All Things Devour

nineteen

In other circumstances, Sonya would have found her change into a proper draugr fascinating.

It started in her mouth, a tingle invading her soft palette, sinking into her maxilla, upward into the zygomatic bones, then through her jaw into her mandible. The tingling soon became a burning ache, and Sonya made as many scientific observations as she could in a bid to distract herself. So long as she clung to her clinical facts, she could stop herself from shrieking in agony when her teeth started to shift.

Bursts of confusion and clarity prickled around her scalp, leaving Sonya frightened one moment and amazed the next, curled on her simple bed with her hands clasped to her face. Her limbs throbbed and ached, hot in one moment and cold the next, sweating and trembling, her muscles unbearably stiff. Hours passed in that intolerable state of transition, suspended like a body adrift in shallow water, gasping for breaths that wouldn’t flood her lungs.

Calder remained for much of it, though when he’d first appeared, Sonya couldn’t say. He leaned the wardrobe back into place, replaced and relit the candle, and sat on the floor with his back to the wall. He didn’t look at Sonya but rather at his own hands, his expression blank and his eyelids heavy like a lizard’s.

At some point, the pain either ceased or overwhelmed to the extent that Sonya went to sleep. Next she knew, Calder had his hand on her arm, shaking her awake. She recoiled from him, and he looked at her with scorn, removing his hand to let it hang at his side. He once more wore his black cloak with the gold clasp, once more the cold, remote creature she’d encountered in the Scottish hills.

“Get up,” he stated. “And go bathe. You stink of filth.”

Sonya gave herself a discreet sniff and agreed she didn’t smell pleasant after who knows how long trapped in that room, but he needn’t be so rude about it.

Calder went to the wardrobe and opened it, articles of clothing falling to the floor from where they’d been displaced by Sonya’s escape attempt. He rifled through the mess, made his selections, and tossed it at Sonya—who was surprised she caught the bundle before it struck her in the face. Then, in the most deadpan of voices, Calder said, “You will not leave this building.”

She followed his curt directions to the washroom at the opposing end of the outer hall, and Sonya washed the best she could with the stiff, astringent soap provided. It did strip the dried blood from her flesh, which she was grateful for. She dragged on the underthings and the blue linen dress Calder had tossed at her, the hem falling to her ankles, the fabric a bit loose in the bust and about her hips. A pair of flat leather slippers completed the ensemble. The room lacked a mirror, so Sonya made a hash of plaiting her hair back and gently inspecting her tender mouth.

The sensitive teeth under her probing fingers had long, definite points.

Sonya sat down on the edge of the battered copper tub as reality set in upon her. She was a—a vampire . Not a human, not a half-formed ghoul stuck in-between, but the full, real incarnation. She was a vampire—and she was trapped with Calder. She didn’t know where Anton was.

It all seemed so—anti-climatic, in a way. Sonya had been preparing herself for death, and now…would she wish for it? Would Calder make her existence so miserable, she’d wish he’d ripped her throat out on the mountain?

No , she thought, resolute, if a bit scared. No. I would have never met Anton. I would have never come to Vidarheim. I won’t let Calder make me regret anything.

She rose, and without further hesitation, departed the washroom. Not seeing Calder looming in the hall, Sonya walked swiftly to the darkened corridor away from the den she’d visited before, determined to reach the exit and to find Anton, even if she needed to commandeer a boat and return to Gebo and give Ylva a piece of her mind. Not that Sonya much relished the idea of facing the woman again. If given a choice, she would rather never lay eyes on Ylva the seidkona ever again.

Her feet carried her faster and faster—until Sonya breached a doorway and entered a room she’d visited before. She faced the great hearth inside the Jarl’s house and, taking a breath, turned her head, knowing where the doors waited. She approached and nearly swore aloud to see the dint of afternoon light forming a halo in the slim cracks between the doors and their jambs.

She deliberated risking the sun if it meant getting out of the house and away from Calder. She could, theoretically, stomach the exposure for a very brief period of time, but she needed to correctly assume how short that window of opportunity truly was. Five minutes? One minute? If her reaction to the light in the inn provided a reputable example, she might not make it past the first few steps.

Beyond Sonya’s suppositions of just how long a new draugr could stand in the sun before serious injury set in, her anxiety upon entering the front chamber and approaching the foyer magnified until her chest ached from how her heart slammed into her ribs, and her throat closed in on itself after every breath. Sonya’s hand could not reach the door’s handle with how hard it jarred, and she faltered, breathing hard. She had to retreat several steps before the room stopped spinning.

What is happening? Is it my reaction to daylight?

Sonya rolled her shoulders, bracing herself, and strode forward, bound and determined to get the door open even if it meant singeing a few fingers. However, she had to again retreat, gasping, before she could touch the handle. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her ribs ached against the rapid movement of her heaving lungs.

