All Things Devour

eight

Thunder lowed in the sky above as the dinghy carrying Anton and Sonya swayed in the turbulent waters.

“How is it no one has found this place?” Sonya asked with a solemn breath, like one of the faithful first seeing a great cathedral. An inexplicable hush filled her heart as she looked at the soaring spires with the steep, multi-layered roofs like stave churches, boathouses dotted among the rocks with massive longboats crowned with the faces of monsters. It was a place that looked as if it could have only been made by giants, formed by huge hands and strength inconceivable.

Sonya looked upon it and, for the first time, grasped the enormity of the new world she’d stumbled upon. She had gone on the expedition with Dr. Rangel and the others to see what they could discover—and she could have never anticipated a sight like the one before her. An entire generation of academics would give their right arms to see an actual Viking village.

The boat rocked, and Anton waved his hand. A glimmer of light, like a thin, transparent cowl, came to rest over them.

“It falls to the head seidkona or madr to maintain the storm and spells that contain Vidarheim and mask it from the outside world. Jormund and the ships take care of the rest.”

Sonya eyed the vessels she’d admired a moment before and remembered again the people who lived here—the draugar, blood-drinkers. She imagined more than one hapless, lost boat had fallen prey to their clutches.

The dinghy zipped across the water, moving faster than Sonya had realized. “What is this?” she asked about the nebulous cowl over them. Anton hummed, his hand still upheld to keep the light in place.

“It’s to keep our approach hidden from the watchers. It’s not as if I’m a conquering hero returning home to open arms.”

Sonya blinked and looked at him, the humor of the remark not as believable as Anton would have liked. “But what will happen to you? Are they going to send you back to that awful place?”

“I’m not worried about it.”

His answer was not a definitive no , and an anxious knot formed in Sonya’s middle as they coasted toward one of the looming towers and the island it encumbered. If Anton’s welcome was less than amicable and his kinsmen rejected or threw him back in that miserable prison, what would happen to Sonya? Would she be tossed out too?

“By not worried ,” Anton continued, eying her and her furrowed brow. “I mean I have a certain understanding of how things will progress. Depending on who’s still alive and living in Vidarheim, a few may squabble and kick up a fuss about my reappearance, some might be quite unhappy—but they’d have to fight me to put me back there, and they don’t want to do that.” He paused. “Though, I would like to avoid a scene.”

They made for a spot by the untended jetty, and Sonya jolted as the boat’s bottom scraped over unseen stones. Then, quick as could be, Anton hefted her into his arms and hopped onto the rocks, heedless of the icy water swirling past his ankles. He shoved the dinghy away with his foot, setting it adrift on the riled tide, and started walking.

Sonya stared at him in surprise as he continued to carry her.

Beyond the jetty and rocky hillside, Sonya could note the presence of narrow lanes and stone walls wending beyond her sight into the wild trees and undergrowth. A torch in the distance revealed a square door in the face of a grassy hill—and Sonya gawked, suddenly understanding she was looking at sprawling turf houses, the pitched roofs all but covered in thick, mossy grass. Mist and smoke coiled through the towering stone plinths and ancient birch trees like the tongues of hissing snakes.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, barely conscious of the fact Anton still had his arms around her, so taken with the scenery. “I’ve seen the torfb?ir in Iceland before, where the lack of oak drove settlers to utilize the native turf and birch wood—but these are completely different. Fascinating .”

“Well, that’s because this isn’t Iceland and these aren’t their torfb?ir .” Anton set her back on her feet—and he crouched behind a drystone wall, Sonya watching him like he’d lost his mind.

“I’m going to lead us to a friend’s house—or at least where he last lived.”

“Are you going to creep behind things the whole way? Because I think walking as a normal person would be less conspicuous.”

“Har har. I was too quick to call you sweet Sonya. Sassy is a much better epithet.” He pinched Sonya’s side, though his eyes never ceased their wary sweep along the wet lane. No one loitered about, but visibility was stunted by the many twists and turns and moving mist, voices drifting on the false storm’s winds. The waves crashed loud at their backs, and gulls shrieked by the massive boathouse.

Sonya cast her gaze over the massive tower, glancing toward the others and their islands across the bay before looking at Anton again. She almost fell on her backside in shock when she found him replaced by a large, short-haired dog.

“Anton?” she gasped, and the dog wagged his tail, head giving a definite nod. He was as black as pitch and appeared to be a Labrador of some sort, or perhaps a shepherd, with his tall, large ears, though Sonya had never seen a dog with teeth quite as white or as sharp.

How bizarre, she thought. Is there anything vampires can’t do?

“Oh, but you’re so cute,” she said, grinning, gently patting his head. His tail wagged more, tangling in the clover. “So cute, you couldn’t possibly be Anton.”

