Houngan Igul stopped, raising a varicose-veined hand to signal for the men behind him to do the same. Ask obeyed the silent instruction, adjusting his grip on the haft of his spear as he glanced to either side. The leaf-stripped birch of the forest seemed to press in on them. The old, dirt-encrusted snow beneath his feet crunched softly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
The houngan turned, his ice-blue eyes scanning the trees for a few moments before he opened his mouth. ‘It is near,’ he said quietly. ‘Spread out. Do not lose sight of each other.’
The Innsmen fanned out, shooting each other anxious glances as they searched through the trees. Ask strained his ears to hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his chest. His breathing quickened, painting the air in front of him with small plumes of quickly dissipating white mist. Looking to his left, he caught Fulnir’s eye. His lanky friend gave him a lopsided grin that was meant to be encouraging, but failed to mask its wearer’s unease.
A sharp yell rent the air. Every muscle in Ask’s body tensed. He spun around, locating the source of the cry and breaking into a sprint towards it. Though he covered the two dozen yards in a scant handful of seconds, it was too late.
Blood stained the white of the snow in an angry, comet-shaped blotch. At its centre was Grein. The bulky warrior seemed to be leaning against a tree, as though he was only resting for a moment. As Ask drew closer, however, he could see that the man’s throat had been viciously torn out. Strands of ragged flesh hung from the gaping wound, dripping red.
Houngan Igul and the others quickly converged on his position, coming to stand in a rough semi-circle around the body of their fallen comrade. Ask looked over at them and shook his head. ‘It moved too swiftly. He had no time to defend himself.’
Bergr nervously touched the pendant that hung at his throat, the anxious gesture odd on a man of his size, and looked toward Igul. ‘What manner of monskellr are we hunting, houngan, that it is able to steal up on us without warning?’
‘I am still unsure,’ Igul said, frowning. ‘We must be cautious until I am able to determine how it may be stopped and destroyed. Leave him for now. We will return for the body once we have ended this.’
Haering snarled in frustration, a guttural sound from deep in his throat. He stalked up to the corpse, bending down to retrieve Grein’s fallen axe. Hefting the fallen warrior’s weapon, Haering scowled darkly. ‘His axe will taste the blood of his killer before the day is done. This I swear.’
Scanning the trees around them, Igul paused for a moment to consider their next move before indicating a path through the forest with a pointed finger. ‘We divide into two groups. Ask, with me. The rest of you stay close to each other.’
A murmur of ‘yes, houngan’ rippled through the group.
Ask and Igul traced the trailing tail of the bloody pink-red comet that stained the snow. A dozen yards on, they’d lost sight of the second group of warriors.
Ask tried to focus his mind on sensing the creature’s presence, but gave up in exasperation after a minute or two in favour of his more mundane senses. He had never been overly skilled at detecting spiritual energies. With his teacher standing right next to him it felt like his efforts were woefully redundant. It would be better for him to keep his eyes and ears alert to any hint of movement that might betray the creature they hunted. They walked in silence as several minutes crawled past.
The hair at the back of Ask’s neck prickled. Something heavy crashed into him from behind, slamming him to the ground. His skull cracked against the raised root of a tree as he went down. His limbs went slack, his spear falling from nerveless fingers. A dank, foetid breath rasped near his ear. White lines of pain erupted along his back as something raked his flesh, slicing through the layers of leather and furs he wore as though they weren’t even there.
A heavy pressure on his shoulder blades ground him into the snow. Ask waited helplessly for the killing blow, but the pressure pinning him vanished. Surprised, he rolled over in time to catch a glimpse of some sort of hazy distortion moving through the air, hurtling towards Houngan Igul. The old man had his staff up, lips moving, though through the ringing in his ears Ask could hear no words. A flash of white and gold blinded him. For a moment he could see nothing. Bracing against the ground with the heel of his hand, Ask pushed himself up into a sitting position, blinking away the black and purple spots clouding his vision.
