The Hunter Victorious (32 page)

The moment had come. The volva had reached a feverish pitch, calling upon the gods, importuning them to accept the gift and
return their beneficence to the land.

Her words were met with a howl of wind that swept down from the roiling clouds, their swollen underbellies black and heavy
with the threat of rain or snow. She turned to Carn and her eyes drilled into his, attempting to overwhelm his fragile sanity
with the sheer force of her maddened mind.

She snatched a dagger from her belt and forced his fingers around the hilt, a bone, polished to a rich gleam by the caress
of centuries of reverent hands. The blade was long and thin, honed to a state of near transparency over the ages.

Her fingers locked around his, clenching them tight till the knobs of the bone handle pressed painfully into his flesh. Her
touch was feverishly hot, her eyes burning into his, commanding him wordlessly to do her bidding. He felt drugged, his mind
numbed, his will slipping away from him like the storm tide pulling away from the shore. His fingers wrapped around the bone
shaft of their own volition and he felt himself turn toward Keri, his feet devoid of sensation as though they obeyed another
mind, supported another’s body. A part of him remained isolated from the factotum that obeyed the volva’s will, seemed to
view himself from afar and yet was powerless to rebel or intervene.

He turned to Keri and they looked into each other’s eyes. She was aware of the knife in his hand but never lowered her eyes
as another might have done. It was clear from the way she raised her chin that she knew what he intended to do. He saw the
tiny knife she held clenched in her hand yet knew that all she would have to do was speak and he would be powerless to harm
her.

That portion of him which remained free of the volva’s grip screamed silently for her to speak, cried for her to say the words
that might break the spell. But she remained silent, holding his eyes with her own, a link as hypnotic as that of the volva’s.
It seemed to draw him toward her and the knife came up, his nerveless fingers meeting his shoulder, his taut muscles trembling
with the need to unleash the waited action.

The screaming wind seemed to echo the torment of his soul and his anguished mind. Carn felt as though he were going mad. The
volva was screaming again, her words indistinguishable from the violence of the rising storm. He felt as though she too were
an implacable force of nature, one that
he could not dare to stand up against, one whose power was far greater than his own frail will.

Tears fell from Carn’s scarred eyes, fell unnoticed upon the twisted flesh of his face, and he took a step toward Keri, hating
himself, hating what he had become, praying that she would use the knife she held. But still she did not move, only stared
at him with love and fear and steadfast courage in her eyes.

And then he was beside her and as he raised the knife for the killing blow, the ship was slammed sideways by a massive wave.
He stumbled sideways, off balance, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of movement. Keri was thrown off balance
as well and the connection between them was severed. Carn’s arm struck the side of the king’s chair and the knife was dislodged,
knocked from his grip, and went clattering along the deck. The spell was broken. He made no attempt to retrieve the blade,
but stared at it, drained of all emotion as well as strength.

The volva seemed to realize instantly that she had lost her hold on him. She screamed in fury, a wild, inhuman sound that
was snatched away by the howling wind. She dived for the knife. Carn knew what she was going to do. He threw himself forward,
reaching the blade a brief instant before her fingers closed around it. He raised the knife and smiled at her gently. She
sagged briefly, believing that she had regained her hold upon his body as well as his soul. Even as he smiled to reassure
her, he brought the knife down, not upon Keri, who was sprawled helplessly beside him, but into the volva’s body, straight
down into the soft flesh of her breast. The knife passed through the woman’s flesh as easily as through paper. Her eyes opened
wide in disbelief and her mouth opened wide. A gout of blood stained her teeth and colored the lips crimson before dripping
down her chin and falling upon the
blade that had stolen her life. She reached for him with shaking, nerveless fingers and he moved back so that she could not
touch him, for he feared her still.

She died with the disbelief still written in her eyes, the unspoken curse still on her lips, the knife lodged firmly in her
chest. Carn stared down at her as she stared up with unseeing eyes into the ominous sky. He was chilled. Cold, so very, very
cold. He tugged the knife free of the flesh he had known so intimately and stared at the dripping blade.

He looked then at Keri, who was attempting to rise from the heaving deck. Her eyes were filled with confusion as well as compassion.
She reached for him as though forgiving him, urging him silently to take her hand. Carn smiled at her softly, her forgiveness
a deeper pain than he had ever known. He knew the depth of his betrayal, knew that even if she could forgive him, he could
never forgive himself. He had been willing to sacrifice his sister, Braldt, those who had loved him, for his own warped ambitions.

He heard her call his name as he turned the blade upon himself, an act of courage greater than any he had ever known before.
He was surprised to feel the lance of icy pain that pierced him. It was cold, yet burning at the same time; it was not what
he had expected. It seemed a foolish thought. Keri was screaming. Her voice seemed to come from far away. He looked up at
her, surprised to note that he was lying on the deck. He did not recall having fallen. He tried to smile at her, to tell her
that it was all right, but no words came to his lips.

A great calmness descended upon him. He could see the wind tearing at the naked masts, see the ropes straining under the force
of the rising gale, sense the rise and fall of the deck beneath him, but he could feel nothing. He wished that he could comfort
Keri, could tell her that it was the right thing to have done. Perhaps she would know it in time.

Through the dim and distant light, he saw Braldt and Skirnir struggling over Keri and then Beast was there and an eerie howling
was echoing in his ears. It was curious that he could not feel any emotion other than relief. He felt as though he had completed
a long and difficult journey and if he only closed his eyes, Mother would be there to welcome him home.

