The Liar's Key
I looked between them, Snorri, Tuttugu, Kara—the madman, the faithful hound, the baby witch. Three of them against the Dead King, and if he didn’t take them then Kelem waited at the end of their journey. And the prize if they won was to open death’s door and let hell out . . .
“Florence, eh? The best path to Florence leads through Red March. You can drop me off there.”
TEN
Perhaps Kara had a magic about her that permeated her boat, or maybe I had found my sea legs at long last—either way, the voyage south from the Beerentoppen proved less horrendous than the many days with Snorri in the Sea-Troll. Kara had named her boat Errensa, after the valkyrie that swim beneath the waves to gather the war dead for Ragnarok. She knew the winds and kept her sails full, driving us south faster than a man can run.
“She’s a fine-looking woman,” I told Snorri when he came to join me, huddled in the prow. The boat wasn’t large but the wind gave us privacy, overwriting our conversation and snatching the words away.
“That she is. She’s got a strength about her. Didn’t think she’d be your type, Jal. And haven’t you been mooning over this Lisa of yours ever since we left Trond?”
“Well, yes, I mean Lisa’s a lovely girl . . . I’m sure I’ll climb her balcony once or twice when I get back but . . .” But a man has to think about the here and now, and right there and right then, Kara had all my attention.
• • •
Life aboard a small sailboat is not to be recommended, however attractive the company, and even when you don’t have to spend most of each day emptying yourself over the side. The food proved cold, monotonous, and in short supply. The nights continued to try to reinstate winter. My fever continued to keep me weak and shivering. And any hopes I had of exercising my charms on Kara died early on. For one thing it’s hard to play the enigmatic prince of romance when the object of your affections gets to watch you shit into the sea twice a day. For another, the very first time my hand wandered her way Kara took a long knife from out beneath the many pleats of her skirt and explained with unnecessary volume how she would use it to pin that hand to my groin should it wander again. Snorri and Tuttugu just watched me and rolled their eyes as if it were my fault! I cursed the lot of them for miserable peasants and retreated to nibble on our diminishing store of dry oatcakes—revolting things.
At sunset Aslaug came, rising through the boards of the hull as if the inky depths had kept her safe while day scoured the world. Tuttugu glanced my way, shuddered and busied himself with a net that needed repairs. Snorri stared hard at the spot from which Aslaug rose, his gaze unreadable. Did he miss her company? He hadn’t the look of a man who saw her clearly though, his eyes sliding past her as she moved toward me. I hope her words slid past his ears just as well.
“Jalan Kendeth. Still huddled among northmen? Yours is the palace of Red March, not some creaking tub.”
“You have a faster means of getting there?” I asked, my mood still soured.
Aslaug made no reply but turned slowly as if hunting a scent, until she faced the stern where Kara stood beside the tiller. The völva saw Aslaug in the moment the avatar’s gaze fell upon her. I could tell it in an instant. Kara made no attempt to conceal that recognition, or her anger. Without taking her gaze from the spirit she tied off the tiller and stepped forward. She compensated for the swell, advancing as if the boat were set in rock.
“Out!” Loud enough to startle Snorri and Tuttugu, and to have me jump half out of my seat. “Out, night-spawn. Out, lie-born. Out, daughter of Loki! Out, child of Arrakni!” Kara’s eyes blazed with the sunset. She advanced, one hand held before her, clutching something that looked rather like a human bone.
“Well she’s a pretty thing!” Aslaug said. “Snorri will take her from you. You know that don’t you, Jalan?”
“Out!” Kara roared. “This boat is mine!” She struck the bone to the mast and all about the hull runes lit, burning with a wintery light. In that instant Aslaug seemed to collapse, flowing into some smaller shape, the size of a large dog, so wreathed in darkness it was hard to see any detail . . . other than it had too many legs. In a quick thrashing of long dry limbs Aslaug scurried over the side and was gone without a splash. I shuddered and looked up at Kara who returned my gaze, her lips set in a thin line. I opted to say nothing. The völva held like that, still with the bone to the mast, for another minute, then another, and then, with the sun gone behind the world, she relaxed.
“She is not welcome here,” Kara said, and returned to steering the boat.