The Sentinel (27 page)

For several more seconds after the explosion, I lay unconscious. I have no idea how long. All I know is that I’m shaken awake.

Chase leans over me. His glasses are missing. Blood streaks down his face. But he’s alive. I smile up at him, happy to see him alive. And the little prick goes and lays a kiss on me.

I push him away and he says, “Sorry, I’m just glad to see you alive.”

I push myself up and the world spins around me. I wave my hand in front of my face in a feeble attempt to clear the dust away. When that doesn’t work, I lift the inside of my cloak up and breathe through the fabric. “Are you okay?” I ask. “We thought you were dead.”

“So did I,” Chase says. He rubs the blood from his forehead. “I think I caught a rock to the head. Maybe a few on my body, too, but it will hurt worse tomorrow than it does today.”

As my head clears, I hear a groan beside me.

My vision only spins a little as I turn toward the sound. Willem sits up, rubbing his ears, which appear to be bleeding some. Jakob lies motionless next to him. Willem shakes his father’s leg. “Father. Father!”

Jakob stirs. He blinks his eyes wide a few times. And then he begins to laugh. It’s the kind of “Holy shit, we just blew something up,” laugh familiar to teenage boys, and apparently Vikings. What’s amazing is that it’s catchy. Dazed, injured and beaten, the four of us laugh like drunken sailors.

As my humor fades, I push myself up and peek around the stone barrier that saved our lives. The destruction is profound. The gorge no longer exists. Both sides have collapsed, bridging two of the steep hills with a thirty foot tall stack of boulders.

The others fall silent as they step out of hiding, view our handy work and perhaps contemplate just how close we came to blowing ourselves to bits.

Chase points to the ground at our feet. The blacksmith’s head lays there, hairless and smoldering. Its jaws lay open, like it’s laughing, and its wide white eyes stare at the sky. Seeing the once horrible monster without its body, frozen in such a humorous pose bring my giggles back. I try to keep it in, but when Willem cracks too, we all begin laughing again. Maybe it’s the absurdity of everything we’ve seen. Maybe we’re just all happy to be alive. I’m not really sure why we’re laughing. It just feels right.

That is, until two horns appear at the top of the thirty foot pile of freshly toppled stone. The horns rise up, revealing first helmet, then head and then towering body. Torstein survived the blast. In fact, he looks like he avoided it all together, and I doubt the sound, shockwave or air sucking power had any effect on his body.

“Give me a brick of C4!” I shout.

Chase spins around, looking for the back pack. For a moment I fear it’s been buried, but then he spots it beneath some rubble, rips it open and begins assembling a bomb.

As he works, Willem, Jakob and I stare up at Torstein. He doesn’t move, he just stares right back at us, holding that axe over his shoulder like it’s just another day at the Viking office.

“Okay,” Chase says. “Okay! You set the timer.”

He hands the brick of C4 to me. As I try to gauge how long it will take the C4 to cover the distance between me and Torstein, I see movement and glance up.

Torstein cocks his head to the side like he’s listening to something. Then, without a second glance back at us, he turns and bounds down the far side of the rock pile, out of view. And out of range.
Does he understand what I was trying to do
?
Or is there another reason he’s leaving
?
Another plan at work
?

Then it hits me.

The raven.

The boat.

They’ve been trapped on this island for 600 years. The caves aren’t the only thing they’re eager to leave behind. If they can reach the boat before us, they might make it to the mainland. And then…I don’t want to even think about what kind of plague would be unleashed. Greenland would quickly become hell on Earth. The nation cleansing act of Torstein and his band of zombie killers would have to be repeated, but on a much grander scale. While Torstein might have had to kill a few thousand Greenlanders, there were now sixty thousand. And when winter arrives and the Arctic ice links Greenland to Canada, Alaska and Siberia, the plague would spread world-wide. Yet another reason to go to the Bahamas. Islands, and Australia, would be the only safe places on Earth. I suppose Antarctica would be safe too, but my new policy regarding polar environments rules that out.

“They’re going to beat us to the boat,” I say.

“How could they know about boats?” Chase says.

“The Vikings were a seafaring culture,” Willem says. “They knew everything about boats.”

