Chapter VII:
The Orettin and the Bodyguard
Her eyes full of pity, the lovely lady in purple Kurt had seen in dreams held a silvery heart in her right hand, pointing to it before it burst into azure flames.
She was standing before Kurt in the pine woods of Mockwitch; Kurt rode Canute softly towards her, the flaming saber Deathbrand in his grasp, his beacon in the dark.
If the lady in purple was truly present in the flesh or merely a vision, he would debate internally for days to come; but she felt true; present; so that he could smell a scent of blossoming honeysuckle and lavender in her midst.
Just as suddenly as he noticed her, she was out of his sight.
In the scope of that desolate era’s history, there were many who had seen the fine lady in purple appear.
Too, did the invisible errandghost in red robes close behind Kurt see her, and the three little shadows alongside him.
Murderbaulker sniffed her lavender aroma, growing ill from a treetop nearby, muttering in the croaking tongue of the vaighlings. “Kaarvame, Leupraft seegro, hamari, nei glostomari? Tarma sa Ufrem? Eo, Kaarv esh taftor…”
Which could be interpreted as: “Mistress of the angel-soot, which way do you wish to tread further? Here, on the Mount of Death? No, its master is wide awake.”
Kurt's pulver ear hardly noticed the vaighling's speech; he was listening for any trace of Etzel.
The voice of the vaighling was no more, drowned out by a wail; a scream from the little path towards Carolus’ Chateau.
“Eisenforst, get to the Chateau!!! We need you and that blade!” It was Etzel’s deep voice calling.
Kurt spurred Canute on to the Chateau, the horse of the dead though moving on its own volition before Kurt kicked him, as if telepathically knowing where Kurt intended to ride.
With Deathbrand glinting flame and his pulver ear focused to the source of the Bodyguard’s urging, he turned to that stone gray fortress of his deceased father; its gate now open. He listened for others; for rustlings and murmurings of vaighlings or other scurrying things that might have set a trap for him. No, he thought. This is all an elaborate trap; but with Deathbrand in my hand those beasts now fear me. Indeed, he himself feared this fiery instrument.
A calm voice whispered in his voice: Wielding the Ettinslayer and riding this phantom steed you are become Death's vicar on Earth.
He entered the gate.
Kurt did not have time to harrow all the Chateau’s thousand chambers, a thousand voices calling him from within:
“Here, here, here, we know you, we know you, Carolusson.”
Within the Chateau lay a foretaste of the ettinland’s inner machinations: rows and rows of columns and cross beams supporting lofts rising towards a crystalline blue dome.
The entrance hall of the great Chateau appeared to be three times the space of its external façade; a heaving, as if breathing, wet walled interior.
The glass dome looked to be a cyclopean eye gazing down on him. Atop the loft-beams scuttled things on four legs and two.
They hid from the light cast from the scintillating dome, some leaping down to a tall granite slab at the end of the hall.
Canute trod further on the craggy floor, the flames of Deathbrand’s wolf’s head puffing in little bursts.
Kurt glanced at those furtive creatures, all watching, whispering; though no mouths did they possess; only a long tongue-like appendage slithered from some of their heads, cracking like whip against the rears and serpentine tails of others.
“Eisenforst,” called a soft woman’s voice in the shadows near the slab.
The scuttling ones ceased their quivering and darting.
Canute turned towards a little man behind the slab, the dome light illuminating him.
It was the Bodyguard. “He wants to make a deal for Verity’s body…do what he tells you.”
Kurt peered around for Verity: hardly visible in the shadows behind her Bodyguard, she was elevated, seemingly suspended midair.
“Do as the master of the Mountain says,Eisenforst…We aren’t getting out of here without payment. Verity isn’t.”
The blue light brightened; focused and clearer became the surroundings; then Kurt saw the Master who held Verity's limp body aloft: with a skin made of quills a millionfold, pale green, long limbed and ape-like, taller than five men, the ancient one gripped the lady’s body in one of its splintered claws. Its face was between a wolf’s and a crocodile’s, its yellow eyes like a billy goat’s: its head nearing the top of the dome.
It was the primordial ettin Mockwitch.
The Bodyguard barked: “Eisenforst, listen to whatever it says!"
Mockwitch spoke then in a small giggling voice, like a 5-year-old girl: “Yes, yes, listen to whatever it says! It was borned by the Dead-ghost, the very very dead ghost long ago. He mocked it. Called it Mockwitch…not its real name…no, he gave the bad-thing to an animal-man: a mannimal! All to get rid of it…Mockwitch was trapped here on this mountain by the bad-thing! That thing there! So hot! So bad! Ape musts put bad-hot-thing back into ground where the Dead-ghost stuck it. The No-No-ghost told me you musts...”
“What the hell is it saying?” said Kurt.
The Bodyguard groaned. “The blade in your hand, Eisenforst...the Ettinslayer! Cast it back into the ground in the grove...give it up and he’ll let Verity...let us...be free.”
Kurt looked away from the ancient ettin and turned to Etzel’s veiled face.
“Galvan…how can you trust him? This saber is the only object holding him back from us! If I let it loose, he’ll definitely attack us...how could you be so naive to believe it?”
“He has the body! Verity’s body! The Order of Azza promised me that she could come back! Be whole again!”
“And they lied!” said Kurt.