He could have only missed a second or two, but somehow Igul had covered the ground between them and was now standing right over him. A stream of crimson traced a cobweb pattern down the left side of Ask’s teacher’s face from a gash on his temple; a twisted reflection of the black whorls of the tattoos across his other cheek. His ironwood staff was held lightly in one hand in a loose defensive posture and his asson, his ceremonial rattle, was held firmly in the other.
‘Kald Sann Seithsdóttir, mwen bezwen bon konprann ou.’
The fragments of stone and bone within his asson thrummed with power as Igul shook it rhythmically and chanted words in the Old Tongue. His eyes were locked unwaveringly on something just past where Ask sat.
Reaching out with his free hand, Ask felt about for his spear, eyes following the houngan’s gaze. There was something there, several yards away. He could see the disturbed snow torn up where it had landed hard on the ground. There was a faint shimmer in the air, like a heat haze, but the form was completely indistinct.
‘Revele sa ki kache yo epi yo montre sa a verite a!’
Igul’s voice thundered to a crescendo as he finished the evocation. The creature abruptly came into focus, the magic obscuring it from view dropping off like a cloak.
It had no eyes. Where the creature’s eyes should be were only two black hollows, ringed with scar tissue, as though they had been torn out long ago. It was a long-limbed, hairless thing, man-sized, with a hunched back and dark green, bruise-like skin. Its arms and legs rippled with thick muscles and ended in inches-long claws. Long fangs hung from its lipless mouth.
Behind him, Ask heard Igul say one word, low and quiet: ‘Tokoloshe.’
The beast opened its mouth and roared—a deep, inhuman sound that scratched at Ask’s eardrums and sent a jolt of primitive fear through his hindbrain. It lunged towards them.
Ask’s fingers closed around the familiar wood of his spear and he brought it up reflexively. White fire shot through his back as he moved, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. Too slowly, Ask pushed himself forward to stand and meet the creature’s attack. Beside him, Igul was smashed to the ground. Ask turned and thrust awkwardly with his spear. The iron head of his weapon scraped against the creature’s side, but did not find purchase.
The tokoloshe shrieked as it scrabbled at Igul, the houngan struggling to block its claws with the gnarled wood of his staff. Ask yanked his spear back and steadied himself for a half-second before firmly taking the haft in both hands and stabbing forward, aiming for the creature’s armpit. The head struck home and Ask leaned in, pushing as hard as he could. The iron bit deeply into the green-black flesh and dark, greasy blood spurted from the wound. The tokoloshe recoiled, hissing in pain and anger. Igul took advantage of the motion, heaving at his staff to push the creature further off balance and shove its bulk off of him. It rolled away, howling as Ask’s weapon ripped free.
Ask took one hand off his spear to reach down and grab at Igul, pulling the houngan to his feet. The tokoloshe hesitated for a moment, then turned and bounded off into the trees, loping on all fours like a wolf.
Houngan Igul slapped Ask’s hand away and pointed after the retreating form. ‘Do not let it escape! If it finds water to drink it will be able to conceal its form again!’
Ask nodded and broke into a run after the creature. It was much faster than him, but wounded. His only chance of catching it would be if its injury forced it to stop to rest.
Ask ran, hurtling through the trees as fast as his legs would carry him, eyes locked on his quarry. He stumbled once or twice, scattering half-melted snow as he kicked through it. A fallen branch almost tripped him. When he looked up, the creature had vanished, but the trail it had left was still clear as day. He sprinted on. The muscles in his legs burned as he pushed himself harder, his lungs demanding more air than he could breathe in.
The trail ended abruptly and he stumbled to a stop. Whipping his head around, he looked for a sign that would indicate the direction the tokoloshe had fled. There was a mound of slushy snow where it looked like the creature had skidded to a stop next to a jagged, lightning-blasted tree stump. A splatter of grey blood tainted the already dirty white snow, but the ground showed no further sign of the creature.
Ask looked up, craning his neck to peer into the bare branches above.