I shake my head, frustration mounting. “So let’s call the
Odin
and have them pick us up on this side of the island, rocks be damned. I’ll swim out to them if I have to.”

Chase takes the sat-phone from Jackson’s backpack and frowns. He pushes a few buttons on the phone and then hands it to me. The front face is cracked, and while the power light is on, there’s no response when I push any of the buttons. It’s the south shore or nothing.

“We need to hurry,” Jakob says.

Willem bends down to Jakob. “Father…”

“Sorry, son,” the old captain says, as he leans over his son’s shoulder and is hoisted into the air.

Willem grunts from the effort. “C’mon,” he says, leading the way. “I can’t carry this old sack of shit all day.”

Jakob grins until Willem takes off toward the northern coast.

We follow the familiar coastline around the island as quick as we can. I take the lead, ready with handgun and hammer, though both weapons seem feeble compared to Torstein’s giant axe. At least chase is ready with the C4. Two bricks remain and both are good to go once the timers are set.

When the terrain is level, Willem and Chase both support Jakob’s weight. When the path is rough, Willem takes his father’s burden on his own shoulders. Half way there, the effort starts to take its toll on Willem. His face his red, his hair is soaked with sweat, and his breathing sounds wheezy.

After reaching the top of a short climb along the island’s West coast, Willem puts his father down. I recognize the place. We’re close to the first Viking body. Head between his legs, Willem apologizes and says, “Two minutes. Just need to catch my breath.”

Not one of us understands how hard it must be to carry his father’s bulk. I doubt Chase or I could carry the man one hundred yards without collapsing. Even though Willem is quick and strong, I doubt even he could make it if not fueled by concern for his father’s well-being.

Unfortunately, Willem chose the wrong time to take a break.

Torstein’s body blocks out the sun as he pulls himself up over a tall spire of stone and lands in front of us. But he doesn’t attack. The giant Viking just stands his ground, holding his axe like it’s a gate.

“You want a shrubbery or something?” I say to him.

“Python,” Chase says with a snicker.

Are we all so brazen now that our first reaction to a living dead monster is to quote movies at it?

“Chase,” I say, holding out my hand to him.

He knows exactly what I want and reaches into the backpack for some C4. When he places the brick in my hand, my fingers lose their strength. Not because the C4 is heavy, but because I’m terrified. There’s something behind Torstein. Something black. And it sucks away my bravery like the apprentice wanted to suck away my blood.

The C4 falls from my hand and tumbles away. I don’t even turn to look for it. I can’t. The thing sliding out from behind Torstein has my undivided attention.

The raven is here.

40

A gust of frigid wind carried in by the ocean sweeps past. The black form comes to life, twisting and shifting in the breeze with a dry scratching sound.
Feathers
, I think.
It actually has black feathers
.

This can’t really be an oversized bird, I tell myself. Wouldn’t it just fly off the island? Of course, it looks like it could be about the size of an ostrich, sans the long legs and long neck.

Then, in a snap of motion, the thing turns its head toward me. Dead black eyes stare at me. A long, sharp beak points directly at my face. It twists its head slowly to one side.

Why is it just looking at me?
I think, and then wonder if it’s because I’m holding the weapons. The truth, however, is far worse than that.

“Jane?” it says.

I stagger back. Not only can this thing talk, but it also knows my fucking name? With that one word, the raven makes me powerless. I doubt I’d even defend myself if it decided to attack.

But it doesn’t.

It slowly moves around Torstein until it’s standing directly in front of him, just ten feet away from me. “Jane, you don’t need to be afraid.”

The hell I don’t
.

When it speaks this time, I notice that the beak isn’t opening and closing. In fact, I can see the whole thing more clearly now. The beak and eyes aren’t real. It’s a mask. And the feather’s aren’t part of its body, it’s a cloak, like mine, but covered in thousands of actual raven feathers.

“Who are you?” Willem asks. He still looks exhausted, but he’s caught his breath. While my repulsion has made me fearful, his now fuels a growing rage.

The beaked head snaps toward Willem. The thing looks him up and down, but doesn’t speak. It turns back to me and says, “Jane—”

“Stop saying my name,” I grumble. Willem’s anger helps me turn the tables on my fear.

