Chapter 45 Calder
CALDER
The Abyss
Frigid air swirls around him like the warmest welcome he could have imagined in the underworld. His boots carry him to another dock that overlooks a frozen lake. He blinks as a blinding white scene greets him.
Have I returned to Skalor?
Confronting him is a dense forest of evergreens blanketed in thick, pearly white snow, lining either side of the untouched powder path. A gray mist lingers in the air, concealing everything except the way forward.
Unlike the forests of Skalor, silence reigns here. He glances upward to see only darkness, yet a pale light glimmers off the snow. To think of the sheer number of mortals who are damned to such a wasteland.
There is no fear left in the Iss Drengr.
If the love of his life is lost in the endless forest of the Abyss, then there is nothing left in this existence for him.
He rolls his broad shoulders as he steps further into the Abyss. A quiet determination burns through his veins to disembowel the god who took his girl.
As exposed as he feels, stripped of his powers, he doesn’t need them. Makt is just a man here, disconnected from his afterlife. A precise strike will bring him to his knees.
Whispers ahead quicken his pace.
He knows enough about this realm to tread carefully. Gods and souls aren’t the only creatures lurking in the forest.
Suddenly, the dark cloud lifts as he enters a clearing. The symmetry of the circularly placed trees is oddly perfect.
In the center is a black marble altar–a grotesque display with bloodied skulls embedded along the sides. It is as if someone manipulated the white slabs used as altars by the Gothi.
Lying across the stone is a familiar figure draped in a snow-white cloth adorned with peculiar twisting knots.
My Princess.
He is too focused on the ease of this search that he overlooks the black wolf the size of a boulder lying to the side. Fire flickers behind its intense gaze, watching Calder as if he is trespassing.
“You lose the bet, Rendel.”
A being as solid as the sentinel pines approaches him from beside the massive wolf that he suspects is an Ulv–a demon wolf of the Abyss that can be summoned through dark seidr to guard treasure.
Through the god’s wispy cloak, Calder can see that his skin is a hideous gray color with twisting knots carved into what little flesh is exposed. Antlers like gnarled tree roots protrude from his head, while inky hair flutters around his shoulders.
The god’s warped appearance only slightly matches his description in the ancient tomes. Yet, every lore Calder has ever read points to the antlered man as none other than Freyr.
But, a corrupted version of the God of Stability.
“He did come for his girl.” Freyr leans against the altar.
To his right is his son, Thrain Thordsson, Sigvid’s brother and Aura’s uncle. On the left is a stranger with raven hair and a cold, dead gaze.
Calder wasn't a betting man, but could recognize the late King Rendel Manchineel anywhere.
Having missed their presence, the Iss Drengr shifts uneasily as he evaluates the jarring scene of the three worst possible souls to be at the side of the love of his life.
Freyr’s sneer rivals either of his sons. “Welcome to the Abyss, Iss Drengr. The God of Death personally welcomes you to his realm.”
“You must be Freyr. Ironic that the God of Stability produces such unstable children.” His gaze lands on Aura’s shrouded body on the altar. “Where is Makt?”
“Follow the path to the bridge,” Freyr gestures, where the trail winds through the forest. “Do not stray,” he scratches behind the Ulv’s ears. “Fren, here, is not the only Ulv lurking in the woods. Just the one who nearly ripped apart your girl’s parents.”
Calder grunts, hoping not to face off against more demonic creatures.
“Be wary, Iss Drengr. Makt has been denied entry to the rest of the realm.”
How is that possible?
“He is a real delight while angry.”
“I do not fear him.” Calder moves around the altar, keeping his gaze focused on them.
“No need to concern yourself here.” Freyr waves his disturbingly mutilated arm over Aura. “The King of the Abyss has yet to admit her soul fully.”
Rendel rips the fabric from the figure, revealing the Princess in a thin, white nightgown, not unlike the attire she wore in Nightwall Keep. She stretches out with her eyelids closed as if she is sleeping rather than a corpse awaiting burial.
Calder covers the top of her lukewarm hand. “If harm befalls her, you will all know true suffering.” His feral growl is inhuman.
Freyr raps his knuckles along the stone. “Yes, yes, and you shall dismantle the world, blah blah blah. The Sigvidsson brat is safe. Her soul is in limbo per the God of Death, the King of the Abyss.”
I will return for you, my love.
“The King suffers your presence in his domain because he finds you amusing.” Freyr drags his middle finger across the top of the stone altar. “In the unlikely event that you defeat the mightiest god in the pantheon, you still must answer to him.”
