All Things Devour

ten

“Anton?”

Next to Sonya, Anton got to his feet and tugged her away from the balcony’s edge. “Come. We need to leave.”

Perhaps sensing her apprehension, he kept hold of Sonya’s hand as they darted down the stairs and, in an instant, crossed into the open grounds once again. Sonya had only a moment to turn her head and glimpse the blond stranger speaking with the man on the throne before she and Anton had got too far from sight.

The hand on Sonya’s—usually so warm and yielding—felt cold.

They reached the water, Anton shoving back his hood, a great gasp of white air escaping his lungs. There was another man on the dock, perhaps the one sent to relieve the poor fool who’d taken a dunk in the sea, and he frowned in disbelief when he saw who approached.

“…Thegn Anton?”

Anton threw his hand toward the man, light shimmering on the surface of his palm, and that light reflected in the man’s startled eyes. Then, in an instant, he slumped against the pillar at his back, and a deep snore rumbled in his chest.

Without missing a step, Anton severed the mooring line and leapt into their boat, and he held his arms out to Sonya to do the same. She followed with less grace, but he held her up until she found her footing, and they both sat as Anton propelled the boat away from the inviting lights of the rowdy mead hall.

The upset on his face couldn’t be mistaken, carving a deep furrow between his brows and setting an air of severity about the man who, in their short acquaintance, Sonya had come to see as a more vibrant, exuberant person.

“Anton,” she ventured, uneasy. “Who was…?”

“Not here,” he said, sharp. He glanced at Sonya’s troubled expression and sofed, lowering his head. “I’m sorry. The wind carries words. I did not think—.” He gritted his teeth. “Of all the bastards to live….”

Sonya left him to brood on his own thoughts and diverted her attion toward her surroundings. The islands held a stark, austere beauty, the constant storm always on the brink of becoming wild and threaing as the lightning pulsed like veins through the blackened clouds. When the lightning did come, of striking the rods sticking out from the high tops of the towers, Sonya could spy the silhouettes of bridges between the larger landmasses, a huge stone one crossing a deep fjord. And there—Jormund emerged like the Loch Ness monster, his body slick as a serpent’s, parting through the black waters.

She could not help but think of the man they’d seen, the man they’d fled . Anton recognized him, of course, and it had not been a positive association. Sonya thought she should probably feel more…troubled by seeing the person who held her death a fait accompli from the moment he spotted her in the highlands. Perhaps the situation was still too surreal for her to properly process, so she felt more concerned for Anton, who looked so distraught that he could weep at any moment.

Jormund bumped the boat’s bottom, and Sonya yelped, startled, flushing bright red when Anton stirred enough to chuckle.

They came to the smaller island they had left perhaps three hours before, and Anton pulled his hood back into place before they wandered the winding, desolate lanes among the silent turf houses. Sonya could hear the gulls crying again, louder than before, and each flap of their wings drew Anton’s shoulders tighter and tighter.

Fiske let them into the house once more, this time barely pausing to give them a glance before scampering off, leaving Anton to close and latch the heavy door. Gudbrand waited for them in the kitchen, standing at his island counter, filleting fresh-caught herrings with a sharp knife.

“Back already?”

Anton stopped short of the counter and lowered his hood, his face still severe and displeased. His glasses caught and shone with the firelight the larger draugr appeared to prefer.

“You failed to mention he was still alive.”

The knife stopped. “Ah,” Gudbrand said hesitantly, setting his tools aside. “It slipped my mind.”

“It slipped your mind —?!”

“Aye!” Gudbrand boomed, cutting across Anton’s outburst, making it plain he would not be shouted at in his own home. “I’ve conted myself with my lot here and don’t make for the main island of. So I’ve barely clapped eyes on the brat for years, and knowing he’d left you to rot somewhere I couldn’t find, I couldn’t stomach the sight of him!”

“Excuse me,” Sonya interrupted, heads turning to her. “Can someone please explain to me what is happening? Who is he? ”

Anton sighed and ran a hand across his brow as if to loosen the sion there. “Calder. His name is Calder Halfdansson, or Calder Hawkfoot.”

Gudbrand’s bushy brow rose as he looked between them, and his mouth opened. He had come to a sudden, unwelcome realization. “Oh, don’t tell me—.”

“Yes. Her v?rdr.”

Making a decision, Anton excused himself and strode away, Sonya staring after him with mixed feelings of concern and frustration.

“Let him go douse his head,” Gudbrand told her, waving her over to the counter, holding the knife out handle first. “Odinn’s teeth, it had to be the strigoi’s whelp….Never mind all that now. You know how to do this? Good. Come be useful.”