“Perhaps I should call you Raven?” it asks. “That’s what they called me, too, before…” Two arms rise up, like wings, but I can see black gloved hands on either side. They’re just sleeves, I tell myself. “…I became this.”

The voice sound familiar somehow, but off just enough that I can’t peg where I know it from. Is it really possible that I’ve met whoever this is before?

Looks like I’m about to find out
. The raven’s hands reach around to the mask. After untying two black cords, the mask comes loose and slides away. The face that’s revealed shocks me and everyone else.

“What the fuck?” Chase says. “Jenny?”

The voice clicks. It’s Jenny’s, but it’s off. Same voice box, different—

Oh my God.

I saw Jenny’s body. But not her head.

I nearly throw up, but anger keeps it down. “It’s not Jenny.”

“She’s right there,” Chase yells, thrusting a rigid hand toward the raven.

“It’s not her,” I say, sounding ill. “It just has her head.”

The raven smiles Jenny’s familiar grin. “Jenny is here, Raven. Her mind. Her memory. It’s how I know about you.” She turns to Chase. “And you, Chase.” She turns to Willem and Jakob. “And you as well. It’s how I speak your language. And how I know about the world outside this prison.”

She nearly spits the word, “prison.” I was right, she wants off this island in a bad way. But is she really a she?

“Who are you?” I ask. “Really?”

“I am many parts,” she says. “Before being driven to this place, before taking this face, I was a woman. You would call me a Norse woman. They called me a witch.”

“I can’t imagine why,” I say. I’m not sure the thing can understand sarcasm, but then it smiles. It not only understands, but it also doesn’t mind the jab. It’s beyond the kind of emotional taunting that would upset most people like a hard mental nipple twist.

“My parents called me Áshildr,” she says.

Upon hearing the name, Torstein looks down at the raven. It’s the first sign that the big Viking is even listening.

Willem reacts to the name, too. “Áshildr! The last record out of Greenland before they were wiped out came from a ship that reported the capture of a witch.”

The raven actually looks a little surprised. “You know of me?”

“When I studied the disappearances of the Greenlanders, I came across the account of your capture. You were to be burned at the stake. But that’s not why I remember your name.”

Raven-Jenny looks distraught for a brief moment, and then cuts off Willem’s explanation, her voice carrying just a trace of emotion for the first time. “I was sixteen, but had the heart of a much younger girl. One day while out exploring, I came across a vessel. Like an urn, perhaps the size of an oil drum. When I touched it, it opened. I remember waking up, lying on the wet grass, staring at the blue sky above. The vessel stood open, and empty. Despite being alone, I heard a voice. It spoke to me kindly. And it made me a bargain. In exchange for eternal life, I would hide their queen inside my body. I did not know at the time, that my body already belonged to them, but for the Queen to take root, the host has to be willing. My consciousness merged with the Queen’s and we began the glorious work of giving birth to her children—”

“You mean, those maggots?” Chase said.

“That is how they appear to you,” Jenny-Raven says. “But they are so much more. Together, they can communicate and think on a level beyond that of humans. The more there are, the smarter they become. It’s like an effing hive mind.”

That last sentence sounds so much like Jenny it turns my stomach. It seems that while the raven now speaks English, it speaks
Jenny’s
brand of English.

“Where are you from?” I ask.

Jenny smiles. “All of your questions will be answered, Raven.” She takes a step toward me. “Had the body of Áshildr not been imprisoned in this place, she could have lived forever. But her—my—consciousness still resides as part of the whole, her body has been ruined, despite our best efforts to repair it.”

The raven sounds confused. There’s a little Queen maggot in there, some Áshildr and even some Jenny now, not to mention a collective consciousness from thousands of parasitic creatures. And what are they? Some plague wiped out and hidden on Greenland by humanity long before the Vikings? Are they alien? I suppose it doesn’t really matter where they’re from. They can be stopped, and now we know how—the Queen. Torstein must have figured this out, too. Otherwise, why chase the raven all the way up here? The question is, why did he bury her instead of destroying her?