“No, they told the truth...this is that last step. The last step to my Apegift. The Unghost revealed this all to me years ago...finally we will be made perfect...”
“Your apegift?...” Kurt pictured Etzel as a child again, seven years old; a crushed spirit. He saw little Verity in a white laced veil and gown; the Lady in Purple upon a hillock overlooking the burning towns and orchards. She spoke firmly to them all: “Don’t be fooled. Carry the torch further still, Kurt Eisenforst. Verity von Herrenhausen has chosen her path and Etzel Galvan is no more.”
Mockwitch purred like a tigress.
“No,no,let monkey put down the bad-hot-thing!”
Kurt nodded, urging Canute to the feet of Mockwitch.
He lifted the pole.
Etzel’s scimitar trembled.
The scuttling things above stood still.
“Galvan, don’t you see? That’s not Verity! It’s a trick...you have been tricked!”
Mockwitch stirred. “Not her? Not her? Not the pretty pretty thing? No-no-ghost say you want it??? You want or no want? No want? No put down bad-hot-thing?!!!”
Mockwitch examined to the body’s dead eyes.
“Do not listen to this fool, Mockwitch…King Mockwitch…put her down!” shouted the Bodyguard.
“No want, yes want, no, yes,no....NO!”
Mockwitch removed the captive’s head, casting it towards a bloody basin at the foot of the slab.
The headless body of Verity dropped from the beast’s hold.
The flames of Deathbrand flickered; rising into the face of the monster, coiling and squeezing its neck with a python’s grip.
Canute rose upon his hind legs, kicking at the giant flailing wight.
Kurt drove the bladed end of Deathbrand into the Mockwitch’s spine, a red noxious gas discharging therefrom.
The creatures in the lofts above leapt and danced with their lapping tongue-tails.
"Carolusson, Carolusson! He killed the Master! He killed the Master!"
Mockwitch shrieked, the flames dancing like winged, moths striking him, chasing him away into the shadows.
Etzel’s dark eyes fell to the ground. He knelt at the body, whispering words of disbelief.
“Galvan...trust me...you have been fooled...we need to leave here now!”
Verity’s body dissolved into the slab as a black liquid congealed around its base. Another stain smeared on the altar.
“Galvan...come on...”
"She’s dead. Your fault...your fault...” the Bodyguard said faintly.
He tore the veil from his face revealing a mouth full of thousands of tiny pin-needle teeth.
“Your fault!!!” The swung scimitar nearly took Kurt’s head.
Another slash followed,another stab, each stroke more rapid than the last, Kurt narrowly dodging each strike atop his phantom horse.
From the loft rained foul smelling liquids and firearm shells.
The scuttling creatures were well armed, shooting deafening handcannons and diving down upon the two duelists.
The Bodyguard cut dozens of them down while he attacked Kurt.
Kurt swung great Deathbrand to the best of his ability, delaying his own death from the combined onslaught of claw, tongue, tail and scimitar blade.
Fire enthralled the Chateau.
The blue dome eye from above blinked, casting a red beam upon them all.
Hundreds more of the beasts flung their slimy bodies down upon the duelists.
The Bodyguard hurdled over a throng of fifty of the creatures landing upon Canute’s head.
The horse screamed, crying tears of blood.
“Come on! Stop this now! We’re gonna get roasted alive!” Said Kurt choking on the heat and smoke.
Canute fled at his word.
Those creatures left behind were lost to the fire of their own making.
Some escaped out into the woods, as a few were not as feral as the others, remembering a time when sunshine touched their smiling faces.
The scimitar chased the horse and its rider.
“Enough!” cried Kurt.
Canute kicked at another lunging stab. This one nicked Kurt’s throat drawing blood. The Bodyguard charged.
Another hooved kick doubled him backwards. Still, he was standing. Another hoof. Another scimitar strike. “Hellfire,” spoke one behind them.
“I’ll pull him through…"
Etzel’s body was yanked limp and shot a hundred yards backwards.
Kurt eased Deathbrand down.
Embla stood outside the burning chateau beside the obelisk.
In her hand was a glimmering string invisible to everyone but her and Kurt.
Like a fishing line reeling a catch in, Etzel’s body flung straight into obelisk.
Its doors slammed shut.
Embla shook her head, disappointed. “You’ll have to explain why he was trying to chop you to bits there, Kurt…”
she said striking a cigarette aflame.
Entering the ship, Kurt peered from a porthole outside. No sign of Etzel. “Where’s Galvan?”
Embla puffed the cig. “He’s trapped now...this obelisk is a former apegift booth...I’m not proud of that, but like all A.G. booths, it has a built in doorway to the ettinland...he’s tied up inside there for the time being until we can think of something better...”
Kurt looked to a black door at the end of the ship, quickore thread trailing underneath its airtight edge. On the floor beside it shone another piece of quickore: the Tooth. Kurt pocketed it and sighed.
“Verity's dead...well, her body is. Not sure what we can do about her heirloom now...and the Weever.”
“Sleep on it. This isn't over...even if my cousin is out of the picture," said Embla looking to the thread.
They flew off from the peak, the Chateau burning brightly in the woods below them.
From the trees emerged Murderbaulker, perfectly cloaked in the black night.
He followed closely after the aircraft, a few dozen more of his brothers at his wings.
Chapter VIII: Kurt's Third Burial