The monskellr dropped on him from the tree with a guttural roar of fury. Ask raised his spear, impaling the creature as it slammed him into the ground, driving the air from his lungs. The wounds on his back exploded into a bout of fresh pain and his vision was suddenly clouded by tears.
The tokoloshe shrieked in pain and pulled back. Ask heard the haft of his spear splinter as the weapon was wrenched from his grasp and suddenly he could breathe again. He tried to pull himself up, but only succeeded in struggling up onto one knee.
The tokoloshe was less than three feet away from him, half of his spear sunk deep in its ribcage. Its face contorted as it snarled and spat, clawing at the splintered wood puncturing its breast. Grey blood oozed out onto the snow. Ask could see that the beast was trembling slightly, though whether from pain or exhaustion or fear he did not know. Fixing its eyeless gaze upon him, the tokoloshe snarled again. It raised one claw high in the air, ready to cut the life from him.
Ask raised his own hand in a feeble mirror of the gesture. ‘Lesir Hyrr bondye, pwoteje sèvitè ou kont sa ki mal sa a!’ he shouted desperately.
There was a clang, like metal striking metal, a sizzle of flesh and the tokoloshe yelped like a kicked dog.
Ask opened his eyes. His hand was holding steady in front of him, just touching the inside edge of a barely visible, heat-like haze that enveloped him. Beyond the sphere, the tokoloshe had retreated a few paces, nursing a burnt, blackened hand. For a few moments, there was no sound save for the heavy rasping of its breath.
A wave of relief surged up through Ask’s chest. The protective barrier would have posed no obstacle at all to a human foe, but the energy he had mustered would be enough to keep out a malignant spirit like the tokoloshe. Ask concentrated on the spiritual haze he had erected, pouring whatever energy he could muster into it. With another word of the Old Tongue, he pushed the barrier outward, increasing the sphere’s diameter by a foot or two. Ask faltered, instantly regretting the action as he felt the energy start to slip away. He grasped the shield desperately, clinging to it with the last scraps of his willpower. The tokoloshe snorted and shied away from him, then turned to lope off.
‘For Grein!’ Haering charged out from between two trees. He brought Grein’s axe down in a heavy overhand chop, catching his target in the neck. His other hand stabbed up under the creature’s ribcage with his spear. The ferocity of the attack knocked the tokoloshe from its feet. Its feeble shriek of pain was cut short as Haering hefted the axe and brought it down a second time. Ask lay still, safe within his spiritual barrier, as Haering hacked at the creature a few more times to ensure it was dead.
A moment or two later, Fulnir and Bergr appeared cautiously through the trees. The two of them couldn’t look more different, Ask noted. Fulnir lanky and sandy-blond, Bergr enormous and black-haired.
‘Ask!’ said Fulnir, relief tinging his voice. ‘Virding smiles upon you.’
After only a moment’s pause, Igul’s second hounsis stepped unimpeded through the shimmering haze of Ask’s barrier and offered his hand. ‘I worried that the creature had ended you as well.’
Exhausted, Ask let his hand fall limply to the ground. Around them, the barrier faded away into nothingness. He could barely think. Every time his heart beat, it felt like someone was striking him in the head with a hammer.
‘I was fortunate. It was a near thing. Too near,’ he managed to say.
With an effort, he managed to reach out and gratefully took his friend’s forearm. Fulnir hauled him to his feet and clapped him on the back. A fresh wave of pain exploded across Ask’s body and he stumbled forward. He would have fallen if the other apprentice hadn’t caught him.
‘Kerling’s teats! Are you wounded? I did not realise…’ Fulnir said. There was concern in his friend’s voice. His gloved fingers were sticky with Ask’s blood.
‘I will live,’ Ask said, grimacing.
‘Here, let me take a look.’
Fulnir stepped around to get a better look at Ask’s back. There was a stab of pain as his fingers probed and pulled aside the cut and torn furs, but Ask managed to remain relatively still. He heard his friend suck in air through his teeth.
‘How bad is it?’