Otir Vaeng watched the proceedings with a sense of weariness that matched Carn’s. He had spent his life maneuvering others,
manipulating them to his will to attain, achieve and protect his power, and now none of it seemed to matter.

Even before Carn closed his eyes, his blood mingling with that of the volva’s and spreading in dark pools across the deck,
Otir Vaeng had bent forward and touched the fire starter to the pile of dry kindling that formed a dense layer under the mountain
of wood. He no longer felt the pain of his arm, which had by now filled his body with deadly poisons.

He knew that he had come to the end of his life, and strangely, it no longer mattered. He had known it was done as soon as
the Beast had bitten him. It seemed oddly fitting that that should be the method of his death, a creature from a world that
he had caused to die for his own gain.

He had spent much time reviewing the events of his life during the course of the last weeks and knew that it had all been
foolishness based on pride and greed. He had done much that was good, but little that would be remembered if any of his people
survived the coming catastrophe.

He had never thought of himself as a coward, and in choosing the time and manner of his death, he thought that he could meet
it bravely. He had no desire to rot away, suppurating with approaching death and whining for release.

He had never believed in gods or an afterlife either, despite the fact that he had imposed such beliefs upon his people with
an iron will. Now, as death drew near, he found himself welcoming it, wishing for it with the fervor he had once held for
his only loves. He wondered if there truly were gods and whether the spirits of those he had once loved, those few who had
truly loved him, would be there.

He had thought the voyage to the stars, the founding of a new world, to be the greatest adventure he had ever undertaken,
ever hoped to experience, but now he knew that this was a far greater adventure that he was about to embark upon, death.

The fire had seized hold now. Flames rose, crackling and snarling around him. The heat felt good upon his chilled and aching
body. But there were other sounds as well. He dragged himself back from the gathering clouds and forced himself to concentrate
on what was happening around him. He resented the intrusion, the need to return, but there was still something holding him,
something he had to do.

Keri, the girl. Otir Vaeng stared at Keri, attempting to comprehend what it was that he was seeing. His mind was still occupied
with thoughts of what was to come and it was difficult to resolve the images he was seeing. Braldt—that was the man’s name.
He had thought that he was dead, but here he was struggling with Keri, trying to pull her away from Carn’s body. The flames
were perilously close.

Braldt heaved her to her feet and then suddenly she was clinging to him! Otir Vaeng looked down upon her tear-streaked face
and saw with amazement that some of her tears, some of her grief, were for him! He had little strength, precious little to
spare, but he forced his lips into a smile and raised his fingers to touch her face. It was all the time that he was granted.
Braldt seized her and clutched her to his chest. For a brief moment, his eyes met those of the king, and Otir Vaeng read compassion,
understanding, and, even more importantly, respect in Braldt’s eyes. Braldt nodded to Otir
Vaeng, the benediction of one king to another, and then he was gone, with Beast at his heels.

The shape-changers were all that remained. Otir Vaeng nodded to one of them and the dour, dark creature understood his unspoken
command. Stepping to the stern of the boat, he brought a great ax down upon the thick hawser which held the ship to the shore.
It parted with a twang and the ship leapt forward, its prow slicing through the waves, headed for the dark horizon.

Braldt and Beast struggled through the pounding surf which crashed upon the stony shore. Ahead of them, Skirnir, wet and dripping,
his robes clinging to his skinny legs, fought his way through the raging water. Anxious hands reached out to grab Braldt and
Keri, to pull them to safety out of the grip of the undertow that sucked at their legs and threatened to devour them in the
icy gray waters. No one hurried to Skirnir’s aid and it was by sheer determination that he managed to reach the shore.

They were wrapped in polyskin cloaks and Keri’s sodden finery was stripped from her as water turned to ice upon contact with
the bitterly cold winds. But Keri seemed unaware of the ministrations and concern that were being lavished on her. Her eyes
followed the rapidly vanishing ship.as it rose and fell upon the storm-tossed waves. The fierce forbidding visage of the monster
carved upon the prow looked back at her until it disappeared in a drift of smoke.

The sky was black and terrible, the clouds churning and rolling with fearsome turbulence. Everything was darkness, one could
scarcely tell where the clouds left off and the dark seas began. Only the bright spot of crimson gold flames served as the
ship’s beacon.

Then an amazing thing happened. The skies parted as though separated by hands and a clear blue patch of sky emerged. Sunlight,
warm and golden such as they had not
felt since leaving their own worlds, streamed down upon the blazing ship—beams of light that Carn and Keri had always called
God Rays—enveloping the burning ship. Then, in the empty sky, as barren of life as the planet, two winged figures were seen.
A cry went up from the crowd as disbelieving eyes fixed upon the sight. A third winged figure joined the two, and then one
more. Higher and higher they circled above the blazing ship, their joyous cries echoing across the thin, cold air. They were
bathed in the rays of light, their broad, strong wings outspread, catching the sun and the wind. Higher and higher they circled
until they were no more than specks in the bright light.

Then, as they entered the hole in the clouds, the clouds closed around them, shutting out the light, and then they were gone.
Only the ship remained. There was a brief burst of flames which flared against the dark, seething sea and then it was gone
and a hard, cold rain began to fall.

The insanity began almost upon the instant that the clouds
came together. A terrible, cold rain began to fall, pelting down upon them with a vengeance. As soon as it touched them,
it turned to ice which coated flesh as well as clothing. Every step, every motion, was accompanied by the tinkling of ice
breaking and falling to the ground. The rain turned to sleet and struck them like tiny pellets that stung painfully when they
landed on exposed flesh. Not even their clothing was adequate protection from the constant bombardment.