All Things Devour

sixteen

“What d’you mean he’s not available?”

The voice cut through the general babble of the marketplace and caught Sonya’s attention. She paused in her shopping, setting down one of the cans of soup Fiske had been keen on, instead letting her gaze flit over the various stalls. Many draugar had the propensity to speak quite loudly, so she had no difficulty hearing the large, silver-haired vampire griping at one of the sellers.

“I mean what I’ve said,” he replied, arms crossed. Sonya couldn’t quite detect where his accent originated from. “Wellic’s not available.”

“I’ve a voucher right here,” the draugr growled, waving said voucher in the man’s face. “This cost me four months of trading with the bastard, and I’m cashing it in. My house needs a seidmadr, or it’s going to fall in on my head.”

The merchant just shook his head. “He’s not available, I’m saying. He up and left. No one’s seen hide nor hair of Wellic.”

That gave the draugr. “That’s ridiculous!” He insisted. “Wellic’s the last seidmadr on the island worth a spit. Who am I to go to? Tython? Poor twat can’t even find his own pecker with both hands and a map.”

“You could always try the head seidmadr.”

The draugar scoffed, then scowled. “The whelp. There’s nobody else. What the feck am I meant to do? What are we meant to do? The whole row’s falling off into the sea. Give it a month, and my loo will be under two feet of water.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. Find somebody else, or find a bucket.”

The silver-haired draugr snarled and he stomped away, voucher crumpled in his fist. Sonya watched him leave, her brow furrowed, and Fiske tugged on her sleeve. He pointed at a can of tomato soup he liked.

“Fiske,” she asked, the market resuming its usual bustle around them. “Are there really so few seidr users left in Vidarheim?”

His wide eyes looked at her, then drifted behind Sonya, toward the stall with the merchant the draugr had argued with. Fiske nodded.

“But, Anton told me Vidarheim exists because of magic. That the draugar couldn’t live here without the seidmenn making it habitable.”

Again, Fiske’s head bobbled up and down on his thin neck.

Sonya paused then, absorbing this information. She knew a great deal about the living arrangements of traditional Vikings, and though many in Vidarheim still upkept some of those traditions, a greater number had adapted to parts of modernity. Though beautiful, Vidarheim itself could be inhospitable, constantly assailed by storms and shifting tides.

The seidmenn and seidkonur performed a vital role in vampire society. Anton told her that, without them, the humans would have found and eradicated the vampires long ago. Vidarheim would have disappeared into the sea.

Sonya picked up the can of tomato soup. She bit her lower lip.

“That’s not good news, is it?” she asked Fiske.

This time, he shook his head.

“I think it is time I went to Ylva.”

Anton’s pronouncement over the breakfast table—a meal of skause they shared after the sun had set—was met with one look of confusion and another of wary condemnation.

Sonya had been in Vidarheim for a month.

“The hag,” Gudbrand said as he dipped a heel of bread into his food to soak up the rest, glaring at it. “Had hoped she’d rot on Gebo, or turn into a chicken and get stuck.” Sonya giggled.

“Really, Gudbrand, come now. She isn’t nearly as terrible as you make her sound.”

“Could have fooled me. She and her little tribe don’t have many fans here in proper Vidarheim. Less so since you went away.” He paused, his beard shifting as he considered his words and chewed. “Things haven’t been…optimistic in a long while, Anton. Seidr’s been thin. Most blame Calder for that, but there’s a good lot who say it’s Ylva.”

Anton waved a hand. “Nonsense.”

Sonya, idly turning her spoon round and round in her stew, wrinkled her brow as she scanned her memory for any mention of this ‘Ylva.’ “I’m sorry. Of whom do you speak?”

“Ylva,” Anton answered. “She was my teacher, for Calder and me both. She was a good teacher, if a bit—particular. My mast—Eerika sent us to her when we began to display an extraordinary gift for the seidr.”

“Like shipping off lambs to the wolf.”

“ Gudbrand .”

“That witch ends up killing as many seidkonur and seidmenn as she helps. She has a reputation for it.”

“Some simply don’t have the aptitude for the training. Accidents happen.” Anton shook his head, and Gudbrand glowered.

“You’re blind, boy. The witch is trouble.”

Anton sighed and raked a hand through his hair as Gudbrand stood and took his dishes to the sink. Sonya went to add her own and assist, but he bid her to remain seated and took her things for her. “Why is it you want to go to her?”

“Because I think she could help.” Anton continued despite Gudbrand’s loud, ill-humored scoff. “She held a lot of authority over Calder and me, and I know—or at least knew —he held her in respect. So if I can convince her to talk to Calder, to reprimand him for being such an unmitigated arsehole , he will change his mind.”

“She’ll tell you anything you want to hear, even if it’s a lie,” Gudbrand avowed. “Because she only wants one thing from you.”

Anton rolled his eyes—and then, at Sonya’s pointed look, he gawked and flushed a brilliant red. “Not that !” he said, waving his hands in negation. “Gods, Gudbrand, you’re putting nonsense in poor Sonya’s head.”