Sonya took over the filleting of the herrings while Gudbrand mixed and kneaded a heavy, multi-grain bread. He exhaled through his nose, his mustache ruffling, “There’s a good deal of history there. Dark history.”

“So I gathered. Anton was very unhappy when he appeared.”

“Calder and Anton used to work together under Jarl Eerika, the former Jarl—the leader here in Vidarheim. Calder's v?rdr was Radu Dr?culea, Eerika’s husband, a deposed strigoi voivode .”

“A voivode ? Is that—?” Sonya racked her mind. “That’s a noble in Eastern Europe, if I’m remembering correctly. It wasn’t really my area of study.” She paused. “Wait, ‘ Radu Dr?culea ?’ As in the brother of Drac —?”

“Aye,” Gudbrand interrupted with a bored wave of his hand. “An overblown cunt, that one. The less said about his brood of strigoi—vampires—the better. Has Anton got enough sense in his thick head still to explain about the vardir —the masters?”

“He explained how, in part, your religion believes the ones who—turn you? Are responsible for your souls.”

He grunted, pulling the bread apart into manageable loaves. “Is it called a belief if it’s true?” he asked. “If you’re responsible for something, you’re meant to take care of it. It’s put the whole of it in your hands. Those who become a v?rdr have influence over their ward. Some vardir use that influence poorly.”

Sonya watched Gudbrand’s large hands flat the bread into round disks, scoring the edges. Her mind flashed to Anton’s mention of Jarl Eerika and her purchase of him. Had she misused Anton? Sonya had no knowledge of the woman and no business making her own suppositions, but it wasn’t uncommon for abused people to speak highly or fondly of their abuser. She shook her head.

“And is this why it’s a problem if this Calder is my—master?”

Gudbrand didn’t answer her directly. “Rumor has it Radu didn’t hold Calder or Anton in high regard, and Calder resented him. It is not a thing to act against your v?rdr. It is not done. Physically an impossible act—spiritually as well, for most. When you awaken to this life, fully, when you take in the blood of your master, you take in the blood of Loki and become his dottir . That magic in you, the seidr, belongs to your v?rdr and is theirs to use as they want. They can control you.”

A sick feeling in her stomach twisted, and Sonya’s heart fluttered in panic.

“Calder is the reason Anton went away,” Gudbrand continued, shocking Sonya. “And the reason for much that followed. His experience with the vardir is a negative one, and he does not have respect for the bond it creates.”

Sonya’s stomach twisted again, harder, and she stilled her hands. She felt quite like one of those poor little fish—gutted and raw and probably just as frighed and confused as they had been in their last moments. She was not a brave woman. She wasn’t cowardly, either, but in the presence of clear and explicit danger, Sonya couldn’t stop herself from being afraid, and Gudbrand’s brief description of this Calder fellow made her fear .

What did this mean for her? What would happen to Sonya if she didn’t get Calder’s blood?

A different voice spoke from the hall. “He’s the head seidmadr now, isn’t he?”

That had been Anton, who’d reappeared at the room’s entrance, looking tired but less surly, his cloak missing.

Gudbrand sighed. “Aye.”

“The seidr in the air felt…familiar, but I hadn’t thought to connect it with him….” His eyes slid to Sonya. “Oh, what’s this? Has Gudbrand put you to work already?”

“Pah!” Gudbrand muttered. “Work never hurt anyone.”

“I didn’t bring my sweet Sonya here for you to have another servant,” he said, his voice playful but still plagued by his earlier frustration.

“I like to keep my hands busy,” Sonya protested. Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat, willing the unsettled ache in her middle to disappear. She pointed the knife in Anton’s direction, brow raised. “Don’t interfere.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Yes, dear,” he placated, and Sonya huffed at the endearment. Approaching the island counter from the other side, he picked up a root and a paring knife and began skinning the root. “I want to say it surprises me Calder would rise so high…but it does not. He always had a way of slinking in like a bloody eel.”

“Rumor tells it was a reward,” Gudbrand grunted.

Anton’s lip curled, and he nearly cut himself when his hand jerked in agitation.

“Of course.” His gaze settled on Sonya, and he explained in the most succinct terms, “I worked for my Jarl as an…accountant, of sorts. Maybe treasurer is a better word for it. But, really, I simply did whatever task Jarl Eerika required of me. Anyway, I found a discrepancy in the distribution of certain funds while working abroad. I followed up on that discrepancy when I returned and stumbled upon a plot to assassinate Calder’s master, Radu.” He finished skinning the root and commenced slicing it. “I went to Calder with my findings, and he made certain I disappeared before I could tell anyone else.”

“But why would he do such a thing if Radu was his—v?rdr?”

“Who knows? Because he is a hateful, loathsome creature. I never did discover if he was behind the assassination or if he simply let it play out, unable to act against Radu on his own.”

