Black Monastery (24 page)

The sky behind Abid’s head blazed with the sun’s dying rays. He hung his head, looking up at Asgrim with a mournful expression. “My people know of many different spirits. G
huls, ifrits, angels,
and
djinn
. And among the
djinn
, there are many variations, some far worse than others. This one is special.”

Yusuf leaned forward, reached out his hand, and grabbed Abid’s robes near his knee; his eyes locked on the other man’s face. Abid shook his head and firmly removed Yusuf’s hand from his garments before continuing. “It is called a
Marid
, Captain, a demon of the sea.”

“
Marid
,” repeated Asgrim. The word sounded foul on his lips.

“This
Marid
is most assuredly not one of God’s creatures, but a servant of
Shaitan
,” said Abid. “It ranks among the most powerful of all
djinn
, arrogant and haughty, utterly hateful of men. And this one, ahead of all others of its kind, revels in destruction, in murder, and sorrow. There is no act too despicable for it. Verily, all demons thrive on misery and fear—but this one…”

Asgrim nodded, poured the dregs of his beer out onto the fire, which sizzled and popped. “Aye, we’ve seen this. It… took my brother, Bjorn.”

“Yes, Captain. It possesses the minds of men, drives them to acts of horror. But we had believed it to still be trapped within—”

“Within the bones of Saint Philibert, the Christian priest who built the black monastery.”

Abid froze, his mouth open. “How…?” He cocked his head and then nodded slowly. “Yes, Captain Asgrim. You are exactly correct. This
djinn,
the
Marid,
possessed the body of the false Christian priest, who carried it away to this island before he died.”

“Why?” asked Asgrim. “How?”

“Because we trusted him, because we believed him to be a servant of God, a holy man. He fooled us by sharing certain… secrets he had gleaned from the otherworld. But he was, in truth, a most unholy man, well-versed in the dark arts. For many years, he lived among our scholars and holy men in the
Caliphate
. This is how he discovered the
Marid’s
existence, secretly gleaning that we had locked it away to… to keep the world safe. So he made his plans, and when he deemed the time right, he stole the demon, carrying it away within his own corrupt body.”

“Yet he died,” said Asgrim.

Abid nodded sagely. “Yet still he died, for no mortal man can long carry such an evil within. Perhaps he didn’t realize this. Perhaps the
Marid
lied to him. I do not know. But we have been trying to recapture the demon for many, many years now, to take it back to the
Caliphate
, where it can be safely held for all time.”

“This is why you’ve raided this island before, isn’t it?” Asgrim asked.

“This is true, Captain. Twice now, we’ve tried to take the demon back. But each time, I am ashamed to admit, we failed. After our last attempt, the Franks sent soldiers to move the monastery. We would have sent an army, but it would have meant war with the Frankish King Charlemagne, a war we did not wish to fight.”

Asgrim snorted. “Not
yet
, you mean.”

“
Islam
is peace, Captain. The
Caliph
wishes the demon returned to its prison, but does not desire another war. So—”

“So you tricked me into raiding the island for you, hoping I’d defeat the garrison.”

Abid opened his hands to Asgrim and nodded. “We knew you were bold where we were not, that you could accomplish what we did not have the strength to do.”

Asgrim sighed and leaned forward, jabbing his empty beer mug at the man. “Saracen, don’t blow air up my ass.”

Abid’s face went grey, then he smiled again, bobbing his head quickly. “You are, of course, correct and astute, Captain. I flatter you needlessly. But the silver is real, and we are prepared to pay you handsomely for your services.”

“What do you want?” said Asgrim. “Speak plainly for once in your miserable lying life.”

The two men locked eyes, and Asgrim was certain there was anger hidden behind Abid’s. A long, uncomfortable silence passed before Abid inclined his head and spoke again. “We seek to recapture the
Marid
, to take it away from this land and return it to the
Caliphate,
where it can no longer pose a threat to the world. If you help us in this task, we shall give you all of our silver, a thousand coins, enough to become the wealthiest of all sword-Danes.”

