Black Monastery (7 page)

And now it was finally awake. After years of drifting in the void, it was awake and hungry for carnage, so very ravenous for destruction.

It had been so long, too long. Philibert had made promises, yet he had died. All men were liars. It should have expected as much. It too was a liar, a lord of lies, and prince of pain.

And now it was free. What to do first? It should start with the village and skin them all, every man, woman, child, and animal. These thoughts gave it a rush of joy, but then it halted in place as a worry intruded into its consciousness. What of the Eastern men? Where were those fools? They would never give up. It wouldn’t, so why would they? If it destroyed the village, would that send a message and lead them there before it was ready for them? No. It wasn’t strong enough yet to resist them. They were out there somewhere, it was certain of that. It understood the need for power all too well. They would never stop searching for it. The fate of their Caliphate depended on it.

It wandered aimlessly through the woods, weighing its options. It was on an island, which was good and bad. It couldn’t go far inland anyway because it needed to stay near the ocean. But if it stayed there, still wearing the rotting shell, it would be vulnerable to the Eastern men when they came for it—and they would come for it.

And then it felt something new. A small part of its existence still remained within the crypt of Philibert. The piece was so small that it had forgotten it was there. Then someone touched it, releasing its malignance. It felt a connection with the living.

Someone new had arrived on the island, someone interesting.

It turned back toward the black monastery.

Three

The Black Monastery,

August 2, 799,

Early evening

Koll’s and Mar’s faces reflected their fear as Harald explained how Asgrim had betrayed them all, leading them here to their doom.

“But we’ve swuh—swuh—sworn oaths,” Mar stuttered, as he always did whenever he was nervous. He ran his hands over his bald head. An ugly little man with pig’s eyes, he always looked like he had just been punched in the face.

“He’s already betrayed us,” said Harald. “Don’t you see it? He promised us plunder, land in Ireland.” Harald motioned around himself expansively at the walls of the stable where they had been digging near the support beams. “Is this Ireland?”

“You’re splitting hairs,” said Koll, leaning on his shovel and watching Harald carefully. Koll was a tall, thin man with blond hair that he wore in long braids. “The oath we swore was to serve him for the voyage. None of us actually said
Ireland
.”

Harald snorted. “Didn’t need to say it. All of us meant it. It was understood, an unspoken promise. One he broke.”

Mar’s face still showed his uncertainty and his worry, but Koll looked as though he were beginning to get it. “Perhaps,” he muttered.

“He’ll ku—ku—kill us if he hears what we say.” Mar looked about himself.

But no one else was within earshot. Harald wasn’t stupid. First, he needed to get his friends onboard and convince them. It wouldn’t be too hard, he knew. Neither Mar nor Koll particularly enjoyed doing their own thinking.

“He’s done,” said Harald. “He just won’t admit it. The idiot killed the earl’s son. He’ll never go home again, but he can bring us all down with him.”

“He’s a dangerous man,” said Koll. “Kill any one of us in a duel.”

Harald hawked and spat on the oat-covered earth surface of the stable. “He’s not
that
good. Everyone’s just afraid to challenge him. If it weren’t for that freak brother of his and the ship his father built, he wouldn’t even be a captain, just another man, just like us, just like me.”

“Yu—yu—you should challenge him,” said Mar. “You’re b—b—better than any man with an ax.”

Harald’s mouth opened, but Koll spoke before he could. “Not better than Bjorn. No man can fight him.”

“A duel won’t work,” said Harald. “He’d probably cheat anyway. Or ask his brother to fight it for him.” Harald looked away. Even he heard how ridiculous his words sounded. Asgrim Wood-Nose was many things, but he had always been an honorable man.

Could Harald beat him?

“It’s this place.” Koll pointed his shovel toward the monastery. “He’s brought us to ruin, to a cursed land. There’s nothing here for any of us but an ignoble death. I bet the gods aren’t even watching us this far south.” Koll paused and stared at Harald, a smile spreading across his thin face. “Any man that led us away from this place, why, he’d be a hero, a true leader.”

“It would take a real leader to save the men, wouldn’t it,” Harald said.

