The Undying Viking: An Arthurian Fantasy Adventure (Merging Worlds Book 1) Page 4

  Lund continued. “Once we’d captured him, we brought him here. We’ve used translators of every known language, but none could decipher the language he speaks. There were two words he would say over and over again, however, that we eventually guessed might be a name.”

  A moment of light-headedness dizzied Markus. “My name,” he whispered. “He said it on the first recording.”

  “You were wonderin’ why we kept askin’ if you understood?” McDermott’s piped in, arms crossed. “It’s because we don’t, but we think you can.”

  “Me?” Markus repeated. “That can’t be possible—"

  “Ye are Markus Trygg, are ye not?”

  The sound of a gruff voice, like rocks breaking against each other and laden with a heavy accent, caused Markus to leap backward. “What the—"

  McDermott’s outstretched arms kept Markus from sprinting in the other direction. “Woah there, relax. You ain’t goin’ anywhere jus’ yet.”

  “What did he say?” Lund asked

  There was no time to answer as steel links were tested once more, a deep-throated and feral voice rising with the clamor of metal. “Ah’m Holger, son of Gøtrik, and ye will tell dese fools te set meh free or not even Odin himself will save dem from mah wrath!”

  Lund had to shake Markus before his mouth came off the floor. “This can’t be real,” he said in disbelief, hoping that the nightmare might end if he repeated it enough. “This can’t be real.”

  “By teh gods,” Holger grumbled as he spun. “Ah mus’ be cursed. He’s ah bloody half-wit.”

  Markus’s eyes sprang open, his face growing hot at the insult. “I—I am not a half-wit.”

  “Well, that didn’t take long,” McDermott exclaimed, looking quite amused.

  Holger jerked his body to glare at McDermott; the chains snapped again. “Ye can tell teh fat one that he will be teh first one Ah deal wit’ when Ah break free o’ dese chains.”

  “What’s he sayin’ now?”

  Markus didn’t bother hiding his satisfaction. “He doesn’t like you much.”

  “Is that so?” McDermott unfolded his hands, raising the middle finger on one. “Well, here’s my response.”

  The guttural snarl from Holger confirmed McDermott’s gesture was and always had been a gesture whose meaning was universally known. Once more, veins rose to the surface as every one of the warrior’s muscles activated to rebel against his bonds. Again, the links held, though Markus could’ve sworn he heard a melodic snap during the outburst. A dozen fingertips flexed against metal triggers, stopping just short of firing.

  “Dese chains will not hold meh for long,” Holger spat, skin red and puffy in what little of his face wasn’t covered in hair or beard. “Tell dem te release meh.”

  Swallowing hard, he nearly did what he’d been told—but before Markus would willingly become the equivalent of a two-way radio, it was time for answers of his own. “I’ll tell them whatever you want, but I need to know a few things first. Why me? Why am I the only one who can understand you?”

  The scorching glare he received acted as the world’s largest magnifying glass—and Markus cooked beneath it. Or perhaps his sudden sweats resulted from Holger’s hot breath, erupting from nostrils that flared heatedly through long, deliberate breaths that could be felt from across the room. He knew it wasn’t wise to upset the Viking warrior more than he already seemed to be, but Markus held his ground, looking at the dangling giant with as steadfast a stare as possible. If he was the only one who could understand this creature, he had to know why.

  “Ye may ‘ave some stones after all,” Holger barked through a hideous smile. “Very well, little man. Ah’m no sorcerer. All Ah know is, when Ah cross over, Ah’m given the name of one who must act as mah emissary while Ah remain ‘ere.”

  If it were possible to receive an answer that revealed even less, Markus had just gotten it. “And the killings,” he pressed on. “What do you know about them?”

  The Viking's face twisted. “Ah would know a lot more had your friends not let teh trail go cold.”

  This time, it was Markus’s face that curdled. “These aren’t my friends. I was also brought here against my will.”

  “Fantastic,” McDermott snorted. “Real hero we got here, Major.”

  “Enough!” Holger bellowed, renewing his vigorous battle with the steel restraints. “Tell dem te release meh. And, as a show of mah mercy, Ah will kill only one of dem.”

