Chapter 12: Chapter twelve

Peryton flew above New York in tight sweeping formations as the howls of the Garmr echoed through the city. A thick layer of mægen flooded the city, coaxing the human residents to remain indoors, and away from any danger they may encounter.

The chilly wind nipped at my skin, teasing me with the frigid kiss of winter that would soon blanket the city in its embrace.

I stood at the bow of the Herborg, watching the Peryton that patrolled the city for any goblins which might escape the dark maws of the Garmr. I wanted to be up there, to fly beneath the moon on the back of Peryton, yet those who guarded me refused to allow me into the skies.

Horns blared, and a group of Peryton dove sharply towards the ground, their forms disappearing behind a towering building. More horns rang out as the goblins attempted to escape death from below, only to find it raining down upon them from above.

A piercing cry sounded above us, drawing my attention upwards as a formation of Peryton flew past. They dipped sharply in the air, the chimeric deer dropping the small corpses they held in their talons before they ascended back into the sky.

Dark figures rushed out to gather the bodies, gathering them into piles closer to the ship as another group of Peryton approached, their talons laden with freshly slain prey. The Dökkálfar who rode upon the winged creatures saluted in my direction as they swept past, their bodies shining like silver stars in the night.

“Do you see it,” I said to the woman beside me.

Sweat beading on her upper lip, Kelsie Monroe’s face looked almost as pale as my own. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the ever growing pile of corpses being delivered in frequent intervals.

When no answer came from the woman, I spoke again. “Do you see the fate this city would have befallen if left to Lord Fergus’s rule?”

A glimmer of unshed tears shone in the guardian’s eyes as she gave a small nod. I craned my neck, looking at the guardians who stood gathered on the Herborg’s deck. Their expressions mirrored that of the woman beside me, as the stark realization of what laid beneath the city unfolded itself upon them.

“You’re not the only ones who can hunt goblins,” a feminine voice said from somewhere in the midst of the group. “Lord Fergus would have called for aid from Cathmor!”

I twisted my head, watching as Selina pushed her way to the front of the group. “And how many humans would have died before the Seelie arrived to lend aid?”

The blond haired girl's face became flushed with color. “We knew the goblins were there! Lord Fergus already planned to send a message to Cathmor, he would have dealt with them before anything bad happened.”

“Oh?” I tilted my head with a wry smile. “So the hundreds of humans that have already been snatched off the streets to feed the goblins is not considered something bad happening? Duly noted.”

“You-” Selina’s face contorted as she struggled to formulate a response, and in the end, she resorted to insults as she was oft prone to in the face of a verbal loss. “Frigid bitch.”

I laughed, a low throaty sound full of dark promise. “You forget to whom you speak.”

“I know who I’m speaking to,” Selina said, a sneer painted across her face. “You’re just a pathetic, murky blooded princess who ran away from home.”

Those words seemed to spur the guardians into action as they lunged towards Selina, pulling her back into their midst, with hands clasping over her lower face to prevent her from voicing any further insults.

Huffing out a half laugh, I turned away from the group of guardians who stood under the watchful gaze of the Skutilsveinr who stood guard around me. Muffled protests sounded from within the group of guardians, and four of them broke away from the group, taking a struggling Selina with them as they hurried to disembark the ship.

“My moon,” Guardian Monroe began, her voice trailing off hesitantly.

I waved a hand dismissively. “I shall allow this matter to pass, as I understand there is tension among the enclave due to the prejudice of the former lord.”

It was not time to punish Selina. The blond guardian still had a part to play in the game, though she was yet to take up her role.

The sound of a horn, loud and triumphant echoed through the night, signaling the end of a successful hunt. It was doubtful we got every goblin, but our goal had been three main nests located in the sewers. With the majority of the creatures wiped out, the imminent danger to the human population was lessened to a degree that more time could be taken to carefully track down the remaining creatures.

Howls filled the air, drawing closer as a pack of Garmr appeared from the darkness. Corpses hung lifeless from their maws as the dark hounds returned from a successful hunt. The Kertilsveinr, led by Styrimaðr Vasilii appeared next, their bodies slick with blood and other substances that permeated the air with a foul stench.

As the Garmr deposited their prey, and ran off into the night to retrieve more, the weary hunters clambered up the gangway.

“Styrimaðr Vasilii,” I called out, stopping the man before he could lead the Kertilsveinr to where I stood. “I bid you, and our brave hunters take time to bathe before presenting to me the offerings of your hunt.”

The commander stared at me, his silver eyes filled with a mix of respect and irritation. “As you will it, my moon.”

