Chapter XVI:
The Horned Penitent
At his forge, the ghost went to work. His hammer raised, he struck the anvil before him.
The ore and body beaten and molded according to diagrams he had memorized, drawn up by the Spellgesith’s hand, Kalendros united the man’s flesh to metal: Kurt was hardly aware of his transformation, his mind wandering across the forests and lakes of his besieged homeland. Kalendros shaped the quickore of the Eye into the armor, watching from the chest piece. Then, Kurt’s arms and legs were fortified with the metal, followed by a mask and helmet that fit the exact shape of his face. It stretched him along the spine, now a foot taller, three hundred pounds heavier, Kurt Eisenforst was unified with the Eye and unified with Rammbock’s blood. Waking, he sat up from the forge, moving his new limbs, adjusting to the increase in mass. Etzel’s shade watched him at Kalendros’s side, half-smiling.
“You are now ready for the Eldermark,” said Kalendros, the forging hammer still in hand.
“Am I?”
Kalendros put his hand to side of Kurt’s helmet. “Listen.”
Kurt did so. He heard a gentle, mellifluous music over Kalendros’s voice, though his lips were shut.
“Rammbock visited while you were asleep. Gave you a new ear.”
Kurt listened to the music, a tear rolling down his eye. “It’s...wonderful.”
“Come,come, before you set out, we have one last visit to make.”
+++++
Kurt supped once more in the mausoleum. The long-bearded men were waiting, placing candles before a tomb. The candlelight flickered in the sheen of a new plaque,written in Varglish:
GRIMM-NARR GRYN KARL
4001 B.K.[*]-2103 A.A.
[*B.K.=Befor Kuningeth]
Kurt ate his mutton soup slowly, sipping the wine of the Castle richer than any he had ever known.
A Temekian beer from Chappie’s too would have satisfied, he figured and looked about the mausoleum for another name that he recognized from Great Oak County. The longbeards ate too, passing Grimnar’s mead horn between themselves.
“Who are you, if I may ask,” Kurt said to the tallest of the three.
The long-beard paused for a moment before saying,“Old comrades of the Green Carl. We fought in many battles and will be joining your fight at Bloodfirth.”
“How many more old comrades do we have?” asked Kurt to anyone who would answer.
“We buried the last of them,” said Kalendros.
“All?”
“All that did not follow Orbaulker and the Unghost into the Booths.”
“How many remain then…that refused the apegift?”
“Few, very few. Some on a distant isle called Charz. It is a quiet place, inhabited by men under the protection of a host of errandghosts.”
“Can we join them?”
“They are men of a different era, preserved for another purpose. I believe it is not their hour to fight, nor ours not to fight. Now, our hour tolls, the hour to set out to battle. There, do you hear it? With your new ear listen to Icewild call all men of goodwill to arms.”
Icewild howled in the evening, its blast setting a tremor through the walls of the vast castle.
+++++
Saying farewell to Grimnar, the three long-beards, Kurt, Etzel and Kalendros exited the mausoleum into the main hall, led then up a spiral staircase coiling up towards the deep blue starry ceiling, till reaching a lofty platform, they followed the errandghost in the dark, Dethbrand providing candlelight.
“Now we come to the intersection of this great Imperial Highway between Earth and Ettinland. All belongs to Rammbock, even the Eldermark; in vain do unghosts and ettins make territorial claims to Rammbock’s lands.
The Eldermark is as a jail cell for those who decidedly wage an everlasting war against those under Rammbock’s crown.”
An enormous yellow canvas like a galleon's sail inked in blue lettering hung before them flanked by two lantern bearing towers as tall as the largest of sequoias. The canvas was a map of the worlds, of ettin and of man, and the Eldermark, depicted as a series of circles that coiled and coiled till microscopic vision would not suffice to detect its rings. The detail was impressive even rendered in two dimensions, but Kalendros waved off his hand as Kurt marvelled at its precision.
“It’s a roadmap, that’s all. The real highway is beyond the canvas.”
They stepped under the map, and up to a small set of blue and amber colored glass paned doors.
Outside the glass was a barely visible wall of cloud filling a midnight sky.