“ M?r. ”

Spinning on her heels, Sonya found Calder on the other side of the entrance chamber, standing outside the hearth’s light. He gave her a dull, flat look, then glanced between her and the doors, his mouth twitching.

Something he’d said in the stuffy dark of her dungeon-like room came back to her. “ You will not leave this building. ” She had taken it as a warning, but perhaps he’d been a bit more…literal.

Sonya’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?” she asked. Calder didn’t answer.

“Come,” he said with a short, dismissive flick of his hand. “You’re not to wander, and I’ve work to do.”

“What have you done to me?” Her heart thumped in her chest, her mouth dry with panic.

“Nothing more than what you and Anton desired. I gave you eternal life.”

“I wanted to live , not be your thrall. Let me free!” Encroaching panic crawled through Sonya’s skin, and it felt as if he’d settled a heavy hand around her throat. She couldn’t stand for being a prisoner. She would find a way out if it killed her.

“Be grateful I didn’t leave you an aptrganga and be done with it. I am told it is a gruesomely slow death once your brain starts to eat itself alive.” He stared, eyes cold, ruthless. “How long did Anton give you? Two months? Very few reach that long. No, I’d guess you were much, much closer to the end.”

Sonya stared, horrified, remembering all too well the fuzzy, mind-numbing effect of her condition. Her time had been running out. How many days had she had left? One? Two?

“Now, come. Before I lose my patience.”

She resented being called to heel like a poorly behaved dog, but her legs urged her to move. Logically, Sonya knew angering the vampire would not increase her chance of freedom, especially not in the middle of the afternoon, with the sun bearing down outside. She needed to obey for now.

Not many other draugar inhabited the halls at that hour, either tucked into their beds or sleeping off the premises. The lack of people didn’t appear to strike Calder as odd, given he went about his business without pause, and when they did happen upon another soul, he simply glared and passed them. Sonya earned more than one curious—or pitying—glance.

He led her to a partial solarium on the upper level, Sonya’s eyes widening in dismay when he crossed the threshold and she shied back, blinded by the daylight pouring through the glass.

“Sit by the door.”

She didn’t move.

“Indirect exposure will not kill you. Sit by the door. ”

Again, Sonya’s legs moved without her volition, and she clasped her hands over her stinging eyes as she collapsed into the chair positioned just beyond the open archway. The burning intensity of the sunlight increased until her back felt sticky with the heat, her knees shaking, but it eventually tapered off to a bearable, if uncomfortable, sensation. Sonya swallowed—her throat dry—and opened her eyes.

Tables and shelves cluttered the solarium, joined by a few comfortable chairs, threadbare rugs, and tapestries on the inner walls. Sonya squinted, adjusting to the brightness, and recognized that the books stacked in haphazard stacks among the tables resembled historical records or ledgers. A slapdash method of organization had been attempted, but whoever had been doing the organizing got overwhelmed and quit.

A battlement rounded the open side of the room, where the walls had been removed and exposed to the elements. Sonya marveled at how the draugar managed to keep the documents dry when the storms kicked up—but she tasted the crispness of seidr in the air, and it made her yearn for Anton.

Where is he? What have they done? Does he need help?

Calder stood on the battlement in the direct brunt of the light, his shoulders hunched toward his ears, his head bowed. He thrust his hands outward toward the still bay, and Sonya felt the hair on her nape prickle with awareness, static clinging to the tip of her fingers. The mist rose at Calder’s bidding, billowing from the waters like steam from a cauldron, gulls shrieking, the bay resonating with the silent, oppressive power. Lightning cracked close by, and Sonya flinched, covering her eyes against the intense light.

The fog blocked out the sun inch by inch, the shadows stealing across the solarium floor—torches on the wall bursting to life as the darkness ascended. Sonya watched in equal parts fascination and nervousness as Calder worked, and the rain once more returned to patter upon the flagstones. The seidmadr remained standing there, silhouetted against the clouds amassing on the horizon long after the shoulders of his cloak were soaked through. Then, Calder dropped his arms, exhaled, and stomped back inside.

Without looking at Sonya, he threw himself into a chair, grabbed the nearest document dropped atop a teetering pile of books, and began to read.

Sonya continued to watch him. Eventually, whatever compulsion bid her to stay in her seat weathered enough for her to stand, feeling sunburnt and unsteady on her feet, and eye the waiting arch. Thunder rumbled like a predator’s warning growl, and Calder’s hand tightened on his document.

He was very much cognizant of where her thoughts had wandered.

Sonya pretended not to notice his stiffening posture and ignored the arch, turning her attention instead to the vast tables overburdened with books, sheaves of animal vellum, and rather mundane envelopes crammed into a shelf labeled “ Inbox .” Her curiosity overcame her trepidation. No matter the circumstances, she was still in a vast treasure trove of historical knowledge. Who knew what treasures could be hiding there, gathering dust?