The tail stopped wagging and a low, peeved huff escaped his nose. Nudging Sonya aside, he wended around the wall’s end, and Sonya followed, squeezing between the column and a stocky yew bush until she could stand in the open. Anton turned to make sure she was with him and then trotted toward the next lane.

Sonya hurried after him, tucking her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker as she went.

It wasn’t long before she saw new people—a man and a woman walking in the other direction. Both better resembled the Viking norm than Anton—both overly tall and blond, his beard coarse and thick, her bare arm bearing the careful design of the Vegvisir. A nervous shiver went through Sonya as they passed, though neither paid her much mind.

The man hesitated when he breathed deep through his nose, but a growl from Anton dissuaded his curiosity.

Sonya and Anton broke into a light jog, the mist cold in Sonya’s lungs, the rain building into a cold drizzle. The torches stationed here and there among the hidden homes hissed and sputtered, and yet they gave off enough light for her to see by, and Sonya could discern the shape of a longhouse at the lane’s end. Anton ran on ahead, and by the time Sonya reached the shadow of the wooden step before the great, bolted door, he’d resumed his human shape. He glanced behind them before banging his fist against the treated wood.

His persistent knocking was answered by a boy who couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve. He tipped his soot-marked face toward the light, clinging to the door’s handle. Sonya hid her surprise when she saw that his dark eyes had the same silvery quality as Anton’s.

Anton addressed him in Old Norse, his words sharp, and the boy gaped at him half-shrouded in the shadows before he scrambled off into the house again. Anton took Sonya by the elbow and urged her through the door, closing it tight behind them.

Sonya had never seen an odder home. The interior blended the traditional elements of a longhouse—a raised firepit of stone in the room’s center and carved decorative pillars stained a rich cherry red—with modern elements, like a simple standing lamp in the corner and a radio on the shelf. There was a low, rustic table with a few books on it—including a heavy, ancient leather-bound tome and two slim paperback mysteries. Someone had hung a Renaissance reprint in a gilded frame.

“There’s electricity?” she asked Anton, who was making an effort to knock the mud from his shoes. Sonya quickly followed suit.

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. The constant storms generate a lot of energy, and so we were quick to utilize it after the humans invented better means of conduction.”

He took a breath to say something else, but whatever thought had come to him got pushed aside when the great figure of a man appeared in the doorway to the hall.

A massive person, he looked as if he had been born to wear a horned helmet and swing an ax in the name of erstwhile gods, his hairy hands bigger than Sonya’s head, his red beard magnificent and braided with metal beads. He had to duck to miss a beam, but she could see his eyes had the tell-tale draugr sheen and, when he let out a booming laugh, sharp teeth glinted in his mouth.

“Anton!” he said, and the two clasped arms, the large bear of a man smacking Anton’s back. “Gods be praised, boy! It is good to see you!” His attention dropped to Sonya, who had to look up a considerable way to meet his gaze. The top of her head barely reached his chest. “And who do we have here?” The draugr’s eyes flicked over her ragged, salt-stained clothes, pausing on her wounded throat. “You’ve gone and broken out of prison and stolen yourself a pretty maiden wife? You’ve been busy!”

Sonya gawked, and Anton laughed, extending a hand to touch her shoulder.

“It is good to see you too, Gudbrand. This is Sonya. She’s the one who released me, and she got into a bit of trouble, as you see.”

“Aye, I do.” He extended a hand for Sonya and shook with surprising delicacy. “Well met! I am Gudbrand Gostasson.”

“Sonya Marston. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You are welcome in my home. Let me find where Fiske has gone, and we will get you both fed.” He turned his head. “Fiske? Fiske! Where have you gone to now, boy?!”

Gudbrand lumbered deeper into his home, and Anton waved for her to follow. The mention of food had Sonya’s stomach aching in phantom hunger, her thoughts returning to the last meal she shared under the red canopy with her classmates, nibbling on dry granola.

“Vampires keep food?” she asked him, her tone light but still tinged with desperation. She didn’t know what she would do if Gudbrand pressed a cup of mulled blood into her hands.

“Yes, from time to time. Some of the draugar are traditionalists and won’t partake in food, but Gudbrand and his ilk aren’t like that.” He met her eyes with a knowing look. “Blood must be consumed still, Sonya.”

She looked away.

They came into a warm, inviting kitchen with a pleasant mix of old and new appliances and a long, scarred table. Sonya couldn’t help but run an appreciative hand over the wood, feeling the dips and grooves as she surveyed the homey space, and Gudbrand continued his search.

“Is Fiske the boy we saw when we came in?” she asked as Anton dropped onto one of the chairs with a pleased grunt. He looked at home there despite his grubby appearance. Sonya tried to pull out a chair of her own—and found it too heavy, Anton chuckling as he used his foot to push it back for her.

“Fiske is older than Gudbrand or me,” he said, his chuckle growing to a laugh at Sonya’s disbelief. “Being turned so young, it stunts the mind. He can be a bit curious in that way, and hasn’t adapted well to modern times.”