“Nowadays the highway is patrolled by ettins and vaighlings, but fortunately Rammbock developed a form of transport a bit more expedient. We are able to travel between worlds, through doorways only known by errandghosts; and here is such a one.”
Kalendros gestured to the glass-paned door. “The gateway to the Eldermark. The ettins also have devised their own methods for lightning fast travel, the apegift booths a prime example. However, using these doors we can avoid that long perilous road to the Maelstrom, and land directly at its gate. I’ve spoken enough I imagine: here.”
Kalendros pushed open the door. “After you, Kurt Eisenforst.”
“And Etzel? The Longbeards?”
“Etzel's seen enough. He needs his rest. The men will enter a separate gate: they are called to the forests of Vargia.
A rather awful ettin called the Apegrinder has begun culling the remaining men that dwell there.”
“Then my best to you, comrades of Grimnar,” Kurt said tilting his black brim to the long-beards.
They bowed their heads in silence.
Kurt looked down to the shadow boy.
“Etzel. We’ll meet again, I hope.”
Etzel looked up to Kurt and nodded. “Hurry, Kurt. I’m scared...I’m tired. Want this all to end...”
“Good luck, Kurt,we’ll see you on the other side,” said Kalendros smiling faintly.
“Thank you, Kalendros...Till we meet on the other side.”
Kurt, clad in his brilliant body of quickore stepped through the gate.
+++++
Seamlessly, he now stood under a clear night sky. He was within a canyon, rock faces stretching at all corners.
Walking a while he came across a placid creek, steam on the creek’s other side rising from the rocks.
“Kurt Eisenforst?” It was a voice like an old acquaintance, though turning towards it, he felt fear again. It was no common ettin, nor man, nor errandghost; but a horned creature in white garments, the face the same white, the eyes dark as night with blue light piercing where pupils ought to have been.
“What are you? You’re not human,” said Kurt, his voice faint. He drew Deathbrand, its flames pulsing heavenward.
“What am I? What am I not? Not an ettin, but perhaps a similar thing. I am no man either, though it is my wish to be as courageous as men can be. I was Lord of the Wildermark in a forgotten epoch. Cut into many halves and halved again by my own scimitar, I am Uthurs Quarter-tongue.”
Kurt nodded. “I know your name. I had heard you led a caravan of penitents. Penitent for what?”
“Penitent for the most ancient transgressions, some might seem comical to you, some of unspeakable hideousness; thus we have walked for millennia along the Imperial Highway of Emperor Rammbock, purifying ourselves till we are worthy of Rammbock’s presence.”
“Rammbock…I’m looking for the Chateau of Bloodfirth, is it near? I was sent here by Kalendros to do battle alongside his men.”
“Do battle…hmm, yes. The Bloodfirth is near, the final border between the ettins and Earth, though the Chateau is further on located on an island within the firth.”
“The final border? You mean the Eldermark?”
“Yes, the Eldermark contains the firth. It spirals on an on…well you knew that. We are currently standing on its outermost rim.
Between us, once unreachable by men of earth was the Wildermark, home to the ettins, my old kingdom.
The Wildermark was a buffer and bulwark between the two worlds for the sake of men's safety. It was not to last though.
The Eldermark grows and grows; the Wildermark shrinks.
Some ettins tried to flee, to travel to Earth; resettle, bringing their ways.
As they were once corrupted by Azza and his unghosts in my era, they sought to corrupt modern man through their apegift booths…These ettins call themselves superlative gods. Apparently they all are gods and all are superlative, oblivious to the inherent contradiction of that title. Some of them live here, god-princes they refer themselves as.
Unfortunately, they imprisoned some of my followers many years ago as we passed along the highway where time runs slow.”
Kurt began to speak, but Uthurs answered before he could ask his question: “Yes. Your friends, Kurt Eisenforst. The heirs to the Weever. Grimnar and Embla were their names.”
Kurt dropped his head. “A day ago, back at Rammbock’s Castle...I watched Grimnar die…is it true then…that he and Embla had a child?…and it and the mother were killed?”
Uthurs sighed. “Grimnar never lies. Yes. I made sure the mother and child had a proper burial. It was not an easy task to find what remained…Grimnar lived another fifty years off the highway before Kalendros discovered him in his cave, still prisoner.”