Glancing at Calder, spying his head now bent over a loose page of parchment, fountain pen gripped in his large hand like a dagger, Sonya plucked out one of the envelopes.

“ Urgent request ,” the front read, “ Duke Corwin of Myrce, the Court of Brittania. ” Sonya scanned the date on the return address and noted it being over a month old.

“How do Vikings get their mail delivered?” she wondered aloud. The image of a very confused postal worker shrieking at the sight of Jormund rising from the waters came to mind.

“Private sector,” Calder answered without looking up.

“Is the ‘Court of Brittania’ another term for England?”

“There is no such thing as England among the vampires unless speaking in the assumed vernacular.” He tipped his head enough to glare at Sonya. “Just because the humans decided to unite the Land of Angles does not mean we did.”

Sonya’s lips parted, and she neared the man despite her reservations. Her interest had always been a tricky devil. “So that means there are different kingdoms in the British isles still?”

“Myrce and Umbria are the only courts worth mentioning in Brittania. The southern flank is Kent, still under the rule of the Holy Roman Empire. To the west, you have Gwynedd, where the Briton vampires are so inbred with the fae, they don’t speak any kind of comprehensible language. In Eire, they call themselves dreach-fhoula . The north is ruled by the Albians.” He paused, his fingers squeezing the fountain pen again until it threatened to break. “And Engle. That’s another court of Brittania now.”

Sonya leaned her hip against the table some feet from Calder, processing all he’d said. It made a certain amount of sense that creatures who did not adhere to social human mores or laws would draw the lines of their kingdoms differently. After all, the Age of the Vikings had ended centuries ago, but their incarnation continued with the draugar and Jarl Asger.

“What do you mean by ‘now’? Did Engle belong to a different kingdom before?”

“It was ours. It was Guthrum, and is now dissolved.”

“What happened?”

Calder looked like he wanted to tell her to shut up, but whatever document he perused divided his attention. “It lost its seidmadr, and without a seidmadr, it could not be controlled. The Jarl thought it best to surrender it to the vampires, who annexed it into Brittania.”

Facts clicked about in Sonya’s overactive brain as she overlaid things Anton had told her with Calder’s flat, irritated words. “It was Anton, wasn’t it?” she said. “He told me he was stationed at an outpost, of sorts, in England. He tried reaching out to it but said it had been abandoned.”

Calder refused to reply.

She needed to change the topic. “Why are there not more people in here helping you?” she inquired, idly poking another stack of envelopes. It toppled, and Sonya jumped to right it again, a slight blush in her cheeks. “Shouldn’t correspondence from different kingdoms or empires go to the Jarl?”

“It does go to the Jarl,” he snapped. “ This is all for the head seidmadr’s review.”

“And you have no—I don’t know—acolytes? No underpaid interns or assistants to do your bidding? Where are all the seidmenn?”

“There is nobody else!” Calder slammed a fist against the table, his patience wearing thin. Sonya fell silent at once. “How do you think Ylva keeps her interests here? How do you think she keeps me in power as I push unpopular propaganda? She takes away all other options. You stupid woman. There is no one else! I am the only seidmadr!”

His breath shuddered as he yelled, and Sonya took a step back, swallowing in fear. She remembered, then, something Gudbrand had said; “ That witch ends up killing as many seidkonur and seidmenn as she helps. She has a reputation for it. ” At the time, she hadn’t known how to take the remark, whether or not he was being facetious or serious. But now….

Oh, Sonya had seen seidmenn and seidkonur in Vidarheim, but they counted themselves very few in number, and she’d never met one who had displayed the same easy, efficient talent as Anton or Calder. How many times had she seen Gudbrand find an old seidr voucher among his things, read the name, and toss it into the fire? How many times had Fiske and the people he traded with shaken their heads and crumpled worthless vouchers in their hands? How often had she seen the draugar of the realm look up at the turbulent sky and then at one another with anxious doom written on their brows? Anton had returned, and they’d been desperate for him to become head seidmadr, as if there simply wasn’t another option.

There is nobody else!

That witch ends up killing as many seidkonur and seidmenn as she helps.

There is nobody else!

Horrified, Sonya gasped and stared at Calder, one hand creeping upward to cover her mouth. Calder was the head seidmadr because he was the only one capable—the only one left . “How…how could you let her do this? You had to have known she was killing the other seidr users! Why did you do nothing?! What will happen to the realm?!”

The draugr lowered his head, refusing her his gaze.

Acting against every instinct she had, Sonya grabbed his shoulder, making a tiny fist in the heavy, thick material of his cloak, and Calder’s head snapped upright again.