“Radu died, eventually,” Gudbrand supplied, picking the story up where Anton’s part stopped. “And he was Jarl Eerika’s head seidmadr, meaning the storms and protections went quiet when he died. It was not a good time for Vidarheim. There was much conflict—much uncertainty. Many of the drott moved to take power, and Jarl Eerika’s allies fell thin. Not many of us in her house survived. Calder made his name for himself by backing the man who would take Eerika’s place.”

Their conversation drew to a close when a door clattered and Fiske entered the room, carrying firewood barefoot and dressed in a grubby tunic. Gudbrand gave him a scolding that sounded much too indulgent, even in Old Norse, and Anton only rolled his eyes as he continued preparing tubers. Sonya finished the herrings and went to the sink to wash, and it was while soaping her hands and mulling over her thoughts, something dreadful occurred to her.

Because if Calder had been the one to imprison Anton…why had Jarl Eerika not let him out?

It was later, after they shared a meal and spoke on lighter things, like the history of Vidarheim and the people living there, that Sonya returned to her room and found Anton standing in place as if lost. He studied a tapestry on the wall, a beautiful piece filled with strange runes Sonya didn’t recognize, words and meaning lost to the long ravages of time. Anton brushed his fingertips against it with casual familiarity, as if it’d been hanging in his family den for years. A single candle burned on the nightstand, the lamp left dim.

“I won’t abandon you to Calder,” he said when Sonya shut the door, not turning around. “I could tell it bothered you earlier when I left without addressing the issue, but I…I needed to gather my own thoughts. I hadn’t been prepared to see him again.” He turned his head from the tapestry. He pursed his mouth so his soft lips formed a hard line. “I apologize.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” She touched his arm, but when he froze and stared at it, Sonya retracted her hand, feeling awkward. I understand.”

He tempered, and flashed a smile, small and genuine and tired. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself, didn’t I? We will figure something out. You need Calder’s blood to be whole and to live, but I won’t abandon you to his thrall.”

Uncertain, Sonya went to sit on her bed, staring down at her scuffed boots. “It’s inevitable, isn’t it? Gudbrand didn’t allude to it being much of a choice on my part.”

“No, but that does not mean he gets to own you, either.” Anton joined her on the bed, his knee touching her own. Slowly, hesitantly, he took her hands in his own, and though he’d done so a dozen times before, the action felt meaningful. Sonya’s skin prickled, unused to being so close to another person. “I have never encountered this conundrum before. Accidental vampirism isn’t much of a thing, really. I don’t of consider how new draugar feel about their vardir because it’s a choice on their part, a decision they make and get to live with. But this was not your choice.”

“No,” Sonya acknowledged. “I don’t understand why I…I can’t have your blood instead. Not that I’m thrilled about the idea of being tied in such a damning way to any person, but I….”

Anton leaned closer, his cheek glancing over her shoulder, then he rested his brow against hers. Sonya’s heart thumped, and she didn’t move. It was difficult to make out his expression in the candlelight. “My blood wouldn’t work. It has to be his .”

Everything about the word dripped with disdain, and yet Sonya heard more beyond it, a sentiment he tried to hide like a child sweeping bits of a broken vase under the rug. Perhaps Anton heard it too because he shut his eyes, and his hand came up from her lap to her hair, untangling the plait.

“Calder was like my brother,” he murmured as quietly as he could. Sonya wondered if he feared admitting the words aloud or if he was ashamed. “We’re the same age, give or take a few years. From different parts of the world, but brought here together, raised from boyhood, given to the same seidkona to train in the arts. In the end, we made the decision together to become draugar, and we served Jarl Eerika with honor.”

Anton opened his eyes, and his hand cupped her cheek now, thumb brushing her jaw.

“He tricked me, Sonya. He took me by surprise and stuck me in that place. I was in the dark for so long, while everyone I cared about was dying or disappearing to places I could not follow. Everything in my world just…turned to dust. I had hoped to find more alive, more…and I have to ask myself if I ever really knew Calder at all.”

Suddenly, Sonya realized he’d understood her desperation to find her classmates and Dr. Rangel better than she’d thought, because he’d had a group of people at home he needed to return to as well. It pressed against her with tangible heat, a reflection of her own uncertainty, her own loneliness in a life that began deep underground in the Scottish highlands. Maybe he sensed it too, and maybe that was the real reason why Anton had helped her. Because he was lonely, too.

Shifting, Sonya wrapped her arms around Anton and buried her face in his neck. He stiffened as if surprised, then returned her embrace with fierceness, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

“You know, it is not quite so frighing when you are here. How very strange,” he whispered.

Sonya had to agree.