‘You are lucky that you spent some time lying in the snow. I think that is all that has kept you from bleeding out,’ Fulnir said. ‘We need to bind your wounds. You are going to have some impressive-looking scars. I almost envy you.’
Ask was starting to feel light-headed. ‘I doubt you would say that that if you knew how much this hurts. I think it broke a few of my ribs as well.’ He swayed slightly as he spoke. Fulnir’s grip was the only thing keeping him on his feet.
‘I did say ‘almost’.’
Fulnir carefully peeled the furs from Ask’s back, using a sharp knife to cut at the seams. A stab of pain lanced through Ask’s body at every movement. He bowed his head and tried to focus on his breathing instead; deeply in, then out. Fulnir’s movements were quick and precise. Igul had taught them both how to clean and care for wounds and Fulnir had shown an especial aptitude for it.
Snow crunched somewhere to Ask’s right. ‘Is he well?’ Haering asked, a touch of anxiousness in his tone.
‘I will be fine,’ Ask murmured, before Fulnir had a chance to respond. ‘You do not need to worry about me so much.’
The older man snorted. ‘I raised you, I can worry when I damn well please.’
Another set of footsteps in the snow. Ask tentatively cast out his senses and felt the comforting presence of Houngan Igul. He continued past Ask. The young apprentice pictured the houngan in his mind, walking over to the corpse of the tokoloshe to inspect it. He could hear his master’s voice, though he could not make out the words. It sounded like a chant; likely an invocation to the Lesir over the tokoloshe’s corpse to ensure it was dead and would remain so.
Ask started to shiver, though he could not tell if it was from the loss of blood or the cold. Fulnir covered his wounds and put pressure on them, tying the crude bandages in place with strips of leather. Ask listed to one side, his body feeling as though it would start to float away, and almost fell over again. This time, Igul was the one to steady him. Ask opened his eyes and reached up to cover his master’s hand with his own, using the contact to anchor his mind from falling into unconsciousness.
‘I felt your invocation,’ said Igul. ‘An impressive amount of power, but sloppy. What did you do?’
‘There was some sort of haze around him when I got here. I could see it, but it did not do anything to me.’ Fulnir’s voice came from somewhere behind Ask.
‘A barrier?’ Igul’s tone was thoughtful. ‘I would have thought that beyond your strength. Unfocused, though, otherwise it would not have been visible and I would not have felt your energy slopping out everywhere. You overexerted yourself. No wonder you can barely stand. It surprises me that you are conscious at all.’ A glimmer of a smile ghosted across his wrinkled face.
Ask nodded mutely, too exhausted and light-headed to respond, then grimaced as the throbbing pain in his skull intensified. Igul was right, he had put too much of himself into it. He’d be lucky if he didn’t spend the next few days nursing a headache and a sick stomach.
‘You have accomplished much this day, my hounsis. You still have much to learn, but there is little left that I am able to teach you. The day after tomorrow is the last day of winter. It will be an auspicious evening to hold the raising ceremony. Two days hence, you will be a houngan.’
Igul’s words were completely unexpected and hit Ask harder than anything the tokoloshe had managed. ‘Thank you, houngan,’ he managed to say.
He could scarcely believe it. His apprenticeship was to be completed. His teacher was ready to initiate him into the deeper mysteries of the Lesir and acknowledge him as an equal.
Houngan Igul shushed him. ‘Save your strength, you’ll need it to get back to the village.’
The old man turned to the man standing beside him. ‘On our return, inform Erlend that I require a runner sent to Houngan Hafgrim. He will wish to attend Ask’s initiation.’
Haering nodded briskly. ‘Yes, houngan.’ He moved to help Fulnir support Ask’s weight.
Before they left, Ask looked back toward the grey-splattered snow where the tokoloshe’s body lay. Haering had done a thorough job of butchering the creature. There was a faintly acrid odour in the air that Ask could smell even from here. It looked as though the green-black flesh was starting to melt and slough off its bones. Ask could see a light dusting of a yellowish powder over the corpse. Sulfur; likely part of the ritual Igul had performed to ensure that the spirit would never return.
