Ascendancy: The Book of Heylel

Chapter VIII

Chapter VIII



         It had been a hard march through the heavy forests of Nidavellir, the island which all of the Ymirjar now called there home. Snorri didn’t expect to find much there in Nidaros. The city was once a bustling center of Ymirjar livelihood. He’d helped reclaim its old, marble buildings from the hungering forests, and the restless dead.

         This island had once been the resting place of thousands of Draugr, and when the day Ragnarok came, they awoke, angry and vengeful. It had all started with that damned sword. That thing had made him feel so proud, it was after all, a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship. Had he not purchased it from that old blacksmith in Gjaalarbron, they may never have reclaimed this place, or won the war for that matter. It was claimed to be the sword of a god. Which god, he didn’t know, but it certainly held some sort of Divine power. Perhaps he didn’t win the war with that sword, but it had felled many dead ones with ease, despite his lack of battle prowess.

         Snorri had been a kitchen servant all his life, making dishes and soups for the many diplomats and warlords of the castle. That of course, was before the Jarl Loki had appointed him to his position. It was because of that man, that Snorri was now a Clan Lord himself, the leader of the Ymirjar colonies. Though he should have felt thankful for his position, Loki wasn’t interested in improving the quality of life for Snorri’s people. He was interested only in profit and power. He and the rest of his folk were just a means of accomplishing his motives.

         When Ragnarok came, however, the Ymirjar stood side by side with the norsemen. It was likely that none had ever held a sword before, but they fought all the same, with zeal and pride; servants turned warriors. After the fall of Hel and her Draugr, the Ymirjar came here to these islands. The new Jarl had granted them his blessing, gifting them these islands to call their home.

         He was back now, and they felt nothing like home. They were dark and lifeless as the rest of Xalimfal. Whatever had come to these lands, had spirited away the living. Where had they gone? He didn’t know. He hoped to find his folk still bustling about in their capitol, but he knew it was a fool’s hope. They were gone like the rest.

         His little group of six were all that remained in this terrible land. Well, they were all that remained alive. There were things here in this place… terrible things like those children. He had seen other creatures as well, in the corners of his eyes; shadows in the shape of men and women, that would vanish the moment he looked toward them, only to come back after he averted his eyes. They were everywhere. He never mentioned it however, for he was certain that if it were cause for alarm, Rialev, Elaine, and that Priest would have taken up arms.

         It was only his mind playing tricks in the darkness. It was a darkness that was everywhere. He’d never seen anything like it. Above, in the heavens, a night sky loomed black and oppressive with not one star lighting its candle in the distant cosmos. There was that light in the east, where some moon shone brilliant and white, but it was always just under the horizon. It was as though the world had stopped, all of it.

         Snorri hacked away at branches that blocked their path through the twisting trails of the forest. Having lived on this island for near six months, he’d grown used to the ever growing trees. It seemed every time he made his trip to Gjaalarbron, much of the first day was spent slicing away and pruning trees and bushes along the trails. The forest was still as hungering as it was when he’d first came here with his people. Much of their first month was spent clearing away the vegetation in the city and along the streets. The trails were no different. Still, he knew them well enough.

         The priest had asked him to take the lead into the city of Nidaros. Though in the back of his mind, something called to him to refuse, he couldn’t. He refused to appear weak in the eyes of Lady Elaine, though it was clear that she was not at all interested in his navigation skills or his courage. She had fussed with her arm since those children had attacked, always wincing and biting her lip as though something raked at her from within her flesh. She was in utter agony, and the sooner he could get them to the city, the better, for she needed care.

         She had been sweating as though she’d ran leagues across a summer-burnt plain, yet she tremored from an icy blood in her veins, giving her gooseflesh from head to foot. Whatever sickness had overcome her, he knew that something so severe needed rest and attention, which were both luxuries they couldn’t afford… not until they reached the city.

         Papal had assured him that he knew what to do once they arrived, but he didn’t sound very firm when he said it. It felt as though this voyage had been based solely on assumption, but he seemed an intelligent man. The Dragon had said the same, and well, if she said it, then he would listen. Razelle was beyond wise, and when she spoke people always listened.