The group of hunters quickly made their way below deck, but the stench only grew stronger as more goblins were carried out of the sewers by the Garmr.

Deciding to retreat into the dining hall, I turned away from the bow of the ship, striding across the deck with my Skutilsveinr surrounding me. We made it only a handful of steps when one of the guardians broke off from their group, coming to stand directly in front of me.

“Ellie,” Lucas’s voice held a note of pleading as he raised a hand in my direction. The Skutilsveinr closest to him struck out with his sword, smacking the flat side of the blade against the guardian’s wrist.

“Guardian Monroe, do the guardians not receive etiquette lessons?” I asked, looking over my shoulder at the temporary captain who shook her head.

“Only those taught to us as children in the enclave run lessons.”

Lips pressed into a tight line, I returned my attention to Lucas who cradled his injured arm to his chest. Lessons on etiquette would need to be held for the guardians, and perhaps the enclave as a whole. Perhaps with additional lessons on Dökkálfar culture, and history to help clear up some of the misconceptions the residents had about my people.

“Do not point the tips of your fingers towards a noble, or royal.” I said, focusing on the group of guardians. “To begin with pointing is rude, and your fingers should never point to a person's body unless you intend to unleash your mægen upon them. If you're gesturing at a person, or even an item, you should curl their fingers upwards.”

Raising a hand to demonstrate, I tucked my thumb alongside my index finger and curled my fingers upwards. I twisted my wrist, showing them a side view of my hand. “Imagine your hand is the crescent moon in the sky, curving and graceful.”

Guardian Monroe, and a few others mimicked my gesture, curling their fingers. Maitane stepped forwards to correct the few minor mistakes, such as the placement of the thumb, and offered words of advice regarding the etiquette pertaining to a person's hands.

Lowering my arm, I glanced at Lucas with an arched brow, offering him the chance to speak. He said nothing as he cradled his arm, his expression forlorn.

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Shouts rang out from near the gangway, and the rancid stench of rotting eggs combined with death wafted towards me as Æsa strutted across the upper deck of the ship, leaving wet paw prints in her wake.

With a wet plop, the mauled corpse of a goblin dangling from the Garmr’s maw landed at my feet. Letting out a low rumbling whine, the shadowy hound nudged the prey closer to me.

Dropping to one knee, I reached for the dagger faithfully strapped to my thigh, and slashed a long incision below the creature's ribcage. This method was the easiest way to extract the heart, as it avoided the need to cut through the rib cage.

Ignoring the sounds of dismay from the guardians, I shoved my hand into the corpse searching for the heart with my fingers. The faint mægen emanating from the goblins core guided me to the correct organ, and I closed my hand around it. It felt soft, yet firm in my hand as I yanked hard, tearing the connective tissue which held the heart in place.

Like wet silk, I smiled at the memory of my faðir using a silk purse to explain the protective sack of tissues which protected the heart, and connected it to the breast bone. My first ever assassination attempt had come at the hands of a serving girl who poisoned my tea, and her heart the first I ever removed. That girl's mægen core now adorned a ring gifted to faðir, a token with which to remember that milestone in my life, similar to how humans kept their children’s lost teeth.

Extracting my arm, I tossed the heart to Æsa who snatched it from the air, gulping it down greedily. Then she was gone, racing away down the gangway to retrieve another body.

“Greedy mutt,” I scolded as the Garmr dropped a second goblin at my feet, her stubby tail tapping a fast rhythm against the deck of the ship. “No more until you’ve had a bath.”

The stench of Garmr was so potent the poor guardians were all retching, and gagging. Guardian Monroe appeared to be the worst off, as she stood prone over the banister, her face pale as her body shuddered and heaved.

It truly was a horrid smell, so I did not fault them for their lack of decorum.

Disembarking the ship I returned to Belvedere castle where I made a brief detour to change, and clean off the goblin blood before entering the dining hall.

Over the next hour members of my hirð, and the Herborg’s crew made their way into the hall. Their voices filled the room with a low hum of noise as they shared tales of the hunt, the loudest among them the Kertilsveinr who entered the sewers alongside the Garmr and Styrimaðr Vasilii.

The commander seated at the high table, alongside my Stallari also regaled us with tales of the adventures below.

“My moon, frequent hunts will be needed to keep the goblin population down.” Vasilii advised, his thin brows creased in thought. “There are many places for the goblins to hide in the sewers, and as we know it is near impossible to completely eradicate them once they’ve burrowed themselves in.”