Asgrim leaned back and considered the Saracen. Harald leaned in and whispered into his ear. “I don’t trust him. Make him show us the—”

Asgrim lifted a hand to silence Harald. “
How
, Abid? How will you capture this
Marid
? It’s already killed scores of men.” He turned and jabbed a finger at
Sea Eel
, still beached on the sand. “It is stronger than you can possibly imagine, immensely powerful—far more powerful than any single man, than dozens of men combined. No man can hope to stand against it.”

“We have our ways, Captain, powerful ways. My colleague Yusuf is far more than just a servant. He is a potent mystic, famous among our people. I have brought him all this way for just this reason.” Abid paused, his fingers brushing something on his chest beneath his robes. He leaned forward and lowered his voice, but spoke with conviction. “We can capture this spirit and take it from here, saving all of the people who live on this island. And believe me, if left alone, it will kill them all. It will kill you and your men, as well. And once there are no more souls to consume, it will move on to the mainland and continue its evil. Only we have the means to defeat it.”

Once again, Asgrim remembered Freya’s warning:
If it reaches the mainland…

He stared out at the dark forest, knowing the spirit, this…
Marid
, was still out there, mocking him.

So many dead: the priests, the Frankish soldiers, those poor village girls, his own brother… even Alda, who had saved his life, who had touched him without flinching. What kind of a man was he?

“All right, Saracen. We’ll help you. And in return, you will give me half the silver now.”

Abid’s face paled. “But, Captain—”

“Half the silver
now,
or our business is done.” Asgrim put on his most threatening smile. “Well…
almost
done. There’s still the matter of your treachery.”

Abid suddenly sat erect, clearly understanding Asgrim’s threat. He dipped his head and raised his hands, palms toward Asgrim. “We have a deal, Captain. As God is our witness, we have a deal. You shall have half the silver now, the rest when the
Marid
is captured.”

When Asgrim stood up abruptly and reached across the fire, Abid’s guards leapt to their feet, their hands reaching for their swords, but Asgrim merely gripped the other man’s forearm and squeezed it.

“We have a deal,” Asgrim repeated. Then he leaned in closer and put his mouth near the Saracen’s ear. “But if you betray me, I promise I will cut you open and pull your intestines from your fat belly. You will be a long time dying.” Asgrim stepped back and opened his arms wide. With a huge smile on his scarred face, he said, “Well, now. I guess we’re all friends again.”

Seventeen

The shoreline,

August 14, 799,

Dawn

Early the next morning, they headed inland, hunting the spirit. The night before, Asgrim had asked for volunteers, fearing few, if any, of the men would willingly go with him. When the men, including Harald, confronted him en masse, each one demanding to go, Asgrim had stood speechless. He chose ten of the most experienced men and put Harald in charge of the others, ordering him to make sure
Sea Eel
was ready to sail on his return.

Often, the web the spinners weave is a twisted one. Only days before, Harald had tried to kill him; days later, Asgrim trusted him with his ship.

Steiner Ghost-Foot was one of the men Asgrim had chosen to accompany him, and the man silently led the party into the island’s interior. Asgrim followed closely behind with his other nine men, as well as the Saracens: Abid, the mystic Yusuf, and the four foreign warriors.

A cool breeze blew in from the sea, carrying with it the smell of the open water, and Asgrim longed to be done with this island and to sail away with the wind in his face once more.

Each of his men wore their captured Frankish armor and carried shields, swords, and fighting axes. Four of his men also carried longbows with arrows nocked and ready for release. They had brought supplies for two days, which was more than long enough to search the tiny island. Besides, Asgrim doubted the spirit would hide from them; it didn’t seem to fear men. Now, however, they traveled with a Saracen sorcerer, a man that could, supposedly, capture the spirit. But if the sorcerer was that powerful, why did Asgrim’s guts feel rock hard? Why did he sweat so early in the day when it was still cool?