Gudbrand returned with Fiske in tow, the skinny boy still sooty and confused by Sonya and Anton’s presence. He listened to Gudbrand when he spoke in gruff Norse, and soon enough, there was bread, mead, and pickled shark in a kind of gelatin put on the table. Sonya was hungry enough not to blink at the selection and soon ate her fill. Gudbrand did the same while Fiske gazed off toward the deep hearth, and Anton contented himself with the mead.

Sonya cast about for something to say.

“That’s a Carolingian sword,” she blurted out, eyes on the blade hanging from the stone wall. “From the tenth century—false Damascus steel, a special form of metallurgy when steel was harder come by, but so well maintained! The ornamentation on the handle is beautiful.”

The men at the table stared at her, Gudbrand still chewing on his bread. Anton raised his brow in question.

“Warfare and ancient weaponry were a specialty for me in my field of study,” Sonya explained with a small, content smile. “I collect swords! Or, well, my mum and I collect swords. It’s not really a hobby a graduate student can fund on her own.” Thinking of her mum saddened her, and she fidgeted with her flatware as she softly amended, “ Collected .”

“Aye, the girl has an eye for quality!” Gudbrand said. “I used that sword to behead Solveig Destinsdottir in the field! Now that was a battle for the ages.”

“And the shield there, with blue. The symbol on it, ?gishjálmr , or the Helm of Awe. It was said to be a magic spell of light—.”

“—to protect us in battle.” Gudbrand grinned. “Anton! Where did you find this one?”

“I’m fairly certain I stole her from an elf,” he said with an airy wave of his hand, his mouth pulling into a pleased smirk. “Right from under his hill. I must have tricked a fairy and spirited her across the sea.”

Sonya flushed and narrowed her eyes, not entirely sure that was a compliment, but Anton kept smiling. No one had ever wanted to steal her from anything before, and she wondered if he was teasing or being sincere.

The large draugr snorted. “She makes for a better Viking than you.”

Anton pouted amid Sonya’s giggling and drank more mead.

At Gudbrand’s request, Fiske showed Sonya to a room she could use—a dusty little space equipped with a bed layered by furs, a chest, a nightstand, and a telly better suited for the ies. The majority of what she’d seen in Gudbrand’s house could be charitably labeled a mishmash, what with his drool-worthy collection of historical artifacts and odd modern trinkets that caught his eye. Seeing authentic, home-made furs next to a funky television one might discover at a car boot sale.

Most importantly, the room lacked a window and thus sunlight, which Sonya both missed and feared in equal measure. Anton had said she could build a resistance to it over time, but how long would that take? When would she see daylight again?

The air smelled of must and old sachet. Sonya rested for a while and tried to sleep, but when she failed to do little more than roll from side to side on her down-filled mattress, Sonya rose and retraced her steps through the dark house to the kitchen.

The heavy door had been left open just a scant inch, and it was enough for Sonya to hear Anton’s voice through. She paused and, with guilt, stayed to listen.

“I did not know if I would find you here alive,” Anton muttered, swallowing more from his cup. “I worried there would be no one left at all.”

Gudbrand sighed, his breath like the great rush of a bellows being depressed. “You had a right to be worried. Not many of us survived after you were taken.”

“…and Jarl Eerika?”

“ Nei , boy. She lost her allies too quick. I never learned who did the deed, but it was not with honor. Happened in the day, with her back turned. Hrafnasueltir .”

Anton’s cup made a heavy thump as it was returned to the table. When he spoke, it was with mute, pained sorrow. “I felt it,” he groaned. “In the dark, when they took her life. I knew she would not be here when I returned, but I had hoped . I felt that cord between us snap like it was nothing.”

“Did you sleep for long?”

“Long enough. Who is Jarl?”

“We serve Jarl Asger now.”

Anton tutted and grumbled. “Things could be worse, I guess. We could have had Alfhild at the helm.”

“Aye! And we almost did! But Alfhild went off and got married to a strigoi, if you can believe it.”

“I pity the poor son of a bitch who caught that battle-ax.”

They guffawed and drank. The fire crackled as Sonya leaned against the wall, feeling the chill creep up her dirty socks. Did you sleep for long? There was that mention again of sleeping, and not in its usual connotation. How long did Anton sleep for? How long was he there?

“What will you do with Sonya?” Gudbrand asked. “I gather from what you said you did not bite her.”

Anton sighed. “That would make things too simple, wouldn’t it? No, I am not her v?rdr. ”

“Who is?”

“We haven’t the foggiest, but we intend to search the isles, see who left recently, or find a familiar face. She was attacked, and they were lazy. Careless. Cruel. Another of her party was left to turn.”

“Vesall ,” the burly Viking breathed. “That’s not good.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Swallowing, Sonya eased from the door and returned to her room.