The
Jaws of Fenris
Episode
Four: The Time of Sacrifice
By John Outram
About the author
"T
HERE SHALL BE AN AXE-AGE, A SWORD-AGE -- shields shall be broken.
There
shall be a storm-age and a wolf-age before the world is ended.
"The world shall be wrenched and racked by wars for
three
winters," Skalgrim's litany went on. "Fathers will slaughter sons and
brothers
be drenched in one another's blood. Mothers shall desert their menfolk
and lie with their own sons; brother shall bed sister.
"Three winters shall follow crueller than before.
There
will be bitter frosts, biting winds; the sun will be helpless, and
three
winters shall pass with no summers in between.
"So the end begins! The children of the giants shall
have
their say: the wolf Skoll shall catch the sun in his jaws and swallow
her
-- he will spatter the heavens with her bloood. And Hati his brother will
savage the moon. The stars will flee from the sky. The earth will
shudder;
trees will sway and topple, great mountains come crashing down, and
every
bond and fetter shall be broken. Then -- then shall Fenris run free!"
The Sons of Fenris responded with a wild ululation,
the
howl of the wolf indeed. Far off in the forest, voices responded. The
four-legged
brethren of the wolf-hides had heard their call.
Conar, the young groom, was directly in front of
him,
tied cross-wise to a wooden frame. Conar's belly was open now and the
wolf-skins
were drawing out his innards, slowly, carefully, to make sure he did
not
die at once. Conar screamed himself hoarse, then fell silent. His head
hung loosely, but his eyes still rolled madly in the torchlight. Two
silent,
grey wolves, carved from the rock of the cliff-face, stared stonily at
the sacrifice. Gidian fought the urge to vomit, so sick he was with
horror.
Next to him, Donal thrashed and raged against his bonds.
"Damn you sick bastards to hell!" he choked. "May
Odin
pluck out your eyes for his ravens to devour! May you rot eternally in
Hel's grim realm!"
"Be quiet," replied one of the wolf-skins. "Your
turn
will come soon enough."
"Give me a sword, you cowards!" shrieked Donal
hysterically.
"Any one of you! All of you! By Thor, by Magni, by Heimdall, I'd fight
you all! Come on, you no-men, you cock-less pullets, are you afraid of
an old man? Don't even give me a sword -- just cut my bonds and I'll
fight
you all with my bare hands, damn you! Ah, murdering scum! Call
yourselves
wolves? Wolves have more decency! You are less than worms!"
Donal's voice became incoherent as he raged and
tugged
at his bonds. The other prisoners wept or cried or pleaded.
"Skalgrim, I beg you to listen to me!" said Gidian,
hoping
to make one last appeal to the wolf-priest's sanity.
Skalgrim turned to him with a smile of wry
amusement.
His look told Gidian he had heard every kind of pleading in his cruel
career.
Gidian strained impotently against his bonds, knowing strength would
avail
him nothing.
"Save your breath for your own death cries," replied
the
wolf-priest. "You will need it, believe me, when the time comes. You
are
lucky, for will you see what we do now, and know what is to be done to
you."
Three wolf-hides who had remained in Darrowby found
themselves
in the main room of the inn, enjoying a flagon or two of corn-wine and
sporting with the serving girl. She seemed less keen to play than they,
unwilling almost. Bergin, who counted himself the leader of this little
group of friends, decided the girl needed a lesson if she was to play
with
them further. First he pushed her roughly against the tap-room wall a
few
times, then he slapped her, not too hard but enough to make her take
notice.
Then, loosening her clothing a little, he thrust her against the wall
and
forced his mouth upon hers. Laughing as they watched, the others egged
him on.
"Come on, girl, you've played this game with others
before,"
Bergin cajoled as he gripped her jaw in his sinewy grasp and lifted her
tear-stained face to his own. "Less tears and more love-making, that's
the way -- or else I shall have to raise my fist to you again."
"Try this fist for weight!" said Kavlar. He had
entered
without a sound, and even as he spoke one of the wolf-skins fell
forward
with a corn-scythe thrust through him. With a startled gasp Bergin
reached
for his sword, but the young Waren crossed the room with a single bound
and let fly a left-handed punch that lifted the big Northman off his
feet
and dumped him on the hearthrug.