         Reaching the crest of the steady upward path that wound its way between old gnarled trees was something to celebrate. He’d fought in battles against the dead, but nothing was ever as tiring as cutting through the forest. The trails were a steady incline from the beach, into the heart of the forest, always encumbered with branches and roots, overgrown just enough to hinder any sort of meaningful progress. That however, was now finished. They now had an easy march along the bluffs. They were flat but still, the ancient sandstone cliffs had many cracks and crevices carved into them from time’s decay that were plenty deep enough to break an ankle of an unsuspecting traveler. In this darkness, he would need to be careful.

         “We should rest for a moment,” Rialev said, huffing and puffing for air as he rested his hand against a sapling. He was bent over double with his chest rising and falling like the tides.

         Pride coursed through Snorri for a moment, for he was barely winded from the trek, though he’d made this journey so many times, perhaps he was just used to it.

         “We can’t rest until we reach Nidaros,” Papal replied, gulping large breaths of air as he straightened himself, raking his fingers through his sweaty blonde hair.

         “The lady needs a rest, Papal!”

         Elaine’s head was low as her feet drug across coarse dirt and gravel, her arms dangled as though she carried lead in her hands. Her bodice stuck to her chest, soaked in sweat, revealing her bosom and abdomen, and leaving little to his imagination. Snorri was quick to avert his eyes, for it just felt wrong to look at that.

         “I’m alright, Rialev.” Her voice was thin and ragged as she trudged past the two men, taking shallow, sharp breaths and cradling her arm.

         “My lady, you can barely stand.”

         She shook her head, “Papal is right, we shouldn’t rest here,” she replied as her voice trailed and faded to a feint whisper.

         She stumbled for a moment over an obstacle that wasn’t there, inching closer and closer to the edge of the bluffs. Snorri gripped her arm before she came too close, for the bluffs were nearly a thousand feet above rocky teeth that jutted from the seas. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine if she fell.

         “I’ll carry her,” he said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Her sleeves stuck against his neck like honey, as he grasped her clammy hand in his.

         The others didn’t argue.

         It was not far now. Perhaps a mile or so, and he could bear her for that time, he was sure. It was perhaps for the better anyway, for he knew most of the pits and cracks in the rock, and could keep her from slipping into one. Still, she was heavy as stone as she slumped on him, nearly incapable of holding herself upright.

         Rialev ducked beneath her other, bandaged arm, and wrapped his around the small of her back. Her eyes shut tight as she whimpered from some pain, likely the wound in her arm, but they were soon marching once more.

         Not far now… they could be there within the hour if nothing stopped them. Her feet drug on the coarse stone as they walked, and her eyes were closed tight. Beads of sweat dripped from her fiery red hair that dangled in loose curls in front of her brow. Her breathing slowed to a snail’s pace. The ice in her skin froze the back of his neck like a winter’s breeze as Snorri clasped his hand around her wrist. She was unconscious now, worlds away from the rest of them in some deeper darkness than that of this world. He hoped she would come back to them, but a sickness such as this was rarely ever overcome. He knew, she was slipping from life, and he quickened his pace.

**********

         It had been nearly an hour since they began their march across the flat stone of the bluffs. To the south, a dark, turbulent sea roared against the cliffs, far below, crashing against stone like thunder from a distant storm. As he spied the first dome of the city’s buildings, Rialev breathed a sigh of relief.

         He was now damp from neck to feet from sweat, but it was difficult to tell if it were Elaine’s or his own. The trek, though flat and much easier than that of the forest, was not as simple as he’d thought, for she was a sack of boulders, dragging across rough stone. There had been moments that he would have given anything for a rest, but he knew he couldn’t. She had very little time remaining, of that he was certain, and if it cost him his life to see to her safety, he would have given it.

         She wasn’t particularly fond of him, or at least she didn’t seem to be, but she was the only person he had now. Papal couldn’t be trusted, and Razelle – well how many people could trust a dragon? Her talents were just too unnatural for his liking. Elaine however, was just like him, or at least she was now.

         She had changed much since coming to Xalimfal, and leaving Valimaar behind, and he was there to witness every moment. He saw her first kill, it was inexperienced and unthoughtful, but she had done it without hesitation. He was there when she fought against the Dwergar. Elaine carried an intensity about her that no other person possessed, not even his Expurgator brethren. When she swung her sword, that intensity was her strength. She was as gifted a killer as he, perhaps still a bit fresh, but as natural as a snake striking its prey. She was born to be a fighter.

