The Falcons of Fire and Ice - By Karen Maitland Page 0,106

draugr, Ari, must mean whoever did this is planning great evil. Who knows how many men, women and children this spirit will drag down into the grave before his work is finished?’

The lad nods, his brow creased in anguish. I can see he is steeling himself to the task out of guilt for what he has unwittingly unleashed. I loathe myself for putting him through this, but there is no other way and no one else I can ask.

‘Ari, you must find the skull of a dog and place it in the grave so that it will placate the spirit of the man or woman and stop them seeking vengeance. But you must do this soon, Ari, time is running out. If we leave it too late …’

Ari lumbers to his feet and stumbles across to the passage.

‘I … I won’t fail, Eydis. I promise I won’t fail,’ he says, but he does not turn around and look at me.

‘Ari, take great care. Don’t let anyone catch you.’

The Lutherans care little for the dead. They say no Masses for their souls, neither do they anoint the corpses, nor sprinkle holy water on the graves. They do not even lay food or drink on the graves to welcome the spirits of the dead back on All Hallows’ Eve. But if they were to discover anyone attempting to open a grave they would accuse them of stealing bodies for the black arts and would hang the man or drown the woman, even if there was no proof they had removed anything from the corpse.

Ari clambers out of the cave with the heaviness of an old man. It is as if his youth has vanished in a single breath.

Laughter crackles from my sister’s lips, then stops abruptly.

‘So, Eydis, now you make a grave robber of the boy. My master would be proud of you. He has a great talent for dark arts. He has studied long and hard to acquire his knowledge and he will use all he has learned, you can be sure of that, for he has a passion, my master, a hatred burning him up. Ambition, all-consuming ambition is a goblet of acid that he daily drains to the last scalding drop. He would be delighted that you are going to such lengths to help him achieve what he desires, that you are taking such pains to cure my corpse.

‘But, Eydis, you must have realized that all your tender efforts will be wasted. I won’t return to my own corpse. I like being in Valdis’s body. I feel so close to you, my sweet sister. It is lonely being dead, so lonely. Can you imagine what it’s like lying down there among the bitter, angry dead, in cold black water, the grave mould slowly creeping across your tongue? I won’t go back.’

The moon is rising. Death is riding. Eydis, Eydis. He chants the words like a mocking child.

I try to ignore the taunt, though the tone of the sing-song voice makes my flesh crawl. ‘Fridrik raised you. He placed his bitterness on your tongue and his hatred in your mouth. But understand this. However strong you are, we are stronger. We will not let you live in her. We will not let you use her to destroy countless innocent lives.’

Eydis, Eydis, sister mine, the grave is cold, but we shall lie together and you shall kiss my rotting lips all through the days of the dead and into the darkness beyond.

He laughs, and I feel a strange tingling between my thighs and fingers rubbing my breast, though no hands are touching me.

My sister’s head rears up towards my face, and her dead lips part. ‘Caress me, Eydis. Kiss your master.’

I turn my head sharply away, but I cannot restrain the hands that are invisible. I cannot stop the fingers probing me, stroking me, for it is like trying to push away an icy wind. I roll myself into a ball, trying to repel him with my mind, but I cannot escape from his loathsome touch.

‘You will surrender yourself to me, Eydis. Sooner or later, you will let me enter you too.’

Chapter Nine

The king of Persia once owned a white falcon worth more to him than his own palace. He cast the falcon after a crane, but when he drew close to where his bird had made the kill, he discovered that the falcon had slain an eagle instead of the crane. To honour his falcon’s courage and valour the king