The last wolf-skin snatched up his sword. Kavlar
reached
down and pulled the corn-scythe from the body of the man he had already
killed and brandished it with menace. The wolf-skin took one look at
the
avenging Waren, thought better of it and ran for his life. Kavlar
heaved
an oaken stool after him. The wolf-skin almost reached the door before
it crushed his skull.
Kavlar threw down the corn-scythe and sprang upon
Bergin.
He kicked him in the face, breaking his nose for the second time that
night,
grabbed the hand in which Bergin had already drawn a knife and then
thrust
him headfirst into the fireplace. Blinded by smoke and sparks, Bergin
struggled
free, in spite of the basket of firewood the Waren youth loaded on his
back. Fending off a barrage of kicks and punches, he crawled under a
table
for safety. Kavlar flung the table aside and dragged him out. Bergin
wept
and begged for mercy. Kavlar spat in his face and ran him through with
his own knife, letting him sink to the floor gurgling and whimpering
pathetically.
Suddenly the room was quiet. Kavlar waited, looking
and
listening for signs of any more wolf-skins coming to the aid of the
three
he had killed, but there was no sound other than the serving girl's
quiet
weeping. He seized her by the wrist. She looked at him with blank
terror.
"Are there others here?" he asked. "Where are the
rest?
Where are our companions? And damn it, where's my dog?"
"Don't hurt me," she begged.
"Hurt you? I've no taste for the games these scum
had
in mind, but if you don't answer me then be sure, I'll kill you."
She sobbed something incoherent. He pressed her
against
the wall as Bergin had done.
"Speak -- or I'll do worse to you than your
boyfriends
there could dream of," snarled Kavlar. "I haven't forgotten that you
tried
to get me spitted on Bergin's dagger tonight!"
"You killed Daran," she wept. "He was like a father
to
me..."
"The innkeeper?" asked Kavlar incredulously. "He
looked
no more than an old lecher to me, and he tried to stick me with a
poisoned
knife. Now hurry, girl, before I get really angry. What others are
here?
How many and where? No lies, or else..."
"Four, asleep in the malt-house. The ostler is in
the
stable, but he's no part of it. The rest are gone."
"Gone where?"
"To the forest," she whispered, eyes wide with
terror.
"To... to the cave... They took the others, your friends."
Kavlar's curse whistled through his teeth. "My
sword?
My pack? My dog?"
"Skalgrim took your sword. The other things are in
the
cellar. I can take you to where they are. Skalgrim sent Bergin and the
others out to kill the dog, but it got loose and ran off. Skalgrim was
angry so he made them stay here on watch. The rest have gone to
celebrate
the rite of Fenris."
"Which way is the cave? Quickly!"
"North!" she gasped as Kavlar's grip tightened.
"You're
hurting me!"
"How do I find it? Quickly!"
"You won't miss it. They light a fire. You can see
it
from the path."
"If we're too late --"
The sound of the door opening made Kavlar spin
around,
but it was only Pilton and the two traders, Karl and Bjarn. Without a
word
he turned back to the girl and shoved her against the tavern wall again.
"We only did what they made us do," she sobbed. "We
were
afraid. They killed everyone who opposed them, sacrificed them at the
temple.
I don't know why they came. We were a peaceful village."
"So why did you try to get me killed, when I had the
bastards
at my mercy?" asked Kavlar, unappeased. He let her go, and she
collapsed
weeping into Karl's arms. The trader cousins glared at Kavlar
accusingly.
"There's four more skulking here," he told them.
"You
may have to deal with them yourselves. I've some business to see to,
and
I'll move faster alone. Go and get my pack, girl."
"Maybe we can raise the villagers," suggested Bjarn
as
he retrieved Bergin's sword. "Turn the odds in our favour."
Kavlar grunted.
"Maybe so," he said. He smiled suddenly. "My dog,
Gulo,
got away! That was good news, eh? That's a cunning old dog. But
Skalgrim's
got my sword. By Black Tuoni and Surma's boots, I'll kill him for
that...."
He shrugged his shoulders.