“Aye, definitely nonsense. Don’t know a single man who could rise to that occasion. Must be like mating with some kind of sea creature.”

“You make it sound as if she’s a hideous she-demon.”

“A she-demon has the right of it—and she’s as ugly as the hounds of Niflheimr on the inside. That’s what counts.” Gudbrand set aside a rinsed dish. “She hates humans. I think she wishes for the old days, where we raided islands and took the residents back home for blood.”

Anton began to look a mite peeved, and Sonya chose to rise then and use the facilities. Unfortunately, the argument had not abated by the time she returned to the kitchen. Anton still sat in his seat, but Gudbrand had come to stand by him, frowning down at the smaller draugr with his arms crossed.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Anton snapped.

“Not as ridiculous as you think. There aren’t many as capable as Calder, let alone as you. He may have risen because of favor, but it wasn’t as if there was much of another choice. If there was —.”

“She does not want me as head seidmadr!”

“Why would she want that?” Sonya asked as she eased herself back into her chair, hand rising to rub at her sore temple. A headache had been brewing there for most of the day while she slept. She hoped food would help assuage it.

“Because,” Gudbrand said, cutting Anton off. Anton waved an aggravated hand. “The head seidmadr wields the most influence among the drott out of any the seidr users from Gebo—that’s an island outside of the realm proper, Sonya. The head seidmadr is closest to the Jarl, and who best to make sure more resources get allotted to Gebo and Ylva than someone under her thumb? Ylva has always made it her business to influence who rises highest among the drott. ”

Sonya nodded to show she was following along. The drott she already understood to be Viking nobility.

“The better and more popular the head seidmadr, the greater the benefit Ylva stands to gain.” He blew air through his nose, his beard flicking. “It is well-known Anton was one of her best students.”

“She has Calder ,” Anton pointed out. “She wouldn’t—.”

“But they want you.” Eyes turned to Sonya as she spoke, surprised at herself for interrupting. “I’m sorry. I simply mean to mention how the people around here—the visitors, those busy-bodies you’ve taken pains to frighten away from the gate—want you as head seidmadr. Even Jarl Asger looked…disappointed when you dismissed the issue.”

“Well, they can want it all they wish, I won’t agree.” He frowned and furrowed his brow, arms crossed.

Gudbrand smacked Anton in the back of the head with enough strength to earn a snarl and a half-bitten curse. “You’ve been here for little over a week and already see Calder’s faults; how do you think the rest of us have fared?” To Sonya, he added. “Calder is a—I think you’d call it a war-magician or something. Seiddreng . He’s the first sorry bastard you’d want jumping from your ship into battle, mean as a snake, but we’ve not gone to war in quite some time. Damn capitalism’s fault.”

“Because life was so much better when you could just take an ax to someone’s head to get what you want,” Anton grumbled.

“Don’t be glib. Calder’s worthless without a sword in his hand and a finger to point the way. Peace has made him bitter and incompetent, and the realm’s paying for it.”

“And you think I could do any better? I was seiddreng as well.”

For a moment, Gudbrand stared at Anton, his expression blank. Then, he stated, “You’re an idiot.”

Anton seemed to take genuine offense to that, as he rose and departed the kitchen a moment later, making for the storage room he currently resided in. Gudbrand roughly shoved the abandoned chair back into place below the table and picked up the mess Anton had dropped, muttering darkly under his breath.

“That was rude,” Sonya commented. She kept judgment from her tone, and when the large vampire sensed she meant no harm, he allowed his tense shoulders to droop.

“Aye. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less the truth.”

“Are you really so angry with him?”

“Angry? No. Just frustrated with the fool.”

“I don’t understand why this Ylva doesn’t take this job if she wishes to control its resources as you say. Wouldn’t it make more sense if she were head seidkona?”

“Because the hag has talent and knowledge but lacks sheer power. She couldn’t maintain all the wards and glamours the realm requires.” He shook his head. “Besides, being the top magician comes with a great deal of responsibility and scrutiny. I don’t think Ylva wants that. I’m not sure what she gets up to out there on Gebo, but I don’t like it, and I don’t like her.”

Sonya nodded, considering the wood grain on the table. From somewhere deeper in the house, she could hear Fiske making noise and wondered what mischief he’d gotten into. “Why doesn’t Anton want to be head seidmadr? He did have a point if he was a— seiddreng ? A warmage? Like Calder. Perhaps he would be ill-suited to the job as well.”

Gudbrand washed Anton’s dishes in silent contemplation. When finished, he set the kettle on the hob—and Sonya leapt from her seat at the opportunity to do something more than twiddle her thumbs.

“Anton understands responsibility better than Calder ever did. Eerika put a lot of weight on his shoulders with the jobs she assigned him when he was Thegn. And, gods bless him; though he may seem a hare-brained scoundrel half the time, he’s still one of the most talented seidr users we’ve ever had in Vidarheim. Seeing him here is like…spring coming again. There are a lot fewer seidr users about in the last few decades, and no one’s real sure why, but it’s been making us nervous. Anton’s powerful when he puts his mind to it. However, in my memory, that rarely happens. Anton has never been that ambitious.” He snorted. “You might think the sun shines out of his backside, but we’ve always considered him a bit strange.”

