Chapter XI:
A Fisherman's Return
As Grimnar had promised, they all set out on that morning, frigid and white from the gentle snowfall.
The woods smelt crisp of verdant timber, the stinking sequoia-husks of the vaighlings becoming more and more distant in memory and space. The front door guarded by the Bighorn Buck, they spent the night before in Grimnar’s quaint abode; a heath-nestled cabin built along a hillside stream.
After a breakfast of eggs and venison cooked by Embla for Kurt and a heartily thankful Grimnar, the party set out, first loading a sledge to drag them across the ice.
Buck pulled along Grimnar and Embla with the sledge, as mighty he was, while Kurt rode out on Canute, whose black coat had a fresh and lively sheen that morning. Bellies full of breakfast, their spirits content, they all wound leisurely between the sequoias. Even Kurt forgot to be suspicious of his sense of ease on such a blissful ride. Canute’s vigor caught Grimnar’s eye, remarking as he puffed on a fat cornucopian pipe: “So...Doedeld (Todteld interpreted from Varglish) gifted you this steed as a beast among the ranks of the dead. But now he has a bit of life in him, certainly granted not by Doedeld but a far mightier person...Rammbock himself! Yea, I saw him from my bedroom window under the moonlight early this morning, out in the heath. He was tending to Canute, feeding him. From now on, your steed will need to remain with Rammbock, for no other food will he accept, otherwise he must return to Doedeld’s stable.”
“Wait. Rammbock was here?” said Embla yawning.
“Can you believe it? He was considerate enough not to wake you from your beauty sleep!...So! Let us not drag our feet much longer. The tower nears.”
Grimnar cracked Buck’s reins. Their trot quickened. The party rode through that idyllic wood for an hour more, traces of the stench of death and decay of the vaighling’s forest purified by the frost. What truly lies within this woods?, thought Kurt. Rammbock is near. Rammbock the fable, the tale and song. It all seemed impossible,even if he had been told of this ancient lord by the hidden Weever, Grimnar the axe swinging minstrel, and John. What mattered a song, what truth told a mere tale? What did it mean that the heart of Rammbock beat within the resurrecting sheep, feeding them as Rammbock fed the dead back to life?
“There it stands. Tallest tree in this wood, and also the entire earth if we Westernlings may boast.” “I’m not from the West. What about us Southerlings? We have beaches, crystal blue water, romantic island getaways...” said Embla raising an eyebrow. Grimnar whispered in her ear with a chuckle. Embla stuck her tongue out. Kurt pretended he didn't hear the big man's corny pun about 'beaches.'
They all looked up the tree disappearing in the low clouds, sheathed in that snowflake whitened staircase up to the castle.
Before them though was a blockade, a wall of granite boulders, twenty feet high at the lowest.
“The wall was built long ago, a remnant of that time of man before man. It was transplanted over here by myself not long ago though…it contains many pitfalls: leap over the wall and you’ll meet an errandghost’s sword...I mean it too, learned the hard way before...Those that might attempt to destroy the wall will become immured. If you press your ear close enough you'll hear the screams of those fool enough to try...Do not fear though…there is one opening, known only by Buck and me. Come.”
He led them for a half mile along the wall till they reached a golden gooseberry bush protruding about the cracks of the wall. Grimnar shoved a few of the juicy things in his mouth groaning in delight. “Try,try. They are summer sweets and summer is fast departing.” “Summer is fast departing,” mimicked Embla sing-song. Grimnar popped one in her mouth to her wide-eyed surprise. “Yes, summer is fast departing,” he said again as Embla ate, concealing a smile. Grimnar’s fingers smudged in the dark juice, he gripped his Weever-tail Axe and struck the cracks of the wall. As he struck, a narrow crevice split down the middle of the wall. He pushed through, inhaling tight, barely squeezing inside and onwards to the other side. Buck rammed through the rest of the crevice opening it wider for the others. “Huh.thanks for the help, Buck,” said Grimnar grumbling a bit. Embla and Kurt on Canute rode through the gate. Inside, they gazed upon the base of the tower, a great old sequoia.
At its visible roots stood a man in red robes, silvery chains hanging from his shoulders, his kind bright eyes signaling a welcome. He held a long platinum-white candle not unlike those seven atop Deathbrand.
“Rammbock?” asked Embla to herself rather loudly.
Grimnar grinned.
“May I introduce ourselves to the great physician of Rammbock, Mr. Kalendros. Kalendros, it is an honor!”
“On the contrary,” said Kalendros, his trilling accent Kurt recognized as of the Old North, of those peasants near the Vargian stronghold, mortal enemies of the Herrenhausen clan, or so he had learned from Telescreen plays.
“And have you been busy?” asked Grimnar. “Quite, keeping watch over you lot!” tutted Kalendros.