Mar’s face reflected his confusion, and his little pig eyes squinted, but Harald smirked. Perhaps Koll was smarter than he had thought. He would make a good first mate. The three men sat down and began to whisper among themselves, trying to determine whom to approach next.

* * *

When he walked into the stables and saw the three men whispering with their heads together, Gorm Louse-Beard didn’t know what they had been saying, but he saw he had spooked them, and he was certain he saw fear in the eyes of that stuttering moron Mar. The back of his head itched, as it always did when he was afraid, but he glared at them and pointed away. “Get your lazy asses up to the main building. We’re tearing up the floorboards in their church and need more help.”

The three men climbed to their feet and shuffled past Gorm without meeting his eyes. His palm resting on the hilt of his long-knife and his pulse racing, he watched their backs as they walked past. He knew trouble when he saw it. He had to tell the captain.

* * *

Asgrim lurked just inside an open doorway of the monastery, watching the men work in the courtyard. He had ordered them to drag the corpses out of the monastery and pile them outside the walls. They couldn’t do anything about the entrails, blood, and feces, but by removing the corpses, they would get rid of the worst of the stench and make searching the monastery slightly more bearable. The men’s mood was getting worse. Bjorn had been right about Harald Skull-Splitter. Gorm was certain he had been plotting trouble earlier. Even when Harald should have been helping move the corpses, he and his two buddies, Koll and Mar, were huddled together near a stone wall, whispering.

They needed to be taught a lesson—
before
he had to kill someone. Mutiny was a rot that would only grow if left unchecked. Asgrim stepped back into the interior of the doorway as his brother came up behind the malingering trio. Letting Bjorn administer this particular lesson would be best. If Asgrim had to become involved, somebody might have to die. Oaths were a serious matter.

Without warning, Bjorn stormed forward, grabbed the back of Harald’s shoulders, and threw him to the ground, knocking Mar down, as well. His eyes widening, Koll turned to stare at Bjorn, and Bjorn punched him in the face, sending him flying back against the wall before he fell onto his knees with blood streaming down his face. Harald scrambled to get up again, but Bjorn grabbed him by the collar of his leather armor and the seat of his trousers, then rammed him headfirst into the stone wall. The sound of Harald’s skull striking the stone made a sickening thud.

No! Bjorn was going to kill him.

Asgrim darted out of the doorway and ran to stop his brother. “Bjorn, enough!” he yelled as he grabbed his brother’s shoulders from behind. But Bjorn just shrugged Asgrim off, sending him stumbling back. Trying to overpower the big man was like wrestling a horse.

Ignoring Asgrim, Bjorn lashed out at one of the men on the ground, savagely kicking Mar in the gut. The man whimpered and curled into a ball, all resistance gone. Bjorn lifted his leg, obviously preparing to stomp on Mar’s unprotected face. If he connected, he would probably break his neck. Asgrim tackled his brother at the back of his knees, and both men fell forward.

They wrestled together on the ground. His brother screamed in rage and lashed out. His punch only scraped Asgrim’s chin, but it still nearly knocked his head off. His brother’s eyes were wild, crazed, as if he didn’t even recognize him. Grabbing Bjorn’s face with both hands, Asgrim smashed his forehead against Bjorn’s nose, knocking the larger man onto his back. Moments later, other men rushed forward and piled on top of Bjorn, holding him down with the weight of their numbers.

Asgrim dragged himself to his feet and grabbed at the men holding down his brother, yanking them off him. “Brother, what are you doing?”

From where he squatted on the ground, Bjorn stared at Asgrim as if he didn’t recognize him. “I… what?”

Gorm was bent over the unconscious Harald. “He’s alive,” he called out. “Gods! His head should be cracked in two, but he’s alive.”

Asgrim got down on his knees and gripped his brother’s face. He leaned in and touched his forehead against his brother’s. “Are you all right?”

Blood streamed from his nose and dripped into his blond beard, but recognition slowly returned to Bjorn’s blue eyes, and he nodded. “I… I what happened?”

Asgrim sat back, staring at his brother’s face. “You almost killed these three men.”

“What?” The confusion on Bjorn’s face made it look like he had just woken up.