  In any other circumstance, it would have been an empty threat, especially with as many gun barrels as were pointed at him. Yet, the Viking had said it without paying the weapons a second's notice. He saw the soldiers; he knew they were there, but it didn't manifest in his tone if he cared or was slightly concerned. Whichever it was, the Viking’s threat had the blood fleeing Markus’s face en masse as he turned to address Lund. “I think we should let him go.”

  Lund shook her head. “Not until I know what he knows.”

  “I don’t think he knows anything yet,” Markus insisted. “But he’s making a pretty convincing argument that you should let him go—and quickly.”

  McDermott scoffed. “Fat chance of that.”

  Markus could’ve let the issue be, but something wouldn’t let him. Gritting his teeth, he whirled on Lund. “You can’t just keep him here. If he is who you say he is, then he can help you. Keeping him chained up, hoping he doesn’t find a way to free himself, seems like a terrible idea.”

  “I’m sorry, Markus,” Lund shook her head. “Whatever this is, it’s not over—and the last thing I can afford is a Viking warrior running amok—doesn’t matter who he is.”

  “Then why did you bring me here?” Markus shot back. “You wanted to find out if I understood him just so I could tell him you’re going to leave him hanging in chains?”

  She wasn’t given time to answer as a radio mounted onto Lund’s shoulder crackled to life. “Major! Do you copy?”

  “Yes?” Lund positioned her ear over the speaker. “What is it?”

  “There’s been another incident, ma’am. About 30 minutes from here in the village of Hrackensborg. We have to move quickly to secure the area.”

  Lund’s hands trembled. “How many?”

  The answer came slowly. “Population says 402, ma’am.”

  Lund released a deep sigh that brought her typically stiff shoulders dropping from their high perch, leaving her deflated as though all air had departed her sails. “Send a squad out there immediately. Seal all the roads and clear the airspace. We won’t be far behind.”

  “What about him?” McDermott asked after Lund had angled her head back to center.

  She took a while to answer, an intense stare flooding from the blue that, while pointed at Holger, didn’t seem directed at him. Instead, there was some other not-so-private skirmish that she was engaged in, splayed out behind pupils, clearly seeing red. “I will free him,” she finally said through clenched teeth. “Provided we hunt down and kill whatever is doing this, together.”

  “Why?” Markus asked, stunned. “He doesn’t need our help—look at him.”

  “You’re not listening, and I’m getting tired of explaining myself,” Lund snapped, the irritation in her voice harkening Markus to shut his mouth. Gone was the calm demeanor she’d exuded upon their meeting, understandably broken by the news they’d received of yet another massacre. “The last thing I need right now is him running around in plain sight and causing mass hysteria. But,” Lund hissed through clenched teeth. “I will allow him to come with us, to assist us. We will take him where he needs to go and help him, but we do it together. Tell him.”

  Markus knew when to toss in the white flag. And as he repeated the words, Holger’s neck pulsed ferociously. Then, the Viking began to laugh. It started as a slow, rumbling chuckle but built to a rolling crescendo that rose to shake the room's foundation. “Teh lass is ah fierce one, no doubt about it. But Ah do not need help. Ye can tell her she has mah respect.”

  He already knew her response, but Markus told Lund anyway. “Then he’s not leaving,” she said, spinning around and beginning to march from the room.

  Holger’s powerful voice followed her. “More innocent blood has been spilled, has it not?”

  She stood with her back turned. But when Markus went to recite what Holger had asked, Lund cut him off before he could finish. “I’m not stupid. I don’t need transcription on everything he says to know what he’s saying. And neither does he.” Then, as if to prove her point, she whirled round to face Holger. “Yes.”

  The long hairs of Holger’s beard trembled as he watched her head nod. “Dere blood is on your hands, lass. Ye should have let meh be.”

  It wasn’t clear whether she’d understood Holger this time, but she gave no indication she was interested either. “Tell him this will be his last chance.”

  Markus sighed. The translating thing had gotten old fast. After he’d finished, Holger gazed at Lund in a way that made Markus uneasy. “Ah like ‘er,” Holger said, showing Lund a smile that would’ve curdled milk. “If only she were a bit taller, she would make a fine mistress.”

