Black Monastery (29 page)

They covered the distance quickly, moving through the forest toward the beach. Soon, he heard the crashing of the waves. Just before coming out onto the shoreline, he stopped among the trees and dropped to one knee. He poured a splash of the oil over one of the torches, let it soak for a moment, and then used his tinder and flint to set it afire. It caught quickly, burning black smoke. He handed it back to Alda, along with the jar, and then removed the silver shield from his back, adjusted it onto his arm, and drew
Heart-Ripper
. The Saracen’s talisman hung from his neck on top of his chain mail coat, his hammer of Thor beneath it.

“Are you ready, Alda?” he asked, meeting her eye.

His intent was clear and, her lip quivering slightly, she nodded.

This one is a queen among other women, Asgrim thought. She deserved better than to die with him.

But no man can change his fate.

He set off toward the beach. Alda followed so closely behind him that she was almost rubbing up against his back. Asgrim stepped onto the pebbled shoreline and faced his destiny.

Sea Eel
had been re-launched and sat with her prow pulled up onto the shoreline, ready to sail away. The Saracen’s
dhow
was gone. Had the remaining Saracens escaped? He hoped so. Somebody should escape.

Frankish soldiers and Danish raiders moved about the shore near the longship, preparing her. Even from where he stood, Asgrim could tell that something was wrong with the men. They moved woodenly. They were
draugr
now, taken by the
Marid
. He saw no sign of the spirit as he began to walk toward his ship.

When they were about twenty paces away, the first of the possessed men, a Frank, turned and pointed at them. Then the others, both Frank and Dane, ceased their labors and stared at them, as if uncertain what to do. The smoke from the burning torch Alda carried wafted past him. As if possessed of a single mind, the men stumbled toward them with hatred and murder in their dead eyes.

Doubt rushed over Asgrim, and his breath caught in his throat. The shield would work, or they were dead.

The air felt thick around him, and then the shield began to vibrate, pulsing with energy. As the first of the
draugr
reached him, the walking dead man staggered to a stop, lowered his arms, and stared stiffly at the silver shield. Then another, one of his former crew, froze in place just behind the first. Every single man who approached Asgrim halted, each one staring stupidly at the shield. The eastern magic
was
working. Asgrim stepped past the first man, turning to keep the shield facing him as he went. Alda turned with him, her chest against his back, her breath hot on his neck.

When the shield was facing away from them, the
draugr
began to move again, to approach him, only to stop once more when Asgrim turned the shield back toward them. Spit dribbled down their chins, and they stared at him with dead, all-black eyes. He edged past the living corpse of Harald Skull-Splitter, hating himself.

Had any captain ever failed his men as profoundly as he had?

They reached the prow of
Sea Eel
and turned to keep the shield toward the crowd of
draugr
gathered in a half-circle in front of him.

Where was the damned
Marid
?

He shoved the point of
Heart-Ripper
into the sand so the blade stood upright, within easy reach. Then he reached behind himself, still keeping his gaze on the dead.

“The oil, woman. Give me the oil.”

She took several seconds to comprehend what he was asking for, but then she fumbled the jar into his hand. He took it and poured it against the wooden strakes of his longship. The stench of the oil washed over him.

Years ago, the act of building this ship had brought him back from the dead and connected him with his father.

He sighed and held out his hand for the burning torch.

“It’s only a ship,” he said, not believing it for a moment.

And then his eyes rested on the false keel, on his and his brother’s still-legible initials that they had carved into the wood so many years earlier, and he hesitated, dropping his hand and staring.

* * *

The
Marid
stepped from the sunken shell of the Saracen’s
dhow
that sat on the silt-covered floor of the ocean. Schools of fish swam past, averting their course well away from the
djinn
. After slowly slaughtering and skinning the crew of the
dhow
, it had no reason to sink their ship, as well, but it had done so anyway, perhaps out of spite.