Asgrim reached out and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Go clean your face. Walk it off. We’ll talk later.”

Looking uncertain, Bjorn got up and stormed away. Asgrim looked to the three men Bjorn had attacked, the ones he was only supposed to teach a lesson.

Well, he’d taught them a lesson, all right.

Harald would live, but he would have a bad headache. The other two men were fine. Koll had a broken nose, but was otherwise okay.

“Get back to work,” ordered Asgrim.

The men took to their task with a vengeance, leaving Asgrim to sit and wonder over his brother’s rage. He watched Harald’s back as he left. The other man’s face had held hatred, pure and white hot.

Gods damn this place.

* * *

As the sun went down, the monastery became even more sinister, if such a thing were possible. The western sky was a sea of red flames, and shadows grew across the island. The men, constantly on edge, snapped at one another. Their hands hovered near their weapons, and their eyes darted toward any sudden movement. Even Asgrim found himself on edge, as if spiders crawled across his skin. He stood in the garden, pissing into the monks’ stone fountain and watching the darkness grow.

They had been there all day. How much longer could they stay? And where was that gods-damned silver that the Saracen had promised was there? The men he had left with
Sea Eel
would be worried, but they were good steady men and would wait. Besides, they had no choice but to wait. More than five men were necessary to sail a longship that large.

Then he felt the unmistakable presence of eyes upon his skin. Turning his head just slightly, he saw one of the shadows move behind him. Someone was sneaking up on him. Exhaling slowly, he forced himself to finish urinating and move as if he still believed he was alone in the courtyard. He felt a slight dizziness and a churning in his stomach. Forcing himself to keep his back toward his unseen opponent was torture, but he did so anyway. His fingers rose to scratch the left side on his jaw, near the shoulder where the hilt of
Heart-Ripper
was slung. He paused for several heartbeats.

Had they missed someone within the monastery, or was it one of his own men? Had Harald Skull-Splitter found the courage to attack his captain? Or was it a spirit?
Draugr
came out at night; everyone knew this.

A pebble shifted just behind him, making a scratching noise, and Asgrim spun, his sword in hand, his teeth bared.

No one was there.

He panted in place, his eyes darting about. He was certain he had heard someone and seen the shadows move.

Draugr
.

Ham and Glum, a pair of young men on their first raid, little more than boys, really, came out the doors of the monastery and saw Asgrim standing with his sword drawn. Both men spun about in place, drawing their own long knives and looking about in all directions for attackers.

“Captain, what?” Glum asked, his eyes betraying his fear.

“Do we… do we call the others?” Ham asked.

Asgrim exhaled, then shook his head. He was jumping at shadows, at nothing. No, not at nothing. This place was haunted.

“No.” He re-sheathed his sword. “But go find Gorm and my brother. Tell them to round everyone up. We’re not staying here this night.”

The faces of both of the young men lit up with smiles.

Only a fool stays overnight where spirits dwell, and the dead did haunt this place. Asgrim was certain of it.

“Back to the ship?” Ham’s face reflected his desire to quit this island.

“To the Franks’ fort,” Asgrim replied. “We’ll start the search over again in the morning. When there’s no
dra
—when there’s more light.”

* * *

Alda sat back against a tree trunk hundreds of paces from the walls of the monastery, watching. The northmen had been in there all day, and all day, she had remained hiding and watching. She bit into an apple as she watched. Periodically, she had seen the men on the walls of the monastery. They had gone into all of the outbuildings, and once, she had even seen them up on the monastery’s roof. They were searching for something. Plunder, she guessed, but she doubted they would find much. The monks had always been poor. Everyone knew that.

There had been no fighting, no sounds of battle or screams of the wounded. Had the monks surrendered? Would they have given up her sister to the raiders?

She closed her eyes and put her head back against the rough tree bark. Tears flowed down her cheeks. She was lying to herself, and she knew it. There were no prisoners and no fighting because no one still lived within that monastery when the foreigners had arrived. She was certain of it now. Her sister was already dead. She was wasting her time, and she should go hide in the forest until the raiders left. Being this close to them was dangerous, too dangerous.