Once Houngan Igul consulted the sky and breeze to determine which direction would return them to Innset, he took the lead and strode off into the forest. Trembling, Ask leaned heavily on the two men supporting him, letting them take most of his weight. Together, they followed the houngan as quickly as his injuries would allow them to. Despite the pain, Ask felt a glowing sense of pride and satisfaction. Two days. Two days and he would be a houngan.
– – –
Brilliant tongues of red and orange leapt from the bonfire, adding wild splashes of colour to the starkly contrasted black of the sky and dirty white of the melting snow. Houngan Igul reached into the base of the fire and scooped up a handful of black ash, seemingly untouched by the intense heat. He added it to the plate of cornmeal he held in his other hand and stirred the mixture with a finger as he walked back towards the patch of earth that had been cleared for the ceremony.
Ask knelt at the edge of the circle, a white scarf still tied around his head from the purification ritual that Igul had performed with him earlier that afternoon. The injuries he had sustained the other day still ached. The stitches that Igul had sewn into the wounds in his back especially so, but his head had finally ceased throbbing. His excitement at what was to come had pushed the remaining pain to the back of his mind. After seven long years of training, he was finally ready to become a houngan in his own right. It was slightly disheartening that Houngan Hafgrim had not appeared for the ceremony, but Ask’s disappointment was quickly swept aside by anticipation of what was to come.
Beside him, Fulnir busied himself checking the goat that Erlend, Innset’s headsman, had given them for the evening’s work. He glanced over at Ask for a moment, shooting him an excited grin from under his mane of shaggy blond hair. As Houngan Igul’s other apprentice, Fulnir would also play an important part in the ritual this evening. The animal watched the proceedings dispassionately, masticating a tough patch of grass that had managed to survive the winter. Actually sacrificing a goat like this was something reserved for only the most important of rites.
The three drummers across the clearing—Haering, Eydis, and Eydis’ daughter Isond—took up their instruments and began to beat out a rhythmic cadence to signal the beginning of the ceremony. The villagers drew close in hushed excitement.
Pouring the mixture of cornmeal and ash between his fingers, Houngan Igul stepped through the precise, measured motions required to create Kald Jarl Løgur’s runic veve on the patch of cleared ground. He moved in time to the beating of the drums, turning the ritual into a dance as he traced the familiar pattern across the earth. Despite his age, he moved smoothly, fluidly, as the symbol took shape beneath him.
As the last of the cornmeal spilled onto the ground, Ask rose to his feet and joined the houngan, careful not to disturb the freshly-laid lines just yet.
‘Jarl Løgur, tanpri ouvri nan pòtay lavil la. Mwen prezante w ak yon ofrann epi mande pou benediksyon ou!’
Words of the Old Tongue spilled from Igul’s lips. He brought forth his asson and shook it. The sharp rattle of the fragments of bone and stone inside joining with the beat of the drums as Haering and the others increased the tempo of their music.
The drums spoke of the Jarl as well. Haering and Eydis beat out a loud, strong cadence that Isond responded to with a lighter, almost jaunty counterpoint. The beat intensified, louder and faster, and Ask grinned as he felt the energy Igul had gathered pass through him. Turning slowly on his heel to face Fulnir, he let out a loud whoop of exultation, exploding into a flurry of movement. The stitches on his back should have burst open at the sudden shock. Ask should have collapsed to the ground from pain as his injuries protested against the dance. The energy of the ritual, however, filled him to the brim and overrode his body’s objections, leaving him free to jump and twirl.
Fulnir raised his own voice in answer to Ask’s cry and leapt in to join them. The three men danced together wildly, recklessly. Ask could feel the energy flow out and charge the space as their feet scattered the cornmeal symbol and ground it into the earth.