And it had much to be spiteful for. Long had it been forced to serve their
Caliphate
. But with that day’s events, those humiliating days were truly over. Never again would it serve man. It was truly free. The easterner’s precious silver jar that had served so long as its prison was destroyed and could never hold it again, and their finest mystic was dead. Now, with the northerners’ ship and the husks of their bodies to act as crew, it could savage the coast, kill, and burn, and—

Something was wrong.

It had filled the corpses of the Danes and Franks with minor
ghuls
from its own dimension, near-mindless thralls who were consumed only by the need to kill and obey. But now it sensed their confusion and uncertainty.

The northman was back. Asgrim Wood-Nose was still alive.

Impressive.

The
Marid
examined its rotting hands. The corpse of Cuthbert was falling apart, as they all did in time. It masked its aura and walked along the ocean’s floor toward the shoreline.

Time for a new body.

* * *

Asgrim held the burning torch in front of him with one hand, watching the
draugrs
step away from his ship. The Saracen’s silver shield had held them at bay, but suddenly they all simply stepped back, in one large group, away from him and Alda.

He stepped away from
Sea Eel’s
oil-soaked hull, still keeping his shield directed at the dead men.

“Why are they moving away?” he asked.

Alda squeezed his waist and said something in Frankish, probably admonishing him to finish the job and set fire to his ship. And he knew he should, but…

“It’s my last connection with him,” he said. “All I have left.”

She pleaded with him again, grabbing his arm holding the torch and trying to drag it toward the ship.

He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He turned to face her, to try to explain.

And as he did, he saw the
Marid
walk out of the surf behind him, not ten paces away, opposite the group of
draugrs
.

He hadn’t felt its presence; only chance had caused him turn at that moment. The
dhow
hadn’t sailed away. The
Marid
had sunk it.

The spirit glared at Asgrim with its all-black eyes. Its gaze went from Asgrim to the burning torch in his hand.

Asgrim locked eyes with the
Marid
. “No one sails my ship but me,” he said as he rammed the burning torch against the oil-soaked hull of
Sea Eel
.

The ship’s hull ignited in a flash, forcing them away from it. The
Marid
screamed in anger and rushed forward. Asgrim dropped the burning torch in the sand and grabbed
Heart-Ripper.
Holding the silver shield in front of him, he turned to face the
Marid
.

The
Marid
staggered to a stop, covering its eyes with its forearm as it turned away. Behind Asgrim, the flames crawled up the side of
Sea Eel
, quickly spreading across the longship.

“
Fool!
” shrieked the
Marid
. “
What have you done to my ship?”

“No,” snarled Asgrim. “
My
ship.”

Bizarrely, Asgrim was calm as he stepped forward, swinging
Heart-Ripper
. The
Marid
, still facing away from the shield, blocked the sword strike with an upraised arm. Impossibly, the blade did not cut through the spirit’s arm, but rebounded off the bone. The jarring impact almost made Asgrim drop his weapon. It was like chopping at a tree trunk.

Impossible!

The
Marid
shrugged off the wound, lashing out at Asgrim and solidly connecting with his shield. Asgrim flew back through the air, his vision suddenly blurry. When it cleared, he saw the silver shield had been ripped from his arm. Its straps were broken and the metal had bent in half. The
Marid
stalked forward, and Asgrim knew he couldn’t get up in time. But at that moment, a burning torch flew through the air, striking the
Marid
in the face, sending sparks flying. The
Marid
slapped at its burning head, glared at Alda, and then drew its sword. Asgrim climbed back to his feet,
Heart-Ripper
in his grip, and moved to place himself in front of her.

The spirit glared at him. “
Northman, that Saracen talisman you wear only stops me from taking your body. It won’t prevent me from killing you. And you will die slowly, as will your woman. I shall wear her skin as a nightshirt
.”

Asgrim spat at the sand near the
Marid’s
feet. “Gods curse you. Come on, then!”

