Chapter 16
Sixteen
Bjorn
Bjorn heard sounds shortly after Astrid had left. But the noises weren’t coming from the direction she’d gone in, so for a little while, he ignored them.
The mountain allowed sounds to echo. He’d heard noises that he would have sworn were the souls of the dying this far up the mountain.
He and his father used to travel this way often to visit his mother.
Bjorn had stories from those travels that would make the hair raise straight off the arms of any person listening.
He knew damn well that there were hauntings here.
But as he made the stone circle that would contain their fire, he continued hearing the noises. They were strange sounds for spirits. Words that continued slipping through, both in the human language and in the black tongue. Words that whispered of travel and others of torment.
For a time, he wondered if it was merely his mind playing tricks on him.
Maybe he was back in the labyrinth after all, listening to people talking in the other cells.
But no, he knew he wasn’t there. Bjorn even tapped a rock hard against his bare foot.
It hurt, but it didn’t fracture what he saw in front of him.
He had to see what was making the sound, even if it was spirits who called out to him. He’d met them once before.
It hadn’t gone well.
Crouched low, he clambered over the stones and followed the sounds until a nightmare unfurled before him.
There were human soldiers here, all of them armed to the teeth and setting up a ring of fire around their campsite.
Nothing would come close, and nothing would approach them without them seeing who it was.
But within that circle, there were cages.
Cages that were as tall as him, but thin and narrow. They held crouched figures within them.
Trolls, he realized. Trolls that looked a lot like him. Trolls with jewelry in their ears, decorating their fingers and wrists, and clothing that was far finer than the humans wore.
These weren’t warriors. These were civilians.
Men, women, and a little girl who was hiding her face against her mother’s belly because she was so terrified.
These mercenaries had hunted his people down on the other side of the mountain.
They had taken these people from their homes and were now carting them over the mountain in cages for what reason?
A group of mercenaries had gathered together, bottles in their hands lifted to the skies for a moment before drinking from them. One of them shouted, “Drink up! The king will be pleased with us in a week’s time. You’ll see more riches than you ever dreamed of!”
Someone smacked him upside the head, hushing him. There were more words then, but they flowed through Bjorn’s ears without any real recognition. Words that warned of trolls in the mountains. Hunting grounds. Warriors who would rip and tear with their claws.
His own claws sank into the stones that he gripped, and then all he could see was red.
These mercenaries had come to his home. They’d stolen his people. They took and broke and bit until there was nothing left but blood and pain. He was so tired of humans thinking they could claim whatever they stood on and suddenly, his body moved without him.
Bjorn recognized what was happening. This was his father’s blood.
It was anger and rage that had been passed down to him through generations of trolls.
Dag the Destroyer himself had once told Bjorn that the rage was a gift.
Berserkers were the ones to hold the rage for all the other trolls, so others could go about their lives without this red mist overtaking them as well.
But to him, it was a curse. A curse where he did not remember or even know what he was doing until it was too late.
His anger passed in fleeting moments of clarity that only provided him with the ability to see what was happening. Briefly. Only a flash of what he had done.
A mercenary raised his sword, rushing forward with a yell that Bjorn knew he would catch on his claws. He plunged the sharp tips underneath the man’s jaw, feeling his tongue move against his fingers before he threw him to the side.
Again, another break in his madness to see a young man on his hands and knees, frantically trying to grab his sword that was somehow on the ground. Bjorn was no kinder to him. He stomped hard on the man’s back, hearing the snap of his spine before he did the same thing to the base of his neck.
Then screaming. So many screams.
He hated it when they screamed. The sound scratched the back of his skull, and he clutched his head to get the sound out of it. He heard the shrieks of those who had died before, who would die soon, the calls of his people begging him to save them, but he didn’t know how.
Bjorn had just been a child. The screams had been echoing then too.
The sound of his father rampaging through the humans who had attacked them was hard to forget.
He had seen the blood splatters, the way it had coated his father nearly from his head to his toe.
What had once been his dad was now Dag the Destroyer.
That monstrous creature had once held Bjorn’s hands when he was scared of the dark.
That beast had once promised his son that he would fear nothing because Dag would always be there to chase away the nightmares.
Then he had become one.
Bjorn fought through the sound of the screams, killing anyone and everything that stood in his way.
In some sense, he knew he was as coated as his father had been.
He could feel the warm liquid dripping down his chest in rivers of unending pain.
There were more though. More people to kill, because there always were.
Except those who were still standing were behind barriers.
Bjorn could still hear them screaming, and he wanted it to stop.
He couldn’t handle the screams. He remembered being terrified underneath that cart, begging for his father to stop killing people because Dag had turned toward his own kind.
The rage that burned through Dag the Destroyer was renowned.
But he had always targeted humans. He’d never hurt trolls.
Until he did. And then no one could stop him. Not the warriors. Not the people who begged for mercy. No one.
All Bjorn could remember was the screams. Just like the people screaming right now. He needed them to stop.
A cool breeze played along his back. Rage still pushed through him, and he knew that he was pounding on something metallic, trying to get through whatever it was. But then that breeze caught his attention again, and he slowed.
He hadn’t felt a wind like that in such a long time. He’d been stuck underground, where he knew most trolls enjoyed their time. But he had never liked it underground. He’d always wanted to feel the wind in his hair, feel it cooling the sweat of his brow, easing the torment of heat in his body.
Finally, he felt the rage in him ease. Like a candle flame blown out by a breath. It was peace. It was hope. It was...
Her.
He knew that hand on his back, and the soft feeling of it tracing down his skin. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling. Her hand was dry and cool. His skin was slick with sweat and so overheated. But her touch and that breeze cooled his blood.
“Are you with us?” she asked, her voice quiet even as she stood so close to a berserker.
What bravery it took for her to stand where she did, without quaking in fear.
She must’ve known he could turn at any point and kill her.
Some part of him was still screaming at him to do so.
But he didn’t. Bjorn held on to that cool breeze and soft touch, clutching it against his soul like the lifeline he knew it was.
He let the rage go. When he opened his eyes next, he could see that he had been standing in front of one of the troll cages.
The inhabitants were terrified, all watching him with mistrustful eyes that stared deep into his soul.
They were the picture of who he had been as a young boy, hoping that his father would return to himself before the monster found him underneath that cart.
Bjorn turned away from them, unable to look into those gazes that were so like his own. Instead, he turned to her. To his bright one. To the woman who gleamed in the moonlight like a fallen star.
She stood there with her hand still raised, her palm bright red with blood. And yet, she did not quiver as she met his gaze. “Are you with us?” she asked again.
He didn’t recognize his own voice as he brokenly asked, “Did I hurt anyone?”
Her eyes widened, but he knew Astrid would tell him the truth. She wasn’t a liar, or at least, it didn’t seem like she was. Slowly, she nodded her head and replied, “Only those who deserved it.”
“Good.”
Then he noticed all the bodies. So many dead humans, strewn about like a bear had found them and tossed them aside.
Swallowing hard, he turned back to the cage and inspected the people within it.
There were four trolls in this one. Two young women and two young men.
They’d likely been a hunting party who had gone out to get food, considering the clothing they wore.
The more lavender-colored female spoke up.
“The guard at your feet, he had the keys.”
Astrid jumped into action. She rummaged through the dead man’s pockets like it wasn’t the first time she’d done so, and started trialing keys in the lock.
He watched her until she found the right key, and then the trolls were free. The young woman who had spoken reached for the keys. “I will take care of the others. You keep your berserker calm.”
Astrid gave her an odd look, then it was just the two of them as the trolls freed the others. And Bjorn was still thinking about what she had done.
He pointed at the body. “That doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”