Winter Song (20 page)

    Ahead of them the rock-eater herd still passed by, filling the valley completely.

    Bera said, "Who's Jocasta?"

    The question roused Karl from watching an eddy in the smooth progress of the herd. "I don't know," he said. "Why?"

    "You kept calling me Jocasta last night." Bera made a clucking noise at her black-and-white horse, Teitur. "When you talked in your sleep." She gazed at him. "You scared me. You were thrashing around, and opening your mouth really wide, as if trying to swallow a sheep whole."

    Karl made an "O" with his lips. The diagnostic didn't find anything apart from some dark patches that indicated minor damage to the companion. But nothing that explained systematic somnambulism, sleep-talking and other odd behaviour. It explained some of his twinges. "I called you Jocasta, not just said the name aloud?"

    "You… sat down… next to me." Bera's face flamed. "You spoke in a foreign language. Then said, 'You know I love you, Jocasta,' in Isheimuri. I – I thought you were dreaming of your wife–"

    "I've said that their names are Karla and Lisane." The words emerged harsher than Karl intended. "I've no idea who Jocasta is." Oh loves, what is this? "It's like I have someone else's memories, or something, or – I don't know!" I'll have to reboot the companion. In theory it shouldn't affect my memories, my darlings, but – theory was one thing, but he and his artificial parts were so inextricably intertwined that perhaps theories were invalidated.

    But there was nothing else to do –

    At that moment, something arose from the depths of his mind.

For several seconds no one in Ragnar's party moved, stunned by the sight of a troll suddenly appearing from around the bend ahead.

    The troll seemed equally staggered. Then it launched itself at Bjarney's farm hand on point, scrambling up the man's screaming horse; Arnbjorn's rifle banged, and a micro-second later the bullet cracked off a rock. The farm hand screamed as the troll knocked him off his horse. Arnbjorn shouted, "I can't shoot again! I'll hit Andri!"

    Ragnar and Orn drew their swords and leapt from their horses. But even as they landed Ragnar saw Andri's red blood spray as the troll found his jugular. Ragnar's sword swung down as the troll ripped at Andri's throat. Widowmaker landed with a thud in the troll's neck, although its shaggy fur robbed the blow of much of its momentum.

    The troll screamed as Ragnar pulled Widowmaker free, and as Ragnar shoved his foot into its chest for leverage and worked his sword free, screamed again as Orn's battle-axe thudded into its broad back. Ragnar pushed an onrushing farm hand out of the way to stab the throat, drawing gouts of dark-blue blood. Then he drew back Widowmaker and swung with all his strength. This blow bit into the side of the troll's neck and severed the head.

    Panting, the men drew their breath. The fight had barely lasted a minute.

    A farm hand said, "It must have gone mad, attacking us like that!"

    "He was probably sick, and unable to hunt," Arnbjorn said, between breaths.

    "Aye," another farm hand said, "trolls are notorious for turning man-eater when they get too old or injured to hunt proper prey – rock-eaters, dragons and other creatures."

    Ragnar ignored the chuntering fool. Arnbjorn looked distraught, so Ragnar gripped his shoulder with his free hand. "I couldn't get another shot off without hitting you," Arnbjorn said.

    "Don't fret, lad!" Ragnar said. He lifted the troll's head by its hair and chanted:

        
"Killer of sheep, stealer of souls,

        
You will despoil no more our chosen land.

        
Orn Axe-thunderer stood shoulder to shoulder.

        
With Ragnar Trollslayer, despatching you with deadly
hand!"

    As Ragnar tossed the head into the air the men let out a ragged cheer. "That's one less of the fuckers to kill our sheep! Now let's give that brave farm hand of yours a decent burial, Bjarney, as befits such a bold lad. Though the Old Gods know that we can ill-afford to

lose time chasing those criminals."

    They carried the body to open ground, and spent hours tearing moss from the rocky outcrops, ripping the skin from their fingers, until their hands were all cramped and the bare rocks shone in the misty rain, and both bodies were covered with moss.

    It had taken Ragnar two days to gather everything together, and only two days to lose their first man.