“I answer to no one.” Since his conception, all the gods turned away from him through no fault of his own.
He happily returns the favor.
“I now understand why Sigvid took you under his wing.” Thrain’s condescending smirk is punchable, even in death. “My brother may have forged a shaky alliance with you, Iss Drengr, but that doesn’t mean you’re fit for kingship, even if you and my niece manage to survive this.”
I will have endured the Abyss for Aura. Surely, Sigvid cannot deny me that.
Rendel scoffs as he leans against the altar with his arms crossed. “That barbarian respects only violence. Avardsson is in the right company.” He stalks until he stands beside Aura’s head. “A sentiment I shall offer the Beast’s daughter should you fail to defeat Makt.”
“I will not fail.”
Rendel’s dark eyes shimmer with an unsettling intensity. “I require you to deliver a message to Avina and Sigrid-”
“Sigvid!” Thrain sighs as if he, too, is frustrated with his spiritual brother.
“That bitch failed to deliver me an heir to unite Treland on purpose and colluded with Sigvid to murder me.”
Thrain flashes him an unamused glance.
“All the souls the Beast delivered to the Abyss over the years would love a turn on his precious daughter. Know that if you fail or the King of the Abyss forces you to return alone, I will pass her body to every enemy you or he has ever condemned here.” He reaches for her face, but Freyr slaps him away.
“Calm yourself, Rendel.” Freyr spits. “The God of Death made it clear she is untouchable.”
“You will find the name Sigvid Thordsson does not inspire many down here.” Thrain leans along the edge of the altar. “Neither does Calder Avardsson.”
“I answer to no god.” He rests the axe head on the ground, unsure if he wishes to leave her with this slimy troop.
As if sensing his thoughts, Freyr laughs, shaking his head. “The Master of the Underworld, the King of the Abyss, charges us to observe Aura’s state until your conflict with Makt concludes. We are forbidden to touch her on pain of eternal sleep.”
Calder shudders at the thought of ‘eternal sleep.’ However, he couldn’t have picked a worse trio to shield the love of his life. He grunts in agreement before pushing through the fog and trudging through the forest.
An eerie silence haunts his steps, leaving his ears ringing. Even as his boots crunch through the powder, he senses that someone or something is tracking his progress. However, his instincts beg him not to glance over his shoulder.
There will be a time to confront this King of the Abyss.
As he treks down a hill, he pauses momentarily at the expanse of field ahead of him. Black roses spread across the landscape, somehow thriving despite the emptiness of the Abyss.
Finally, he spots Makt in the flesh. The God of Power paces beside a bridge much like the one he crossed in the Depths, except this one offers passage across a frozen river. Embedded into the ground is an unassuming great axe.
Makt elicits a strained bellow as his fists smack against an invisible barrier prohibiting him from crossing.
Calder rounds into the clearing between the field of roses and the bridge, and suddenly, the prophecy slams into the forefront of his mind:
Skalor’s salvation requires two.
Liberation bleeds at the hands of the god-born child.
To make equal upon a field of sunless roses, a willing sacrifice must be taken.
Only when Salt melts Ice will peace descend upon the realm.”
He and Aura have unintentionally confirmed the prophecy up to this moment: ‘Liberation bleeds at the hands of the god-born child. To make equal upon a field of sunless roses.’
He must face his godly father to save Skalor.
As he approaches the bridge, he observes Makt’s back, heaving in time with his haggard breathing.
“Did you think I would abandon her?” Calder shouts as the God of Power whirls around with a grin.
“Well, well, well, color me surprised, my son.” With one hand, he withdraws the axe from the frozen ground, resting the shaft across his broad shoulders. “You are more daft than I could have imagined. Trapping yourself in the Abyss with your girl will not end well for you.”
Calder removes the god-killing axe from his back, smirking at the blade in his grasp. “And yet I am the one wielding your weapon, Makt. I believe it is you who is trapped.”
The God of Power’s wretched smile widens, revealing a row of jaggedly sharp teeth. “Your aim must be true. Otherwise, your soul will wander the Abyss, forever doomed to witness her defilement.”
Calder rushes the god before he has a chance to contemplate his strategy. He leaps as he approaches Makt and raises his axe above his head before striking it at his divine father.
Makt meets his blade with the shaft of his weapon. A chilling laugh grates under his skin as the god spins his hatchet in one hand.
The Iss Drengr lifts the double blade above his head, effortlessly blocking each of Makt’s wild and uncontrollable strikes.