Sonya tipped her head. “I do think he’s rather lovely, yes.”

Gudbrand sighed. “No hope for either of you. Just a pair of besotted fools.” He shook his head—but with a fond glance toward Sonya and toward the corridor Anton had disappeared in. “You mark my words. He has good intentions, but going to Ylva will end in disaster.”

When the evening eased toward day, Sonya returned to her room, dressed in her nightgown, and got into bed. Anton joined her there by silent invitation, accepting Sonya’s out-stretched hand when he appeared in the room, and she curled against his side and closed her eyes. For a long while, she did little else aside from listen to his breathing ease, her mind full of worrisome thoughts, and tuck her cold toes against his warm legs.

Sleep found Sonya eventually, and in those quiet hours, she thought of home. She dreamed of Cambridge, the Gothic stone halls, the timeless elegance of it, sitting by the canals watching the punters race. She dreamed of sitting in class, though she couldn’t hear her professor and couldn’t read the notes before her.

How very peculiar.

She turned a page in her book.

And then—.

Sonya stood in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, her feet bare on the concrete. Not a soul could be found, the shops and stores all quiet and dim despite the sun’s height, all the bright signs left black. Sonya glanced at her naked toes and pondered where on earth her shoes had gone.

A man stood in the road. Sonya thought him rather odd-looking, what with his pitch-black cloak and wind-swept gold hair, waiting in the deserted junction. Sonya started toward him but stopped when a curious sensation overcame her. It crept like hot needles along her neck, upward over her scalp, and the longer she kept her eyes upon the man, the more it hurt.

Why was she there? Where had she come from?

The man stood before her, having moved without her seeing it, a vicious smile on his handsome face.

Who was he?

Strong fingers wended through her hair and yanked hard, pulling her head to the side.

Who was she ?

Teeth sliced into her neck, and she cried out —.

She stumbled in the dark. Where was she going? Where? Why was it so cold? It lapped at her feet, pain in her toes, slicing into her arches. Oh, how the cold slid against her face like sheets of silk, running too fast, turning to heat, burning—.

“ Sonya !”

It pulsed beneath her fingers as she wrapped them around her own neck and squeezed. White bones on a table. Blackness in the earth, a hungry maw opened why. Devour, devour, all things devour —.

So many images of things she didn’t understand, things that had no meaning—.

“ Sonya, stop !”

But, ah, the numbing cold rose over her aching feet, over her ankles—.

“ Sonya, look at me, love, look at me—. ”

Look?

Her eyes snapped open to the iron-gray waters of a bay, rain lashing at her bare skin and dragging on the soaked fabric of her nightgown. She stumbled on the jetty’s sharp rocks and would have fallen into the water if not for the man who caught her. His hands snagged her by the arms and lifted her bodily, cradling her against his heaving chest. Sonya stared into his face, so wracked by pain, his dark hair ruined by the rain, his silver eyes so strange and so…familiar.

Where…?

“Sonya,” he said over the storm, the crash of thunder. “No, no, no…not yet, Sonya. Not yet. Look at me, look at me. ”

Is that my name?

Pain crackled in her head, and she clenched her teeth, groaning as she buried her face in the man’s chest. The motion smeared black stains across his shirt.

He hooked an arm beneath her legs, the other behind her back, and hefted her from the water, heedless of the stones biting into his own bare feet. He ran, going where, she didn’t know. The world came through in hazy flashes—windows in the earth, green grass waving like long, swaying cat tails, birch trees like narrow ghosts observing them leave. The thunder came again and seemed to laugh at her agony.

“I told you!” the man was shouting, and she was on his lap, on the floor, out of the rain. There stood another man looming like a giant above them, his eyes wide—. “She doesn’t have time! Ylva is my last hope! Gods, please —.”

There was a little boy. He came scampering in like a mouse, ducking beneath the giant’s reach, and she watched him with her stolid gaze—.

Two tiny hands found her wet temples, and then—.

Sonya screamed. She screamed as her brain seemed to set itself alight, and she writhed in the arms restraining her—Anton’s arms, his breath heavy and terrified against her ear—and, all at once, it stopped. Fiske stepped back with seidr still trailing from his fingers like gossamer threads, leaving Sonya panting and trembling, held by Anton on the floor of Gudbrand’s house.

“Dear God,” she gasped. “I didn’t—. I forgot —.”

Blood drenched her front, blood as black as tar, blood so black, it looked as if it were ink that had bubbled and spilled from its well. Sonya could taste it on her tongue, could smell it in her nose, and it was—foul. Poisonous.

Terror so profound overcame her, she began to weep, taking no notice of Anton begging her not to cry, voicing hopes she couldn’t keep, couldn’t grasp.

She remembered Dr. Rangel. She remembered his dull, unknowing eyes looking at her without recognition.

Sonya realized what she was doomed to become and vomited on the hearth rug.