  Markus was sure he was turning beet red. Mercifully, Lund, who’d probably read behind the tea leaves of the giant’s invasive stare for herself, held up a hand. “I don’t care what he said. Just ask him if we have a deal.”

  In response, the smug grin fell from Holger’s face as arms and legs once more grappled against the tight weave of chains. Again, there was a grinding sound, like nails on a chalkboard—only this time, the links did not hold, a single snap precipitating a domino effect that ended with Holger crashing to the ground with a jarring thud.

  But the Viking sprang immediately to his feet before the last of his restraints hit the floor, stretching to his full height. Broad as he was tall, boulder shoulders were shrouded in a dark tunic, the garment ending at the knees covered by simple trousers. With a sharp twist of his neck, Holger turned on the leveraged perimeter of soldiers, who only moments prior had been holding vigil over him. To a person, they kept weapons levied on the Viking, somehow keeping just enough of their composure to not start firing as a group. All, that is, except for one.

  The roar from a gun barrel was followed by a sickening sound as a single wayward bullet collided into and through the carapace of Holger’s chain mail.

  “Hold your fire!” Lund shouted, throwing her arms up in the air.

  Unfortunately, the damage was done. And as Holger contemptuously eyed a wound spurting crimson, Markus, along with everyone else, choked on the silence. Then, appearing as though someone had poured sand onto a geyser, the bloody wound on the Viking’s chest closed around itself. It happened quickly, occurring in a few blinks of the eye—but not before the lone bullet, blunted and misshapen, ejected from the Viking’s flesh with a revolting pop. When the red smeared hunk of metal finally stopped, Holger’s skin and armor were restored as new.

  Holger looked onto the many faces, curling his lip into what could’ve been either a smile or snarl. “Ye should all be punished, but ye have wasted enough of mah time. Ah will forgive your transgressions if—” the Viking paused, eyes narrowing on McDermott. “In the name of Odin, what is that?”

  “What?” McDermott asked, stopping midway as he leaned to pick something off the ground. “If he’s looking for a meal, tell him I haven’t showered in days.”

  Markus’s followed the giant’s eyes until they stopped at the feet of McDermott. “Sadly, it’s not you.”

  “What do you mean, sadly?” McDermott repeated, his eyes following Markus’s.

  Sitting in a pile of paper and exposed bread was the remainder of the meatball sandwich McDermott had been eating. In his fumbling attempts to holster his weapon, the sandwich had fallen out onto the floor.

  “What is dat?” Holger repeated, trails of saliva pouring from his mouth and pooling onto the floor.

  “It’s a sandwich,” Markus said, shaking his head. “That’s really been in your pocket this whole time?”

  Not one to let good food go to waste, McDermott snatched the hoagie from the ground. “Where else would I have put it, genius?”

  From Holger’s stomach came a bear’s rumble. “Ah will make teh lass a deal,” the Viking announced. “Ah will accompany ye. But in return, Ah require a feast and enough mead te quench a decades-long thirst.”

  “I don’t understand—” Markus started.

  “Lots of food and drink, dolt,” Holger growled. “If teh lass gives what Ah ask, Ah will play nice—for a little while.”

  Markus repeated what Holger said, though he decided to keep the last part to himself.

  “We have a deal,” Lund nodded, appearing genuinely relieved.

  “Ah also want mah helm, sword, and shield returned with haste,” Holger said, taking bounding steps until he stood over McDermott. The man’s eyes widened as the Viking snatched the sandwich's remaining from his hands.

  “Hey, you son of a—"

  Holger stuffed the half-eaten footlong into a single overflowing mouthful, watching McDermott as he chewed with a look that begged the man to dare finish his sentence. But fortunately for him, McDermott had just enough restraint to know when not to. He was a big guy—but next to the Viking, he was just a guy.

  “We’re moving out. Prepare transport to Hrackensborg,” Lund ordered her soldiers. They marched from the gutted monastery, many of them looking over their shoulder nervously as they exited in a line from a side door at the east end of the structure.