"So what? I was going to kill him anyway." Gidian looked around him in a daze. He was aware,
first of all, of the torches
dancing before him like fireflies, the beast-headed men marching around
them, and other men who were still. He was hanging by his wrists.
Struggling to get his weight on his feet, he discovered he could not
move them properly. It took at least a minute to order his mind
sufficiently to remember he was still bound. He realised he had been
beaten unconscious, though he did not recall it.
Twisting his head to look around he could see his four companions each
bound hand and foot to a rude, wooden cross before the temple of the
wolf-hides. Next to him was the obscenity that had once been the
Keldish groom, Conar, so Gidian could see at close quarters the fate
that awaited him.
Conar had been transformed into the unholy symbol of these barbarians,
the blood-eagle. The skin had been flayed from his body. His innards
had been drawn out and tied to his outstretched arms. His sternum had
been split and his ribs splayed out beneath his arms like the wings of
a huge, bloody eagle, decorated further with the tattered remains of
his heart and lungs. Mercifully Conar had died long before the end, but
not quickly enough.
"Prepare the Rangeman," ordered Skalgrim, the high-priest, and two
wolf-hides stepped forward with their flaying knives.
"Skalgrim," said Gidian in as firm a voice as he could muster. "You
have made a mistake. You think me just a travelling merchant caught in
your trap. What you don't know is that I sought you out on purpose. I
came to this land to find you, by Mitra."
"Then that was a foolish thing to do," replied Skalgrim.
"I came here to witness the strength of the wolf," Gidian went on. "You
have shown me that and more. You have shown me strength and cunning and
a ferocity I can hardly believe dwells in the hearts of men."
"Our hearts are the hearts of wolves," replied Skalgrim, "and all men
are our enemies."
"All Keldish men, perhaps," said Gidian. "Let me say this. The Keld
Lords of the coast have raided my people for many years, crossing the
sea in their longships. I am Gidian of Parc, Priest of Mitra and Lord
among the Rangemen. I came here seeking help. I came to find men --
brave northern men -- who would help me against this plague, men who
would themselves raid the Keldish coast and burn the fleets in the
fjords before they ever set sail."
"Damn you, Gidian!" shouted Donal.
"I sought you, and I have found you," Gidian continued. "You wolf-hides
have no love for the coastal lords. You are brave and fearless. Why
should you not ally with my people against them? There is good gold to
be earned for those that join me, and sacrifices to your god too."
"So that was your plan all along!" roared Donal, straining against his
bonds. "You knew you would find these scum at Darrowby, but you let us
walk into the trap! I swear, if I meet you on the other side I'll make
you answer for this!"
"I'm sorry, Donal," said Gidian. "I never meant it to be like this."
The Keldish merchant made one last feeble attempt against the ropes
that bound him firmly. The wolf-skins waited patiently for the word of
command, their knives glinting in the firelight. Their priest watched
patiently from the shadows of his wolf-cloak.
"Damn it, listen to me, Skalgrim!" Gidian urged. "Spare these men, and
my other friends, and let us talk like reasonable men."
Skalgrim fixed the Rangeman with a steely gaze. He lowered the staff in
his hand until the end was pointed at Gidian's throat.
"We have no peace with Rangemen, Kelds or any other people. Sacrifices
we shall have, but here, here by the sacred cavern in which Fenris lies
bound. Ragnarok comes soon, and then your gold will be worth nothing --
but your blood, soaked into the earth, will strengthen our master for
the final battle... and your screams as the flesh is drawn from you
will please him as he waits in bondage for the appointed time." He
laughed. "You came a long way to find your death, Rangeman. But these
fates are cast for us and we must accept them without bitterness."
Gidian fell silent. These were not folk with whom he could reason, he
realised. He could only prepare himself for a hideous death and pray
for the strength to face it resolutely and forgiveness for the lives of
the men he had brought here.
The first they knew of his coming was a flash of white fur caught in
the firelight. Then they heard a gasp, the sound of flesh and bone
sheared apart, and the first of their number fell in a bloody heap.
Down went another, his throat torn out. The flaying knives dropped from
the hands of the torturers. The guards stood paralysed. Even Skalgrim
gaped open mouthed at the figure that crouched among them...
Click for Part 3 (of 5)
Click for Part 5