    Orn straightened with a grunt. "Did you notice that the troll had no covering? It was no more than a wild beast, whatever those early records claimed. They were wrong to make such a fuss over vermin."

    "No time for chat now," Ragnar said. "We'll add –" he gazed at Bjarney who mouthed the name, "Andri's name to the tally of the fugitive's crimes." Taking one of the precious flares from his saddlebag, Ragnar said, "Thor and Wotan, we commend this warrior into your custody, bringing with him the body of his enemy, should you wish to join in further battle with the beast."

    He recited:

        
"Hail, Andri Shield-bearer!

        
Son of Thorinn,

        
Slayer of trolls,

        
Guardian of flocks,

        
Bravest of the brave,

        
Godspeed to Valhalla!"

    Then Ragnar lit the flare that sputtered for a few moments before catching and burning with a fierce white glow. He pushed it through the damp moss until he found the troll's fur. He held it against the body until the fur caught, and the flames spread.

    The smell of burning meat and fat drifted on the breeze, and for a moment Ragnar closed his eyes, and flexed and opened his hands over and over again, trying to ease the cramp.

    The flames licked at the air, and smoke coiled, and only when they were dying down again did the men mount their horses, and resume their journey south, slowly at first, then speeding up to a fast gallop.

    So far they were still on Steinar's land, which was at least half-civilised, and while losing a man was sad, it wasn't anything too unusual.

    Ragnar knew that with each day their anger at the vandalism of the Oracle would fade, and each day he would have to work harder to spur them into here-bedragons territory. But spur them on he would.

Karl arched his back and convulsed. "No!" In a deeper voice he said, "
Emergency downloads into sentient life-forms
are not recommended. There is the risk of both consciousnesses
being corrupted; the artificial may render the host psychotic,
while the host's body mechanisms may corrupt the download's
thought processes!"

    "Help me!" Bera cried, trying to hold on to Karl's wrists, but one of his hands eluded hers and whiplashed, smacking her head backward and sideways.

    "
Seizures are not epileptic, but induced as a means of re
gaining control over the dissident consciousness!
" Loki screeched, then lapsed into gibberish that she guessed was Avalonian.

    "Tell me what to do!" she shouted. To her horror, she saw the rock-eaters scattering, and the foxy muzzle of a feral dog, leading a pack. Ohmigods, she thought. Not now, please – I can't cope with this! Come back to me, Karl.

    "
When Oedipus heard the news he was overwhelmed with
relief!
" Loki's free hand gripped her by the hair, pulling her face down to his. She heard the dog's panting, and hoped that the rock-eaters were sufficiently distracting. She felt the warmth of her companion's breath on hers, and noticed that he smelled of antiseptic. "
Marry Oedi
pus! Bear his children!"

    He kissed her, his tongue intertwining with hers. She felt his erection pressing into her, and in the moment that her own body began to respond, she pulled away, snapping her teeth shut, narrowly missing his tongue. She slammed her knee into his groin.

Pain smashed into the back of your head in a drumbeat matching the thud of your skull on the stony ground, and provided a descant to the agony in your groin.

    It was an unexpected and unwelcome coda to the attempt to mate with Bera/Jocasta. You finally realised now why the prohibition on fully sentient downloads into life-forms existed; overwhelmed by this body's need to procreate, your thoughts of love were but a rationalisation of this body's instinct, imprinted on the first female with whom your host bonded.

    It was a bitter end to a day of disappointments; earlier on you had thought for a moment that – against all your expectations – there might be a home on this primitive world. That was dashed long before your host accepted how limited the assemblers were. There is nothing here on this wintry mud-ball.

    "Get off me, you dirty alien fucker!" A woman shrieked over your neverending internal cacophony. "I trusted you!" Then there was a snuffling and a low snarl and the woman shouted, "Karl, for the Gods' sakes, they're attacking us! Karl! Frig – I don't have time to waste on you with these beasts here!"

    She gripped your ears and slammed your head into the rock again. There were a million billion stars, unbelievable pain, then darkness.