Ask felt his heart surge. He spun and weaved and jumped, his vision blurred by streaks of multi-coloured light. His lungs burned, but he let out another yell of delight as he was caught up in the intensity of the energy they were channelling. He knew that the dance only lasted scant minutes, but to him it felt like hours. All of his excitement, all of the anticipation that had been building up over the past few days, came spilling out as he danced and twisted almost frantically, losing track of everything around him.
When Jarl Løgur arrived, however, he felt it. The air around them felt as though it had frozen solid. Ask let it bring him to a sudden stop. Around them, the Innsmen and drummers fell silent. Ask looked around for Igul and Fulnir to see which one of them had been mounted. Igul was next to him, breathing hard. The old man’s ragged grey hair and beard were a complete mess, but otherwise he looked normal. Turning to look behind him, Ask dropped his eyes to see Fulnir writhing on the ground.
Ask and Igul stepped back, giving the convulsing man plenty of room. Within seconds, Fulnir was pulling himself back to his feet as though nothing had happened. Except, of course, it was no longer Fulnir. His posture was different, shoulders back in an exaggerated display of confidence, a jaunty grin painted across his features.
Houngan Igul stepped forward and inclined his head respectfully. ‘Byenveni, Kald Jarl Løgur.’
‘Li la bon fè isit la, houngan!’ The spirit inhabiting Fulnir spoke with a loud, booming voice that didn’t match the skinny body it was coming from. The jarl smiled widely, the expression odd on Fulnir’s features. ‘It is a good night tonight. I can feel the cold deep in my bones.’
Even as the houngan greeted the spirit, Ask was already moving towards the edge of the circle, heading for the goat that Bergr held steady on the outskirts. The large man saw him coming and knelt down next to the animal. He whispered reassuringly into its ear and put one arm around its shoulders, reaching up with his other meaty hand to gently rest it on the top of the goat’s head. Haering appeared and stepped over to flank the animal. Ask nodded at the two men and knelt down, muttering reassurances to the goat as he drew his knife from its sheath on his belt.
The three of them moved in unison. Bergr and Haering grabbed the goat, grasping its head by the horns and using their limbs to brace its body to try and prevent it from moving overmuch. Ask cut across its throat and jugular vein in a single, easy stroke. Quickly dropping the stained knife, Ask scooped up a prepared bowl that had been sitting off to one side. Holding it under the wound, he collected the lifesblood as it gushed forth. The animal tried to bleat in distress, gurgling as it fought against the two large men that restrained it, but they held firm. The bowl filled quickly, but long seconds passed before the animal’s struggles slowed and its head drooped, its life slipping away.
Ask rose to his feet and whispered a short prayer to the Lesir over the carcass. Turning, he strode back towards where Houngan Igul and Jarl Løgur stood, the brimming bowl cradled carefully in both hands. The jarl turned to face him, still smiling. Ask presented him with the bowl and the spirit lifted it to his lips, tilting his head back as he drained the contents in a single long swallow.
The Lesir exhaled loudly, smacking his lips appreciatively. ‘Thank you, young hounsis.’ He paused for a second. ‘It will be houngan tonight, though, will it not? Houngan Ask.’
Ask nodded. ‘If it pleases you, Jarl.’
‘I take it you approve of his initiation then, Jarl?’ Houngan Igul said.
Creasing his forehead, the jarl tapped his chin thoughtfully and let out a long ‘hmmm’ as he eyed Ask. After a few moments, he lifted the bowl he had just drained and placed it carefully upside-down on Ask’s head. With great effort, Ask did not react. He knew from experience that much of what the old spirit did was just to try to provoke a reaction. Jarl Løgur cocked his head to one side, seeming to consider something, then nodded to himself and reached out to tilt the bowl so it sat at a slightly jaunty angle.
The three of them stood in silence for a few long seconds. Ask could feel a trickle of goat’s blood slowly make its way down the side of his face. His eye twitched involuntarily. Houngan Igul was the first to crack, letting out a snort that quickly turned into a loud guffaw. He clapped Jarl Løgur on the shoulder and Ask started to chuckle as well. A number of the other villagers joined in and the jarl nodded again, his wide smile returning to his face.
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