Achmed, the Saracen warrior who led the others, carried a round shield on his back that was completely covered by a black cloth tied in place by cords. The man took great care with it, and Asgrim could tell without seeing it that it was heavier than other shields. Heavy shields were a disadvantage in a shield wall, where the fighting might last an hour or more. Asgrim would have considered the man foolish for carrying such a heavy piece of armor, but his instincts told him the Saracen warrior was anything but foolish. Tall and heavily built, with a warrior’s wide shoulders, Achmed’s dark-brown eyes seemed to watch everything, like a bird of prey. Several times, Asgrim had caught the man sizing him up. No. He was no fool. This man would be a hard opponent. In fact, the other three warriors also carried themselves with the same confidence that only comes from experience and skill. The four of them drifted through the woods, moving almost as silently as Steiner, despite wearing glittering scale mail and pieces of plate armor.

Asgrim dropped back to walk beside Abid. “Your men seem competent… for easterners.”

If the Saracen picked up on the insult, his face didn’t show it. Instead, his eyes lit up with pride. “They are the Talons of the Falcon, holy warriors trained from infancy to be the perfect warriors. The sword of the Caliph himself, his own personal bodyguards.”

“Yet now they guard you, a merchant?”

“No, Captain. I am merely God’s humble servant, one that speaks your western tongues and has moved among your kind long enough to learn your infidel ways. These men are here to protect Yusuf.” Abid glanced toward the skeletal Saracen mystic walking behind them. Yusuf stared at the ground as he walked, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. “These men make sure
he
accomplishes his task. Without his knowledge and skills, we would all be damned to a horrific death.”

“And Yusuf is here to capture this…
Marid
?”

“Indeed, Captain. And we must do all we can to ensure his safety—even if it means our lives.”

“Can we not simply destroy it? Slay the Frankish knight that carries it?”

Abid shook his head. “It would simply pass to another vessel, Captain. It is too powerful for any of us except Yusuf. But even he—with his occult training and protections—must proceed with great caution. This particular
djinn
is pure evil, a demon of unimaginable force.”

As Abid spoke, Asgrim noted that the other man’s fingers drifted once again to touch something around his neck and under his robes.

What’s he hiding under there?

“And what is your plan, then? How will you capture the spirit?”

“We shall find it, or it shall find us,” said Abid. “We are servants of God, and our presence will offend the
Marid
. Eventually, it will come against us.”

“This is your plan? Walk about this island until it attacks?”

“Yusuf is a
most
holy man, Captain. All his life has been spent in the service to God, delving into his mysteries. He has garnered great power, divine knowledge.”

“From what I understand, so did this Saint Philibert,” Asgrim said. “And look what his supreme knowledge brought him.”

A trace of anger flashed in Abid’s eyes, and this time, his voice carried a hint of the heat he was trying to hide. “Philibert was
not
a holy man. He was a pretender, a seeker of dark power. But he was not without his tricks. My own father sat at the Caliph’s court as a trusted advisor when Philibert the Black first came among us, pretending to offer secret knowledge. And he impressed all with his false magic, claiming God as its source. But he lied. He lied about everything. He even pretended to know the secrets of immortality. The old Caliph himself believed his deceit.” Abid snorted. “We should have cut Philibert’s black head from his shoulders. Instead, he was given great privileges.”

“And this is how he found the spirit?”

“It is so, Captain. Ages ago, our most holy men trapped the
Marid
within a special vessel, a silver vase capped by a blessed ruby that was once worn on the finger of a very holy man. Through murder and deceit, Philibert removed the ruby, letting the
Marid
possess him. Philibert then fled from the
Caliphate
in a ship he had waiting for him. Long had he prepared his treachery. By the time my people realized what had happened, the traitor was days gone. It took us years to find this island and even more years trying to recapture the
Marid
ourselves. As my honored father lay dying, I promised him I would return the
Marid
—even if it meant my own death.”

“It might,” said Asgrim. “I don’t think you understand how dangerous it is.”

Abid’s eyes shone with the light of his fervor. “Oh, we understand how powerful it is, Captain. Never doubt this. Before my people trapped it, the
Marid
laid waste to scores of towns and villages, slaughtering all.”