Page 6

CHAPTER 6

J?rgen jumped out as they hit the shallows. Either side of the boat, they guided it out of danger of the waves, dragging it a safe distance up the beach.

Taking in their surroundings, he was struck once more by how uncanny the place was. So much seemed familiar. Crunching over the shingle, he approached the crevasse, which appeared to stretch deep into the rock.

He glanced back at Astrid, still standing by the boat.

She knows more than she’s telling me.

He’d been moved by her story. She clearly missed her father, and he’d wanted to comfort her. Though everyone had someone they’d lost. You had to get over such things, not dwell on them.

Still, he’d thought about kissing her. Her gaze had dropped to his lips, and he’d known she was thinking about it, had been waiting for him to make his move.

She’d wanted the caress—after so long refusing.

She’d surrendered in every other way but that.

Her last bastion.

He could fuck her, but she hadn’t let him steal even a single kiss, and he wasn’t so low that he’d force her. A kiss had to be willingly received—and reciprocated.

He’d been tempted while the moment was there, but if he’d done that, he wouldn’t have wanted to stop. When he kissed her—and he fully intended that to happen—he wanted to have all the time in the world to discover Astrid’s lips the way he’d explored the rest of her.

Once she’d kissed him, there would be no more barriers. She’d melt like fresh-churned butter.

He turned away, moving once more toward the cavern. Only when he reached the entrance did he pause. Dread crept over him as he peered into the shrouded interior. The opening was perhaps three times his height, narrow in width and narrowing farther as it progressed.

The sea didn’t appear to reach the entrance—the lower portion, sanded orange like the cliff itself, was quite dry.

There were similar crevasses along the fjord of Skálavík, though those differed in being accessible only by boat. He’d explored them as a child, he and his friends, their howls and boyish laughter echoing around the chambers. Bravado had drawn them there, despite the danger of navigating out again onto the choppy waves of the fjord.

He’d experienced his share of fear, wondering what might lurk in the parts of the cave he couldn’t see. A child’s imagination could conjure all manner of monstrous things, but never had he felt as he did then, standing on the threshold of the sinister place.

Bathed in sunlight, a chill seeped from the darkness.

“J?rgen, wait!” Astrid clung to his arm. “Don’t go in.”

“Why? What’s in there?” It was time she was honest with him.

“Nothing,” she answered hastily. “It’s just… I think it’s where they used to meet.”

He knew who ‘they’ were—the men who’d once inhabited the island.

Those who were gone.

“Something here harmed them?” He lifted her chin, making her look at him.

“I don’t know.” There was desperation in her eyes. “But… your dreams! You must feel it! This place… it’s…” She shuddered.

He relented, pulling her close, resting his cheek upon the crown of her head. Her arms reached around him.

It reminded him of another time and another set of arms. Him kneeling and his niece, Svala, throwing herself about his neck, asking to be lifted.

A lifetime ago.

“Wait here. I won’t be long.” Gently, he detached himself.

‘Twas a pleasant notion, having a woman worry for his safety. Not since he was a child had someone begged him to act with caution. His mother, of course.

Astrid wasn’t his mother, but her pleading was genuine.

“If you go, I’ll go with you.”

“There’s no need.” He could tell it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Nevertheless, her hand slipped into his.

The passageway ran deep, curving slightly, and he cursed himself for not bringing some source of light.

“That smell! What is it? Something… rotten?” Astrid kept hold of him firmly. She’d made him promise not to let go.

“Could be.” Whatever it was, the scent grew stronger the farther they ventured—fetid, like decomposing meat, overlaid with a sourness he couldn’t place, and something else, like eggs gone bad.

Water dripped from above, pooling somewhere and resonating as it splashed. Astrid’s breathing was audible, as was his own, seeming louder in the enclosed space.

“Let’s go back,” she urged. “Please.”

“We won’t stay long.” He squeezed her hand.

Following the wall, he pressed on.

He could see almost nothing but sensed the chamber widening—a shift in the air, a subtle change in the sound made by their feet.

They were alone surely, yet he sensed another presence, one that had drawn him there, that wanted him to go onward.

There was a natural ledge in the rock and something upon it. Skimming his fingers along, he found a shallow dish filled with… fish oil? There was a taper and, alongside, a set of flattened, sharp-edged stones.

Someone had been there and left behind their lamp.

“I need both hands.” Gently, he brought Astrid’s farther up his arm until she was linked in the crook. She made no complaint, but he was aware of her shivering.

J?rgen struck the flints. The spark was instant and surprisingly bright. He struck again, closer to the taper this time. A third strike and the spark caught the oil-soaked fibers.

Pursing his lips, he blew, coaxing the flame. It was modest but, after such darkness, ‘twas as welcome as dawn after a starless night.

Beside him, Astrid drew a sharp breath.

They were standing within a larger chamber, the upper reaches of which were beyond the illumination of the little lamp.

Along the ledge stood a goblet. Taking it up, he inspected it. ‘Twas carved not of wood nor baked of clay but wrought from some metal, and dregs remained. Some ill-conceived impulse made him raise it—first to his nose, then his mouth.

“Nay!”

The moisture had barely touched his lips when the vessel was dashed from his hand, landing with a clatter and rolling away.

Astrid was frantic. “Who knows what was in that cup? Did you mean to drink it?”

“Of course not. I was only… curious.”

He didn’t know what had come over him. It had been as if something had whispered in his ear, telling him to take the goblet.

‘Twas as in my dream. Being forced to accept the cup, its contents swallowed, and then…

How could he have been so foolish?

“Come now, I beg you.” Astrid began tugging him but just as suddenly stopped. With a yelp, she pressed to J?rgen’s side. “There’s something on the ground!”

Taking up the lamp, he let its glow fall at their feet, whereupon Astrid let forth a true shriek.

The place was littered with dark shapes. He could make no sense of them at first—tiny, hunched bodies, contracted claws, and wings—some close-wrapped, others half-open, twisted at an unnatural angle.

It explained the stench. How long they’d been dead was hard to say. Sweeping an arc with the lamp, he took in the macabre sight.

“What killed them? It’s too horrible!” Astrid buried her face against his arm.

Dizziness pervaded his head, clouding his thoughts. The foul smell, the rotting carcasses, the saturating sense of death and fear, such as he’d experienced in his dreams. The cave was suffocating, its air polluted.

“Must get out.” His legs were strangely weak, his knees buckling. A mist passed over his eyes, and he staggered, dropping the lamp.

As it snuffed out to black, he knew nothing more.