“Is your desire for power and vindication really so great?” she demanded. “I can see it, you know. That you want to be more than Radu ever was, to be a better, more respected head seidmadr. But Ylva is a monster! If she is killing other seidr users just to keep you in power, what on earth would the draugar do if something happened to you? It would leave Vidarheim exposed!”

Calder slapped her hand away from him, and Sonya winced at the resulting sting. “But that is what you wish for, isn’t it?” he hissed, bearing his teeth. Teeth like Sonya’s. “It would be the perfect chance for your wonderful Anton to take over.”

“He doesn’t want to be head seidmadr!” she cried. “How many times must you hear it?!”

“He used to be Thegn!” Calder refuted with a flick of his hand. “He is used to the nicer things in life. Maybe he is content to be a pauper in Gudbrand’s house for now, but with a pretty little wife? He’ll be looking for better opportunities. There is no better opportunity than my position—and if I keep his wife away, that is all the more leverage I have to keep him humble .”

“I’m not his wife!” Sonya couldn’t believe what nonsense he allowed to fester in the empty space between his ears. “You horse’s arse !”

Suddenly, Calder shoved her with enough strength to send Sonya toppling to the floor, banging her bony limbs on the stones. “You do not call me names!” he bellowed.

“I will call you what I see fit!” she shouted in return, though she remained on the floor. “You are allowing that horrid woman to harm the kingdom you are responsible for protecting because she is mad . She wants to be able to eat people, and you’re helping keep her mentality alive! She has twisted your mind into seeing Anton as an enemy when he is not . He loves you as his own flesh and blood, and you have betrayed him as severely as Eerika ever did in your lust for revenge on Radu.” Sonya took in a ragged, disjointed breath. “That was why you warned him, wasn’t it? Before, when he came to you about suspicions of Radu’s assassination. You wanted him to keep out of it because you knew they would come for Eerika next, and you loved Anton. You knew she’d brainwashed him into accepting her abuse, and you saw him freed from it, even if he hated you for it.”

Calder rose to his feet and grimaced. “What is it you want from me?” he demanded on an aggrieved sigh, as if Sonya were the one being completely unreasonable. “You are absolutely exhausting.”

“I want for you to grant me my freedom! Then, I can find Anton and warn him of this travesty. Maybe he can do something! Maybe he can stop that woman from killing seidr users!” She saw it all clearly now. Ylva wanted to kill people—wanted to keep humans like pets or livestock, wanted to debase them and be allowed to do so. Vidarheim was moving away from traditionalism, and had been for quite some time. Sonya imagined without Calder in the Jarl’s ear, as a position of influence, pushing traditional ideology, it would have faded much faster, and Ylva wouldn’t have been allowed to continue her lifestyle. She would have lost power among the drott , the nobility, and faded into obscurity. To keep Calder in power as he preached traditionalism, she had to kill seidr users.

Sonya’s eyes glittered with anger. “Maybe Anton is capable of sense!”

Before she could blink, Calder wrenched her upright by the front of her dress and had his hand raised as if to strike her. Sonya clasped hold of his wrist and squeezed her eyes shut, her heart pounding a bruising rhythm against the knuckles pressed into her sternum.

“Gods damn you, Sonya.” It was the first time he’d ever used her name.

She pried one eye open, then the next, wondering if she was the mad one to speak to a violent man twice her size in such a manner. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Go on then, v?rdr ,” she said, mouth dry, the sides of her too-sharp teeth dragging against her lip. “Go on, as your master taught you. Hit me, and become him.”

“I am not him.”

“You will be if you do not listen.” She pressed her pale fingers into his wrist and hoped he felt her fear, her urgency. “If you do not break this hold Ylva has over you. If you keep calling humans ‘it’ and ‘thing,’ if you let the realm bleed for your vanity, and if you lay a hand upon me—you will become the same as your own v?rdr, and you will meet the same sticky end.”

His eyes widened with a shadow of terror. Sonya did not flinch.

“You may take away my freedom, but I will not abide by your abuse, and neither will Vidarheim. People will revolt, as they did against Radu, as they did against Eerika. It is called history, Calder; it repeats ad nauseam if you do not mind it.”

It looked as if he very much desired to hit her, and Sonya knew that if she’d been one of his people—statuesque and built like a warrior—he probably would have, but Sonya was small and thin as a willow, little more than a girl desperately hanging from his punishing grip. Just as Calder had been nothing but a boy when he’d first suffered under the now-dead voivode.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, his fingers eased, fabric sliding against his palm, and Sonya’s feet fully landed on the floor once more. His arm lowered.

Lightning flashed and crackled, a great burst of light shining through the open solarium—and in the archway, it revealed the drenched figure of Anton dripping brine and saltwater, his face ghastly pale and his silver eyes locked on Calder.

He looked furious.