I inclined my head. “Over the next weeks I intend to run the Garmr through the sewers at frequent, yet random intervals to catch as many survivors as possible.”

“Even so, it is a vast area for the guardians to cover alone.” Nyx said.

“The guardians in the Chinese enclave use Garmr mutts, which are crossed with Tibetan Mastiffs. The Dökkálfar enclaves breed them with different breeds of mastiff local to their region.” I informed them, gesturing to the dark hounds which loitered amongst the people in the hall. “My thought is to acquire some Garmr-mastiff pups to be trained for the New York enclave, perhaps even a few mastiff bitches to put into whelp.”

“An excellent idea, my moon.” Mojmír said as he leaned around Nyx to look at me. “Solomeya of the Skjald-borg comes from a hirð who specializes in breeding high quality Garmr.”

“Bring her to speak with me sometime in the coming days,” I said, noticing Maitane coming out of the side door which led into the kitchens.

The elderly Húsvættir gave a slight nod in my direction, her fingers twisting in a gesture to indicate that it was time to begin the feast.

Rising to my feet, I gestured to the large polished black horn which sat on the table.“Styrimaðr Vasilii, will you do the honors?”

The Styrimaðr nodded, he stood with a confident air as he picked up the horn, blowing out a long resounding note to silence the chatter in the hall.

I waited until the ringing of the horn faded, before I empowered my voice with mægen, ensuring all would hear my words as I spoke.

“Tonight we honor Máni! The silver light in the darkness, sensual singer of the night's blessings! We ask he turn his gentle gaze in our direction, and bathe us in the caress of his light as we revel the glory of a successful hunt!”

As the last word fell from my lips, Styrimaðr Vasilii blew into the mouthpiece of dark polished horn. Deep, and melodic, the sound of the horn rang out across the dining hall as the Dökkálfar raised their fists in the air with a loud shout. “Hail Máni!”

Mead, and wine flowed into goblets, while tables laden with food were swiftly eased of their burden as the Dökkálfar feasted. Off to the side, half a dozen Dökkálfar sat with musical instruments crafted from antler, skin and sinew. The musical was low and deep, the rhythmic thrumming telling a wordless tale of bloodshed, and victory.

Tall slender bodies wove around each other, shoulders and hips undulating in fluid motions. The tempo of the music increased, and the movements of the Dökkálfar dancing below became sensual and passionate. Clothing quickly became optional as they danced in circles, spinning, twisting and bending, their dark hair swirling like silken banners around them.

The guardians did not join the festivities, the few who entered the hall keeping to themselves in a corner of the room. Huddled together they watched with a mix of shock, and horror as the dance descended into a erotic entanglement of luminous flesh.

Hands grappled together, and clothing was torn asunder as the shining figures cavorted in the fragile boundary between dance and debauchery. The echoes of sighs, and moans harmonized with the aching thrum of the music as mægen pulsated through the room, dark and sensuous.

A tawny-haired Dökkálfar spun into view directly below the dais. Seated at the high table, I watched the captivating ripple of muscles under the Skutilsveinr’s luminous skin and the hypnotic undulations of his body as he moved.

Heavy lidded silver eyes met mine, a luminous hand outstretched in invitation. Tilting my head back, I swallowed the last of the wine from my glass, and stood from the table.

The dress I wore was no match for deft fingers as I allowed myself to be pulled into the crowd of undulating bodies. Hot breath caressed the thudding pulse in my neck before a tongue rasped over it. Teeth dug into flesh, and I arched my head back with a moan.

This was what it meant to be Dökkálfar. It had been so long since I felt such a pure, animalistic need. I had almost forgotten that rich, aching throb of attraction and desire that could intoxicate a person more thoroughly than any liquor.

Countless hands stroked my body from neck to toes. No part of me was left untouched by the hands which stroked over my naked body. It was impossible to focus on any one sensation as I was bombarded with the sensation of so many different flavors of mægen.

I was lost, cast adrift in a sea of power far greater than anything I could draw from a source. We entangled ourselves together, our ethereal forms entwining into each other, limbs writhing like a nest of silver serpents. Bodies sliding together, in a magnificent cycle of power and pleasure.

We danced upon the waves of pleasure with little comprehension of time. Minutes, hours, days, time was meaningless as we indulged in a near endless orgy of cascading power and burning ecstasy. Mægen flowed over us, filled us, until in a searing wave, we came together, our voices a song of ecstasy

As the sun crested the horizon, biding her brother to rest, we lay in a tangled mess of limbs on the floor, drained by the power we had called forth in our revelry.

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