such massive size that Dane felt puny and powerless standing before it. He realized that this must be its intended effect: to make all newcomers quiver in terror at their first sight of Hel's lair. Its very size was an expression of her ultimate power in the underworld, just as Odin's equally vast Valhalla was a symbol of his rule in Asgard above.

But, oh, what a difference between the two. While Odin's palace was magnificent to behold, Dane was struck by how grotesquely ugly Hel's was. By design or by accident, all its angles seemed crazily askew, and even its soaring towers leaned haphazardly this way and that, appearing as if at any moment they might topple. And, stranger still, dotting the structure were crude, crumbling statues of misshapen demons that assaulted the eye.

“In a way you were right about human nature, Drott,” Dane said.

“I was?
Really
?” Drott said, always eager to know when he had inadvertently said something intelligent. “How?”

Dane gestured to the monstrous structure. “This is what happens when the only reward is fear and punishment.”

With a thunderous crash, a section of an outer wall then collapsed, sending the scaffolding and the doomed workmen down with it. The brutish overseers waded in, lashing the poor souls with their whips. Dane saw that instead of leather, the whips consisted of white-hot sizzling bolts of lightning that grooved deep burns across the backs of the laborers. Having to watch such pain inflicted on the defenseless, Dane had a sudden urge to rush one of the huge brutes, but Lut, sensing his rash intentions, grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Don't be a fool, son,” Lut whispered to him.

Upon Thidrek's orders, the draugrs prodded them toward the fortress gates. Passing an overseer lashing some poor souls, Jarl whispered to Drott, “Why don't you explain your happy worker–better worker stuff to
him
.”

Unaware that Jarl was joking, Drott paused for a moment, tapping the brute on the shoulder. “Uh, sir, if I may have a word—”

The brute whirled. He had the face not of a man, but of something of a more bestial nature, with protruding snout and tusks. He gave a furious roar and lashed out with his lightning whip, missing Drott by a hair. “M-maybe now is not a good time,” Drott bleated, backing away. A draugr shoved him forward to rejoin his friends. “Some people just don't want to listen,” Drott said, shaking his head.

Turning now to Hel's lair, Dane saw that the entranceway was formed by the face of a hideous three-eyed demon, its mouth open wide to accept them. One by one they began to enter, the funereal silence broken only when Jarl asked Thidrek what the name of this creature was.

“Hyrrmund the Firebreather,” said Thidrek. “Demon of the Underworld, one of Hel's minions. Up there, those are the Ice Demons whose touch will freeze your soul. Oh, and over there, just above that scaffolding, those are the Sleep Demons, the creatures that visit you in nightmares.”

Then Fulnir leaned over to Dane and muttered, “Don't you find the whole demon theme tiresome? I mean, she's Hel, queen of the underworld. She couldn't have dreamed up a better design scheme than this demon thing?”

Once inside the fortress walls, in the dim light Dane could see they were met by a vast moat. A narrow bridge spanned the moat, leading straight across to the soaring, colossal structure of Hel's hall, the entrance to her inner sanctum. Also, there were four of the demon guards patrolling the moat bridge, each with his own lightning whip.

There was an understandably uncomfortable moment as Dane and his friends stood still. No one—not even the draugrs—wanted to move across the bridge. But all Thidrek did was clear his throat—
ahem!
—and the mere sound of it held such menace that everyone instantly sprang to life and began to follow him one by one across the narrow walkway. Dane kept his eyes on Fulnir, who was walking directly in front of him, not wanting to risk a look at the demon brutes. But soon he began to hear a chorus of voices, whispers that seemed to be emanating from somewhere below.
Who is that? . . . Are they alive? . . . What are they doing here? . . .

Peering over the side of the bridge, he saw that standing shoulder to shoulder in the moat were thousands upon thousands of doomed souls, tightly packed like a herd of swine on their way to market, their faces gray and eyes empty of light. It made him sick to see them, and then one of the doomed ones called out, “We wait eons for an audience! How can they jump ahead in line?”

In a flash the two nearest demon guards began raining lash upon merciless lash down onto the complaining soul and those around him in the pit below—and the shrieks of pain, the sizzling sound the lightning whips made upon the doomed, once more filled Dane with disgust and anger. Again came the words of his mother:
I will not go like a lamb to slaughter.
Drawing ever nearer the sanctum door, he vowed that neither would he; if Hel was to take his soul, she would have to fight him tooth and nail for it.