Karl shook his head, still groggy. Over the ringing in his ears he heard yapping and snarling, then Bera's voice shouting from where she crouched over the saddlebags, "Get away!" He pushed himself upright as the crack of the rifle echoed, followed immediately by a shriek, and twisting his head Karl saw a dog topple over, blood gushing from its side.

    Another dog rushed the bags while the still-dazed Karl clambered to his feet. He lurched automaton-like toward the fight, even as Bera clouted the onrushing dog square on the snout with the rifle. It yelped, but only half-retreated. I guess they're feral, he thought, wondering why they had plucked up courage to attack, then saw dark-blue blood oozing from one of the bags – the one that held the meat.

    Karl picked up a small rock, another, and a third. He hurled the first, catching the dog attacking Bera in the ribs. It yelped and, turning, snarled at its new attacker, before returning to lunge again at Bera. She shrieked.

    "Use the rifle!" Karl screamed, his voice buzz-sawing through his head.

    "Too close!"

    Bera whacked the dog again and yelled, "Piss off, ugly, or I'll rip your head off!"

    She yowled an "Aaaaaagh!" that went on and on into the dog's face. Karl hurled the other two rocks but missed. Running over to the other saddlebags, Karl hefted the axe, feeling the weight, getting the balance right, and swung it left-handed into the dog's side from slightly behind it. The dull thud of the axe's impact was almost obliterated by the dog's dying squeal.

    Blood dripping from a bite to her forearm, Bera swung the rifle again, connecting solidly with the dog's head, and it collapsed.

    Another dog lay about ten metres away, while between them the rest of the pack – about a dozen dogs – stood in a five metre wide semi-circle, watching the humans carefully.

    Karl advanced on the dog at one end. It bared its teeth and backed away a pace. Karl kept walking, axe raised to chest height, ready to use it as a quarterstaff. Instead, the dog backed away another pace, and Karl drew the axe back ready to hack at his opponent – but instead, the animal backed further away, still snarling, but keeping distance between them.

    Karl turned toward the next dog, which stood looking, first at Bera and the saddlebags, then at Karl, undecided whether to flee or attack. Karl advanced on it, and it backed off.

    "Look away!" Bera shouted.

    Too late Karl flinched as something landed between the dogs and him. It fizzed and sputtered, then the flare burst into flame with a flash and a bang. When the afterimages had faded, two of the dogs that had fled into the distance were limping, blood trailing from fresh wounds.

    Karl breathed out heavily, his head still aching, but the adrenaline had temporarily obliterated the after-effects of – what? He realised that he had no idea of what had just happened.

    Bera stood watching him, her left hand holding the gun's long barrel, her right hand the stock, finger looped through the trigger. "It fires fragmenting rounds." Her voice was steady, but for the faintest quaver at sentence end. "If one hits you, it explodes. Makes a mess, but it stops most things. That was how I dropped the rock-eater so easily."

    Karl realised that she was warning him off. "Bera," he said. "I don't know what happened before the dogs attacked. I–"

    "What happened, Karl," Bera said, "was that you keeled over, called me Jocasta again, then tried to–"

    "That wasn't me!" Karl shouted. Or was it, he wondered? Is that what happens when I lose my inhibitions?

    "You said something about Ti-ray-see-us. You called me Jocasta again, said that you would fetch this Tiresias. I banged your head on the ground until you blacked out."

    Karl shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

    "I thought that I was escaping from all the men who thought I was an easy lay, but you're as bad as any of them. How can we go on? What if you're possessed again and I fall into a fissure or the dogs come back? Or snolfurs attack?" Bera swatted at something shining on her cheek.

    "I… you're right," Karl said. "We should head for the nearest farmstead. We'll give ourselves up. I'll admit that I kidnapped you."

    Bera shook her head. "They'd hang you for sure." She let out a long, gusty sigh, and stared at the ground.

    Finally Bera said dully, "We should pitch camp here. We'll light a fire using the dogs' carcasses and a firestarter. We haven't got many, but we might as well."

    In silence, Karl gathered moss under her terse directions, wondering what Ragnar was doing, whether the Gothi had come after them. Of course he has, Karl thought. You've made him look a fool, and he won't forgive that.