         The Ymirjar diplomat led them through the dark streets, between the shadows of towering marble structures that reached high toward the heavens. His pace was near grueling as he walked, but he didn’t protest. The sooner they got to wherever it was Papal had intended, the better, despite his gnawing feeling that there was no reason to trust his judgement. Still, Elaine was right about the man, he’d always remained true to their cause. He had never once spoke ill of any of them, and as far as he could tell, held a contempt for the Divinity as much as he. That didn’t matter, he had murdered a child. He always said it was the only way, but there just was no forgiving that.

         Rialev had committed his fair share of murders himself, but none were ever children. Many of them, however, were senseless and in the name of a cause that he now cursed and despised with every fabric of his being. He’d been misled like so many others. Papal, however, had always known. He had always been there to see the terrible things the Ecclesiarchy had done to the world, and never once, did he speak of it until it was all spiraled beyond reclamation. Only when the Expurgators committed their heresy and took arms against Ecclesia with Lokken, did he come to them, speaking out against his former brothers and sisters. Perhaps it was the only time he could do such a thing, but too many things were just too coincidental to place any measure of trust in the man.

         Snorri forced open the old, timeworn door of a stone building, significantly smaller than those around it and drug her limp body into a long, dark room. There was no light to be had here, as it was bereft of windows allowing what little light there was to illuminate it.

         Needles pricked at his flesh as his eyes began to adjust. Shapes of beds lined the walls from front to back, down both sides of the room. Chills tickled at his flesh as the corners of his vision caught glimpses of shadows that were there, then gone. The dark had a way of doing that. He brushed aside that foreboding feeling, and trudged on as the Ymirjar drug her into the room, nearly dragging him as well.

         The servant that carried that foolish ladle was quick to strike flames into a torch on the wall nearest the door. She had not spoken once, nor had the other. They were clearly traumatized by everything, not that he could blame them, for all he knew, they were the only ones left alive in this world. They trudged along, occasionally focusing on things that weren’t there, trembling all the while.

         The bearded one, he was altogether different. His eyes were as wide as a full moon, always staring blankly ahead, and rocking himself. He never made a sound. Even now, he contented himself to huddle in a corner and stare ahead as though he were in a trance, gripping his makeshift club tight in his fist – always rocking.

         Fear was a curious emotion. Rialev had felt it before, more times than he could count, but he’d never been utterly overcome by it like these two. It had a way of removing whatever life was there, and replacing it with a simple body, still capable of function, but entirely devoid of meaningful life. These two were little more than shells.

         Snorri eased her off his shoulders as he led them to a bed. As the light from the torch swelled, he could recognize the infirmary. His legs shook as he struggled to hold her upright. How could she be so heavy? The Ymirjar rolled the blankets back and fluffed the pillow before rushing round and assisting with her. They eased her into the bed, and he slid the covers over her shivering, sweaty body before he ran off down the building, and into a doorway at the far end.

         Rialev looked down at her, fighting against some corruption that she could not overcome. He wished he could fight it for her. He brushed a strand of her hair away from her face, and sweat licked at his finger as he hooked it behind her ear. Her eyes darted about this way and that behind eyelids that were shut tight as a stuck window. Every so often, a slight murmur of pain or fear would escape her lips, and she would jump and twitch beneath the covers.

         He slipped the bandage down her arm, and that frigid black spot of skin greeted his hand with icy razors. It was still growing, roughly the size of a fist now. Around it, her veins darkened to black lines that looked as though she traced them with charcoal. The webbed out a few inches before fading away to her pale, moist skin.

         Papal came round to the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on her. His sorrowful expression sank further as he looked down at the darkened flesh, and he shook his head.

         “I hope that whatever is inside her, she can overcome,” he said, cupping his hand over the blackness.

         As he did, she shot up, her eyes wide open, as she let out a harsh and throaty howl of pain before easing back into her dark, restless sleep.

         Rialev looked away, he couldn’t see her like this anymore. “As do I,” he said.

         He rested his hand on the butt stock of his pistol, checking its clearance in its holster, knowing that whatever was inside her was winning…