That steadfast bravado lasted for only a moment, for as they approached entrance to Hel's hall, the massive doors slowly creaked open and an oppressive wave of heavy, sickly sweet air swept over him. All thoughts of defiance fled, replaced with a debilitating fear that almost buckled his knees. He grabbed Lut's shoulder to steady himself, and Lut tried to return a stiff-lipped nod of courage, but all Dane saw was similar terror in his eyes.

His belly roiling with panic, Dane wanted to turn tail and run, but the draugrmen's spear points prodded him on. Glancing back, he saw that the warriors also wore rabbity looks.
They were afraid, too!
And for good reason. They were all about to come face-to-face with a being who engendered such horrific dread that even the brave gods of Asgard feared and loathed her. Dane tried to steady himself and prayed he wouldn't die from fright before he even laid eyes on her.

Chapter 21
The Goddess of the Underworld

O
nce inside the doors to Hel's hall, they were enveloped in darkness. Behind him Dane heard the doors close with a thunderous
clang
, and from its resounding echo he concluded that they must be in a chamber of vast size. Afraid to move and fearing what the next moments would bring, Dane stood listening to the frightened breathing of his friends. And then a sound most chilling came . . . a sibilant hiss and slither, followed by a throaty female voice from some distance away. “Have you . . . brought it?”

“I have, your highness,” he heard Thidrek say with pride. “
That
, and more gifts for your amusement.”

“My
amusement
?” the female voice purred mockingly. “I am not so easily amused. Approach!”

Dane felt a spearpoint jab his back, and everyone began moving forward as ordered. Soon his eyes adjusted to the dark enough for him to discern dim shapes. Gigantic columns, as big around as ten men standing fingertip to fingertip, rose from the floor, disappearing into the gloom above. The surfaces of the columns seemed to writhe as if alive—and when Dane passed close to one, he saw it was covered with a wickerwork of winding, slithering vipers that hissed at him and the others. This, he realized, was the strange sound he had heard in the dark.

In the distance was a dim pool of firelight. Approaching it, Dane saw what appeared to be four or five females wearing the colorless garb of the dead. They were attending to an entity seated on a colossal black throne, someone—or some
thing
—whose face and body were blocked from view by the attendants.

Thidrek stopped everyone a respectful distance from the raised throne and waited for the attendants to finish. To Dane they resembled frightened handmaidens hurrying to prepare a royal personage to receive guests.

“Enough! Give me the mirror!” barked the unseen one on the throne.

The attendants stepped back, revealing such a ghastly sight that gasps of shock issued from humans and draugrs alike—except for Thidrek, who oozed fawning charm. “Your majesty, you grow more . . . lovely with each passing day.”

Dane could think of many words to describe the goddess Hel, but
lovely
was not one of them. Her hatchet-thin, hollow-cheeked face was pebbled with snakelike scales. Her eyes were deep set and beady, her nose but two thin slits, and below that was a cruel slash of a mouth. Her hands resembled hooked, reptilian claws; in one she clutched a long, ornate wooden staff topped with a milky-white crystal orb. A tattered black gown covered her desiccated body.

“The mirror!” she rasped, banging the end of her staff upon the dank floor. An attendant produced a polished silver hand mirror. Hel grabbed it, gazed at her reflection for a moment, then exploded in anger. “This is
not
what I wanted! Is my hair full and wavy?” She grabbed her lank, greasy hair. “It is not! Are my cheeks rosy and full? No!” Like a petulant, spoiled child she threw the mirror at them. “I bring you into the comfort of my hall—and
this
is how you repay my kindness?” She raised her staff as if to strike them, and they cowered like terrified dogs. “Away with you! Prepare my bath!” she commanded.

“Yes, your majesty,” an attendant said. She turned to scurry off with the others when her eyes met Dane's. It was Mist the Valkyrie! Recognizing him, she froze in shock for a moment. Dane wanted to call out to her, but she gave a curt shake of her head to stop him, then swiftly fled.

“It was Mist,” Dane whispered to Lut beside him.

“I know,” Lut whispered back. “Poor thing, to be enslaved here.”

To see Mist like this, drained of life and happiness, was heart wrenching. Dane owed his life to her. Twice he had been near death on earth and she had been assigned to pluck his soul from his body and take him to Valhalla. But each time she had disobeyed orders and had even helped him survive. The second time, he had been trapped in an ice crevasse and she had said crossly to him, “I should let you freeze to death and finally be done with you!”

