Blood of the Red

Chapter 28 - Sindri

Chapter 28 – Sindri

Melchem came from the mists, shaped from them, taking on colour slowly. He stood, hand on hip and looked up at Sindri. "That, Sindri-boy, is a tree of ill omen!" He ran a hand through his long black hair. "Nice work with the Carthachin by the way. Still, it was my sword that killed him and don't you forget it. You just wiggled it a bit."

"Don't you listen to that sour midget!" Red Gregor's booming voice sent the crows from the bushes. "You did well, lad."

Sindri managed to look up. Red Gregor sat in the branches above him. What are you doing in the tree Gregor? He wanted to ask, but his lips wouldn't help. He managed a smile.

"Will you join us, Hearteater?" Greyheart stood where the fire had burned, his boots in the ashes, the morning frost still on his bearskin. His beard hid the smile but it shone in his eyes.

I'm nailed to the damn tree! Sindri wanted to protest. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.

"Come, lad. We're going home." Greyheart held out his huge hand.

Sindri tugged, expecting only pain, but somehow his arm came free, leaving iron and rope behind. His hand looked pale, white as the mists, and without a wound. Sindri flexed and brought his other arm forward. His legs slipped their bonds, feet finding the ground.

"That's the trick." Melchem flashed a rare smile.

I'm going home!

Sindri started forward, reaching for Greyheart's hand. Something pulled him short. Pain knotted in his guts, nauseating and sharp as broken glass. He twisted and saw his body, meat and blood, still tied and nailed to the tree. His spirit-limbs moved free and without injury, Yekrin's nails could no more pin them than pin the wind, but the axe held him. At that one point, spirit and flesh still knit.

Pain is life. Greyheart's brow furrowed deep below the wintery sweep of his mane. He spoke but Sindri couldn't hear the words. Melchem turned his back, sorrowful, mouthing 'ill omen'. The branches stood empty, Red Gregor gone, with only beads of blood on the twigs to mark his passage. Cling to it.

Sindri joined his flesh again with an animal keening. He threw back his head and his howls shook the forest. Veins stood proud, cording his neck. The wounds around the nail heads began to bleed anew. The axe fell lifeless to the ground, the power of the Black gone from its blade.

Silence. Only the low groan of the tree. Sindri hung in his bonds, head forward, face veiled by his hair. The blood flowing from his hands flushed crimson to black. Dark tendrils mottled his milk-white flesh, shadow filled the gory hole in his stomach.

The first spike hit the earth.

"Mother of all Bloods!" Sindri screamed the oath.

The second spike fell. Then two more. The ropes tore and Sindri Hearteater stooped to take his axe.