“It's unspeakable...how did it take Kalendros so long to find him??”
“Rammbock will reveal all soon…Now, Ettinslayer, I will lead you to the Bloodfirth, so have I been tasked by the king.”
At Uthur’s right hand stood a little shadow.
“Is that the shade of a person? A child? I cannot see the features,” said Kurt.
Uthurs looked sorrowful. “I wish I could say more.” Pushed from a sand bank into the creek, they stepped into a little canoe.
“Soon the creek will smell of blood. Then we will have arrived at the firth, the war,” said Uthurs picking up an oar and dipping it into the shallow water.
“That simple?” asked Kurt.
“I never said it would be simple...come, take an oar, help me row.”
+++++
The creek weaved past more rock faces and hot springs bright with the fluorescent skin of ettins, frolicking and cackling in the waters, paying no mind to the canoe and its boatsmen paddling downstream. Uthurs pressed a finger to his lips as the little shadow began to murmur in fear. All along the stream were ettin encampments: some domed structures made of stone, others of a more flesh-like material, glowing and writhing just as their own hides.
Quarter-tongue paddled past a female ettinness, tall and of a vibrant purple hue, bathing and flaunting her multiplicity of limbs to onlookers from nearby hot springs. She noticed the tiny canoe paddling past her lower leg.
“What are you things?” she said, disgusted. The boatsmen stayed mum.
“Too tiny to be gods…must be...godfood!” She reached to pick the boat up.
Kurt growled,“Don’t! We are men of King Rammbock.”
“King who? Only gods are allowed in the hot springs. Trespassing apes shall be done with as we please...”
Uthurs motioned to the fiery saber at Kurt’s side.
“You should know, ettinness, this sword is the Ettinslayer Deathbrand.”
“Death-what?” she said, sour-faced.
“If you do not wish to discover what it can do to your kind, let us pass in peace,” said Uthurs, smiling.
The ettinness dropped the canoe like a toyboat in the bathtub.
“No. I don’t care. But he might.”
“Who might?” asked Kurt.
“You’ll see," she said grinning a mouth of black fangs, "He’s just down a bit further. Go and see.”
They paddled onward, Kurt asking Uthurs whom the ettin spoke of. Uthurs said nothing, oar in hand, the creek now widening, the canoe drifting. Boats like steel icebergs came into view.
The creek was no more, fed into a wide expanse of water, scarlet as the sky above them. Atop the steely boats were hundreds of figures, bearing javelins and bows and cannons, poised to strike at their commander’s next word.
“Are we here? Is this the Bloodfirth?” said Kurt.
Uthurs nodded, pointing to the great black spires of the Chateau behind the blockade.
“Whose men are those then…ours?" Kurt asked barely able to make out the little figures in their hundreds atop the boats.
“We are meant to pay a visit to one aboard these ships. A final plea for an end to this war," said Uthurs.
Ettins screamed and laughed back from the encampments. The canoe was struck, a boulder hurled from the sandbanks casting Kurt and Uthurs into the water.
The water reeked of blood, arrow-pierced and rock bludgeoned corpses near and far swarming its depths.
Kurt resurfaced to see the blockade of steel ships drawing closer.
“I don’t like this…” said the little shadow floating beside the men.
Atop the first ship were hundreds of the men, dressed in black and blue and red uniforms, OA branded on those bare-chested.
They were humans, as far as Kurt could tell, but their ghoulish expressions eroded any vestige of humanity that may have remained.
The hideous and corpse-faced men jeered and spat upon Kurt and Uthurs, while more boulders hurled from the sandbanks were raining still. “Kurt Eisenforst,” said a strange, croaking voice.
“There, Kurt. Their captain. Our objective’s target,” said Uthurs.
Kurt looked up from the water. Standing atop the ship was a figure, its flesh a gray armor of a million needles.
It had no discernible face, only its eyes remained, like that of a tigress that found its prey. Verity Von Herrenhausen drew her scimitar and cast it into the water, piercing Kurt’s breastplate, plunging into the Weever's bleeding eye.
The little shadow, now at Verity's side, sobbed. "I want to go home...Make it stop."
"Soon, Verity, soon," spoke the red-robed errandghost, holding her hand.