But instead she had shown pity, keeping him awake long enough to be rescued by his friends. Later, he wondered why she had shown such mercy. Did she love him, or was there another reason? Perhaps she could not bear to part him from Astrid, the one
he
loved. But none of it mattered now. Mist was a doomed soul. And mostly likely Dane would soon be joining her, a permanent resident in Hel's realm.

“Why must I endure such incompetence?” Hel fumed. “I'm sure you'd not find such clumsy servants in Asgard. No! If my father, Odin, desires a new coat of armor or another temple built in his honor, all he need do is snap his fingers and it is cheerfully done!”

“It doesn't seem fair that he revels in opulence and you're forced to make do with so little,” Thidrek commiserated.

“He ordered me to run the underworld but never
once
mentioned the poor quality of labor down here. Not once!”

“It's a miracle you manage so well, your majesty. I can't imagine any other goddess doing a better job handling the doomed.”

“And they never stop coming!” she wailed. “Shipload after shipload. And I must find room for them—as if we weren't cramped for space already!”

“But your majesty,” Thidrek said playfully, “aren't you forgetting you'll soon be moving to
much
bigger quarters? Say, the entire land of the living?”

A gluttonous gleam shone in Hel's beady eyes. Her forked tongue flicked over her lips. Dane took it this was how Hel looked when she was pleased. “We'll see how father Odin likes
that
,” she hissed.

“Don't imagine he will,” Thidrek said. He gestured to the prisoners. “Nor will he like that you've stolen souls meant for Valhalla. My gift to you, to do with as you wish.”

She stared at Dane and the others like a snake appraising her next meal. “They are pure of soul, you say?”

“Oh, the purest,” Thidrek said with distaste. He grabbed Dane by the arm and jerked him front and center. “Take this one, for instance. Dane the Defiant. Always doing brave and unselfish acts, saving fair maidens, righting wrongs, protecting the weak. It's enough to make a man gag.” Thidrek gestured at the other prisoners. “They're all like that more or less. Even this little pip.” Thidrek grabbed William by the arm and flung him to the floor in front of the throne. “They call themselves Rune Warriors. And do they fight for plunder or land or power? No! They're all courageous and forthright, the idiots. Perfect candidates for Odin's corpse hall.”

Hel clapped her clawlike hands together in girlish glee. It made a dry, raspy sound like dead leaves rubbing together. “Stealing souls destined for Valhalla! My father will have a fit!” she cackled. “Oh, this is too, too delicious!”

“I knew you would be pleased, your majesty,” Thidrek said, clearly glad that he had made the odious hag so happy.

So this was the reason they had been brought to Niflheim, Dane realized. Hel was warring with Odin, and the Rune Warriors were but pawns in the game, a way Hel could have revenge against a father who had exiled her to the underworld. It was as Jarl had said: Dane had led his friends to their eternal doom. But he could not stand there idly while the sentence was passed.

“He lies, your majesty!” Dane blurted.

Thidrek whirled, backhanding Dane to the face. “Silence, dog!”

Dane held his ground, appealing to the goddess. “You will not spite Odin by taking cowards!”

Thidrek raised the Blade of Oblivion to strike Dane down, but Hel shouted, “Stop!” Thidrek froze, the blade inches from Dane's head.

“I am the only one destined for Odin's hall,” Dane declared. “Take me, but release the others. For they are nothing but cowards, truly chickenhearted and yellowbellied.”

“
Chicken
hearted? I'm ten times braver than you!” insisted Jarl, unable to stand having his mettle questioned, even though Dane was doing it to save his life.

“They both lie,” Lut said, stepping forward. “Without me they all would've run crying to their mothers. I'm the only one fit for Valhalla!”

Now Fulnir and Drott chimed in, insisting they were the only courageous ones in the bunch. Then William declared his heroism second to none and that everyone else should be released because they were about as courageous as a kitten in a thunderstorm. Everyone talked at once and some pushing and shoving broke out, until Hel angrily banged her staff on the floor, silencing them all.

“I want the truth! Each says he is brave and the others are cowards—all except you,” she said, pointing the end of her staff at Grelf. “Are you the only one of courage here too?”

“Oh, no, your majesty,” Grelf insisted. “I'm a coward for sure. Pigeon-livered through and through.”

“He is merely my lackey, your highness,” Thidrek said.

“And by his admission of cowardice, I sense he speaks the truth,” Hel said. “But what of these others?” she asked Grelf, gesturing to Dane and his friends. “Are they all Rune Warriors fit for Odin's hall as your master has said?”