Embla and Kurt bowed their heads as they stepped close to the man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Kalendros,” said Kurt,"I believe I have seen you in dreams…”
“Perhaps! I have known of you carrying that burden of a blade on your back for many years, but it was seen through a dream, a vision of possible futures and pasts... Just as this lady too has seen many a vision…” Kalendros looked to Embla and nodded. “And the Queen showed herself to you, I understand? Duchess von Herrenhausen?”
Embla smiled meekly. “Yes…I believe so.” Kalendros nodded. “Yes...you know so, so much as you believe the sun to rise and the tide to fall...Thus, you have come along this far at least…But further still you cannot go alone...If you wish to go further, King Rammbock is just out fishing. He’ll return soon enough, I reckon,if you do not mind waiting a spell…”
Grimnar nodded. “Ya-vell! We’ll wait as long as needed, though our matter be urgent. Our Lady Verity, bearer of the Weever’s Tooth has been corrupted by the ettins, become a disciple of Orbaulker and seemingly forgotten herself entirely.” Kalendros shaking his head,said,“So I have regrettably heard…her story is grim, grimmer than most. We have tried for decades to fend off the unghosts tormenting her, but the pact she made with the ettins…well,you know her tale well I suppose, Grimnar.”
“Which pact?” said Kurt. “I believe I know which pact you speak of,” said Embla quietly.
“The Azza-Contract. In fact...I made it myself once before.”
Kalendros waved his hand. “You do not need to say anything more, Duchess, all is pardoned. Verity battled us errandghosts to the bitter end. She was so singularly focused on regaining what she had lost, she was unable to see how many more oaths she had sworn to vaighlings and ettin-thanes that she shut herself off from any healing we could provide.”
“Then is there no hope…Can we save her?” said Kurt.
“I ensure you all that there is the faintest possibly, but it will need a tremendous force to bolster her return…even then…no,no...I shall not misspeak. There is hope for her. Even now she listens to us, hears us...listen, dear Verity. You are adored and we want your beauty to shine again.”
“How does she hear us?” asked Embla.
“What do you see, Duchess…in your visions? That is the key to your question. Tell us, I do not presume that I know everything that has ever been revealed to man. What do you see in your dreams?”
Embla looked back to the wall. She shook her head and said, “War. I see war with few victors. I see the triumph of a great beast over fields of corpses, brooks bleeding from cracked skulls, but then--- their rising, rising again and again. Slaves to the Unghost…like I was. Like Verity.”
“You have described the war at the edge of the Eldermark Maelstrom, the Bloodfirth whence Verity has just emerged after her 1000 years with Azza-ghoul…woe to her spirit!!! But her guardians are far more powerful than the Ghoul. I have subdued some of the most dangerous unghosts since before man was first ensouled, but now, their chains are loosened. The ettins have demanded their return to rule over mankind since they were cast into hiding,and now, they, the vaighlings and the Unghost himself have taken ahold of millions of men’s hearts.”
“And what if Verity’s heart is lost? She bears a part of the Weever…don’t we need her word to cast these ettins out of Earth? Otherwise, the Weever will never return...”
Kalendros looked to them and said, “Rammbock entrusted the Weever to heirs, passed generation after the next since the dawn of mankind…You all must understand though the Weever has not returned yet, his heirs have gotten close to completing the great task. Listen carefully, for when you offer this Weever up to its tamer, its maker, your own fate will be reckoned. King Rammbock will ride the beast, turn it docile, capture its former malevolence and command it to become a bringer of doom for the ettins.
“You understand that in giving the heirloom up, you also will give up your own life; including your powers, be they offensive or defensive or of foresight and telepathy, all will be lost. And for so many men, those are terms they cannot accept…Verity too must give up those marvelous powers that have sustained her current incarnation...she must swear an oath to Rammbock and only then will the ettinland be crushed.”
“But why?? Why can’t it be another way?” yelled out Embla. "If this Rammbock is so strong...why does he need our fealty?"
“Rammbock long ago promised worthy successors to his throne, those men willing to make personal sacrifices in the face of incredible temptations. They were the first truly called men of which he was the first. Many men have fallen to the temptations of ettins and unghosts, but still many more have proven themselves to be his loyal servants. You all are the closest he has ever seen. Even Verity is among those more faithful, despite her evil oaths. Rammbock has not abandoned her. Do you hear that, Verity?...there is still hope!!! Yes, she hears us...in her dreams, that beautiful girl is still among us, watching, listening...learning.”
They were all quiet at that word and stood in the falling flakes, warmed by the candles of Deathbrand and Kalendros.
Soon a campfire was set.
They sat together amongst the fire, roasting venison, their beasts of burden close by, stirring suddenly and turning towards the woods.
A voice called out from the trees. “Kalendros? Is that a cookout I smell?”
An old man in denim jeans and a crinkled, tan sport's jacket approached them from the trees.
He held two wriggling sturgeon in either hand. The old man gently smiled his gray eyes towards Kurt.
“I’ll be damned...” he said faintly.
“Now,tell me this isn't Rammbock…” said Embla whispering to Grimnar.
Kurt, tears welling, yelled out, running to the old man like a child to his father.
“John!”