  “Someone had better make sure the van’s ready for him,” McDermott gestured, glancing over his shoulder uneasily, as he headed for the same exit.

  Left alone with Holger and Lund, Markus cleared his throat. “Well, I guess you’re all good here, right? The two of you,” he said, glancing quickly from to the other and then back to the floor. “Working together. I’m glad I could help, but I really should get—"

  “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear,” Lund interrupted. “When I said we do this together, that included you. We can’t understand him, and he can’t understand us without you.”

  “What if I say no?” Markus objected.

  “Tis a sick joke born of Loki himself that it would be one such as ye, Markus Trygg,” Holger boomed, showing his teeth in a parting of lips that was the furthest thing from a smile. “But teh magic says ye must accompany meh, and so ye shall.”

  He wasn’t sure why he looked to Lund for help, but Markus received only an indifferent shrug as she walked towards the exit. The shadows of the monastery were wispy, slight things that came and went within the dead and gloomy confines—but nothing was fleeting about the silhouette created by the Viking that towered over him. And as he bolted for the door, Holger closely in tow, it struck Markus that he’d just been kidnapped—again.

  FOUR

  Preparations were already well underway when Markus emerged from the humid muskiness of the monastery and into the light of a sinking sun. It was a hectic scene of personnel, with their head-to-toe all-black garbs being the only commonality; they were rushing back and forth while readying a line of dark armored vans parked against the abbey's exterior wall.

  “Move your arse, or Ah’ll move it for ya,” Holger snarled from behind.

  Ears burning, Markus hustled out onto the landing strip of grass being used as a parking lot. Once clear, he couldn’t resist turning his head just to watch the Viking plow through a doorway meant for people much smaller. An arm and a leg emerged first, looking like a pair of disembodied limbs, as the rest of the oversized body and head wrestled their way free. Somehow the iron door remained on its hinges, but it would never close right again, causing Markus to wonder how they’d gotten the Viking into the monastery in the first place. And, basking in the sun's heat, Holger craned his face up and issued such a howl into the sky that it halted everyone in their tracks. His smirk when he lowered his head showed off the Viking’s amusement.

  Nearby, Markus saw Lund addressing two of her soldiers. Both were looking at her as though she’d just asked them to chop off their arms and hand them over. Instead, the pair paid Lund an awkward salute before rushing into the closest vehicle. Just in time, Markus got out of the way to avoid being run over as the van’s two occupants drove past him, eyes peeled back in astonishment.

  McDermott shouted after them—but they were already gone. “Where they goin’?”

  “He asked for a feast,” Lund shrugged, nodding at Holger.

  McDermott licked his lips. “Could’ve said somethin’ if you were takin’ food orders,” he grumbled.

  Lund sighed and shook her head but made no other response as she hustled off to assist in the departure effort, calling out orders as she went. Not wanting to be left alone with Holger, McDermott scuttled after her, clutching at his plunging pants the whole way.

  Holger strode towards one of the vans, chainmail rattling with his every step, his colossal frame making the vehicle look more like a clown car as he studied it with guarded curiosity. His hands were turned to fists, ready to swing at a moment's notice—until he saw his reflection in the blacked-out windows. A hand came up to clutch at his lengthy beard while narrowed eyes blinked rapidly. “What is dis metal beast ye ‘ave created?”

  “It’s an automobile,” Markus faltered, unsure how he should introduce such a concept to the medieval warrior. “It will take us where we need to go faster than on foot.”

  Breaking his eyes from the window, the Viking watched as soldiers opened and shut the doors of the other surrounding vehicles. “So ye place yourself in its belly? How many of ye does it consume before ye get dere?”

  Markus’s mouth opened—and shut. “It’s not like that,” he tried to clarify. “It’s not alive. We just use it to get where we need to go faster.”

  Holger yawned, a boisterous noise that articulated well his sudden disinterest. “Ah can travel fast enough on mah own.”

  Looking at the muscles heaped on top more muscles, Markus didn’t doubt the Viking’s words—but it was because of all his other-worldly brawn that Lund couldn’t have him running off on his own.