Enraged, the spirit advanced, but then it halted. A confused expression spread across its face as it looked past him. Asgrim glanced behind himself, and his mouth dropped open in disbelief.
Sea Eel
blazed and crackled as the flames consumed her. But walking from the burning longship, literally stepping into thin air, was his brother Bjorn, followed by his dead crew. The spirits—and spirits they had to be—shone like flames, but they were translucent, little more than smoke. And behind them, standing on the burning deck of his ship were Freya and Frodi, watching the dead advance toward Asgrim and the
Marid
.

Bjorn grinned. “
We fight together again one last time, older brother
.
One more chance for the Valkyries to take notice of our courage
.”

And then Bjorn stepped right into him, somehow passing through him and becoming a part of him. Strength and power flowed through Asgrim. Then Gorm Louse-Beard stepped into Asgrim, who again staggered under the sudden rush of strength that flowed through his muscles. A heartbeat later, Harald Skull-Splitter, his spirit face beaming with anticipation, also joined with him. In moments, every single crewman whose body had been possessed by the
Marid
joined with Asgrim, filling him and giving him unimaginable strength.

Asgrim turned and faced the
Marid
, knowing he did so as an equal. The spirit glared at him. Its eyes betrayed its doubt. “Fool. Your northern magic will fail you, just as the easterners’ failed them.”

“We shall see
, draugr
,” said Asgrim.

They came together, swords flashing, hitting so hard that sparks flew through the air. They struck at one another with such force that the bones of lesser men would have shattered under the impact. Again and again, they fought in a cycle: attack, parry, counter-attack, withdraw. And then the cycle would begin again. Move, shift, strike, block, strike, and strike again. Asgrim’s world became very simple and very focused: kill, kill, kill.

The
Marid
was skilled with a blade and was unbelievably good, but Asgrim fought with the borrowed strength of his men and the need to defeat this thing. Despite Asgrim’s borrowed strength, the
Marid
was still more powerful, and slowly, the spirit began to force Asgrim back. It took the offensive and kept it, striking again and again, and Asgrim could do nothing more than ward off its blows. Asgrim knew he would make a mistake before long, and the spirit would strike him down. He was becoming tired, and the
Marid
had to realize that. And then Asgrim remembered another duel many years before, against a man that he had thought too old and too tired to stand against him, and he grasped at the only chance he had. Asgrim lashed out at the
Marid’s
front leg, purposely overextending himself. As he expected, the spirit stepped back, parried his blow, and then struck back at Asgrim’s exposed leg. Pain shot through Asgrim as the
Marid’s
longsword scraped along his thigh, and the spirit grinned with triumph. But the
Marid
had not expected the hook punch Asgrim had already launched with his empty hand. His blow caught the
Marid
solidly in the jaw, and despite the agony in his leg, Asgrim pushed with his thighs, drawing power from them. Asgrim heard a loud crack as the
Marid
staggered back, its jaw broken. Asgrim lashed out again, this time with
Heart-Ripper,
and cut the
Marid’s
sword hand off at the wrist, sending both sword and fist flying to the sand. The
Marid
stared at the stump of its severed sword arm, and then howled in anguish and rage, rushing Asgrim. But instead of meeting the attack, Asgrim dropped to one knee and then rose up, catching the
Marid
over his shoulder and sending it flying through the air behind him.

The
Marid
slammed against the side of the blazing longship. In a blur, Alda rushed past Asgrim, hurling the mostly empty jar of oil at the spirit. The jar smashed into the spirit’s forehead, shattering and sending the remnants of the oil over its head. Flames caught in its hair and then spread over its body. It jumped to its feet, spun in place, and then staggered toward the ocean.

“Asgrim
,” Freya’s spirit called out from the burning deck of the longship. “
It is a creature of the sea. It draws its power from the ocean.”

Asgrim leaped onto the back of the burning
Marid
, ignoring the pain from the flames. He spun the spirit about and shoved it back, back, back—until its body slammed into the burning hull of
Sea Eel
.