Dane expected Grelf to quickly parrot what Thidrek wanted him to say, dooming them all. But to his surprise, Grelf hesitated. For a moment he held Dane's look, and Dane saw a brief flicker of compassion in his eyes, an emotion he had thought Grelf incapable of feeling. “They are all fit, your majesty,” Grelf finally said. “Except for the boy.”

“No,” William protested, jumping to his feet. “I'm a Rune Warrior, too! Tell her, Dane!”

Grelf gave Dane a slight nod, which acknowledged that the best he could do was save the boy—and that he would do all he could to take care of him. “A ten-year-old boy is not worthy of Valhalla,” Dane said to Hel. “He lacks courage and is no prize.” It pained him to say these words and see the look of hurt in William's eyes. The boy had been a true Rune Warrior, as brave as anyone, but if Dane could save his life by telling a lie, it was a small price to pay.

Thidrek sighed in annoyance. “I don't
care
, your highness. If you don't want him, I'll take him as my thrall.”

“He is yours,” Hel said with a wave of a claw. “But the others I'll gladly keep.”

“For torture and death and everlasting agony in the Lake of Fire?” Thidrek asked cheerfully.

“All of the above,” Hel said. Banging her staff on the floor, she called for her guards. Two demons bearing lightning whips appeared from out of the darkness. “Take these live ones to the moat,” she ordered. “I'll dally with them later.”

“Aren't you forgetting one thing, your highness?” Thidrek interjected as the guards started to take the prisoners away. “My reward for bringing the Ship of the Dead?”

“You mean my promise to make you alive once more,” Hel said.

“Precisely,” said Thidrek. “And how is that done?”

Lut had read of his earthly fate in the Norns' Book of Fate. But he was not on earth now—he was in a different realm where Skuld had no power to mold fate. So everything he had read was now null and void.

As Hel approached them—gliding as if her feet, unseen beneath her black robe, did not touch the ground—Lut sensed that one of them was about to die.

The goddess stopped before them and handed her staff to Thidrek. “To restore your life, you must subtract it from the living,” she said. “Touch the crystal orb to the heart of the one whose years you wish to take.”

Thidrek grinned in anticipation. “And the one I touch will die?”

“You will take his remaining years of life,” said Hel.

Thidrek perused the faces of the prisoners. “Now let's see . . . who is the likely prospect? Someone brave and strong and bursting with heart. This one?” He playfully made a feint with the staff at Jarl, who jumped back from its reach. “Close, but not my choice. This one?” He jabbed the orb toward Drott, who recoiled. “No, too chubby for my tastes.” His eyes settled on Dane standing next to Lut. “Now,
here's
the ideal candidate. And isn't it ironic? A day not so long ago, on a hill outside your village . . . you thought you had seen the end of me. You took my years and now I take yours. How does it feel, knowing you'll be within me? When I go to your village and kill every living soul . . . when I plunge my sword into your
own
mother, it will be your own strength flowing within these hands.”

Dane stared back at him. “If I am to be within you, Lord Thidrek, those hands will cut your own throat first.”

“Defiant to the last, eh?” Thidrek moved to touch the orb to Dane's chest—when Lut grabbed the end of the staff and jammed it into his own. A rush of scalding-hot pain shot through him, knocking him to the floor. The room spun; he saw the blurred faces of his friends crying out, but their voices were fuzzy and distant. It felt like an animal had clawed open his chest and had his heart in its jaws.
By all the gods in Asgard, make the pain stop!

Dane girded himself for the touch of the orb. How would it feel to have his life siphoned away? Would it be painful? At the last instant he closed his eyes, hoping it would be over quickly. There was a sharp cry of pain and his eyes snapped open. He saw Lut staggering backward, grabbing at his chest. What had he done? Lut crumpled to the floor, gasping, his body shaking uncontrollably. His rosy skin faded and wrinkled, his hair turned gray, and his tall, muscular frame withered and shrank. All the youth and strength that he had so treasured drained away. And then, abruptly, he stopped shaking and lay silent and lifeless, older and more enfeebled than ever before.

“Lut!” Dane knelt and put his ear to the old one's chest but heard nothing. A gasp escaped Lut's mouth. Dane listened again and heard a faint heartbeat.

“Why did he do that?” Hel asked, sounding genuinely baffled. “Sacrifice himself for you? Does he not cherish his own youth?”